All language subtitles for Operation.Buffalo.S01E04.MVO.SDI.Media.WEB-DLRip.eng

This is a melted woman's ring.

I am making you
the face of Maralinga.

You are now mine, Major.

Bugger off!

It was carriages at midnight.

Apologies for the mess.
Scott was here till very late.

Oh, how very droll.

No!

What more did you expect of me?

At least I turned up. I was there.

I beat the Boer, not you.
You are the bloody Boer.

Where were you at the Somme, eh?

Passchendaele!

Not my favourite memories,
but I was there.

I did what I had to do there
to get the bloody job done!

And I did it in your name
and that of my sovereign.

The head of your bloody church,
you bastard.

Visit me night after night!

Haunt my wife if that
is what you've been reduced to!

Really? The Holy Ghost now?

My wife would love it!

Is that you?

No, of course not.

When have you ever bothered
to knock?

Apologies, General.
Yes?

Sorry to have woken you,

but it's been raining
and it's very dark out there.

The generator in this section
must be out.

I'm a little bit lost.

Of course. Come in. Come in.

Thank you.

Truth is,
I don't handle mornings

all that well
at the best of times.

You have my sympathies.
Not the cleverest of sleepers myself.

Actually, good you've come.

One of the chappies
delivered me a telecable

just before I went to bed.

Excellent news.
Really, sir?

Yes, it seems Rupie's been made

permanent secretary
to the Foreign Office.

Isn't that wonderful?

We'll miss the old bugger,
of course.

Won't be turning up here
anytime soon.

But I expect this will place you
in rather high office.

One mustn't assume, sir...

...but one has one's hopes,
as I've said.

There's no specific mention of me?

Uh, no.

But you're more than welcome
to stay here, old chap.

At least until your grand future
is settled.

That's very kind of you, sir.

Ah! There we go.

Let there be light,
and all that nonsense.

It's too early for breakfast,
do you think?

I'm in a rather urgent need
of some eggs

and a couple of Swanny's
patented Bloody Marys.

Morning, Chef.

Sir! Good morning.

We know it's not quite
opening hours,

but Mr Moore here and I
were feeling a bit peckish.

Of course, sir.
We're here to serve, sir.

Of course. Excellent.

Sir, er, m...

Why didn't you tell me
we have guests?

How delightful!

Good morning, everyone! Welcome!

Well, my dear lady!

How lovely it is to see you again.

May we join you?

Where's Swanny?

Ah, yes, indeed.

Chef, fetch Swanny immediately,
will you?

We're in need of Bloody Marys
and service.

Y-yes, sir.

Swanny!

You know, we do have
a first-rate officers' mess.

We may be more comfortable
in there.

Well, it's... it's not
La Tour d'Argent...

...but it does have
bottom-friendly chairs.

Of course, if you feel
more comfortable in here,

then here we shall stay.

Chef!

What a great day
for the nation!

And, sir, one question
regarding previous tests -

have the tests been successful
so far?

Good morning, gentlemen!
What a great day for the nation!

What's happened? Is there news?

Oh, yes, indeed, there is, sir.

Good news?
Uh, no, sir.

Bad news and worse news.
Mm-hm.

Dr Ratchett has passed away.

Oh, God!

How?
Uh, no idea.

Dr Lloyd George
found him last night.

There's worse news?

There's word that the general
is currently having breakfast

on the floor of the mess kitchen

with the Aborigines
we met the other night.

How did that happen?!

Sir, the mess is due to open
in half an hour.

Sir, please.

In half an hour's time,
600 soldiers,

two of the government's
most senior cabinet ministers

and the entire national press corps

are gonna be demanding breakfast,

and the general will be there
on the kitchen floor

eating with the blacks.

But the general's my superior

and I literally can't speak
to the blacks!

But Dalgleish can.
What use is he 100 miles away?

He isn't 100 miles away, sir.
He's here in the camp.

What?

The general went on a tour
with Dalgleish yesterday.

It was the general's idea.

He seems to like the blacks.
I'm aware!

My poor sad darling Prof.

Are you alright?

I'm OK.

Tragic business. Doctor, Nurse.

These need to be signed
by the general or Carmichael.

Been up for hours with them.

Given me the most frightful head.

Was there a note?

Um... I didn't think to look.
I didn't see...

I'll have a rummage.
I know how he organises things.

Organised.

In the old days, notes usually
made life easier with suicides.

Coronially speaking.

But we live in strange times.

The army will have its own inquest.
Secret, of course.

And will make its own findings.

We are but minions,
poor players, Nurse, remember?

Rounds at eight?
Yes, Doctor.

I'll see you then. And make sure
Carmichael signs those before five.

Yes, Doctor.

Dalgleish!

Oh! Carmichael?

Now's not a good time, mate.

You are needed.

You're officially fuckin' warned.

Jesus, Cranky can put it away!

Man of his age -
fucking champion.

As we speak, there are some
blacks having breakfast with him

on the floor
of the mess kitchen.

You didn't bring them
with you, did you?

Blacks in the mess?

What fucking idiot
do you think I am?

Then how did they get here?

Mate, they're fucking nomadic.
They fucking walk.

How could you let this happen?!

It's your job
to protect the perimeter

from the blacks...
for the blacks.

Because I'm one man
in a fucking truck

patrolling an area greater
than the size of fucking Britain!

Get up!
Yeah, fuck off!

Get up now!

Unless this situation
is quickly defused,

there will be a shitstorm
of epic proportions.

Feel free to do your worst to me.

I'm talking about what could happen
to the blacks.

I think he was murdered.

What do you mean, murdered?

He hanged himself.

I found him.
No.

He knew something.
He knew everything.

That's why he's dead.

I mean, don't you know the trick
to surviving this place

is to know
as little as you possibly can?

I mean, how on earth
could Lewis come in here

with a report ready to be signed
about someone's death

before he's even seen the body?

I bet you
all the money that I have

against all the money you have

that he put it down
as a myocardial infarction.

How do I know that?

Because it's what he always does.

It's always a heart attack.

It's how death signs its name here.

Nothing ever goes wrong
at Maralinga

because everyone's too scared
to say that something's gone wrong.

If they do,
they have heart attacks.

If you do find a note and, um...

...I'm mentioned in it...

...there will be questions.

Why would you worry
about being mentioned?

Because you were lovers?

It'll raise suspicion.

Suspicion of what?

If they find out
that I was Quentin's lover,

there's really only two courses
open to them.

How do you mean?

They'll either send me to Adelaide

or I'll have a heart attack.

What happens in Adelaide?

I'll have a heart attack.

- Shit!
- Oh.

So it turns out an army
does march on its stomach.

Who'd have thought?

OK, we're on.
It's all smiles, Dally.

Christ, Carmichael!
Where have you been? I'm starving!

Ministers, this is
Sergeant Roy Dalgleish.

Sergeant. How do you do?
Dick Wilcox.

Er, Phil Lachlan.
What do you do?

I'm your border rider.

And what does that mean?
It means...

That's... not... important
right now, Attorney.

Let me be perfectly frank with you.

A problem has arisen with...

- A wee problem in the kitchen.
- Yes!

It's...
The generator.

Yes, it's the bloody genny.

They're playing up all over the camp.
Must be the rain.

I'll just check in with the kitchen.
Won't be long.

We'll come with you.

Uh... you're more than welcome to,
sir,

but if you come in
and the men can't,

it may not look too good,
what with the press here.

I'm sure you wouldn't want to be seen
to be given preferential treatment,

which, of course, you'd refuse.

Quite.
As I say, I won't be a moment.

Thank you for your patience.

Fellas, may need
some admin assistance here.

Yes, sir.

Excuse me, Ministers?

Quick shot over here? Thank you.

I say, Leo!
Look who's dropped in!

Yes. I see, sir.

There were two young lads.

They were bringing
a white girl back here.

I mean, did a nurse go missing?

Lads? What lads?

She says you know something.

We have no missing nurses.

I've never seen
any young black blokes.

She keeps saying this.

The word angkulye keeps coming up.

What does it mean, Dally?

She seems so anxious
when she says it.

The word means 'cloud', sir.

Sir, I have no idea
what she's talking about.

Explain to them as clearly
as you bloody can, Dally,

that we haven't seen
any black lads or a white girl

and that for their own good
they have to leave.

Why? Why do they have to leave?

If the Attorney-General
and Defence Minister

are seen with them by the press,

I can't even imagine
the worst of it.

For their sake, please!

They don't have a word
for 'government'.

Leo!

Sir, we've been through this.
Please. There's no time.

What's she saying, Dally?

It is the policy
of both governments

that these people do not exist.

If they're seen in this place...

I don't understand.

These are human beings right here.
In front of our very eyes.

Clearly they exist!

If I may, Major Carmichael
does have a point, sir.

From a government's perspective,

these people
aren't and never have been here.

We have to travel them back, sir.

The longer they remain here,

the more risky it will become
for them.

Oh, very well.

They'll leave if we tell them
what happened to the boys.

I-I... I... I don't know
what else to add!

Leo! For Christ's sake!

I'm looking in your face, man,
and I can see that you know!

Now, tell them what happened.
That's an order!

We made a big cloud that night.

Your nephews and the white girl
were too close to it.

I'm so sorry.

The cloud is very powerful.

What's this all about, Dally?

They've agreed to leave, sir.

Really? Why?
Why would they do that?

It's in everyone's
best interests, sir.

She understands that. Take them
to wherever they call home.

I don't understand, Leo.
We made the cloud, did we not?

Perhaps, sir, but they're
still safer on their own land.

So...

...how do we get them out safely
when there's a crowd outside?

We just have to get rid
of the crowd, I guess.

I've been given information

by acting chief meteorologist
Dr Lloyd George,

to which I have no option
but to respond.

Uh... weather patterns
have radically changed,

with an unexpected easterly front
moving rapidly towards us

that could affect the utility

and meaning,
perhaps even the safety,

of this test.

So we have to pull the test
forward five hours.

There's no need for a tower
in this test,

as the bomb just has to be
loaded onto a plane.

So, the order is for my people -
every man to his station.

Catering will supply food
on the run.

For our visitors,
we will be supplying a...

...a very... rare and extensive
tour of the camp

with unlimited
photographic opportunities.

That is all for now. Good luck.

Murph, Jonesy and Hilly
are the tour guides.

They're not gonna like it.
There's a shock!

Are you fucking kidding me,
Carmichael? No breakfast?

Easy, Phil. Press.

This is not an auspicious start
to our relationship, Leo.

What would you have me do
about the weather, Minister?

However risky it may be press-wise,

I could get the kitchen
to deliver some trays

to your respective quarters.

I don't give a stuff
about the press. I'm hungry!

- Jesus, Phil!
- Attorney.

Can we please have a shot
of you with these men?

Absolutely!

Now, you listen to me,
you little shit!

I'm the fucking defence minister.
I run the army.

So at this point in time,
I don't give a damn

about generators
or easterly breezes

or Dr Lloyd
Frankincense and Myrrh!

I want some decent food...
and I want it now!

You'll get what you're given,
Minister,

when and if I decide
to give it to you,

because I don't give a damn
about any of your appetites.

I beg your pardon?
Are you that stupid?

This is Maralinga, remember?

You know the drill.
This is my town.

I've seen the photos
of you and Molly, Phil.

Then you had ASIO
try to break her neck.

Break her neck...? Why would
I want to do that? I-is she OK?

Don't try to bullshit me, Phil.

I'm not bullshitting you!

She rang through
to my parliamentary office

and threatened me with blackmail.

Now, ASIO listens to every
phone call a cabinet minister gets.

They make their own laws, Leo.

I don't care.
The photos are out there.

So, here's how things
are gonna work out for you today.

First, you shut up
about your fuckin' breakfast.

Second, you'll tell Wilcox

that you should both go
on a tour of the camp.

You know. Great photo op.

The camp?

Three hours in a jeep
inspecting dust and craters?

And right on cue,
your tour guides appear, Minister.

Look who's here
out in the desert.

The Attorney-General
and the Defence Minister

doing their bit
in the dust and dirt

to support our boys,
our vital nuclear effort.

Here's Dick Wilcox having
a bit of a scrub before dinner.

Mother would be proud.

And there's the Attorney again,

getting the shave of a lifetime.

Again, the tests transcend
the boundaries of modern science.

But some are, of course,
more special than others.

Doctor.

Terrible news about
Professor Ratchett.

Well, apparently, he didn't take
his own life after all.

Seems I was mistaken

when I loosened the rope
around his neck,

because according to Dr Lewis,
it was just a heart attack.

But that wouldn't come as
a surprise to you, would it?

Quentin's on the slab
if you're here to pay your respects.

I came to see you, actually.
Why?

I just told the camp that the test
has been moved forward six hours

owing to a change in the weather

and that it was solely
at your demand

as acting chief meteorologist.

Accordingly, the men have been
sent to their stations.

OK.

May I ask why you did
this fucking idiotic thing,

which totally compromises me?

I needed to buy some time.

You wanted to buy some time
by bringing forward a nuclear test?

Interesting.
Buy some time for what?

OK.

If 600 soldiers had entered
that mess this morning,

not to mention the Attorney-General,
Defence Minister and national press,

they would have found Cranky
on the kitchen floor

eating with the blacks
we met the other night.

Cranky would be sectioned
and sent off to an asylum,

I'll do a couple of years
in Holsworthy and lose my pension,

the place would be shut down.

Goodbye, British nuclear ambitions.

And what do you think
will happen to the blacks?

What?

Well, it won't be a free ride back
to country on Dalgleish's truck.

These people are evidence, Doctor.

Living human evidence.

Evidence of what, Major?
Of lies.

It'll be Official Secrets
for them, which means

being lined up against
a brick wall, pop, pop, pop,

and no-one giving a rat's arse.

Oh!

Would you like a drink, sir?

Calvados is what I think
is called for in this situation.

My, uh... my tum's
gone all knotty.

Swanny!

Tell me, Chef,
do you believe in God?

Yes, of course, sir.

Are you aware
that he and I speak

pretty much on a daily basis?

No, sir. I wasn't aware.
You're keeping good company, sir.

Oh, I'm not so sure about that.

He usually speaks wrath,
between you and me.

I think he's a bored, regretful,
burnt-out old has-been.

He should have been
a politician, not a deity.

Funnily enough, though,

it turns out he's not a big fan
of our bombs.

Sick to death of them, he says.

One thing we have in common,
actually.

Sir?

Uh, Calvados, Swanny.
A large one, if you please.

Very good, sir.

If I may, sir,

why are we...
testing bombs out here?

You have a desert.

You are part of the Empire.

Can't test them in England,
you know.

No telling who you might blow up.

Though, several names
do spring to mind, eh?

But who knows who you might
blow up here, sir?

Blow up here?

Who the devil
are you talking about, man?

Well... like your... guests
earlier this morning.

They live out in the desert
where we're bombing.

Sir.

We've sent them back out there!

Dally is driving them
back out there even now as we speak!

They must be recalled.

The next bomb must be stopped.

The whole bloody shower has to stop.

That's an order, man!
I require a salute!

Next test is today, sir.

Today?!
Dropping one from a plane.

Christ! I need Leo!

So, what do I get in return?

Really?
It's only fair.

I want a favour in return.
What?

You have, or have had, a spy here.

You're MI6, then.

I'm a meteorologist
working for the MOD

on temporary secondment to MI6.

This is to do with Quentin?
That's the current wisdom.

Jesus. You know who the spy is?

Yes. I just need a little help
with the procedural details.

Oh, come on, Leo.
We're on the same side.

What sort of help?

I'll tell you
when you need to know.

Shit!

There has been a sudden
and drastic drop in air pressure

over the southern Indian Ocean
overnight.

If we wait until
the current appointed time,

the effects of this drop
in air pressure,

namely the strong
and potentially chaotic winds,

may strike us here,

possibly affecting
the plane's trajectory,

its capacity to drop its payload,

and render any scientific data
useless...

Have you considered
the potential consequences

of bringing the test forward?

Is the bomb ready?

Yes.

Then there are no
potential consequences.

May I go on uninterrupted?

Myer does have a point.

Why don't we just postpone
the whole thing

for a few days, Leo?

Because as well
as the nation's press,

the Attorney-General
and Defence Minister are here,

and they're not leaving today
without photos

of them standing in front
of a mushroom cloud.

I've got the boys
headed to their stations.

The plane's being fuelled
as we speak.

It's showtime, gentlemen.

So you owe me.
Do I?!

The spy is Corinne.

What?!

That's just bloody silly.

If there is a spy,

which, by the way, is just
an assertion on your part,

I promise you it's not Corinne.

I'll prove it to you.
No, you won't.

They'll probably name the bomb
after you, you know.

You must be very proud.

My darling chicken...

My darling chicken...

My darling chicken...

I am drowning with guilt.

There is so much
to which I have to confess.

How long have you been with him?

Since Kenya. '20.

Rough.

This is a picnic by comparison.

You've got to be kidding, Swanny.

That was actual war.

We were down to bayonets
in Mombasa.

But the general
was an inspiration.

Never looked out for himself,
protected his men

and humiliated the enemy.

It was bloody,
but not by his choice.

I think it better to blow
your enemy up from a distance.

Don't have to look them
in the face, then.

Can you imagine
what it must be like

to be blown up by an atomic bomb?

Gone in less than a second.

Must be the most painless death.

Lucky bastards.

Never thought of it that way,
Mr Moore.

But I guess you're right.

That's Dalgleish's truck.

I guess the old boy
would want to know. Sir?

Sir?
What?

Were we...

What is this place?

Sir, that's Dally's truck, remember?

Eh?

There.
Dally's... truck?

Of course.

He's bringing them back.

My orders.
They went through, Swanny.

Isn't that bloody marvellous?
Come with me!

What is it? What?

Family has a very sick lad. OK?
He's coughing up blood.

He's a black lad. Black family.

How many patients have you got
right now?

Only four.

Oh, shit.
What is it?

Black family. Sounds like
one of them has radiation sickness.

Yeah.

OK. There's no-one in the ICU
at the moment.

OK, grand. Now, you understand
the seriousness of this?

I'm not sure I do.

It never happened.
It never does.

- Dally?
- Orderlies!

Dally! Where are they?!

Uh...

Fuck a duck!

Right.

It's Baxter, sir.

Come in.

Bad news again?

No, worse and worse still, sir.

Dalgleish had to
change destinations

and head back to the hospital.

One of the blacks
started coughing up blood.

He's in bad shape.

Now, Cranky's there too now.

They're all in a bit of a state,
apparently.

OK. Well, the next test
is in half an hour.

We'll pop into the hospital
for a second on the way.

It's never... bloody...

...easy.

Mr Moore.

Major.

Where's the doctor?

I can't say for certain,

but, uh, he usually goes
to the bomb test.

Jesus. Uh...

Seems to me, Leo, she has every
right to be upset and confused.

Tell her the doctor
will see her soon.

Tried that. They don't...
Tell her again.

Can we have a word
outside, please?

J... just a wee moment's peace.

Doesn't feel like peace to me.
Alice, what happened?

Before I left here
a few weeks ago,

we were mad about each other.

And now... what, you can barely
bring yourself to look at me?

So, what is it? Is...

Is there someone else?

Please just talk to me.
I'm sorry, Roy.

Would you ever want to live
in a house

without a fence,
a front door or a dog?

If you know that things
may be bad out there,

you owe it to your family
and, in this case, your country

to build that fence
and oil that door and feed that dog,

hoping that they will always be
those normal, everyday things

that you value to keep you safe.

But in the event
your home is invaded,

wouldn't you regret
lacking the foresight

to protect your loved ones?

I'm so proud...

...of the... great work

being done here by my...

...by my friends and colleagues,

true military heroes
saving Australian and British lives.

Hear, hear.

Excellent.

Very good. Bravo.

Good.

Leo. Well said.

When television
finally arrives here,

you and your dog
simply must read the news.

On the runway,

two mighty Vickers Valiant
jet bombers,

one of which will be used
to drop the bomb.

Weather conditions
are just right,

so the Valiant
heads for the target.

Minutes to go, cameras roll.

Jesus Christ!

♪ L'ora e fuggita

♪ E muoio disperato... ♪

Breston, abort it.
Can't. It's too late.

♪ E muoio disperato

♪ E non ho amato... ♪

Everyone, turn your backs,
for God's sake!

I love you, Bear!

I... didn't hear an explosion.
Did anyone hear one?

I didn't. Was there one?

I didn't sense
a flash either.

There is precedent for this.
Los Alamos, '47.

What did they do about it?
No idea.

You know the Yanks. They tell us
nothing. Don't trust us.

Uh...

You bastard!

What the hell is going on?!

Who is that lunatic?!
Somebody shoot him!

Shoot him now!

Can somebody tell me
when we can turn around?

Uh...

Am I in a lot of... trouble?

I'd say a fair bit. Yeah.

I want to die.

I was sent here to die, Leo.

Everyone here was.

No, we weren't, mate.

We were sent to serve. Come on.

I don't seem to be able
to die here.

The irony is not lost on me,
Mr Moore.

Come on.

Come on. Let's go.

Up you get.

You'll be right.

We all have to die sometime, Leo.

I am aware.

I loved him.

OK.

Come on.
Let's get you a bed, Mr Moore.

This wasn't a bomb test.

This was a test of character!

And Australia and Britain passed
that test with high distinction.

I couldn't be more proud
to be part of the Empire today.

Today was a day
when a Brit and an Australian

showed no fear,
no regard for their own lives.

But such is the dedication

to the preservation
of human lives here in Maralinga

that even if it appeared
that we had a technical set-back,

two vital members of our team,
including Major Leo Carmichael,

launched themselves
into the centre of proceedings

to make sure the bomb was safe.

God save them.
And God save the Queen!

God save the Queen!

You are now welcome
to attend our fabulous mess,

where a sumptuous meal
with lots of wine awaits you.

Thank you.

How long is it going to take?
I have the press here.

I need a detonation.
I need a fucking cloud!

We did strongly advise against
bringing the test forward, sir,

but... but... but she insisted!

You advised this? Hmm?

You know, it may be something

to do with
the detonation device, Myer.

Williams, as the person
in charge of detonation,

are you yet to appreciate
the fact

that the bomb has not detonated?

It's possible. I'm just not
ready to jump to conclusions.

Conclusions?

Why are we not
just checking everything

on the verification protocols?

They are rather complete.

The protocols that you wrote?

The way the Jewish mind works!

Guy fucking Burgess.

Sensational in bed,
one has to admit.

Oh, I say!

Those two weeks have ruined my life.

I didn't think I'd truly love
Rupert... but I did.

I've been sent here to rot, Leo.

What did you do to deserve this?

How is he?

Harmless now.

I expect you feel that I have
profoundly compromised you.

I'm sorry.

Compromised?

I've never craved the security
of a fence, a door and a dog

so intensely.

I believe that family in Adelaide

who were visited
by one of your balloons

also had a fence, a door and a dog.

But how are they doing, poster boy?

Are those kids still with us?
"Poster boy"?

It's Quentin's suicide note.

"My darling...

"..chicken...

"..I'm drowning in guilt."

It's all very clear.

She was stealing
his top-secret reports.

One of us has to confront her
about it.

You're her boss.
You scoffed at the idea.

You can hear it
from the horse's mouth.

All I need to clinch it is
a confession to a third party...

A confession? Really?

Talk to Corinne.

A confession is her only way
out of this.

Are you Catholic, by any chance?

So you'll see Corinne?
Of course.

Dr Lloyd George.

Aka 'Chicken'.

Found it amongst Quentin's papers.

Is it true?
Yes.

Yes.

So?

The man was clearly a lover,
not a fighter.

And what he says
is definitely true?

Yes.
You leaked data?

Yes, I used Quentin,
and I feel... rotten about it.

You know this place is more rotten.

Ah! Timing.

I'll leave you to it.

Sleeping soundly now.

I've already sent cables to
Canberra and London, you know.

They'll probably wreck his career.

Leo...
I know.

Christ!
Leo, what the hell is this?

What have you done?
Turned this hospital into a circus?!

Get them out of here now!
They don't belong in a hospital!

They're here on my order.
And mine, Doctor.

Let's go outside, Lewis,
and calm down.

He needs attention. Even if
it's just to manage the pain.

The answer's no, Leo. Get them
out of my fucking hospital!

You're a fucking doctor!

God knows what diseases these
animals are carrying with them.

I won't have them in my hospital.

First, it's not your hospital, sport.

And second, I never thought you'd
turn out to be such a fucking turd.

I am British.

You may want to lay down with dogs,
Leo -

I suppose a lot of Australians
are inclined to do so -

but I'm a little more aspirational.

You have exposed me, exposed us,

to very grave legal consequences.

If this animal is treated here,
there will be a paper trail.

It can then be proved

that I've been treating
Indigenous personnel

who are not supposed to be here.

It would either be career suicide
or summary execution,

neither of which I fancy!

I am British too, Doctor.

I fought the Boer,
the Hun, the Nazis.

I fought in the Sudan, Kenya.
In three Indian states.

I'm not a doctor,

but even I know whatever that boy
is suffering from, we did it to him.

Now, I want you
to shut your disgusting mouth

whilst I give you an official order.

Treat him.

And if I ever hear you
speak that way again,

I will blow your bloody brains out
for insubordination.

I just gave you an order, man.

Where's my fucking salute?!

I'll look after this for you, sir.

Honestly... there's nothing
we can do, sir.

His heart's still holding up
but getting weaker.

It's two days at the most.

You can operate.
But to what end, sir?

Despite my best efforts,
he'd never survive it.

So you gave Corinne the letter?

Yeah. And she read it.

And?
And she denies every word.

And I believe her.

She wasn't the leaker.

My sense of it...

...is that Quentin
didn't even write this letter.

As I understand it,
he was a lover, not a fighter.

Where are you going?

Corinne's upset enough, you know?
Don't pursue her.

I wasn't going to pursue Corinne,
Major.

I was going to check in on Mr Moore.

Well, I'll join you.

What happened?

He passed a few minutes ago.

Leave the... sheet off
for a minute, will you, Alice?

Good God.

He looks happy.

It's the rictus grin.

When the facial muscles
contort after death.

I say he looks happy.

Very well.

What did he die from, Alice?

Dr Lewis says
it was a heart attack.

Why don't we bomb it?
Build another bomb to bomb this one?

Build another bomb to bomb a bomb?

You should have come to us first,
sweetheart.

You want to scare the shit
out of the government,

you go to the press.

Is he going to die soon?

Yes, sir.

We need to follow that one.

Your car?
No.

I think it would be better if
we joined forces at this point.

Don't you think?

I think that's a good idea.

You call yourself scientists?!

There is an unexploded nuclear bomb
out there, for Christ's sake!

It needs to explode!