Von Ryan's Express

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(plane overhead)

(speaks German)

- Americano.

- S, americano.

(speaks German)

- (Italian)

- (German)

- (makes plane noise)

- Ah! Pilota!

(explosion)

(German)

(blow raspberries)

(drum roll)

(Italian)

Party, inward... turn!

Party... flag!

For as much as it hath pleased

Almighty God to take unto himself...

...the soul of our dear

brother here departed...

...we therefore commit his

body to the ground.

Uno, due, tre!

(gunshots)

(gunshots)

(# bugler plays "Taps")

Detail, outward... turn!

Detail... quick march!

Major Fincham, will you now

please dismiss your men? Please.

- Where is your commandant?

- As I told you, Major Battaglia is indisposed.

His orders are to disperse

immediately after the funeral.

(blows whistle)

- Major Fincham, please.

- Get that Fascist bastard out here!

Grazie.

- You'd better follow me, please, Colonel.

- Thanks, pal.

What are they celebrating out there?

Signor maggiore.

Ryan, Joseph L.

United States Army Air Corps. 0718359.

Don't you salute senior officers

in your army, Major?

- Are you the official interpreter?

- Yes, sir.

- Then interpret exactly. Clear?

- Yes, sir.

(repeats Ryan's question in Italian)

And add this:
No wonder Italy's

losing the war, with officers like him.

Well?

(translates)

(men shouting) Battaglia! Battaglia!

Battaglia! Battaglia!

Battaglia! Battaglia! Battaglia!

Battaglia! Battaglia!

We have today buried

our commanding officer...

...Colonel Brian David Lockart!

The purpose of this parade

is to bear witness to his death...

...and charge the man responsible for it!

Major Battaglia!

The Ninth Fusiliers now formally charge you

with the murder of Colonel Lockart!

Come forward and meet your accusers!

(translates)

S, signor maggiore.

(men shout) Battaglia! Battaglia!

Follow me, please.

(men chant) Battaglia! Battaglia! Battaglia!

(shouts command in Italian)

(men continue chanting)

Major Fincham, unless you dismiss

your men now, it will be out of my hands.

- That swine hasn't the guts.

- You have left him no choice.

(men murmur)

You've shot one of my men!

He's fainted, sir. It's Ransom.

One of those from hospital.

Dismiss.

Parade... dismiss!

Captain Stein! One moment.

This is Colonel Ryan.

He needs your attention too.

- American.

- Army Air Corps.

Begging your pardon, sir.

Are we still beating them in Sicily?

- We took Messina three days ago.

- (men cheer)

- Are you reporting for sick parade, Sergeant?

- No, sir.

I'm still trying to get

what my boys have needed all along.

I'm afraid I still have the same answer

for you:
There isn't any.

Easy, fellas. Easy.

Over here, Colonel.

The stool will do.

- Looks like you got a full house.

- And getting fuller, I'm afraid.

- What's the matter with these men?

- Malaria, scurvy.

Made worse by malnutrition.

- I've only alcohol for a disinfectant.

- Go right ahead, Doc.

How come you can't control

the malaria with drugs?

The Eyeties make no mepacrine.

The Eyeties grow food.

Get extra rations for your sick.

And clean up some of this filth.

And perhaps get 'em some clean uniforms.

Our diet and filth are Battaglia's

punishment for escape attempts.

He's taken our soap and razors,

turned off our shower baths...

...issued us with no uniforms or Red Cross

parcels, and kept us on half rations.

But he can't break us,

and he can't stop us trying to escape.

Even with the way

the war is going for us now?

Are you suggesting

we should knuckle under?

If that's what it takes, yes.

Liberation can only be a few weeks away.

Did you hear the colonel's

suggestion, fellas?

What do you think?

Well... meanin' no disrespect to him, sir...

...I'd say the colonel ought to muck off, sir.

- (murmurs of agreement)

I can't expect you to understand this,

but these men belong to the Ninth Fusiliers.

This regiment fought

with Marlborough in 1704...

...with Wellington against Napoleon,

and in the Crimea.

These men are all volunteers, professionals,

and they've come to fight a war.

It may come as news to you, Major,

but that's why we're all here.

Yes, but each in his different way. You

ought to know that. You're a professional.

Negative. I'm what they call at home

a 90-day wonder.

- I'm an airplane driver. My business is flying.

- Ours is soldiering.

OK, clue me. Suppose you do rig an escape.

How many men do you figure to get clear?

- Colonel Ryan, if one gets out, it's a victory.

- Sure it is.

Can somebody show me where I bunk?

- Sergeant Major.

- Sir?

- Escort Colonel Ryan to his quarters.

- Yes, sir.

We dine at six, sir.

- Major.

- This way, Colonel.

Sergeant Bostick, sir. 113th Tank Division.

This is Corporal Giannini, and Private Ames.

The reason we didn't say anything to you

in the sickbay, we wanted to get you alone.

They've all gone to mess.

- Are you cold, son?

- It's that damn malaria.

Don't knock it, Bostick. You ever have it,

Colonel? The fever makes you dream.

And, man, what dreams!

You know what I mean, sir?

- No. What?

- Well, they...

Hey. He's pretty sharp, huh?

You're a welcome sight, sir.

We need an American officer real bad.

- How many of us are there?

- Eight. We've lost two.

And if we don't get some decent grub and

medicine, that's gonna double and triple.

That's tough. From what I've seen,

everybody's in the same boat.

Sure, because the guys running it

are section eight.

Those stir-crazy limey officers

are trying to fight the war from in here.

They got so many tunnels dug,

you could fall into one.

- You expect me to keep them from digging?

- You got the rank for it, sir.

Don't get us wrong, sir. Nobody's here to

defend Battaglia. He's a two-bit Mussolini.

But if they'd let up, he would too.

With Sicily gone, our guys will come through

Italy like shoe polish through a tin horn.

All we gotta do is get healthy,

sit tight and wait.

These people have been here for two years.

I just got here. I need time to check this out.

Not too long. Please, sir.

Three of my boys are just about gone now.

Colonel Ryan, this is Captain Costanzo,

our regimental chaplain.

- Lieutenant Orde.

- Lieutenant.

- Delighted, Colonel Ryan.

- Please sit down. Sorry I kept you waiting.

Colonel Lockart always sat here.

I'll be fine right here. Thank you.

Major, if you don't mind talking about it,

how did your colonel buy it?

He struck Battaglia with his stick.

Do you see that sweatbox there?

Colonel Lockart died in there last night.

Which makes you

the senior officer of this camp.

My regiment will await your orders.

It's still your regiment, Major.

Thank you, sir.

It's made from pumpkins, you know.

Just a little different, don't you think?

We couldn't help noticing

where you sat, Colonel.

It took 200 years to make officers

like those. It took me 90 days.

- They're nuts, sir.

- It's their ball game.

- We're still shut out.

- We did as good with a sergeant.

Now we got us a bird colonel.

A bird colonel outranks a birdbrain. Clear?

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