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巴顿将军在1944年6月5日所做的诺曼底动员演讲



巴顿将军在D日前一天所发表的真正的演讲动员,网上流传的那些中文资料根本就不是登陆的演讲动员。这是我从外国网上搜到的,个人能力有限,翻译不通请见谅。由于巴顿并没有直接指挥诺曼底作战,他只是在法国加莱对面频频露面,实际上就一光杆司令。这也是盟军迷惑德国人的欺骗计划的重要一部分。现在来看看此时的巴顿说出什么话吧:
General Patton:
Be seated.
Men, this stuff that some sources sling around about America wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of bullshit.

Americans love to fight, traditionally. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle.

You are here today for three reasons. First, because you are here to defend your homes and your loved ones. Second, you are here for your own self respect, because you would not want to be anywhere else.

Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to fight.

When you, here, everyone of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer, the big league ball players, and the All-American football players. Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser. Americans despise cowards.

Americans play to win all of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Americans have never lost nor will ever lose a war; for the very idea of losing is hateful to an American.

You are not all going to die. Only two percent of you right here today would die in a major battle. Death must not be feared. Death, in time, comes to all men. Yes, every man is scared in his first battle. If he says he's not, he's a liar. Some men are cowards but they fight the same as the brave men or they get the hell slammed out of them watching men fight who are just as scared as they are.

The real hero is the man who fights even though he is scared.

Some men get over their fright in a minute under fire. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. But a real man will never let his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood. Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. Americans pride themselves on being He Men and they ARE He Men.

Remember that the enemy is just as frightened as you are, and probably more so. They are not supermen.

All through your Army careers, you men have bitched about what you call 'chicken shit drilling'. That, like everything else in this Army, has a definite purpose. That purpose is alertness. Alertness must be bred into every soldier. I don't give a fuck for a man who's not always on his toes. You men are veterans or you wouldn't be here. You are ready for what's to come. A man must be alert at all times if he expects to stay alive. If you're not alert, sometime, a German son-of-an-asshole-bitch is going to sneak up behind you and beat you to death with a sockful of shit!

There are four hundred neatly marked graves somewhere in Sicily, all because one man went to sleep on the job. But they are German graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before they did.

An Army is a team. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as a team. This individual heroic stuff is pure horse shit. The bilious bastards who write that kind of stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don't know any more about real fighting under fire than they know about fucking! We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the best spirit, and the best men in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity those poor sons-of-bitches we're going up against. By God, I do.

My men don't surrender, and I don't want to hear of any soldier under my command being captured unless he has been hit. Even if you are hit, you can still fight back That's not just bull shit either. The kind of man that I want in my command is just like the lieutenant in Libya, who, with a Luger against his chest, jerked off his helmet, swept the gun aside with one hand, and busted the hell out of the Kraut with his helmet. Then he jumped on the gun and went out and killed another German before they knew what the hell was coming off. And, all of that time, this man had a bullet through a lung. There was a real man!

All of the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters, either. Every single man in this Army plays a vital role. Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain.

What if every truck driver suddenly decided that he didn't like the whine of those shells overhead, turned yellow, and jumped headlong into a ditch? The cowardly bastard could say, 'Hell, they won't miss me, just one man in thousands.' But, what if every man thought that way? Where in the hell would we be now? What would our country, our loved ones, our homes, even the world, be like?

No, Goddamnit, Americans don't think like that. Every man does his job. Every man serves the whole. Every department, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this war.

The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns and machinery of war to keep us rolling. The Quartermaster is needed to bring up food and clothes because where we are going there isn't a hell of a lot to steal. Every last man on K.P. has a job to do, even the one who heats our water to keep us from getting the 'G.I. Shits'.

Each man must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy fighting beside him. We don't want yellow cowards in this Army. They should be killed off like rats. If not, they will go home after this war and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men. Kill off the Goddamned cowards and we will have a nation of brave men.

One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow on top of a telegraph pole in the midst of a furious fire fight in Tunisia. I stopped and asked what the hell he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, 'Fixing the wire, Sir.' I asked, 'Isn't that a little unhealthy right about now?' He answered, 'Yes Sir, but the Goddamned wire has to be fixed.' I asked, 'Don't those planes strafing the road bother you?' And he answered, 'No, Sir, but you sure as hell do!' Now, there was a real man. A real soldier. There was a man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty might appear at the time, no matter how great the odds.

And you should have seen those trucks on the rode to Tunisia. Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they rolled over those son-of-a-bitching roads, never stopping, never faltering from their course, with shells bursting all around them all of the time. We got through on good old American guts. Many of those men drove for over forty consecutive hours. These men weren't combat men, but they were soldiers with a job to do. They did it, and in one hell of a way they did it. They were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the fight would have been lost. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable.

Don't forget, you men don't know that I'm here. No mention of that fact is to be made in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what the hell happened to me. I'm not supposed to be commanding this Army. I'm not even supposed to be here in England. Let the first bastards to find out be the Goddamned Germans. Some day I want to see them raise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl, 'Jesus Christ, it's the Goddamned Third Army again and that son-of-a-fucking-bitch Patton'. We want to get the hell over there.' The quicker we clean up this Goddamned mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the purple pissing Japs and clean out their nest, too. Before the Goddamned Marines get all of the credit.

Sure, we want to go home. We want this war over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the bastards who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. And when we get to Berlin I am personally going to shoot that paper hanging son-of-a-bitch Hitler. Just like I'd shoot a snake!

When a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a German will get to him eventually. The hell with that idea. The hell with taking it. My men don't dig foxholes. I don't want them to. Foxholes only slow up an offensive. Keep moving. And don't give the enemy time to dig one either. We'll win this war, but we'll win it only by fighting and by showing the Germans that we've got more guts than they have; or ever will have.

We're not going to just shoot the sons-of-bitches, we're going to rip out their living Goddamned guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We're going to murder those lousy Hun cock suckers by the bushel-fucking-basket. War is a bloody, killing business. You've got to spill their blood, or they will spill yours. Rip them up the belly. Shoot them in the guts. When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt off your face and realize that instead of dirt it's the blood and guts of what once was your best friend beside you, you'll know what to do!

I don't want to get any messages saying, 'I am holding my position.' We are not holding a Goddamned thing. Let the Germans do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy's balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like crap through a goose; like shit through a tin horn!

From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our people too hard. I don't give a good Goddamn about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder WE push, the more Germans we will kill. The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed. Pushing means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that.

There is one great thing that you men will all be able to say after this war is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are sitting by the fireplace with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in the great World War II, you WON'T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, 'Well, your Granddaddy shoveled shit in Louisiana.' No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, 'Son, your Granddaddy rode with the Great Third Army and a Son-of-a-Goddamned-Bitch named Georgie Patton!'"

请就坐。
      各位,最近有些小道消息,说我们美国人对这次战争想置身事外,缺乏斗志。那全他妈是一堆臭狗屎!
      美国人从来就喜欢打仗。真正的美国人喜欢战场上的刀光剑影。
      你们今天在这里有三个原因。第一,你们来这为了保卫家乡和你所爱的人。第二,你们来这是要赢得自尊,因为你不会想要呆在任何其他地方。
      第三,你们在这,是因为你们是真正的男人,真正的男人都喜欢战斗。
      当你们,在座的,你们每一个还都是孩子的时候,你们大家肯定都崇拜那些弹球冠军、跑得最快的运动员、最强悍的拳击手,大联盟棒球选手,以及全美足球选手。美国人热爱胜者。美国人绝不容忍一个失败者。美国人蔑视懦夫。   
      美国人一旦参加,总是要赢。我对那种输了还大笑的人嗤之以鼻。这就是为什么美国人从来没有、将来也不会,输掉过任何一场战争;甚至对于失败的念头,一个美国人都及其憎恶。  
      你们不会全部阵亡的。只有你们在座的百分之二会在一场主要的战争中阵亡。永远不要怕死。死亡,最终都要降临所有人。是的,每个人在他参加的第一次战斗都会害怕。如果有人说他不害怕,那是撒谎。有些人是胆小鬼,但是他们依旧能像一个勇敢的人一样作战,否则当他们他妈的袖手看着那些跟他们一样害怕的人在战斗时,它会感到羞耻。
      真正的英雄是即使胆怯还奋勇作战的男子汉。有些人在枪林弹雨中只要一分钟便能克服恐惧,有的要一小时,还有的大概得几天。但是,一个真正的男子汉永远不会让对死亡的恐惧取代他的荣誉感,他对国家的责任心,和他天生的男子气概。战争是能使一个人能沉迷于此的最精彩的竞争。战争会带出伟大而踢走所有平庸之辈。美国人为他们自己能变成英雄中的英雄而自豪,而他们也确实是英雄中的英雄。
      大家要记住,敌人和你们一样害怕,很可能更害怕。他们不是刀枪不入。
      在你们大家的军旅生涯中,你们称演习训练为“鸡屎”,经常这么骂。这些,如军中其它东西一样,自有它们的目的。训练的目的是警戒。警惕性必须渗透到每个战士的血管中去。对放松警惕的人,我他妈绝对不饶。你们大家都是枪林弹雨里冲杀出来的,不然你们也不会在这儿。你们对即将到来的已有所准备。一个人必须时刻保持警惕,假如他想在战斗中活下来的话。你要是不够警戒,哪怕一小会儿,可能就会有个混账狗娘养的德国佬溜到你的背后,一泡屎拽死你。      
      在西西里的某个地方有一个墓地,里头整齐地排着400个墓碑,只因一名哨兵打了个盹。所幸那都是德国佬的墓碑,因为我们比德国佬先发现了那个睡觉的杂种。
      一个军队是一个团队。士兵们像一个团队那样生活,睡觉,吃饭,以及作战。所谓的个人英雄主义其实根本就是一堆马粪。那些胆汁过剩、给《周六晚间邮报》上写那种垃圾的混蛋,对真正的战斗,知道的并不比他们搞女人的知识多!我们有世界上最好的给养、最好的武器设备、最旺盛的斗志和最棒的战士。说实在地,我真可怜那些要跟我们对着干的狗娘养的。真的。
      我的人从不投降。我不想听到我手下的任何士兵被俘的消息,除非他们受伤了。可是即便你受伤了,你照样可以还击的。这可不是胡扯。我希望我手下的人,都象在利比亚作战时的一位我军少尉。当时一个德国佬拿着一鲁格顶着他胸膛,他甩下钢盔,一只手拨开手枪,另只手抓住钢盔,把那鬼子打得七窍流血。然后,他拾起手枪,在其他德国佬反应过来之前,毙了另一个。在此之前,他的一侧肺叶已被一颗子弹洞穿。这,才是一个真正的男子汉!
     不是所有真正的英雄都像故事书里的格斗战士。军队中的每一个人都扮演一个重要角色。不要吊儿郎当的。不要觉得自己的任务不重要。每个人都有自己的任务,而且必须完成。每个人都是一条长链上的必不可少的环节。
     要是每个卡车司机都突然决定不愿意再忍受头顶呼啸的炮弹的威胁,胆怯起来,跳到路边的水沟里头躲着,那会怎么样?这个懦弱的狗杂种可以给自己找借口:“靠,他们又不缺我一个,我不过是千分之一。”但是,如果每个人都这样想呢?那我们他妈现在会怎么办?我们的国家,我们所爱的人,我们的家园,甚至整个世界会是什么样子?
     不,他奶奶的,美国人不这么想。每个人都应完成他的任务。每个人都应该对整体服务。每个部门,每个单元,对整个战争的宏伟篇章,都是重要的。
     弹药武器人员需要提供军队枪炮去进攻。后勤人员需要带来衣物和食物,因为我们要去的地方根本他妈没什么可偷的。指挥部的所有人员都有各自的职责,即使是个只管烧水帮我们洗去征尘的勤务兵。
     每个人不能只想着自己,还要想着跟他并肩作战的兄弟。我们军队不想要胆小鬼。所有的胆小鬼都应该像耗子一样被杀绝。否则,战后他们就会跑回家,生出更多的胆小鬼来。勇者会生出更多勇者。干掉所有该死的胆小鬼,我们将有一个勇士的国家。
     我所见过的最勇敢的战士之一是在突尼斯一次激烈的战斗中爬到电话竿上的一个通讯兵。我路过时停下问他,这种时候爬到那么高的地方瞎折腾什么?他答道:“在修理电线,长官。”我问:“这个时候不是太危险了吗?”他答道:“是危险,长官,但是这破电线不修不行啊。”我问:“飞机低空扫射难道不干扰你吗?”他答:“不,长官,您倒是打扰我了。”看看,这才是真正的男子汉,一个真正的士兵。他全心全意地履行自己的职责,不管那职责当时看起来多不起眼,不管情况有多危险。
     还有你们也应该看见过那些奔波在突尼斯公路上的卡车了。那些司机太了不起了。他们一天到晚行驶在那狗娘养的破路上,从不停歇,从不偏向,无视把四处爆炸的炮弹。我们能顺利前进,全靠这些美国硬汉。他们当中的很多人连续开车已经超过四十小时。这些人不是战斗人员,但他们也是有职责的军人。他们做到了,而且完成得真他妈好。他们是队伍的一部分。没有团队的努力,没有他们,战斗很可能已经输掉了。链条的所有环节都紧紧地连在一起使得链条坚不可摧。
     不要忘了,你们本不知道我在这儿的。任何信件里不要提及我。按理说,这个世界还不知道我出了什么事。我既不统率第三集团军,更不在英国。让那些该死的德国佬第一个发现吧!有一天我想看到那些混蛋屁滚尿流,嚎道:“老天哪!又是那该死的第三集团军!又是那狗娘养的巴顿!”
     我们已经早他妈不像呆在这儿了。越快收拾掉这帮混账,我们就能越快掉转枪口,去端日本鬼子的老巢——在那帮该死的海军陆战队之前。
     当然,我们想回家。我们想让这场战争早点儿结束。最快的办法,就是干掉打起这场战争的狗杂种们。越快把他们消灭干净,我们就可以越快回家。回家最短的路是穿过柏林和东京。到了柏林,我要亲手干掉那个纸老虎、狗娘养的希特勒,就象射死一条蛇!
     谁要想在炮弹坑里蹲上一天,德国佬迟早会找到他的头上。让这种想法见鬼去吧!我的人不挖狐狸洞。我也不想要他们挖。猫耳洞只会使进攻放缓。持续进攻,不给敌人挖狐狸洞的时间。我们将赢得这场战争,但我们只有靠不停战斗,证明我们比敌人有更多勇士,才会赢得战争。
     我们不仅要击毙那些狗杂种们,而且要把他们的五脏六腑掏出来润滑我们的坦克履带。我们要让那些狗日的德国鬼子尸积成山,血流成河。战争本来就是血腥野蛮残酷的。你不让敌人流血,他们就会让你流。挑开他们的肚子。给他们的胸膛上来上一枪。如果一颗炮弹在你身旁爆炸,炸了你一脸灰土,你一抹,却发现那竟是你最好伙伴的模糊血肉时,你就知道怎么做了。
    我不想听到任何报告说,“我在坚守我的阵地。”我们不坚守任何该死的阵地。让德国佬坚守去吧。我们要一刻不停地进攻,除了敌人的卵子,我们对其它任何目标都不感兴趣。我们要扭住敌人的卵子不放,打得他们魂魄离窍。
    我们的基本作战计划,是前进前进再前进,不管要从敌人身上身下爬过去,还是要从他们身体中钻过去。我们要象挤出鹅肠或小号的屎那样执著,那样无孔不入。
    一次又一次总有人会抱怨,说我们对我们的人要求太严,太不近情理。我才不管这些该死的抱怨呢。我坚信一条真理,那就是“一杯汗水,会挽救一桶鲜血。”我们进攻得越坚决,就会消灭越多的德国佬。我们消灭的德国佬越多,我们自己人死得就会越少。进攻意味着更少的伤亡。我希望你们都记住这一点。
    凯旋回家后,你们大家都会有说出一件值得赞扬的伟大事迹。二十年后,你会庆幸自己参加了此次世界大战。到那时,当你在壁炉边,孙子坐在你的膝盖上,问你在第二次世界大战时干什么,你不用尴尬地干咳一声,把孙子移到另一个膝盖上,吞吞吐吐地说:“啊……爷爷我当时在路易斯安那铲粪。”不,先生,你可以直盯着他的眼睛说:“孙子,爷爷我当年在第三集团军和那个叫乔治·巴顿的狗娘养的并肩作战呢!”
    就这么多了。
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这个是电影巴顿将军里面,开头那段开场白!

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