A Walk in the Sun (1945)
John Ireland: Pfc. Windy Craven
Photos
Quotes
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Windy : [looking at Sergeant Porter, sobbing face down on the ground] Keep crying, Porter. You're crying because you're wounded. You don't have to be bleeding to be wounded; you just had one battle too many. Yeah, you're out of it now. No more guesswork, waiting and wondering, for you. You've built yourself a foxhole
[taps his own helmet]
Windy : - up there. Nothing in the world that can make you come out of it. Go ahead, Porter; keep crying - we understand.
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Windy : A man's hands never seem to get clean, even if he don't touch nothing. They just stay dirty. Sort of a special kind of dirt. G.I. dirt. I bet one of those criminologists could take a sample out of a guy's fingernail, put it under a microscope, and say, "That's G.I. dirt." The dirt's always the same color, no matter what country you're fighting in.
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Windy : Hey, Tinker? How do you spell "Mare Nostrum?"
Tinker : What's that?
Windy : The Mediterranean. It's what the Eye-ties call it. It means "our sea."
Tinker : Why?
Windy : I'm writing to my sister.
Tinker : Whattya mean, you're writing to your sister? You're packed on a landing barge, bouncing on your Mare Nostrum, and waiting to hit the beach like the rest of us slobs.
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[last lines]
[after a desperate battle with many casualties Windy's platoon captures their objective]
Windy : Dear Frances, we just blew a bridge and took a farmhouse. It was so easy... so terribly easy.
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Sgt. Ward : Apples.
Windy : What'd you say, Sergeant?
Sgt. Ward : [surprised] Guess I said 'apples.'
Windy : Why?
Sgt. Ward : Just thinkin' of 'em.
Windy : Oh.
Riddle : What kind of apples, sergeant?
Sgt. Ward : All kinds. Baldwnis, McIntosh, Reds, Pippins, Russets... I was thinkin' I'd like to be cuttin' one open, right now. And lickin' that juice off the knife.
Riddle : Cut it out, willya, Sarge?
[grinning]
Riddle : Now ya got me thinking about something juicy.
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[Windy composes a letter while his landing craft is heading for the beachhead at Salerno under heavy fire]
Windy : Dear Frances, I am writing you this letter relaxing on the deck of a luxury liner. On shore the natives have evidently just spotted us and are getting up a reception - fireworks, music and that sort of stuff. Ha. The musicians in our own band have also struck up a little tune. Ha ha.