Original subtitles

Subtitles by explosiveskull

(MUSIC PLAYING)

(HONKING)

(SNORTING)

(ENGINE STARTING)

Hey!

Hey!

(PHONES RINGING)

How many?

200 plus, sir, and building.

Convoys?

Eight.

The nearest is Bread, off Dover.

Nine colliers and a destroyer escort, sir.

What's the weather in the channel?

MET OFFICER: Reports say it's clearing, sir.

Cloud feet now at 8,000 feet.

Who's at Manston?

Three squadron, sir.

Get them up.

And 32 at Biggin Hill.

Put 111 at Northolt on standby.

Roger that.

Two-four-nine and six-zero-three squadrons.

One-zero Angels to two-zero.

Acknowledge, quick.

Squadron six-zero-zero.

Two-three Angels one-eight.

Not even the Luftwaffe would go up in this sludge.

B-flight!

Scramble!

Just delivering this.

From the Squadron Leader.

It says, well done.

For what, not dying?

Not joining me?

Officers only.

I thought nylons were forbidden.

They are.

You won't tell, will you?

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Shit day all around.

We'll be lucky to see the month out at this rate.

I hate it.

Placing markers on that board, knowing...

Some of us won't come back?

Do you say a little prayer?

Don't get too excited.

You're worth putting nylons on for and that's about it.

(PIANO PLAYING OUT OF TUNE)

(WHISTLES)

We are not bombers, sir.

We are fighter pilots.

In Poland, we shot down many Germans.

This skill, our experience, your RAF needs.

Having said that, Urbanowicz, there

is the question of English.

The language.

Yes, I understand most of you can barely speak a word.

You understand wrong, sir.

Many of...

Urbanowicz, I do admire your conviction.

However, the first Polish crews will be trained for bombers.

Dismissed.

They did rather better against the Luftwaffe

than we give them credit for, sir,

considering the antiques they were flying.

That's the point.

We have radar, a plotting system.

Hugely sophisticated.

Can we risk it in the hands of a bunch of marauding bandits?

Stash the Poles somewhere they'll do the least harm.

That's pretty much what we've been doing, sir.

And Urbanowicz?

English is half decent.

I like his spirit.

Send him to training.

Feed him into an undermanned fighter squadron.

See how he gets along.

(PROPELLERS WHIRRING)

CONTROLLER 1 (ON RADIO): I have some trade for you,

vector one-four-zero, Angels one-ten, 10

plus 20 miles ahead.

Over.

BLUE LEADER (ON RADIO): Weapon Blue Leader to Garta.

Understood.

10 plus 20 miles ahead.

You got that, Urbanowicz?

Yes.

Angels one-eight, 1,800 meters.

Thousand, Urbanowicz!

18,000!

And it's feet, not meters.

We want to fly at them, not under them.

BLUE LEADER (ON RADIO): Bandits sighted in this area.

Keep an eye out, boys.

Bandits, 1 o'clock.

Here they come.

Scatter!

(FIRING AMMUNITION)

Fucking irresistible.

Gotcha!

HIGGINS (ON RADIO): In your dreams, son.

KENT (ON RADIO): Drinks are on you, sir.

I had you at a million paces up there.

I know how huffy you Yanks get when we don't let you win.

Canadian, sir.

As well you know.

How was it?

Rear view is not great.

It's a tight squeeze in the cockpit.

But the fuel injections mean you can bank

her tighter without a stutter.

I mean it.

She's a hell of a fighter, sir.

Though I reckon I'd get outfoxed in a Hurri any day.

That's just as well.

Sir?

Your request for a transfer from testing to combat

has been accepted.

New outfit, 303, flying out of Northolt.

Fantastic.

If you say so.

It's with a bunch of foreigners, Poles.

Been whoring themselves across Europe, flying

with whoever will have them.

But they'll be brand new, my boy.

Once you knock them into shape.

Sense of humor, sir.

You English, huh?

(CAR BACKFIRING)

(GUNSHOTS)

Josef Frantisek.

I just resigned from Czech Air Force.

They go to bombers.

Fuck the bombers!

I'm a fighter pilot.

In France, I downed 15 ME109s.

15?

15, sure.

I'm the best.

You're lucky to have me in your shitty squadron.

And also, I understand Polish.

So don't go calling me an asshole behind my back.

They're here, sir.

What about ranks?

Do they keep their Polish ones?

Have the Air Ministry decide.

Least of our problems, I'd imagine.

God, they're a mess.

They have hauled their asses halfway across Europe, sir.

Even so.

They're going nowhere near my planes looking like that.

I'll call my tailor's.

I'll fix them up.

That'll cost a fortune, sir.

I'll pay for it myself, if I have to.

Right, you shower of Polish scum.

Pay attention!

Go on, tell them!

For some reason, the powers that be have deemed you

fit for purpose.

Now it's my duty to teach you your arses from your elbows!

Things such as, there is the sergeant's mess

and that is an officer's mess.

And you must go to the right one!

Once we decide which of you lot deserve to be called officers,

that is.

Is that it?

Polish is very concise language.

(WOLF WHISTLING)

Eyes front, you rabble!

This is the RAF!

And that is strictly out of bounds for the likes of you!

Johnny Kent.

Welcome to Northolt.

Ready to go, sir.

Just get us up there and we'll finish the job.

All in good time.

Angels.

Altitude.

Pancake.

Landing.

KENT: Next, the oxygen regulator.

Correct!

Now the flap indicator.

No, that's the undercarriage indicator.

The flap indicator is here.

Fourth letter, bottom line.

E.

That'll be all.

Captain Horobin will see you next.

This isn't France or Poland.

You may say you're an excellent flyer.

But we've only got your word for that.

Fact is...

Sorry, but it's important we...

No, the last line is X-V-R-F. Can you explain?

Shitty Sergeant.

Again.

Most importantly, some of you have only flown fixed wheel.

These?

These go up.

You just have to remember to bring

it back down before you land.

Is there a problem, Lokuciewski?

Sir, you teach us MPH not KPH, gallons not liters,

feet instead of meters.

But the one thing we all already know how to do is fly!

Urbanowicz and many others, they already fight.

Why not us?

Because they're up to scratch.

You want to die in your first mission

because you can't read a fuel gauge?

Listen, our country is destroyed.

They kill our people and we are doing fucking nothing!

My wife, little girl!

We fly in combat many years.

We kill Germans.

We know how fly this plane!

Yeah, but you lost!

You lost.

Poland, France, you lost, god damn it!

You stay where you are, airman.

We speak English in the Royal Air Force.

Right.

You can fly.

I get that.

But there's other attributes as important,

like unity, like discipline.

Every bullet fired out of these guns has to be considered,

has to be the right choice.

Every maneuver up there has to be the best, the quickest.

That way we win.

That way we survive, gentlemen!

Thanks.

How's the other half?

Settling in all right?

It's a long way from Winnipeg, sir.

That's for sure.

Problem?

Sir, I... sir, I've been thinking about

putting in for a transfer.

Why would you want to do that?

Why not, sir?

Poles hate me more than they hate the goddamn Germans.

Well, maybe not that much.

The fact is, we are due to start training

flights as of tomorrow.

Sir, these men are irresponsible,

arrogant, and ill-disciplined.

Well, you're their commanding officer.

If they're ill-disciplined, then I should be concerned

about you rather than them.

Look, Johnny, I know we've both drawn the short straw here.

But the shit hit the fan weeks ago.

Spitfires, Hurricanes are getting

destroyed as fast as new ones are being delivered.

The level of casualties, you've seen the figures?

Yeah.

They're only the ones they're prepared to make public.

Certified daily losses, the past week alone.

So you see, Johnny.

I can't let you transfer anywhere till I have

a fully operational squadron.

Which means I am relying on you to knock the Poles into shape,

sooner rather than later.

How was it?

Brilliant machine.

Better than anything I've flown before.

Definitely, yeah.

Any problems?

The same issues, throttle working

in reverse, constant speed propellers.

Fuck!

The wheels aren't down!

CONTROLLER 1 (ON RADIO): Wheels down!

Wheels down!

You really think they're going to trust us in combat now?

It's not my fly.

It's the fucking wheels!

I forgot the fucking wheels!

I'm flying good!

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Picked up by sea plane and you just watched?

The same pilot could be back, attacking us tomorrow.

You tell us don't kill pilots in a parachute.

Not sporting, old chap.

But when they are rescued, we do kill them, yes?

The Germans have sea rescue planes.

We don't.

And marker dye to help identify the pilots.

Even the life jackets go poof, inflate themselves.

All things we're looking into.

Look, I realize the uncertainty back home.

It can't be easy.

Maybe you'd be better off elsewhere with your own kind.

There's a Polish squadron coming online

soon, 303 out of Northolt, comprising

your fellow countrymen.

How does that appeal?

I'm here to serve, sir.

Wherever.

Sorry about that.

Fine pilot, but a bit of a loose cannon.

He's right about our sea rescue.

It's a disgrace.

That last 109 he downed, he only fired 15 rounds.

We're taking naive young boys and sticking

them in aeroplanes.

We're filling cockpits, sir.

That's all.

What if they're all as good as him?

The Poles, I mean.

Sir, what if they're all as good as Urbanowicz?

OK, listen up.

Today's a training exercise.

Protecting the Blenheim Bombers.

Remember, we work as a team.

And above all, you obey my instructions.

You got that?

Frantisek, what's the phrase?

Wheelies up, wheelies down.

Good boy.

And don't you forget it.

KENT (ON RADIO): This is Red Leader to A flight.

The Blenheims we'll find at Angels

six-five when we vector at three-two-oh.

We're protecting.

Got that?

No heroics.

Is that understood?

Is that understood?

PILOTS: Yes, Red Leader.

Roger that.

Hostiles gathering over Calais.

100 plus.

Angels one-five.

Blenheims are flying at 11 o'clock,

about 1,000 feet above us.

CONTROLLER 1 (ON RADIO): Roger that.

KENT (ON RADIO): Four-five, back in formation now.

Paszkiewicz!

Hurricane in trouble, sir! KENT (ON RADIO): Paszkiewicz!

PASZKIEWICZ: Sorry, Red Leader! I can't hear you!

Anyone else who breaks formation,

I'll shoot you down myself!

(PHONE RINGING)

What's that?

Romeo five-nine?

Blenheims with a training flight escort.

303.

The Poles.

Got you.

Training? Get them out of there, Ellis!

Now!

(AMMUNITION FIRE)

KENT: Everyone off comms, now!

CONTROLLER 2 (ON RADIO): Albany Red Leader.

Albany Red Leader.

Large force of hostiles heading your way.

Suggest you make for home and pancake.

Repeat, pancake.

A Flight, back home.

That's an order!

Not any farther, son.

I'm Polish pilot!

I want souvenir.

It's his.

He shoot it down.

Please!

For mess well.

Go on, then.

Be quick.

Yes!

Training flights are just that.

If you go around shooting up the enemy,

you compromise the safety of the entire squadron

and the Blenheims.

And from now on, no more individual heroics.

You will observe strict R/T procedure at all times.

One final thing.

I have a message here from Air Chief Marshal.

"Congratulations to 303 squadron on their first kill,

even if it was down to Paszkiewicz

having a faulty radio.

303 Polish squadron will be fully operational

from the 31st of August.

Dowding."

That's tomorrow, gentlemen.

(CHEERING)

Sir.

Myself and all the men, we want to thank you.

It means a lot.

Good work, Kent.

Money well spent, sir.

There's this guy in 260 keeps asking me out.

And I really like him.

Then go.

Well, I want to.

But then I think, what if he's killed?

See, that's why I always say yes.

Because they're likely to die soon?

Because maybe we all are.

Every day, more of them go up and fewer come back.

We must be running out of pilots.

Good ones, anyway.

(JOVIAL CHATTER)

We need to make the most of this war, ladies.

Seize the moment.

We might never get another chance.

You and Phyllis getting hitched, then?

Possibly, if she plays her cards right.

Oh, yes?

What's the chances with Georgina, you reckon?

Jimmy, as likely as giving Eva Braun one.

(PIANO MUSIC PLAYING)

Line them up, tapster!

(SHUSHING)

What's this, the bloody Proms?

Two milds and a bitter, please.

(APPLAUSE)

Now I play march from Polish army.

Except I don't know any.

So...

(PLAYING HAPPY TUNE)

We're off.

Keep the locals sweet.

Nothing out of hand.

An hour, we'll head back to base.

Sorry, they're taken.

The seats, maybe, but not you girls.

You like to dance?

I don't dance.

I do.

Mind if I butt in?

As a matter of fact, we do.

I wasn't asking you, Phyl.

I said no!

Hey, fine, you can bugger off now.

You're showing yourself up and making me look like a prick.

Don't give me all the credit.

Excuse me.

Oh, fuck, another one.

I told you, friend, bugger-offski.

You can't treat a woman like this, shorty.

Are you this man's commanding officer?

I am, and senior to you.

I want him on a charge!

Sir.

And if he has you on the same charge?

I saw everything from over there.

We need all men at our disposal.

Don't you agree?

He's a fucking animal.

English.

I'm sorry.

Christ, shake his hand, Rollo.

Do it.

What's the point?

You lot were pretty useless in Poland.

Three days was it you lasted?

Yes.

And not much better in France, were you, you fucking losers.

What we see at home, our people

tortured, executed, hanging from trees,

from lampposts in street.

Be afraid.

You English need all the help you can get.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

(GUNSHOT)

All in.

Flush.

All that rolling your eyes.

This is rubbish!

And you've got a flush.

Sorry, ladies.

Doesn't beat a full house, though, does it?

Oh, you cow.

Personal health medical with Dr. Begely at 14:00.

Personal health?

Is that what the old pervert calls it?

Just be there, Lambert.

Tell him he should at least buy

us dinner first before gawping at our fannies!

(KNOCK ON DOOR)

Can I come in?

You know us.

We never close.

Speak for yourself.

We can see them, you know.

Oh, they're beautiful.

Bet those set you back a few bob.

Are they for me?

For all of you, from all of us...

Kosciuszko squadron... to say sorry for what

happened in the pub.

Georgie, get a vase.

Are they really from all of you?

Thanks for the invite, boys!

But we have to keep a lid on it.

Anybody finds out, we'll be on a charge.

We'll hide you under the bed.

Get us into even more trouble?

Hey, get the girls some drinks.

What would you like?

What have you got?

Ta-da!

I'll have a vodka.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Cheers.

On the loose, then, as of tomorrow.

Will they send us up?

The way it goes so far is last resort, maybe.

Last resort?

That time was weeks ago.

It's quiet up there for now.

What's in Switzerland?

Doing some homework yourself?

Lover?

A wife?

Mistress?

All three, I bet.

No.

Not anymore.

Janek!

Janek!

(SWING MUSIC PLAYING)

(GRUNTING AND PANTING)

Go to standby!

Five minutes!

Jesus Christ. Sending us up already?

Sooner than expected. Get them sorted!

They're such fun.

It was a great night.

Better than that dreary old pub.

How come you're so chirpy?

All that vodka, I feel terrible.

You disappeared for ages.

What were you up to?

God, not another one!

You won't lose it if you don't use it.

A moment, sir.

Repeat please?

Who do you think you are?

What's the problem?

It's the size and direction.

It's a feint.

They've tried it before.

They're trying to distract us from the main force.

What main force?

Let's not bring your hangover into work.

Get on with plotting the raid.

(PHONE RINGING)

Squadron Leader Rawlings!

A moment or two, Ellis It'll do no harm.

Filter room.

Reports of a large formation forming across the channel.

Estimated strength, 100 plus.

The main force.

Diversionary radius turned towards Northolt.

Get 303 up.

Now!

Well done, Lambert.

Dzidek, watch your back!

I have him.

(CLICKING)

(GUNFIRE)

First combat flight, lads.

So these are on the house!

(CHEERING)

Miss Lambert, can I have a word?

Do you mind?

I'm off shift.

I need to lie down.

Good God.

I'd heard you were easy.

Don't you ever humiliate me like that again, do you hear me?

Stick to what you do best, you rancid little whore.

And I thought you preferred little boys.

(GASPING)

Well done for today.

Six kills and no losses.

It's unheard of for a first mission.

Good for the squadron, not for me.

I screwed up.

I forget to throw safety switch.

Well, it's not like you won't get

the chance to make up for it.

You girls sure know how to party.

Excuse me?

Well, last night.

It was wild.

But I thought you and Rollo were, you know...

Together?

Who said so?

He behaves like a jealous husband, all of a sudden

we're a couple.

No.

And if you were, you're not anymore.

I wasn't spying.

I happened to be passing, coming back with Gabriel when, uh...

hey.

It is none of my business.

No, it fucking well isn't.

I've had enough of judge and jury for one day, thanks.

(ENGINE ROARING)

(MUSIC PLAYING)

(CLICKING)

On my own.

Test flight.

Gun cameras?

Not fitted yet.

Well, in that case, I can't allow it.

Not even as probable.

Why would I lie?

You know I'm the best.

Well, in that case, you'll break your duck

soon enough legitimately.

Duck?

What do you mean duck?

It's a cricketing term.

Means no score.

Still fucking useless, then?

Who are you?

Urbanowicz, sir.

Reporting for duty.

All down, Lambert?

Yes, sir.

You're sure?

Every one of them.

Quite sure.

Poles will end up winning us this bloody war

if we're not careful.

God, I underestimated them.

We all did.

This is morale-boosting stuff, sir.

That's why I suggest we send some press out to Northolt,

newsreels and so on.

Raise public awareness.

Propaganda.

Hardly my area of expertise.

Nor mine.

But we've been in the doldrums for months.

This is a story worth getting out there.

And it might encourage others to come from God knows where

and join the fight.

Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with operations.

Three gin tonics, please.

Beer.

All right.

Thought we were fighting to avoid a bloody invasion.

Well, they've had a fair old week, to be fair.

Beginner's luck.

They're still fucking savages.

There you go.

Yes, sir?

Three gin and tonics, please.

Gin and tonics from the boys of 260, in appreciation

for your sterling work, ladies.

Did we say we wanted company?

Come on, Phyl.

I've been a tosser, OK?

Let's move on.

Cheers.

We're heading up to town, the Ambassador.

What do you say?

If it was the Regency, then maybe.

Wherever you like.

What about you, Georgie?

Up to you.

Better not.

I'll stay, thanks.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

303!

Scramble!

(AIR SIRENS)

(GUNFIRE)

(CHEERING)

Touch me again and I'll rip your balls off.

Assuming I can find them.

So they, uh, all accounted for?

Yes.

Incredible.

So what's next?

- Refuel and get back up. - What, now?

Yes, now.

Out of ammo, Blue Leader!

Time for tea.

I think there's a...

Ziggy!

Shit!

(GASPING QUIETLY)

Time to leave, gentleman.

Chop chop.

Right, then, lads.

Spill the...

Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Thought you might want to see these, sir.

I'm assuming a successful mission,

given the reaction we've had.

There was an incident, I gather?

One of the journalists got himself left behind.

Daily Mail.

Obviously considered grief and loss

a tastier option than promoting the squadron.

And one of the airmen took exception, I'm afraid.

Oh, good.

As long as it hurt.

We've had numerous offers of support and people

wanting to donate money.

They love our Poles.

Even an event in their honor has been mooted, at the Dorchester.

(SNAPPING SOUND)

(GUNFIRE)

6 o'clock, three of them.

With me, Frantisek.

KROL (ON RADIO): You've got him!

You've got him, Gabriel!

Where is he?

Can you see him?

(GUNFIRE)

Frantisek, take him!

Frantisek!

Where the fuck?

(CRYING OUT IN PAIN)

He's one of ours.

I'll get the knife.

Our grandson, Bert.

He's a stoker.

On HMS Hood.

You can't say that!

Careless talk costs lives!

He's on our side.

Well, walls have ears.

The only thing these walls got is damp.

Go on.

We've had ours.

Thank you.

ME109 and an Heinkel over Dover.

Dover?

You weren't vectored there.

Witnesses?

You know by now.

No witnesses, no kill.

There is no witnesses, because you fuck off

and leave me on my own again!

Hey!

You two, knock it off!

Go smarten yourselves up.

You've been invited to a party in your honor.

The Dorchester of all places.

Dismissed!

New word, Kentowski.

Received a wire from East Grintstead, burns unit.

Krol's stable, but it's too early

to assess the damage long term.

Right then.

Let's go party.

Good luck with your driving test.

I don't have one.

They're suspended for the war, thank goodness.

Lucky for you.

Cheeky bugger.

You coming in with us?

It's your night.

Wouldn't want to gate crash the glory boys.

I'll be in the pub around the corner.

The Crown.

URBANOWICZ: Zumbach!

This is like in Warsaw not so long time ago.

You'll be back there soon enough.

Back to what?

The Germans, the Russians gorge themselves.

They leave us with an unsavory carcass.

Thank you.

Vintage.

Tattinger or Ruinart, probably.

Tattinger, I believe, sir.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Ladies and gentlemen.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce

our hostess for this evening, Mrs. Smythe-Bingham.

Air Chief Marshall.

My lords, ladies and gentlemen, and especially

the Polish pilots.

(APPLAUSE)

As you know this evening is all about showing our appreciation

to these brave men who've left their faraway land

to come and fight for us in the skies over England.

Finally, it falls upon me to present 303 squadron

with a new mascot.

(BARKING)

His name is Cooper.

And I trust he'll be as loyal to you as you have been to us.

(APPLAUSE)

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Here they are.

Quite a party, gentlemen.

Three weeks ago, we were all mad men.

Now, champagne, fine food, and beautiful women.

We have a dog.

When we are dead, what happens to the dog?

You eat it.

This event was conceived with the best intentions.

These people wanted to show their gratitude.

And the men do appreciate it.

I'm sorry, sir.

I apologize.

The men are dead on their feet.

No need.

I understand.

Good luck, gentlemen.

Enjoy the rest of your night.

Ludwik, Ziggy, Anton.

You won't see them drinking your champagne.

And all of this, while your own city is being bombed,

your people out in the streets!

Shut the fuck up.

They're butchering us, shooting, hanging.

All over Poland.

People we love.

Sorry, you're too late.

We've already eaten.

I need you to take me somewhere.

My driving's not so bad, then?

I'm too drunk to notice.

Wouldn't hang about, you two.

More Jerry bombs forecast.

You know what they say about imminent danger?

It's the most powerful aphrodisiac.

I wasn't judging you the other day.

I took things for granted.

It was wrong.

Forget it.

I overreacted.

You know, before all this madness,

they'd have called me a tart.

Now there's a war on, I'm just a good sport.

And when this is all over, who's going to know

about my summer of love?

Not my bloody husband, whoever he might be.

Don't suppose you have girls like me in Poland.

Phyllis, I doubt there's anyone quite like you anywhere.

(CAR DOOR OPENS)

(MUMBLING) Look at me.

I looked like a Rembrandt.

Now, like a Picasso.

Trust me, you're always a Picasso.

Don't make me laugh.

They let me go out soon, I hope.

I have to go back up there.

How are my boys?

Are they still going good?

They're remarkable men, Krol.

You should be proud of them.

I know I am.

I am.

It is an honor and a privilege to fly with them.

The Kosciuszko Squadron.

You are one of us now.

(GUNFIRE)

Come on, come on, come on!

I'll take another back up.

Get it ready.

Hey.

What are those?

Benzedrine.

You should try it.

They give it to us instead of sleep now.

I've asked them to get you guys some leave, but...

There's a war on.

I know.

Anyway, what do we do with leave?

Two weeks now, no pay.

Well, we've sorted that.

Squadron Leader Kellet has decided to pay all your wages

himself for the time being.

You see Krol?

Yeah, I did.

He'll live, but he won't be back with us any time soon.

Should outlive us all.

Listen.

There's something I've got to show you.

It's important.

Emptying guns at nothing and flying home.

Who?

Gabriel Horodyszcz.

He's a danger to himself and the whole squadron.

Hello, handsome.

ROLLO: You're confusing me with the man I used to be.

I do realize we've been on for 26 hours...

32, sir.

The thing is, it's working.

Their forward base is depleted.

And if we sustain this level, they won't be able to rebuild.

We're knocking them down at a rate of 2 to 1 for our losses.

Last push, gentlemen.

Win this and I'll tuck you into bed myself.

Horodyszcz?

A word.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

(INDISTINGUISHABLE RADIO CHATTER)

Good hit, Red two. Good hit!

ZUMBACH (ON RADIO): Thank you, Kentowski.

That's Red Leader to you!

ZUMBACH (ON RADIO): Gabriel, you shouldn't be here.

(GUNSHOT)

(GUNFIRE)

DZIDEK (ON RADIO): Keep dancing, Tolo.

I'm on him!

Shit.

Shit!

Hey!

Keep it up.

DZIDEK: Maybe someday you're going to be as good as me.

(GUNFIRE)

Last one.

We have him, Red Leader!

Watch your fuel, boys.

I'll see you when you get back there.

How's your fuel?

All good.

All good.

Shit!

France.

We shouldn't be here.

Neither should the fucking Germans!

(GUNFIRE)

ZUMBACH (ON RADIO): You hit him!

I'll finish him off.

Home time, Czech boy.

(EXPLOSION)

(GUNFIRE)

(CLICKING)

(MUFFLED CRASH)

Lambert.

All clear, sir.

All clear.

(GRUNTING)

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Exceptional work from 303 and all your support staff.

You should all be very proud of the work you've done

and continue to do.

Now as far as we can tell, northern France

has been neutralized.

And it's the spearhead of this squadron

to whom the people of Great Britain

have a great debt of gratitude.

126 kills in six weeks, gentlemen.

303 is now officially the highest

scoring squadron in 11 group.

That means in the entire RAF.

Gentlemen, your contribution has been

nothing short of miraculous.

BBC ANNOUNCER (VOICEOVER): After six years

of war in the streets, millions gather

to salute the Allied forces.

Comrades from the battlefront, wounded

from every theater of war.

Representatives of millions who fought and worked

for that final victory.

A two-mile long procession, made up of units

from every corner of the globe, of every color, race,

and creed.

And now, the fly past from our remarkable airmen

of the Royal Air Force, headed up by three

Hurricanes of 263 squadron.

Heroes to a man.

Fucking heroes.

BBC ANNOUNCER (VOICEOVER): There's

jubilation in the streets.

This is my family.

See?

Baczewski.

Once we make vodka.

Now the Soviets take control.

We have nothing.

BBC ANNOUNCER (VOICEOVER): At the same time,

from various assembly points, an Allied marching column

starts through the streets.

Over 21,000 fighting men and women of the Allied forces.

All our gallant Allies...

Indian, Australian, and Canadian.

Gallant allies.

BBC ANNOUNCER (VOICEOVER): Meanwhile, a separate,

mechanized column moves...

Not all of them.

Wouldn't want to offend fucking Stalin, would we?

Thought you weren't allowed to march in the victory parade.

I'm meeting the others.

And Kentowski.

He wouldn't march without us.

Loyalty.

Rare commodity.

I have three days to leave the country.

What do you mean?

They're kicking me out.

After... after everything?

They can do that?

ZUMBACH: If you don't enroll in the resettlement scheme,

you've outstayed your welcome, it seems.

The English want us to repatriate, but back to what?

Some Selesian salt mine?

Already men are dying there, punished

for what they did here.

Poland may have won the war, but we lost the peace.

I'll never forget you, Jan Zumbach.

It's been precious, every minute.

Three years.

I knew it couldn't last forever, but today of all days,

we're supposed to be celebrating.

I once said I doubt there's anyone quite like you anywhere.

I was right.

Where will you go?

What will you do?

France and the US.

Africa, maybe.

I'll find something.

I would ask you to come with me, but...

I'd say yes.

You wouldn't say yes.

Not even if you wanted to.

I've known from the start you'd never leave Rollo.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Subtitles by explosiveskull