Harry:
Fuckin' rain.

Rogers:
What'd ya say, Harry?

Harry:
I said you can set your watch by this fuckin' rain!

Bung:
Ah, do I detect the unmistakable tang of ye olde Tiger?

Harry:
Bung, you could sniff out a can of beer from half a mile away.

Bung:
Just one of my many talents.

Harry:
It's the shit-shoveller with the arse out of his trousers and two bob in his pocket that makes Australia. Every time there's a bit of trouble, there he is, standing like a bloody fool outside the recruiting office with his hand out for a rifle, while the rich boys are hanging back, or waiting for their father to get then a nice, safe job. And while you're stuck over here with a lot of poor bastards from the other side, who are just as scared as you, shooting at you, the rich kids are back home, having a bit of a slum or a chop at yer bird."

Sergeant-Major:
You lot think you're supermen. Tin heroes, more like.

Harry:
I said 'get fucked', you great beer-sodden bag of shit!

Sergeant-Major:
Right, you're all on a charge.

Harry:
Well, you'd better make it murder, because I'm gonna knock your block off.

Rogers:
"Welcome to Partol 2-2, specialists in arson, murder and drinking."

Bill:
Yeah.

Bill:
I bet you say that to all the heroes.

Bill:
No, we stand.

Bill:
Probably.