Dutch: He's killing us one at a time.
Major General Phillips: [seeing the explosion] My god.
Blain: You lose it here, you're in a world of hurt.
Dutch: [examining Blain's body] No powder burns. No shrapnel.
Dillon: The wound's all fused, cauterized. What the hell could have done this to a man?
Billy: [looking at Pancho after being hit by a log] He's busted up pretty bad, Major.
Poncho: [in pain] I can make it! I can make it.
Dutch: [directing his team into the jungle] We move, five meter spread, no sound.
Poncho: [seeing the body of the pig that almost killed Mac] Jesus, you killed a pig... Think you could'a found something bigger?
Mac: [Billy laughs loudly] Fuck you, Poncho! Fuck you!
Dutch: This cabinet minister: does he always travel on the wrong side of the border?
Major General Phillips: [pause] Apparently they strayed off course. And we're fairly certain they're in guerrilla hands.
Dutch: Hey Billy, give me a way out of this hole. Aerial says we are cut off.
Billy: The only way outta here is that valley that leads to the east. But I wouldn't wish that on a broke-dick dog...
Dutch: Not much choice.
Billy: I don't believe he did; I can't find a single track.
Dutch: What about the rest of Hopper's men?
Billy: There's no sign, sir. They never left here. Hell, it's like they just disappeared.
[Blain spits out his chewing tobacco]
Dillon: That's a real nasty habit you got there.
Poncho: Not a thing. Not a fucking trace. No blood, no bodies... We hit nothing!
Dillon: [after a trap seemingly fails to attract the predator] So, what are you gonna try next? Cheese?
Dutch: Who's our backup?
Dillon: No such thing, ol' buddy. This is a one-way ticket. Once we cross that border, we're on our own.
Dutch: This is getting better by the minute.
Dillon: I don't know, Dutch. This is inhuman.
Blain: Come on in, you fuckers. Come on in. Ol' Painless is waitin'.
Dutch: You still don't understand, Dillon, do you? Whatever it is out there, it killed Hopper, and now it wants us.
Anna: Déme el arma. Déme el arma! Give me the weapon!
Dutch: [Dillon is losing at arm wrestling] What's the matter? The CIA got you pushing too many pencils? Huh? Had enough?
Dillon: Make it easy on yourself, Dutch.
[begins to loose further]
Dillon: OK, OK, OK!
