All language subtitles for Strike.Back.S01E05-E06.720p.BluRay.x264-AVCHD

I got enemy coming now!

Air Tac! Air Tac! We need air support!

This is Saxon 4-3. Sit tight,
Sierra 2-0, we're on the way.

- Medic! Medic!
- I'm on it!

You'll be okay, just stay still.
Stay still.

Enemy fire! Repeat.

Come in, Air Tac. Where are you?
Where the fuck is my air support?

...Inbound, Sierra 2-0.

We got enemy reinforcements
coming in from the south.

Eyes on enemy reinforcements!
We've got eyes on reinforcements!

We need that air support now!

Saxon 4-3 inbound,
your location one minute.

Thirty seconds till contact.

Roger that. Target painted, sir.
Target painted! Target painted.

LTD code, Delta-Oscar-Bravo-
7-4-Papa-Alpha. Confirm.

Target confirmed.
Delta-Oscar-Bravo-7-4-Papa-Alpha.

Target locked, Sierra 2-0.

Weapons going hot.

- Bomb's gone.
- Yes!

Fuck! Incoming!

XXX

Some kind of a malfunction
in our guidance system.

The fourth time our missiles have hit
American troops in the last month.

The MoD are grounding
all air support missions.

RAF Fast AirJ-DAM was launched at
a Taliban position.

Struck the American Marines instead.

A full 600 metres wide
of the painted target.

There are major US casualties
and the Americans want answers.

Air Tac HQ have identified
an electronic footprint.

Someone on the ground, in the field,
cracked the LTD encryption codes.

Well, that's impossible.
All our missile guidance

and communication systems
are 100% hack-proof.

Not any more.

If the Taliban can breach
our digital encryption systems

and redirect our missiles,

I don't need to tell you
how serious that is.

We need answers and solutions, quickly.

The last couple of months
we've been losing badly in Helmand.

The tide's turned against us
and we don't know why.

Maybe what we have on our hands is
some kind of new breed warlord.

Whoever it is, he has to be stopped.

He's tying the ISAF operation in knots.

Begin your tour here.

Gerald Baxter.

Gerald Baxter in Iraq 2003 was
a technical support contractor.

Civilian, not military.
A missile guidance software engineer.

Then he screwed up.

He was responsible for the accidental
bombing of a village in Samarra.

Women and children died.

Baxter was deemed psychologically unfit

for active service in conflict zones,

returned to Britain
for medical treatment,

where he was diagnosed and hospitalised
with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

We think he may now be in Afghanistan.

All records of Gerald Baxter
stop at September 2005.

There's no trace of him after that date.

Keep at it.
Everything we can get on him.

Okay, John. Your mission is to locate
and extract Gerald Baxter.

So I go in as an arms dealer?

Okay.

What are the three standard phases
of missile guidance?

All right.

But I want a translator
and a fixer on the ground

with known connections to the Taliban.

Boost. Mid-course. Terminal.

You're supposed to know this.

Give me two types
of radar control guidance.

Command.

- Locked?
- No. It's beam-rider.

Huh?

John, you're going to
have to be careful.

I mean it. Be careful.

I'll be careful.

So that's 7.62 by 39 mil FMJ ammunition
with steel core.

Let's say 170 million rounds at...

85 US dollars per thousand.

Come on. Ukrainian manufacture.
Fully-accredited EUCs.

The Governor is not interested.

Okay.

I have associates connected to
Arafel Systems in Chandrigar.

These associates can get access
to the LTD code encryption software

on the next generation of Brimstone
laser-guided missiles.

Yeah. Hacker's paradise.

These weapons are due
to come on line with ISAF forces

within the next three months.

Control them and you control the war.

The Governor would like to be sure
you are who you say you are,

Mr Wallace.

Go back to your hotel. I'll be in touch.

Come on, then. Get on with it.

- Frank.
- Hey, Hugh.

Good to see you.

Frank Arlington,
this is Lieutenant Thompson.

- Sir.
- US Special Security attache

at the London desk.

I'm your liaison for
the blue-on-blue response operation.

Sir.

Timing of these friendly fire incidents
couldn't be worse.

As I'm sure you're aware,
the President's troop surge proposal

comes up before Congress next week.

So we need to rectify the situation
as soon as possible.

I'm here to help.

Liaise, facilitate, whatever it takes.

Glad to hear it, Frank.
But let me assure you,

we've got the situation under control.

Come this way.

Gerald Baxter.

We're not sure
how he got into Afghanistan.

Maybe he's being held against his will,
maybe not.

So are you extracting or eliminating?

We want him back in one piece.

We need to know exactly
how he's redirecting our missiles.

Has he passed on his knowledge
to the Taliban?

Plus his intel on Taliban strategy
could be invaluable.

How do you plan to do that?

- We already have a man in the field.
- Yeah? Who? Where is he?

Hey. We're not laughing about this
at Langley or in the White House.

A presidency is at stake in Afghanistan.

So it would be helpful

if you were to keep me in the loop
every step you take.

Is that clear?

And will this information sharing
be a reciprocal arrangement?

No, it won't.

But you can be assured
we'll be pursuing our own inquiries,

with extreme vigour.

Okay, we've got a white pick-up,

several Talibs crammed in there.

Copy. Standing by.

Could be a Westerner in the back.
Hold to confirm.

- Copy that, Delta Bravo, copy.
- No move, okay?

Yeah, it's a Westerner.

Copy and confirm.

Okay, Afghan cops are checking
the pick-up.

Yeah, they're paying them off,
haven't even challenged them.

- And moving them on now.
- Copy. Stand by.

You move, I kill.

Okay, flag it up, Delta Bravo.

Could be a kidnap,
could be our lead.

Roger. we'll track
and observe. Delta Bravo out.

Josuf...

Josuf...

Josuf Mohammed. What's your name?

Tom Wallace.

Welcome to Chateau Taliban, Tom Wallace.

We've been expecting you.

You all right, pal? So, what you got?

You already know what I've got.

Arafel Systems. Chandrigar?

Designing the missile guidance
software on the new Brimstones. So what?

So I've got access to the LTD
code encryption on those missiles.

You control their every move.

Tommy Wallace!
Arms trader. Western decadent.

You have one minute
on Missile Guidance System Programming.

You're time starts... now.

- No, mate, I don't...
- Name the two general control systems

governing all missile guidance
technology.

Attitude and flight path.

Two categories of
radar control guidance.

Command and beam-rider.

Name the only...

Nobel prize-winning author
to play the World Cup.

Albert Camus.

Which of the above categories

does the current version
of the Brimstone use?

Very good, technically neither.

It operates on homing, not radar.

Uses an amplitude
comparison monopulse method.

Who do you work for?

Tom Wallace Enterprises.

All right, you're coming with me.

I don't think so.

I've come far enough.

You want these codes, you're coming back
to civilisation with me.

You can bring as much
protection as you like

but I want a guarantee that
you and your tartan Taliban

aren't just a bunch of fanatics.

I'm not here to play OurMan Flint.
I'm here to do business.

You better watch your lips, SonnyJim.

I don't trust you as far as
I can throw you.

And these chaps here,
they reckon you're morally polluted,

tainted and corrupt.

Now, I happen to have the ear
of the only man in this country

worth talking to about buying this shit!

And scum like you,

you're not fit to lick the boots
of a man like...

A man like who?

- Excuse me?
- Who are you talking about?

Who's your boss?

Yeah, right.
Sorry, mate, I got to kill you now.

Incoming! Get down!

Engaging enemy group.

Go, go, go!

Josuf! Get down!

On your knees! On your knees!
Hands on your head!

- Don't shoot! Don't shoot!
- On your knees, I said!

Hands on your head.

Sir. Gerald Baxter's background, 2005.

It's not only him who disappeared,
but his whole family.

Wife, kids, the lot.
There's no trace of them, alive or dead.

The whole family? You're sure? No trace?

- Absolutely nothing.
- New identities.

I'm sensing the hand of the Firm.

But if MI6 put Baxter back
into the field after 2005

knowing he was
psychologically unstable, I mean...

If the Americans were to put Baxter
through the courts,

it'd be the British government
in the dock.

Treat Baxter's wife as a missing person
but find her, okay?

M15 and 6. We need to know.

Was Gerald Baxter on their books?

- Come on!
- Get them in there.

- Move them prisoners!
- Come on, let's go.

I will nae talk to you! My name's Josuf.
Don't get any bloody sick ideas.

Watch the threads, man!

Wait! Me and my mate,
we're kidnap victims.

We're aid workers. We saved the starving
children and that. You can't do this.

Shit!

Oh, fuck.

Your name please, sir.

Tom Wallace.

Oh, God.

- Your name please, sir.
- Josuf Mohammed.

I demand to see my lawyer right now.
I demand a phone call right now!

- Sir, I need to see your face.
- No, no photographs.

That's an infringement
of my civil liberties.

- Put your arms down.
- No, you bastards! You won't get at me!

Sir, we need to see your face.

Just intercepted this
on US Comms.

Two Westerners picked up
after a surprise attack

on a Taliban base in southern Helmand.

They're being held at
US Marine Base Victor.

Shit!

Anything about MI5 and 6?

They have come back to us.

They say at no point did they have
Gerald Baxter on their books.

They're lying. Keep pressing.

We need to get Porter
and Baxter out of there.

Looks like you might need to call in
a few personal favours?

- Maybe.
- Ask Arlington to hand them over?

Maybe.

US Intelligence officers will handle
everything on the ground.

Standard protocol. We'll inform
the appropriate UK authorities

in due course of our conclusions.

Sorry, request denied.

Unless, of course, you have some vital
information you'd like to share with us.

Okay, Frank. The man you have in custody
identifying himself as Josuf Mohammed,

we believe he's Gerald Baxter.

Good!

If Gerald Baxter is responsible
for the deaths of, what is it now,

22 US Marines,

then under the terms of
the Mutual Legal Assistance Treaty,

he has to be tried in a US court.

Is there something else?

- The other man who was captured.
- Excuse me?

The other Westerner captured
with Baxter...

Gerald Baxter was captured alone.

Frank, according to US Marine Comms,
a second man was picked up.

He's our deniable asset.

Deniable asset.
More deniable liability, huh?

Either way, Baxter was captured alone.

Oh, for Christ's sake, Frank!
I've seen the photos!

Gerald Baxter was captured alone.

My name is John Porter.

34487566 ISAF zap code 807.

You might want to write that down.

The prisoner, the British man
you're holding, he's mine.

What British man?

What the fuck are you lot
playing at?

That bloke over there!

His name is Gerald Baxter.

He's responsible for the deaths...

Yeah? Uh-huh.

Yeah. Okay.

- He's been designated R4.
- R4? What the hell is...

Welcome to 1984. I am a British citizen.

I want to phone my lawyer.
I want to speak to the Embassy.

- Move.
- You hear me?

We've have rights, you know.

We're subjects of Her Majesty's
Britannic government and all that shit.

Get in, in!

Who the hell are you guys?

I don't understand. The Americans have
reason to hold Baxter. But Porter?

Why would they deny he even exists?

They're going to kill him, aren't they?

Listen, guys, I've got connections
in this country, okay?

Know what I mean?
Good connections to a lot of money.

Kill laughing boy here, name your price.
Talking dollars, a lot of doll...

Cool!

Holy crap. That was amazing.

That was just like a movie.
How did you...

Thanks, man.

That's the second time
you've saved my life, huh?

I think you'll find
I was saving my own life.

I know exactly what's going on here.

We're having a bromance!

Shh. What is that?

- Shit.
- A homing pigeon.

- They're coming to get us.
- It's a distress signal.

Let's get out of here. Undo my cuffs.

Why do the Americans want you dead?

- Who gives a monkey's...
- Why do they want you dead?

I work for them.

- What?
- Not now. I used to.

The Yanks took me into Pakistan.

Why? You're not military.

'Cause I like working magic
up in the old computer.

Software design,
missile guidance systems,

hacking, you name it, I can do it.

Then I went and got myself kidnapped.

Spent 18 months chained to a radiator,
Terry Waite style.

Now the Yanks want me dead 'cause I know
a lot of stuff. You know, secrets.

- Like what they're up to in Pakistan.
- What?

- Danni.
- Sir, I found Baxter's family.

- Where?
- Connecticut.

Fast-tracked through
the American citizenship process.

Well done. Good work.

CIA.

- CIA?
- I'm a bleedin' civilian.

Tech support, CIA.

You converted to Islam,
is that what happened?

Aye, right. Islam?

Alla-shmala, Ramadama-ding...
I don't think so.

Look, forget it.
Let's get the hell out of here!

Converted to what? What exactly
is going on with you, Josuf?

Who are you following?

I converted to Zahir Sharq.
You know who that is?

Zahir Sharq?

Zahir Sharq's your man.
He's the future father of this nation.

Every rebuilding programme
in this country pays its dues...

- Yeah, yeah. Protection money.
- ...to Zahir Sharq.

Protection money?
Taxes. He's a visionary.

He'll take your missile
encryption codes. He will pay big time.

I don't mean to rush you
or anything, brother,

but the Yanks have got eyes in the sky,

in the mountains,
and in the fucking ground.

If we don't get a move on we are toast.

Yeah, all right, calm down, Braveheart.

It's a deal.

Where are we headed?

Ten miles down the road,
then we're on foot.

Where to? Sharq's cave?

Cave? A man like Zahir Sharq doesn't
hide in a cave, you dozy English prick.

Listen, you fuckwit, this dozy
English prick just saved your arse,

so why don't you just tell me
where he is?

Pakistan.

Great.

But we do this my way.
No funny stuff, understand?

Don't tempt me.

Let's go swim with the Sharq, shall we?

To the triumph of outcome
of a methodology.

To the non-interference of
the Joint Intelligence Committee.

We've been digging, Frank.

Gerald Baxter was a civilian
tech support operative

recruited by Langley.

Family given new identities.

Fast-tracked through
the US immigration process,

quicker than a Nazi rocket scientist.

Your firm knew Gerald Baxter
was psychologically unstable,

yet you recruited him and sent him back
into the theatre. Into Pakistan.

You're responsible for the deaths
of your own Marines.

Now 22, I believe.
And you want Gerald Baxter dead.

And John Porter, too.
Cover it up and blame it on us.

- What do you want?
- I want them back.

The American government
takes the blame for this.

I don't care how you spin it

but you do not dump it on us.

And what do we get in return?

The truth will never
see the light of day.

I'll close down Porter and Baxter.

If you haven't already buried them
in the Afghan desert.

Very funny.

You haven't heard from them, have you?

No.

And you don't have them to trade,
do you?

No.

John bloody Porter.

Forged on a northern housing estate.
Smart boy.

Give you the slip, did he?

Well, Frank, it's only a matter of time
before he comes home.

Think about my offer.

Hey, Hugh,
there are some in the administration

who think you guys are more
part of the problem than the solution.

The Anglo-American love-in, it's over.

And there's a go-it-alone strategy
on the table in the White House.

So, if I were you,

I'd think twice
before having principles.

Get me Langley, code 4.

Yes, sir. Connecting you now.

Shh.

Down, get down. Move, move.

Okay, we're clear.

Okay, bad boy. Pick-up's arranged.
You've got a meeting with Zahir Sharq.

Great. So how far do we go, Joe?

Not far.

- And it's Josuf.
- Yeah, what's your real name, though?

My real name is Josuf Mohammed.

Bollocks! You're not Arab,
Afghan or Pakistani.

All due respect, Josuf, you're from...

Cowdenbeath!

Sir, MI5 and 6 have come back.

They categorically deny any knowledge
of Gerald Baxter.

Good. All down to the Americans.

And Porter and Baxter
have slipped their net.

Sir?

Over there, Pakistan.

Over there, Afghanistan.

Show me the border, Tommy, huh?
Show me the border.

- Why?
- 'Cause these are tribal lands.

Tribal lands that've been tribal lands
for thousands of centuries.

People here don't give a monkey's shit
about the nation bleeding state,

or international law.

At least the Soviets had the balls
to come out of the closet and invade,

instead of dicking around
with Afghanistan

like some geo-political paedophile.

Listen, mate,
I'm not here for a history lesson.

I just want to do business,
sell some guns. You know what I mean?

See, you're following Zahir Sharq
on point of principle.

Because you think that he somehow
can solve this mess of a war.

- I don't buy it.
- Oh, really?

- Who are you?
- All right, Mr Businessman.

I'll show you who I am.

See this? Special Forces bit of kit.

You want to get yourself one of these
if you're gonna be

cutting about Afghanistan
flogging weapons of mass destruction.

See that? My daughter Christa did that.

She was six at the time.

It reminds me why I'm here,
she was trying to help me.

To bring an end to all of this.

Gerald Baxter, he was responsible
for the accidental bombing

of a village in Samarra.
Women and children died.

See, that is the business
that we're in, buddy.

That is the business we're in.

- Drone.
- Shit!

Commencing search pattern.

Move!

Switching to thermal imager.

All right, so this is
their last known position.

US Marine FOB Victor.

Not quite a needle in a haystack,
but not far off.

I want an SF team in there now
to bring them out.

Get our electronic intelligence
looking for them.

We need to get to them
before the Americans, understood?

Commencing IR sweep.

Come on, move! In here.

Hold still. Absolutely still.

They'll think we're rocks.

I am a rock.

Clearing November Zulu 2356.

Don't move.

Sorry, mate.

You fucking Americans!

Go home!

I'll never see my little girl again.

Dad!

And I don't deserve to,
till I've made all this stop.

All this killing!

We've got to make it stop.

Maybe you're asking
too much of yourself.

Maybe you're asking
too little of yourself.

Zahir Sharq will make it stop.
That's what he's all about.

He's the only one who can.

Come on.

Sharq's waiting.

Your carriage awaits, princess.

Nothing like
a bit of homeland security, huh?

If you're not on the list,
you're not coming in.

See?

This ain't Afghanistan.
And it ain't Pakistan.

I guess you'd have to call it...

Sharqistan?

Is there no end to your talent?

- Mercenaries.
- The best.

The Taliban are paying us a visit.

This guy here, Zaman Qalzai,
he's been extorting money.

Well, I thought that's what you lot did.

No. Sharq's changed the rules.

He's not a Taliban fanatic.

Go back to your hotel. I'll be in touch.

He's a politician.

And when politics fails, who wins?

Oh, yeah. Guy with the biggest gun.
Silly me.

Josuf.

In tribal lands,
nothing is what it seems, Mr Wallace.

Mr Sharq.

That man extorted $20,000 from
a French electricity supply company

in Lashkar Gah.

But I had already done a deal
with that company.

I see.

Protection.

Shadow taxes for a shadow government.

- Tea?
- No, thank you.

You see, in business, you need
consistency, price stability, you know?

So, I will return the money
he extorted from the company.

And of course, you spend the money
you raise from those taxes on weapons,

which is why I'm here.

You do want the LTD encryption codes?

- Of course.
- So, let's do a deal.

I can get myself back to Kabul,
set the wheels in motion.

All in good time, Mr Wallace.

- Look, I'm a businessman.
- Indeed.

Some businessman.

This guy's a real bad-ass.
You know, twice he saved my life.

He's a strong man. A fit man.

He's resourceful, ruthless, clever.

He's a classic binary thinker.

This man is
a British Special Forces operative.

Very good, Josuf.
Even better than an arms dealer.

You, Tommy Wallace, are so outed.

They want intelligence.

They?

Spare me the Secret Service mind games.

They want intelligence.

I'm trying to help you here.

Why? Do you think maybe
I'm your only mate here now?

Or maybe you screwed up
and I'm not military after all.

Oh, you're military, all right.

Am I?

Oh, aye.

Prove it.

Silk map.

Dollars. Good.

Pashtu note. Yes.

Offering a reward for anyone
that returns you to your people.

Do you want this?

And...

Your family.

They miss you.

Time to come home,

Gerry.

Gerry's gone. All right?

Sharq's using you, Gerry.

I told you already.
I'm not Gerry, you...!

When will I see my little girl again?

Or her brother?

They miss you, Gerry.

- Good morning, Mr Sharq.
- Good morning.

I have something you want
and you have something I want.

I'll give you the two men,

but I want access
to information and hardware.

Okay. I'll talk to my people. I'm sure
they'll be interested in doing a deal.

Good.

- Even better than an arms dealer...
- Twice he saved my life. Twice.

My real name is Josuf Mohammed.

- British Special Forces operative.
- Indeed, in tribal lands,

- nothing is what it seems.
- Ain't it?

Nice try, pal.

Let me tell you about Gerry.

Gerry was in Woolworth's one day,
Brixton high street.

And he's looking for a birthday present
for his little girl.

There's handbags there. Do you know
what the logo is on the handbags?

We're talking about a handbag for a
six-year-old girl.

It's the Playboy bunny.

They're making our children
into porn stars.

And Gerry's thinking, "No, I'm not
playing this game any more."

Sharq's using you, Gerry.

And when he's finished,
you'll be history.

I told you already. I'm not Gerry!

The Administration would like
the British government

to make a formal apology
to the families of the dead Marines,

coupled with
a generous financial offer.

Despite the fact the CIA
put Baxter into Afghanistan

knowing he was mentally unstable,
you want us to take the blame.

Plus, we make sure
Porter and Baxter keep quiet?

Porter and Baxter are responsible
for the deaths

of two US Special Forces personnel.

What? What are you talking about?

The fate of Porter and Baxter

is not a situation over which
you have any influence.

What do you know, Frank?
Where are they?

ISAF Command and Control
in the Helmand province.

Do you know where it is?

I forget.

Can I phone a friend?

Go on, Tommy. Where is it?

Tell him or I'll pull the trigger.

No chance.

Oh, you can't be serious, Gerry.
Come on.

Computer genius. Software Einstein.

Josuf has a belief system.

As I do. As do my men.

Which is why we will win this war.

Whereas your people,
you only care about your children,

soaps and soccer.

And so it goes on, the killing,
the friendly fire,

until one day, we will win
the hearts and minds of your people.

They will rouse themselves and they
will cry, "Bring our troops back home!

"Peace with honour."

I'm terribly sorry.

But go fuck yourself.

Fuck!

ISAF Command and Control, please.

Like I said...

Wait!

Double the odds, then, all round. Go on.

A second bullet.

- What?
- Come on, Gerry,

let's really see how much
you mean to your messiah.

How many of his students
have you taught, eh?

Why is he risking your life?

Think about it.

You're obsolete, you prick.

No, no, no, Josuf. Not you.

Him.

You are not obsolete.

If you pull that trigger, Gerry,

I'm not like those sleeping people
in your daughter's picture.

I'm dead. Do you understand?

Soldiers are a few keystrokes
on a computer now.

Sharq's using you.

Time to come home.

Gerry.

Gerry Baxter.

You bastard!

Move!

Josuf! Josuf!

- Up and out!
- Thank you!

Steve, can you hear me?

Steve? Mr Andrews?
Steve, can you hear me?

Cardiac arrhythmia.
I need the defibrillator.

Adrenaline!

Clear!

Clear.

Steve Andrews. I remember them
bringing him in straight from Iraq,

bullet lodged in his brain.

Seven years in a coma.

A relief to his family in many ways.

And his friend, John Porter.

You took the fall, John.
Collinson was with you.

Two men dead and one's brain damaged,
so they can't answer my questions.

Tell me, John.
What happened on that stairwell?

The postmortem.

I'd like it carried out this afternoon.

What's the matter? What are you doing?

- I need to make a call.
- What?

I'm taking you in.

Fuck! You're taking me nowhere.

Give me the phone.
These wheels are mine. Get out, now!

Oh, come on, Gerry.

You got a bucket of a Jeep, one bullet
and a chronic case of bi-polar daftness.

How far do you think you're going to get
on your own, eh?

The Americans want you dead,
the Taliban wants you dead.

Sharq wants you dead.

I'm your least worst option.

Yeah. Well, behave yourself.
It's not a toy.

- Fuck you.
- Give me that phone.

Come on, mate. Seriously.
Time to come home.

- The British will crucify me.
- Not necessarily.

The CIA knew you had PTSD
when they sent you in there.

I can persuade my lot
to do a deal with you.

- Do you understand?
- Yeah, right!

I mean it.
You just need something to offer them.

Come on, Gerry. Think.

What have you got to bargain with?

Mate, this is the end of the line.

I'll give you the two men.

I'm sure my people will be
interested in doing a deal.

Sharq just did a deal
with the Americans.

He was going to exchange you and me

for arms and intelligence. Okay?

Yeah. That should do it.

Gerry, give me the phone.

- Incoming call, secure line 7.
- Patching it through.

- Porter?
- Got it in one.

Where the hell have you been?

I've got Baxter. I'm bringing him in.

- Baxter's CIA.
- Ex-CIA.

I'm not CIA.

He's coming in voluntarily.
He wants to do a deal.

Okay, listen to me.
This is not going to work,

unless you guys are
prepared to make it work

because there are two things I need.

No, three things.
No, four things.

I need immunity from prosecution,

unconditional protection for me
and my family,

financial security and I want a nice
big house in Morningside, with a garden

and a granny flat for the wife's ma.

That's five things.

Baxter was being run by
a bloke called Zahir Sharq.

He was doing a deal with the Americans,

arms and intelligence
for the both of us.

Tell Baxter we're willing
to protect him and negotiate.

- Where are you?
- Pakistan.

About 30 klicks south
of the Helmand border.

We can't make an armed incursion
into Taliban-controlled Pakistan.

The extraction team can pick you up
on the Afghan side.

Can you make it back across?

Yeah. We can do that.

John, the Americans will kill you
if they catch you. Watch your backs.

Okay, Porter.
Window is 1400 to 1600 hours.

Primary RV five klicks
north of Junction B11

on the Lashkar Gah-Quetta highway.

Thanks, Danni. Let's go.

- John, are you still there?
- Yeah.

John, Steve Andrews passed away.

Steve's dead, John. He's dead.

I'm going after the bullet.
Do you understand?

- I'm chasing the bullet.
- Mmm-hmm.

I'm going to prove who killed Steve.

Layla?

What's going on?

I need you to do something for me.

What's happening? We cool?

Yeah.

- Fella.
- Cheers, mate.

Let's get some of this inside you.

Oh, I'm his best mate.

- You all right?
- Yeah. Let's go.

Porter's made contact.

He's got Baxter.

My offer still stands, Frank.

I'm not in the business of humiliation.

Porter and Baxter
divulge nothing publicly

but the blame for the dead Marines

rests squarely on the shoulders
of the US government.

- What if we don't agree?
- Come on, Frank.

The CIA are responsible for
sending Baxter into the field

- and killing your own Marines.
- Yeah.

And Jack Kennedy was shot by aliens
from Area 46

- hired by the CIA and the Mafia.
- You're putting the interests of the CIA

before the interests of the American
people and the international coalition.

I know it all.

You're talking to an insurgent leader
called Zahir Sharq.

Trading the lives of Porter and Baxter,
two British citizens,

for arms and intelligence.

We'll get back to you about this, Hugh.

Where are we, Tommy?

Heading west.

I don't like this.
Are you sure this is the way?

It doesn't feel right.

What in the name of
the wee man is this?

Women with guns.

All right, love. Don't get your burka
in a twist. I'm putting it down.

The Daleks have got us, Tommy.

Huh?

- What's she saying?
- She wants you to get your phone out.

What?

What?

She wants you to text
the name "AYESHA" to 9332.

Afghan Star.
Their version of the XFactor.

They want you to vote
for their favourite. Ayesha.

- I don't believe this.
- No shit.

This lot can't vote for anything

without cheating.

All right, look. Ayesha. See? Send.

Oh, what now?

Sisters want the motor.

- Wait! Wait!
- No! Wait!

I hope she gets voted off!

Ayesha! Ayesha!

You know what?
I love this fucking country.

- Did that just happen, Tom?
- I think it did, Gerry.

Oh, no.

Oh, give it a rest. Bollocks!

Shut it!

They've got to be here somewhere.
Keep looking.

Update, please.
Are we ready with the extraction team?

Do we have a position on our targets?

Good morning, Hugh.

Frank. Is this a social call?

Or are you here to do a deal?

We are taking Porter and Baxter
into US custody.

Your instructions are to
give us their rendezvous point.

Sorry, Frank.

I can't do that.

We're on the same side, Hugh.

Yeah. We're talking to Zahir Sharq.

Yeah, we're using Porter and Baxter
as bargaining chips.

And you want to know why?

Because the Administration believe
that Zahir Sharq will one day emerge

as the most influential
insurgent leader in Afghanistan.

Because the Administration believe

that Zahir Sharq will one day
pull the strings in Kabul.

Because the Administration believe

that Zahir Sharq is a man that
they can do business with.

Because the Administration believe
that a relationship with Zahir Sharq

is the road map to a credible
withdrawal from the war.

And what the Administration
believes today

is British government policy tomorrow.

So you remember this to yourself,

Gerald Baxter, John Porter,

you do not fuck with the big boys!

Junction B11.

Lashkar Gah-Quetta highway.

When?

1400 hours.

We're on.

Layla.

You've got the ballistics report.

I've also dug out
the internal SAS inquiry

into the Kenneth Bratton Extraction.

Porter is innocent.

Isn't he?

What the hell do you think
you're playing at, giving Arlington...

The Americans are playing a bigger game.

If they need to debrief Porter...

Debrief them? They're going to kill them
and you know it.

You want Porter dead, don't you?

Don't be ridiculous.
Why would I want Porter dead?

To save your own skin,

in a last desperate attempt
to bury the truth

about what happened back in Basra,

now that you think
that Porter's the only loose end.

What?

Steve Andrews passed away.

Ballistics report on the bullet
removed from his brain,

came from a Heckler and Koch UMP.

Internal inquiry into the
Bratton extraction, armourer's report.

It was the gun Porter gave to you.

Steve Andrews, Mike Reilly, Keith Finn.
You killed them, Major Collinson.

Now, I can't reach Porter. But you can.

Get there before the extraction team.
Warn him his life is in danger.

Otherwise, sir,

I take this... upstairs.

ETA 1200, Major Collinson.

All them secrets
make your head cave in.

You need to open up a bit,
talk about your issues.

What, and end up like you?
Fucking Tonto of Pakistan?

Did you get some bad news,
then, Tommy, huh?

Your phone call yesterday.

How did you know
it was bad news?

Ah, come on.
You can't kid a kidder, Tommy.

This is Collinson,
how are we looking?

Bang on time, boss.

That's your rendezvous point there.

Yeah. It is.

Well...

Let's go.

I got some information
for you, Mr Sharq.

We need to tie up some loose ends here.

It's being dealt with.

Good.

You got kids, Tommy?

Yeah, I've got a daughter.

She's, uh, 17. Leaving home.

See much of her?

How old's your daughter?

She'll be nine now.

I've not seen much of her.

- Shit!
- Okay, don't move! Don't move!

- Don't move your feet!
- What?

Okay.

Shit.

- AP mines.
- We're in a minefield?

Yeah, we're right in the bloody middle.

- Oh, God!
- Okay. Okay, Gerry.

In my footsteps.
Exactly in my footsteps. Okay?

There's nowhere I'd rather be, brother.

- Okay.
- Ah, God.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, God.

- My mate Steve, he died.
- What?

That was the bad news.

I'm sorry.

People think that I killed him.

- And did you?
- No.

Maybe it could have been different.

How do you mean?

I, uh... I didn't do
what I was trained to do.

I thought you lot were all
supposed to be

stone-cold killing machines.

Yeah. It's not that simple.

All right, don't move.
Stay there, don't move.

- Oh, God.
- Don't move your foot.

Okay?

- Oh, shit.
- Oh, God! I'm going to die!

- Okay, just stay still. Stay still.
- I'm going to die!

- No you're not. No you're not.
- I'm going to die!

Stay still, stay still.

Very carefully, very carefully,
just move your foot away.

- I can't. I can't do it.
- Yes, you can. Gerry.

Think about everything
that you've got to live for.

Yeah? Think about your wife,
think about your daughter.

Think about what kind of dad

you're going to be to her
when you go home.

- How...
- Because you have to go home.

Jesus Christ, Tommy!

At least you've got a home
to go home to. What have I got?

I've got fucking nothing.

Listen to me. Gerry, look at me.
Look at me. Listen.

My little girl can't even
look me in the eye,

because she thinks that I killed
three of my mates.

But I didn't do it,
and I have to prove that I didn't do it.

You see, I thought that one day
my mate Steve was going to wake up.

He didn't fucking wake up.

Okay, all right, all right.

Don't give up on me, Tommy. All right?

Okay, man? Okay.

Okay, okay.

Look. Oi. Pray for me.

Don't be like me, Tommy.

Don't let your past destroy you.

It's not worth it.

We made it, Gerry.

Thanks, Tom.

It's John.

Porter.

Well, this is a fine bromance.

No!

No!

- Hello?
- Layla.

- John.
- Baxter's dead.

The RV was compromised.

- It was Collinson.
- What?

Collinson sold you out.
I've got the ballistics report.

The bullet that killed Steve
came from Collinson's gun.

He's on his way out to you, John.

John? John? Shit.

What now?

Where are you, John?

John?

- Yes.
- Baxter's dead.

Your fault.

John, I tried...

Yeah, well, you didn't try hard enough.

I've spoken to Layla.

We need to talk.

Okay.

Where are you?

John.

This is all a bit theatrical, isn't it?

It's not smart, John.
The Americans are after you.

You're a dead man out here.

What do I have to lose?

Seven years I've lived with it,

thinking that I was somehow responsible
for killing Mike and Keith.

And now Steve.

Everyone blaming me,
the regiment, the families.

Seven years.

I know about the ballistics report.

Oh, for Christ's sake, Hugh. It's over.

This will come out.

Disgrace to the uniform,

criminal trial,
wrath of the victims' families,

the sick feeling in your stomach

when you realise that your own family
have lost all respect for you.

Listen to me.

I don't want revenge.

- I just want you to admit...
- I'm admitting to nothing.

Hugh, we've got the bullet fragments.

From your weapon, John. Your own weapon.

The weapon that I gave to you.

Really? I don't remember that.

I don't remember
you giving me a weapon.

Do you have witnesses, John?
I don't think so.

Hugh, this is over.

No, John. Nothing is ever over.

Do you really think this would stand up
in a court of law?

Hard evidence? You don't have anything.

So it's a question of character,
isn't it, John?

Your word against mine.

Major Hugh Collinson,
head of Section 20,

British Military Intelligence,
decorated war hero.

John Porter,
pensioned out of the regiment,

found wanting under pressure.

Major Hugh Collinson, family man.

- And you love your daughter so much...
- Don't you fucking...

You're out here,
pursuing a personal vendetta against me!

You don't get it,
do you, John?

It's not what you are.
It's what you appear to be.

Fuck you!

No, no!

Tell me, tell me!

We'd got the hostage out,
and we were heading back to the roof.

Tell me!

But the men were... The men were still
pinned down on the ground floor.

All hell was breaking loose. I was...

I was scared. And then...

And then I saw the boy, As'ad.

He was standing, holding a weapon.

And I just... I froze.

And then just as I him in my sights,

I was... I was about to take the shot,

and then there was...

a sound, a movement to my left.

And I just, I just opened fire.

I just opened...

...fire.

Opened fire.

Steve?

And then, afterwards,
I had a chance to come clean

and I didn't take it. I didn't...

One moment, one decision.

My whole... My whole life.

Your... Your whole life.

I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry.

It's okay.

It's buried.

Down!

- Who came with you?
- No one.

- Where do we go?
- Rover. 762 in the back.

- I'll get to the Jeep.
- I'll cover you.

- Okay. On my count.
- Standing by.

- One, two, three!
- Go!

- John!
- Get back!

Oh, shit.

- I'm not going to make it, John.
- I'm not leaving without you.

- Go. Go home.
- No.

Get to the Jeep, John. Hurry.

Cover me.

I'll try.

Ready?

Go.

Come on!

Collinson is dead. Porter escaped.

Thank you.
Your co-operation won't be forgotten.

The Administration is keen
to progress our relationship.

And let me assure you,
John Porter will be neutralised.

Scramble Delta Force
elimination team.

Target heading west-northwest
on Lashkar Gah-Quetta highway.

Intelligence input. Name, John Porter,
rogue British Special Forces.

Designated clear and present threat.

Psychological profile assessment,
resourceful, tenacious,

possibly obsessive-compulsive.

Projected intentions,
he may be headed for Iran.