“No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country, he won it by making other stupid bastards die for theirs.” This is how US General George Patton began his harangues to the troops, for whom the war was summed up precisely in that: kill or be killed. And, in the case of dying, dying killing.
This is how, in fact, wars have been throughout the history of humanity, even though in contemporary wars military technology has increased the capacity to massacre the enemy, military or civilian, with little contemplation and less modesty. In the same way that the officers send their men and women to the massacre with less impunity.
Few commanders like General George Patton represent, in recent military history and in popular culture, that courage and bravery that any soldier is expected to have and that pride in giving his life for his country or any cause, fair or strange, that appeals to the honor of a good patriot. Although in war they end up dying brave, cowardly and innocent, with or without cause.
After successfully leading the North African campaign and liberating Sicily in two decisive Allied offensives in World War II, Patton was given command of the US III Army, made up of men with no battle experience. Destined in England, they were not called to be the cannon fodder that made up the forces that led the Normandy landings, but rather the troops that, in the event of victory, would reinforce Operation Cobra in the European offensive.
And it was precisely that same June 5, 1944, D-Day, when Patton addressed his family to deliver what has gone down in history, largely thanks to the cinema, as the best motivational harangue of all time. In simple language riddled with profanity and with a simple argument Patton sent his people to battle. The choice was between the dubious glory of dying in battle or a undignified life hauling dung on a Louisiana ranch.
“Sit down.
I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making other stupid bastards die for his.
“Guys, all these stories about the United States not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the war, are a bunch of bullshit. Americans, by tradition, love to fight, every true American loves the thrill of fighting.
”When you were children you admired the champions of marbles: the fastest runner, the aces of American football, the toughest boxers. Americans love the winner and don’t tolerate the loser. Every American always plays to win and I wouldn’t bet my neck on someone who, losing, enjoyed it.
“That’s why we Americans have never lost and will never lose a war, because the mere idea of ??losing makes us nauseous. A battle is the most momentous competition in which a man can participate. He brings out all the good inside of him and purges the bad.
“Not all of you will die. Only 2% of those who are here today will die in a great fight. Death should not be feared. In time, death comes to every man. And every man fears at his first battle. He does say that he’s not a fucking liar.
”The true hero is the one who fights even when he is afraid. There are those who overcome their fear of him in a minute, others in an hour, and some in days. But the real man will never let fear win over his honor, his sense of duty to his country, his manhood.
“Throughout your whole damn army career you boys have been railing against what you call damn drill. But that, like everything else in this army, has a well-defined purpose: to guarantee instant obedience to orders and to generate a state of alert.
”That state of alert must be instilled in each soldier. I don’t give two cents for the man who isn’t always on his toes. The damn training has made you all veterans. Now you are ready. A man can’t let his guard down one second if he intends to keep breathing the next minute. Because if he does, some German son of a bitch is going to slip out his back and shove a sack of shit over his head.
“There are four hundred pretty white tombstones in Sicily, all the fault of one man who fell asleep at his post; but they are German tombstones, because we found the bastard before his official one.
”An army is a team: it lives, eats, sleeps and fights as a team. That whole thing about individual heroics is a load of bullshit. The bastards who say that know as much about real combat as they know about fucking. And we have the best team, the best food and equipment, the best spirit and the best men in the world. God! If I almost pity the poor sons of bitches who will have to face us.
”Don’t think that heroes are like those in adventure books. Each and every one of you performs a vital task in the military. Never give up. Never think: ‘my position is inconsequential’. What if a truck driver suddenly decided he was scared by the whizzing of bullets, turned yellow, and threw himself headfirst onto the shoulder? The cowardly bastard could say to himself: ‘To hell! They won’t miss a single one. We are thousands!’
”But what would happen if everyone thought like that? Where the hell would we be now? No, damn it, an American never thinks like that! Each man fulfills his duty, serves the whole. Those of supplies are necessary to equip the weapons and the war machine to continue forward. The quartermasters are needed to bring us food and clothes, because where we’re going there’s not even shit to steal.
”Even the last man in the kitchen has a duty to fulfill, even the one who boils our water to prevent us from diarrhoea. Each and every man must think, not only of himself, but also of the comrade who fights alongside him. There is no place for cowards in the army. We will kill them like flies. If not, they’ll come home and breed more cowards. The brave will procreate brave. Let’s kill all the cowards and we will have a nation of the brave.
”One of the bravest men I met in the African campaign was standing on a telegraph pole in the middle of crossfire, on the road to Tunis. I stopped and asked him what the hell he was doing up there under that fire. He replied: ‘Repairing the cable, sir.’ ‘Isn’t it a bit risky to do it right now?’ I said. ‘Yes, sir, but the damn cable needs to be repaired.’ I asked him: ‘Those planes bombing the route, aren’t they distracting you?’ And he replied: ‘No, sir. But you do. That was a real soldier. A real man. A man who devoted everything to his duty, no matter how seemingly insignificant his labor might be.
”And you should have seen the trucks on the road to Gabes. Those magnificent drivers. Days and nights driving the bloody roads, never stopping or swerving, shells exploding all around them. Many drove 40 hours straight. They did it based on good American balls. And they weren’t combat soldiers. But they were soldiers working, with a job to do. Without their teamwork we would have lost the battle. All the links in the chain pulled at once and to make it unbreakable.
”Of course, we all want to go home. We want to end this war. But you can’t win a war sitting down. The fastest way to end this war is to go after the bastards that started it and wipe them off the map. The sooner we do them, the sooner we’ll be back. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. So don’t stop. When I get to Berlin, I will personally kill that bureaucratic son of a bitch Hitler, just like he would kill a snake.
”When a soldier spends all day in a trench, sooner or later a German will find him and skewer him. To hell with that idea. My men don’t dig trenches. The trenches only delay the offensive. move! I want you moving forward. And don’t give the enemy time to dig theirs either. We are going to win this war, but we will only win it by fighting and showing the Germans that we have more guts than they have and will have.
”We are not just going to shoot them, our intention is to rip out their guts and use them later to grease the tracks of our tanks: we are going to kill those damn Teutons at a hundred meters.
“Some of you are doubting if you will be afraid under fire. That should not worry you, I am convinced that you will all do your duty. War is a bloody and deadly affair. Either you shed your blood, or you shed theirs. Slit their bellies, shoot them in the guts.
”When the shells explode around you and when you wipe the dirt from your face you realize that it is not dirt, but the blood and entrails of who until a moment ago was your best friend, then you will know what to do.
“I don’t want to receive any messages that say: ‘We are holding our position.’ We don’t keep shit. Let the Germans keep it. We are constantly advancing and are not interested in holding anything except the enemy by the balls. We’ll grab him by the balls and kick his ass for no breath.
“Our plan of operations is to advance and keep advancing regardless of whether we have to pass through or under the enemy. We’ll drill his position like shit goes through a hole in a can.
”There will be no shortage of complaints that we are demanding too much of ours. I don’t give a damn about those complaints. An ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder we push, the more Germans we’ll kill. The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our own will die. More advance means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember this.
”My men do not give up. I don’t want to hear about anyone under my command being captured unless it’s because they were wounded. Even if he is injured, he can still continue to fight. The kind of man I want under my command is like that lieutenant in Libya, who with a Luger pointed at his chest, ripped off his helmet, swung the gun to the side with one hand, and blew the helmet off the enemy’s head. . Then he went for the gun and killed another German. All the time with a bullet lodged in a lung. There you have a real man!
“Remember, boys, you don’t know I’m here. You will not make a single mention of this in your letters. The world isn’t supposed to know what the hell happened to me. I’m not even supposed to be in England commanding this army.
”Make the first bastards to know about it the damned Germans. One day, I want them to fall on their asses and say: ‘Ach, the Third Corps is back and that son of a bitch Patton is back!’ We want to unleash hell, clean up this mess, and get on with those purple-pissing Japs before the fucking Marines get all the credit.
“There’s something great for you guys, because you’ll be able to say once the war is over and you’re back home that you’ve been here. You can be thankful that, 20 years from now, when you find yourself sitting by the fire with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in World War II, you won’t have to cough, change his knee and say, ‘Well, your grandpa shoveled manure in Louisiana.’ No sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, ‘Son, your grandpa served in World War II with the great Third Army and a fucking son of a bitch named George Patton.’
“Okay now you sons of bitches you know how I think. I will be very proud to lead you guys in this fight, always and everywhere.
“This is all.”
