Captain Lennox:
Sam! Where's the Cube?
Sam Witwicky:
Right there!
Captain Lennox:
Epps, get those Blackhawks here! [sees a building]
Captain Lennox:
That building... okay!
Sam Witwicky:
What?
Captain Lennox:
All right, I can't leave my guys back there, so here, take this flare... [hands him the flare and the All Spark]
Captain Lennox:
Okay, there's a tall white building with statues on top. Go to the roof, set the flare...
Sam Witwicky:
No...
Captain Lennox:
Signal the chopper, and...
Sam Witwicky:
I can't do this!
Captain Lennox:
[grabs him] Listen to me, you're a soldier now! All right, I need you to take this Cube, get it into military hands while we hold them off, or a lot of people are gonna die. [to Mikaela]
Captain Lennox:
You gotta go, you gotta go...!
Mikaela:
No, I'm not leaving.
Captain Lennox:
You need to go!
Mikaela:
No, I'm not leaving until I get Bumblee out of here! Okay?
USAF Master Sgt. Epps:
[into radio] Army Blackhawk, requesting immediate evac for civilian boy with precious cargo, headed to rooftop marked by flare.
Ironhide:
Sam, we will protect you.
Sam Witwicky:
[breathing heavily] Okay...
Colhoun:
We left in April. Six of us in all. Mr. MacCready and his wife, from Ireland. Mr. Janus, from Virginia, I believe. With his servant, Jones. Myself. And our guide. A military man, coincidently. A Col. Ives. He professed to know a new, shorter route through the Nevada's. Quite a route that was. Longer than the normal one. Impossible to travel. We worked very very hard. By the time of the first snowfall we were still one hundred miles from this place, that was November. Preceding though the snow was futile. We took shelter in a cave. Decided to wait until the storm had passed. The storm did not pass. The trails soon became impossible, and we had run out of food. We ate the Oxen. All the horses. Even my own dog. And that lasted us about a month. After that we turned to out belts, shoes, and roots we could dig up... but you know there's no real nourishment in those. We remained famished. The day that Jones died I was out collecting wood. He had expired from malnourishment. And when I returned, the others were cooking his legs for dinner. Would I have stopped it had I been there? I don't know. But I must say. When I stepped inside that cave... the smell of meat cooking... I thanked the lord! I thanked the lord!
[first lines]
Journalist:
Senator, ah an attorney named Peter Gerston has filed suit in Arizona, uh, alleging that there's a cover-up regarding UFOs, and there has been for dozens of years, and millions of people have seen these objects in the sky, and the military continues to deny that anything's going on. Is that an area that's of interest to you at all?
John McCain:
It's always of great interest to me. I think it's, I think it's uh of great interest. I would point out to you that there was once a case, a couple of years ago in Arizona, of some lights that were seen over Arizona, um, and that has never been fully explained.
If we can use an H-bomb--and as you said it's no checker game; it's real, it's war and nobody is fooling around--isn't it sort of ridiculous to go crawling around in the weeds, throwing knives and maybe getting yourself killed . . . and even losing the war . . . when you've got a real weapon you can use to win? What's the point in a whole lot of men risking their lives with obsolete weapons when one professor type can do so much more just by pushing a button?'
Zim didn't answer at once, which wasn't like him at all. Then he said softly, 'Are you happy in the Infantry, Hendrick? You can resign, you know.'
Hendrick muttered something; Zim said, 'Speak up!'
I'm not itching to resign, sir. I'm going to sweat out my term.'
I see. Well, the question you asked is one that a sergeant isn't really qualified to answer . . . and one that you shouldn't ask me. You're supposed to know the answer before you join up. Or you should. Did your school have a course in History and Moral Philosophy?'
What? Sure--yes, sir.'
Then you've heard the answer. But I'll give you my own--unofficial--views on it. If you wanted to teach a baby a lesson, would you cuts its head off?'
Why . . . no, sir!'
Of course not. You'd paddle it. There can be circumstances when it's just as foolish to hit an enemy with an H-Bomb as it would be to spank a baby with an ax. War is not violence and killing, pure and simple; war is controlled violence, for a purpose. The purpose of war is to support your government's decisions by force. The purpose is never to kill the enemy just to be killing him . . . but to make him do what you want him to do. Not killing . . . but controlled and purposeful violence. But it's not your business or mine to decide the purpose of the control. It's never a soldier's business to decide when or where or how--or why--he fights; that belongs to the statesmen and the generals. The statesmen decide why and how much; the generals take it from there and tell us where and when and how. We supply the violence; other people--
