Mac Eliot

Here we are again, bro, just you and me. Same kind of moon and same kind of jungle. Real number 10 night, remember? Whole platoon, 32 men chopped into meat, and we walk out, just you and me. Nobody else. Right on top, bro. Not a scratch. Not a fucking scratch. You know, whoever got you, he'll come back again, and when he does, I'm gonna cut your name right into him. I'm gonna cut your name into him.

— I got you, motherfucker. I killed you, you fuck.
— Jesus! You killed a pig.
— What the...?
— Do you think you could have found something bigger?
— Fuck you, Poncho. Fuck you!