RANGE IS HOT!

Transcript:
Miller: Cease fire!
Soap: Quite a steady hand for a man your age.
Soap: What age is that, again?
Ravenov: Where I come from, Sergeant McTavish, it is rude to ask this question.
Soap: Fair enough - but where I come from, we like to know the man fightin’ beside us.
Ravenov: What is it you would like to know, then?
Miller: Range is hot!
Miller: Cease fire!
Ravenov: Perhaps we should start with what I know about you.
Ravenov: Youngest SAS selection in British Army history. Handpicked for Task Force 141. Deployed on countless classified operations.
Ravenov: Highly decorated, highly regarded.
Ravenov: And apparently, a damn good shot.
Soap: See that’s funny. You know all that, and the only thing I know about you is that you don’t fuckin’ exist.
Ravenov: We are both soldiers, no? Surely this is not the first time you have fought alongside someone who ‘does not exist.’
Soap: Can’t confirm or deny that...
Soap: Fine. Your keep your secrets... I don’t need ‘em.
Ravenov: Why are you here, Sergeant?
Soap: Stayin’ sharp. Same as you.
Ravenov: Da? Then I suppose you would not refuse a little friendly competition, eh?
Soap: Depends what you got in mind...
Ravenov: Five rounds. Tightest grouping. Loser owes a bottle of whatever I saw you drinking last night.
Soap: Scotch.
Ravenov: Of course... You afraid, Sergeant?
Soap: Another thing you should know about me... I don’t know the meaning of that word... Say when, old man…
Miller: Range is hot!