What's your name?
I don't feel too kindly, Colonel.
Yes, well, I'm not usually this informal. I just, uh, just took command of this regiment a few days ago, so somebody ought to welcome you to my, uh-- to our outfit. They, uh, they tell me that, uh, they're holding you fellas because you signed 3-year papers-- I'm sorry, would you like some coffee? [Bucklin shakes his head] You sure? Go ahead, sit down, Mister...
Bucklin.
Bucklin.
Joseph Bucklin. Listen, Colonel, I've been in eleven different engagements. How many have you been in?
Not that many.
It ain't the papers. I done my share. We all have. Damn good men. Should not to be used this way. Lookee here. [Bucklin pulls up his pants leg to reveal a bullet wound scar] Went clean through.
Listen, Colonel, I'm tired. You know what I mean? I'm tired. I've had all this army, and all these officers, this damn Hooker, this damn idiot Meade. All of them. The whole bloody, lousy rotten mess of sick-brained, potbellied scareheads that ain't fit to lead a johnny detail! They ain't fit to pour pee out of a boot with instructions written under the heel. I'm tired. We are good men and we had our own good flag. These damn idiots used us like we were cows or dogs or worse. We ain't gonna win this war. We can't win no-how with these lame-brain bastards from West Point. These damn gentlemen, these officers!
