War For The Planet Of The Apes -

“Tomorrow, we finish the dirty work. No prisoners. Not even the young.”

Maurice, the wise orangutan, placed a heavy hand on Caesar’s shoulder. War for the Planet of the Apes

And on the human side of the river, the Colonel lit a cigar, looked at the dark forest, and whispered to his radioman: “Tomorrow, we finish the dirty work

Caesar had cut him down with his own hands. He had not wept. Ape leaders do not weep where others can see. But when he looked up at the stars through the canopy, he made a vow that silenced the wind. And on the human side of the river,

“War,” Maurice signed, his old eyes sad. “That is what he wants. To make you an animal.”

“Then I will give him war,” he said. “But not his war. Mine.”

For two years, since the fall of San Francisco, the Colonel had hunted them. Not with the clumsy, panicked raids of the first human survivors, but with a surgeon’s precision. His soldiers wore the skulls of apes on their armor. They burned the old growth to flush out the hidden. They called him a patriot. The apes called him a ghost—a thing that killed without face or mercy.