Original subtitles

I was given orders to break bread with the Resistance

and the people known as the Cosa Nostra. Incoming!

This breakfast was not my idea.

But it has taught me a lesson -

be selective about the orders that you obey.

The next stage of this war is invasion.

Taking territory inch by inch.

It is the SRS who are spearheading the operation.

I'm going to move closer to the front line.

Your plan is to join my brother in Sicily? I want you to write to him,

and I want you to tell him to accept me, and help me.

After the attack on Cannizzaro, you will embark for the mainland.

This is just the snout.

It is our job to take the whole hog,

right the way up to the tail.

A whole new detachment is being deployed to Augusta.

It is called 2SAS.

So, the name SAS

is stolen for your own use.

Can I invite you to welcome back my good friend, my conscience

and my voice of reason, Staff Sergeant Jimmy Almonds!

I'm looking for a man of the cloth,

and I am also looking for a stolen donkey.

Jawohl.

Heil Hitler. Heil Hitler.

Nein! Nein!

Runnin' Wild by Airbourne

So, we're getting pretty good at this.

Paddy doesn't want to be fucking good at this, lad.

What does he want to be fucking good at?

He wants to be good at what they used to do before.

Before you begin...

...where do you stand, as regards to the invasion of your country,

and my role in it?

Mussolini.

Il Duce.

What do you think of him?

Mussolini?

Mussolini...

Next question.

As a barber, how would you feel

if somebody ordered you to stop cutting hair and start baking bread?

My English not so good.

Flour and water and salt

and fucking ovens

and early fucking starts.

You would say,

"I am trained to cut a man's hair, not baking fucking buns."

You would say,

"I am trained to shave a man's face, not feed it fucking cakes."

You would say,

"You could get anybody to get fucking mush all over their hands.

"What I want is an open razor,

"so that I can do the work that I am uniquely qualified for."

Do you want oil?

No, I don't want oil.

I want rum

and omelettes

and an open desert.

And I want my friend back.

That's what I want.

Always tell your troubles to someone

who has no idea what you are talking about.

Is that your blue jacket? Yeah.

I would like to purchase it from you.

Last night, when we arrived in your wee little town,

there was a welcoming party. Germans.

We had a disagreement as to the ownership of your country.

My own jacket is now so soaked in blood as to be unwearable.

I shall be my fucking self.

Rouge, Rouge by Christie Laume

Did they take any prisoners? No. The SAS boys dispatched every one.

There were no prisoners taken.

As you've seen, they used... cutlery.

When the fighting is arm's length, what do you expect?

Stories go round among the regular soldiers

about the SAS boys who go in first.

They're actually SRS. What stories?

That they're... wild men. No rules, you know?

Let's try and avoid relaying any idle gossip about

mad men and savages to anyone.

Especially not her.

She's a journalist and a spy. No, sir. Of course not, sir.

And anyway, the stories are told with a sense of... admiration.

Well, yes.

There is much to be admired.

Get those bodies covered up. Yes, sir.

Lieutenant Colonel Bill Stirling.

We missed each other in Sicily.

You mean you avoided me and ignored my request for an interview.

I don't really do interviews. Rather busy fighting a war.

I knew your brother in Cairo.

Yes, and because he is my brother,

he told me absolutely nothing about you.

He finds impractical things impossible to talk about.

But when he thought you were dead, he came to my apartment

and he was as unlike himself as I have ever seen him.

"Unlike himself".

I mean he was... He was quite upset.

"Quite upset".

You sound like him.

It's all rather awful in there.

I don't think you want to see things you can't then unsee. Right.

It all looks quite gruesome,

but these encounters almost always end with hand-to-hand.

Where is Paddy Mayne, and how do I get to him?

How do you GET to him?

I have accreditation to report from combat zones.

Look, we both know who you are. You're a spy... I really don't need

anybody's help to reach him. You're here to relay news on the invasion

to the Free French government in exile.

And the news will be wherever Paddy Mayne is, not where you are.

Miss Mansour, I'll have one of my men take you back to the harbour.

I have dead German soldiers to identify, bodies to bury,

photographs of loved ones to collate and send to the Red Cross.

It can be work that is quite troublesome to the soul.

And I'm afraid Paddy Mayne

and his men are strictly

out of bounds to journalists

and reporters of any sort.

Your brother really didn't tell you anything about me, did he?

Colonel.

Sir.

Colonel Stirling.

You've applied to take part in tomorrow's escape attempt

and, yet, you've only been here for three months.

Three months. Yes, quite right.

Not only have I counted every single brick in my cell,

I've also given them names. As I'm sure you understand...

There is a long queue of prisoners who want to escape from this place,

and a long list of men who need to escape,

and a handful who simply cannot countenance

spending another single day locked up in here.

And then there is me.

And as you can see, I am a wildly, madly special case.

There are occasionally exceptional circumstances in which...

Certain prisoners are invited to take part in escape attempts

ahead of the queue - IF they can prove that their escape would,

I think in your manifesto, it says,

"If the prisoner's freedom and return to active service

"would significantly help the execution of the War."

Well, gentlemen, my unit

is currently spearheading the invasion of Italy

and is in the very... capable hands of my brother, Bill.

But, you see, when we were young, I always stole the bike

and won the race and got the girl and scrumped the most apples.

And I really do believe that I can make substantial

and significant improvements to the execution of the campaign

to liberate Italy. And, my God, if you do not add me

to the top of your list, I will walk out of my cell,

stroll across the courtyard, walk right up to the gates,

tell the guards to fuck off,

in Italian.

I will then be shot...

...and it'll be your fault.

Theme From Sparta FC #2 by The Fall

Tonkin. Letter.

Postman. Beware of the dog.

That sign there says

"SAS members only",

but you can sign in as a guest.

I AM a fucking member.

You know, I blame my mother, but I cannot get used to

not being able to wash my hands in these nasty little places.

Fucking salute me, damn you, Sergeant!

Actually, I made him a lieutenant.

Where... are his bloody pips?

Where are your bloody pips, Johnny?

On my tunic.

And where is your bloody tunic?

It's covered in blood, Colonel.

That will be all.

You came to say "well done".

GHQ are cock-a-hoop. Cock-a-hoop?

Well, I am cock-a-doodle-fucking-doo that they are cock-a-hoop.

"Tolerate Paddy Mayne's eccentricities,

"in return for exceptional results in the battlefield."

That's my instruction from GHQ. But you're getting close to saying

"fuck it" and taking a swing.

Who am I to you, Paddy?

Your headmaster? The headmaster at my school was my friend.

He gave me cigarettes. Well, some figure of authority.

You remind me of the gamekeeper who broke my home-made fishing rod

and I broke his home-made arm.

Why are you wearing a blue jacket?

I paid handsomely for it.

None of your men are wearing uniform. Aye.

You see, sir, what happens when you storm a bunker full of Germans

with your bayonet fixed,

in that brief, but energetic wee dance that follows,

you tend to get quite a bit of blood on your clothes.

Some of it, your own, but mostly German blood. Either one

tends to stain your regulation-issue clothing quite badly.

So you have to go shopping.

Have you boys of SAS Number 2 had the call to go shopping yet

or are your uniforms still just dandy?

There is a woman. A journalist.

Aye, your brother just wrote to me about her.

What did my brother say?

His personal communication with me remains private.

It's the French woman he was fucking in Cairo.

His description was a touch more poetic.

This woman must not be allowed anywhere near the front line

and must not be privy to any details of the strategy

of our advance. I'd say the strategy

is plain for anyone to see, anyway.

You throw the SAS at the enemy defences like a handful of gravel.

You use the SAS the way you would use any conventional Commando unit,

with no regard to our particular skills.

Italy is not the Great Sand Sea, Paddy. There are civilians here -

men, women and children -

and I do not trust you and your "members only"

to display your particular skills among innocent people.

You don't trust ME with innocent people?

I don't trust you to draw the line. Knowing which lives to spare,

knowing which houses to blow to pieces

and which houses to drive around,

knowing the difference between enemy and friend and all those in-between.

Nothing I have seen or heard about you and your men

gives me any reason to trust you.

So, the gravel will continue to be thrown. Yes.

The gravel will continue to be thrown.

You will continue to be a spearhead force.

And your next operation starts tonight.

Your job is to liberate Termoli from the Germans,

taking out the rear guard at various points along the way.

The Italian Resistance and Riley will be sent ahead to reconnoitre

the town, take out a spy and clear the station.

Shit!

Your papers were forged by British SOE. You'll be OK.

Just act like a normal husband and let your wife do the talking.

They talk strange. Not like Termoli people.

Where are they from?

She sounds Sicilian.

Their papers say they are from Campomarino,

but they sound Sicilian.

Am I wrong?

I say we let the others go

and hold her for more questions.

Let them pass.

No! No!

So, have you decided to try charm?

We got off on the wrong foot.

Please.

That is the expression, yes? Yes.

The smell of blood and the proximity of corpses probably didn't help.

You appear to have opened your own restaurant.

The people in the local cafe are very grateful to the British

that their business wasn't destroyed.

Though most of their wine was stolen by Paddy's men.

Well, luckily, it seems they left behind the good stuff,

because Paddy knows nothing but poitin and Guinness.

Was my brother in love with you, do you think?

Or should the question be - IS my brother in love with you?

Love doesn't really suit him.

Well, he was always very jealous of his possessions.

He had an air rifle I used to use on purpose to annoy him.

Am I a possession?

I'm quite blunt sometimes. And tired.

You look very tired. Yes.

Doing nothing and achieving nothing can be very tiring.

What exactly do you want from me?

I hear Paddy Mayne is heading for Termoli, yes?

It is my job.

It's what I do.

By the way, do I call you William or Bill?

Bill.

I prefer William.

Before Termoli, Paddy will have to overcome the German rear guard.

Yes. When the sun sets...

...God help the rear guard.

Looks like some of them are moving out.

Are you coming with us on this little jolly, Paddy,

or are you going to stay and wash your feet?

I have decided to be more human.

I have decided to communicate with my human body,

my flesh,

since I am not a machine.

I am not a killing machine. They cannot put that against my name.

To send men to die like cattle is not my human purpose.

I am human fighting human,

and I draw the line in the sand with my human feet.

And I draw that line pretty fucking well, if I may say!

Pretty fucking well.

You OK, Paddy?

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells...

Fuck.

Fuck, I forgot the words.

I never forget the words.

Can you believe it?

They're blowing poetry out of my head

and replacing it with men screaming.

Paddy?

Have they cut the wire?

Seekings hooted like an owl, so they're in position.

So let's clean the fuckers out.

Clear!

Ya beauty!

Silenzio!

Watch out for the rats.

What? Off you go.

Right.

Right.

Jesus!

Bloody size of that one! Christ!

Hey!

Bang! He was out cold...

...and my father cut his hand free

and, left him in the snow.

Yeah. You left him?

Do you think he has another bottle of the same wine?

Scusi...

Who found him?

Who found him? Who found David in the snow?

You said he was unconscious. God, I don't remember.

My sister, I think.

You see, the ethos of the family

was... you are responsible for your own actions.

You're also responsible for your own inaction.

When will your new unit be ready?

You're very good, aren't you?

At what?

2SAS will be ready for its first engagement

with enemy forces in five days' time.

Location classified.

Subsequent comparisons between 1SAS, formed by my brother,

and 2SAS, formed by me, will be strictly forbidden.

I think I understand your relationship with your brother.

I have a younger sister... Please, please, please,

spare me the strategies.

Particularly those that imitate empathy and understanding.

I deserve no empathy, sitting here drinking wine, when the real work's

being done away from here by a man who drinks poitin.

He's firing at shadows, Paddy.

He's buggered.

Offer him surrender. I just remembered the words.

...Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells...

No, no, no grenades, Paddy! ...And bugles calling for them

from sad shires. Hold your fire!

Hold your fire. I surrender!

I surrender, please!

He's coming out.

I surrender! What candles... Easy, Paddy. Easy.

...may be held to speed them all? Easy, Paddy.

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.

I am a captain of the Panzergrenadier division...

...and I surrender.

I have a comrade in there, badly wounded.

He... He's my brother.

My younger brother.

My dear brother.

He will not live.

He... He's in great pain...

I... I tried, but I cannot do it by myself.

Please. An act of mercy.

He's lying in the straw.

Condemn his mortal soul to God.

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds

And each slow dusk...

...a drawing-down of blinds.

We've got rum.

Come on.

It's been an odd evening.

As if they stopped the war for us.

Not for us, of course, I don't mean it like that.

Sometimes, you can stop the war in your mind for a few hours.

I've had more wine tonight than I've had in a long time.

Though my brother would have had twice as much

and been perfectly sober.

You said you would have someone brief me on the progress of the war.

That would be helpful.

Helpful.

But still, you'll want more.

Of course.

Always, I will want more.

Goodnight, William.

Un mese di isolamento.

Reggie, Jimmy, put the radio together. Get a signal.

McDiarmid, break open the rum.

Fraser, light a fire, brew up.

All the rum we brought from Cairo, we finished off with that

fucking German officer who wouldn't stop sobbing.

But we do have Italian grappa. Fuck's sake!

The rest of you, prepare your weapons and write letters home.

We go tonight.

According to my Baedeker Guide of 1930,

there are two good restaurants in Termoli.

I reckon they'll close pretty sharpish when we get there, then.

Where did you get a Baedeker Guide from, anyway?

I found it in Augusta,

when we were hanging around,

waiting for the order to move out.

Waiting for orders.

Before the War,

I'd never been further than Margate.

I'm looking forward to France. I think France will be nice.

How do you know we're going to France?

That's the word from GHQ.

They're going to send us... Will you shut your fucking hole?!

Talking like fucking soldiers!

We ARE soldiers, Paddy. Soldiers waiting to be told,

like a handful of soldiers waiting to be thrown,

wondering where they'll send us next.

We were talking about restaurants, actually, Paddy.

Aye, yous were talking like ordinary fucking soldiers!

Come on, calm down, Paddy. Have a wee drink.

GHQ did say communication

would be at four o'clock

and it's four o'clock.

Paddy?

If GHQ said you should do it,

then just fucking do it.

Kersh.

Right.

OK, password. Blunt approach zero class Rominex.

It's Riley. Yeah, he's OK.

GHQ password, salt, pepper, gra...

OK, Paddy, you have one minute until our signal's tracked and located.

Riley, just tell me about tonight's entertainment.

We walked down main street.

They are not expecting us.

It's defended, but not fortified.

No field artillery, except a couple of howitzers

covering the main route.

Most defensive positions are near the bell tower.

In the centre, there's a 20mm AA gun position

and a couple of MGs on AA mounts.

Road block at the southern entrance. Machine guns nearby.

We saw at least one Panzer there,

but evidence of multiple tracked vehicles heading out of town.

Most likely, other tanks.

But, Paddy, the bad news is

half the soldiers in town had flashes on their uniforms.

But the good news is I've cleared the station.

Triangulation of our position will be complete in ten seconds.

Tell the Resistenza we move up from the south.

Nineteen-0-five-hundred.

Five, four... And, Riley, find some fucking rum. ..three, two, one.

All right.

Yeah.

Gather round, lads!

Riley has reconnoitred the town.

This mission will not be about hardware.

We will be a surprise,

so there will be no heavy artillery or tanks to meet us.

This will be about soldiers.

The locals have been told to hunker down and make themselves safe.

The Resistance are moving in with Riley as we speak.

Half the soldiers in Termoli

wear a flash on their arms,

which says they are veterans of the Cretan campaign,

which means they'll be

very good at what they do...

...so we will have to be better.

Highway 16, Termoli, Campomarino road.

Head north until you reach the Campomarino bridge.

Blow it up.

OK, so, Alessia,

there is an SAS tradition.

You keep a head count of all the hardware you destroy. Yeah?

Yeah, but since you're not SAS,

I guess you can give this one to me.

I don't think so.

Engage! Move! Ready!

What's the craic? Well, I told our Italian friends here

you'd be here at five minutes past,

so we got started without you.

I don't have Italian friends.

Riley, I swear you're fucking following this woman around.

Jock, try and resist your natural Scottish instinct to run at them

with your tongue out, all right? Fuck you!

For reasons that baffle me, Paddy still needs you alive.

Covering fire!

Reckon he's got a death wish, or what? Or whisky.

Or some kind of bravery.

And that. And being Scottish.

Hey! Hey! Hello.

My name is McDiarmid. You?

No English! Good, I fucking hate the English.

Paddy? Flank the fuckers, now.

Fuck! McDiarmid! Fucking wait!

Wait.

You two, take point.

On the alley.

Now! Go, go, go.

Keep your head against the wall!

Move!

Position secure!

Jock, fucking move! Fucking move!

Keep pushed on the wall, on the wall!

Move up, move up! Covering!

Move in!

Move on, move on!

I hope this piano isn't a Stradivarius, Paddy!

Stradivarius made violins, Reg.

Don't fuck about. Don't...

Fucking hell! Move on! Move on!

Get in there! Get in there!

Move in! Arsehole! You arsehole!

Covering fire! Covering fire!

Move forward!

Hold your fire! Hold your fire!

Hold your fucking fire!

Please, don't shoot! Keep your eyes peeled, lads.

Fucking move it! Hands up!

Are they done? Aye, they're done! Surrendering!

Right, men, round them up.

Let's go. Let's fucking go. Come on, come on.

Normal rules apply. Move! Move!

If they cry, be nice,

but do not tolerate any arrogance.

And then, remembering traditional procedure with regard to

company morale, the commanding officer

praised his men for their competence.

Aye, yous did all right.

Well done, lads!

Well done.

Keep moving, come on! Keep moving.

Quick, come on.

None of these soldiers who surrendered are wearing

the insignia of the Cretan campaign on their arms.

Yep. The Resistenza said

they saw some soldiers heading north in organised units.

So, the real fellas made a tactical withdrawal,

which means they'll regroup and counterattack.

Most probably, tonight.

I fear this liberation party may be a wee bit premature.

Take cover!

Get down! Move!

Move, move!

Move, Byron!

Do we know how they got away?

Yeah, they were seen crossing the Campomarino bridge.

Fuck!

I know you're relatively new to the SAS,

but traditionally, in situations where the odds are overwhelming

and victory is impossible, we have one simple order.

May I? Do it.

Every man for himself!

Fuck it!

Halt! Hande hoch!

Forwards.

Lieutenant John Eliot Tonkin. 200156 1st SAS.

Attached to Eighth Army.

I am offering my surrender.

The famous SAS?

Commando, yes?

I hear SAS like to drink rum.

Come, my friend.

We have rum.

Didn't understand a word you were saying.

If your appearance here...

...is because I am concussed...

...and sick in the head,

then please...

...please, God, do not make me well.

Walls are thick, cellars are deep

and we have radio communications, so we can call for help.

Johnny.

No Tonkin? No.

No sign of him.

Walls and masonry fit for fortification.

I knew you'd like it.

The reason the shelling has stopped is because they are moving

their Panzer tank divisions to the edge of the town.

They will make their move tonight or tomorrow.

But our orders are to take Termoli...

...and hold it to the last man, come what may.

And that is exactly what we are going to do.

And there is no point calling for help, because there isn't any.

All we are...

...is a handful of gravel.