Well, sir, the roadwheel's cracked. Kaminski drank our brakes. We're low on petrol. The battery's low. We're losing oil. If the engine heats up it's gonna seize. The terrain, obviously against us. We have no rations. The Mujas behind us don't seem to run on rations, petrol, or anything we know of. And they have an RPG. Their aim is getting better. Sir.
You know, I read your dossier, Mr. Intellectual. What do you think it says about you?
That I think for myself.
You think for yourself. When I was eight years old, defending Stalingrad, I didn't 'think for myself.' When the Motherland asked for our lives, we GAVE. My mother didn't think of herself, she GAVE! My father didn't think of himself, he GAVE. My brother didn't think of himself, he GAVE. My comrades tied a rope around my waist and lowered me on top of Nazi tanks. I stuffed molotovs under turrets and cannon, and they pulled me back up again. Eight years old! I took a lot of Nazi tanks. A lot. And over the years I've learned to smell a traitor.