Sgt. Hendrix: Well, ma'am, how can I help you?
Lois: It's about my son, Reese. Um, I think you know him as Private Jetson.
Sgt. Hendrix: Private Jetson. Ma'am, let me shake your hand. That boy is the finest soldier that this old dogface ever had the privilege of commanding. I wish I had a hundred more just like him. He's a fine boy.
Lois: Yes, well we think so, too.
Sgt. Hendrix: I'd be proud to help you in any way that I can. Now you just name it.
Lois: The problem is he joined under false pretenses. He ran away; he's not even 18 years old yet. We need to know where he is so we can find him and bring him back home.
Sgt. Hendrix: I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't help you. That's classified. If your son were on a secret mission, which I'm not saying he is nor that one exists, it would compromise said mission if indeed there were one. My hands are tied.