Next to Gordo, the transmission housing between them, is the
body of RED. A blood soaked jacket pulled over his head.
His blood spattered inside the tank.
GRADY "COON-ASS" TRAVIS, a good-old-boy from Arkansas, is
wedged into the battery compartment fixing a short. He's
cunning, viscous and World wise.
Wardaddy drops down into the Commander's hatch.
Get that fucker?
I knocked him off.
Gordo offers Red a drink, pushes the bottle into his
shoulder. Whispers to him...
Gordo. Stop. Leave him rest.
He's dead. Or did you forget? Drunk
Pink Revision - 30th Oct 3.
Gordo shoots them a dirty look. Keeps whispering to his dead
friend. Wardaddy watches Coon-Ass work.
Goddammit. Ain't you done?
Keep ridin' me.
I'm not riding you. If I was, you'd know
it. More where he came from.
Wardaddy tosses Bible the Knight's Cross -- Bible hangs it in
the turret --Where more German combat decorations hang like
You get some canned bacon for this?
He tosses Gordo the dead Officer's Luger. He inspects it.
For this? Yeah. A case or two.
Wardaddy lights a cigarette. Then scratches another notch in
his knife with his GI can opener. It's tense -- They are
behind German lines and acutely aware of the danger they're
in. But danger becomes routine. After years of it...
Coon-Ass smirks -- KNOWING he'll get a rise...
How come you didn't shoot that horse?
You love shooting horses so much.