Star Trek: The Romulan Wars - The Outpost

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- You speak the language?

- Better than most of the people in here.

The locals all said

you were the go-to guy on this.

- You work with a regular team?

- Just the redneck.

Tell me about this area.

Hundred and fifty Ks northwest of here.

Every couple of months it switches

between government and insurgency hands.

My advice, don't go there.

I have to.

When the war is over,

this place will be a free market.

- It's mineral rich.

- Are you some kind of geologist?

An engineer.

I'm on a retainer to a company

that acquired some real estate here.

I go in, survey it. You ensure my safety.

- I'll operate a six-man fire team.

- How much?

- Six thousand US per man, cash.

- Four.

Payable only on my safe return.

- You've worked with mercenaries before.

- Where the guidebooks recommend.

But where you've been

has nothing to do with where you are.

Five.

Equipment will run to another five, up front.

Be here tomorrow night.

I'll have a squad by then.

F***ing ride, eh?

This big fancy company

can't pay for a bird, huh?

And let those RPGs blow us out the sky

like the Red Cross

a couple of months back?

Smart moves.

How am I supposed to work with this sh*t?

So don't get hit.

So what do you think this place is?

- F***ed if I know. Same if I care.

- Right.

Man pays the money, he picks the tune.

He's kurac, anyway.

There's nothing built out here for sure.

Yeah, whatever.

Take a good look at secrets man up here.

Now, why does a prick like that

hire seven swords in a bar?

For the same reason he doesn't go

with private security, either.

Secrets, man.

So what is real story, huh, Top?

Yeah, this is it.

- What do you think?

- Think we're gonna get wet.

All right, roll it out.

There's a lot of traffic.

Regular Army has positions to the south.

Insurgents to the north.

UN safe area is southwest.

Right, lads, places to be.

Jesus Christ!

Why have we gone dark?

'Cause this thing was built

before they invented f***ing trees.

Well, we're not going anywhere

with it down,

so get it done.

Fifty says that company of his

lost some new flyer out here.

Serious?

- An airplane?

- Sure.

Some high-tech sh*t on board, too.

Got to test those bad boys

in live conditions, man.

And what, you a CIA operator?

No.

But 100 says he could be.

Well, it's not a plane.

Cotter, give me a base of fire from here

in case we have to double-time it back out.

The rest of you give me a perimeter.

Four, okay.

Five, good.

- One, okay.

- Six, okay.

Two, all good.

He's underground, huh?

You'd be smart

if you weren't so f***ing stupid,

do you know that?

You're with him.

Okay, everyone on me.

Hunt.

- This is it?

- Yeah.

Minerals, huh? Right.

Cotter, Tak, doors.

Jordan and Tak, hold. Everyone else on me.

Down here.

Right. Hunt, on me.

Prior, Voyteche, left.

Cotter, McKay, right.

Clear.

What the f***ing hell does a guy like him

want with a shithole like this?

- What?

- Quarter right. On the tree line.

How many?

In the tree line!

You, stay.

Rounds received?

- Come on. Rounds received.

- None.

What?

Someone confirm me a f***ing target!

Cease fire.

Mac, shut that off.

Man down!

Jordan, get the f*** over here!

- Cease fire, everyone, cease fire.

- Cease fire. We're f***ing bleeding here!

- Shut the f*** up! Mac!

- I said cease f***ing firing! Tak!

Hey! Take it easy.

- Where's the shooter?

- Right. 60 meters. I don't know!

See? I got him.

Lucky if you hit that tree out there.

That's one nervous little b*tch finger

you got on your trigger there, teardrop.

When I say, "Hold fire," you hold fire.

I got him.

You sure of that?

Fine. Sweep and clean that area.

- Oh, f***, Sputnik, I'll do it.

- No!

I do it.

The rest of you, cover him.

- It's nothing.

- Bodies? Blood?

Not even shell casings.

Are we good?

Yeah.

It was probably some passing patrol

or someone out for a jolly.

But this place is a tactical nightmare.

I've got an elevated tree line

bordering open ground,

and I need to deal with that.

How long will it take?

I need any available power on-line

down here, in case we have to hole up.

Can you help me with that? Right.

Voyteche, Tak, hold here

until we square it away down below.

- We're gonna be bottled up down there.

- Beats getting ventilated up here.

Jordan, Mac, need you mobile.

I need a fortnight in Tijuana.

You know, what you're doing here

is your business, and I respect that.

But when we start taking fire,

your business

can quickly become my business.

Could there be others, like you, out here?

No, there's no one else looking.

Why so sure?

My backers are wealthy enough

to ensure silence.

From anybody.

War has been played out around here

for years.

Anybody could have stumbled across it.

That entry was easy enough.

Sure, the odd patrol could have come

down here from time to time, maybe.

But they don't know what to look for.

And that would be?

Minerals?

Who does he think he's kidding?

This place is wrong, very wrong.

Is it just me, or does that not belong here?

Generator.

- Can you get it going?

- Let's see.

What the f*** is this guy looking for?

What is that?

Motherfuck!

F***!

- I think we're good if...

- Medic!

- Jordan!

- Stay here.

Jordan!

Clear.

Over here.

Principal's back that way,

keep an eye on him. Jordan.

We need a f***ing medic!

Medic!

Jordan!

We've got a f***ing breather down there!

Jesus!

Don't just f***ing stand there! Help me!

- Sh*t!

- Jesus f***!

Look at him.

Name?

Poor bastard.

His brain is totally minced.

Name?

Back off!

He's f***ing gone, guys. Pluto.

I'm shot.

What part of me looks like I give a f***?

Wait a sec.

He could just be a f***ing farmer.

Farmer? Yeah, right.

- Talk, fuckmeat!

- That's enough.

Top, I reckon the locals used this place

for a little bit of ethnic cleansing

- then moved on.

- It's possible.

It's like a slaughterhouse down there.

- He's the only one we found breathing.

- Christ.

Your guess is as good as mine.

So what does that make you?

Some kind of f***ing tourist?

- I could ask you the same.

- I'm a soldier.

No, you're an employee.

Speaking of which, aren't you supposed

to be protecting someone?

How do you think I got that?

- And how does beating him up help?

- It made me feel better, all right?

Running a little low on causes, though,

wouldn't you say?

Walk away.

You know, getting punchy

isn't the smartest play with these guys.

Which is why I hired you to hold their leash.

You seem pretty concerned for his welfare.

It's just a little thing called compassion.

- So he's nothing to do with you?

- Nothing.

And finding all those dead bodies

and him in the middle

has got nothing to do

with your assignment?

I don't think he looked like

he was in my line of business, do you?

Now, am I dismissed?

That being the case,

I think you might all want to see this.

You can say what you like about the Nazis,

but they had style.

What the f*** are we doing

standing in a German bunker?

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