The Steel Helmet Page #2

---

Hey. Buddha-head.

-Over here.

-Come on.

-Couple of burps in the trees.

-Yeah, yeah. I know.

-Let's make money.

-Let's make some money.

Come on. Let's go.

What are we waiting for?

I know where he lives.

Try my right rear for the other one.

Spotted him.

Get a fix on my piece.

-Okay.

-Got it?

Yeah.

-You ready?

-Yeah.

All right.

Let's make some money.

Okay, you ballerinas. On your toes.

Come on, kid. Let's go.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Up on your toes.

Come on. It's all over.

Come on. Get up. Let's go.

Come on. Up, up. Let's go. Come on.

Hey.

Hey. Come on!

It's all over.

If you run into any more snipers, spot 'em first,

and don't stop firing till they drop.

Looks like a kraut Schmeisser.

Yeah. Made in Russia.

Let's go.

What are you luggin' that box around for?

It's an organ.

What are you, a wise guy?

-It's a portable organ, Sergeant.

-Show me.

Go ahead. Show him.

All right, all right. You showed me.

That's you? Fat Paul?

It belonged to Father Paul, the chaplain.

The H-E-Rwas burned off in a fire.

My name's Bronte.

Yeah? You should be luggin' ammo,

not a music box.

I have my specified amount

of ammunition.

There ain't no specified amount of ammo.

This your first dance too?

Yes, sir.

Sure you won't hurt yourself with that?

What do you do to

make your living in the army?

I'm the radio operator.

Yeah? What are you gonna do?

Clobber the Reds with those bottles?

Well, they didn't have the right change

at the P.X. Back at Pusan.

So I took it out in hair tonic.

Oh. One of those kind of guys, huh?

Let's see what kind of permanent you got.

Who scalped you?

I lost all my hair when I was a kid.

Yeah? How?

Scarlet fever.

Come on, buster. Let's go.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute!

Any of you ballerinas smoke cigars?

I got a box in my pack.

Oh, yeah?

What kind?

I don't know.

I don't smoke. I just found 'em.

I'll see you as far as the temple

for the stogies.

-Know where it is?

-Let's go.

These guys are smart.

They hide behind them white pajamas

and wear them women's clothes...

and make their kids play

near bombing targets.

-They're smart.

-We're wasting our time.

Look, I want to come out of this.

I don't want to turn my back

and have some old lady shoot my head off.

-They all look alike to me.

-Don't you know how to tell

the difference, Fat Paul?

-No.

-He's a South Korean when he's runnin' with ya...

and he's a North Korean

when he's runnin' after ya.

Well, Sergeant, I told you

it was a waste of time.

If I was right all the time

I'd be an officer, Lieutenant.

Hey, fellas! Watermelons!

Melons! Come on!

-Are you sure?

-Sure I'm sure.

You don't know how embarrassing

it was for me...

to introduce my friends

to my bald-headed mother.

And you're sure

that her hair grew back, huh?

I'm telling you. Ha!

These ads in the paper

can't grow your hair back.

And neither can the slop in that bottle.

Oh. How'd your mother

get it back then?

Rubbing. Massage.

But it's knowing how to massage -

and with what.

-Did you massage her?

-Of course.

You don't think I'd let anybody else

massage my bald-headed mother.

This is the secret of it.

Dirt. Earth. Soil.

-You're sure now?

-Makes things grow, don't it?

Doesn't that make sense to you?

I tell you what. When we get to

the temple, I'll start working on your head.

Ah. In no time,

things will be sprouting.

What things?

Hair! What do you want to

grow on your head? Tomatoes?

What'd you do in the last war?

4F? Not that I care.

-1A.

-Oh, yeah?

Shipped you right out, huh?

What theater? Europe or the Pacific?

I was a conscientious objector.

I found a dead American.

Are you sure he's dead?

You gotta be sure, you know.

-Half his head is gone.

-I better check.

He said his head was gone.

Save your strength.

-Did you examine him?

-No, sir.

-Smart.

-Did you get his dog tags?

-Dog tags? Are you kiddin'?

-But we ought to find out who he is.

Look, Lieutenant.

Don't let your emotions get the best of you.

Dead man's nothin' but a corpse.

Nobody cares who he is now.

Get his dog tags.

Yes, sir.

Ever hear of a body bein' booby-trapped?

"Get his dog tags"!

Big deal.

Hey, uh -

Did he, uh, have his pack on him?

He took it off for the break.

-Where is it?

-There.

Here. Give those to Short Round.

And take care of'em.

Don't break 'em.

Chang-An-Saw.

-You sure?

-Sure.

Look. When I wave you on, don't stall.

Buddha-head.

-Yeah?

-Let's go.

Okay.

See anything, Lieutenant?

Nah.

Let's go.

Put the animals on the porch.

Now listen.

I don't want any of you

to disfigure these walls...

touch the gods or break anything.

I want you to leave this temple

exactly as you found it.

All right, you guys.

Come on, come on. On your feet.

-Come on. Get up.

-Oh, for Pete's sake.

Outside and jackass the rest

of that equipment in.

Come on! Unpack those mules.

Let's go.

Hey. Short Round.

Hmm?

What are you doin'?

I was turning the prayer wheel

for good luck.

For, uh - uh...

obser-

obs-s -

serva -vation post.

Oh, yeah?

Well, um, get your helmet off the porch.

And, uh...

get your shoes too.

And better get them - them Red rifles.

You know.

-Don't want anything left out on the porch.

-Okay, Sergeant.

Give me Dagwood 2. Over.

-This is Dagwood 2.

-It's okay, sir.

This is Dagwood Baker

on Stephen Foster, 395-345.

Can you see the Swanee?

Yes, I can see the Swanee.

This is a must.

We need a prisoner for interrogation.

Yes, sir.

-They want a P.W.

-They kiddin'?

-Who's on the guns downstairs?

-That Joe who never talks.

Joe?

Hey, Joe.

Hey, Joe.

Oh, come on.

Hey, Joe?

Hey, you.

Didn't you hear me calling you?

Yeah? Well, jackass yourself inside

and stay there.

I don't want any movement

on this porch.

Did you hear that?

You know, we had a guy like you

in my outfit in Africa once.

Never said anything to anybody.

You know what?

Just like that.

Kasserine Pass.

Nobody ever knew

what he was thinking about.

Don't that bother you?

Ohh.

One guy don't talk, one guy's a conchie,

one guy's a chicken-fed lieutenant.

What a fouled-up outfit

I got myself into.

Sergeant, you got dog tags for me?

No.

I wonder what this is for.

I found it in one of the back rooms.

-It's a pillow.

-Probably belonged to one of the priests.

You don't have to be touchy with us, Baldy.

Take your steel pot off.

Go on, Baldy.

Take it off!

-Sure! Come on. Take it off.

-Go ahead.

Sure. Relax.

Ah. Chafed, huh?

-Yeah.

-How does it feel?

-It's raw.

-You oughta use pads on it.

You're lucky you got him along.

What's the matter?

The grenade in my belt.

The pin fell on the floor.

The lever's pushed against my stomach.

Buddha-head! Got a live one

against his belly. The pin.

Ah.

Don't move, Lieutenant.

Don't talk. Don't breathe.

Don't move a muscle.

Not an eyelash. Now hold your breath.

Come on, Baldy.

I'll start that stuff sprouting.

Hey, Conchie, you play "Auld Lang Syne"

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes