Stirling: 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.
Clarke: 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.
Stirling: This is sas basecamp.
Stopping the advance of fascism across Africa is now down to us.
God help us.
Indistinct chati'er
Stirling: Paddy!
Play the mad man.
He is the mad man!
Here! Do you postmen have a problem with a wee bit of wind?
Stirling: Oh, paddy, shut up.
I'd fly one of these fucking things myself!
Sure it's just a truck with a lot of ambition.
Stirling: Ok, that's enough.
Don't you get fucking smart with me, you—...
Stirling: Step aside!
Gentlemen, I understand your concerns regarding the weather.
This isn't weather.
This is the whole desert risen up into the air.
Stirling: General auchinleck will move his eighth army
against rommel's front line in order to relieve tobruk.
If tobruk falls...
Tobruk will not fall!
Stirling: 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.
Paddy: Was that too much?
Stirling: I think it went rather well.
Mad bastard.
Letters for home in the bag.
Time is now!
Chalk three ready?
All: Sir!
Off we pop.
Time, lads!
Chalk two!
Chalk one!
Stirling (vo): Dear mother.
/f / 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 / and my comrades who are the grouse
flying onto the guns.
And below us, the enemy are even now loading up and taking aim.
Jock (vo): My dearest mirren.
You know / love you
and / know / could make you so happy that you wouldn't want to die
in case heaven wasn't as good
just say yes.
You 'i/ marry me when / 'm a proper captain
and/ won't ask you to put it in the papers because lmight die ton/ght
and then people would say ”ha, ha"
or they would say ”poor dear, ” and both are horrid.
And if all this is a lo very dream of mine, well, it has been lo very dreaming it.
Gunfire
soldier (vo): 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...
Riley (vo): 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... — soldier 2 (vo): My dear sister.
I'm having a very jolly time with this new unit.
/sincerely hope / get a chance to show the officers what / can do with a rifle.
Soldier 3 (vo): 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.
Men groan — soldier 4 (vo): Fuck this.
Gunfire
hey!
Mcgonigal (vo): Lhave 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 /knew in ire/and
but lately, / am changed by him.
Paddy (vo): There's a fellow here lknew in ulster, eion mcgon/gal.
He's from the other side, but we don't talk religion.
If/ sit up barking and howling at n/ght, as /sometimes do
he takes me for a walk and throws a stick for me.
When / find myself become a devil
he reminds me that underneath, I am a poet.
Loud rumble
Sir! Pilot wants a word with you.
Thunder rumbles
nothing to worry about, lads.
Just a bit of fun, eh?
Thunder crashes
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?
All: 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? Ah!
Paddy: Right, listen up!
Soldier: Good lad!
No dicking about!
All: Yes, sir!
Stand up!
Pack up!
Hook up!
Action station!
Check your lines!
Wind howls
Heavy breathing
Go! Go!
Soldier grunts
soldiers yell and groan
Soldier screams
wind howls
Soldier screams — fleshy thud
soldier grunts
soldier yells
Wind howls
Shout in distance: I detachment!
I detachment?
Almonds?
Yates?
Mitcham?
I detachment?
Yates, mitcham?
Mitcham grunts
sir...
Oh, sir... — mitcham?
Mitcham groans
I was... I was dragged over the cliff.
He groans
can you stand?
No, I cannot stand, sir.
I heard my spine snap.
Like a fucking gunshot.
He cries
he wails
do you want some water?
I cannot stand this pain.
I'm sorry.
Mitcham, no! — gunshot
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.
He groans
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.
Jock: 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!
Paddy (vo): Do you think there is a far border town
somewhere at the desert's edge
the last of the lands we know?
Gunshots — some gaunt, eventual
limit of our fight... — gunshot
in which I'i/ find you waiting
and we 'i/ go together hand—in—hand again
out there...
Into the wastes we know not. — gunshot
into the night.
Distant gunshot
Gunshot
distant gunshot
Paddy: Who?
Oh, thanks.
Mcgonigal, sir.
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?
Seekings: Paddy, we can't leave without ya.
It's fine. Go.
I'll catch you up.
Seekings: Right, gather your belongings. Let's fuck off.
Thunder rumbles
Thunder crashes
soldier: Come on, Cooper, get up from there!
Give me your hand.
Fraser: Do we even know where we're going, sir?
Jock: 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.
Thunder cracks — tower bridge.
Just as Julius Caesar swam the tiber.
Breasted it! — Riley: 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.
Riley: Come on, you heard the man! Move!
Keti'le whistles
Men sing in the distance
I can hear singing.
Singing continues
Singing ends
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?
Men mu'i'i'er — 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.
He groans
♪ hail, hail, the gang's all here/ ♪
♪ what the hell do we care? ♪
♪ What the hell do we care? What the hell do we care? ♪
♪ Hail, hail the gang's all here! ♪
♪ What the hell do we care now? ♪
Whoopee!
♪ Roll out the barrel ♪
♪ we 'i/ have a barrel of fun ♪
All: ♪ roll out the barrel ♪
Come on.
♪ We've got the blues on the run ♪
♪ zing boom tararre/ ♪
♪ 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?
Paddy: No.
The gang is not all here.
A brew, lads.
How's everyone then?
Faint chati'er
There you go...
There's some, uh...
Tea, paddy.
Come on, Jim.
There we are.
Paddy.
Music: "Out in the middle east" by George formby
♪ a fellow in the forces ♪
♪ was writing a letter ♪
♪ from 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 ♪
He whistles — ♪ 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—I—never—dids ♪
♪ it gets a bit hot... ♪
Looks like our passengers have arrived.
I thought there were 55 of them.
Sadler: Don't worry.
You'll still be paid if you drive home empty.
Hmm.
Long range desert group!
Identify yourselves!
Good man.
We are I 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.
Sadler: That's it, old boy, come on.
What happened?
Jock: We experienced some weather.
Sadler: Ah. Yes.
Jock: You in charge here?
The desert's in charge here. Maybe you've learned that, sir.
He sighs — indistinct chati'er
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! — sadler: Come on!
On your feet. — sir...
Come on. Move it.
Engine revs
♪ / got a great b/g amount ♪
♪ saved up in my love account ♪
♪ da—da—da da—da—da... ♪
Big leap, boys!
Hup!
Soldier cheers
soldiers shout
woo!
Woo—hoo!
Woo!
Jock: 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?
Horn honks
hello!
Woo!
Jazz music plays
What are you doing here?
Gunshot — man shrieks
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. — waiter: 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.
He clears throat 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.
Sadler: 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.
Sadler: We could carry on driving
but I'd say this place is as good as any other part of nowhere we might find.
Stirling: How far to the German airfields?
Sirte is 350 miles northwest.
The allied frontline?
Sadler: 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.
Come on, you dishy bastard.
Engines start
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".
Discordant piano notes play
Woo!
Horns honk
They cheer
Phillip! Sentry duty.
On the tower. One hour.
Phillip: Yes, sir.
And if you can, perhaps, you might Bury the explosive canisters
to keep them out of direct heat.
Soldier: Yep. On you go.
Where can I put the piano?
Do you play the piano, paddy?
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.
Indistinct cha'iti'er
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.
Jock: 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.
Jock: 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!
Stirling: Sas motorised mission number one!
Move out, you fucking virgins.
Come on, Bob. — engines rev
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.
Kershaw: If questions are welcome, sir, I've got a question.
Yes?
Can me and the boys have some rum?
Oh, absolutely. Seekings, please. — men cheer
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?
All: Yeah!
Come on!
Load up!
Engines rev
It's empty.
They've all flown.
Shit.
Prime fuses, ten minutes.
He whispers: Prime fuses, ten minutes.
Prime fuses.
Distant chati'er in German
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.
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?
Distant chati'er in German
distant laughter
seekings: 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.
Soldier whispers: Go, go, go, go, go.
Indistinct cha'iti'er
Indistinct chati'er in Italian
distant laughter and cha'iti'er
German music plays — indistinct cha'iti'er
Would you like a light?
Here you are.
In Italian:
No. English, actually.
He laughs
lng/ese .7
lighter clicks — lng/ese.
Hello!
He chokes
distant chati'er in German
vehicle approaches
horn honks
soldier speaks German
fuck. —gunshot
chati'er in German
cha'iti'er dies down
good evening.
German music continues
Soldiers shout — gunfire
Soldiers yell
come on!
In three minutes, the bombs go off, including this truck!
Not ideal.
Gunfire continues
Soldier whimpers
think they've had enough now, paddy?
Paddy?
Paddy! —gunhre
discordant piano notes play
two minutes to blow the planes, boys.
Move.
Fucking move!
Gunfire
jock! In one minute, this truck's about to get a bit hot.
Not helpful.
Come on!
Distant shouts
where's paddy?
Where on earth is he?
He whistles
paddy!
Paddy!
Gunfire
I'm out!
Explosion
soldier screams
the bombs work!
Move! Go, go!
Paddy!
Explosion
they cheer
let's get back to those jeeps.
Paddy! Hurry up, paddy!
Explosion
music: "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! — explosion
♪ 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 ♪
Music stops
distant explosions
yes, boys!
They chuckle
that's mersa brega and agedabia blown to hell, sir.
Yes...
Yes!
Distant explosions
they chuckle 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.
Beeping on headset
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 I detachment first sas brigade
may have seen solved, sir.
Well, I think that boy may just have won his bet.
Indistinct cha'iti'er
ok then... indistinct cha'i'i'er
"fur eliseii plays haltingly on piano
He repeats the melody
high—pitched note plays
Ooh, I see.
I see.
Let the games begin.