Son, we live in a world that has walls.
And those walls have to be guarded by men with guns.
Who's gonna do it? You?
You, Lt. Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom.
You weep for Santiago and you curse the marines.
You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know:
That Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives.
And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives.
You don't want the truth because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties. You want me on that wall. You need me on that wall.
We use words like honor, code, loyalty...
we use these words as the backbone to a life spent defending something.
You use 'em as a punchline.
I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of thevery freedom I provide, then questions themanner in which I provide it.
I'd rather hear you just said thank you and went on yourway.
Otherwise, I suggest you pick up aweapon and stand a post.
Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to.