Biloxi Blues

Somewhere there's music

How faint the tune

Somewhere there's heaven

How high the moon

There is no moon above

When love

is far away, too

Till it comes true

That you love me

As I love you

Somewhere there's music

It's where you are

Somewhere there's heaven

How near, how far

The darkest night

will shine

If you would come

to me soon

Until you will

How still my heart

How high the moon

How high...

Man's voice:

I don't think much about the big war anymore,

the one they call

The Second One,

because the small wars

that came after it

seem a lot bigger now

than the big war was.

Most people today

look back at the big one

with sort of fond memories.

It was, in a sense,

an okay war.

We knew why we were fighting

it and we felt pretty proud

of ourselves

for being in it.

We liked the songs.

We liked the uniforms.

We liked the girls and liked

that everyone liked us.

So, looking back,

it really was one of your better wars.

Except if you were just a kid,

a year out of high school,

heading south in a troop train,

knowing that in two months

you'd be in some mud hole

fighting for your life.

We were in

a filthy train

heading for basic training

in Biloxi, Mississippi.

And on the entire trip

in the train, nobody washed.

We were getting ready

to fight Germany and Japan,

but instead we were

stinking up America.

Hey, what the hell's

with you?

You talkin' to me,

garbage face?

Yeah, I'm talkin'

to you, pisshead!

Who are you callin'

pisshead, jerkoff?

Knock it off,

sh*t brains.

Up your keister

with a meat hook, Wykowski.

It was my fifth day in the Army

and so far I hated everyone.

Where the hell

are we, anyway?

Hey, Shakespeare,

where the hell are we?

West Virginia.

No sh*t.

Where is that near?

You don't know where

West Virginia is?

Didn't you ever

take geography?

I was sick that day.

Hey! Hey,

what's for chow?

Turkey breasts

and white wine.

In a pig's ass.

Right, that's how

they serve it.

You better eat, guys, 'cause it ain't

gonna be this good in Mississippi.

Joseph Wykowski,

from Bridgeport, Connecticut,

had the stomach of a goat...

he could eat anything.

His favorite was Hershey bars

with the wrappers still on them.

Arnold Epstein,

an intellectual from New York,

was my only hope

for intelligent conversation.

Hey, Arnold, if I wanted

to become a writer,

who do you recommend I read?

The entire third floor of

the New York Public Library.

Hey, Epstein,

you wanna read somethin', huh?

Read this!

It was hard to believe

that these guys had

mothers and fathers who were

worried about them.

Pardon me, boy,

is that the Chattanooga choo-choo?

Track 29

Boy, you can

give me a shine

Can you afford

to board...

Man:
Shut him up!

What?

The Chattanooga Choo Choo?

I've got my fare

Wake him up,

for Christ sakes.

Just a...

what the hell is wrong with you?!

It's 2:
30 in the goddamn morning

and you were singin' again.

I was not.

You was not?

You practically made a record.

What was I singin?

Chattanooga Choo Choo.

Chattanooga Choo Choo?

I don't even know

Chattanooga Choo Choo.

Whoa, Goddamn it!

Ohh!

Somebody let go!

Hey, was it you, Carney?

No, I was singin'.

I'm not gonna do that when I'm singin'.

Maybe you sang

to cover it up.

Hey, Jerome, write this in your diary...

"Major fart in West Virginia."

Wait a minute...

it's coming from up there.

Hey, Bombardier,

kill Germans, not Gls.

Wykowski:
Oh, brother.

I'm sorry,

I'm not feeling very well.

Yeah, well, now we're all

not feeling very well.

Does anyone have

an Alka-Seltzer tablet?

Pluggin' it up

ain't gonna help, Epstein.

Boy, it's hot.

This is hot.

Corporal:
Find your company!

Company letters are over the door!

You will form

a single line.

Then prepare to give your name and

serial number to the men at the desk.

Man:

What the hell you think you lookin' at?

You just dig!

You don't stop diggin'!

Where are you guys from?

Fort Dix, New Jersey.

What's it like here?

It's real rough...

we've been here a week,

10 guys died from malaria.

Buryin' 'em in here.

Are you serious?

Aw, he's full of sh*t.

It's a drainage ditch.

I didn't know

it was gonna be this hot.

This is really hot.

Man:
Hey,

watch out for the pole!

Jesus!

Did you see that?

That pole just went down,

whack!

Everything falls here...

telephone poles, flag poles.

Bugs eat 'em.

Pretty soon we're all gonna go.

It never got this hot

in Brooklyn.

This is like Africa-hot.

Tarzan couldn't take

this kind of hot.

Better get a shine

on those shoes, rookie.

I think they've taken us

to a German prison camp.

Detail, halt!

You men fall out and fall in on me.

Column o' twos, down here.

This here platoon

is assigned to this barrack.

You will remain here until further

instructions from your sergeant.

You will remain

on your feet,

no smokin'

and no goddamn tobacco chewin'.

At ease.

No tobacco chewin'?

He must think we're stagecoach drivers.

Shut your ass, Jerome.

These non-coms hear everything.

Perfect. It only took the Army five

minutes to turn Wykowski into a robot.

Jesus, I'm drippin' wet.

This place is like a steam bath.

I don't know if I can stay here

if it's gonna be this hot.

I should've joined the Navy.

The Navy's cooler.

Navy's for homos.

I pictured the Army different.

I pictured a lot of doughnuts

and USO dancers.

Hi, how are you?

Good to see you.

Hello, soldier.

Hello.

Hi, Sergeant.

One, two, three, four!

Hmm.

One, two, three, four!

Detail, attention.

Sorry, men, perhaps I didn't

make myself clear.

Detail, ten-hut!

Good. Good.

At ease, gentleman.

My name is Toomey,

Sergeant Merwin J. Toomey,

and I'm in charge of this

platoon during your 10 weeks

of basic training here in beautiful Biloxi,

Mississippi,

after which you'll be sent to

some sh*t island in the Pacific

or some turd pile

in Northern Sicily.

In either case, returning

to your mommas and papas

with your balls intact

in highly improbable.

I speak from experience,

having served 14 months

in the North African campaign

where 73% of my comrades

are buried,

having donated a small portion

of my brains to this conflict,

the other potion

being protected

by a heavy steel plate

in my head.

I'd like you to answer

when your name is called.

The answer to that question

is "ho."

Not "yes," not "right,"

not "here," not "sir"...

any other unacceptable

form of reply

except

the aforementioned "ho."

Am I understood?

Peek, David P.

Ho.

Hennessey, James J.

Ho.

Wykowski, Joseph T.

Ho.

Selridge, Roy W.

Ho.

Carney, Donald J.

Ho.

Jerome, Eugene M.

Ho.

Epstein, Arnold B.

Ho, ho.

Are there two Arnold

Epstein's in this company?

No, Sergeant.

Just give me one goddamn "ho."

Yes, Sergeant.

Epstein, Arnold B.

Ho.

One more time.

Ho.

Do I make myself

clear, Epstein?

Ho.

Do I make myself

clear, Jerome?

Ho, yes.

Ho, what?

Ho, nothing.

You having trouble

understanding me, Jerome?

Ho, no.

I mean, no, ho,

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