巴顿的演讲稿诺曼底登陆_巴顿的经典演讲稿

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Be seated.Men, all this stuff you hear about America not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of bullshit.Americans love to fight.All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle.When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner, the big-league ball players and the toughest boxers.Americans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser.Americans play to win all the time.That's why Americans have never lost and will never lose a war.The very thought of losing is hateful to Americans.Battle is the most significant competition in which a man can indulge.It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base.You are not all going to die.Only two percent of you right here today would be killed in a major battle.Every man is scared in his first action.If he says he's not, he's a goddamn liar.But the real hero is the man who fights even though he's scared.Some men will get over their fright in a minute under fire, some take an hour, and for some it takes days.But the real man never lets his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood.All through your army career you men have bitched about what you call 'this chicken-shit drilling.' That is all for a purpose—to ensure instant obedience to orders and to create constant alertne.This must be bred into every soldier.I don't give a fuck for a man who is not always on his toes.But the drilling has made veterans of all you men.You are ready!A man has to be alert all the time if he expects to keep on breathing.If not, some German son-of-a-bitch will sneak up behind him and beat him to death with a sock full of shit.There are four hundred neatly marked graves in Sicily, all because one man went to sleep on the job—but they are German graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before his officer did.An army is a team.It lives, eats, sleeps, and fights as a team.This individual hero stuff is bullshit.The bilious bastards who write that stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don't know any more about real battle than they do about fucking.And we have the best team—we have the finest food and equipment, the best spirit and the best men in the world.Why, by God, I actually pity these poor bastards we're going up against.All the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters.Every single man in the army plays a vital role.So don't ever let up.Don't ever think that your job is unimportant.What if every truck driver decided that he didn't like the whine of the shells and turned yellow and jumped headlong into a ditch? That cowardly bastard could say to himself, 'Hell, they won't mi me, just one man in thousands.' What if every man said that? Where in the hell would we be then? No, thank God, Americans don't say that.Every man does his job.Every man is important.The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns, the quartermaster is needed to bring up the food and clothes for us because where we are going there isn't a hell of a lot to steal.Every last damn man in the me hall, even the one who boils the water to keep us from getting the GI shits, has a job to do.Each man must think not only of himself, but think of his buddy fighting alongside him.We don't want yellow cowards in the army.They should be killed off like flies.If not, they will go back home after the war, goddamn cowards, and breed more cowards.The brave men will breed more brave men.Kill off the goddamn cowards and we'll have a nation of brave men.One of the bravest men I saw in the African campaign was on a telegraph pole in the midst of furious fire while we were moving toward Tunis.I stopped and asked him what the hell he was doing up there.He answered, 'Fixing the wire, sir.' 'Isn't it a little unhealthy up there right now?' I asked.'Yes sir, but this goddamn wire has got to be fixed.' I asked, 'Don't those planes strafing the road bother you?' And he answered, 'No sir, but you sure as hell do.' Now, there was a real soldier.A real man.A man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how great the odds, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty appeared at the time.And you should have seen the trucks on the road to Gabès.Those drivers were magnificent.All day and all night they crawled along those son-of-a-bitch roads, never stopping, never deviating from their course with shells bursting all around them.Many of the men drove over 40 consecutive hours.We got through on good old American guts.These were not combat men.But they were soldiers with a job to do.They were part of a team.Without them the fight would have been lost.Sure, we all want to go home.We want to get this war over with.But you can't win a war lying down.The quickest way to get it over with is to get the bastards who started it.We want to get the hell over there and clean the goddamn thing up, and then get at those purple-piing Japs.The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we go home.The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo.So keep moving.And when we get to Berlin, I am personally going to shoot that paper-hanging son-of-a-bitch Hitler.When a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a Boche will get him eventually.The hell with that.My men don't dig foxholes.Foxholes only slow up an offensive.Keep moving.We'll win this war, but we'll win it only by fighting and showing the Germans that we've got more guts than they have or ever will have.We're not just going to shoot the bastards, we're going to rip out their living goddamned guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks.We're going to murder those lousy Hun cocksuckers by the bushel-fucking-basket.Some of you men are wondering whether or not you'll chicken out under fire.Don't worry about it.I can aure you that you'll all do your duty.War is a bloody busine, a killing busine.The Nazis are the enemy.Wade into them, spill their blood or they will spill yours.Shoot them in the guts.Rip open their belly.When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt from your face and you realize that it's not dirt, it's the blood and gut of what was once your best friend, you'll know what to do.I don't want any meages saying 'I'm holding my position.' We're not holding a goddamned thing.We're advancing constantly and we're not interested in holding anything except the enemy's balls.We're going to hold him by his balls and we're going to kick him in the a;twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all the time.Our plan of operation is to advance and keep on advancing.We're going to go through the enemy like shit through a tinhorn.There will be some complaints that we're pushing our people too hard.I don't give a damn about such complaints.I believe that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood.The harder we push, the more Germans we kill.The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed.Pushing harder means fewer casualties.I want you all to remember that.My men don't surrender.I don't want to hear of any soldier under my command being captured unle he is hit.Even if you are hit, you can still fight.That's not just bullshit either.I want men like the lieutenant in Libya who, with a Luger against his chest, swept aside the gun with his hand, jerked his helmet off with the other and busted the hell out of the Boche with the helmet.Then he picked up the gun and he killed another German.All this time the man had a bullet through his lung.That's a man for you!

Don't forget, you don't know I'm here at all.No word of that fact is to be mentioned in any letters.The world is not supposed to know what the hell they did with me.I'm not supposed to be commanding this army.I'm not even supposed to be in England.Let the first bastards to find out be the goddamned Germans.Some day, I want them to rise up on their pi-soaked hind legs and howl 'Ach!It's the goddamned Third Army and that son-of-a-bitch Patton again!'

Then there's one thing you men will be able to say when this war is over and you get back home.Thirty years from now when you're sitting by your fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks, 'What did you do in the great World War Two?' You won't have to cough and say, 'Well, your granddaddy shoveled shit in Louisiana.' No sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say 'Son, your granddaddy rode with the great Third Army and a son-of-a-goddamned-bitch named George Patton!'

All right, you sons of bitches.You know how I feel.I'll be proud to lead you wonderful guys in battle anytime, anywhere.That's all.坐吧。

弟兄们，你们所听到的那些有关美国人不想打仗，只想置身事外的说法，那都是一堆臭屎。美国人爱打仗。所有真正的美国人都爱战场上的刺激和交锋。当你们还是孩子的时候，你们都会崇拜弹子球冠军、跑得最快的人、大联盟球员和最强悍的拳击手。美国人爱戴赢家而且不能容忍输家。美国人每一次都会赢。这也是为什么美国人从来都没有输过而且永远也不会输掉一场战争。美国人对输的念头都感到可恨。战斗是一个人能够参加的最重要的比赛。它会让所有最好的脱颖而出，让底层的彻底淘汰。你们不会全部都死。今天在这儿的人只有2%会在一场重大战役中牺牲。每一个人第一次上战场都会害怕。如果他说他不怕，他就是个天杀的骗子，但真正的英雄是那些即使害怕仍然坚持战斗的人。有些人到了火线下只要一分钟就能克服他们的恐惧，有些要一个钟头，还有些要花上好几天。但一个真正的男人从不会让他对死亡的恐惧胜过自己的荣誉感，他对自己祖国的责任感和他天生的男子气概。

所有经过军旅生涯的人都曾抱怨过“鸡屎演练”。那都只是为了一个目的——确保对命令的即时服从并时刻保持警惕。每一个士兵都必须做到这一点。我才他妈不在乎什么一个人不能永远都忙个不停。这些演练已经把你们所有人都训练成了老将。你准备好了！一个男人要想活命就必须随时保持警惕。如果做不到，某个德国婊子养的就会偷偷潜行到他身后，然后用一只装满了大便的袜子把他活活打死。西西里岛有400个整整齐齐的坟墓，都是因为一个人值班的时候打瞌睡——不过那都是德国人的坟墓，因为我们比那个杂种的长官先发现他在睡觉。

军队是一个团队。他们生活、吃饭、睡觉和打仗都是一起上。这个什么个人英雄之类的东西就是狗屎。给《周六晚报》写出这玩意儿的那些胆汁过剩的混球对真正战斗的了解不会比干女人多。我们有最好的团队——我们有最好的食物和装备、最旺盛的斗志和世界上最优秀的人。为啥呢，上帝，我还真有些可怜那些我们要对付的杂种。

所有真正的英雄不是像故事书上描述的那样。军队里的每一个人都扮演着至关重要的角色。所以永远都别松劲。连想都不要去想什么你的任务不重要。要是每一个卡车司机都决定他不喜欢炮弹的轰鸣然后给吓坏了接着一头扎进一条沟里的话怎么办？那个没胆的混蛋可以对自己说，‘见鬼，他们不缺我的，我只是几千人中的一个。’要是每个人都这么说呢？那这个世界会变成什么鬼样？不，感谢上帝，美国人不会这么说。每个人都会尽责。每个人都很重要。我们需要有人来提供枪支弹药，需要军需官来给我们准备食物和衣服，因为我们要去的地方可没有大把的东西可以偷。食堂里的每一个天杀的人，哪怕只是个烧水的，都有他的职责。

每个人都应该想到身边一起出生入死的战友，而不是只想到自己。我们的军队里容不下胆小鬼。他们应该像苍蝇一样被清理掉。不然，他们就会在战争结束后回到家，天杀的胆小鬼，然后养出更多的胆小鬼。勇士会养出更多的勇士。杀光这些天杀的胆小鬼，我们就会成为一个勇士的国家。我在非洲战场上见过最勇敢的人之一，是我们正朝突尼斯前进时一个在强大火力下爬到电线杆上的人。我停下来问他爬到那上面干什么鸟。他回答，“修复线路，长官。”“这个时候在那上面不是有点不健康么？”我问。“是的长官，但这天杀的线路还是必须得修好啊。”我又问，“这些飞机低空扫射不打扰你吗？”他回答，“不会长官，不过你倒肯定是打扰了。”你看，这就是个真正的战士。一个真正的男人。一个把一切都投入到自己的职责，不管赔率有多大，不管他的职责当时看起来有多么无关紧要。

你们应该都看到了那些前往加贝斯路上的卡车。那些司机真是气壮山河。他们整日整夜地沿着那些狗娘养的路前进，从不停车，从不因为周围的炮弹爆炸而偏离路线。很多人已经连续开了超过40个小时。我们能够通过，都是靠这些有胆量的美国好汉。他们不用上战场。但他们是有任务在身的战士。他们是团体的一部分。没有他们这一战就会输掉。

是，我们都想回家，我们希望结束这场战争，但你不能靠躺着来赢得战争。最快的方法就是干掉这些发动战争的王八蛋。我们要冲过去把这些天杀的都清理掉，然后再干掉那些日本鬼子。我们越快把他们消灭干净，就能够越早回家。回家最近的路是通过柏林和东京，所以保持前进。等我们到了柏林，我要亲自毙了那纸糊的、婊子养的希特勒。

当一个人躺进个猫耳洞里，如果他在那儿呆一整天，德国兵总会抓到他。见鬼去吧。我的人不挖猫耳洞。猫耳洞只会拖延进攻。继续前进，我们就会赢得这场战争。但我们只有通过战斗，并且给那些德国人看看，我们比他们更有胆量才能赢得战争。我们不只是要击毙这些王八蛋，我们还要把他们的内脏都活生生掏出来润滑我们坦克的履带。我们要把这些没用的烂货统统杀光。

你们有些人在想，自己上了前线会不会害怕。不用担心。我可以向你保证你们都会尽自己的职责。战争是个血腥的行业、一个杀戳的行当。纳粹就是敌人，杀死他们，让他们流血，不然他们就会让你流血。朝他们的内脏开枪、撕开他们的肚皮。当炮弹在你周围爆炸，或是你想擦掉脸上的泥土但又发现那不是泥土，是你最好朋友的内脏和鲜血时，你就知道该怎么做了。

我不想听到任何消息说“我在坚守阵地。”我们才不坚守什么鬼东西呢。我们要不断前往，我们对抓住除敌人卵蛋外的任何东西都没兴趣。我们要抓住他的卵蛋，而且我们要踢他们的屁股，把他的卵蛋扭个稀巴烂还要把这堆臭屎踢得魂飞魄散。我们的行动计划就是前进，不停地前进。我们要像冲水马桶冲大便一样冲散敌人。

可能会有一些抱怨说我们把自己人逼得太紧了。我还他妈不在乎这些什么抱怨呢。我相信一杯汗水可以挽救一桶鲜血。我们逼得越紧，就能杀越多德国人。我们杀的德国人越多，我们自己人被杀的就越少。逼得紧意味着更少的伤亡。我要你们都记住这一点。我的人不投降。我不想听到我手下任何一个军人被俘虏，除非他受了伤。即使你受了伤，你还是能够战斗。这也不是说什么胡话。我想要像利比亚那位中尉那样的男子汉，有支鲁格对着他的胸口，他用手扫开那支枪，猛地用另一支手取下头盔把那个德国佬打得晕头转向。然后捡起枪打死了另一个德国人。而在这一切发生前，已经有一颗子弹打穿了他的肺。这就是你们的真汉子！

别忘了，你们完全不知道我来过这里。一个字都不能泄露出去。全世界都不应该知道你们跟着我在干嘛。我没有在指挥这支军队。我甚至不应该出现在英格兰。让那些天杀的德国佬们第一个发现吧。总有一天，我要让他们吓得屁滚尿流地爬起来号叫，“噢！又是那天杀的第三集团军和那个狗娘养的巴顿！”

等战争结束你们这些男子汉回到家以后，你们就有资格说一件事。三十年后，当你坐在壁炉边，你膝盖上的孙子问你：“你在那场伟大的第二次世界大战期间都干了什么？”你不用咳嗽一声说：“这个嘛，你爷爷在路易斯安那州铲粪。”不，先生们，你可以直视他的眼睛说：“孩子，你爷爷当时正和伟大的第三集团军，还有那个狗娘养的乔治·巴顿并肩作战！”

好了，你们这些兔崽子们。你们知道我的想法。我会为能够在任何时间、任何地点领导你们这些了不起的家伙感到骄傲。就这些。