All language subtitles for Angels.One.Five.1952.720p.BluRay.x264.YIFY.ENG

Hello, filter room.

I have a new track here,

Range of 4-5 miles,

Bearing 1-2-0.

No height.

Here's another track.

Hostile 2-4.

Sugar 1-5-2-5.

12-plus aircraft.

12-plus.

Hostile 2-4. Sugar...

12-plus.

Hostile 2-4, Sugar 1-5-2-5.

12-plus aircraft.

Fighter 7-8, 12 at 16,

"Q" Queenie 7-7-7-3 south.

Hostile 7-5.

100 at 16.

"S" Sugar 3-5-8-5, east.

Hello, Neethley.

Group controller here.
Your controller, please.

Is that you, Moon?

Have a look at Raid 24.

12 aircraft leaving Boulogne.

Looks as if they're after
Tango Convoy passing Dover.

What's the form?

Red Section of 22-70 Squadron

are patrolling over Tango, sir.

No. They're about due for recall.

They won't have enough petrol left
if they have to mix it.

White section are on their way
to relieve them.

5-2-1-4...

I quite agree, sir.

I'll get 13-20 Squadron off right away.

Neethley serial 5-4...

Get Pimpernel Red and Yellow Sections
in the air, Bonzo.

Dover 15,000 feet.

Angels 15, ok.

Turn that ruddy thing off!

Scramble Red and Yellow sections, Dover,

Angels 1-5.

Scramble, chaps,
Red and Yellow, Dover,

Angels 1-5.

Red and Yellow, Dover.
15,000 feet.

Come on, Batchy.
Customers waiting.

I'm coming with you.

Nice work, Skipper!

Identity card and password,
please, sir.

You know who I am.

Yes, sir.

Then you don't need to see
my identity card.

I'm sorry, sir.
Sergeant gave me orders to let no one in

without examining his identity card

and obtaining the password.

I give the orders on this station.

I know that, sir.

Very well.

I happened to have left
my identity card in my office.

I'm sorry, sir.
I can't let you pass.

Oh, so you're more scared
of your sergeant

than you are of me, huh?

It's not that, sir.

I happen to know you well, sir.

But there might be
a new man on this job.

Quite right.

Well done, Thompson.

I'm glad to see you're not shaken.

I'm sorry I bullied you.

That's all right, sir.

Thank you, sir.

Well, what is it now?

You haven't given me
the password, sir.

Good man.
You've got your wits about you.

The word is "crocus. "

Thank you, sir.

Think I'd fall for that one?

Group Captain Tiger Ruddy Small.

The Tiger.

Hello, Sapper, Sapper,

Beeswax White One calling,
in position. Hello.

Hello, White One,

Sapper answering.

Ok. Ok. Out.

Hello, Beeswax, Red One.

Red One.
You may pancake,

Vector 2-8-5. Over.

Hello, Sapper, Sapper.

Beeswax Red One answering.

Thank you, Sapper. Out.

Put Hostile 2-4 on the screen, please.

Good afternoon, Peter.

Afternoon, sir.

What's going on?

The usual stuff.
They're after a convoy.

So I see.

Serial 5-6.

Red and Yellow Section,

13-20 Squadron.

Intercept Raid 24.

If only they'd stick to convoys.

Hello, Pimpernel Leader,
Pimpernel Leader,

Sapper calling.

What are your Angels now?

Over.

Got any special information, sir?

No. But it can't be paying them
much of a dividend, can it?

Hello, Sapper.

Leader answering.

Angels 1-5. Out.

It's not likely to as long as we have
a few Hurricanes airborne.

Hello, Sapper.
Pimpernel Leader calling.

I'm in position. Out.

The same idea must be
dawning in the mind

of Reichsmarshal Goering.

Meaning?

Hello, Pimpernel Leader.
Sapper calling.

Vector 1-3-5,

Bandits ahead of you,

ahead of you,

Angels 1-5. Over.

Well, obviously, sooner or later...

sooner is my guess...
he'll employ some of the 3,000 aircraft

he has at his disposal

to prevent our Hurries being airborne.

It's up to 3,000, is it, now?

Yes, he's got something
like that between Brest

and Amsterdam.

I reckon that makes
the odds about 5 to 1.

Well, more than that if you discount

our squadrons tied down in the north.

Well, call it 6 to 1, sir.

We can cope with that.

Hello, Sapper, Sapper.
Pimpernel Leader calling.

Tally ho, tally ho!

Nice work, Peter.

Thank you, sir.

Sometimes I think
Bill Ponsford could find

a Jerry in a fog
without my assistance.

Been getting any flying lately?

A few circuits and bumps
in the station maggie,

just to remind myself
what it feels like to be airborne.

As air attache in Turkey,
I didn't get much chance

to fly modern type fighters.

I realize that.

You must get yourself
up in a Hurricane, Peter.

It's time you caught up
with the rest of us.

There's nothing I should like better.

But I don't want to use the hours
when we're so short of aircraft.

Oh, never mind about that.

Oh, by the way, there are
3 replacement aircraft

due in this afternoon.

One of the pilots is joining us,

a chap named Baird.

A volunteer reservist, I believe.

Very good, sir.

And don't forget, Peter...

get yourself up in a Hurricane.

Don't worry, I will,

when I can find the time.

You must make the time, Peter.

Get Clinton to take on
more of your work.

He should be capable by now.

Oh, Barry Clinton's all right, sir.

All he wants is
a little more experience

to gain confidence, that's all.

Tell Squadron Leader Clinton for me

that he won't gain experience
by digging in his garden.

Barry? Oh, Barry, darling.

- Hello?
- Please come in.

What's the matter, dear?

Come here.

It's that flaming policeman, darling.

He won't stop bullying me

about the blackout
in the top landing window.

But didn't you tell him
why we keep the curtains open?

Of course I did.

But he won't take it from me.

Come on.

Ah, good afternoon, Constable.

Well, what seems to be the trouble?

Trouble, sir?

It's a matter of your blackout.

Front window blazing at night.

Hardly blazing, old man.
It's only a 40-watt bulb.

Well, I understand it's possible
to see a naked light.

You manage to make it
sound quite indecent.

Didn't my wife explain that
our house faces the end of the runway,

and we keep the light on
to help the pilots landing after dark.

Well, she has, sir,
but that's as may be,

it's still contrary to the regulations.

But, my dear chap, it's done

at the express request
of Group Captain Small,

the station commander.

You're not trying to incite me

to disobey my superior officer, are you?

No, sir.
I wouldn't want to do that.

But you see how it is, sir.

Isn't there something else
you could do?

Hang out a red light, for instance.

Well, it's an interesting idea.

Fighter 1-2 "R" Robert
0-5-9er-1 west.

Who might that be,
do you suppose?

Some senior officer
stooging around, I expect.

Thank you, sir.

Group, sir. It's the first
of our replacement aircraft,

call sign Elfin One.

A ruddy fine time to arrive

with Pimpernel due back any minute.

Hello, Pimpernel Leader.
Pimpernel Leader.

How are you getting on?
Over.

Hello, Sapper, Sapper,

Pimpernel Leader answering.

Bandits have turned away.

We are returning to base.
Over.

Hello, Sapper.
Hello, Sapper.

Elfin One calling.

Are you receiving me?
Over to Sapper.

Over.

Hello, Elfin One.
Sapper answering.

Yes, I am receiving you.

Steer 2-4-0. Over.

Hello, Sapper.
Hello, Sapper.

Elfin One calling.
Elfin One calling.

I can see base.
I can see base.

Have I permission to land?

Is this understood?

Over.

Hello, Elfin One.
Sapper answering.

Get down as quick
as you can. Over.

Hello, Sapper.
Hello, Sapper.

Elfin One answering.

Elfin One answering.

Your message received
and understood.

Listening out.
Listening out.

Out.

That's what I call a really
conscientious type.

Warn the practice flight, Bonzo.

Look out!

Hello, old man.

Dropped in for tea?

Thought there'd be more room
at the end of the runway.

Well, our guests
do usually park their aircraft

up there, I'll admit.

Hurt your neck?

It's nothing much.

I think I must have strained
my ligamentum nuchae.

Your what?

It's the big tendon
at the back of your neck

which keeps your head up.

You must have noticed it in cows.

No, I'm afraid I haven't.
Should I have done?

We haven't introduced ourselves.

I'm Barry Clinton, sector controller,

lowest form of life.
This is my wife Nadine.

How do you do, ma'am?
My name is Baird.

I've been posted to this station.

I was bringing in
a replacement aircraft.

A replacement?

Something tells me
you're not going to be very popular.

It wasn't my fault, sir.

Another aircraft cut right
across in front of me.

It was a mercy
we didn't collide.

It certainly was.

- Hello, men.
- Hello, Barry.

What have we here?

One pilot, one Hurricane,
both slightly bent.

Hi, Doc.

Let me introduce you...
Pilot Officer Baird.

Hate to disappoint you,

but I don't think you'll need
your blood wagon.

All right, Casey,
I shan't be needing you.

No bones broken?

No, sir?

You're a lucky chap.

No strains, sprains,
pains, or blains?

He's got a ligamentum whatsit.

She means ligamentum nuchae, sir.

I think I've strained it.

What makes you think that?

I'm a medical student, sir.

Or at least I was
till the war started.

It's nothing much.

All the same,
I think we better have

a second opinion, don't you?

Let's have a look at it.

I'll give you a lift back
to sick quarters in the ambulance.

I'm sorry to have caused you
all this trouble, sir.

That's all right, old man.
See you in the mess, I hope.

Good-bye, Mrs. Clinton.

Batchy! You old pirate!

- Batchy!
- Where have you been?

I thought you bought it.

So did I, Skipper. So did I.

I saw you go down
after that 1-1-0,

but I was too busy myself
to see what happened.

Oh, that one.

Another Jerry crew
will be swimming

back to base this evening.

- Good show.
- Whizzo, Batchy!

Did you get shot up?

Only a teeny-weenie one
in my glycol tank.

And another in my radio.

So I decided to fizz back to base

while I still had some height.

Glad you made it.

And that ends our bedtime story
for tonight, kiddies.

Hold it, chaps!

You haven't heard the half of it.

I'm putting meself down
nice and comfortable

on dear old Neethley

when an angry great Hurricane
comes roaring at me

down the runway.

"This is it," I said to meself.

Silver handles and hello, Saint Peter.

What did you do?

What could I do, you twerp?

I just shut my eyes
and the whole of my past life

loomed up before me.

What a shocking experience.

And when I opened them again,

this other chap had hopped
over me back

like a flea on a dog's tail.

# They were only playing leap frog #

# They were only playing leap frog... #

Shut up!

What a copper-bottomed ape.

Who was it?

Oh, some ferry type
with a replacement Hurrie,

so they tell me.

A replacement?
Where is it now?

Standing on its prop
in Barry Clinton's garden, I believe.

By heaven, if he's written it off,
I'll tear him apart.

- Where is he?
- Doc took him down to station sick quarters.

He'll be sorry he didn't write himself up
by the time I'm through with him.

Oh, now, wait a minute, Skipper.

He didn't prang me
and I was landing cross wind.

What the hell has that
got to do with it?

This is an operational station.

Pie-eyed ferry types
should know darn well

they've got to keep out of the way.

Might have slaughtered
an experienced pilot.

As it is he's written off
an invaluable aircraft.

God, how we need them.

Hello, Bonzo?
This is Bill Ponsford.

I want to speak to Peter Moon.

Oh, hang it all, Skipper.

He put up a pretty good show, really.

I mean, he must have had his finger out
to hop over me like that.

Shut up, Batchy!
I mean that.

Hello, Peter.

Hello, Bill.
What's eating you?

Steady, old man.
I know how you feel.

Yes, yes, I grant you,
Batchy is more valuable

than a thousand
non-operational types, but...

Look, let me speak, will you?

"A" and one,
Batchy came in at naught feet

and we got no warning.

"B" and 2,
this sap is not a ferry pilot,

he's an operational type,
or soon will be.

He's posted to your squadron.

What? I won't have
the damn fellow near my outfit.

And you can tell that to the tiger.

I sympathize, old man,

but you can tell the tiger yourself.

Bring me a pint, will you, Price?

Very good, sir.

Hello, Baird.

Settling in all right?

Yes, thank you, sir.

Good. Made your number
with the Old Man yet?

He wasn't there when
I reported to the adjutant.

Oh, he's in the anteroom now.

Have a drink.

Not just now,
thank you, sir.

Oh, well, if you're not drinking,
I'll toddle off home.

You see, I have a lonely wife
that needs company.

You'll find Squadron Leader
Ponsford in there.

He's the squadron C.O.

I should make myself known to him.

Oh, thanks, sir, I will.

Good. Cheerio.

Good night, sir.
Cheerio.

I spy strangers.

Are you looking for someone, old chap?

I'm looking for the C.O.
Of 13-20 Squadron.

Well, hold on a minute.

Are you down there, Bill?

Yes, I'm down here.

What is it, Batchy?

An air force officer wishes
to hold converse with you.

Well, I'm Ponsford.
You want me?

I've been posted
to your squadron.

I'm Pilot Officer Baird, sir.
T.B. Baird.

T. B?

Sounds a bit Septic to me.

So you're the type
who nearly wrote off

my best flight commander

and pranged a replacement aircraft.

I'm sorry about that, sir.

It wasn't really my fault.

What do you mean,
it wasn't your fault?

The other chap came in
bang across wind

without making a circuit.

The other chap was a squadron aircraft
returning from operations.

Well, that may be, sir,
but I had permission to land.

Permission?
What permission?

There's no such thing.

Operations told me
to get down at once.

Well, what if they did?

That doesn't give you the right
to go barging around

like a blind bull in a china shop.

My name is Small.

I'm the station commander.

Oh, that's all right.
There's no need to stand on ceremony.

This is where we relax,
as you may have noticed.

Thank you, sir.

You look as though
you could do with a drink.

Come along.
I'll get you one.

You're a volunteer reserve, I see.

Something of a novelty in these parts.

Yes, sir.
I joined my university squadron

At the time of Munich.

What were you reading?

Medicine, sir.

And you chucked up that
to join the air force?

Naturally, sir.

Why naturally?

I'd learned to fly.

The war's won by pilots,
not by doctors.

You think so?

Don't you, sir?

Oh, I suppose I should.

I'm a professional fighter.

Perhaps my views are a bit narrow.

What will you have to drink?

I think there are a few Scotch Ales left.

Thank you, sir.

How's the neck?

Oh, fine, sir.

A wee bit stiff,
but that will soon wear off, sir.

As a medico, you should know.

Yes, sir.

Do I join the squadron
tomorrow, sir?

Well, we won't talk shop now.
This is my play time.

You'd better come and see me
in my office in the morning.

- I'll be there, sir.
- Skol.

Now pay attention, all of you!

You've been sent here
to guard this aerodrome,

and guard it you will,

against all unauthorized persons,

saboteurs,

and assaults from the enemy.

And while you're here...

you will uphold the traditions of the army

before the R.A.F.,

being punctilious
and paying respects

to their officers.

Now, a word of warning.

Their sergeant majors,

what they call
warrant officers,

and of which they have
a great multitude,

dresses very like the real officer.

We don't want no accidents.

Understand?

You don't salute me,
so you won't salute them.

Parade!

Attention!

For your information,

that was a pilot officer.

Party!

Attention!

At ease!

Come in.

What can I do for you?

I have an appointment
with the station commander, sir.

He's busy this hour.

Better take a seat.

He asked me
to come and see him.

I daresay he did.

You're not our only
customer, you know.

Sit down.

The Old Man's ready
to hear the charge now.

Accused, count off!

Witness escort accused,
party... attention!

Right turn! Quick march!

Left, right, left, right,
left, right, left wheel...

Party, right!

Hello, Baird.

I gather you're joining me
in the hole for a while.

The hole, sir?

It's what the irreverent
call the operations room.

Operations room?

But I'm a pilot.

So, if you observe closely, am I.

I realize that, sir,
but it's not quite the same thing, is it?

Why not?

Well, I mean,
you're a squadron leader, sir.

Which might suggest that I'm the more
experienced pilot than you, mightn't it?

You don't get the point, sir.

Perhaps not, but I'm not
going to argue the toss.

If you're sent to the hole,
that's where you'll go.

Believe me, it has its uses.

Even for pilots.

Has it ever occurred to you, Wailes,

that using a crib in a trade examination
is a very stupid offense?

It doesn't help to win the war,
it doesn't help the air force,

It doesn't even help you
in your work, does it?

No, sir.

Do you know whom you're serving?

Yes, sir. You, sir.

No, you're not,
any more than I'm serving

the air officer commanding a group.

We're both serving the king.

Pulling on the same rope,
part of the same team.

- Do you understand?
- Yes, sir.

Cribs won't help us.

Supposing I'm flying an aircraft,
it gets into a spin.

Christmas daisies,
where's my crib?

And before I can find the right piece,

There's Saint Peter
tap tapping on my fuselage

demanding my soul of me.

Think that one over.

Admonished. March out.

Admonished!

Witnesses escort accused,

right turn!

Wake up!

Right wheel.

Quick march!

Left, right, left right,
left right, left.

Pilot Officer Baird
is waiting to see you, sir.

Oh, yes. Send him in.

Come in, Baird.

All right, relax.

How's the neck this morning?

Pretty good, sir.

The M.O. Seems to think it'll take
2 to 3 weeks to get right.

He's a very cautious man, sir.

That's a quality
I approve in doctors.

Sir, is it because of that

you're sending me
to the operations room?

Oh, Squadron Leader Moon's
told you, has he?

Yes, that's the reason.

But I can fly perfectly well, sir.

If you mean aviate around the sky,
I've no doubt you can.

But that's not what
we're here for, Baird.

Operational flying's
a very different matter.

I'm sure I'd be all right, sir.

Ever heard of
the Messerschmidt twitch?

No, sir.

It's a nervous complaint
contracted by fighter pilots.

It comes from constantly
looking over your shoulder

to see if there's a Jerry
on your tail.

You'd find that a bit difficult,
wouldn't you?

I'll risk that, sir.

Understand this, Baird.

I'm not in the least interested
whether you get shot down or not.

All I'm interested in is the efficiency

of the squadrons
under my command.

The squadron is a team.

Each member must have
complete confidence

in every other in attack or defense.

It takes quite a time
to build such a team.

And I'm not going to jeopardize

one of the finest squadrons
in fighter command

just so that you can
poop off your guns.

Is that clear?

Yes, sir.

Good.

Now I suggest that you get along

and report to the operations room.

If you've got any sense
and you keep your eyes and ears open,

you could learn a lot.

If I had my way,
all pilots would do a spell in there.

Thank you, sir.

Good luck, Baird.

Now, don't try and rush your fences.

You've got a good report up to now.

Just ease back and...

take things in for a bit, hmm?

Yes, sir.

Squad Leader Ponsford
to see you, sir.

Ah, come in, Bill.

Morning, sir.

Morning.
Have a cigarette.

Oh, thanks very much.

You want to talk to me
about Baird, I suppose.

Well, yes, I did,
as a matter of fact.

Well, don't worry yourself.

He's not fit for operational flying yet.

In fact, it's just as well, anyway.

I'm posting him non-effective
to Moon in the operations room.

Thank heaven for that.

Poor old Peter.

Oh, don't underestimate that boy.

He's keen, and from his record,
an above-average pilot.

Well, he started here
with a big enough black.

Yes, I know how you feel about it.

I was going to tear him
off the strip myself,

but it's not the right treatment.

He just doesn't understand
what squadron espirit is about, and...

anyway, he's suffering from
a big enough sense of injustice already.

Hello, Baird.
I was expecting you.

Make yourself at home.

We rather pride ourselves on our hole.

Not quite such a gin palace
as some of them,

but it has its exclusive features.

That glass wall map, for instance,

where we stick our own fighters

and any raids we're
especially interested in.

Ops "B" with his lines
to squadron dispersal.

Ops "A" in touch with
her counterpart at group.

Our brown colleagues,
ack-ack and searchlight liaison.

And, of course,
the beauty chorus.

Every girl hand-picked.

You don't seem to approve
of our domestic activities.

It's not that, sir.

A bit surprised, that's all.

You know, it's a peculiarity
of the female

that she can only relax
by being busy.

I suppose it is.

You don't seem very impressed.

Group controller on the line, sir,

about Raid 7-5.
Wants to talk to you.

There, see?
That's what comes of nattering to you.

Clear the deck, Soss.

Serial 9-6...

Ok, I'll take it on this phone.

2 sections, 22-70 Squadron.

Neethley Control here, sir.

Patrol Ramsgate 12,000 feet.

Yes, sir, we've got 2 sections
on patrol over Ashford, sir.

Ok, sir.

Scramble Beeswax
blue and green, Tom.

Ramsgate 12,000 feet.

Hello, Beeswax dispersal.
Scramble Blue and Green...

Morning, Tom.
Morning, sir.

Wotcher, Septic, you old assassin.

So this is where you hide.

..."R" Robert 9-7-2-9...

Well, don't look
so boot-faced, old boy.

No offense meant.

But after all,
you did very nearly land

on my cockpit cover, you know.

You were coming in cross wind.

Oh, absolutely, old boy.

Shocking display.

Quite second 11.

Trouble was,
some Jerry with evil intent

had perforated my glycol tank.

You mean you were shot up?

Nobody told me that.

I'm very sorry, sir.

Think nothing of it, Septic, my lad.

Happens every day.

Only some of them
aren't lucky enough

to find a runway to park down on.

Things are beginning to hum.

I have a feeling our absence
might be acceptable.

Come down to dispersal
and meet the boys.

I can't leave here, I'm afraid.

Good idea. I can't see the table
through the back of your head, anyway.

Thanks, sir.

Come on.

I must say,
I thought it rather raw myself.

But the Skipper's apt to be a bit touchy
about his replacement aircraft.

Pity you didn't open up
and go around again.

Well, I tried. Of course I tried.
She wouldn't pick up.

A habit they have
if you do it too quickly.

Well, it had to be quick.
There wasn't much time, you know.

Oh, absolutely, old boy.
A thoroughly shaky do.

I say, look here,

I wouldn't take the C.O.'s
outbursts too much to heart

if I were you.

He's a desperately keen type.

A wizard squadron C.O.
And all that sort of thing.

But he's apt to be a bit
touchy sometimes.

He's been at it an awful long time.

But he's pure gold
when you scrape down.

Absolutely pure gold.

Do mind if I have a look
over Jemima while I'm here?

No.

How's it going, Wailes?

Sliding a bit easier now, sir.

Give me an hour, sir,
and I'll have it running like silk.

Good show.
I hear they nearly

clapped you in the cooler this morning.

- It won't do, Wailes.
- No, sir.

How the hell do you expect me
to fly if me rigger's in chokey?

Very sorry, sir.

You're a clot, Wailes.

Yes, sir.

Now, that's a good tip, Septic.

Never get into a kite until you're sure
you can get out, pronto.

There's many a keen type
not here now

because his cockpit
wouldn't open up in time.

I'll remember that.

We've come to readiness, sir.

Good-o, Pete.
Thanks very much.

That's Peter Haddon.

Quite a good type.

He's got 4 already.

Gentlemen, and others
of Pimpernel Squadron,

meet our latest recruit.

Pilot Officer T.B. "Septic" Baird,

The celebrated leap-frog man.

- Wotcher, Septic.
- Welcome, stranger.

Welcome to Coney Hatch.

Make way for the stunt man, chaps.

And may all his bogies be bandits.

Come into our parlor
and inspect the gallery.

On my left is squadron homework.

And this bedraggled streak
is Pilot Officer Mortimer,

our faithful tail-end Charlie.

Tail that wags the dog.

This is Wally.

This is Nobby.

Meet Septic,

the celebrated Highland flyer.

Hiya.

And this is Jacko.

Would this be a bomb sight
of a Junkers 87?

Bang on!
Good for you, Septic.

Actually, it's our earliest trophy.

And this is the rudder off a J.U. 87.

And that's a bit of wing
off a J.U. 88.

Quite a Junkers shop, in fact.

Tactful pilots usually laugh

at this point in my conducted tour.

And this bit...

This is the driving stick
off an M.E. 1-1-0.

See? Look here.

"August naturen gesellschaft. "

German.

109.

Spinner.

And here... yes, now...
now, here we have

an exhibit of especial interest

to the young pilot.

The most highly derogatory order
of the irremovable digit.

What's it for?

Slinging around the neck
of types who land

with their undercarts up.

Taxi into other aircraft,
overshoot on landing,

or otherwise blacken
the fair record of the squadron.

No doubt you all think it's I who
should be wearing it now.

Squadron scramble, chaps!

Hastings, Angels 1-5!

Sorry to drag you over from Gravesend,
Richard, at this hour of the night,

but it's the only time
I can be sure of getting

all my squadron commanders
on the ground together.

Oh, well,
that's quite all right, sir.

Well, gentlemen,
I was over at group this afternoon,

and I thought perhaps
you might like to know

what the A.O.C. Had to say
about the way things are going

and are likely to go.

Oh, thank you, sir.

Yes, well, you keep your thanks

until after you've heard
what he said, Richard.

Very briefly, intelligence believes

that the Jerries have
just been probing so far...

Testing our defenses.

At any moment now,
the real shenanigan may start.

I've often wondered why
the much-boosted Luftwaffe

hasn't put up a better show.

For the old reason, Bill...

The strong always
underestimate the weak.

But we're not as weak
as all that, sir.

Do you know how many squadrons
there are in fighter command, John?

About 50.

Yes, 50 to defend a whole country.

22 in this group.

On the same basis,
the Jerries have

120 squadrons of bombers,
and 80 of fighters

from Brest and Amsterdam alone.

Makes you think, doesn't it?

It makes me pray.

Yes, well, you'll be wasting your prayers

but for 3 things...

We've got better aircraft,
better pilots,

and perhaps, most important of all,

we have radio location
and ground control.

That's where Peter and his boys
in the hole come in.

Hear, hear.

Any idea what the next move

of the Jerry will be, sir?

Yes, I'm coming to that.

You can bet your shirts that he's got

all our ops rooms
and sector stations

neatly ringed on his maps.

If he can flatten
our fighter defenses...

then all the rest of it
is a piece of cake to him,

invasion and all.

So you'd better get

your emergency ops room
on the top line right away, Soss.

Yes, sir.

Meaning that we can expect

some unwelcome visitors any time now?

Exactly, Peter.

Oh, yes.
And talking of visitors,

much as I regret it,

I think we shall have to curtail
our social activities here.

I don't like risking wives,
sweethearts,

and also-rans on the aerodrome
under the circumstances,

So I'm afraid
next Sunday's cocktail party

will have to be the last.

So, let's make it
a memorable praznik, huh?

Have some sherry.

Thank you.

I don't think you've met
Groucho Carfax's sister Betty, sir.

- How do you do?
- How do you do?

I'm sorry your brother
can't be here, Miss Carfax.

He's one of the unlucky ones.
His squadron is in readiness.

Beeswax Red were taking off
just as we came in, sir.

Were they?
It's too bad the way operations

interfere with our modest pleasures.

Perhaps he'll be back in time to join us.

I hope so.

In the meantime, I'm sure that

Pilot Officer Raynes
will look after you.

Don't let him bore you
with a lot of shop.

- No.
- Not likely, sir.

Bill, where's Baird?

He ought to be here
helping us to entertain our guest.

I don't know, sir.
Batchy, do you know?

Yes, he was squatting in the ante-room
as I came past, sir.

Got his head stuck
in one of the Sunday heavies.

Then go and dig him out.

And tell him from me,
his presence would be acceptable.

Shall be done, sir.

May I introduce
my mother and father, sir?

- How do you do?
- How do you do?

How do you do, sir?

It's very good of you
to let us come here.

Oh, don't thank me.
We enjoy entertaining, don't we, Falk?

I'm only sorry that we have to restrict it

to relatives and close friends

owing to security reasons,

and even that's got
to stop now, I'm afraid.

We've heard so much about you
from Dennis, Captain.

Not much to my credit, I fear.

Yes, indeed.
He says...

I mean, that is, he...

Have you got a family, sir?

About 2,000, at a guess,

including the 2 satellites.

What a nice way of putting it.

Come out from behind
that barrage, Septic.

Why, your presence is demanded

in the lady's room.

You don't expect me
to fall for that gag, do you?

What gag, old man?
I'm not trying to be funny.

Well, perhaps you'll be
good enough to tell me

who is demanding my presence.

Well, actually, old man,

it's no lesser a person than the...

than Nadine Clinton.

Well, that's different then.

Why didn't you say it was she?

Mind you, I don't know if I approve
of all this social stuff in war time.

I'd talk to the Tiger about it,
if I were you.

You know I'll do no such thing.

A man's entitled
to his own opinions all the same.

Isn't he?

Absolutely, old man.

Seems to be quite a flap on.

There's 3 sections
of Beeswax up already.

I bet Barry's got his coat off
in the ops room.

And thinking rude thoughts
about our sherry drinking.

Now stop talking shop,
you controller types.

I want a word
in Mrs. Clinton's charming ear.

Look, I...

This is very sudden, Group Captain.

Now, look, I'm serious, my dear.

It gets more and more flattering.

Don't make things more difficult.

I'm scared enough already.

You? Scared?

I can't even frighten

my own tame squadron leader.

Look... I want you
to leave your bungalow.

What?

You see, we believe
that at any moment,

the Jerries are going to start bombing
the fighter stations.

Well, now, when that happens,

they'll throw in everything they've got
to try and wipe us out.

I don't know want the responsibility

of having civilian women around.

Well, I've been called
a great many things in my time,

but civilian woman.

You must excuse
my crude service jargon,

but you do understand?

Perfectly.

And you needn't have apologized.

And you needn't have
got so worked up about it all.

Thank you, my dear.
I knew.

'Cause I'm not going.

I've rounded up our shy pilot, sir.

He came like a bomb when I told him

Miss Clinton was pining for him.

Oh. Oh, yes.

You see, Septic,

I didn't want you to miss
our last Sunday party

with so many beautiful girls around.

You're wasting your talents in solitude.

I'll introduce you to some.
Come on.

Astonishing woman.

Absolutely, sir.

Betty, I want to introduce you
to Pilot Officer Baird,

a newcomer to our ranks,
Miss Carfax.

Hello.

How do you do, Miss Carfax?

Being a V.R., Pilot Officer Baird

probably has a wider range
of conversation

than us regular types.

Will someone get me a drink?

Tony, there's someone
I want you to meet.

I suppose you're a Pimpernel
or you wouldn't be here.

Yes, that's right.

My brother's in Beeswax Squadron.

They're pretty busy this morning.

Yes, he's off now.

I expect you wish you were, too.

Indeed, I do.

That is... I didn't mean that...

You mean, you'd rather be flying

than making dull conversation
with a strange girl?

I didn't mean that at all, Miss Carfax.

Yes, you did.

And I quite agree with you.

It must be wonderful.

There's nothing like it.

Power and speed
and whole sky to yourself.

But you've got a squadron, Bill.

Yes, granted,
I've got a squadron, Peter.

Thank you.
In the long run,

you pukka Cranwell-trained laddies

but you all have
short-term commission, chaps,

when it comes to the plum jobs.

Sitting on my backside

is not my idea of a plum.

Attention, everybody.
Attention, everybody.

Pimpernels to readiness.

- Hell!
- That is all.

Batchy, what a ghastly way
to drink good sherry.

I shall savor mine later
with proper respect.

And heaven help you, Peter,

if it's not there when I get back.

What about you?
You're a Pimpernel, aren't you?

Yes, but you see, my neck.

I'm not flying at present.

Oh, come on, we can
see them off, anyway.

Come on!

Come on, come on!

Oh, how I wish
I was a man at this moment.

Some people have all the luck.

Let's go back
and finish our drinks.

The party's not over yet.

Yes, let's.

You've never flown
on operations yet, have you?

- Who told you that?
- You did.

I did?

It's true, isn't it?

Yes.

I was shooting a terrible line,
I'm afraid.

No, you weren't.

I guessed as much when I saw
that look in your eyes just now.

I remember my brother
when he first joined the squadron.

You must be
a very sympathetic kind of sister.

Oh, I don't know.

Being a useless female makes it easier
to understand how you feel.

Hardly describe you
as useless, Miss Carfax.

Well, useful enough to drive
an old ambulance about, I suppose.

Somebody swiped our drinks.

Oh, that's easily remedied.

You two seem
to be getting along fine.

Miss Carfax is a very
understanding young woman,

Miss Clinton.

Yes, so I can see.
Now that she's cut me out,

I shall have to seek solace
with my aging husband.

Let's see if I can tune in on him.

Should be about here.

Pimpernel Leader,
Sapper calling.

Patrol "C" for Charlie,

Angels 1-8, 1-8, over.

So Pimpernel are off already.

Hello, Sapper, Sapper.

Pimpernel Leader answering.

Understand point "C" for Charlie.

Angel 20, out.

Oh, hello, Peter.

Sorry to drag you away
from your Sabbath pleasures.

That's all right, sir.

Rotten luck,
Bill Ponsford buying it like that.

Yes.

Difficult man to replace.

Impossible, I should say.

Well, that's up to you, Peter.

You're going to take over Pimpernel.

Me, sir?

But I've no operational experience.

You have lots of other
experience just as valuable.

What about the other pilots?

They respect you as a person,

and that's what matters most, Peter.

But surely Batchy...

You can let Batchy lead
until you find your feet.

I want to keep my team together
and group agrees with me.

I don't know what to say.

Then don't say it.

I take it you're happy
about handing over the ops room

to Barry Clinton?

Oh, yes, sir,
he's absolutely first class now.

Good.
He'll need to be,

if our guess is right
about the next few weeks.

Struth, had any luck, sir?

No, not even one.

There were thousands of blighters.

Nearly got bounced, myself.

Thank heavens you weren't, sir.

Don't thank heaven, Wailes.

Thank Squadron Leader Moon.

Struth.

Moths.

I'm losing my grip, Skipper.

Baloney.

Every time I think of you
flying as my Red Two,

I go into a stall.

Forget it.
You're teaching me a lot.

Now, get inside and get some sleep

before you lose your beauty.

What you reckon
they're doing up there?

Haven't you heard?

We're getting so perishin' short of aircraft,

they're building that platform

so's Old Man Tiger hisself
can stand up there

and punch the Jerry pilots

in the nose as they fly past.

Go on.

Not perishin' likely.

One of us poor ruddy erks
gotta sit up there like a broody crow

and count the Jerry bombs
as they drop on the airfield.

Cor! Chase me 'round the hangar.

I must say being senior controller

hasn't improved your manners, darling.

If you gobble your food like that,

you'll get hiccups
in the middle of a raid,

- and we shall lose the war.
- Sorry, darling.

Group seems to think
I live on the end of that phone.

I must get the emergency ops room tested.

Are the boys still flying?

One section of Beeswax.

I must turn on the light.

Blast.

Another bulb's gone.

This war's getting expensive!

Now don't you worry, darling.
The government pays.

Bless you.

Name your poison, Septic.

Pipe down, Batchy,
I'm in the chair.

Good evening, Mr. Moon.
Good evening, Mr. Salter.

Good evening, sir.

Good evening, Aunt Tabitha.

I trust we find you well.

I can't complain,
not for one of my age.

You'll be taking your usual, I suppose?

Yes, I will.

- Bitter?
- Yes, rather, please.

What about this gentleman?

This is Pilot Officer Baird, Aunt Tabitha.

"Septic" to his intimates.

What are you drinking, Septic?

Oh, thank you, sir.

Do you think I could have a drambuie?

I'm sure you could.

Oh, dear.
I've only the one bottle.

The one I keep for Mr. Mortimer.

I don't think Mr. Mortimer

will be wanting drambuie anymore,

Aunt Tabitha.

You can never be sure,
though, can you, sir?

I'll keep it on one side
all the same, sir,

just in case Mr. Mortimer calls in.

You were lucky
to get it back, Peter.

Oh, she'll be all right, sir.

Take more than that
to knock out Daisy.

I'm not so worried
about the aircraft.

At a pinch, we can go after them
in Tiger Moth armed with hand grenades.

It's the pilots we need so desperately.

Well, the O.T.U. S
are turning out good stuff, sir.

The last 3 V.R. S
I had are shaping well.

I'm glad to hear it,

but it's not enough, Peter,
it's not enough.

The output isn't making up
for the wastage.

You're six short,
Beeswax are four,

and the Spitfire boys
are almost as bad.

Then what's the answer?

Make better use
of what we've got.

The M.O. Says that Baird
will be fit for operations

in a couple of days.

That'll give you one more.

Nice work.

Well, he had an excellent report
from his O.T.U.

When he first joined me in the hole,

I wanted to kick him in the backside.

Most of us did.
Too much of the walking textbook about him.

You ever owned
an aberdeen terrier, sir?

No, I can't say that I have.
I don't like small dogs.

I had one once.

Obstinate, independent little hound.

Always ready to answer back,

But full of guts.

Baird reminds me of him.

They even look alike.

I've got an odd soft spot
for that awkward cuss.

I thought the occasion demanded
our last bottle of port.

You shouldn't be wasting it on me, Barry.

Speak for yourself, Septic.

Hear, hear.
I've been trying to prize

that bottle of port out of Barry
for the past 6 months.

I raises my glass
and looks toward you, Septic.

May your deeds
with Pimpernel Squadron

resound through the halls of fame.

To Septic and the Pimpernels.

Come on, Septic, speech.

I'm no hand at that sort of thing at all.

No funking, Septic.

I just think you should all have
your heads tested.

Shame!

I mean that.

Makes no sort of sense.

First of all, I plough up
your front garden.

Then I make an ass of myself
all over the station.

Barry has to put up with my stupidity
in his ops room,

and now...

now you're filling me up with beer,

and crack open your best bottle of port.

I don't know what
you're trying to do to me,

but I must say it feels pretty good.

You're being launched, Septic.

I'm only sorry the housekeeping money
didn't run to champagne.

Ha ha.

Before you celebrate too much,

don't forget you haven't
got rid of me yet.

There's still a couple days to go.

It's 9:00.

Time for the news.

Feeling happy now, Septic?

Never knew the world
could feel so good.

It's heaven occasionally
to stop worrying;

just sit back and accept it all
as it comes.

I think sometimes a little laziness
is quite a good thing.

That sounds like
very immoral advice to me.

Does it?

It's true, all the same.

I'm feeling rather pleased
with myself, Barry.

I'll give you credit
for most things, darling,

but this time, mother nature
does deserve a small share,

don't you think?

You were going to be
a doctor, weren't you?

Well, I still hope I will be.

Yes, of course.

What do you want to be,
a G.P. Or a surgeon?

Neither, as a matter of fact.

My idea was to specialize.

Ear, throat and nose, probably.

I see.

Yes, I think you'd make
a good specialist.

Thanks.

But what makes you say that?

Well, to begin with, you're
the painstaking type, I should think,

who comes to very clear
and precise conclusions about things.

All good doctors need to do that.

Yes, I know, but you wouldn't
be so good as a G.P.

Indeed. Why not?

There you go.

Quite relentless, aren't you?

I don't know why.

I just have a feeling you'd be
a bit too determined,

If you know what I mean.

No bedside manner?

Yes, if you like.

Anyway, it's much more
comfortable to be a specialist.

Who wants to be dragged
out of bed at all hours of the night?

Is that some more of
your immoral advice?

Very wicked, aren't I?

I don't think so.

Oh...

Betty?

Yes?

Would you come out
with me one evening?

Of course I would.

I'd love to.

Alone, I mean.

Darling old Septic,

I don't go around chained
to a chaperone, you know.

We could go over to Maidstone
and have dinner,

just the two of us.

Oh, I'd adore that. When?

Well, not just for a bit, maybe.

Oh. Why not?

Well, you see, I'll need
to settle down with the squadron first.

- They'll expect me to...
- Oh, of course.

Stupid of me not to realize.

You're a grand girl, Betty.

Hostile 7-6,

100 aircraft, 16,000.

Fighter 161,

"Q" Queenie, 8740...

Looks as though things are boiling up.

Never a dull moment.
A gay life.

And by the look of things, short one.

- Serial 7-6...
- Yes, here we go, boys.

2 squadrons, patrol point "B" for Beer,

at 15,000 feet.

Get Beeswax and Nutmeg
into the air, Septic.

Beeswax dispersal?

Good, stand by.

Nutmeg dispersal? Good.

Order for both squadrons...

Serial 7-6. Both squadrons
patrol point "B" for Beer

at Angels 1-5.

Understood, Nutmeg?

Understood, Beeswax?

Now bring Pimpernel to readiness.

Attention, everybody.
Operations room calling.

Pimpernels to come to readiness.

I repeat,
Pimpernels to come to readiness.

That is all.

"S" Sugar, 2-6-2-0, west.

12 Spitfires taking off.

Initial letter, "P" for Peter.

Ops room, please.

Controller? Hello, Barry.
It's small speaking.

Anything special?

Look, I don't want to bother you.

But tip me off if it looks
like developing our way.

Ok, sir.

Tiger's getting restless.

This promises to be quite a party.

Well, we've time for a cigarette
before the fun begins, anyway.

It's all right.

It'll take Nutmeg
and Beeswax 101/2 minutes

to reach their objective.

2 squadrons of Hurricanes
against 200 Jerries.

Doesn't make much sense, does it?

Woman: 1-5-0, "Q" Queenie,

- 9-3-1-0...
- Hello, Bob.

Haven't wasted much time.

I gathered from Septic
the flap was pretty fierce.

Serial 9-3,

13-20 Squadron.

Patrol Ashford at 18,000 feet.

Get Pimpernel into the air, Septic.

Pimpernel dispersal?
Squadron scramble.

Ashford Angels 1-8.

You heard the form.

Group will place Raid 1-2-4
on our plate.

I'll look after them
with Nutmeg and Beeswax

- if you'll take on Pimpernel.
- Ok.

That means we've got all
our squadrons airborne at once.

I know, old man.
Presumably, group know what they're doing.

Put Raid 1-2-4 on the screen, will you?

Hello, Beeswax and Nutmeg Leaders.

Beeswax and Nutmeg Leaders,
Sapper calling.

Vector 1-5-0, 1-5-0.

100 bandits are approaching you
from the east.

From the east.
Angels 1-8.

Up to angels 1-8, over.

12 Hurricanes taking off.

Initial letter, "U" for Uncle.

3 minutes dead.

Pimpernels, airborne.

It's pretty hot,
even for Pimpernel.

Practice flight want
to do an air test, sir.

Definitely no.

In fact, we'll have the red light on.

We gotta concentrate.

Sorry, old boy, no joy.

Try again in a week's time.

Good Lord, your turn already?

You better skip
while the going's good.

Serial 9-6.

13-20 Squadron.

Intercept Raid 1-2-7.

I think I'll hang around.

This looks like
the biggest show yet.

Stick Raid 1-2-7
on the screen, please.

Hello, Sapper, Sapper.

Beeswax Leader calling.
Tally-ho, tally-ho, out.

Well, that's Beeswax
and Nutmeg engaged, anyway.

Hello, Pimpernel Leader.

Vector 2-1-0,

100 bandits to the south,

Over.

Hello, Sapper, Sapper.

Pimpernel Leader answering.

Understood, out.

Hello, Sapper, Sapper.

Pimpernel Leader calling.
Tally-ho, tally-ho, over.

Hello, Pimpernel Leader.
Sapper answering.

Watch out for hawks. Out.

Well done, Pimpernel.

Carve 'em up, carve 'em up.

That's all 3 squadrons engaged.

Where do we go from here?

Take a look at Raid 1-3-2.

8-0-8-2 west.

If they held that course much longer,

they'll be dropping
in here for a drink.

Looks rather sinister to me.

Let's see what group thinks.

Hello, Neethley.
Yes, I'm watching it.

Hornchurch is trying
to intercept Raid 1-3-2 now,

but I'm not too hopeful.

I'm trying to send
reinforcements to you.

Meantime, do whatever you can.

Good luck.
Nice to have known you.

Thank you very much, sir.

Seems we're on our own now.

Get the Tiger on the blower, Bonzer.

Gun, now's your chance
to show what you can do.

You better take
the Spiders out of your battles.

Station commander, please.

Hello, Sapper, Sapper.

Nutmeg Blue Two calling.

Can I come back and rearm? Over.

Hello, Nutmeg Blue Two,
Sapper answering.

No, you may not
come home yet, out.

Tiger on the phone, sir.

I see.

Well, that's what I expected.

Yes, certainly.

Anything that flies,
and you better be quick.

Attention, everybody.
Attention, everybody.

Operations calling.

Every available pilot,
report to practice flight immediately.

Take off independently
and patrol base

at Angels 1-2, 1-2.

Officer in charge of practice flight

to put every possible
aircraft into the air.

This message to be treated as urgent.

That is all.

It's pretty futile.
They'll never make height in time,

but it's all we can do.

At least they won't find much
on the ground to bomb.

Hostile 3-8, "M" Mother,

1-5-0-2, east.

Attention, everybody,
attention, everybody.

Operations calling.

Action stations, action stations.

Hello there, partner.
Come up where I can see you, will you?

5 assorted aircraft all taking off,

all shapes and sizes.

Hostile 1-3-2,
"Q" Queenie, 9-08-0

Battle bowlers, everybody.

Close the blast-proof doors.

Attention, everybody.
Operations calling.

All personnel not engaged
on operational duties take cover.

Take cover.

Hello, Sapper, Sapper.
Pimpernel Leader calling.

Shall not be home yet.

Have dealt with bandits,
but am engaging hawks. Over.

Hello, Pimpernel Leader.
Sapper answering.

Message understood. Out.

Just our luck to be caught

with both pairs of trousers
at the cleaners.

Guns, see that your boys don't poop off

at any of our lads coming home.

All right.
Leave it to us.

Hello, Sapper.
Hello, Sapper.

Septic calling.
Septic calling.

I am airborne.

- Well, I'll be!
- Have you any instructions for me?

Over to Sapper. Over.

Hello, Septic!
Sapper answering.

Make Angels as fast as you can, over.

Hello, Sapper.
Septic answering.

Receiving loud and clear.

Strength 9.
Listening out.

Hello, Sapper.
Septic calling.

Tally ho, tally ho.
Bandits ahead and above me.

Here I come!

25 enemy bombers
approaching from the southeast.

Height about 10,000 feet.

They look like JU-88s to me.

This is where we learn to take it.

Order the squadrons
not to land back at base.

Here, give it to me.

Oh, some blithering idiot's
left his transmitter on.

Enemy aircraft are now
bombing the aerodrome.

You're telling us!

Atta boy!

Let 'em have it, chum!

Enemy aircraft being attacked
by fighters!

Here, leave me alone.
I've got a job of work to do!

Don't be a perishing fool!

Who do you think you are,
Joan of Arc?

Perishing hangar's on fire!

Test all the lines, Bonzo.

- Sergeant?
- Yes, sir?

What casualties?

No one killed, sir.

One of the R/T operators
copped a nasty one,

and one of the girls
doesn't seem to good.

We're doing the best we can for them.

They'll have a rescue squad here soon.

Yes, sir.

I'm sure there was one
that didn't go off.

Well, let's hope it's a dud.

All the lines are dead.

Right. That settles it.
I'm going to evacuate.

Sergeant, muster the crew
and get them out of here.

Yes, sir.

The emergency option
should be functioning by now.

Can't be done, sir.

The doors are all jammed
or blocked with rubble.

Hell. We shall just have to stay here
and wait for the bomb to go off.

I hope to God Nadine got
into the dug-out.

Tea, sir?

It's a bit gritty,
I'm afraid, sir.

Foster, that's an inspiration.

Remind me to have you promoted.

Yes, sir.

Did you ever see anything like it?

Oh, never mind, duck.

Wasn't really so much
of a little house, was it?

The whole place is
certainly pockmarked.

Yes! Just like old Jerry to sneak in

and plaster everything
while our backs are turned.

Speaking for myself,
I'm glad I wasn't here.

They didn't have it
all their own way, you know.

We managed to put up
an odds and sods section.

Good show! Any joy?

One Messerschmitt 110 certain,

fell just outside the perimeter,

and a couple of probables.

What about you chaps?
That's what I'm here to find out.

Well, there were about 50 Dorniers.

We came in above and behind them.

- 7 went down.
- All confirmed?

Absolutely, old boy.
I followed each one down personally.

Oh, have a heart.
I've got to fill in a claim.

You make it 7, old boy.

And after that, a swarm of M.E. 109s
came out of the sun at us,

and things got a bit hectic.

- Any casualties?
- Yes.

3 unaccounted for so far.

Matthews might have
got down at Hawkinge.

What happened here?

We're pretty lucky, on the whole.

One shelter hit, unfortunately,

and the ops room bought it.

Barry Clinton?

They all got out alive all right.

Where's this M.E. 110?

In a field behind the Red Lion.

Come on, chaps.
Into the truck!

Hey! Damn it!
I've got to get a report!

Hello, Baird.

Hello.

Ever seen one of these before?

Oh, quite a few.

It was me who shot down this bird.

You, was it?

I didn't know you were flying ops.

Well, I got caught up in a scramble.

I see.
Nice work anyway.

Do you think I might have a wee bit,
just for a souvenir?

You'll get me shot!
It's against regulations.

Well, just something
for the squadron's gallery.

Oh, well, as it's your first.

I'll look the other way.

How about a nice little altimeter?

What a prang!

Wotcher, Septic.
Pinching enemy property?

I'm surprised at you, Plumber,
encouraging the lad.

Well, why not?
He shot it down.

What! You never!

What a horrible lie!

I went up from the practice flight.

I was lucky, that's all.

Well, I'll be transmogrified.

Our own Septic's
got himself a Jerry.

Let's do something
about this, chaps.

Here we are!
Chair the victor! Come on, types!

Come on, you types.

Hey! Put that tail fin down!

# Oh, a brave aviator lay dying #

# And as on his deathbed he lay #

# Now, this is the end of our flying #

# And this now is all I could say #

# Take the connecting rod
out of my backbone #

# Take the crankshaft
from out of my brain #

# Take the sparking plugs
out of my kidneys #

# And assemble the engine again #

# So raise up your glasses steady #

# Here's a toast to the men of the sky #

# 3 cheers for the dead already #

# Hoorah for the next man to die #

# Oh, Septic's got a Jerry
in mobile, in mobile #

# Oh, Septic's got a Jerry
in mobile, in mobile #

# Oh, Septic's got a Jerry #

# And the Pimpernels are merry #

# For Septic's got a Jerry in mobile #

Choose your site, Septic.

Come on.
He must have the place of honor.

Let's shift the derogatory finger.

Here, give us a hand,
one of you louts.

Baird.

Come in here a moment, will you?

Shut the door.

I've just been over
inspecting my kill, sir.

I didn't call you in here
to congratulate you, Baird.

I know that, sir.

You're still a member
of this squadron,

even if you are non-effective.

Of course, sir.
That's why I was hanging

my piece of 110 on the wall, sir.

Stop nattering about that 110.

It's been done before, you know.

You come bursting in here,
grinning all over your face.

Did you report to intelligence?

I'm sorry, sir.

In the excitement,
I must have forgotten.

This is an operational squadron,

not a flying circus.

We've no time
for personal jamborees.

- We've got a job to do.
- I realize that, sir.

Perhaps you also realize
that you left your radio on transmit

the whole time you were in the air.

- I did, sir?
- Yes, you,

the textbook pilot
who knows all the answers.

You jammed the channel
so that operations couldn't speak

to any pilot on your frequency...

Pilots returning from a grueling action,

shot up, short of juice,

not even knowing that
their base had been bombed.

How did you know it was me, sir?

'Cause your aircraft was the only one

in practice flight
with a serviceable radio.

Thank God those that
got back landed safely.

Otherwise, I'd run you off the station
with my own hands.

Let's face it, Baird.

You may know the training manuals
backwards by heart.

But until you've had
operational experience,

you aren't worth your rations
to this squadron.

It shan't happen again, sir.

Once is too often.

I will not have this squadron
made a laughingstock.

For that reason,
as far as I'm concerned,

your black won't be published
outside these walls.

That is all.

Well, go on,
go and hang your trophy on the wall.

What ails you, Septic?

You look a trifle parboiled.

Nothing.

I'd rather not discuss it,
if you don't mind.

Ok, old man,
if that's the way you feel.

Where's your trophy, Septic?

Come on, old boy,
you must stick it up.

It's squadron property.

We can't have private looting, Septic.

Listen, chaps.
I made a mistake.

I haven't had much experience yet,
you see, and,

well, I've been a mutt.

Shame!

That 110... I'm not so sure now.

Perhaps it wasn't mine after all.

- What's that?
- Come off it, Septic.

What's the big idea?

This modesty is most unbecoming.

Attention, please.

Will Pilot Officer Baird report

to the station commander immediately.

That is all.

What've you been up to, Septic?

You'd better put some blotting paper

in your trousers, old man.

I shall decide whether you're going
to be any use to us

after I've had a talk with
your squadron commander.

Meanwhile, I hope
you've learned a lesson, Baird.

Discipline and procedure
are just as important

as courage and skill.

Every man and woman
on this station has a part to play

and a strict set of rules to play it by.

I've warned you before
that we don't take kindly

to people who break the team's rules.

The others are only trying
to help you do your job,

and it's up to you
to help them do theirs.

Yes, sir.

All right.
You can go.

Baird, come here.

Have a cigarette?

No, go on.

Thank you, sir.

Sit down.

I called you back because,

well, because you weren't the only one

who let his personal feelings

get the better of his
service training today.

I'm just as guilty myself.

You, sir?

Yes. In the middle of the bombing,
I lost my temper

and grabbed hold of a Lewis Gun

and started pooping off
at the Jerry planes.

Well, a very natural thing to do, sir.

Natural, perhaps, Baird,
but wrong all the same.

I'm a station commander,
not an ack-ack gunner.

But then, you see,
there's nobody here to tear me off a strip.

That's not fair, is it?

But you're the station commander, sir.

Exactly.
That's what makes it

all the more inexcusable.

Yes, and another thing...

You didn't see me
when you were running

to the practice flight, did you?

No, sir.

Well, I was racing
for that last Hurricane,

but I stopped and let you win.

You let me win, sir?

Well, you don't imagine
I couldn't have beaten you to it?

I was a pretty good sprinter
at school, sir.

Well, we can soon settle
that argument.

We'll have a race...
220 yards flat along the perimeter track

in full flying kit.

That will show you
who'd have got to that Hurricane first.

All right, sir.
Now, sir?

No, not now.
I need a drink.

I daresay you're feeling a bit dry, too.

But we'll fix a date for that race.

Don't forget to remind me.

I won't, sir.

Excuse me.

Anything to oblige, old boy.

Oh, it's you, Septic.
Peter Moon was asking for you just now.

Squadron Leader Moon?
Well, where is he?

He's over there by the bar
nattering to the Tiger.

Thanks.

Of course, it's for you to decide, sir,

but that's what I strongly recommend.

Very well, Peter.

I didn't intend to take any action,

but if that's the way you want it, I will.

Oh, there you are, Baird.

I've been looking for you high and low.

You're flying as
my Yellow Two tomorrow.

Readiness first light.

# I don't want to join the air force #

# I don't want to go to war #

# I'd rather hang around
Piccadilly underground #

# Living on earnings
of a high-born lady #

# I don't want to lose my tail plane #

# I don't want my rudder shot away #

# I'd rather stay in England #

# In merry, merry England... #

I reckon she must have dived
in there to take cover.

What's the use, anyway?

We heaves her out
and tidies her up,

and back come the ruddy Jerries.

Have to start all over again.

Don't worry, chum.
Another couple of days of this,

and there won't be
any perishing station left to tidy.

Got a fag?

No.

I wrote to your wife this morning,

so I expect she'll be coming
to see you in hospital.

All you've got to do is
to get fit as quickly as you can.

If there's anything you want,
you let me know, will you?

- Good luck.
- Is that the lot now?

Yes.

Been seeing anything
of Septic lately?

He's giving me dinner
at Maidstone tonight.

Oh, quite an occasion!

Isn't it?
I'm very thrilled about it.

It's certainly an achievement.
So long, my dear.

Bye.

Good afternoon.

And how's our lady of the lamp?

If you're referring to
the Clinton bungalow beacon,

that's still under control.

I was referring to your activities
amongst our sick and wounded.

You look tired.

Aren't we all.

It's a marvel to me how those boys
go up time after time.

No proper rest,
few comforts left.

Well, how do you manage?

Me? Oh, that's quite different.

It isn't, you know.

We keep going because,
well, we've got to keep going.

Isn't that it?

Yes, I suppose so.

I'm a bit worried about Barry.

He's feeling the strain badly.

Well, I was just on my way
down to emergency ops.

He worries so dreadfully.

He seems to take responsibility
for every single casualty.

I'll try and talk some sense into him.

- Thank you.
- So long, my dear.

Bored with her, Dusty?

It's not that, old man.
I want to get some sleep.

Tell us about your love life, Septic.

That will put us all to sleep.

He's a dark horse.
Aren't you, Septic?

I don't have to titivate my senses
with paper substitutes,

- if that's what you mean.
- Who is she, Septic?

Is she a braw Scots lassie?

Tell us a real bedtime story, Septic.

Come on, Septic.
Don't be bashful.

Well, since you all take
such a kindly interest in my affairs,

I may as well tell you that...

well, I've got a date
with a very beautiful girl

in Maidstone this evening.

- Well, blow me down.
- Who'd have thought it!

Good old Septic,
a very parfait gentle knight.

Are you ready for
a game of chess, sir?

I don't mind if I do,

Provided you let me win for once.

Fan me!
5 sorties, and then chess?

Your mother might not
have known it, Septic,

but what she gave birth to
was a wonder child.

What's the form, Barry?

Nothing much on the table
at the moment, sir.

I don't like it.

Why not?

We could all do with a bit
of a rest, couldn't we?

It's unlike Jerry to lay off, sir,

just when he's got us rocking.

Sufficient unto the day.

You worry too much, Barry.

You're losing weight.

It's the smell of a boot, sir.

Interferes with digestion.

Here they come.

"H" for Hostile,
7-5-"S" for Sugar 3-9-1-9.

12 aircraft, no height.

"H" for Hostile 7-6,

3-0-0-6.

Get Pimpernel off, Bonzo.

6 aircraft's about
all they can muster, sir.

They've done
49 sorties today already.

Well, it's getting late.
It may fizzle out.

I'll wait and see how it develops.

Hello.
Pimpernel dispersal?

Patrol Dover Angels 1-8.

Dover Angels 1-8.

Don't forget, Septic,
you're flying as my Black Two.

Here we go again.
Poor perishers.

Haven't you got
that ruddy blower working yet?

Hello, Pimpernel Leader,
Sapper calling.

Make Angels as quickly as you can.

Bandits approaching
from the southeast. Over.

Ok, Sapper.

What Angels are bandits? Over.

Don't know.
Can't see them from here, over.

You funny little man.
That will cost you a drink. Out.

Close up, Black Two.

I'm going to climb.
Keep your eyes skinned.

"H" Hostile 7-6.
"R" Robert...

Hello, Pimpernel Leader.
Sapper calling.

Watch out for bandits
above and behind you.

Above and behind, over.

Hello, Sapper.
Pimpernel Leader answering.

Ok. Out.

Hello, Leader, Black Two calling.

109s above at 4 o'clock, over.

Ok, Black Two. I can see them.
Prepare to break.

No, hold it.
They're Spitties. Over.

Hello, Pimpernel Leader.
Sapper calling.

Bandits ahead of you.
Ahead of you.

Will cross from starboard to port.

Starboard to port. Over.

Hello, Sapper.
Pimpernel Leader answering. I see them.

Tally ho! Tally ho!

Hello, chaps.
Leader calling.

Prepare to break.
Line astern. Line astern.

Go!

Nice work, Septic.

Your bird, sir.

Sounds as if Septic
had winged one, sir.

Yes, good boy.

"H" for Hostile 7-6,
"R" Robert 7-2-6-2.

Now, how the hell
did that get there?

It puts them up sun, now,
sir, to our boys.

Hello, Pimpernel Leader.
Sapper calling.

Hawks in the sun.
Hawks in the sun

closing in on you rapidly
from the southwest. Over.

Watch your tail, Leader.
Watch your tail.

Hello, Septic,
Are you all right? Over.

Hello, Leader.
Septic answering.

Yes, I'm all right.

Trouble is, can't open hood.

Chin up, Septic.
You don't sound too good.

Better park down on Manston.
I'll lead you down.

Try and keep height. Over.

Hello, Leader.

Septic answering.

Your message received
and understood.

Over.

See if you can get their position.
Maybe we can help them.

Hello, Pimpernel Leader.
Sapper calling.

Over to button "B," button "B"

and transmit for fix. Over.

Hello, Sapper.
Pimpernel Leader answering.

I will transmit for fix.

Please keep channel free

for me to assist Black Two
down on to Manston. Over.

Ok. Ok. Over.

Tell the D.F. Stations
to concentrate on Pimpernel Leader.

Get through to Manston.
Tell them to have the crash tender

and the ambulance
on the top line.

All stations concentrate
on Pimpernel Leader button, "B."

Has Squadron Leader Clinton left yet?

- Not yet, ma'am.
- Is the squadron still up?

I believe so, ma'am.

That means some of the stragglers

will be landing in the dark.

I must hurry.

- Good night.
- Good night.

Hello, Sapper, Sapper.
Pimpernel Red One calling.

We've disengaged
and are returning to base, over.

Hello, Pimpernel Red one. Red one.

Ok. Ok.

Have you seen Leader
or Black Two? Over.

Hello, Sapper.
Red One answering.

Not for some time.
Anything I can do? Over.

Hello, Red One, Red One.
Sapper answering.

We are trying to help them home.

Please, keep R/T silence
unless urgent. Over.

Hello, Sapper.
Ok, absolutely. Out.

0-7-0.

0-6-0.

0-9-5.

Pimpernel Leader.

"R" Robert 8-0-7-4.

Get all the pilots you can
on Fighter 6-2.

Well, they ought to make Manston
if he's height enough.

Who was it said that waiting was
the worst part of war?

I don't know.

Hello, Septic, Peter Moon here.

Try and make some height, old man.

Try and make some height, over.

Hello, leader.
Septic answering.

Doing my best.

No power.

Can't seem to get her nose.

He sounds in a bad way, sir.

Hope he remembers
to switch over to receive.

He will.
He's learned that lesson.

Hello.
Where are you off to?

Just off to the bungalow.

Some of the boys are still airborne.

- Is Septic with them?
- I don't know.

Very probably, I should think.

I'm just dashing home to change.

I got held up at the hospital.

I hope he's not down yet.

I don't want to be late
for our first assignment.

You'd better hurry, then.

Yes, bye.
Be seeing you.

Bye.

Hello, Sapper.
Hello, Sapper.

Elfin One calling.

Elfin One calling.

Are you receiving me?

Are you receiving me?

Elfin One over to Sapper, over.

That was his call sign
when he first came in to Neethley.

Hello, Sapper,

Septic calling.

Septic calling.

Please...

tell the Tiger...

our race...

will have to be postponed...

indefinitely.

Out.

Hello, Septic.
Hello, Septic.

This is the Tiger answering.

Your message received

and understood.

Out.