Behind Enemy Lines II: Axis of Evil Page #4

I don't call him that, but I've known him

since, like, the second grade.

- Hey, hey! What did he just say?

- I'm sorry.

It's okay, kid.

Hey, you scared?

Don't lie to me.

I don't know.

Maybe... Maybe a little.

Damn straight you're scared.

Who wouldn't be?

- Yeah.

- Yeah.

Stick with me, kid.

I'm immortal.

Go. Go.

Yeah. A P.V.C. 77 SATCOM.

That's you, schoolboy.

- Give it to Ballantine.

- I got it.

Okay, gentleman,

time to give up the personal sh*t.

Throw in the jewels. Let's go, boys.

Be careful with that. That's my wife.

I want these back.

What are those, son?

I said, what are those, Ensign?

- Silver wings, Master Chief!

- Bullshit!

Army lead wings, son.

You get 'em inside CrackerJacks.

- Where'd you get 'em, son?

- Ort Benning, Master Chief.

Ort Benning, Georgia.

The army's version of 48 hours

of intensive training...

crammed into 21 days.

Making p*ssy...ass static...line jumps

out of an Army C...141...

and landing on firm ground.

My one...year...old, Scott Jr.,

can do that.

- You see these?

- Yes, Master Chief.

Navy gold wings, son.

Get those out of my sight. I will teach you

to drop like a Navy SEAL...

from heights where there's

no air to breathe...

into water so cold

you'll wish you was dead.

You will drop at night

with N.V.G.'s...

fall five minutes

before you pull your cord.

And if you manage

to stay alive through all that...

we'll see about getting you

a pair of these.

Is that clear?

Hoo...ya, Master Chief!

I don't know why you

always bring these, sir.

You just make sure

I get 'em back.

Yes, sir.

Check your "O" rings.

How you doin' there, Shultiess?

Good, sir.

Sir, it says here that the Koreans,

uh, believe in shamans.

Sometimes he appears as an old man.

Sometimes as a tiger.

- Sometimes as a leopard.

- Everything's gonna be all right.

Y...Uh...

It's just, uh...

I was glad to read

about those shamans, you know?

I don't want to die

in a godless land, sir. That's all.

Hey.

Nobody's dying from my stick.

You copy that, sailor?

Yes, sir.

Makes me look bad.

- Pressurize in six.

- Pressurize in six.

Six minutes. Six. Six to go.

On deck. Six minutes.

- Sir, we're ready for the bounce.

- Okay.

Two minutes.

- All right, listen up.

- What is your problem?

I'm throwing up.

I hate jumping out of airplanes.

- Swallow it.

- I am.

"Pencil...dick" engineers

designed this aircraft...

to carry p*ssy...ass businessmen

from Omaha to St. Louis.

If they see you chuckin',

they're gonna red tag you.

We may find it useful to jump out of

a commercial piece of sh*t such as this.

What I don't get is why you go Navy SEALs

when you hate jumping out of airplanes.

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