The Liberator

On July 10th, 1943,

a unit from Oklahoma,

composed of Mexican-Americans, Native Americans and Dust Bowl cowboys,

most of whom couldn't drink together in the same bars back home,

landed in Sicily and began a brutal 500-day trek through Nazi-occupied Europe.

This is the story of those men.

A group of soldiers known…

as the Thunderbirds.

How the hell can Coldfoot see anything? I can't even see my fuckin' boots.

-What's he lookin' at? -He's looking at the fog.

The fog? What the fuck does that mean? We can all see the fog.

Shut up, Spigs.

Just make sure you can see him.

Yes, sir, Captain.

- Get down! -

-Spigs, get down! -I'm tryin'! Ah! Shit! I'm hit. Fuck!

Oh, fuck.

Two Panzers, four platoons of infantry, 500 yards ahead.

Fall back to that ridge.

E Company, fall back!

Incoming coordinates.

-2-6… -

Nagles, shut up!

2-6-7-E-A-5-1. Over.

All right. Let's go, Nagles, come on!

No, no, no! Don't go under the trees. Stay out in the open!

Thanks, Cap.

- -

Garcia, Rosa, check out that barn.

They fell back two miles south and they're still moving.

What's our damage?

Six dead or missing. At least ten wounded.

I wanna know where the Germans are sleeping tonight.

Look out for booby traps.

Watch your feet.

Shit! What was that?

A rat?

Nah, man.

Too big.

Must be a dog.

He was hiding in the barn, sir. He won't shut up.

We need Spigs to tell us what the hell he's saying.

Found this in his hiding place.

Give me it. Give me it.

Give me it. Give me it.

All right, get him inside. Get some food in him.

Where the hell is Spigs?

Spigliani.

- Do you speak Italian? -Yes.

- Charlestown, Massachusetts. -

Yes.

- But you know Boston? -Mh-hmm.

Yes.

Boston.

Park the car in Harvard Yard.

Fenway Park.

Paul Revere.

Where did you learn to swim, Private Spigliani?

Fuck.

-Swim? -No, let me guess.

The boys' club on 2nd Street.

Yeah.

How the hell do you know that?

I told you.

I was a graduate student at MIT.

I lived on Maple, near the intersection of 4th.

And I dated a girl…

named Hammel…

Gloria.

She had these…

beautiful breasts.

Sparky Hammel's sister, yeah.

Damn!

You and me in Charlestown

at the boys' club.

-It's a small world, isn't it? -You can say that again.

Akacheta.

Carmona.

Kawacatoose.

Indians and Mexicans

and a wop from Boston?

Yeah. 157th Regiment from Oklahoma.

I got attached at Salerno as an interpreter.

And their leader, he is an Indian, too?

Capt. Sparks? No.

He's a cowboy. From Arizona.

Things must be getting desperate in America

if they're allowing these types into your army.

Red men and Mexicans. Inferior races.

We don't see 'em that way.

They're Americans.

Like me.

Really?

I've been to Oklahoma, Corporal,

and the bars have signs out front that say…

"No Indians Allowed. No Mexicans."

I've also been to Georgia.

They make their Negroes there drink from separate water fountains.

So don't tell me they're Americans just like you.

Strange.

To fight for a country where you can't even enjoy a beer…

at the same bar as your fellow soldier.

So… please now tell me about the ponds.

Ponds?

Yes, I need to know what you did about the ponds.

What ponds? I don't know what the hell you're talking about.

-Jesus Christ! -Ponds!

-What did you do with the ponds! -We didn't see any fucking ponds.

-You're lying! -Jesus Christ, I'm telling you the truth.

Your company crossed three ponds in two days.

Here, here and here.

What are the conditions of those ponds?

Ponte. Br-- Bridges. You're talking about bridges.

Yes.

Bridges.

I used the Italian word, didn't I?

My mistake.

Jesus Christ.

What are the conditions of those bridges?

We didn't touch the bridges. They're all there.

Relax, Spigliani.

The war for you is over.

You may even get to enjoy swimming in Charlestown again.

But by this time tomorrow, your cowboy and Indian friends will all be dead.

Hey, Captain.

The kid's looking at the photos on your gun.

My family.

Family. Do you understand?

Where's yours?

I have no family. Everyone is dead.

-Jesus. Does anybody here speak Italian? -Yeah.

Yeah, I know a little.

Antonio.

-He says his name is… -

We, uh, we got that part.

He says his, um, mother and father died.

He's been living here with his grandfather. Till he died.

He's been hiding from the Germans for the last month.

We lost them, sir. They're using the rain to screen their movements.

Ask him if he knows where the Germans are.

He says he doesn't know.

He's lying.

Well, he's scared as shit, man.

-Jesus, Gomez, what did you do to him? -I didn't do anything.

- -What the hell's so funny?

Ah, the Germans, man. They told him that first we were gonna feed him

and then we were gonna do it to him.

Do what?

Cut off his nuts.

Hey, man, tell him we're not interested.

-Tell him we already bagged our limit. -Tell him they're too small.

Tell him it's a lie.

Tell him the Germans aren't coming back.

We guarantee it.

Sir, are you sure you want me to tell him that?

Tell him those men…

are the grandsons of the greatest Indian warriors

to roam the American Plains.

They've killed mountain lion, hunted buffalo.

Tell him those men…

they're the descendants of the powerful Mexican army

that defeated the French on Cinco de Mayo.

And those men…

they're sons of Texas Rangers…

who brought the rule of law

to places where only killers and thieves lived before.

Tell him the Nazis are never gonna hurt him again.

Because tomorrow, we're gonna find 'em and stop 'em.

There now. Doesn't that feel better?

No man should have to walk around covering his privates.

He actually made the kid believe we could do it.

Wasn't the kid he was convincing.

Sir?

A gift from our young friend.

It was his grandfather's. He wants you to have it.

I cut down the barrel to make it more practical.

He also told me where the Germans are.

-Be safe out there. -See ya, kid.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

Watch the grass in the middle.