The Wall Page #3

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Had our training,

then you f***in' backstab us.

Look, these f***in' guys

were building pipelines.

Building up your f***in' economy,

you a**hole.

[ Groans ]

MAN ON RADIO:

Pipelines, huh?

For our economy?

Yeah, that's f***in' money.

Infrastructure,

education, schools.

These guys

were f***ing contractors.

Not here to fight.

War's over, bro.

MAN ON RADIO:

Bro?

Whatever, man.

MAN ON RADIO:
It's an interesting

choice of words.

And yet I disagree with you,

bro.

The war's not over...

Definitely not for you.

You say... you say a lot

of f***in' fancy words.

What are you, Haji Shakespeare

or some sh*t?

MAN ON RADIO:

Shakespeare?

Military lingo is all poetry.

Battle rattle, ghetto grip...

Johnny Jihad, friendly fire...

It's your turn, Isaac.

Or should I say Ize?

What?

What... what do you mean,

it's my turn?

What do you want me to say?

MAN ON RADIO:

Tell me where you're from.

Where's your family?

I'm not talking

'bout f***ing family.

Oh, God!

[ Gasps ]

MAN ON RADIO:

Okay, then tell

about your brothers and sisters

at arms.

That's a negative, too, bro.

MAN ON RADIO:
I don't want

any military secrets.

Just stories.

Eat a dick.

MAN ON RADIO:
I will shoot

Matthews if you don't talk.

Go ahead.

MAN ON RADIO:

Yes?

[Grunting ]

He is your second loss...

...first, Dean, now Matthews.

How the f***

do you know about Dean?

MAN ON RADIO:

Keep talking.

No. F*** you. How?

[ Gasping ]

MAN ON RADIO:

You carry his scope around.

What was it your sergeant said?

A dead man's scope?

[ Gasping ]

How old are you?

MAN ON RADIO:

Just tell me something, Isaac.

Tell me about your comrades.

Or I will shoot Matthews' face off.

[Coughing]

Okay.

[Continues coughing ]

Uh... yeah.

Uh, we, uh, we play ball.

MAN ON RADIO:

I beg your pardon?

Uh...

Yeah, me and the squad.

We, uh, play in the afternoon.

Uh, get baked in the Iraqi sun.

Uh, nothing else to do.

No war to fight.

MAN ON RADIO:

Baked... what does that mean?

Baked, like, you know, tanned.

MAN ON RADIO:

Go on.

Go on?

MAN ON RADIO:

What about Sergeant Matthews,

did he get baked?

Did Dean?

I ain't talking

about f***in' Dean with you.

You dirty f***in' Haji.

MAN ON RADIO:
If I were you,

I would start talking, Isaac.

Tell me about Dean.

What's the obsession, huh?

What the f***?

MAN ON RADIO:

It's interesting to me.

The bond between you

and your brothers.

And I will shoot Matthews

if you do not speak.

I'm looking at him right now.

It would be so easy

to tear his face off.

His family won't even

recognize him.

Is that what you want, Ize?

[ Bird squawking ]

[Sighs]

You should just answer

my questions.

All right, all right.

[Wind blowing]

MAN ON RADIO:

So, tell me about Dean's scope.

Oh, sh*t.

Oh... Oh, f***.

MAN ON RADIO:
I can see it

at the base of the wall there.

Why do you keep it?

F***.

MAN ON RADIO:

Now, you said it's broken.

Why would you carry around

a broken scope, Isaac?

Oh, shut the f*** up, man.

How's this end?

How the f*** this end?

MAN ON RADIO:

I'm sorry?

I said, how the f***'s it end?

What's the f***in' endgame?

MAN ON RADIO:

There's no endgame.

I'm just enjoying

our conversation.

No, stop!

F***in' stop, all right?

You're not gonna

get to know me.

MAN ON RADIO:
I feel

like I know you better already.

No, you f***ing don't!

You don't know sh*t!

MAN ON RADIO:
You're dehydrated,

I know that.

That's why I aimed

at your water bottle.

No, you didn't...

You f***in'

was trying to hit me.

MAN ON RADIO:

No, the water bottle.

[ Scoffs ]

Nobody's that f***in' accurate.

MAN ON RADIO:

And your antenna.

No f***ing way.

MAN ON RADIO:

And your knee.

I know the popliteal vein

in your leg

carries enough blood

that no matter what kind

of bandaging you have,

you will still be sitting

in a puddle of plasma.

You're feeling fatigued,

lightheaded.

And you will bleed out

before nightfall.

What the f*** is going on

with this sh*t...

...you f***er?

[Grunts]

You psychotic motherf***er.

What do you want from me, huh?

Oh, f***!

[Grunting ]

[Groaning]

F***in' flank me?

F***in' Haji.

[ Radio static ]

Hey, where'd you

keep f***in' going, huh?

No, no, you're tryin' to f***in'

circle my wall, ain't you?

Huh?

Tryin' to circle round my wall,

motherf***er?

MAN ON RADIO:

That's ironic.

Yeah, I'm right, huh?

MAN ON RADIO:

You say "my wall".

The very wall your country

came here to knock down,

you now try desperately

to keep from falling.

Oh, you find that

f***in' funny, huh?

MAN ON RADIO:
You should know:

that wall you are hiding behind,

was actually part of a school.

Yeah, well, I'll piss on it.

That's what I think

about your f***in' wall.

MAN ON RADIO:
You're hiding

in the shadow of Islam.

No, I'm hiding in the shadow

of f***in' death.

I'm in the f***in' shadow

of death.

[ Gasping ]

Nice try.

That's gotta be a 20 mag...

[ Continues gasping ]

So all the guys...

...it's gotta be a 20 mag.

One in Matthews, 3 in me...

That 7.62...

That 7.62 by 51 NATO round

is U.S. issued?

Hey. Motherf***er.

You wanna talk?

Come on, man.

What's up?

MAN ON RADIO:
You want to know

the weapon I'm using?

M-24?

Mark 11?

MAN ON RADIO:
I would prefer

an M96 Windrunner any day.

I thought we were being honest?

I know you're using a Mark 11.

MAN ON RADIO:
No, you believe

that's what I'm using.

But you don't know

anything for certain.

You don't know sh*t.

Is that how you say it?

You don't know sh*t?

Say that again...

...I can't hear you.

MAN ON RADIO:

Okay...

you...

don't...

know... sh*t.

ISAAC:

I don't know sh*t, huh?

Well, go on. Please.

Educate me, man.

Come on, I'm listenin'...

[ Indisctinct ]

MAN ON RADIO:

You Americans.

You think you know it all.

You think it's simple.

That I am your enemy.

But we are not so different,

you and I.

ISAAC:
Yeah, 'cept

I ain't a f***in' terrorist.

MAN ON RADIO:

And you think I am?

You are the one who has come

to another man's country,

[ Metal clanging ]

Camouflaged yourself

in his land,

in his soil.

No f***in' way...

MAN ON RADIO:

From where I'm sitting,

you look very much

like the terrorist.

[Wind blowing]

You're in the f***in' trash?

No f***ing way...

'less he's a pro.

You're him.

You're Juba.

The ghost.

MAN ON RADIO:

A hundred men out there

call themselves Juba.

I'm just a man.

35 U.S. casualties,

angel of death.

That's why they never find you.

Damn.

You must've been days

in that f***in' sh*t heap.

So, we trained you, obviously.

Learn how to shoot,

trajectory, zeroing the rifle,

no reloads between shots.

Learn all that sh*t

and then betrayed us?

MAN ON RADIO:

Depends on the angle

you look at it from.

Only one angle.

MAN ON RADIO:

Yes, as I'd expect you to say.

No.

Tell me you're my enemy, fine,

I'll respect that.

We kill, We kill.

But say you're my friend...

and shoot me in the back?

The only angle I see

is a f***in' snake.

MAN ON RADIO:
But if this friend

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