William Broyles Jr.

People on the street corners, they looked at this picture and they took hope. Don't ask me why, I think it's a crappy picture, myself. You can't even see your faces! But it said we can win this war, are winning this war, we just need you to dig a little deeper. They want to give us that money. No, they want to give it to you.

Aw, that's it, that's beautiful. Yeah, that's beautiful. Yeah, why tell me? I'm only the guy that has to explain it to a hundred and fifty million Americans. Who is in the goddamn picture? Are any of you guys in the goddamn picture?

Six guys raising a flag over Iwo Jima. Victory is ours. You're three of them, right?

Well, what'd you do, raise a goddamn flag every time you stopped for lunch?

You know what they're calling this bond drive? The Mighty Seventh. They might've called it the "We're Flat Fucking Broke And Can't Even Afford Bullets So We're Begging For Your Pennies" bond drive, but it didn't have quite the ring. They could've called it that, though, because the last four bond drives came up so short we just printed money instead. Ask any smart boy on Wall Street, he'll tell you our dollar is next to worthless, we've borrowed so much. And nobody is lending any more. Ships aren't being built, tanks aren't being built, machine guns, bazookas, hand grenades, zip. You think this is a farce? You want to go back to your buddies? Well stuff some rocks in your pockets before you get on the plane, because that's all we got left to throw at the Japanese. And don't be surprised if your plane doesn't make it off the runway, because the fuel dumps are empty. And our good friends, the Arabs, are only taking bullion. If we don't raise $14 billion, and that's million with a "B," this war is over by the end of the month. We make a deal with the Japanese, we give whatever they want and we come home, because you've seen them fight, and they sure as shit ain't giving up. $14 billion! The last three drives didn't make that much all together.

Hey, it took a lot of talented folks a long time to make that thing. Just wait till tonight when it's lit properly and there's thousands of cheering people in the stands, it's gonna look a lot better. So, stadium lights come down, spotlight comes up, you get your cue, you charge up this thing with the flag, you plant it at the top. You smile, you wave, you know the drill.

Hey, that's showbiz. And try to stand how you stood the first time you planted it. Just, you know, pretend the other three guys are with you.

That's what we're calling the mothers of the dead flag-raisers. You present each mother with a flag, they say a few words, people will shit money. It'll be so moving.

Houston, we have a problem.

Gentlemen, it's been a privilege flying with you.

We just put Sir Isaac Newton in the driver's seat.

Our mission was called "a successful failure," in that we returned safely but never made it to the moon. In the following months, it was determined that a damaged coil built inside the oxygen tank sparked during our cryo stir and caused the explosion that crippled the Odyssey. It was a minor defect that occured two years before I was even named the flight's commander. Fred Haise was going back to the moon on Apollo 18, but his mission was cancelled because of budget cuts; he never flew in space again. Nor did Jack Swigert, who left the astronaut corps and was elected to Congress from the state of Colorado. But he died of cancer before he was able to take office. Ken Mattingly orbited the moon as Command Module Pilot of Apollo 16, and flew the Space Shuttle, having never gotten the measles. Gene Kranz retired as Director of Flight Operations just not long ago. And many other members of Mission Control have gone on to other things, but some are still there. As for me, the seven extraordinary days of Apollo 13 were my last in space. I watched other men walk on the moon, and return safely, all from the confines of Mission Control and our house in Houston. I sometimes catch myself looking up at the moon, remembering the changes of fortune in our long voyage, thinking of the thousands of people who worked to bring the three of us home. I look up at the moon, and wonder, when will we be going back, and who will that be?

Uh well, I'll tell ya, I remember this one time - I'm in a Banshee at night in combat conditions, so there's no running lights on the carrier. It was the Shrangri-La, and we were in the Sea of Japan and my radar had jammed, and my homing signal was gone... because somebody in Japan was actually using the same frequency. And so it was - it was leading me away from where I was supposed to be. And I'm lookin' down at a big, black ocean, so I flip on my map light, and then suddenly: zap. Everything shorts out right there in my cockpit. All my instruments are gone. My lights are gone. And I can't even tell now what my altitude is. I know I'm running out of fuel, so I'm thinking about ditching in the ocean. And I, I look down there, and then in the darkness there's this uh, there's this green trail. It's like a long carpet that's just laid out right beneath me. And it was the algae, right? It was that phosphorescent stuff that gets churned up in the wake of a big ship. And it was - it was - it was leading me home. You know? If my cockpit lights hadn't shorted out, there's no way I'd ever been able to see that. So uh, you, uh, never know... what... what events are to transpire to get you home.

From now on, we live in a world where man has walked on the moon. And it's not a miracle, we just decided to go.

Houston, we're getting our first look at the service module now. One whole side of the spacecraft is missing. Right by the high gain antennae, a whole panel is blown out, right up... right up to our heat shield.

Hello, Houston. This is Odyssey. It's good to see you again.

Well... if I had a dollar for every time they've killed me in this thing, I wouldn't have to work for you, Deke... Well, we have two days, we'll be ready. Let's do it again.

All right, we're not doing this, gentlemen. We are *not* going to do this. We're not going to go bouncing off the walls for ten minutes, 'cause we're just going to end up back here with the same problems! Try to figure out how to stay alive!

Houston, we are venting something out into space. I can see it outside window one right now. It's definitely a... a gas of some sort.

It's got to be the oxygen.

All right, we're not doing this, gentlemen. We are *not* doing this. We're not going to go bouncing off the walls for ten minutes, 'cause we're just going to end up back here with the same problems! Try to figure out how to stay alive!

Uh, Ken Mattingly has been doing some… scientific experiments regarding that very phenomenon, haven't you?

Just a little while longer Freddo. Just a little while longer, we're gonna hit that water in the South Pacific. Open up that hatch. It's 80 degrees out there.

Well, I'll tell you something about that fire, a lot of things went wrong. The door, called the hatch? They couldn't get it open when they needed to get out. That was one thing. Well, a lot of things went wrong.

Okay, uh, good evening, America, and welcome aboard Apollo 13. I'm Jim Lovell, and we're broadcasting to you tonight from an altitude of almost 200,000 miles away from the… the face of the Earth, and we have a pretty good show in store for you tonight. We are going to show you just what, uh, life is like for the three of us in the vast expanse of outer space.

Okay, one of the first things we'd like to do is provide you with the appropriate background music. So, uh, hit it there, Freddo.

That, uh, was supposed to be the theme to "2001", in honor of our command module Odyssey, but there seems to have been a last-minute change in the program.

Houston, uh, we… we sure could use the re-entry procedure up here. When can we expect that?

Uh, Houston, we… we… we just can't just throw this together at the last minute. So here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna get the procedure up to us, whatever it is, and we're gonna go over it step by step so that there's no foul-ups. I don't have to tell you we're all a little tired up here. The world's getting awfully big in the window.

Houston, we're at stable one. The ship is secure. This is Apollo 13 signing off.

Uh, we copy, uh, Houston. Be advised, it's gonna take Freddo and I a while to power up the computer for the, uh, alignment platform if we have to fire the engine.

This is it; a few bumps and we're haulin' the mail.

We've all been taught that; "Thou shalt not kill." But hear this: FUCK-THAT-SHIT!

Now to the rest of you, do you have what it takes to be the meanest, the cruelest, the most sadist unforgiving mother fuckers in God's cruel kingdom?

Will you be able to one day say, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for I am the baddest mother fucker in the God damn valley?"

You take what you know, and then you multiply. Please don't use your dicks. They're too small, and I can't count that high. I don't wanna hear, "400,000 inches."

I told you to keep your fucking head down! If you'd listened to me, you'd still be fucking alive right now, stupid fuck!

I could be working with my brother right now. He's got a dry-wall business in Compton. Does the inside of office buildings; you know, the metal studs. I could be his partner, said he'd give me that brand new Dodge Ram Charger. You know, the 318 Magnum? The beast? All indoor work, too, lots of AC. I could sleep with my wife every night, fuck her, maybe; take my kids to school every morning. And I'd run his crews, too, probably increase productivity 40 to 50%. Make $100K a year. Do you know why I don't? Because I love this job. I thank God for every fucking day he gives me in the corps, oorah.

Staff Sergenat Siek. I'm with Surveillance and Target Acquisition. STA. I heard it took six guys to pull that little branding trick on you. And your file says that you ain't dumb either. So you better get unsick most motha fucking rikey-tick, cause' there's a chance that you could be a scout sniper!

Details, gentlemen, details! Details is gonna be the difference between you killing your target or your target killing you.

A story: A man fires a rifle for many years, and he goes to war. And afterward he turns the rifle in at the armory, and he believes he's finished with the rifle. But no matter what else he might do with his hands, love a woman, build a house, change his son's diaper; his hands remember the rifle.

A flashlight was a moonbeam. A pen was an ink stick. My mouth was a cum receptacle. A bed was a rack. A wall was a bulkhead. A shirt was a blouse. A tie was still a tie, and a belt a belt. But many other things would never be the same.

Every war is different, every war is the same.

For most problems the Marine is issued a solution. If ill, go to sickbay. If wounded, call a Corpsman. If dead, report to graves registration. If losing his mind, however, no standard solution exists.

Suggested techniques for the Marine to use in the avoidance of boredom and loneliness: Masturbation. Rereading of letters from unfaithful wives and girlfriends. Cleaning your rifle. Further masturbation. Rewiring Walkman. Arguing about religion and meaning of life. Discussing in detail, every woman the Marine has ever fucked. Debating differences, such as Cuban vs. Mexican, Harleys vs. Hondas, left- vs. right-handed masturbation. Further cleaning of rifle. Studying of Filipino mail order bride catalog. Further masturbation. Planning of Marine's first meal on return home. Imagining what the Marine's girlfriend and her man Jody are doing in the hay, or in the alley, or in a hotel bed.

What would you say if I told you I was gonna kill you for fucking me over like that?

An accident. Right. Like when the trigger slips. Of course, your nice little mom and dad are where?

Cottonwood Falls. They'll be sad. They won't have their little boy to send fucking cookies to. I'll say it was an accidental discharge. I might spend some time in the brig… but it'll end this fucking waiting. And I don't know what it's like to kill a man.

I'm in the firing position known as the sitting position. After the prone position, it is the platform most likely to enable a Marine to effectively kill his target. His target being a human, generally an enemy but sometimes a friend or friendly. We call this friendly fire, or friendly fucking or getting friendly fucked.

What do you think Cortez? You think I'll accidentally kill your homeboy from boot camp?

See that kid? The one dreaming to serve his country. That Jarhead is me.

Look, I'm twenty years old and I was dumb enough to sign a contract. I can hear their fucking bombs already. I can hear their bombs and I'm fucking scared, yeah.

The Marine must learn to kill. He may wear a tattoo, or display his medals, or tell lies in bars. But he is not a true marine until he has seen combat.

The M16A2 service rifle is a lightweight air-cooled, gas-operated, magazine-fed shoulder weapon. It fires a 5.56 mm ball projectile at a muzzle velocity of 2,800 feet per second. This is my rifle. Repeat after me.

A story. A man fires a rifle for many years. and he goes to war. And afterwards he comes home, and he sees that whatever else he may do with his life - build a house, love a woman, change his son's diaper - he will always remain a jarhead. And all the jarheads killing and dying, they will always be me. We are still in the desert.

We both had done the math. Kelly added it all up and... knew she had to let me go. I added it up, and knew that I had... lost her. 'cos I was never gonna get off that island. I was gonna die there, totally alone. I was gonna get sick, or get injured or something. The only choice I had, the only thing I could control was when, and how, and where it was going to happen. So... I made a rope and I went up to the summit, to hang myself. I had to test it, you know? Of course. You know me. And the weight of the log, snapped the limb of the tree, so I-I - , I couldn't even kill myself the way I wanted to. I had power over *nothing*. And that's when this feeling came over me like a warm blanket. I knew, somehow, that I had to stay alive. Somehow. I had to keep breathing. Even though there was no reason to hope. And all my logic said that I would never see this place again. So that's what I did. I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am. I'm back. In Memphis, talking to you. I have ice in my glass... And I've lost her all over again. I'm so sad that I don't have Kelly. But I'm so grateful that she was with me on that island. And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?

Gotta love crab. In the nick of time too. I couldn't take much more of those coconuts. Coconut milk is a natural laxative. That's something Gilligan never told us.

We might just make it. Did that thought ever cross your brain? Well, regardless, I would rather take my chance out there on the ocean than to stay here and die on this shithole island, spending the rest of my life talking… TO A GODDAMN VOLLEYBALL!

I couldn't even kill myself the way I wanted to. I had power over nothing.

Do, do you have to keep bringing that up, huh? Ok, so it was a good thing we did a test because it wasn't going to be just a quick snap. Would've broken my neck, or leg or my back. Would've bled to death on the beach, but it's in the past. It was what, a year ago? SO let's just forget it.

Time rules over us without mercy, not caring if we 're healthy or ill, hungry or drunk, Russian, American, beings from Mars. It's like a fire. It could either destroy us or keep us warm. That's why every FedEx office has a clock. Because we live or we die by the clock. We never turn our back on it. And we never, ever allow ourselves the sin of losing track of time!

You just delivered your very first FedEx package. That deserves something special, like, a Snickers bar and a CD player and something to listen to, a CD. There, Elvis Presley. "50,000,000 Fans Can't Be Wrong."