All language subtitles for And Then There Were None - S01E01 - Episode 1.eng.SDH

[DRAMATIC MUSIC PLAYS]

[WIND WHISTLING]

MAN [WHISPERING]: I love you.

[ECHOING] I love you.

[EXPLOSIONS IN DISTANCE]

WOMAN: Cyril!

Cyril!

MAN: The, uh, position
is for a secretary.

VERA: Then the agency
shouldn't have given you my name.

My typing and shorthand
isn't good enough.

Assistant, then, with some
minor secretarial duties.

I sent her all the details.
She chose you.

Really?

You're a teacher?

A games mistress. Yes.

Teachers are good at organizing.

Mrs. Owen is expecting a lot of guests.

Whereabouts in the country?

The Devon coast. Soldier Island.

The coast?

Audrey's been telling me
about it from her magazines.

Haven't you, Audrey?

Some Hollywood film star
was supposed to have bought it.

But no.

It's Mr. and Mrs. Owen.

And you've met them?

No. Everything by letter.

An island… by the sea?

Islands are generally by the sea.

The box, if you please, Audrey.

Um, I-I don't… Maybe I'm not suited.

You are who she wants.

And it's very well paid.

There's a permanent position
on offer if you fit the bill.

Yes, but… For immediate expenses.

[DRAMATIC MUSIC PLAYS]

[MUSIC CONTINUES]

[MUSIC CONTINUES]

MAN: Zibbity-zabba-zee,
Zibbity-zabba-zoh,

Zibbity-zabba-zah, Zibbity-zabba-zoh.

[CLEARS THROAT]

And… And this is for a play…
in the West End?

And will I be credited in the program?

Ladies and gentlemen, silence, please.

You are charged with
the following indictments.

[TRAIN RUMBLING]

[WHISTLE BLOWS]

[ENGINE REVS]

[TIRES SCREECH, HORN HONKS]

Good God!

Bloody hell!

Damn you, you stupid bastard!

[LAUGHS] Whoo!

[LAUGHS]

[BELL CHIMING]

[BIRDS CRYING]

Ah. Well. Here are the others.

I'm Miss Claythorne,
Mrs. Owen's secretary.

Are you Mr. Narracott?

Well, ain't no one else holding a sign.

I've already taken two over…

Fussy old maid and some flashy young lad.

Been in and out of this
harbor like a fiddler's elbow.

Sea dogs. They have their own etiquette.

[CHUCKLES]

Well, good afternoon.

General MacArthur.

Good Lord.

What an honor to meet you.

Wargrave.

Justice Wargrave?

-The honor is all mine, sir.
-Retired from justice now.

Mister…

Lombard. Philip.

WARGRAVE: And you, sir?

Davis.

Are you coming or not?

Well, shall we?

[WATER BUBBLING]

[BIRDS CRYING]

NARRACOTT: This way. Just up here.

MAN: Good afternoon!

Welcome to Soldier Island.

MACARTHUR: Right.

Come along.

Sorry. Is there a problem?

Well, that's as far as
my feet will take me, sir.

[SIGHS] God's sake.

Uh, Davis?

Davis?

[CHUCKLES]

I'd be grateful.

Of course.

MACARTHUR: Well, Rogers.

Our hosts…
When can we expect to meet them?

We should be a full
house by tonight, sir.

[FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING]

MAN: Ah. Afternoon.

Tony Marston.

Well, I look forward to
meeting you all at dinner.

A stiff G&T in my room.

Sir.

Did Mrs. Owen leave
any instructions for me?

I'm the secretary.

Only to ensure that you were comfortable

and had everything you
wished for, Miss Claythorne.

Now, if the gentlemen would follow me,

Mrs. Rogers will escort the lady.

WARGRAVE: Oh. Thank you, Davis.

Did my friend Mrs. Culmington…
Uh, Mrs. Constance Culmington…

Did she change her plans, do you know?

No, I'm afraid I don't.

Mm. Ridiculously vague.

I'm sorry.
I only just recently got the job.

No, no, no, no, no.
Not you, Miss Claythorne.

I mean this whole arrangement.

The Owens invited me
here to meet my friend,

and she's not even here.

[CHUCKLES] Very strange.

Very strange indeed. Mm.

Can I help you? Here.

Oh. Too kind.

[CLOCK TICKING]

[EXHALES DEEPLY]

[CLOCK TICKING]

[INHALES SHARPLY]

Leave me alone.

[EXHALES DEEPLY]

Look at the state of you.

I've got to baste my beef.

And my soufflés, Thomas.
What about my souffle?

Well, I can't dress her, can I?

Go on.

Was it a childhood affliction?

Your eyes.

No, madam.

Came on all suddenly.

A shock, maybe.

A sudden change.

Begging your pardon, madam, I don't know.

You must know.

Begging your pardon, madam, I don't.

I always think it's rather a weakness

to be so affected by something
in one's circumstances.

Rather indulgent. Almost vain.

We must be strong, Mrs. Rogers,
especially in these times.

We must be valiant… and virtuous.

We must be Englishwomen.

Yes, madam.

And a little advice.

In future, a splash of eau de cologne

before you come upstairs
to attend on the ladies.

I appreciate it's hot
work in the kitchen,

but there's no need to
announce it quite so emphatically.

Beg your pardon, madam.

Tinned goods.

Troops. The war. The war.

Tinned goods.

Mm.

Judge Wargrave, I'm terribly sorry

for the clumsy introduction.

I'm… a terrible traveler.

Completely lose me bearings.

Are we on time?

Only just.

Ah, sir.

You're ready sooner
than we'd anticipated.

What's up there?

Just roof space, sir.

Uh, sir, I've been advised

that the footing isn't
particularly sturdy up there.

Best avoided, lest you
make an unexpected entrance

into one of the bedrooms, sir…
By way of the ceiling.

May I show you to the drawing room, sir?

Perhaps an aperitif whilst
you await the other guests?

Ah. Mr. Davis.

You look like a man
who could use a drink.

Hm. How very congenial.

Perhaps a small snifter.

Mm.

Mr. Rogers, lead the way.

[INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS]

[HINGES SQUEAK]

[CLATTERING IN DISTANCE]

Miss?

Is there something
you're looking for, miss?

Because this is the belowstairs, miss.

For staff.

Well, I am staff.

Miss, we had very strict instructions

that you were to be treated as a guest.

Guests don't come belowstairs.

It rather sounds as though
you're asking me to leave.

How many more are you
expecting, with the Owens?

We shall know when they arrive.

And how will you cope,
just the two of you?

Rogers and myself is competent.

More than.

So if you please.

[LATCH CLICKS]

Well done, girl.

[INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS]

What an idyllic evening.

The sky! [CHUCKLES]

How can one not believe in a creator?

Davis.

Emily Brent.

Edward Armstrong.

PHILIP: There's one in my room too.

I imagine there's one in every room.

Well, Soldier Island. It makes sense.

It's amusing.

I have a strong suspicion our
hosts are inclined to whimsy.

I cannot comment on our hosts.

Good little secretary.

Excuse me.

We've got off on the
wrong foot, haven't we?

But you do have very pretty legs.

I would have been
remiss not to admire them.

Mr. Lombard, you seem
to be under the impression

that I am a particular kind of woman.

And I assure you that I am not.

I do not like to be looked at.

I get instincts about people.

I have an instinct about you.

I think you're pretending.

[DOOR OPENS]

A drink, Mr. Marston?

Pink gin.

Pink as a virgin's blush.

[PLATE RATTLES]

Didn't catch your name.

Philip Lombard.

Irish.

You must know the Corcorans.

Great chums of mine.

Endlessly simpatico.

Anyone who's anyone knows them.

[WARGRAVE LAUGHING, INDISTINCT
CONVERSATIONS IN DISTANCE]

Are you a betting man, Lombard?

It depends.

At some point this evening,
one of those crumbling old relics

will start talking about the war.

And they'll ask us both
if we aren't damned sorry

to have missed the last one
and how we should be gung ho

to do our duty in the next.

Not that there's going to be a next one.

There's always a next one.

So how about it?

A bet?

The odds are too short.

[WARGRAVE LAUGHS]

Listen to them. Clinging on.

I mean, they think they
still mean something

but nobody at all would
notice or care if they just…

[SMACKS LIPS]

I'm going to be exceptionally
charming to them.

Oh, all right, Miss Claythorne.

If it'll make you happy,
I'm sorry for staring.

[GLASS RATTLES]

Mr. Lombard, I doubt
you're ever sorry for anything.

Smart girl.

[BIRDS CRYING]

[GONG CHIMES]

[GONG CHIMES]

Ladies and gentlemen, lobster souffle.

I hope it's not too rich.

I always dine so modestly at home.

Mmm.

I won't, thank you.

DAVIS: Thank you.

We've met before, you know.

Forgive me. My memory is not what it was.

Perhaps you gave evidence before me.

DR. ARMSTRONG: No. No, it wasn't that.

I'd remember that. Something else.

It'll come to me.

EMILY: I'm not at all sure about these.

They look very… pagan.

They're the ten little soldiers…

You know, from the poem.

MACARTHUR: Mm. I know it off by heart.

When I was a little boy, my
nanny used to recite it to me.

I imagine she wanted
to terrify me into being…

Into being good.

Did it work?

Well, I've always been a stickler, yes.

Stickler for the rules.

I was probably a rather dull boy.

[CHUCKLES] I really
can't imagine that, General.

Although, you shouldn't call
it a poem, Miss Claythorne.

It's doggerel.

Poetry should be uplifting.

I agree with you, Miss Brent.

Well, that just shows how
wrong first impressions are.

I didn't think you were
the type of gentleman

to appreciate poetry.

Mr. Davis has hidden depths.

The soufflé is delicious.

Mm. Very light.

[THUNDER RUMBLES]

WARGRAVE: Over 40 years in criminal law,

I have come face-to-face

with the most depraved examples
of mankind and felt no fear.

But I quail in terror, Miss Claythorne,

at the thought of young ladies
brandishing hockey sticks.

They're not so bad, Judge.

A little overexcited and noisy sometimes.

WARGRAVE: Oh, the prerogative of youth.

And I'm sure you set
them a very fine example.

Sometimes you dread what
filth they're going to serve,

but this is actually very decent.

The Owens are always generous hosts.

EMILY: Friends of yours, Mr. Davis?

Business acquaintances.

Uh, I'm in tinned goods.

The firm started off
supplying troops with stew.

Tinned goods is what
helped us win the war.

Well, I suppose…
I suppose an army marches on its stomach.

Here we go.

God, I remember that stew.

MACARTHUR: RAMC, I
presume, Dr. Armstrong.

DR. ARMSTRONG: That's right.

Clearing stations and then
hospitals in Belgium and France.

Perhaps you're being interviewed as well.

Interviewed, General?

Yes.

Mr. Owen is an amateur

but very knowledgeable
military historian.

He's writing about France,
about the decisive actions…

[WHISPERING] For God's sake, it's over.

MACARTHUR: …in 1917.

No, I'm, uh, I'm just here
to get away from it all.

MACARTHUR: Interesting man, Mr. Owen…

And an interesting name.

Ulick Norman.

How funny.

Mrs. Owen is Una Nancy.

EMILY: Matching initials.

I must confess I was a little
worried about the "Ulick."

Given the current climate, it
might be seen as somewhat…

[CLEARS THROAT]

…Teutonic.

You couldn't hope to
meet a more patriotic man.

And what could be more
English than "Norman"?

[BIRDS CRYING]

EMILY: Oh! [LAUGHS]

It's magical.

[CHUCKLES]

Mrs. Rogers has the gift.

She might look like the undead,
but she can definitely cook.

Uh, when might we expect the Owens?

Have they not telephoned?

THOMAS: There's no
telephone on the island, madam.

Mr. Narracott brings messages

along with the post and
kitchen supplies every morning.

And I imagine tomorrow

he will bring either a
telegram from the Owens

or they will accompany him.

ANTHONY: Uh, Rogers, give
that Narracott chap a couple of bob.

Ask him to watch my car.

It's parked up by the harbor.

The Jensen.

THOMAS: Of course, sir.

And I shall pass on your
compliments to Mrs. Rogers.

Uh, look here, Davis.

The Owens… Are they… fun-loving types?

Fun-loving?

Yeah.
'Cause there's something a tad off here.

Now, I had a letter
inviting me to a house party.

Pretty young things, you
know, champagne, music.

And apart from Lombard,

who looks like he
could cut up a bit lively,

the rest of you don't
really look like fun-loving,

house-party types.

No offense.

Your car. The Jensen.

Oh, you saw her.

Isn't she a beauty?

I honestly can't imagine loving a person

as much as I worship
and adore the Jensen.

You ran me off the road.

No, I didn't.

You ran me off the road.

When?

I was driving along,
minding my own business,

and you overtook me
going God knows how fast,

and you ran me off the road.

Well, I saw someone
going at a pitiful speed.

Now, look here, Marston.

I think an apology and a
handshake between gentlemen

would be just the thing here.

But I haven't done anything wrong.

-You ran me off the road.
-I might have overtaken you,

but my great-aunt drives with more zip,

and if you can't control your car,

you really shouldn't be behind the wheel.

You little shit!

You ran me off the road

and then you have the
temerity to tell me it's my fault?!

Careful, old boy.
Going a little red in the face.

Gentlemen, please.
There are ladies present.

I'm sorry.

It's been a long week.

You're right, General.

A handshake between gentlemen.

Come on, Armstrong.

Put it there.

Let's be pals.

[DR. ARMSTRONG CLEARS THROAT]

Nearly there.

Good work, Et.

Rogers, I'm out of cigarettes.

THOMAS: Yes, sir.

ANTHONY: So, what battles
were you involved with, General?

Well, I served on the
North-West Frontier,

in South Africa, and,
of course, in France.

Win any?

VERA: I loathe this convention…

Leaving the men to their
cigars and their stories.

Convention, Miss Claythorne,
is what keeps us together

in the face of impending chaos.

Is it time?

You start serving.

No, no. No. I'll pour the coffee.

You must be very busy in the kitchen.

Miss

Excellent dinner, Mrs. Rogers.

The Owens are lucky to have you,

and I will certainly be telling them so.

ETHEL: Thank you, madam.

[RINGING]

Whereabouts is your school?

Um, I doubt you've heard of it.

It's not particularly well known.

Nor particularly good either.

Why do you say that?

Otherwise, you would not
be needing employment

in the summer months.

Their fees are not high
enough, nor is their pay.

Not that I disapprove of
you seeking employment

and being busy.

Far from it.

But why teach in a
third-rate establishment

producing third-rate girls?

Barely worth your time and
effort, I would have thought.

MAN [ON LOUDSPEAKER]:
Ladies and gentlemen,

silence, please.

Who is that?

MAN [ON LOUDSPEAKER]: You are charged

with the following indictments.

Edward George Armstrong…

That you murdered Louisa Mary Clees.

-Who is this?
-I don't know, sir.

MAN [ON LOUDSPEAKER]:
Emily Caroline Brent…

That you murdered Beatrice Taylor.

-Who is this?!
-What's the meaning of this?

MAN [ON LOUDSPEAKER]:
William Henry Blore…

That you did murder James Stephen Landor.

WARGRAVE: God almighty.

MAN [ON LOUDSPEAKER]:
Vera Elizabeth Claythorne…

That you did murder
Cyril Ogilvie Hamilton.

Philip Lombard…
That you did murder 21 men,

members of an East African tribe.

John Gordon MacArthur…
that you did murder Henry Richmond.

Where is this coming from?

MAN [ON LOUDSPEAKER]:
Anthony James Marston…

Let's go, Rogers.

MAN [ON LOUDSPEAKER]:
…that you did murder John

and Lucy Combes.

ANTHONY: I never heard of them.

MAN [ON LOUDSPEAKER]:
Lawrence John Wargrave…

That you did murder Edward Seton.

PHILIP: Get out of my way.

MAN [ON LOUDSPEAKER]:
Thomas and Ethel Rogers…

-[GLASS SHATTERS]
-[ETHEL SCREAMS]

MAN [ON LOUDSPEAKER]:
…that you did murder Jennifer Brady.

Thomas.

MAN [ON LOUDSPEAKER]:
Prisoners at the bar,

how do you plead?

[MOTOR WHIRRING]

[NEEDLE SCRATCHES]

Oh. Mrs. Rogers?

She just took a turn.

-I'll go fetch my bag.
-She'll be all right.

I'll be the judge of that.

ANTHONY: A record?

PHILIP: It's called "Swan Song."

What the hell are they playing at?

Huh?

What the hell are they playing at?!

Your pals… the damn Owens!

Let him go, Marston.
He doesn't know them.

He's not Davis.

I'm Blore.

Detective Sergeant William Blore.

How did you know?

Instinct.

I need a drink.

MACARTHUR: Really.

These grotesque false accusations.

EMILY: Indeed, General.

We should wait for the doctor and Rogers.

We should wait until
everyone is together.

Well said, Tubs.

Let's all listen to the policeman.

Miss Claythorne?

[ICE CUBES RATTLING]

Here.

It's mild, but it will help you sleep.

Mm.

I suspect, Rogers, that there
are questions about our hosts

that only you can answer.

THOMAS: Yes, sir.

DR. ARMSTRONG: A few
minutes, then, to settle your wife.

Sir.

[FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING]

I told you.

[VOICE BREAKING] I told you!

THOMAS: Pull yourself together, woman!

Stop flapping your trap, you dozy bitch.

Thank you.

Rogers is coming.

-Well, Rogers?
-See?

On my instructions…
to put the record on at such a time.

We were told it was to be a surprise,

a-a party game.

Some party game.

MACARTHUR: But you
were in the room with us.

There's a delay on the record.

Somebody went to a
lot of time and expense.

THOMAS: If I'd have known
what was on the record,

I'd never have been a part of it.

What he said about me and Mrs. Rogers.

Never.

Nothing in it, then?

Miss Brady were like family to us.

We did everything for her.

She weren't well. Frail as a bird.

But on account of how she'd
left us a small legacy, well…

[JENNIFER GRUNTS]

THOMAS: …some folk
will say anything to hurt.

[MUFFLED GASPS]

[GRUNTING]

[GASPING STOPS]

There's a lot of jealousy
amongst domestic service,

I'm afraid to say.

Belowstairs is very
often a nest of vipers.

EMILY: Thank you, Rogers.

We'll ring if we
require anything further.

I've had more than my fair
share of lazy and vindictive staff.

I believe Rogers.

ANTHONY: It doesn't make any sense.

I never even met a John and Lucy Combes.

Malicious nonsense.

Louisa Clees was a surgical patient.

It was risky.

There were complications.
Everyone knew that.

But the moment anything goes wrong,

it's blame the bloody surgeon.

No one's blaming you, Doctor.

Well, someone is.

Henry Richmond was one of
my very finest young officers,

who fell in the pursuit
of his gallant duty

for king and country.

It is repugnant

that these vile rumors
should be given credence.

Repugnant!

Edward Seton was guilty.

I was party to, um, evidence

that was not admissible before the court.

But he was guilty.

BLORE: The only time
I laid hands on Landor

was to put handcuffs on him.

He was a degenerate and a drunk.

He choked on his own puke.

VERA: Cyril.

The little boy.

I-I was his governess, and…

He wasn't supposed to swim.

He wasn't strong.

But he sneaked off.

And I… I wasn't a good enough swimmer.

I just wasn't good enough.

I tried.

I really tried to save him.

His poor mother was broken.

She was so broken.

I-I had to be rescued.

I almost drowned.

Who… Who could say something like this?

Some sort of vicious joke.

Well, if that's your sense of humor,

there's something wrong with your wiring.

Time for the funny farm.

PHILIP: It was pinpoint
accurate about me.

Twenty-one men?

I always thought someone would blab.

It's amazing how people
get an attack of conscience

when they're safely
tucked away in their beds.

[WOMAN SCREAMING IN DISTANCE]

EMILY: You terrible man.

You terrible, terrible man!

It's people like you, men like you,

that put our missionaries in such danger!

Oh, your missionaries, with
their God and their syphilis.

I am not the only white
killer in Africa, Miss Brand.

Lombard, you, sir, are a bloody butcher.

And I'm holding my hands up to it.

So either I'm embellishing
a story for shocking effect

or I'm the only one telling
the truth in a room full of liars.

-How dare you.
-MACARTHUR: Take that back, sir.

WARGRAVE: Enough.

Please, ladies and gentlemen. Enough.

What good can it do?

My feeling is that we should retire

and be ready to leave
tomorrow with Mr. Narracott.

What if the Owens are with him?

We confront them.

But we leave.

And despite Mr. Lombard's
devastating confession,

we are all victims of a cruel hoax.

And we shouldn't
dignify these accusations

with any more debate.

Agreed?

-Certainly.
-MACARTHUR: Hear, hear.

John and Lucy Combes.

They must have been those two kids.

I mean, what sort of parents

let their kids play out in
the dark, for God's sake?

It's completely irresponsible.

I-I lost my license for six months.

It was a terrific nuisance.

Oh, you were driving, were you?

What a surprise.

It was jolly bad luck. That's all.

Ah. I didn't stand a chance.

Those poor children.

You're a bloody maniac, Marston.

I wasn't even driving that fast.

You can't… not in England.
It's not like the Continent.

They understand motoring over there.

Say what you like about the Krauts,

but their roads are magnificent.

The Jensen loves them.

I can really open her up and let her rip.

[WHEEZING]

DR. ARMSTRONG: All right?

He's choking!

[ANTHONY GAGS, GRUNTS]

Oh! He's bleeding!

-[SCREAMS]
-Get him down.

Get him off me!

[GAGGING]

Get him down.

[GAGGING STOPS]

He's dead.

Heavenly father, watch
over this soul in torment

and protect us.

Right. Well… after you, ladies.

Armstrong.

Come here.

Ah.

Well, perhaps we ought
to get rid of the stimulant

out of respect to the family.

Don't want to cause a scandal.

It's a police matter now, Doctor.

Same set of rules if you're posh or not.

Very well.

[TAPS TABLE]

[THUNDER RUMBLING]

We're damned, Thomas.

We're damned.

[SOBS]

We're going to hell.

-[GRUNTS]
-[GASPS]

[SOBBING]

[KNOCK ON DOOR]

[GASPS]

Yes?

Who is it?

[WOOD CREAKS]

[MACHINERY CLICKING]

WOMAN: Doctor, please.

Don't touch me.

I know what I'm doing.

[GASPS]

[BREATHING HEAVILY]

Dr. Armstrong?

Yes?

What is it?

Can you come, please?

[CLOCK TICKING]

She's been dead for some hours.

I'll, uh, I'll inform the others
not to expect too much

in the way of breakfast,
given the circumstances.

No, sir.

Full breakfast will be provided.

Good man.

Best not to dwell.

Keep busy.

Dr. Armstrong?

I heard you get up.

Has Mrs. Rogers got worse?

Somewhat.

She's dead.

Dead?

Died in her sleep. It was quite peaceful.

Nothing to be alarmed about.

Uh, wait. Wait.

I, um, I came down here to
wait for you, and… and I saw this.

Please.

PHILIP: A bit late for
the kiss of life, Tubs.

A right smart-ass you are.

Have a sniff yourself.

VERA: There were ten of them.

From the nursery rhyme… the poem.

-Yes.
-Yes.

Count them for me, please, Dr. Armstrong.

There are eight, aren't there?

Eight figures for the eight people here.

Tell me I'm right.

Please tell me I'm right.

I'm sure there's a perfectly
rational explanation for this.

Almonds.

Almonds be buggered.

Cyanide.

I trust you're not going to
unravel on us, Miss Claythorne.

Hysterical women are so boring.

WOMAN [ECHOING]: Thank you for trying.

Thank you for trying.

Thank you. Thank you for trying.

Oh, God. [SOBS]

[BOY SHOUTING]

CYRIL: I want to swim to the rocks!

Cyril, darling, you know you can't.

You're not strong enough.

I am!

Cyril, behave yourself.

Listen to Miss Claythorne, dearest.

No!

OLIVIA: That's incredibly naughty.

I'm so sorry, Miss Claythorne.

Oh, dear. He's getting all worked up.

Cyril, you will make yourself ill.

MAN: What's all this, now?

Uncle Hugo!

I can hear you shouting from
miles away, you young rascal.

OLIVIA: Oh, thank heavens.
In the nick of time.

Olivia, you look
absolutely radiant, as ever.

Mm. Empty flattery.

I'm completely raddled
and utterly hideous.

I don't believe I've had the pleasure.

OLIVIA: Hugo, this is Miss Claythorne,

who was doing so much to
help Cyril in the schoolroom.

[WAVES BREAKING,
BIRDS CRYING IN DISTANCE]

[DOOR CLOSES]

Have you been for a paddle, General?

What are you, Lombard?

A mercenary?

Gun for hire?

Soldier?

Not from any army I'd recognize,
but still a soldier of sorts.

You don't need to worry about what I am.

There's always a moment, isn't there?

Before the attack, the advance,
the bombardment, the chaos.

A moment of absolute calm.

Listen.

Doesn't this feel like… that moment?

I was never a man for calm, General.

We can't see the harbor from here.

Which means they can't see us.

We are cut off.

Rats in a barrel.

This is the peace before the carnage.

People do not just die for no reason.

They die because something
was done to them by someone.

There's a Fenian sat over
there with a bloody gun!

MACARTHUR: No one's coming for us.

This is the end.

Don't you dare touch my possessions!

VERA: What have you got to hide?

The whole morning, clearing up guts.

You've got some right brass neck.

We are all being hunted.

There's someone else on this island,

and when I find him, I'm
gonna make him number 22.