Original subtitles

We do not care about the mental health,

the psychological conditions amongst your men,

just so long as you keep...

...winning.

320 miles.

For Paddy Mayne to function, he needs someone to rebel against.

I'm perfect for the job, don't you think?

Mission completed. We leave Italy to the ordinary soldiers now.

We, we're going home.

The Italian government has fallen.

The Italian guards have left the camp.

We have 20 minutes... to get free!

It's no good! Enemy's on the way!

Back the other way! Bloody hell!

Follow me!

Come on! Just leave it!

Come on!

We've got to hide!

Give me some of that!

Give me some of that! The Germans are coming! No, get off!

That's mine!

Stirling!

Stirling, come on!

Germans are on the hill!

We don't have much time.

We need to take our chances

before the Germans arrive.

What news of my men? What are you talking about?

I've had no news for 15 days.

My men! The SA fucking S. Are they alive?

Well, the reports I heard,

they're most of the reason the Italian government fell.

Now I hear they're on their way home.

There, get that down you.

That's the first I've heard about it.

Can you believe that?

Hey, listen up.

So...

...that was Italy.

Some craic, wasn't it?

Some craic.

Our grand old tour of Europe

began here,

but who knows where our itinerary

will take us next?

But first...

Yes! Yes! John!

Hey.

Tonkin, you'd better tell these what you got up to,

because they'll not believe me.

Well, er, I was captured.

They were going to shoot me, I escaped, and then, er...

An angel came and scooped you up.

Ooh, Tinky-Tonkin!

Er, something like that.

No, you wouldn't believe me if I told you.

But...

What I will say is...

...me standing here now, you all standing here now...

...it is living proof...

...that someone up there...

...likes us. Yeah. Yeah.

So, we are unstoppable.

Yeah! I'll drink to that, Tonk!

He's back!

Thank you, sir. Thank you.

Get the whisky!

This place is a maze. It has been a fort, church, monastery.

There's holes everywhere. What do we do with holes, David?

We hide in them. You said the Allied troops are advancing.

Soon, they will be here, and the Germans

are not coming to secure this prison.

They are coming to take the prisoners away

and ship us all back to Germany. But they'll have to find us first.

Find a hole, sit tight...

...wait for them to leave.

The only person who was better than me at playing hide-and-seek

was my mad sister, yes, and she was once missing for three days.

Listen, hide-and-seek is best played by individuals.

Otherwise, one tends to start giggling.

Mwah! Good luck, old boy.

David? Yes?

Are you sure you're quite all right?

God, no. Not sure at all.

Come on, Jack!

They're here! We need to hide! Quickly!

My God.

Wake up, boys!

You're home.

Give us a fucking lie-in, will you?

Home time, boys.

Cor blimey!

Haven't seen them for a while.

Feels like it's all over.

Paddy said it's just begun.

How long we got at home, Paddy?

Till the whistle blows and the second half begins.

You can spend half-time brushing up on your French.

# The white cliffs of Dover

The White Cliffs Of Dover by Vera Lynn

Argh!

Michael. Daddy! Hey!

The mist will bring the brown trout up.

It'll be a good day.

Aye.

And the mist will hide us from the bailiffs.

It'll be a grand day all round, I'd say.

Mist and fog are always our friends.

So, the sand of the desert

couldn't keep your soul buried, Eoin?

No.

I missed the fog...

...and the water, the fish.

You.

I missed you.

I'm not sure I can forgive myself...

...for any of it.

You see, I keep waking up and finding myself alive.

No matter how hard I try.

It's like a horse race,

but, actually, you're riding on a carousel,

so there's no chance your horse will overtake the one in front...

...and the one behind you will never catch you up.

The horse in front is contentment.

The horse behind you is death.

There I am.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert Blair Mayne,

sitting on a plaster fucking horse,

unable to get off the fucking carousel.

You sure got off the carousel, though, didn't you?

I was spun off.

That was not my choosing.

No, you got off to stick around in the desert.

It was the desert where we were most easily ourselves.

Yeah, the desert.

When it was the desert and you and me.

You and me.

Paddy?

You don't think you'll make it to Berlin, do you?

It's not reaching Berlin that concerns me.

It's this.

The aftermath. Sitting in a boat,

sitting on a tractor, sitting at a desk,

and nothing comes at you.

Nothing comes whizzing or exploding or...

...punching or stabbing. It's just air.

Just the dead fucking air.

Fuck!

Please, turn back!

We're British! Please!

They're leaving us to drown! Please, stop the boat!

Stop the boat!

Here...

...at least when the air is empty, when there's no fucker there...

...at least I'll always have company.

Aye.

At least from now on,

I'll never truly be alone.

God!

Get me up, get me free, get me through the war...

...and get me a drink.

As you can see, I've, taken a bit of a tumble from the wagon.

Do you mind?

To victory.

Yeah, sorry, I...

I don't, er... I don't... I don't really drink toasts

to anything any more. It's rather odd ceremony

to offer up a sip of the thing that's destroying your sanity

for the sake of some good cause or other.

Your mind is surviving.

I see that.

And you have changed.

I can see that.

I was obliged to kill people.

I was good at it.

But I have learned that I'm not so good at what comes next.

What, you mean you feel regret? No.

I feel horror at my lack of regret.

How was your journey home?

I took a flight with Lieutenant Colonel Bill Stirling.

I got a message that you wanted to see me

as soon as I got back to England.

What was so urgent? Er...

I really can't remember.

But I-I could make an educated guess.

What, with you being French

and what likely comes next in the conduct of the war.

Next few months, I imagine you'll become rather important.

Important how? Well...

...like almost everything else in this crucial moment in the war,

that is a secret.

Hello, sir.

Come!

At ease. Take a seat.

First, Colonel Stirling, congratulations

from Winston Churchill himself on your part in redrawing that map.

Mr Churchill has a fondness for the SAS, stretching back to Africa.

And we, too, on behalf of the Allied Force Headquarters,

now have a very high regard for your men

and what they are able to achieve. Why is it that all this praise

and niceness is making me nervous?

As you know, preparations are well under way

for the invasion of northern Europe.

We've explored a range of possible invasion points

along the French and Dutch coasts.

And done it in such a way that German intelligence

will believe that all of them are possible.

Current thinking in Berlin is that

we will attack the Hook of Holland,

thanks to tireless deception work carried out by Dudley Wrangel Clarke

and British intelligence. May I just say, before you continue,

that wherever it is decided the main invasion force should land,

I hope that all the earlier flattery was not an attempt

to solicit the SAS to once again act as shock troops?

No. That is not what this meeting is about.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

AFHQ believe the best use of the SAS

would be in advance of the main invasion.

1SAS and 2SAS would be dropped behind coastal defences.

How far behind? 30 miles.

And how far in advance of the main invasion?

36 hours. 36 hours?!

Their task would be to establish positions

and then to disrupt every attempt by the enemy

to reinforce the coastal defences at the actual point of invasion.

This would be nothing more than a suicide mission!

No other regiment was even considered for this vital role.

Because deep, deep, deep down,

somewhere in the corridors of military power,

there is a resentment against the SAS,

against my brother, and against the success we have achieved.

Actually, old man, everyone pretty much knows

the success is almost entirely down to Paddy Mayne.

Who you would have killed in action,

or shot dead, executed,

to protect the conventional troops, who will take all the glory.

The SAS have proven their worth

and they are best used arriving where they are least expected.

Well, this plan would be unexpected because it is insane.

I am leaving this meeting.

Sit down, we have other matters to... The answer is no,

and I will fall on my sword over it!

You may not need to fall on your sword, Colonel Stirling.

If you continue to question orders,

there are those inside GHQ who will happily stab you in the back.

Dismissed.

Argh!

I surrender!

Please, don't shoot!

Please!

Prepare, prepare,

the iron helm of war.

Bring forth the lots,

cast in the spacious orb.

Th' Angel of Fate turns them with mighty hands,

and casts them out upon the darken'd earth! You!

Stop! Prepare...

Can I help you with something, officer?

You were seen running through the village.

A mother and her children heard you talking.

They thought you might be talking into one of those radios.

And they thought perhaps I was a one-man German invasion,

come to Northamptonshire all alone?

I'll need to see identity papers, come on.

I am a soldier,

but I'm not German.

I'm Irish.

And why were you running?

Because for a man in my condition,

running is the same as walking.

Plus, I am in a hurry.

To get where? London.

You're going to London on foot? Aye.

What that lady and her children heard was me reciting poetry

which, in my madness, I am very fucking prone to do.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert Blair Mayne.

Special Air Service.

You deliver mail?

If there's going to be an invasion,

I am always first with the news.

That's why I'm going to London.

There's going to be a wee invasion,

and I think they want me to be a part of it.

Actually, officer,

I'm running late for my first meeting.

So, in the name of His Majesty The King,

I need to borrow your bike.

Borrow my... borrow my bike!

Fuck!

Fuck!

Where is he? He's waiting for you, General.

Of course, sir.

Colonel Stirling isn't alone.

His companion cycled all the way down the corridor

with his hands off the handlebars.

This fucking regiment!

Whoever you are, a General just walked in the room.

The arm I use to salute is a wee bit stiff, sir.

I fell off my bike in Hendon, in my haste to get here.

Colonel Stirling, what is the meaning of all this?

And what the fuck is he doing here?

What I am doing here, sir, is giving my

professional opinion on your plan.

You shared a classified plan of operation, without permission?

As I recall from our last meeting, General Montgomery insisted

the entire success of the SAS in Italy was down to Paddy Mayne,

so why wouldn't I share what you're still daring to call

"the plan" with him?

30 miles behind the lines,

36 hours before the invasion.

Glory to the fallen! That information is top secret.

If it's 30 miles behind, 36 hours before,

it'll make no difference where in France your forces land,

my regiment will all be dead by the time

you set foot on the beach. Right! So, to be clear,

you are sharing classified information,

and from what I am hearing, you are suggesting that you would

disobey a direct order! No, no.

No, no, sir. I would go alone, myself.

That, I would do. But I would not ask my men to come with me

since most of my men are quite keen to live,

whereas I am, at best, equivocal.

And the other problem with your plan, sir,

is that it would not work.

If you drop us into France 36 hours before,

it'd only take one gust of wind to blow one parachute

into the arms of the enemy.

They would put two and two together

and begin to work out where the invasion point is.

And you would be giving them 36 hours to prepare.

Since it's you...

...and especially you...

...I will share your concerns with General Montgomery.

And, Colonel Stirling...

...your conduct in this matter will be noted at the very highest level.

Fuck!

Goodness!

Were you and I just on the same side?

Goodness, I-I think we were.

And from what I could tell, by your man's wee outburst just there,

you might have just sacrificed your military career to save the SAS.

I told you in Cairo...

...my brother was this regiment's midwife.

I am not prepared to be its coroner. Also in Cairo,

I told you you had done nothing to earn my respect.

Chopped down no trees, cut up no logs, fed no fires.

Please don't say anything nice to me, it'd be too confusing.

Will they listen to us, do you think?

A rather grand old spy has invited me for drinks tonight.

I understand you're invited too.

Aye, I got a note.

Cocktails at The Ritz.

Did the grand old spy say what the meeting is about? No.

But I'm guessing it will either be a celebration,

fond farewell...

...or an execution.

Your single malt whisky, sir.

Thank you.

Now, behave....

Paddy.

So, you are the "grand old spy".

That's how my commanding officer described you.

Ha!

Well, Paddy, I've, er...

I've called you here to give you some good news.

Shall we, order some champagne?

No, no. I'm sound, thank you.

What good news?

Well, I've heard from AFHQ that Montgomery has agreed

to think again about the SAS's involvement in the coming invasion.

He's changed his mind, Paddy, because of you.

He holds you in high regard.

Well, I thought you'd be pleased.

For myself, the manner of my passing is a detail,

so being excused a suicide mission is of no consequence.

But my friend, Bill Stirling,

is afraid that, come what may,

the knives are now officially out for him.

And he's your friend, and your commanding officer? Aye.

That is some achievement.

Is my friend right to be concerned about knives?

"And in his silence, he spoke a thousand words."

Let's drink a toast to common sense

and second thoughts,

and see what the night brings.

You know, I can recall a drunken conversation around a fire,

in which somebody said the SAS was invented by a spy,

who wore Chanel dresses.

Was that you?

Er...

Well...

...these days, I prefer a less elaborate couture,

but, yes, it was I who started this whole extraordinary process.

Which makes you, Paddy Mayne, my offspring.

And every young German that you strangle is on my account with God.

So you could say the SAS is kind of a lethal poem,

from the imagination of a deranged poet.

Give me that fucking flask.

Brilliant! Bravo!

Thank you. We'd now like to invite you to the floor...

...for our next number, Fools Rush In.

Two spies at the same table.

And a secret to be revealed.

Who said that war couldn't be fun?

French 75.

Er, er, two, please.

What?

It's going to be a difficult evening.

What exactly is this meeting about?

My creator, over here, said something about the truth.

There, now, all four of us are gathered...

...so now, we can begin.

Where exactly did Paddy suggest we meet?

He said he was invited somewhere fancy,

and where he goes, we should be allowed to go.

Night-night, ladies!

Enjoy yourselves!

Lord.

Tomorrow morning, intensive preparations will begin

for the invasion of France.

Paddy Mayne and 1SAS will be deployed to

the Highlands of Scotland at 7am.

Which is why my boys are now all safely tucked up in bed.

2SAS will be deployed to Scotland in three days' time.

And to complete the triangle, Eve Mansour

will be deployed to the same camp a day later.

Yes, Colonel Stirling.

Eve was briefed this morning by General de Gaulle himself,

which is why I've called this meeting.

General de Gaulle has ordered Eve

to act as liaison between the British and French SAS,

who will fight together, as part of the invasion force.

So Eve will be deployed to the Ayrshire camp,

as will you, Colonel Stirling. So the two of you...

...will be working closely together.

Officers and liaisons will be cooped up in close quarters,

living cheek by jowl for several months.

Are you trying to make a point of some kind?

Of a particular kind.

Allied Force HQ have heard a rumour.

They need to know the status of your relationship

with the new French liaison officer.

What do Allied Force HQ need to know exactly?

There is nothing that needs to be known about our relationship.

This is fucking absurd.

Colonel Stirling, I ask you again, is there anything that

needs to be known? If the rumour is that we are sleeping together,

then the rumour is wrong.

We are not and will never.

No, no, no, no.

Not my business. Well, it will be your business

if it affects your preparations for invasion.

It'll be left to you to deal with the mess.

The mess? Yes, there is a mess.

AFHQ have decided...

...to open an inquiry into your close relationship in Italy...

...with a French spy.

OK.

OK.

Dudley Wrangel Clarke.

AFHQ's bitter little emissary of bitter little messages.

I made the mistake of questioning an order,

and then being proven right, thus proving someone else wrong.

And this is how revenge is taken.

Very well.

To avoid an entirely unnecessary, yet embarrassing, inquiry,

I will tender my resignation in the morning,

as I suspect you knew I would.

And you can tell those that sent you,

the feud between the British Crown and the ancient clan Stirling,

which began in 1715, is entirely mutual.

And then, please...

...tell them to fuck off!

Sometimes, my job is terribly difficult...

Particularly in matters of the heart.

You fucking bastard!

That was highly entertaining.

A spiteful officer class vendetta,

amounting to the removal of an effective officer,

right ahead of the most important operation of the war.

I'm just acting on instruction.

Who will replace him? You know, someone...

...far less effective. But then, the officer class knows that in truth,

the SAS is run by you, so...

...what do they care? You just carry out their orders. Yes.

War's a dirty business...

...isn't it? I don't know.

I just cut throats.

I don't break hearts.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.

Thank you, thank you.

We'd like to invite you onto the floor

for a slightly livelier number.

Roll 'Em.

The SAS have arrived!

Ladies, the men are here!

Look out!

Standards must have dropped in here, I'd say. All right, Pad?

Gentlemen, the maitre d' has asked you to please leave.

These men are under my command.

Why would they be taking instructions from you?

Groups of military in uniform greater than five

are not allowed into the restaurant and bar area.

I must have counted 25 American soldiers, all in uniform.

That is a special celebration.

We do make exceptions. When the bribe's right, is it?

Chewing gum, cigarettes? Yankee dollars?

All we've got is scars.

Sir, if you need help escorting these gentlemen out,

we are United States Marines.

I really don't think you Brits can afford these prices.

Ha-ha-ha!

Pardon me? This is The Ritz.

I really don't think you Brits can...

I owe you a stout, Reg.

You all right, sweet pea?

Children, children, children, children.

MY children.

Soldiers of the Special Air Service,

you have a very early day tomorrow...

...and you have a war to win.

Okey dokey.

Let's make tracks.

See you in Paris, sweet pea.

Gentlemen, please!

There is literally, literally,

nothing here.

Aye, there is.

Look, there's a bush there, look.

And, er, there's a tree,

cowering in the wind.

And then there's... there's rocks.

And above that's the sky.

And above that's God.

God never got round to this place.

I actually think it's quite beautiful.

And if the rest of you fuckers would fuck off,

and if Hitler would fuck off,

then I could easily see myself living out the rest of my days here.

What are we going to drink, Paddy?

Melted snow and rabbit's blood.

And we're going to kill red deer stags with our teeth.

It's going to be a grand adventure out here, boys.

Loaded. Clear behind.

I do hope nobody was in there.

Ready...

Go!

Remember what we talked about.

Hit the bicep, hit the nerve. Go again.

What time do you have, Pad?

Three minutes. Absolute shite, boys.

Oi! That was you, you fat bastard!

Load 'em up!

Missed a spot.

Shit.

Halt! Shit!

Jesus.

Halt! Fuck!

We have a special place designed for men like you.

"Dear David...

"..I have resigned.

"So, no Stirlings will participate in the assault on Europe.

"Our men are gathering in great numbers near our family home.

"They're to be trained in a new level of total war.

"The regiment has been saved from a certain suicide mission

"and been given one which is merely insanely reckless.

"The men of the SAS are now in the rough hands of your friend and mine.

"I'm sure their next adventure will make us both proud.

"Your loving brother, Bill."

Last night, I shot and shattered a bottle of brandy

belonging to the French battalion.

This is by way of recompense.

I learned in Africa

that my communication with the French

is best conducted through medium of dead deer.

Can I come in? Of course.

Please, sit anywhere.

I have news.

I already know what happened to David.

I received a letter yesterday.

He said they have sent him to a castle in the clouds.

I believe the castle is called Colditz Castle.

Is that bad? It's far from good.

But he will escape.

He will try, that is fucking certain.

Actually, my news is not about David.

In my capacity as commanding officer,

I have been sent here to relay to the French liaison

the exact date of the invasion of France. Hang on, one second.

Tell me. The first advance party of British SAS invasion units

will land in France...

...tonight.

I myself only found out last night,

so I've come to tell you.

Your French boys will be deployed tomorrow.

Then I will see you in France.

You're coming too?

How could I not?

So, who's going to eat the fucking deer?

We will win, Paddy.

That is the intention.

Will you try to stay alive?

That is the intention.

You see, I'd quite like to see Berlin.

And after that, who knows?

After that, you will be David's best man at his wedding.

I will make sure of it.

That gramophone there, is that a wind-up one?

Yes, it's all I could find here.

And you won't be needing it?

No, I won't be needing it.

Well, if you don't mind...?

Paddy, what are you going to do with a record player,

in the middle of an invasion?

The boys are tired of my singing.

So, if on some battlefield between Normandy and Paris,

you hear Whiskey In The Jar played at full volume...

...you'll know I'm close.

We shall not fail or falter.

We shall not weaken or tire.

Neither the sudden shock of battle,

nor the long-drawn trials of vigilance and exertion

will wear us down.

Give us the tools

and we will finish the job.

Paddy!

What the fuck is that?

It's a gramophone, Reggie.

A record player.

I thought it'd be nice to have some music to listen to.

Music? Aye.

I'm going to take it into France with us,

and then we can all listen to some music together.

Paddy, are you fucking mad?

Of course he's bloody mad, we're all bloody mad.

And how do you plan on getting that down to the ground?

I've all that worked out, Reggie boy.

I'm going to strap it to my left leg

and then be sure to land on my right.

What's the records, Pad?

Whiskey In The Jar by The Dubliners

Woohoo!

You ask, what is our aim?

I can answer in one word.

Victory. Victory at all costs,

victory in spite of all terror.

EsO @ Spotnet