Dead Presidents Page #4

- Man, what you jivin' about?

Hey. Hey.

Ant. To the Bronx.

Yeah, uh...

to the youngblood

who couldn't be with us today.

- Lance Corporal Martin.

- To Lance Corporal Martin.

- Yes.

- Yo, Ant, man.

What they be puttin'

in your head out here, man?

I mean, you done got into this sh*t

a little bit too deep, don't you think?

You're in recon now, Skip.

You in deep too.

Man, f*** this sh*t, man.

- Oh, come on, man.

- Man, this ain't our war, man.

Sh*t, our black ass should be

back in the Bronx where we belong.

Joe-ass got lucky. They sent him

home, gettin' wounded and sh*t.

Heard he wounded his hand

pretty bad, man.

Sh*t, that's all right, though.

He got out of this sh*t.

I rather be home with a f***ed-up hand

up in some p*ssy than to be out here...

healthier than

a motherf***er without it.

- Sh*t.

- Same old Skip. Boy, you ain't changed.

That's right.

You heard from Juanita?

She used to write me a lot

during my first tour.

We got a package for ya!

Turns out, man, before I left,

f***ed around and got her pregnant.

- Man, you bullshittin'.

- No, I ain't.

- No sh*t?

- Dead serious, man.

Got a little girl back at home.

Oh, man, that's groovy, man. That's

groovy. I can dig it. That's cool.

Hey, dig, man, I know

you got a picture, man.

- Let me see her picture. Sh*t.

- Can't even look at her, man.

Man, what the f***

you mean, bro?

That's your little girl, man.

That's your baby.

You know how I survived

26 months in the bush?

Because I don't think about the world,

Skip. That sh*t don't exist to me.

I don't give a f*** about anything

or anyone in it...

because the minute I do, I'm a dead man

out here, and you remember that sh*t.

We'll talk about the world

when we get back.

Yeah, whatever, man.

I'm gonna go get high.

I mean real high. And I'm gonna

get my dick sucked too.

Big dick. Big.

Very, very big.

Can you handle it?

"Hey there, Kirby.

What's happenin' back in the world?

If you hadn't heard,

doin' my second tour."

- Fire in the hole!

- Fire in the hole!

"We spend most of our time

livin' in the bush.

Kind of numb to

everything out here.

Tryin' to keep

my head clear.

Our lieutenant is this crazy

white boy named Dugan from Ohio.

He's good at gettin' us

out of crazy situations.

We got this one wild-ass

brother out here named Cleon."

Gook f***.

"His daddy's this big-time preacher, but

you'd never know from his crazy son."

Now you're good.

Now Jesus loves you.

"He's from Mount Vernon.

Oh, yeah. You won't believe it...

but Skip volunteered

for my unit.

I don't think he's

cut out for recon.

He's always gettin' high and sh*t,

tryin' to keep his mind off things.

Me, I'm just tryin' to take it one day

at a time and do what's right...

whatever that is.

See you when I get

back to the Bronx.

Anthony."

That f***in' sh*t stinks.

I don't wanna pull rank, Cleon, but if

you don't get rid of that f***in' head...

I don't hear nobody else

complainin' but you.

Well, maybe you should

listen to your team.

Medical advice, Cleon:

You dump that sh*t.

Hey, Doc, shut the f*** up.

You don't know sh*t.

F*** you, man. It stinks like

a sack full of a**holes.

Ain't a one of us got as much

as a splinter in his finger...

since I cut this head off.

This head is our

good-luck charm.

Nah, this here's

our good-luck charm.

If you don't mind, Sergeant, l...

My vote is to get rid of it.

Man, Cleon, you need to get the f*** on

with that bullshit, man.

- That head smell like sh*t.

- Bottom line, Staff Sergeant.

You either get rid of that f***in' head

A.S.A. f***in' P., or I'm gonna...

have your ass court-martialed

when we get back to the rear.

We clear?

Cobra, Cobra, Delta six. Over.

Delta six, Delta six, Cobra.

Copy. Over.

Cobra, Delta six.

Execute Charlie, Michael...

We're in a world of sh*t now.

I just buried our luck.

Listen up. Change of mission.

A patrol from 25 has found...

a shitload of weapons in a vill

about a klik and a half to our whisky.

Platoon commander wants us

to interrogate on the spot.

Betancourt, you're the closest one in

the area that speaks that gook sh*t.

So that's where we're headin'.

All right, saddle up. We're movin' out.

- So now where's D'Ambrosio?

- He went to go take a sh*t.

- When?

- When Cleon was diggin' the hole.

- Why the hell didn't you go with him?

- You know how he is.

- He don't like nobody around

when he's shittin'.

- Oh, man.

Grab his sh*t.

Let's find him.

Aww.

F***! Doc.

- 360!

- D'Ambrosio, what'd they do?

You'll be all right.

Doc's gonna take care of you, okay?

This morphine is all

I can do for him right now.

Here, Doc. You can use mine

if that's not enough.

Are you crazy? Another one of those

would kill him right now.

What the f***

you got there, Curtis?

Somethin' about

"Black men, go home.

This isn't your war."

You get rid of that cocksucking

commie bullshit right now.

- Yeah. Right.

- Hey, Curtis.

- Apply some pressure here.

- We gotta hump this man

back to the rally point.

Oh, sh*t.

Save me, Curtis.

Look, Adam, you don't

worry 'bout nothin'.

We're a team,

okay, brother?

- We gonna take care of you.

- Please.

Yeah. It's not much longer.

We're almost there.

Kill me.

Kill me!

I would do it

for you.

I would do it

for you, Curtis.

Buttermilk 17.

Cobra, over.

Cobra, Cobra. Buttermilk 17. Inbound

your buzz. Contact on your visual.

- Shh.

- Buttermilk 17. Cobra.

Hey, you gonna be all right.

The medevac will be here

in a minute.

Do it.

You think

I don't mean it?

I can't go home like this.

- Hey, what's he saying?

- He's delirious, man.

- Please.

- Uh, Cobra, Buttermilk.

- Hooking direct to your 12. Stand by.

- Cobra standing by. Over.

Shh-shh-shh.

Uh, Cobra, Buttermilk 17.

Roger your visual. Pop smoke. Over.

Buttermilk 17, Cobra.

Smoke. Over.

Pop the smoke.

Get that man ready for medevac!

- When'd he go?

- A few minutes ago.

It's better to check out

than go home all f***ed up.

No sh*t.

Oh, sh*t!

Get down!

F***in' a**holes!

- Stay down! Stay down!

- I'm gonna get these motherfuckers!

Return fire! Fire!

Get these motherfuckers!

- Skip! Return some fire!

- Shoot them motherfuckers!

Mission aborted! We get the f***

out of Dodge, back to the rally point!

Ferguson! Get some

f***in' rounds goin'!

Skip! Cover me!

- Dugan!

- Dugan, wait!

Dugan!

Dugan!

Skip! Skip!

Snap out of that sh*t. Go!

- F*** this, man.

Let's bug out, Cleon!

- Cobra, move the f*** out!

- Get up! Come on!

- Move it! Move it!

Move! Get up!

Get up! Come on!

- What are you doin'?

- What is this, man?

- Slow down, man.

- F***in' grunts!

- Say, get a special shot for Skip.

My man's goin' home today.

- Count of three: 1-2-3.

All right. Good.

Now come on, now. Skip, come on, now.

Let's see a dap, man.

- All right!

- Get one like this. Get one like this.

Come on, now.

Everybody, come on. Get closer.

- Ah, man!

- This is Cobra, baby.

- Recon Cobra!

- It's Cobra. Hey, hey!

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