Original subtitles

We will be a regiment shooting grouse in their roost in the dark.

Riley, Almonds, remember the parachutes?

Stirling wants to know if we'll do it again.

I'm not asking for anything other than permission

and 60 men.

Men I will choose according to my own criteria.

Why do you want to fight in the desert, Dave?

Well, I just wanna Kill ‘em fascists, sir.

This regiment isn't all Paddys, is it?

If you decide to join them, I will join the SAS too.

They've been sent to a place called Kabrit

200 miles behind the German and Italian lines.

What are the chances of survival?

Ten per cent.

This is SAS basecamp.

Stopping the advance of fascism across Africa is now down to us.

God help us.

Paddy!

Play the mad man.

He is the mad man!

Here! Do you postmen have a problem with a wee bit of wind?

Oh, Paddy, shut up.

I'd fly one of these fucking things myself!

Sure it's just a truck with a lot of ambition.

OK, that's enough.

Don't you get fucking smart with me, you…

Step aside!

Gentlemen, I understand your concerns regarding the weather.

This isn't weather.

This is the whole desert risen up into the air.

General Auchinleck will move his Eighth Army

against Rommel's front line in order to relieve Tobruk.

If Tobruk falls…

Tobruk will not fall!

Cairo and the Suez Canal are next.

Malta and the Mediterranean topple like dominoes.

It ends with Rommel rolling his Panzers

up the Mall towards Buckingham Palace.

His planes must not attack our troops.

The SAS have trained for months to blow them up on the ground.

We will not be stood down.

Many lives depend on us.

It's God's work!

We have one shot at this. Do you understand?

Your job is to deliver us and turn back!

We'll make our own way home.

The wind is 30 knots! 15 knots is considered unsafe.

War is fucking unsafe!

OK, enough, enough.

Besides, Captain Stirling outranks you!

You will have to sleep with your own conscience

if Auchinleck's advance is stopped by air superiority

and Tobruk falls to the enemy.

Get your men boarded.

Good man.

Was that too much?

I think it went rather well.

Mad bastard.

Letters for home in the bag.

Time is now!

Chalk Three ready?

Sir!

Off we pop.

Time, lads!

Chalk Two!

Chalk One!

Dear mother.

If I don't return, and there is a body to burn

spread my ashes among the heather

and let the grouse laugh at my fate

because now it is I and my comrades who are the grouse

flying onto the guns.

And below us, the enemy are even now loading up and taking aim.

My dearest Mirren.

You know [ love you

and I know [I could make you so happy that you wouldn't want to die

in case heaven wasn't as good.

Just say yes.

You'll marry me when I'm a proper captain

and I won't ask you to put it in the papers because I might die tonight

and then people would say "ha, ha"

or they would say "poor dear, ” and both are horrid.

And if all this is a lovely dream of mine, well, it has been lovely dreaming it.

The potential for greatness of these men is huge.

I just hope these other officers can see that.

Or they'll be getting added to the long list of silver-spoon-fed idiots…

This new outfit I'm mixed up in is pretty curious.

During our brief period of training

the men have lived on rum and lime

- rum and tea, rum omelette… - My dear sister.

I'm having a very jolly time with this new unit.

I sincerely hope I get a chance to show the officers what I can do with a rifle.

It's a fine crowd of lads, love

So you're not to worry.

You just get all the happiness out of life that you can.

Anything that brings you happiness, kid.

Fuck this.

Hey!

I have been reunited with an old friend from the Ulster Rifles.

He's a Protestant, Paddy Mayne

though he drinks like a Catholic.

We're able to talk about home to each other.

He's the same man I knew in Ireland

but lately, I am changed by him.

There's a fellow here I knew in Ulster, Eion McGonigal.

He's from the other side, but we don't talk religion.

If I sit up barking and howling at night, as I sometimes do

he takes me for a walk and throws a stick for me.

When I find myself become a devil

he reminds me that underneath, I am a poet.

Sir! Pilot wants a word with you.

Nothing to worry about, lads.

Just a bit of fun, eh?

We are two minutes from the drop.

But, Captain Stirling, if you go out in this

it will be suicide.

Suicide, Captain Stirling!

Nothing more.

There's no shame in turning back on a night like this.

Think of your men.

The gentlemen aboard have been appraised of their circumstances

and have made their decisions.

Proceed with your descent.

The mad bastards are gonna jump.

Are we ready, chaps?

Yes, sir!

It's a ten-mile stroll to the airstrips.

We'll bomb their planes while they sleep

and rendezvous with Paddy and Jock's boys for rum breakfast.

Yes? - Yes!

Bloody hell, Mitcham, you're looking pale. Are you tempted?

No, sir. - No? Anh!

Right, listen up!

Good lad!

No dicking about!

Yes, sir!

Stand up!

Pack up!

Hook up!

Action station!

Check your lines!

Go!

Go! Go!

Go!

L Detachment!

L Detachment?

Almonds?

Yates?

Mitcham?

L Detachment?

Yates, Mitcham?

Sir…

Oh, sir… - Mitcham?

I was… I was dragged over the cliff.

Can you stand?

No, I cannot stand, sir.

I heard my spine snap.

Like a fucking gunshot.

Do you want some water?

I cannot stand this pain.

I'm sorry.

Mitcham, no!

Fuck!

May the Lord have mercy on your soul.

And on mine.

Well, Father!

You said war could be unpleasant!

I found explosives and machine guns.

Then fortune is with us.

Let's move.

Move where, sir?

The airfields.

There are only eight of us, sir.

So it'll be harder for 'em to see us from the air. Come on.

Form up. - Fuck off.

What's wrong with your arm?

It's broken, sir.

Then…

you are lucky

in the SAS, you don't have to salute.

Oh…

Now, before we proceed

we need to ascertain where the airfields are.

To do that, we need to ascertain where we are.

Riley, I believe you retained your compass.

All I can say for sure is that the airfields are on the coast.

And that we are south of them.

Good.

So we head north.

There are only eight of us, sir.

If you make that observation again

there will only be seven of us.

I would head north, even if I were alone!

Right. We've got work to do!

Do you think there is a far border town

somewhere at the desert's edge

the last of the lands we know?

- Some gaunt, eventual

limit of our light…

In which I'll find you waiting

and we'll go together hand-in-hand again

out there…

into the wastes we know not.

Into the night.

Who?

Oh, thanks.

McGonigal, sir.

Oh.

OK.

OK.

He landed hard, got dragged. - Yes, I understand.

Did you manage to locate any of the weapons?

Found only one machine gun and six grenades.

No explosives or detonators.

They will all be buried in the sand on account of the wind.

Aye, we'll use the grenades.

You what?

We will head north.

That fucking way, up there

and we will reach the coast, and we will find their airfields.

Is it? Yeah, well, Paddy, you won't destroy a single fucking thing

with what we've got, lad. - Paddy.

We were gonna head south.

Sir, there were dark clouds. It's going to rain.

We need to move to a higher ground before we get washed away.

Right.

This was a fuck up, yeah? And a grand old fuck up it was.

Now if we wipe ourselves out, it'll be the only thing that we ever did, Paddy.

And they'll say all that we ever did was fuck up.

GHQ will laugh at us, yeah? - So…

your conclusion

is that we should stand down?

Is that it? - Paddy, I didn't mean…

Your conclusion, Corporal, is that we should stand down?

Sir, I don't mean nothing by it. - Is that it?

After what they've done to him?

It wasn't them that killed him.

It was the wind and the fall, and our decision.

A decision we all made.

Sorry, sir.

Paddy, we need to be alive to go again.

Sir, shall we move out?

Sir?

Paddy, we can't leave without ya.

It's fine. Go.

I'll catch you up.

Go.

Right, gather your belongings. Let's fuck off.

Come on, Cooper, get up from there!

Give me your hand.

Do we even know where we're going, sir?

Of course!

Jock?

There's water in the compass!

Also in the Lewes bombs.

They're drenched, completely useless.

The bombs in our packs are called Lewes bombs

because Lewes is my name and I fucking invented them!

I will decide when they're useless.

They will not work. - Get that men out the water!

Get him out, for God's sake!

Come on! Come on, man.

You're alright.

Unless you want us all to drown, we must turn back!

You know, I once swam the Thames.

Tower Bridge.

Just as Julius Caesar swam the Tiber.

- Breasted it! - Jock.

Look…

the water turned the desert into quicksand.

We can't walk across quicksand, let alone swim it.

I am not suggesting, Riley, that I am Julius Caesar.

But like Caesar, my first attempt at conquest has been thwarted.

Caesar withdrew and came back.

That is what we will do. We will go, but we will come back!

Yes.

With certainty.

Come on, you heard the man! Move!

I can hear singing.

Now you sing the second verse in order to reassure them that we are not Germans.

In Kabrit, we officers resolved a desert procedure.

If you see a fire in the night, you sing the first verse

and the people at the fire sing the second verse

because if we were… Germans, we wouldn't know the words.

Any of you lads know the second verse?

No.

No.

Well, if you don't sing it in the next…

30 seconds, then the procedure is to open fire.

If Paddy's out there, it'll be five seconds.

God, how amusing this all is.

♪ Hall, hail, the gang's all here! ♪

♪ What the hell do we care? ♪

♪ What the hell do we care? What the hell do we care? ♪

♪ Hall, hail the gang's all here! ♪

♪ What the hell do we care now? ♪

Whoopee!

♪ Roll out the barrel ♪

♪ We'll have a barrel of fun ♪

♪ Roll out the barrel ♪

Come on.

♪ We've got the Blues on the run ♪

♪ Zing boom tararrel ♪

♪ Sing us a song of good cheer ♪

♪ Now it's time to roll the barrel ♪

♪ For the gang's all here! ♪

You alright, sir?

Except the gang is not all here, is it?

No.

The gang is not all here.

A brew, lads.

How's everyone then?

There you go…

There's some, uh…

tea, Paddy.

Come on, Jim.

There we are.

Paddy.

"Out In The Middle East" by George Formby

♪ A fellow in the forces ♪

♪ Was writing a letter ♪

♪ Fromm somewhere in the East ♪

♪ Talk of a blinking feast ♪

♪ He said it's just like Blackpool Sands ♪

♪ We play with hand grenades ♪

♪ If we had known ♪

♪ We would've brought along our buckets and spades ♪

♪ Out in the Middle East ♪

♪ You can have a lot of fun ♪

♪ Out in the Middle East ♪

♪ By the Mediterranean ♪

…♪ Join the forces, they used to say ♪

♪ And see the world, it sounds OK ♪

♪ But you see nowt but sand all day ♪

♪ Out in the Middle East ♪

♪ And when you're hungry ♪

♪ They never serve you up some hot pot ♪

♪ You never get a gentle breeze a-blowing round your whatnot ♪

♪ On your head, your hats like saucepan lids ♪

♪ You take off your well-l-never-dids ♪

♪ It gets a bit hot… ♪

Looks like our passengers have arrived.

I thought there were 55 of them.

Don't worry.

You'll still be paid if you drive home empty.

Hmm.

Long Range Desert Group!

Identify yourselves!

Good man.

We are L Detachment!

First Special Air Service Brigade!

What's left of us.

Maybe it's your attitude.

Maybe it's the way you walk.

But you are walking on a tightrope.

This is a big desert.

But there is no room in it for realists

or pragmatists

or believers in common sense.

Last night was the first uncertain step

on the long walk to glory.

There is no other narrative.

That's it, old boy, come on.

What happened?

We experienced some weather.

Ah. Yes.

You in charge here?

The desert's in charge here. Maybe you've learned that, sir.

Hmm.

What news of Tobruk? We've been away from radio.

Come on.

Get a nice bath.

Drink a beer, or two, or three

and then we'll talk about Tobruk.

Come on.

Another fuck up?

Another fuck up.

But anyway, we run the rickshaws into town.

How many more can we expect?

Ah, well, the weather we experienced was very bad, so…

Yes.

Perhaps not many.

Right.

And, uh… how long do you want to wait?

Well, you know…

forever.

Hmm.

No, I don't like waiting around.

I have a poker game in Cairo on Thursdays.

We have some cattle to round up!

Let's go, boys. Come on!

- On your feet! - Come on!

On your feet. —- Sir…

Come on. Move it.

♪ I got a great big amount ♪

♪ Saved up in my love account ♪

♪ Da-da-da da-da-da… ♪

Big leap, boys!

Hup!

Woo!

Woo-hoo!

Woo!

How the hell are you going to find them in this vastness?

In the desert, everything can be predicted.

You were dropped in the north quad, number 12, then rain came.

Rising flood sends your boys onto high ground

the platypus ridge which runs south

so they walk south until the ridge splits.

Fuck off back there!

Ha-ha!

Come on!

Then they reach the Bang Bang Oasis.

Which even the Brits can see on account of the vegetation.

Come on!

Whoa!

Then they follow the dried-up riverbed south

until they arrive

right about…

now.

Right about there.

Looks like I will make my poker game.

I only count eight of our men.

Twenty-two survivors out of…

fifty-five.

Not a shot fired except a damn good soldier firing into his own brain.

Not a plane destroyed, not a fucking detonator detonated.

What will GHQ do?

Do about what?

Nothing happened. Our mission was never authorised, so no one will know.

There are a few at GHQ that do know, and they will laugh, but…

mostly they will be too busy losing the war to care.

And we will be stood down when we get back to Cairo.

Yes.

If we go back.

They say the boys from the Long Range Desert Group

can find a pencil in a thousand square miles of desert

just so long as it casts a shadow.

They can find a downed pilot in an area the size of England

in the middle of the night, in a sandstorm.

So?

So… I wonder

if they can find the SAS a place of sanctuary?

Hello!

Woo!

What are you doing here?

I come here to relax.

I thought it was time for us to update each other on some recent events.

Your office was locked.

Recent events?

General De Gaulle needs to be kept informed of British strategies in North Africa.

- French 75. - Yes, madam.

Tell me, what is the General's main concern at the moment?

Fuck you.

Where are they?

Do you mean where are "they"?

Or where is "he"?

Do you want to have dinner?

No. Just tell me where they are.

No one is saying anything. For Cairo, that is unusual.

Well, truth is, no one knows where they are.

Any survivors should have reported back two weeks ago.

We've had no communications of any sort.

What happened to them?

Well, before you begin to imagine some heroic combat

it's almost certain that if they are all dead

they weren't killed by the Germans or the Italians.

They were killed by the desert.

The wind, the sand, the thorns.

Oh, and by the reckless decision taken by our friend

and his comrades because they couldn't stand to lose face.

They decided to take off and make a parachute drop

at night in the middle of a fucking sandstorm.

What is it about Stirling that you dislike so much?

I invented the SAS.

And he had no right to destroy it on its first mission.

And if it's not destroyed, it's now a laughing stock

among the few people who even know it exists.

In terms of percentage, I'm afraid the chances of Stirling being still alive

are just this side of zero.

I thought you knew the rules of engagement in time of war?

Fucking is fine.

Feeling is not.

Now then…

this, my friends, is Jalo.

Literally, unquestionably, undeniably

the middle of fucking nowhere.

If Fucking Nowhere had a capital city, this would be it.

And this would be the main street of Fucking Nowhere City.

And the Lord Mayor would be fucking no one

presiding over fuck all

in a place where there was no one around to give a fuck.

Which is exactly what you asked for, Captain Stirling, am I right?

Mm.

We could carry on driving

but I'd say this place is as good as any other part of nowhere we might find.

How far to the German airfields?

Sirte is 350 miles northwest.

The Allied frontline?

If you drove east, the first Allied position you'd come to

is the New Zealand reserve troop

eighty miles across open desert.

But the Kiwi fighting men have been sent north, so the camp's empty.

If you need any help, there isn't any.

The New Zealand camp is empty, you say?

A few wounded, a few guards.

And a few empty trucks, one might imagine.

And maybe some guns they left behind.

Maybe some ammunition.

Would there be a piano?

A fucking piano?

The capital city of Fucking Nowhere will do us just fine

but first…

we need to do a spot of shopping.

Ah…

Come on, you dishy bastard.

Thieving bastard.

It were never me.

If I'd known you were going to rob the place, I wouldn't have brought you, sir.

Call me David. Not "sir".

Woo!

Phillip! Sentry duty.

On the tower. One hour.

Yes, sir.

And if you can, perhaps, you might bury the explosive canisters

to keep them out of direct heat.

Yep. On you go.

Where can I put the piano?

Do you play the piano, Paddy?

No.

Eoin was trying to teach me. I want to carry on.

Put it in the mess hall.

There isn't a mess hall.

So build one.

Seekings.

Yes, boss? — Now, last night was rather a success

so we have something to celebrate.

What did you steal by way of drinks?

Forty-five gallons of New Zealand rum, sir.

Good boy. Right.

Well, by the time that we're unpacked, it'll be cocktail hour.

And then when we've had our cocktails and the sun has set

I think we should go for a bit of a jolly.

Over there!

Ammunitions will be signed in by Lieutenant Fraser

unless he has a problem with that.

No, sir!

This way! - Good.

Refuel your vehicles, Mr Sadler.

We go tonight.

Get the tents up! Let's not be too creative.

Call me Mike.

Targets will be given on the coast.

Ten Lewes bombs to each man.

At the ready!

Have your ten-minute fuses and your 30-minute fuses!

Do not use your bombs

until you can smell the Messerschmitt!

SAS motorised mission number one!

Move out, you fucking virgins.

Come on, Bob.

We are ten miles outside of Sirte airstrip

directly north.

I'm going to pick three men, take them there, and do what damage I can.

Lewes, you will take your men to Mersa Brega.

Your target is fuel trucks and supply trucks.

Paddy, you will take your men to Tamet airstrip.

Your target is Italian Caproni fighter bombers and Messerschmitts.

Bill Fraser? Where are you?

I'm here. - Come on.

I hear, during the fuck up

that you repeatedly asked questions of your commanding officer.

Well, we have decided, in order to avoid further fuck ups

that questions are to be welcomed in the SAS.

You will pick four men and travel to Agedabia.

If questions are welcome, sir, I've got a question.

Yes?

Can me and the boys have some rum?

Oh, absolutely. Seekings, please.

Yes, Seekings, come on. Right.

We rendezvous back here tomorrow morning.

You and your drivers wait here for our return.

Ah, with all due respect, sir, I'm fucking sick of being the taxi service.

I can read this desert better than any man here.

Well, if it's action that you're after

go with Paddy Mayne.

We have a second chance.

Let's see what the stars have in store for us, shall we?

Yeah!

Come on!

Load up!

It's empty.

They've all flown.

Shit.

Prime fuses, ten minutes.

Prime fuses, ten minutes.

Prime fuses.

Go.

Riley. Take one man, go to the right.

Almonds, take three men, flank around from the rear.

Back here in eight minutes.

Hit as many trucks as you can. For God's sake, don't be seen.

Go.

Sadler. - Huh?

This is the famous Lewes bomb.

Never heard of it.

That's because it's only famous amongst us.

Jock Lewes invented it.

He cooked us up a prototype. Tonight, we're going to try them out.

You never used them before?

No, but Jock Lewes is very smart.

I'm sure we'll be fine.

Now, these are all being primed and ready to go off in ten minutes, right?

From now? — From now.

So we should fucking get on with it, Paddy.

Ten minutes is plenty of time, boys.

Plenty of time for what?

They're drunk, Paddy.

We can plant the bombs and be gone before they know…

Low hanging fruit.

Ripe apples.

Those drunks are pilots and engineers when they sober up.

So to fuck with conventions, Geneva or otherwise.

This is our fucking work, boys.

This is who we are. To kill and be killed.

Any man too just and good and noble

for work like this can stay behind, polish their bullets

make a nice wee necklace.

Myself, I am tranquil.

I never go to parties to which I'm invited anyway.

Go, go, go, go, go.

Would you like a light?

Here you are.

No. English, actually.

Inglese?

Si.

Inglese.

Hello!

Fuck.

Good evening.

Come on!

In three minutes, the bombs go off, including this truck!

Not ideal.

Think they've had enough now, Paddy?

Paddy?

Paddy!

Two minutes to blow the planes, boys.

Move.

Fucking move!

Jock! In one minute, this truck's about to get a bit hot.

Not helpful.

Come on!

Where's Paddy?

Where on Earth is he?

Paddy!

Paddy!

I'm out!

Go!

The bombs work!

Move! Go, go!

Paddy!

Let's get back to those Jeeps.

Paddy! Hurry up, Paddy!

"New Rose" by The Damned

♪ I got a feeling inside of me ♪

Yes!

♪ I got a new rose, I got it good ♪

♪ Guess I knew that I always would ♪

♪ I can't stop to mess around ♪

Woo!

♪ I got a brand new rose in town ♪

♪ See the sun, see the sun it shines ♪

♪ I guess these things have got to be ♪

♪ I got a new rose, I got it good ♪

Yes, boys!

That's Mersa Brega and Agedabia blown to hell, sir.

Yes…

Yes!

Yes!

And that's Paddy Mayne at Tamet.

And here am I in the dark and silence in Sirte.

Come on, it's not a competition, sir.

Of course it fucking is.

Come on.

Sir, report from Intelligence.

Ah, my dear.

At last I have something to report that's actually true.

Actually fucking true.

Intercepted radio communications

between the German and Italian air force commands

says that the night before last, 48 fighter bombers and fighter aircraft

were destroyed while on the ground at two separate airbases.

Destroyed by men who appeared apparently from nowhere

and disappeared into the desert.

Also 17 fuel tankers, supply trucks, ammunition crates

and explosives were destroyed at Mersa Brega.

Apparently those few who caught a glimpse of the attackers

said they wore no uniforms and looked like wild savages.

So he's alive?

The important thing is that my creation is alive.

I think the mystery of what happened to L Detachment First SAS Brigade

may have seen solved, sir.

Well, I think that boy may just have won his bet.

OK then…

Ooh, I see.

I see.

Let the games begin.

Sub fix: BLU DUAINE blu.duaine@protonmail.com