Under Fire

Can I get a ride?

Okay.

Hey, Pricey!

You tuna-sucking piece of raw meat,

get your ass over here.

Come on. Move over. Sit down here.

- How you doin'?

- Good.

Good to see you.

What the hell you going to Zambezi for?

I thought I'd get some great shots

of your head being blown to smithereens.

Smithereens.

Thought you were fighting

for the government.

I am. This is the government.

These are the rebels.

The f*ck they are, man.

This is a government convoy to Calunda.

This is the Abou Deian

Revolutionary Front.

You're shitting me.

They'd be pissed off if they knew.

This is the dumbest motherfucker

I ever signed up for, man.

It don't even pay shit.

Nicaragua. That's the spot.

Cheap shrimp, lot of rays.

It's real thin in the spook department, too.

You dig me?

Price, you don't know

what you're doing up there!

But you better get

your ass down here, buddy!

Come on, man, get down here!

You're gonna get ripped to shit!

Oates, what the hell is this?

The U.S. government offers that house

to any Cuban pilot flying MIGs for the rebels

who chooses to defect to America

with a Russian jet.

But that's bullshit.

Yeah, we know that, but they don't.

See, they figure the Cubies are gonna go

straight for that swimming pool,

so they don't let 'em

anywhere near the Russian jets.

The rebels can't fly MIGs.

Pricey, that's the point.

They destroy their own air force.

I mean, it's an old scam,

but it's guaran-fuckin'-teed.

Who is this? C.I.A?

Yeah. The smartest guys in the world.

I guess we found out

where the government is.

Yeah.

You can walk to work from here.

What a break.

- I guess I'll get going. Take care.

- Yeah.

Be careful.

I love Africa.

"And so this strange war

grinds into its seventh year.

"From N'djamena, Chad,

this is Claire Sheridan."

No, no, you didn't hear any music.

It must be the connection.

Okay. Yes, yes, yes. Goodbye.

Alex, don't play that goddamn thing

when I'm filing. We're late.

It's my party. We'll be late.

You called it a strange war

in an endless story.

You know, if you filed that story with me,

I would say you were editorializing.

Well, I like to editorialize.

You drunk?

Drunk?

Only with the memory of making love

to you on the plains of Fianga,

with the First Liberation Army

marching by and opening fire.

- And freed the proletariat?

- And freed.

I love you.

I'm going to the party without you.

I don't want to go to this stupid party.

I'm bad at false modesty.

- Come on, you're great at it.

- You're right. I am.

Alex, you're gonna make

a great anchorman in New York.

And undoubtedly I can win an Emmy

as a hostess, but I'm not going with you.

You could operate out of New York.

We could buy a place on Long Island,

burn our suitcases.

I still like suitcases.

I'm tired of memorizing who the President

of the Republic of Maldives is.

You tired of Third World wars?

No, I'm tired of Third World elevators.

Look... Wait.

Don't leave me.

I have to, Alex.

Oh, f*ck Abou Deia and New York.

- I'm going to Nicaragua with you.

- No!

I hear it's a neat little war

and a nice hotel.

Hey!

Alex! Alex!

Come on! Yeah!

All right, I want you to know.

This is the man that hired me

for my first job.

And fired you from your first job.

And then hired me for my second job.

Some of you...

Some of you may be asking yourself,

"What am I doing here

in this strange war?

"Another chapter in an endless struggle

"that's grinding into its seventh year."

But who of us can forget the giant struggle

on the plains of Fianga?

The give and take, the lunging,

the parrying for position,

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