GEN GEORGE PATTON'S
SPEECH
"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."
The General paused and looked over the crowd. "You
are not all going to die," he said slowly. "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!" The men roared in agreement.
Patton's grim expression did not change. "There are
four hundred neatly marked graves somewhere in
Sicily", he roared into the microphone, "All because
one man went to sleep on the job". He paused and the
men grew silent. "But they are German graves,
because we caught the bastard asleep before they
did".
The General clutched the microphone tightly, his jaw
out-thrust, and he continued, "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!"
The men slapped their legs and rolled in glee. This
was Patton as the men had imagined him to be, and in
rare form, too. He hadn't let them down. He was all
that he was cracked up to be, and more. He had
IT!
"We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the
best spirit, and the best men in the world", Patton
bellowed. He lowered his head and shook it
pensively. Suddenly he snapped erect, faced the men
belligerently and thundered, "Why, by God, I
actually pity those poor sons-of-bitches we're going up against. By God, I do". The men clapped and
howled delightedly. There would be many a barracks tale about the "Old Man's" choice phrases. They
would become part and parcel of Third Army's history and they would become the bible of their slang.
"My men don't surrender", Patton continued, "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!"
Patton stopped and the crowd waited. He continued
more quietly, "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'."
Patton paused, took a deep breath, and continued,
"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 road 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."
The General paused and stared challengingly over the
silent ocean of men. One could have heard a pin drop
anywhere on that vast hillside. The only sound was
the stirring of the breeze in the leaves of the
bordering trees and the busy chirping of the birds
in the branches of the trees at the General's
left.
"Don't forget," Patton barked, "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", Patton continued, "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."
The men roared approval and cheered delightedly. This statement had real significance behind it. Much more than met the eye and the men instinctively sensed the fact. They knew that they themselves were going to play a very great part in the making of world history. They were being told as much right now. Deep sincerity and seriousness lay behind the General's colorful words. The men knew and understood it. They loved the way he put it, too, as only he could.
Patton continued quietly, "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", he yelled, "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 cocksuckers 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."
The General paused. His eagle like eyes swept over
the hillside. He said with pride, "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!"
Ahh, I feel much better! See
Ya!

