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I've sent men on suicide missions in two wars now,
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and let me tell you something,
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it don't make a gods-damn bit of difference
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whether they're riding in a Viper or walking out onto a parade ground.
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In the end, they're just as dead.
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So take your piety and your moralizing and your high-minded principles
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and stick them someplace safe until you're off this rock
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and you're sitting in your nice, cushy chair on Colonial One again.
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I've got a war to fight.
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MAN 1: Let's go. Move it.
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This way. Offload the rest.
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MAN 2: Let's go to isolation. Move!