Hot Shots! Page #4

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Do good men like Dead Meat Thompson

just blink out one day like a bad bulb?

One minute you're in bed

with a knockout gal, or guy,

and the next, you're a compost heap.

Doesn't that bother you?

Because it scares the living piss outta me!

I never thought this could happen.

Don't we have what we need now, Mr. Wilson?

This should be enough to prove

that our planes need replacing.

No. They have to fail in combat for the world

to take notice. This is a minor incident.

Minor? I just lost one of my best men.

Are you backing out on us, Block?

I'm doing this for my country,

not for you.

We'll need the backup plan.

Ready? Fire!

Jumpin' Jesus, they're back!

Take cover! Hit the deck!

Cover me!

Battle stations! Battle stations!

Have they no respect for the dead?

God, I love a good funeral.

Topper, where are you going?

I'm handin' in my resignation. You were right.

You said I was dangerous, and I am.

Topper, wait.

Please, let's talk.

They're right. I'm no better than my father.

It seems, no matter what I do,

I end up hurting someone.

You've got to stop comparing yourself

with your father. You're two different people.

- We both killed a man.

- That's just a coincidence.

He loved jets. So do I.

He was a loner, just like me.

For God's sakes,

I've even got my father's eyes.

- Topper, please.

- Ah, they're just for luck.

You've got to make your own luck.

Get back in the sky and prove yourself.

Besides, there's something else.

After our first meeting in my office,

I sent my evaluation to Commander Block.

I recommended you be grounded.

I was afraid someone might get hurt.

What are you saying?

I think someone wants Sleepy Weasel to fail.

- That's heavy.

- Totally.

That's the other reason why you need to fly.

This could be your only opportunity

to save the mission

and solve your personal problems,

all in one fell swoop.

Now read it back to me, Francine.

"And if you ever put your goddamn hands

on my wife again, I will..."

- You wanted to see me, sir?

- Oh, Blank. Come in.

I've been expecting someone.

- That'll be all, Francine.

- Yes, sir.

- Pudding?

- No, thank you, sir.

I'll put this to you straight.

Thompson's death shocked us all.

And that hot shot Harley is responsible.

I want that smirking little wise-ass outta here.

Morale on this base is shot to hell.

Just look out there.

Quiet. Now, hardly a man moving.

Roy? Roy!

Huh? I even went to school with that man.

It's just not the same.

Been ignoring me all day.

Remind me to send him a note.

Sir, may I say something?

I know Harley acted irresponsibly.

But his kind lives on the edge.

Always willing to take a chance.

Now, we need Topper for this mission

for just that reason.

I like your thinking, Colonel.

Besides, Thompson wasn't that good a pilot.

He only had a small family. The kids are

a pain in the ass. The wife's on the sauce.

Poor bastard's better off dead.

What size shoes do you wear?

- A nine, sir.

- Good.

It's settled. We'll send Harley to the front.

By the way. Thank you for having us

over to dinner the other night.

Cheryl and I loved the Strogonoff.

- Sir, we didn't have dinner the other night.

- Really?

Well, where the hell was I?

And who's this Cheryl?

Doesn't matter. Run along, Sid.

Cheryl?

Kent?

I came to get my chafing dish. Our orders

just came. We're shipping out in one hour.

Are you comin' along this time?

- The chafing dish is not yours.

- It is.

- It isn't.

- OK, I don't want it.

- I'll take it.

- You stay out of it.

This is not the time or place.

I've got a big score

to settle with you, my friend.

Excuse me.

I've hurt him.

Topper.

Topper, you better go. I have to think.

Well, I don't.

- I've fallen for you like a blind roofer.

- I'm sorry?

My heart is fallin' down around my ankles

like a wet pair of pants.

My whole life, all I've wanted to do is fly.

Bomb stuff. Shoot people down.

But we've been through so much together.

Ramada, I need you.

I want you.

Wow!

Ramada!

Topper!

Ramada!

I love you!

I love you.

It's not that easy, Ramada.

This is one night you're not turning me out.

Topper, I'm so confused. I need time alone.

Somewhere in the Mediterranean

Admiral Benson!

Really? That's my name, too.

Yankee Doodle Floppy Disk, this is Foxtrot

Zulu Milkshake. Request permission to land.

Roger that. You are cleared to land.

Welcome to the Mediterranean.

Wash Out, is that you?

You bet! They put me in charge of radar.

I'm your eyes on the ground.

All crews report to the flight deck.

All crews report to the flight deck.

Have you no decency?

The open sea.

Oh, God. I wish I could smell.

I had my nostrils fried in Panmunjom.

Admiral Benson!

Meet Mr. Wilson and Mr. Rosener of Rockman

Aviation. They'll be observing the operation.

Yes, of course.

It's OK. I'm all right. No problem.

I slipped on the crab.

Who put that crab there?

- Crab? I didn't see any crab.

- There were two crabs. They work in pairs.

I went to Annapolis, for Christ's sake.

- From the Pentagon, sir. We just decoded it.

- Help me with this. My eyes are ceramic.

A bazooka round at Little Bighorn. Or was it

Okinawa? The one without the Indians.

It's final orders. We strike tomorrow at 0600.

Excellent. Wake me up at 0530.

- Get outta your flight suit. You're not going.

- What do you mean?

This mission is too important

to let you screw it up. You're not flying.

- Am too.

- Are not.

Am too.

- All right, mister. Let's go at it.

- Let's do it.

Come on, come on.

- My face!

- My hand!

Attention on deck!

Be seated.

Gentlemen, we've waited

a long time to hear this.

In exactly five hours and 17 minutes,

we hit the enemy toast.

- I think that's the enemy coast, sir.

- Huh? Coast?

That'll take a little more planning.

We have to knock out the nuclear-weapons

plant at Falafel Heights.

The plant goes on line in 12 hours

and is heavily defended.

If you have trouble hitting your objective,

your secondary targets are here and here:

An accordion factory and a mime school.

Good luck, gentlemen. Blink, take over.

Oh, one more thing.

I'll get that. It's probably for me.

Our sortie will proceed as planned.

And I want Topper Harley

leading our squadron into battle.

Lieutenant Commander, sir.

It's nothing personal.

I know I speak for every man here.

We've lost all respect for Harley.

He's poison for the morale of the unit,

and a disaster to the success of this mission.

You're outta line, Gregory.

You'll obey orders and like it.

Now get to your planes.

- Sir?

- What is it, Mr. Harley?

- I hope I'm wrong about this.

- What would that be?

Nobody likes playing

for a coach who throws the big game.

What's that supposed to mean?

My uncle told me that not playin' to win

is like sleepin' with your sister.

Sure, she's a great piece of tail

with a blouse full of goodies, but it's illegal.

- Jesus, Topper. Come on.

- Then you get into that whole inbred thing.

Kids with no teeth who play the banjo,

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