Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Destination: the island of Saipan,
Give it a rest? I keep tryin', but...
Shave his belly with a rusty razor
Corpsman!
who, if I'm understanding these orders correctly,
Dear Joe, how the hell are you?
Not that you'd ever admit it, but if it starts aching, take a couple of those.
A priest?
In code. Private Whitehorse.
We're losing men.
The last defensible ridge on this island.
Smoke 'em up!
Take a look.
I'm a good fuckin' marine.
- Corporal Enders reporting, sir. - At ease.
I found a stray dog the other day on Waikiki.
Thinkin' about teaching.
Now you get some sack time. That's an order.
- Deal 'em up, deal 'em up. - You know, we don't take wampum here.
Up 50. Fire for effect.
Yeah! Kill me some Japs!
You're blocking my view.
- Why not? - OK.
Really.
Corpsman!
I can't find Ox or Whitehorse.
All right.
If you ever tell a story about him, George...
Pappas.
You know, when this is over, maybe you should come out to Navajo country.
I guess somewhere along the way I must have switched units.
Oh, no! No!
Tortoise. Good.
Jesus Christ! We're in the middle of a goddamn minefield!
That's it.
Yeah. You've been saving a lot of marines.
It's funny. Fathers didn't like us talking Navajo at Mass.
What'd you say your name was again, Private?
And then I'm goin' back to the motherland.
If one of you got caught, talked, the code would be useless.
I thought that he might read 'em when I get home.
I can't perform my duty!
It's oil.
Make that two.
Good.
Because your buddy smeared ash on your forehead?
But what it really comes down to is speed and accuracy under pressure.
Tear him open.
That codetalker is out front for a reason.
Putting on that Jap uniform. Trying to get one of their radios, call off our guns.
Nell, you'll give yourself an ulcer, you keep worrying about her.