Saving Private Ryan

COLONEL ANDERSON: Good luck, John.

MILLER: Thank you, sir.

COLONEL ANDERSON: Alright, I'll give you that. Continue.

MILLER: The numbers don't make sense, sir. His brothers are dead, that's too bad, but they're out of the equation. Sending men up there is bleeding heart crapola from three thousand miles away. One private is simply not worth a squad. Colonel anderson This one is. He's worth a lot more than that. Which is why I'm sending you, you're the best field officer there is.

MILLER: They didn't want to give up those one-fifty-fives, sir.

COLONEL ANDERSON: It was a hard assignment, that's why you got it.

MILLER: Yes, sir.

COLONEL ANDERSON: Where are your men now?

MILLER: Pinned down, a mile east of here, waiting for some help from the navy guns.

COLONEL ANDERSON: I'm sending Simpson to take over for you, the division is going to Caen, you're not coming with us, I have something else for you.

MILLER: Sir?

COLONEL ANDERSON: There's a Private James Ryan who parachuted in with the Hundred-and- First near Ramelle. I want you to take a squad up there. If he's alive, bring him back to the beach for debarkation. Take whoever you need, you've got your pick of the company.

MILLER: A private, sir?

COLONEL ANDERSON: He's the last of four brothers, the other three were killed in action. This is straight from the Chief of Staff.

MILLER: But, sir...I...I...

COLONEL ANDERSON: Spit it out, Captain.

MILLER: Respectfully, sir, sending men all the way up to Ramelle to save one private doesn't make a fucking, goddamned bit of sense. Sir.

COLONEL ANDERSON: Report.

MILLER: Sector four is secured, we put out the last three German one-fifty-fives, found them about two miles in from Ponte du Hoc.

COLONEL ANDERSON: Resistance?

MILLER: A company, Wehrmacht, no artillery, we took twenty-three prisoners, turned them over to intelligence.

COLONEL ANDERSON: Casualties?

MILLER: Fourty-four, twenty one dead.

MILLER: Find a chaplain.

COLONEL ANDERSON: ...alright, let me know when.

UPHAM: Did you see what he did, back there? He stepped right into the open, so I could get across.

JACKSON: Shit, that was no big deal.

UPHAM: That must be four thousand yards.

JACKSON: Forty-two-hundred, I figure.

UPHAM: You take account of the wind?

JACKSON: Thirty-ought-six, Norton long-barrel with dual-groove, parallel rifling, elevated three-glass scope and a single-throw hammer.

UPHAM: The Army gave you that?

JACKSON: Yep.

UPHAM: You must be a hell a shot.

JACKSON: Not where I come from.

JACKSON: I'm Jackson. I'm from West Fork, Tennessee. My pappy's a preacher. Him and his two brothers got a ministry, The Blessed Church of the Wandering Gospel.

UPHAM: In West Fork?

JACKSON: In the back of a nineteen and thirty- one stretch Hudson with a big ole' trailer.

UPHAM: No kidding.

JACKSON: I don't make jokes about things of, or related to, the preaching of the Holy Gospel, including the ministerial calling of my family.

UPHAM: So they travel around from place to place and preach?

JACKSON: We got us a tent, forty-two feet across, eighteen feet at center, hundred-and-ten foldin' chairs. Circuit's eleven towns, covers all 'a Hasset County and most 'a Weller County. I expect that upon completion of my military service I will be joinin' said ministry.

UPHAM: What about the Captain? Where's he from?

UPHAM: So, where are you from?

JACKSON: You writin' a book or somethin'?

UPHAM: As a matter of fact, I am.

JACKSON: Figured.

JACKSON: Me? I'm walking with my hound, Lucy, it's about an hour 'fore sunrise and we're out huntin' coon. I got me a flask of pure Kentucky mash whiskey...

REIBEN: Jackson, how many times I got to tell you, you're from Tennessee.

JACKSON: I am, but I like imported whiskey. So there I am and I hear the biggest ole' coon you ever did hear, 'a rustlin' right there in front of me. That ole' boy comes right out of the brush, I got a clear shot and he knows he's 'bout to meet his maker. I aim, I got my finger tight on the trigger and then I just smile and say to that ole' coon, go on, now, you get out 'a here. Then I sit down on a hollow log and take me a right long pull a' that mash whiskey.

JACKSON: No kiddin'?

REIBEN: What deal?

REIBEN: Well, I'll be goddamned, I knew it.

JACKSON: Like hell, you did.

JACKSON: He ain't Wade.

REIBEN: Nope, he ain't Wade.

JACKSON: He ain't half-bad, I guess.

REIBEN: I guess.

REIBEN: What do you think?

JACKSON: I think I'm we got that eighty-eight.

REIBEN: I mean, Ryan, what do you think of him?

REIBEN: Y'all come back.

JACKSON: Reiben, are you makin' fun 'a the way I talk?

REIBEN: Hell, no!

JACKSON: Yes, sir.

REIBEN: Of course, sir.

REIBEN: He's right, we can't shoot him...well, we could but we'd get in an enormous amount of trouble. And he's right about the bridge, it's a hell of a lot more important than he is.

JACKSON: Cap'n...?

JACKSON: So, that's Ryan.

REIBEN: Looks like a flaming asshole to me.

REIBEN: You know what the best possible thing that could happen is?

JACKSON: Yep, you step on a rusty nail, get lockjaw, never say another word as long as you live.

REIBEN: Fuck Private James Ryan, fuck him, just fuck the goddamned son-of-a- bitch.

JACKSON: Shut up, will you?

REIBEN: You shut up, this is the most fucked up mission I ever heard of. Goddamned Ryan, fuck the little bastard.

JACKSON: Just shut up, Ryan didn't kill Wade.

REIBEN: The hell he didn't.

JACKSON: Last I knew.

REIBEN: Wade, Sarge, Corporal Insect, all of us, hell, I'll bet even the Captain has a mother.

JACKSON: Reiben, how many time I got to tell you, I'm from Tennessee.

REIBEN: They got squirrels there, too, right?

REIBEN: If we find Ryan and he's still alive, that son-of-a-bitch is gonna carry this goddamned B.A.R. back to the beach for me.

JACKSON: Army life is too dang easy, my feet have gone soft. Back home, we go out squirrel huntin', I walk forever and a day and then some, don't even raise a blister.

REIBEN: You know what a B.A.R. weighs? Nineteen and a half pounds, not counting ammo. And you think these things are comfortable? They may look good but they weigh twelve pounds each, that's thirty-six pounds, right there.

REIBEN: No one's gonna win the money for the simple reason that the Captain never was a civilian. They assembled him at O.C.S. out of spare body parts from dead G.I.'s. I know this for a fact.

JACKSON: You got somethin' against the Cap'n?

REIBEN: Hell, no. I think he's the best officer in the whole goddamned army, bar none.

REIBEN: Jackson?

JACKSON: Hell, no, last time I shot a corporal, Cap'n Miller near bit my head off.

MILLER: I'm in my backyard, lying in my hammock, with my arm around my wife, listening for the sound of breaking glass.

JACKSON: Say what, Cap'n?

MILLER: You see, I've got the best house in all of Addley. It's not the biggest house, but it's got the best location, right next to the junior high baseball field. The garage windows face left field. The guy who owned the house before me had these heavy screen S put over them. The first thing I did when I bought the place was take off those screens. Two-hundred-twenty- two yards from home plate to my garage windows. It takes a hell of a junior high kid to hit a ball that far. I look at my garage windows as a Motivator and a way to scout the kids coming up, the ones who are going to give us a shot at the state championship. I lay there in my hammock and every time I hear the sound of breaking glass, I know we're one step closer to winning it all.

JACKSON: Don't that get kind of expensive, Cap'n?

MILLER: It's worth it.

JACKSON: To each, his own.

JACKSON: Not yet.

MILLER: Keep trying.

JACKSON: Sir, I understand what you're doin', but I respectfully request permission to grieve in my own manner.

MILLER: You'll grieve the way I tell you to goddamned grieve. There is no Wade, there was one, but he died a long time ago, he's been dead for so long you can hardly remember his name, you understand?

JACKSON: Sir, I understand. I don't like it, but I understand.

MILLER: Good, now get your goddamned gear.

MILLER: What the hell's the matter with you, Jackson?

JACKSON: Sir, I ain't feeling so chipper on account of Wade.

MILLER: Who's Wade?

JACKSON: Watching.

MILLER: Gives Wade the second shot.

JACKSON: We left them eighty-eights.

MILLER: They don't send planes to put out machine guns. Two flank runners with surpressing fire. I'm going right, whoever goes left has to be fast.

MILLER: Where?

JACKSON: In the shadow by those two trees.

MILLER: My guess, too.

MILLER: Reiben, I want you to listen closely to Jackson. This is the way to gripe. Jackson, continue.

JACKSON: Yes, sir. It seems to me, sir, that the entire resources of the United States Army oughta be dedicated to one thing and one thing only, and that is to put me and this here weapon on a rooftop, smack-dab in the middle of Berlin, Germany. Now I ain't one to question decisions made up on high, sir, but it seems to me that saving one private, no matter how grievous the losses of his family, is a waste of my God-given talent.

MILLER: Wade?

JACKSON: Sir, I have an opinion on this matter.

MILLER: I'd love to hear it.

JACKSON: Seems to me, Cap'n, this mission is a serious misallocation of valuable military resources. Miller Go on.

JACKSON: Captain, my feet are most uncomfortable. If I'd 'a known we was gonna have to walk all the way to Ramelle, I never would 'a volunteered for this here mission.

MILLER: You didn't volunteer, Jackson.

JACKSON: I most likely would have, sir, had I been given the opportunity.

MILLER: A paratrooper named Ryan. He's going home, if he's alive.

SUPPLY SERGEANT: Senator's son?

MILLER: No, three brothers of his were killed in action. Command wants him out of there.

MILLER: How about that jeep?

SUPPLY SERGEANT: That's General Gavin's. His lap dog told me if anyone breathes on it, I'll get busted and if anyone so much as touches it with their little finger, I'll get court marshaled. If you were to take it, they'd shoot me.

SUPPLY SERGEANT: Sorry, sir, fresh out of trucks, how 'bout a '38 Ford Roadster, hard-top, red with black interior.

MILLER: White-walls?

SUPPLY SERGEANT: No white-walls, sir, there's a war on. NOT THERE, YOU GODDAMNED IDIOT, OVER THERE! I can't help you, sir.

MILLER: A half-track, anything.

SUPPLY SERGEANT: Sorry, sir. Division is using everything on wheels to get up to Caen. How come you guys aren't going?

UPHAM: Captain, what about our deal?

MILLER: I changed my mind.

UPHAM: What'd you say, Captain?

MILLER: I teach English at Addley High School in Addley, Pennsylvania.

MILLER: Upham, you've got to learn the difference between whining and griping. You can't just rely on natural ability, you've got to study and practice.

UPHAM: But, sir...

MILLER: There you go again, that's whining, that's not okay.

UPHAM: Goddamn it, sir...

MILLER: That's better, but you've still got a long way to go. Talk to Reiben, he's a natural and works at it, he'll give you some pointers.

UPHAM: What about our grenades?

MILLER: Those are Tigers, they have six-inch armor, they don't even notice grenades.

UPHAM: Would they notice and eighty-eight?

MILLER: Sure, you got one?

UPHAM: The Germans do.

UPHAM: I can tell what the gunners had for dinner.

MILLER: Those guns are close.

UPHAM: I'd like to stay, too, Captain.

MILLER: You don't count.

UPHAM: I wonder where they're going.

MILLER: Same place we are.

UPHAM: Good luck, Captain.

MILLER: Don't need it, I'm a cat, I've got five lives.

UPHAM: The men said, nine.

MILLER: What do they know? I had nine, but I feel through the ice when I was seven, my brother pulled me out. Then I used one when a grenade landed in my foxhole in Sicily, it was a dud. I figure one on the beaches, one on the cliffs and two getting here.

UPHAM: That only leaves three.

MILLER: Plenty.

UPHAM: What is it?

MILLER: A machine gun.

UPHAM: No, but he heard firing, just east, less that a kilometer.

MILLER: Thank him and tell him we're sorry about his loss.

UPHAM: Five nights ago, he found this paratrooper caught in a tree with a broken leg. The leg got infected. Last night he went to Ville Cholet to get a doctor. The doctor refused to come and when he got back, this is what he found. The Krauts must have shown up while he was gone.

MILLER: Did he see any sign of them?

UPHAM: Over three-hundred.

MILLER: I'll tell you what, if I'm still alive when it hits five-hundred, I'll let you know and we'll split the money.

UPHAM: If that's the way you feel, why don't we wait until it's up to a thousand.

MILLER: I don't expect to live that long.

MILLER: It looks like a Renoir.

UPHAM: Yes. Do you know Sibelius' Fourth Symphony, The Normandy?

MILLER: I've been humming it.

UPHAM: I heard.

MILLER: It seemed appropriate.

UPHAM: You know classical music?

MILLER: Some.

UPHAM: Where are you from, Captain?

UPHAM: I wasn't made for this.

MILLER: You think the rest of us were?

MILLER: Upham?

UPHAM: Pass.

MILLER: Sarge?

UPHAM: Sir, I'm sorry about what happened, I...

MILLER: It was nothing.

UPHAM: But you could have gotten killed and I...

MILLER: Like I said, it was nothing. Don't bunch up.

MILLER: Glad of it.

UPHAM: On the other side of the street, crouches in a doorway with Jackson. Upham is a bit in shock, less from the nearness of the bullets than from what Miller just did for him.

MILLER: DASHES across the street.

UPHAM: You can tell all that, just by the sound, sire?

MILLER: That's not all. There were nine gunners on the eighty-eights, one had a broken heel on his boot, two had bratwurst for supper last night, one of them is named Fritz, the other, Hans, maybe, I don't know, it's hard to tell.

UPHAM: I know about bracketing. I read about it. The next one is going to land right on us.

MILLER: FORWARD! FORWARD! NOW REVERSE!

MILLER: Reiben, I don't know what I'd do without you. Sarge, keep Ryan close to you and alive.

SARGE: Yes, sir.

SARGE: Uh, oh.

MILLER: Out of the mouth of babes.

SARGE: What do you think?

MILLER: Well, if we had ten times the men and a lot more ammo, we might stand a chance, but not against those tanks.

SARGE: What are we going to do?

MILLER: We're going to hope like hell the tanks were on their way somewhere else.

MILLER: Sarge, see what you can do to make those buildings inhospitable.

SARGE: Yes, sir.

MILLER: Thanks for drawing that machine gun off me.

SARGE: You're welcome, John.

MILLER: But, that's my personal brand of stupidity, I feel kind of proprietary about it, if you do it again, you're busted.

MILLER: You know Wade was the eleventh of the twelve, you're the last one still alive.

SARGE: I know.

MILLER: Don't let yourself get killed, if you do, they might make me give back the medal and then I won't be able to lip off to colonels anymore.

SARGE: I'll do my best.

MILLER: No, but if I get any worse, you'll have to relieve me.

SARGE: Just what I want to do.

MILLER: What was the name of that kid at Anzio, the one who got his face burned off?

SARGE: Vecchio.

MILLER: Yeah, Vecchio, I couldn't remember his name, he was a good kid, remember how he used to walk on his hands and sing that song about the man on flying trapeze?

SARGE: Yeah.

MILLER: You know why I'm such a good officer? Because of my mother. Have I ever told you about her?

SARGE: Bits and pieces.

MILLER: She's the best poker player you ever saw. My father used to go to these Saturday night games and lose his shirt. Finally, my mother gave him an ultimatum, either she gets a regular seat at the table or she locks him in every Saturday night. He squawked and so did his buddies but after a while they gave in and from the first night she sat down, she never lost. She could read those cocky bastards like they were playing open hands. And he bluffs? He had sixteen levels of bullshit. Her eyes, the tone of her voice, her bets, her jokes, the way she sipped her coffee, she was a master. She won more money on shit hands than anyone in the history of the game. Every Saturday night, my father would lose two, three hundred bucks and she'd win it all back and then some. And I'd stand there, glued to her shoulder, from the time I was five years old, watching every hand, every move, studying how she did it. That's why I'm such a good officer, I can look at a man's face and tell you exactly what he's holding, and if it's a shit hand, I know just what cards to deal him.

SARGE: And what about your own hand?

MILLER: No problem. A pair of deuces? Less? So what? I bluff. It used to tear me apart when I'd get one of my men killed, but what was I supposed to do? Break down in front of the ones who were standing there waiting for me to tell them what to do? Of course not, so I bluffed, and after a while, I started to fall for my own bluff. It was great, it made everything so much easier. Sarge Is that why your hand's been shaking?

MILLER: It could be worse. You know the first thing they teach you at O.C.S.? Lie to your men.

SARGE: Oh, yeah?

MILLER: Not in so many words, but they tell you you can have all the firepower in the world and if your men don't have good morale, it's not worth a damn. So if you're scared or empty or half-a-step from a Section Eight, do you tell your men? Of course not. You bluff, you lie.

SARGE: And how do you bluff yourself?

MILLER: Simple, numbers. Every time you kill one of your men, you tell yourself you just saved the lives of two, three, ten, a hundred others. We lost, what, thirty-one on the cliffs? I'll bet we saved ten times that number by putting out those guns. That's over three hundred men. Maybe five hundred. A thousand. Then thousand. Any number you want. See? It's simple. It lets you always choose mission over men.

SARGE: Except this time, the mission IS a man.

MILLER: That's the rub. I liked Wade. Who's Ryan? If they're both standing in front of me and I have to shoot one or the other, how do I choose? Look at my hand, there it goes again.

SARGE: John, I've got to tell you, I think you're about used up.

MILLER: I think you're right, Keith.

SARGE: You want me to take over?

SARGE: You alright?

MILLER: Let's just find someplace.

MILLER: SHOVES THE NEEDLE into Wade's neck. Thick vein. Pumps the morphine straight to Wade's brain. Motions impatiently to Sarge.

MILLER: More morphine, hurry up, come on, come on...

SARGE: Hesitates. Then drops his sulfa. Fumbles in his pack. Finds the morphine.

MILLER: Snatches the morphine from Sarge. Quickly and efficiently prepares a second shot. He's done this before.

SARGE: Pulls Wade's hands from the wound. Pours sulfa powder.

MILLER: About to pour his sulfa. Sees the wound. Stops. Knows it's fatal.

SARGE: HOLD YOUR FIRE!

MILLER: Rolls to his feet. FIRE another BURST. KILLS the last of the German riflemen. Doesn't pause. RUNS onto the field.

SARGE: How about...?

MILLER: How about you shut up and take your position?

MILLER: Yeah? What rule of thumb is that?

SARGE: How about I go right, sir?

MILLER: How about you take your position?

MILLER: A couple of weeks. It started in Portsmouth when they brought us down for loading.

SARGE: Is it getting worse?

MILLER: No. It comes and goes. It stops when I look at it.

SARGE: You may have to find yourself a new line of work, this one doesn't seem to agree with you anymore.

MILLER: I'll be alright.

SARGE: Makes you feel small, doesn't it?

MILLER: It doesn't take this.

SARGE: I hope this boy Ryan is worth it.

MILLER: Now you're the one kidding yourself. Hell of a mission.

SARGE: Yup, hell of a mission.

MILLER: They guys here aren't going to be able to hold out until battalion shows up.

SARGE: Nope.

MILLER: Command isn't going to let them withdraw and the Germans sure as hell aren't going to let them surrender.

SARGE: Three for three.

MILLER: If we stayed, we could make a difference.

SARGE: You're kidding yourself.

MILLER: You never know.

SARGE: You think they'll be alright?

MILLER: They're fine. As long as they can gripe, they'll be alright.

SARGE: And what about you?

SARGE: You ever going to open those letters? Miller keeps his eyes on the maps.

MILLER: Maybe.

SARGE: It's not normal, not reading letters from home.

MILLER: Since when have things been normal?

SARGE: You got me. Afraid of bad news?

MILLER: Nope.

SARGE: Good news?

SARGE: He's right, Captain, it might be kind of dangerous for those flyboys.

MILLER: Tell that to Private James Ryan. We've got our orders. Let's go.

SARGE: Got it, sir. We gonna go take care of those eighty-eights?

MILLER: That's not what we're here for.

SARGE: Uh, Captain...

MILLER: PUSH!

SARGE: Uh, Captain...

MILLER: A fucking mess, two maybe three Kraut divisions, no fronts, no lines, the drops were completely fouled up, we've got little pockets of paratroopers all over the place, trying to hang on. Command says we hold St. Mere, but north of that, it's all Krauts. Even if Ryan's where he's supposed to be, he's more than likely dead.

SARGE: Hell of a mission.

MILLER: Yep, hell of a mission.

MILLER: Now we've got a straight shot, due north, to Ramelle, twenty-six miles, two villages between here and there, St. Mere, then Bernay. We'll take the jeep as far as we can, then go on on foot.

SARGE: We in radio contact with anybody up there?

MILLER: Somebody put the wrong crystals in every one of the Hundred-and-First's radios the night before the drop, not one of them works. We're going in blind.

SARGE: You get a translator, Captain?

MILLER: I've got a line on one.

SARGE: Caen?

MILLER: I wish. You and I are taking a squad up to Ramelle on a public relations mission.

SARGE: You? Leading a squad?

MILLER: Some private up there lost three brothers, got a ticket home.

SARGE: What about the company?

MILLER: Simpson.

SARGE: Simpson? Jesus Christ on a fucking pogo stick!

MILLER: I want Reiben on B.A.R; Jackson with his sniper rifle; Beasley, demolition.

SARGE: Beasley's dead.

MILLER: Okay, Wade. Translators?

SARGE: Fresh out.

MILLER: What about Talbot?

SARGE: Twenty minutes ago. Miller Damn, I'll go see if I can find another one. You get Reiben, Jackson and Wade, meet me at transport.

MILLER: Worked, didn't it?

SARGE: You tryin' to get yourself killed?

MILLER: Don't need to, the Krauts go that covered.

SARGE: CAPTAIN, IF YOUR MOTHER SAW YOU DO THAT, SHE'D BE VERY UPSET!

MILLER: I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY MOTHER.

MILLER: GO!

SARGE: Rolls his eyes, takes a breath. Scrambles into the gap. The other five right behind.

MILLER: Goddamn it!

REIBEN: More tanks... Ryan Lot's of them The fear on their faces turns to resignation. They know that they are dead men. They settle into their positions, and prepare to fire and die.

REIBEN: Continues FIRING. CUTTING DOWN the advancing Germans.

MILLER: Knows what that means. He hears the RUMBLE OF THE TANKS.

MILLER: Hears the FAINT DISTANT RUMBLE OF THE TANK. Barely has time to react. Sees:

MILLER: Here they come.

REIBEN: FIRES a burst. Germans drops.

MILLER: FIRES a burst. More Germans drop.

MILLER: I wonder if his cabin is still available?

REIBEN: That's not where I am. Miller No? Where are you?

REIBEN: What deal?

MILLER: I coach the baseball team, too.

REIBEN: Goddamn it...Goddamn it...Goddamn it...

MILLER: Get back to your positions!

MILLER: Cocks his Thompson. Settles down behind some sandbags.

MILLER: HERE THEY COME!

REIBEN: OPENS UP with the MACHINE GUN.

REIBEN: Leave him to me, Captain, I'll have him pissing and moaning with the best of us.

MILLER: See to it.

REIBEN: Maybe Caen.

MILLER: Let's hope, because we're sure as hell not going to do any damage to them with what we have here.

REIBEN: Yes, sir, of course, sir, I was merely speaking hypothetically. IF this was a voting situation, then the vote would have been unanimous. But of course, it's not a voting situation, you're the captain, and you give the orders, sir.

MILLER: You're goddamned right, I give the order. Vote! Jesus Christ! Listen to me, you little pissant pieces of shit, I am the ranking officer here and what I say goes, is that clear?

MILLER: I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA. HERE WE COME. Cover me.

REIBEN: What if our guys open up, sir?

MILLER: You're only allowed to shoot at Germans, that's one of the rules.

REIBEN: Have it your way, Captain.

REIBEN: Looks like they've been having a hell of a party, here, Captain.

MILLER: ON THE BRIDGE! WE'RE COMING IN.

MILLER: Scans the Germans with his binoculars.

REIBEN: Looks like tea time, maybe they're Brits.

REIBEN: I've given this a lot of thought, sir. The best thing that could happen is, we find Ryan and he's dead.

MILLER: Why's that?

REIBEN: Well, sir, consider the possibilities. A: Ryan is alive. We have to take him back to the beach. Knowing you, you don't let him carry my gear, even though he really should, and we all get killed, trying to keep him alive.

MILLER: Except for the last part, that one's not bad.

REIBEN: B: Ryan is dead. He's been blown up by the German equivalent of Wade, whose name I know you don't want me to mention. There's nothing to find. The biggest piece is the size of a pea. We wander around, looking for him until the Germans pick us off, one after another.

MILLER: I don't like that one.

REIBEN: Neither do I, sir. C: And this is the worst one, we find Ryan and he's wounded. Not only does he not carry my gear, we have to carry his gear. And him.

MILLER: But we accomplish the mission.

REIBEN: Maybe. But what if he dies on the way back? you see what I'm saying, sir? The best possible situation is, he's dead, we find his body, more or less intact, we grab one of his dog-tags and high-tail it back to the beach, or better yet, we head over to Caen and catch up with division.

MILLER: Has anyone ever told you, you're officer material?

REIBEN: No, sir.

MILLER: That's a mystery to me.

MILLER: Up. We're moving out.

REIBEN: I thought you said we had an hour, sir?

MILLER: Well now I'm saying we're moving out. Get off your ass.

REIBEN: Goddamn it...Goddamn it...Goddamn it...

MILLER: Is silent. Motionless. He gently closes Wade's eyes. His hand quivers slightly as he unclips one of Wades dogtags. He fumbles and drops it. Sarge notices.

REIBEN: Sir, I've got an idea, let's go around.

MILLER: We can't leave it here.

MILLER: Any further thoughts on the subject?

REIBEN: Yes, sir, as a final note, I'd like to say, fuck our orders, fuck Ramelle, fuck the cheese capital of France and while we're at it, fuck Private James Ryan.

MILLER: I'll make a note of your suggestions but I'll leave that last one to you, especially if he's already dead.

MILLER: In addition, as I pointed out earlier, I have a fondness for cheese and I hope to have the opportunity to sample some of the Ramelle products, when we arrive there, to see if they live up to their excellent reputation. Moreover, I feel heartfelt sorrow for the mother of Private James Ryan and I'm more than willing to lay down my life, and the lives of my men, especially you, Reiben, to help relieve her suffering. The men thoroughly enjoy the performance.

REIBEN: Sir, if you were not a captain, I would compliment you, now, for being an excellent liar.

MILLER: But I am a captain. If I were not a captain, I would thank you for the compliment and tell you that the ability to lie comes from being a top-notch poker player, which I am, having learned at the side of my mother who is, by popular acclaim, the best poker player in...

MILLER: Reiben, what's the matter with you? I don't gripe to you. I'm a captain. There's a chain of command. Griping goes one way, up, only up, never down. You gripe to me, I gripe to my superior officers. Up, get it? I don't gripe to you, I don't gripe in front of you. How long you been in the army?

REIBEN: I'm sorry, sir, I apologize. But if you weren't a captain, or if I were a major, what would you say?

REIBEN: Well, maybe not the Captain, but the rest of us have mothers.

MILLER: You have orders, too.

REIBEN: Captain, could you please explain the math of this mission to me?

MILLER: Sure, what do you want to know?

REIBEN: Well, sir, in purely arithmetic terms, since when does six equal one? What's the sense in risking six guys to save one?

MILLER: Ours is not to reason why.

REIBEN: Huh?

MILLER: Never mind, don't worry, we'll pick up this kid, high-tail it back to division, everything'll work out fine.

REIBEN: I'd much rather die in Caen than Ramelle, sir. It's a personal thing.

MILLER: Reiben, there's a fairly good chance you're not going to die at all.

REIBEN: Easy for you to say, sir. Fucking James Ryan, I'd like to wring his fucking neck.

REIBEN: Jesus Christ, he's a natural!

MILLER: Upham, are you sure you've never been in combat?

REIBEN: General Gavin is going to be very irritated at you, Captain.

MILLER: Stands on the edge of the woods, almost in a trance.

REIBEN: Captain, I gotta tell you, the irony of this mission is fucking killing me.

MILLER: Yeah, how so?

REIBEN: I should be on my way to Caen, sir. It's like Beethoven, the guy's one of the greatest composers ever lived and he goes deaf. Go figure, I mean, who'd he piss off? And here I am, the Beethoven of ladies foundation garments, one step away from Caen, the center of the known lingerie universe and instead, I'm going to Ramelle to save some fucking private who's probably already dead.

MILLER: There's to be a bright side, look for it.

REIBEN: Sir, you know what Ramelle is famous for? Cheese. The rest of the company is going to Caen and we're going to the goddamned cheese capital of France. There is no bright side.

MILLER: There's always a bright side.

REIBEN: I'm listening, sir.

MILLER: Well, I, for one, like cheese.

REIBEN: Captain, can I ask you a question?

MILLER: Sure, Reiben.

REIBEN: Where are you planning on putting Private Ryan, sir?

MILLER: Strides through the chaos, avoiding the passing vehicles. He sees his men and walks toward them. Reiben hurries up to Miller, pleading.

REIBEN: Please, sir, you can't take me to Ramelle, I gotta go to Caen, sir, please, I told you, they make Caen lingerie there, it's beautiful, it's the best there is, it's...oh, please, sir...

MILLER: Sorry, I need a B.A.R. man, you're the best.

REIBEN: No, I'm not, Kaback is, honest. Or what about Faulkner? Or that little guy with the glasses?

MILLER: Trust me, you're the best.

REIBEN: But, sir...

REIBEN: I don't think so, Captain.

MILLER: Stay at it until you get fire control. Keep 'em down, wait for the navy.

MILLER: There's a war on, good chance they're not still making lingerie in Caen.

REIBEN: Oh, Captain, they'll always make lingerie, it's one of the three basic needs of man -- food, shelter, silk teddies. Miller Dream on, private.

REIBEN: So, you ever heard of employee discounts? My uncle sells shoes, gets twenty-five percent off everything in the line, got a closet filled with the best looking shoes you ever seen.

REIBEN: Just picture some French number been spending all day, every day, making cream-colored, shear-body negligees with gentle-lift silk cups and gathered empire waists, what the hell you think she wears at night?

MILLER: Reiben, how the hell do you know so much about lingerie?

REIBEN: Lingerie is my life, sir. My mother's got a shop in Brooklyn, I grew up in it, from the time I could crawl, we carry Caen lingerie, it's the best there is, it's all I been thinking about since the invasion.

REIBEN: Sir, what if they send some other company into Caen ahead of us while we're pinned down here?

MILLER: Don't worry, we're the only Rangers this side of the continent, we've got to be first into Caen.

REIBEN: Captain, can I put in for a transfer?

MILLER: Sure, meet me at the top, we'll start the paperwork.

MILLER: Jackson was from West Fork, Tennessee, he was going to be a preacher, his father and uncles have a traveling ministry out of the back of a stretch Hudson.

RYAN: And Sarge?

MILLER: Sarge? He was the best friend I ever had. Lemme tell you about Sarge...

MILLER: Yes, Private.

RYAN: Upham and Jackson, what were they like?

MILLER: Upham? Good kid, smart, he was writing a book.

RYAN: Yeah?

RYAN: FIRES THE EIGHTY-EIGHT.

MILLER: Races through the debris. Trailed by BULLETS.

MILLER: Doesn't move. He just stares at Sarge's body.

RYAN: Looks at Miller, sees him growing weak, starting to sway. He gently tries to move Miller aside.

RYAN: Is jumped on by one. Upham FIRES. KILLS the German.

MILLER: Struggling with a pair of Germans.

MILLER: You set? Sarge nods.

RYAN: Yes, sir.

MILLER: Don't do that again.

RYAN: I won't need to sir, it's already here, behind the barricade so...

RYAN: I'd like to go, sir.

MILLER: No, private, I want you to stay here, keep your head down, don't do anything brave or stupid.

RYAN: Yes, sir.

MILLER: Alright, come with me.

RYAN: Thank you, sir.

MILLER: Yeah, yeah. I want you right next to me, no matter where I go, you understand?

MILLER: The hell you aren't, you're comin' with me if I have to drag you every inch of the way. You hear me, Private?

RYAN: I hear you sir, but I'm not leaving.

MILLER: Private. I'm sorry about your brothers but staying here and getting yourself killed isn't going to help.

RYAN: Sir, if the Krauts are holding this bridge when division shows up, our guys are going to be sitting ducks.

MILLER: This bridge cannot be held. The Germans have two companies less than three miles from here. They have tanks.

WADE: Hell, I don't mind this mission, sir, as long as there's something up at Ramelle for...

REIBEN: ...for you to blow up, yeah, yeah, we heard that.

REIBEN: Wade's right, it's some kind of scientific, magnetic thing, I can't explain it, but I've seen it.

WADE: We all have, he's got nine lives, or he's bulletproof, or some damn thing.

REIBEN: Fine, you convince yourself you got a pack full of feathers and goddamned Private James Ryan can carry my fucking gear.

WADE: Reiben, you can be very unpleasant to be around sometimes.

REIBEN: You want unpleasant? Just wait, I can do much better than this.

WADE: Look at Upham, you don't hear him complaining.

REIBEN: Oh, Christ, now we gotta listen to that grandfather thing again.

WADE: As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, my grandfather got old, as grandfathers tend to do. He needed someone to take care of him. We move around all the time, going from one mine to another, so we had to put him in a home. Nice enough place but kind of depressing. But not for Granddad. He just convinced himself he was on a cruise ship, going to Tahiti, he had his own cabin, first class, with room service. It just so happened that the weather was always lousy, so he never bothered to go up on deck. Happiest guy you ever saw until the day he died.

WADE: So what? I've got three satchel charges, six gammon grenades, a dozen- and-a-half pineapples, and all my regular gear. You don't hear me complaining.

REIBEN: That's because, as I have pointed out on numerous occasions, you are a happy idiot.

WADE: No, I just happen to take the Captain's advice and look at the bright side of things.

SARGE: Jesus, Reiben, think of the poor bastard's mother.

REIBEN: Hey, I got a mother. Jackson, you got a mother?

SARGE: Damn fool. Sir.

REIBEN: Captain, he's fast!

REIBEN: I usually like surprises.

SARGE: What are we likely to run into?

SARGE: Who cares?

REIBEN: I care. Don't you know what Caen's famous for, Sarge?

SARGE: Frogs?

REIBEN: Lingerie.

SARGE: Yeah? So?

REIBEN: Shit, sir.

SARGE: Fertilizer, Captain, I think we're in a cranberry bog.

REIBEN: Out of the frying pan, into the fucking latrine.

UPHAM: I don't know, I kind of like Wade's idea about the cruise ship. I've never been to Tahiti.

REIBEN: What about you, Captain?

REIBEN: On guard, glancing back. Pissed off.

REIBEN: Goddamn it...Goddamn it...Goddamn it...

UPHAM: Freaked out. Trying to keep his eyes on the perimeter. Can't.

UPHAM: Sir, I ran the 220 in high school.

REIBEN: He's fast, Captain, I saw him.

UPHAM: But everybody's heard of him, he won the Congressional Medal of Honor, he saved a dozen men.

REIBEN: We know.

UPHAM: Somebody must know where he's from, what he did for a living.

UPHAM: So, where are you from?

REIBEN: Get lost.

WADE: How fast?

UPHAM: Twenty-four-five.

WADE: Shit, that's nothing, I ran twenty- two flat.

UPHAM: You think he really believed it?

WADE: Who knows? It worked.

UPHAM: How do you do it?

WADE: It's easy, it runs in my family, take my grandfather, for example...

UPHAM: Demolition, right?

WADE: Since I was nine years old. They got a lot of explosives around mines. Me and my little brother could get into any warehouse you ever saw. Damn, we had fun!