Original subtitles

Based on a true story.

Those events depicted, which seem most unbelievable

are mostly true.

MAY 1941 Somewhere in the Egyptian Desert.

My truck is running low on fuel so the rest must be the same.

Permission to bring up the fuel trucks.

Tobruk is a hundred and twenty miles, we need to refuel.

Yes, I know.

Right. So you should give the order to bring up...

Please tell me

that we brought petrol trucks with us on this convoy?

As a matter of fact, we didn't.

I've been watching my own fuel gauge moving inexorably toward empty

and I've worked out that what it must be,

is that the convoy has been fuel led with just enough petrol

for a journey of 500 kilometres.

Right, but the journey from Cairo to Tobruk is 500 miles, old boy.

Indeed.

There are Frenchman in the transport department.

Frenchman. Right. That'll be it.

So we will not reach Tobruk and the siege of Tobruk will not be relieved

and the bombs and the shells will continue to fall

and hundreds more men will die.

Yes.

And Stirling, I don't care who your father was,

you are supposed to address me as Sir.

Piss off.

ROGUE HEROES

In spring 1941 Britain and the Colonial armies

stood against Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy.

Britain was clinging on in North Africa

defending its vital supply route of the Suez Canal.

As the Nazis advanced, the Allied armies fell back on Tobruk,

a crucial port they had to defend at all costs.

If Tobruck fell, Suez would be lost.

If Suez was lost, Africa would be lost.

If Africa was lost, the war would be lost.

In the words of Winston Churchill,

the whole English-speaking world was passing through a dark and deadly valley.

In the words of the common soldier

we were fucked.

There will be another fuck up by GHQ tomorrow.

Yes, whisky.

I won. I won, I won on a horse called Smoky.

Girls didn't make it tonight because of the rain.

Invite him to feel regret, he felt no regret.

I like you, do you know why?

Because if I tell you a joke, you pretend that it's funny.

So here goes, why did the chicken not reach the end of the road?

Because it was a chicken who had volunteered for the Commandos,

the British Commando Regiment

and so the order came down from GHQ for the chicken to set off down the road.

Fucking road. And so the chicken packed up his equipment,

wanked off his reckless urges, prayed to God, got in his vehicle,

set off down the road and then there ahead, right ahead

at exactly 120 miles outside of Tobruk

was the punchline of this very, very funny joke.

What's punchline?

It's a British military secret.

So we are stood down, again,

so the chicken stays in Cairo, goes to the races,

it rains, and the girls didn't make it. And you know something?

- You hate this place. - I hate this peace.

War, my friend, is where you find it. Come on.

Bottle of Arak and two glasses.

Ah, pom.

Hey Pom, do any of you Poms ever leave fucking Cairo?

Any of you Brits even seen an Italian yet?

Australians. I love Australia.

Wildlife and fauna, designed by a lunatic.

Fuck you.

GHADZI BRITISH MILITARY PRISON

CAIRO SAME NIGHT

If the heats of hate and lust in the house of flesh are strong,

let me mind the house of dust where my sojourn shall be long.

In the nation that is not, nothing stands that stood before,

there revenges are forgot and the hater hates no more.

And naked to the hangman's noose the morning clocks will ring.

How's your colleague?

I hope I did no permanent damage.

Irish fucker.

Fucker, first and foremost, Irish is a contributing factor perhaps,

but in other times I am a friend to the friendless.

Your colleague was being unpleasant to a smaller man, and it got my goat.

Well we are about to be unpleasant to you.

You won't be using military policeman as a punch bag anymore.

You're a mental case.

No one'll be surprised to find you dangling in the morning.

And yon the gallows clank.

Well if you want me to walk on air, yous are gonna have to find Naked Nick first,

'cause I'm used to uneven battles boys, so begin your search.

Desert sores, dysentery, sand in your arse, sand in your eyes,

sand in your lungs, sand in your kidneys, sand in your foreskin,

all be forgotten when the blood is up.

Take it.

Now, take a drink of rum.

Drink, do not think.

Do not be yourself tonight.

Remember this, when we are among them, your mother is not watching.

Let's move.

10 seconds, then mad. Wild.

- You even seen action? - Repeatedly stood down I'm afraid.

- Now we've seen action. - I'm sensing resentment.

- You fucking arsehole. - And I understand it.

When one has faced danger, oh it takes a long time to lose the animal rage.

Talks like a fucking typewriter.

The rain always does this to people. Why don't you leave him alone, huh?

Yeah?

We lost two good men.

Theft.

I'm afraid theft is something I cannot tolerate,

but if we are going to engage, first let me give you a small warning,

I am a particular kind of soldier.

A commando. I trained with other men like myself,

some live only to fight and kill the enemy,

others are careless you will find and will fight anyone at all.

There are mercifully few of us,

but in war, we are allowed to be beasts that we are.

We are taught to kill silently

and it becomes instinctive almost like swallowing,

and the cursed thing is, once learned, you can't unlearn it.

Do you understand?

You shake hands with a man and you can't help but glance at his throat.

Every part of the body

is an invitation to be eagerly accepted as a dog accepts a bone.

Eyes are for thumbs to push into the brain.

Mouths can be torn open. Necks are a gift.

God's ultimate mistake.

Spoons, tea towels, cups of tea, they are all weapons.

Everything you touch is a weapon. You are a weapon.

If our gentlemen generals had the sense to unleash us,

can you even imagine?

Ordinary men when they encounter us

are understandably reluctant to make our acquaintance

but if you really do insist...

Not my stop boys.

Not my fucking stop.

Not today.

Yeah, we're just here for the girls.

My winnings.

Buy yourselves a drink, raise a toast to fallen comrades.

Instead of spending a fucking year in Scotland climbing mountains,

sleeping in ditches and strangling cattle,

I should've just memorised that speech because it works every time.

Get me a whiskey old boy.

To whiskey.

Morning, Sir.

Sir.

Morning, Sir.

- Someone fix that fucking thing. - Morning, Sir.

Doesn't this fucking squeaking drive you insane?

Fix the fucking thing.

- Sir. - Morning, Sir.

Morning, Sir.

There's a bit of a thing,

drinks etcetera, nibbles and whatnot tonight at the...

- At the what? - At the embassy.

A sort of farewell thing for someone, some old boy going home.

A chance for everyone to...

A chance for everyone to formulate a plan for our next assault in Tobruk.

What?

A chance for everyone to say goodbye and good luck to him, whoever he is.

- And you'll be there, Stirling. - Tobruk is under 24 hour bombardment.

A second attempt to relieve Tobruk is being discussed.

- Actually it'll be a third attempt. - Indeed.

The fans don't work. I can't fucking salute anymore.

The map on the wall keeps being redrawn and men are dying.

Stirling, what would it take to make you call me Sir?

It would take respect.

Stirling, you are not the soldier your father was and you never will be.

You're the kind of drunk and insubordinate malcontent

he would've despised.

You will come to the party, you will arrive sober and on time

or you, my friend, will be on a charge.

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses

as we forgive those who trespass against us

and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory forever and ever... Amen.

Troops. Attention!

Last night we dispatched 50 enemy soldiers

and destroyed one key gun emplacement.

We had only one casualty,

Matthews died in the night.

Did you sleep well?

I was a disaster with the work we did, Sir, but satisfied with our achievement.

I slept on my boots.

I always sleep well, Sir.

We've spent 112 days defending this place,

amidst the rats and the scorpions and the flies.

We must continue and show fortitude.

Command are sending another convoy to relieve us.

Our beloved friends at GHQ might this time remember

to fill the armoured cars with enough petrol in the tanks

to reach the destination.

They can be quite forgetful.

In the meantime,

tonight I will be taking a flight to Cairo on urgent business.

If GHQ can't relieve us, I'm formulating a plan that might get us out of this mess.

Move out the way.

Move.

Move those fucking camels. Get out the way.

Sir, permission to steal donated food rations from the Australians.

Permission granted.

So what is it we're looking for, Sir?

I got a message from one of the dock workers who I bribe with Hashish.

I asked him to keep an eye out

in the swirling chaos of equipment and supplies for parachutes.

And lo,

a set of parachutes have appeared.

And who do they belong to, Sir?

This is the British army.

No one owns anything, no one knows anything,

nothing is certain, nothing is as it seems,

so whatever the fuck you have in your hands belongs to you.

And what use do you have for parachutes, Sir?

I'm going to jump out of aeroplanes with them.

- And do you know parachutes, Sir? - Do you know parachutes.

I know you strap them to your back, you jump,

the thing becomes enormous

and you land safely.

Catch the damn thing before it blows into the sea, Almonds.

Put it back in.

- How, Sir? - How the hell should I know?

I think it's meant to be a very precise procedure.

Then be precise and have them all loaded onto a truck

and sent to the airstrip for tonight's flight.

And you will be on that flight as well Sergeant, along with Riley.

I've decided you are the right kind of men.

The right kind of men for what?

In a world where there are no rules, no order and no organised plan,

certain men are identified by war itself as its natural executors

and those natural executors take matters into their own hands.

I've decided to form a parachute regiment.

You've decided?

Our generals still think we are fighting the first world war.

They dither and debate every order

and all this while the Nazi's whose conviction

cuts through us like fucking steel blades.

We are chased across the fucking desert. A comedy.

Except for the viciousness of their ideology.

Riley. Right, lets load 'em up.

Do you know what they're doing to the children in Berlin?

The devil sent me those tins of beef, God sent me those parachutes

and I'm going to give it a whirl.

I am bringing together men of a particular calibre and you are amongst them.

The others are all insane, in jail or like me in despair.

Let's go and win the fucking war.

Hangover?

Justified by inner rage.

What do you need?

A medical reason not to attend a fucking cocktail party

and while you're at it, get me out of drill for a few days.

You can't rationalise drill because it is meant to make you accept

that the meaningless is important.

Last night there was an officer looking for you.

He wanted to know if the dysentery you reported two weeks ago was genuine.

They think you are malingering.

It's not me that's fucking malingering, it's GHQ.

Layer upon layer of fossilised shit.

- A freemasonry of mediocrity. - Yeah, they're onto you. Court Martial.

- Invented illnesses. - Are you lying?

Of course.

So what did he actually ask you about?

I'd been at the dope so it's all a bit unclear.

He had a message from a Lieutenant Jack Lewes in Tobruk.

- Jock Lewes. - Whatever.

Dear god, you are through the roof.

Whiskey, bang, bang, bang, one after the other. Memories of Scotland.

You know how a bear in a cage sort of stands there and sways from side to side.

So what did Jock Lewes say?

Here. Go to the Empire Club tonight, meet Paddy Mayne

and bring him to the Tipperary Club for a reunion of the three musketeers.

- What the fuck does that say? - It just, just says parachutes.

11 COMMANDO CAMP HELIOPOLIS, CAIRO

Get up you boy ya.

The dead arose and appeared to many.

- Welcome home. - No.

- Were you arrested? - Detained.

Were you identified?

Nope. I said my name was Mr. Hyde and I had no papers.

They gave me a 10 shilling fine for not having identification.

They were gonna hang me as a matter of fact.

- For have for having no ID? - No, for seeking justice.

- What is this soup? - It's the gazelle you shot.

It's very nice.

Thank you.

You know, eventually, of course,

you are going to get yourself hung.

They say it is an exquisite death.

Although, who the people are that know that is unrecorded.

You're supposed to be in hospital. Why did you leave?

I don't so much have Malaria anymore as much as share a bed with it.

My only symptom now is soaking the sheets every night.

I sweat so much I'm embarrassed, half the nurses can wring them out.

So I went and sweated in a nightclub instead

and somebody got my goat and there's no more to it than that.

Last night,

someone was here with a message from a Lieutenant Jock Lewes in Tobruk.

Something about parachutes.

You're due at the Empire tonight to meet a fella called Stirling

to reunite the three musketeers.

CAIRO EMPIRE CLUB

- Working tonight, Sir? - Not tonight, dear.

No. No, no. I'm afraid not.

I dunno what a red flower on the table signifies in the language of Cairo

but I'm not looking for a brief accord if that's what you're thinking.

A brief accord? You are a poet.

- As a matter of fact I am. - And I'm a journalist.

And I'm a journalist, said the spy.

Of course I am a spy. In war we must all re-purpose our professional talents.

- Sorry old boy. - Fuck off.

And what is your purpose?

I am an intelligence officer

who reports directly to the Free French Government in Exile. General De Gaulle.

From his bar stool in a pub in Dean Street.

How are you enjoying Cairo, Paddy Mayne?

How do you know my name?

Lieutenant Mayne, your victory over the Vichy French at the Litani River

was the 1st piece of good news for the French who oppose Hitler in a long time.

I would like you to give me an assessment

of the morale pro-Nazi French soldiers that you came into contact with

so that I can file a report to the General.

All the pro-Nazi French soldiers I personally came into contact with

are dead.

So their morale is pretty poor I would say.

My father was a brigadier, he taught me to ride, shoot and kill.

Kill with cutlery if necessary.

If you're in need of cutlery I'd go and find another table.

I'm here to attend a meeting.

- Very well. Apologies. - No. Fuck it, no.

Do you know what, I'll go.

Didn't wanna be here anyway. I only came to politely say no.

Would you wait for him and pass on a message?

Wait for who?

Just tell him Paddy Mayne says no

because he has decided to go to Burma to fight the Japanese instead.

It'll be a very tall man who will be drunk or will get drunk

and when you give him my message, he might get angry so you should leave.

Just tell him, Paddy Mayne says no. Alright?

I would like to introduce to you Alina Carnett.

Sorry, this table is booked.

- You crept up on me. - You'll have to go I'm afraid.

I have a message for you.

- A message from who? - Paddy Mayne.

He was here

and he said he has decided he's going to Burma to fight the Japanese.

Right.

He said you would be angry.

No, I'm not.

Was he sober?

- I think so. But he was quite odd. - Yes, he is.

- Drink, Sir? - Whisky.

Yes, Sir.

He was right, you are tall.

Who the fuck are you?

I'm the Deputy Head of French Military Intelligence in Cairo.

So you're the head of French Military Intelligence in Cairo,

because I know your boss and he's always drunk.

- Are you new? - To Cairo, yes.

In every other way I'm not new.

Listen, in other times I would love to stay and make conversation,

but right now beauty is not a currency I value.

Apologies, that sounded like an attempt to be charming, didn't it?

- It wasn't meant to be. - It wasn't taken as charming at all.

Not even remotely.

Sometimes the French and the British misunderstand each other.

It's like the difference between kilometres and miles.

The result can be unfortunate.

You heard about that?

You will learn that I tend to hear about everything.

Whisky.

- I need a car. - Where to, Sir?

Tipperary fucking tea club.

Lieutenant Stirling, for the avoidance of doubt,

I share your impatience with the conduct of the war,

and I intend to do something about it.

Cheers lads.

- Did you go and meet him? - I did.

There were red flowers and French spies.

And? What did you tell him?

I didn't tell him anything, I left him a message to say I'm going to the Far East.

- You are? - Aye.

So whatever it is he and that mad martinet, Lewes,

whatever it is they're planning, they can do it without me.

- Who are they anyway? - Just men I trained with.

Stirling, you could dismiss as a drinker, gambler,

one of those Toff's you know who climbed through the ranks

on the branches of their family tree.

Lewes, you could say is a bully,

but with a bitter little mind,

or you could dismiss him too.

- But you don't dismiss them. - No.

No, because when the moment comes, they are not themselves,

none of the above is who they are,

they are dead men

just awaiting confirmation.

Like me.

But as I say, I'm going to the Far East.

Ship me somewhere east of Suez where the best is like the worst.

The Far Eastern theatre will be a grand show when it starts, you know.

Heard you want to come as well.

I'm putting together a unit, I can request you if you want.

Yeah. Fuck it. Why not.

Where's Mayne? You were supposed to bring him.

Mayne says he's going to Burma to fight the Japanese.

We're not at war with Japan yet.

No, but if Paddy's going, we will be quite soon.

- There's tea. - Enjoy it old man.

- It's for you. - No it's not.

If not my tea, I have an idea for you.

A map. Oh goodness, this must be serious.

Yes, it's actually a very large map, which is a nuisance.

Excuse me, gentlemen, I'd like to use this table for a demonstration.

How long will you be?

It's a tournament, we're going to be here all night.

And if you're gonna stand there staring, we will charge you admission.

Yes. I'm afraid I have a rendezvous at the Kit Kat Club later

and I don't have all night, gentlemen.

I've just got back from a deep desert patrol and I'm mad as fuck.

- What's he doing? - Grenade.

- Out! Quickly! - Out the way!

My men are bored, they make these little novelties to brighten their day.

This one's excellent if you can't get a seat on the train.

- You haven't changed then, Stirling? - No.

- You haven't grown up or anything? - I'm still about 12.

Stink bombs and bike sheds.

- Except now the stink is dead bodies. - If that's what you're proposing, yes.

You drew this yourself?

GHQ maps are inaccurate and outdated.

That's because the German's keep advancing while we fold our arms

and say, not ideal, unattractive, gloomy.

Do you know any General that doesn't speak like a nursery nurse?

The Germans have advanced 800 miles in six weeks.

Everywhere it's Rommel this and Rommel that

but, in my opinion, he's made a mistake, he's moved too fast.

Look at this supply line.

It's around 300 miles too long.

So far, we have been attacking the German convoys from the sea,

that is why we are always expected.

- Right, and you have a better idea? - Yes.

A doctor stoned on laughing gas said something about parachutes.

Instead of attacking from the sea,

we should be attacking from the Sea of Sand.

We parachute units of selected men into the interior

and then attack Rommel's supply line from the desert.

- A disciplined group of men. - Discipline.

I myself would consult quickly with Johnny Walker before each engagement,

how would that be with your idea of discipline?

- Is that important to you? - It's an indicative example.

I once had this idea in a sweaty dream one night

that all regimental discipline is horse shit,

each man should be a chess piece that can move in any direction.

His idiosyncrasies are his own business.

The most important thing is courage.

The most important thing is wit in every sense of that word.

Anything expected fails, never be where you are meant to be.

Actually, the first thing we would need to do

is prove that the principle of a parachute drop is sound.

No one has ever parachuted in the desert before. Not ever.

When a vulture spreads its wings out there it goes up, not down.

So someone would need to try it.

Yes.

Just us. You and I.

I was hoping Mayne would join us but we can do it without him.

We prove it can be done and we prove to each other that we are committed.

No one to stand us down.

No one to stand us down.

What should we call ourselves?

So you're in?

Stirling, are you in?

You stole the parachutes,

I will steal an aeroplane.

QATTARA AIR STRIP 50 Miles West Of Cairo.

There's just no way. There is no...

Lieutenant, this man claims he has the authority to commander my plane.

At ease. He has permission.

I've already explained, this is war work, and we have a licence to behave badly.

I'm a fucking postman you know, I deliver military mail.

I want to know what's going on.

I want to know who you are and the name of your unit.

- Did you think of a name? - No, not yet.

If you're even considering using my plane to make a parachute drop,

you're not going anywhere in this weather you know.

The forecast has this blowing over in one hour.

- No one parachutes in the desert. - We know.

- And your parachutes have static lines. - They have what?

They have static lines.

Look, these lines have to be clipped to a steel cable attached fore and aft.

My plane is de Havilland it doesn't have a cable.

We'll use the seats.

Yes, we'll tie the parachute cables to the seats. The legs of the passenger seat.

How much actual parachute training have you had?

We spent three weeks jumping from scaffolding and moving vehicles.

- And rolling forwards and sideways. - And the door opens to the wind.

- Almonds, take the door off. - Yes, Sir.

But by the time this weather blows over, it will be dark.

So, how will you find your way back if it's dark?

Lewes?

- The stars. - The stars. Yes.

Sir, with the storm and the failing light, why don't we pick again.

Lewes, it sounds like your sergeant is suggesting we stand down.

We do not fucking stand down anymore.

That should be the name of our unit, The Men Who Refuse To Stand Down.

I believe on the grounds of hazard, I could refuse to take you.

If you don't wanna fly, I flew a crop sprayer once. I'll fly that thing myself.

- Good god, he's American. - Even so, he's okay.

- You are all fucking mad. - At last, he gets it.

I need a piss.

- Chop-chop. - Yes, Sir.

Good luck, Sir.

Here, Stirling.

Now head back to the airstrip.

60 seconds until we go.

What do you think about just before?

I think about the voice inside of my head that says so what.

So fucking what?

Did you have a fall, son?

Yes, Father, I did.

- Am I dead? - Not quite.

In between, I think.

Remember when you said you could climb the old oak tree

with one arm tied behind your back?

You always imagined you could do things you couldn't do,

climb higher than your natural limit.

I would've hoped you might've grown out of it by now.

I can't move my legs, Dad.

I can't feel my legs.

I can't feel anything below my waist.

Many a time, I've been half in love with easeful death.

Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme.

To take into the air my quiet breath,

now more than ever seems it rich to die.

- No, no, no, no. - That was always your favourite poem.

Always in the back of your mind.

Half in love with easeful death.

I have things to do. I will not be buried.

I will not. I will not be stood down.

Not even by God.

Do you hear me, God? Do you hear me, Father?

I will end this fucking war.

I will not be stood down.

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