The story of Carl Brashear, the first African-American U. S. Navy Diver, and the man who trained him.
The Navy diver is not a fighting man but a salvage expert. If it's lost, he finds it. If it's sunk, he brings it up. If it's in the way, he moves it. If he's lucky, he'll die 200 feet beneath the waves. That's the closest he'll get to being a hero. Hell, I don't know why anybody'd want to be a Navy diver.
— But to me the Navy is not a business. We have many traditions. In my career, I've experienced most of them. Some good, some bad. However, I wouldn't be here today if not for our greatest tradition.
— And which one is that?
— Honor, sir.
My name is Master Chief Billy Sunday. There was a preacher by the same name who rid Chicago of the whoring spics, drunken wops and motherfucking niggers, who were making that place unfit for decent white folks to live. The only difference between me and that preacher is that he worked for God, and I am God!
— All I wanted was to be master diver.
— All I wanted was to stay one.
Goddamn it, Cookie, move your ass! I want my 12.
AWOL (Absent Without Official Leave) — used to say that a member of the armed forces is away without permission.
— There's only three choices a colored man has in the Navy.
— What, chief?
— A cook, officer's valet or getting the fuck out of the Navy.
— Captain Hanks, sir, I concur with your assessment. These slippery floors alone prohibit such a demonstration, sir.
— Chief Sunday, haven't you had enough trouble in your career? Your advice is unwelcome.
— Who is this man?
— Chief Leslie W. Sunday, sir.
— You swam out of the Saint Lo at Leyte Gulf. You held your breath for four minutes.
— Five, sir.
— He can stay.
Sir, I am a Navy man. Where I come from there are no oceans, only dirt farms and ornery mules. And no self-respecting Navy man makes a living driving mules.