Exploring the Hills: The Making of 'The Hills Have Eyes 2' Page #3

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Do you like f***ing with me, Napoleon?

I think you do.

You know what?

You're officially in charge

of guarding the latrine. . .

. . . not using it, but guarding it.

I want you to stand on one leg and

hold your rifle over your f***ing head. . .

. . . and make sure that no one

steals or molests that Port-a-Potty.

Or I will have your Gomer Pyle

ass court-martialed immediately.

Do you understand what I am saying

to you? Do you understand me!?

Yeah, I'll go.

I just think that it's a bad idea.

- Go and guard that f***ing latrine, now!

- Sir, yes, sir!

- Live ammo or blanks?

- One live mag each weapon. It's heavier.

Flashlights and hydration packs, too. The

more weight, the better for you clowns.

You're halfway through your training and

you look like a bunch of raw recruits.

You're a disgrace

to the U.S. National Guard. . .

. . . and wouldn't last five minutes

in combat!

One leg, Gomer Pyle!

The rest of you. . .

. . . get your asses up that hill and wipe

those silly smiles off your faces, now!

Let's move!

One leg, Pyle! One leg.

You're so bad.

- Company halt! Johnson!

- Sir?

You stay here.

Spitter's coming with us. Get on the

main radio and try to raise somebody.

If you can get through to a medvac,

the guy'll have a hell of a better chance.

Now move.

Yes, Sarge.

Don't forget to write.

Get going! Turn around!

One leg!

- When I grew up my momma said

- When I grew up my momma said

If I wasn 't in the Army then I'd be dead

If I wasn 't in the Army then I'd be dead

I told her "Look at me now, Mom"

I told her "Look at me now, Mom

That's what happens

when you miss the prom"

One leg, Gomer Pyle!

Mayday, mayday. This is

the National Guard Yankee Five Niner. . .

. . . calling the Yuma Flats Base

requesting a medvac, over.

Hello?

Sh*t.

Mayday, mayday. This is the

National Guard Yankee Five Niner. . .

. . . calling the Yuma Flats Base

requesting a medvac, over.

What the hell are scientists doing

way the hell out here?

There's nothing but rocks

and rattlesnakes.

Army business, dumbass.

And definitely none of your business.

- But, Sarge, I am in the army.

- Which gives you the right. . .

- . . . To shut the f*** up.

- Okay, I'll just shut the f*** up then.

How many people

are supposed to be here?

I have no idea.

Maybe we can ask him up there.

What are we supposed to do

when we find this dude?

That depends on how bad he is. We wait

for a medvac or hump him down by hand.

I know I'm not supposed to talk,

Sarge, but I hope he--

- Sh*t, man!

- Help!

I got you!

Come on. Pull him up.

I got you, Mickey!

Oh, sh*t!

Hello.

- Sh*t.

- You saved my life, Sarge.

Yeah, well, nobody's perfect.

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