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[writing about the death of his favorite aide, Captain Richard N. "Dick" Jenson, at the Battle of El Guettar] Captain Richard N. Jenson was a fine boy. Loyal, unselfish, and efficient. I am terribly sorry. There are no coffins here since there's no wood. We will have a trumpeter and an honor guard, but we will not fire the volleys, as it would make people think an air raid was on. I enclosed a lock of Dick's hair in a letter to his mother. He was a fine man and a fine officer. And he had no vices. I shall miss him a lot. I can't see the reason such fine young men get killed. There are so many battles yet to fight.
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[General Patton tours a tent and sees a shell-shocked soldier]
Patton: What's the matter with you?
Bennet: I, I guess I just can't take it sir.
Patton: What did you say?
Bennet: It's my nerves sir. I, I, I just can't stand the shelling anymore.
[starts sobbing]
Patton: Your nerves? Why, hell, you are just a goddamned coward.
[stands and slaps Bennet's helmet with his gloves] Shut up. I won't have a yellow bastard sitting here crying, in front of these brave men who have been wounded in battle.
[Bennet continues to sob] SHUT UP!
[strikes the man again, knocking his helmet liner off; he turns to the admitting officer and yells] Don't admit this yellow bastard. There's nothing wrong with him! I won't have sons-of-bitches who are afraid to fight stinking up this place of honor!
[Turns back to Bennet] You're going back to the front, my friend. You may get shot and you may get killed, but you're going up to the fighting. Either that or I stand you up in front of a firing squad. I
[grabs for his pistol] ought to shoot you myself, you goddamned little whimpering bastard! Get him out of here!
[two orderlies grab Bennet and take him out of tent.] Send him up to the front! You hear me! You GODDAMN COWARD!
[starts walking out of the tent] I won't have cowards in my army.
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[during a Soviet-American celebration after the fall of Berlin]
Russian Translator: The general would like to know if you will drink a toast with him.
Patton: Thank the general, and tell him that I have no desire to drink with him, or any other Russian son of a bitch.
Russian Translator:
[aghast] I can't tell him that!
Patton: Tell him, every word.
Russian Translator:
[nervously, in Russian] He says he will not drink with you, or any other Russian son of a bitch.
Russian General:
[angrily, in Russian] Tell him he is a son of a bitch, too! Now!
Russian Translator:
[nervously] He says, he thinks you are a son of a bitch, too!
Patton:
[laughing] All right, all right. Tell him I'll drink to that. One son of a bitch to another!