Southern Comfort Page #6

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you're told. Let's go.

Jesus! This is bullshit.

That's just what I was thinking.

Do you always get out

of everything?

I don't see you raising your hand

to volunteer.

That's right.

I'm not gonna ride shotgun

with these dumbbells.

Four of them with automatic rifles

against some swamp rat.

I make it even money.

What are you doing, coach?

Shut up.

Whoah!

What in the hell...? Let's go.

Son of a b*tch!

You're under arrest.

Bowden, get the hell away

from that prisoner.

I told you to stay in our back.

- Mission accomplished, sergeant.

- Ah, bullshit!

You used your real bullets.

Just pissed them away.

- I didn't panic.

- Oh hell!

All right. Easy now.

We've got to interrogate him.

- Hey!

- Surrender.

Drop the knife.

You son of a b*tch.

I said drop the goddamn knife.

Son of a b*tch! You could have

busted his jaw.

- That's right.

- We want him to talk.

You almost knocked his mouth

down to his ass.

Jesus Christ, Simms.

We gotta interrogate the man.

How the hell's he going to talk to us

if you break his f***ing jaw?

- That's his f***ing problem.

- What the hell did you do that for?

That son of a b*tch shot

Sergeant Poole.

Oh f*** him. Come on, Lonnie.

Let's go see what's inside.

Can you talk?

Ma bouche.

Where's your buddies?

How many of them are there?

Mange-merde.

What the sh*t is that?

This Cajun got himself a couple

of mink this morning.

Goddamn!

This boy's a poacher.

We poached the poachers!

Hey, Lonnie!

Yeah, he shined his last gator.

What the hell's going on here,

Casper?

We got ourselves a prisoner.

Congratulations.

Think you guys have done

a wonderful job.

Hey, did you have to

cut his arm off too?

I'd say he uses dynamite to kill fish.

We got us a genuine outlaw.

Casper! All kinds of good sh*t

in here.

Simms, I don't want you

hitting him again.

You're the one that belted him?

Goddamn right.

What d'you want to go and

do that for?

I don't know.

Just got pissed.

What the hell, man? This army

bullshit is getting to you.

Beans, hominy, spinach.

Hell, this is better than C-rations.

Guns, knives, ammo, supplies.

We got it all right here.

I'd say we conducted ourselves

a pretty successful little raid.

We can pack this sh*t up later.

Let's get outside and

interrogate the prisoner.

Cribbs.

- Yeah.

- Tie up the prisoner.

How am I supposed to tie up a man

when he only has one arm

to do the tying?

Maybe we ought to try

talking to him first.

You speak English?

Does anybody here speak French?

Bowden?

Yeah.

Hey, what's wrong with you, coach?

Don't bother me.

Not now, not ever.

I'll give it a try. A couple of years of

parlez-vous in high school.

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