Southern Comfort Page #5

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but most of what I turn over is from

selling dope to high school kids.

You're goddamn lucky

I don't believe you.

No, it's true.

Some of my best customers

are at Fremont High

and they were ten and all this year.

Coach.

I don't have to listen to this bullshit.

- Hey, Lonnie.

- Huh.

When are we going to kick his boy's

ass all the way back to El Paso?

Soon as we get up

to the rendezvous

then we're going to come back for

these coon asses that got Poole.

Lonnie...

Do you think this whole thing

was my fault?

Don't worry about it.

It's done.

Hey!

How can you guys play cards

with Sergeant Poole lying dead

over there?

You got another idea about

what we should be doing?

Just don't seem right.

Poole doesn't care - he's dead.

I don't know what the hell any of us

can do about it

so why not play cards?

Just don't seem right.

- It's up this way.

- Where?

- Over there.

- OK, come on, keep moving.

Hey, Spencer, what about

Company Command?

They should be wondering about us,

don't you think?

No, not yet.

We've been out of contact

for 12 hours.

He's right. They should be looking

for us by now.

No way. It's National Guard,

remember?

We were supposed to meet

the trucks 20 minutes ago.

Another hour and a half

the trucks will actually show up.

Two o'clock they'll start asking

around if anyone's seen us.

At three they'll start checking

the bars.

By four they'll really get steamed.

By five it'll occur to someone

that maybe we got lost.

At six the captain will consider

calling Battalion.

At seven-thirty he will.

Battalion will tell him it's too late -

there's nothing anyone can do

till morning.

There's the cabin.

It's him, that son of a b*tch.

Where's the others?

There's more of them.

As far as I can tell he's alone.

- We'll capture him.

- What for? I can get him from here.

Look, Reece,

this is Louisiana National Guard,

not the goddamn vigilantes.

Let's move our asses.

Come on, let's go.

All right, look.

Here's the programme.

We found one of the Cajuns

that shot Poole.

We're gonna capture him.

He's up about 250 metres up ahead.

You sure he's one of them?

Of course we're sure.

What the hell do you think?

Why don't you try talking to him

before you start blowing

his head off?

Simms, Reece, Stuckey and I

are the advance unit.

The initial action's

gotta be decisive.

- Surprise is the key.

- Hey, Casper.

- Did you hear what I said?

- I heard you.

We'll talk to him after

we've captured him.

The rest of you guys are

rear element,

you stay 100 metres back

and keep down.

We'll marry up after the objective's

sealed off. Let's go.

Wait. I'll volunteer for

the advance party.

Forget it. Just do what the hell

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