When everyone here today was still a child, everyone admired pinball champions, sprinters, boxers and professional players. Americans love winners. Americans never forgive losers. Americans despise cowards. Since the Americans compete, they must win. I sneered at the kind of people who laughed after losing. For this reason, the Americans have not lost a war so far and will not lose in the future. A true American hates even the idea of failure.
You will not sacrifice all. Every time the main battle comes down, only 2% of you can be sacrificed. Don't be afraid of death. Everyone will die after all. Yes, everyone will be timid the first time on the battlefield. If someone says that he is not afraid, that is a lie. Some people are timid, but this does not prevent them from fighting like warriors, because if other equally timid comrades fought bravely there and they stood by and watched, they would have nowhere to hide. A true hero is a man who fights bravely even if he is timid. Some fighters will overcome their fear in less than a minute on the line of fire. Some take an hour. Also, it will take a few days. However, a true man will not allow the fear of death to overcome the sense of honor, responsibility, and grandeur. Fighting is the competition where the unwilling man can best show his courage. Fighting will force greatness and eliminate smallness. Americans are proud to be the best, and they are also the best.
Everyone must remember that the enemy is as scared as you are, and probably even more scared. They are not invulnerable. In your military career, you called the exercise training "chicken shit," and you often complained. These training exercises, like other rules and regulations in the military, have their own goals. The purpose of training exercises is to cultivate everyone's vigilance. Vigilance must penetrate the blood vessels of every soldier. I will never be merciless to those who relax their vigilance. You all rushed out of the rain of bullets, otherwise you wouldn't be here today. You will be prepared for the coming fight. If anyone wants to come back alive, he must be vigilant at all times. As long as you have even a little negligence, there will be a bitch German devil sneaking behind you and killing you with a pile of shit!
Somewhere in Sicily, there was a neatly lined cemetery with four hundred dead soldiers buried in it. The four hundred men ascended to heaven only because a sentinel took a nap. The good news is that they are all German soldiers. We spotted their sentinel snoozing before the bastards. A combat team is a collective. Everyone eats together, sleeps together, and fights together in that group. The so-called personal heroism is a pile of horse dung. The guys who have excess bile and pull horse dung in the post on Saturday night all day, know no more about real fighting than they do for women.
We have the best supplies in the world, the best weapons and equipment, the most vigorous fighting spirit and the best fighters. To be honest, I really pity the bastards who will fight us. Really. My soldiers never surrendered. I don't want to hear that any of my soldiers were captured unless they were injured first. Even if you are injured, you can also fight back. This is not bragging. I wish my subordinates are like a second lieutenant of our army when fighting in Libya. At that time, a German devil was holding a pistol against his chest. He threw off his helmet, opened the pistol with one hand, and grabbed the helmet with the other, and beat the devil to blood. Then he picked up the pistol and killed the other devil before the other devil could react. Before that, one of his lungs had been pierced by a bullet. This is a real man!
Not all heroes are as described in the legend. Every soldier in the army plays an important role. Don't make a fool of yourself, thinking that your task is insignificant. Everyone has his own task, and it must be done well. Everyone is an essential link in a long chain. You can imagine what happens if every truck driver suddenly decides that he does not want to endure the threat of the roaring shells above his head, gets up timidly, jumps out of the car, and falls into the ditch beside the road to hide. s consequence. This cowardly bastard can make excuses for himself: "Fuck it, the earth does not rotate without me, I am only one in ten million." But what if everyone thinks like this? Until then, what shall we do? What will our country, relatives and even the whole world look like? No, his grandma's, Americans don't think that way. Everyone should complete his task. Everyone should be collectively responsible. Every department, every combat team, is important to the grand chapter of the entire war.
The ammunition and weapons personnel let us fire some guns and fire some artillery. Without the logistics staff to send us clothes and food, we will be hungry and cold, because where we are going to fight, there is no room to steal. All the personnel in the command headquarters have their own uses, even the orderly soldiers who just boil water to help us wash away the dust. Each soldier must not only think about himself, but also about his comrades who were born and died with him. Our army cannot tolerate cowards. All cowards should be cut to death like rats. Otherwise, they would slip home after the war and give birth to more cowards. I am a hero and a hero, but I am a coward. Get rid of all the cowards, our country will be the world of warriors.
The bravest hero I have ever seen was a communicator who climbed onto a telephone pole during a fierce battle in Tunisia. I happened to be passing by, so I stopped and asked him, what is it to toss about climbing to such a high place at such a dangerous time? He replied: "I am repairing the line, General." I asked: "Isn't it too dangerous at this time?" He replied: "It is dangerous, General, but the line cannot be repaired." I asked: "The enemy plane is low in altitude. Don't bother you with the shooting?" He replied: "The enemy plane doesn't bother you much, General, you are a mess." Brothers, that's the real man, the real soldier. He performed his duties wholeheartedly, no matter how inconspicuous it seemed at the time, no matter how dangerous the situation was. And those truck drivers on the road to Tunisia, they are amazing. They drove day and night on the broken road where the bitch kept them, never stopping, never turning, using the blooming shells as accompaniment. We can move forward smoothly thanks to the American tough guys who are fearless and fearless these days. Some of these drivers have been driving continuously for more than forty hours. They are not a combat force, but they are also soldiers and have important tasks to accomplish. They have completed the task, and they have done a damn good job! They are part of a larger collective. Without everyone’s joint efforts, without them, that battle might have been lost. Only because all links perform their duties and fulfill their responsibilities, the entire chain is unbreakable.
Everyone, remember, I’ve never been here. Never mention me in the letter. It stands to reason that I am alive or dead, keeping the outside world secret. I neither command the Third Army, let alone the United Kingdom. Let the Germans who are dog days be the first to find out! I hope to see one day, those bastards piss off, and whine: "Oh my God! It's the Third Army that has suffered a thousand swords! It's the son of a bitch Barton again!" We can't wait. If we get rid of the evil German devils as soon as possible, we can turn our guns and go to the Japanese devils' lair as soon as possible. If we don’t hurry up, all the credit will be taken away by the Marine Corps, a son of a bitch. Yes, we want to go home soon. We want this war to end soon. The quickest way is to kill the bastards who ignited the war. If they are wiped out as soon as possible, we can triumphantly. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. When I arrive in Berlin, I will kill the paper tiger and the bastard Hitler with my own hands, just like killing a snake!
Who wants to squat in the cannonball pit for a day, let him go to hell! The German devils will find him on his head sooner or later. My men don't dig cat ear holes, and I don't want them to dig. Cat ear holes will only slow down the offense. We must continue our offensive and give the enemy no time to dig cat ears. Sooner or later we will win, but we can only win if we keep fighting and braver than the enemy. We must not only kill the bastards, but also take out their internal organs to lubricate our tank tracks. We want to let the dead German devils of the dog days accumulate into mountains and flow into rivers of blood. War is inherently bloody, brutal and cruel. If you don't let the enemy bleed, they will let you bleed. Open their stomachs and shoot them in the chest. If a cannonball explodes next to you and blows up your face, when you wipe it out and find that it is the fuzzy flesh and blood of your best partner, you will know what to do! I don't want to hear reports that say, "We are holding our ground." We are not holding any hell of a position. Let the German devils stick to it. We have to attack non-stop, except for the enemy's eggs, we are not interested in any other targets. We want to hold the enemy's eggs and beat them out of their bodies. Our basic combat plan is to advance forward and then forward, whether we have to crawl under the enemy or get through their bodies. We have to be as persistent as squeezing out goose intestines or trumpet shit, so pervasive!
Sometimes it is inevitable that some people will complain, saying that we are too strict and unreasonable to the soldiers. Let those complaints go to hell! I firmly believe in a good word, "A cup of sweat will save a bucket of blood." The more determined we attack, the more German devils will be wiped out. The more German devils we eliminate, the fewer deaths we ourselves will. Offense means fewer casualties. I hope everyone will keep this in mind.
After returning home triumphantly, all the brothers here today will have a qualification worthy of boasting. Twenty years later, you will be fortunate to have participated in this world war. At that time, when you are by the fireplace, your grandson is sitting on your lap and asking you: "Grandpa, what did you do during World War II?" You don't have to cough awkwardly and move your grandson to the other knee. He said: "Ah... Grandpa, I was shoveling manure in Louisiana." On the contrary, brothers, you can stare into his eyes and say frankly: "Grandpa, I was in the third place. The group army is fighting side by side with that son of a bitch George Button!"
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