What is it with reporters? You take one person's tragedy and force the world to experience it... spread it like sickness.
Here we go, the world is spinning. When it stops, it's just beginning. Sun comes up, we all laugh. Sun goes down, we all die.
- I can't imagine being stuck down a well all alone like that. How long could you survive?
- Seven days.
I could have killed 'em all, I could've killed you. In town you're the law, out here it's me. Don't push it! Don't push it or I'll give you a war you won't believe. Let it go. Let it go!
- Are you telling me that 200 of our men against your boy is a no-win situation for us?
- You send that many, don't forget one thing.
- A good supply of body bags.
You don't seem to want to accept the fact you're dealing with an expert in guerrilla warfare, with a man who's the best, with guns, with knives, with his bare hands. A man who's been trained to ignore pain, ignore weather, to live off the land, to eat things that would make a billy goat puke. In Vietnam his job was to dispose of enemy personnel. To kill! Period! Win by attrition.