All language subtitles for Fleming.2014.S01E031080p.BluRay.x264-DON_track4_[eng]

Thank God for petty cash.

Fleming, you can't.

War is not some entertainment
laid on for your amusement.

I mean, what's the use of a war

if I'm stuck behind a bloody desk
for the entire thing?

All I need is a radio operator
and a car.

Ian's a puzzle.

Would it matter
if I really loved him?

What do you want from me?

You like that?

Intelligence Commandos.

If the Germans have them,
we need them too.

- It's a bloody good idea.
- Thank you.

Well done.

Seven minutes.

- Not far off the record.
- Yes.

Unfortunately...

You're dead.

How did I measure up?
Be brutally honest.

Not bad for a pen pusher.

But if they ever cleared you
for front line duty,

you'd have to ease off on the booze.
Doctor's orders.

And no more smoking.

At Camp X,
we train the best of the best,

men in the peak of physical condition.

This isn't a holiday resort.

If you're serious about this
Intelligence Commando unit of yours,

you'll need to understand that.

In the training documents,
you mentioned the K Protocol.

- What is it?
- K Protocol is a final test.

We put allied agents through it
before we send them into the field.

What does it involve?

Sorry. K Protocol is top secret.

You might have to do it yourself,

if they ever let you out
from behind that desk.

Colonel William Donovan,
US Intelligence coordinator.

Commander Ian Fleming, Royal Navy.

I've heard a lot about you.

I've heard a lot about you too.

But I decided to meet you anyway.

Sit down.

- You sure you won't join us?
- I've given up.

So we finally got
what we were asking for.

Roosevelt's given his blessing.

All U.S. Intelligence work,

Army, Navy, FBI, under one roof.

- A Central Intelligence Agency.
- Exactly.

Well, that's all very well,

but if you don't have
the right structure in place,

then nothing will change.

You chaps are exactly
where we were three years ago.

A complete bloody shambles.

You see?

You really don't give a shit
about offending anyone, do you?

Okay.

How about I give you the chance
to offend us all royally?

Why don't you commit some of
these precious ideas of yours to paper?

Write me a blueprint for this CIA.
You think you can handle that?

I dare say I could.

You've been running Secret Ops
since '39. Impressive.

So who knows,
maybe we can learn something.

This is pretty good, and fast.

I thought it'd take you weeks.

Where do you get your ideas from?

My own imagination, mainly.

And the help of a few trusted friends.

You're in the wrong line of work.

This is a real page-turner.

You're wasted on the Brits.

You should join the winning team.

Ah, so you're back.

How was Canada?

Did they give you any ideas on
how to run your own private army?

Possibly.

- Miss me?
- Not much.

- Fleming, isn't it?
- Where is the old boy?

I haven't got time
to deal with this now.

Tell Harris I'll call him back.

I passed all my tests.

- Flying colours, if you'd like to know.
- Not what I heard.

But you never let facts
get in the way of a good story.

Now that you're back, I need you
to concentrate on the matter in hand.

We're losing this war.

And not just against Germany.
The RAF have scented blood too.

Bomber Harris would
give his eye teeth to be rid of me.

He's getting away with murder

and we're the ones
getting it in the neck.

Perhaps it would be better

to put your Intelligence Commandos
on the back burner.

No, absolutely not.

Harris will except us to be cautious,
so we go on the offensive.

When presented with two paths,
always take the riskier.

Those commandos will be prepared
to do the unthinkable.

That's how you get results!

If we give Bomber Harris
a bloody nose in the process,

- well, all's fair in love and war.
- True.

What do you think
the other services will make of that?

They won't like it one bit.

I don't suppose they bloody will.

Two and six please, guv'nor.

- Thank you.
- Thank you, sir.

I used more than six inches
of bath water.

You won't tell, will you?

What are you doing with that?

I could ask you the same question.

Very poignant, lyrical.

Rather romantic, in its way.
A chocolate sailor with a soft centre.

So who's the lucky girl
who inspired these musings?

I didn't know you were a poet.

I'm not.

At least we agree on something.

- I think you're spying on me.
- That's what you do, isn't it?

You were never going to surrender
anything willingly.

So I just had to go in and take it.

All's fair in love and war.

You're not angry at me, are you?

Not at all.

In fact, I rather admire your cunning.

But you still deserve...

A good spanking!

Ah! Again!

I don't know why
you're still seeing Esmond.

He's rich, good-looking.

There are many reasons to be with him.

Is he as good in bed as me?

- Are you jealous?
- Not in the least.

Actually, I thought I'd pay him a visit.

He's invited me out shooting.

Being the other man
gives me rather a lot of...

- Latitude.
- Isn't it time we stopped playing games?

I suppose I shall never
leave my husband.

And you're a coward, just like me.

Heroic's best left to your brother,
don't you think?

Cigarette?

I told you,

I've given up.

How was your trip abroad?

I can't really talk about it.

I'm sure you'll understand.

You are a riddle.

Ann and her friends talk of nothing
but Commander Fleming.

Running The Mail gives
one privileges, of course.

Every whisper, every rumour in town
eventually reaches my ears.

I even know about you.

We're at war, Esmond.

Do you not think
that requires some discretion?

Mmm.

I lost Harold and Vere in the Great War.

Both brothers.
Both within weeks of each other.

Horrible business.

But it made one realise
what's important in life.

Ann means everything to me.

I'd trade all this.
This estate, the newspapers,

even my family's good name, for her.

For love.

- I wonder if you can understand that.
- Yes, of course.

I read a lot of trashy novels.

I'm sorry, that was cheap.

Oh, come on, Esmond. She's married.

Why rock the boat?
A man of your standing.

Christ!

Fetch that, would you?

There's a chap.

Missed.

Come on. We'll be late for lunch.

Weaver.

No.

Branson.

He's too short.

Cowie.

Impressive.

And yet...

Stand down, Cowie.

We've seen 133 soldiers.
A1 fitness, exemplary records.

None of them suits you.

May I ask what criteria
Second Officer Monday is using

to make her selection?

Female intuition.

Where's this Private Dixon?

During a live fire exercise,
Private Dixon was captured.

He tried to escape.
And upon being restrained,

broke the arm of one man,
the nose of another,

and made his way back to his own team.

He's charged with two counts of GBH,

further charge
of disobeying a lawful order,

drunkenness, absence without leave.

Oh, you missed one out.

Assaulting an officer.

After re-joining your team,
did they win or lose?

Win, sir.

Are you out of your mind?

Private Dixon has A1 fitness,
20/20 vision, single, crack shot,

and a total disregard for authority.

We'll take him.

More of the same please, Major Samuels.

Mother bet me
you wouldn't last a week.

I'm only smoking out of politeness.

Anyway, I hope you told her
to mind her own bloody business.

I do try to fight your corner with her.
I know you'd stick up for me, too.

Mmm.

We've been at war
since we were nine years old.

We're like allies facing
an insuperable enemy.

Cold, ruthless and unstoppable.

I sometimes wonder why they don't send
our mother to the front.

She'd have this bloody mess
cleaned up in days.

I don't think even Adolf deserves that.

I can't believe
you've taken on a desk job.

You must've wanted to kill her.

Of course.

I just didn't show it.

You've never really talked
about your time in the field.

Now you wonder
why I don't talk about it.

Because it's bloody messy.

What is it like to kill a man?

Well, it's not something
I'd like to shout about,

but you always did like
the grisly details.

You really want to know?

Hmm.

Your palms sweat.

You feel blood pumping, you feel faint,
but every moment is crisp and clear.

Some people can pull the trigger,
some can't.

It's horrible.

I think I'd be rather good at it.

Come on, you bastards!

Get your fucking heads down!

Congratulations.

You've survived training,

by being more vicious,
more cutthroat than anyone else.

You're now ready to go on your mission
behind enemy lines.

Chances are none of us
will come back alive.

But so what?

Most of you don't care
whether you live or whether you die,

and that is why you've been chosen.

You're rejects, the worst of the worst.

All your lives you've been told
that you're no bloody good.

Well, now here's a chance
to prove them wrong.

Wreak havoc with the enemy. Spread fear.

Then maybe, just maybe, we have a chance
of winning this bloody war.

Ceasefire!

30 Assault Unit.

They won't be bound
by the usual red tape.

Secrecy, speed, cunning, ambush.

That's the way they'll operate.

You can see
why I call them my Red Indians.

I don't know what effect
they'll have on the enemy,

but they bloody terrify me.

This is the blacklist of targets,

requests from every department
for information.

Ciphers, plans, machinery,
orders of battle.

So we know what we're looking for

once we hit the ground in Algiers
with Patton's boys.

You seem to be under the impression
you're going with them.

Well, I am their commanding officer.
I thought we agreed.

Technically yes,
but I need you here with me.

This whole unit was my idea.
If there's something I've missed...

Look, the idea to put
this unit together was inspired.

A real breakthrough.

It's the only reason I'm putting myself
in the firing line.

But some men just aren't suited
to life in the field.

You can lead them from London.

I'm sorry, that's my final word.

Another thinly-veiled hatchet job
by that unspeakable woman

in the Express yesterday. Unbelievable.

Of course, things would be
so much simpler if we were married.

One club.

Loelia thinks I should get a divorce.

You don't love your husband.

There is Esmond
hopelessly in love with you.

Filthy rich, powerful, good to look at.

I can't see why you'd hesitate.

Two spades.

Divorce is a dreadful idea.

Betrayal.

Unthinkable.

No bid.

- That's a bit strong, isn't it?
- Come on, Esmond.

You know how this works.

Shane wouldn't grant a divorce.

You'd have to force his hand,
expose yourself to the press.

Complete scandal.

Reputation in tatters.

No more dinners at Number 10.

Three spades.

No bid.

Pass.

No bid.

Would you excuse me a moment?

Gosh.

So steely and cruel. What a catch!

Yes, I assure you, Mother.

If I'd known...

If I'd known you were staying here,
I would've...

Yes, I'm downstairs now.

Well, perhaps I could pop up in an hour.

Yes, of course. Right away.

I know what you're doing.

You're not in love with him.

Does my happiness not count?

You don't wanna be happy.
You'd be bored after five minutes.

You know what to do then.

You want me to marry you, do you?

So we can stare at each other
over the breakfast table,

we'll sleep with our backs
to one another, occasionally argue...

That's what you think marriage is like?

So I'll just stay miserable.

How very kind of you.

You see, I'm not designed for marriage.

No.

Evidently not.

So, this is how
the other half lives?

Rather cosy. I wouldn't mind it myself.

Actually, this place is really
going to the dogs.

One bumps into all sorts of people.

Since the war, they let anyone in.
It's a bit like Paddington station.

I presume that means
you've met someone you dislike.

Well, I notice that woman
is staying here.

Ann O'Neill.

I saw her in the lobby yesterday.

Well, I'm not sure that my choice of
bridge partners is any of your concern.

Bridge.

Is that what they call it these days?

I didn't take you for a prude, Mother.

Especially not with your history.

Sit down, Ian.

Everyone knows what that harlot
gets up to behind her husband's back.

Are you in love with her?

Oh, I see.

Can't end well, Ian.

You're a plaything.

A pretty toy
for a spoilt, little rich girl

with a high opinion of herself
and a taste in powerful men.

She'll break you.

Are we done?

Ann and Esmond
decided to make it an early night.

I don't know why.

She tells me, Esmond hasn't come
scratching at her door since Christmas.

How long have you known Ann?

Since we were children, really.

We're almost sisters.

Is that right?

Why are you looking at me like that?

Ian, you dark horse! Who knew?

Ian, please, you're hurting me.

Ian!

What's wrong with you?

I'm sorry.

Look, perhaps you should...

Yes. Perhaps I should.

I think we both know I'm not the one
you wanted in your bed tonight.

Darling, it's fine.

I know it's a beastly situation.

But being so angry
and reckless all the time,

it won't do you any good.

Right.

Now that we've got all that
out of our systems...

I'm famished.

Now, the matter of 30 Assault Unit.

I'm getting complaints.

The Americans can't understand
why our navy is in the desert.

Quite frankly, neither can I.

30 AU is a rogue outfit.

They seem to think
they have a licence to kill.

That's the point, Harris.

Didn't realise you were so squeamish.

This is total war.

I understand that
better than anyone else.

But we need to maintain good relations
with General Patton at all costs.

Perhaps you'd like us to hand over

all our intelligence
to the Americans too.

Don't be so damned impertinent!

Whatever you say, 30 AU has been
a success in Algeria, we all know that.

You'll be hearing a lot more
from them in the future.

I stake my reputation on it.

I'm surprised at you
defending this mob, Godfrey.

But I suppose now we can see
why this 30 AU bunch

is the disorganised rabble it is.

Moving on...

Cholmondeley.

Our aerial reconnaissance shows
the Nazis have anticipated

the next phase in the Allied offensive,
the push into Europe from North Africa.

The obvious target is Sicily.

The Germans
have already begun reinforcing,

so our invasion plans may be unworkable.

We need to persuade them
our target is elsewhere.

Sir...

I propose to
plant fake documents on a body,

drop it into the sea, let it wash up
on shore with false information,

feed it to German Intelligence.

Oh, this is unbelievable!

Keep your boy
on a leash, Godfrey!

Excellent, Cholmondeley.

The dead body, the fake identity,
the false papers, all bloody mine!

Who cares if he stole your idea,
as long as it works.

Don't tell me
you wouldn't have done the same.

At least it shows
they're learning how to fight dirty.

It would be useful if it was against
the fucking Germans, and not their own!

Listen, you're lucky to get out of there
without a court martial.

They're gunning for 30 AU because
it's not the way things are done.

Harris hates the Navy, he hates me.
He wants me and you gone.

So let me handle this,
and don't be so bloody difficult.

They will credit your idea, sir,

when it all goes wrong.

Don't you ever knock?

We should put you behind enemy lines.

Did you bring her here?

- Well, if you really want the details...
- Loelia told me the details.

Then you know it meant nothing.

You did it to hurt me.

Isn't that what you like?

You just used her as a weapon.

Loelia said you'd been complaining.

She said Esmond hasn't fucked you
since Christmas.

How dare you!

- Calm down! Calm down!
- Get off me! No, I won't!

Calm down!

Ow!

My black and blue Annie.

Esmond will never say anything.

He thinks I'll change.

Is this how it goes?

You won't allow yourself to love me.

And I can't love you.

Because as soon as a woman does,

you don't want her any more.

So the only way I can have you,
is to not to have you.

The only way to know
what you really feel is this.

This is how it has to be.

Bit overwrought, didn't you think?

At least I wrote it myself.

You seem unfamiliar with the concept.

Maybe that's why they put
me in charge and not you!

Now, now, gentlemen.
Let's stick to the matter in hand.

I can hear our man's voice.

What he drinks, how he walks,
how he talks.

So we need to feel how he loves too.

See, I want to believe in him.
I want them to believe in him.

We should imagine what he's thinking,
realising he's going to die,

those last few thoughts
rushing through his mind.

The sweetheart that he left behind,
her blond hair, those lips.

You really do have
rather a flair for this, don't you, sir?

A few props.

Fond memories.

Sentimental nonsense, really.

Do we have a photograph?

Our man would have
a picture of his girl.

Yes, I photographed some of the girls
in the corridor in case you might...

Ah.

Yes.

There we have him.

The man who loved...

And lost.

Now all we need is a body.

There's something
oddly familiar about this chap.

Secretly wants to be a writer,
spends more than he earns,

a ladies' man.

Is he trying to give up smoking
by any chance?

I really don't know
what you're talking about.

Rat poison, apparently.

A tramp living rough, probably
ate some bread laced with strychnine.

- No, this isn't our man.
- His teeth.

Our man wouldn't have
rotten teeth, they'd be clean.

Or he'd have them out.

- Maybe a dentist could...
- Don't be ridiculous.

He's malnourished, and those toenails.

I think it's fine.

Once the fish have had a nibble,
who'd know the difference?

I told you a million times,
we have to believe in him totally.

His hopes, his fears,
and especially his bloody teeth.

Short of asking for a volunteer,
and drowning them.

Now, that's the first smart idea
you've come up with all day.

Good of you to offer.

Oh, Mrs Fleming.

How nice to see you.

Lady O'Neill.

For a moment I didn't recognise you.

I could've walked right past you
as if you weren't there.

- Are you here to meet Ian?
- No.

He's up to something.

Winning the war, he says.

Sometimes I think
he just makes it all up.

Ian's always joking.

I can never quite tell
when he's being serious.

Telling the truth
was never his strong point.

I used to find it endlessly amusing.

Actually, I was hoping to bump into you.

I was wondering
if you might be persuaded

to join my benefit committee
for invalided soldiers?

I know war has affected you
and your family.

My boys are both making
a real contribution.

It's only fair
I should try to do my bit too.

Thank you.

- Excuse me, Lady O'Neill.
- Oh.

Thank you.

Excuse me.

Just to warn you, sir,
they haven't been refrigerated.

How many men?

Nearly 400, all told.

- Shall we?
- No time like the present.

Ah. Over here, sir.

- What do you think?
- That he looks a little like you, sir.

Show me his teeth.

That's our man.

There he goes,
the man who never was.

Where did they decide on in the end?

We're invading Greece.

According to his documents,
we're not going anywhere near Sicily.

A bloody good idea.

Whoever came up with it.

Oh, cheer up.

What is it they say?
It's much more disheartening

to have to steal than be stolen from.

Anyway, let's hope they fall for it.

- Good night, sir.
- I was just wondering about him.

- Who?
- Our man that never was.

What would they say about me,
do you think?

A ladies' man?

He filed, he lunched, loved and lost.

At least our man
gets to see some bloody action.

I shouldn't feel
too sorry for yourself, sir.

I know people who've never come back.

I wouldn't want the same thing
to happen to you.

Yes, I suppose you're right.

My filing is bloody good.

Hitler must be quaking in his boots.

Commander Fleming, a message.
Lady O'Neill.

Ann?

What on earth's the matter?

Poor Shane.

Killed in action.

I'm so sorry.

I did love him, you know.

What is it they say?

Death is the best revenge.

Esmond is on his way over.

Really?

- That didn't take him long.
- No, I wanted...

I needed to see you first.

You will survive this.

I'm not interested in surviving.

I'm not interested
in being somebody's widow.

I like being married.

I need to be married.

The question is to who?

You mean, "To whom".

Look, I should go. If Esmond arrives...

I'm no good on my own.

Esmond will give me time to mourn,

but he won't wait forever.

It bloody well worked.

The Germans are redeploying
from Sicily to Greece.

The Spanish picked up the corpse,

the Germans fell for it
hook, line and sinker.

- Good job, Ian.
- Thank you, sir.

Now we just need to get your
indecent assault unit under control.

I've got a pile of complaints
on my desk.

They need a leader.

Put a senior officer
with them out in the field.

- You know my answer.
- I need to go with them.

The war's being fought out there,
that's where I should be.

Give me any test.

If I fail, I'll sit out the war
behind a bloody desk.

If I pass, you send me to Europe
with 30 Assault Unit.

Ever heard of the K Protocol?

Remember your training,
take advantage of conditions.

Make your way to the room.
You'll find a man in there.

He should be alone.

And then?

Kill him.

Now you know what the "K" stands for.

How did he do?

Good job they weren't real bullets.

Don't be too hard on yourself.

I never passed K Protocol either.

I was a thinker not a doer,
perhaps you're the same.

And I have some good news.

30 Assault Unit is being expanded.

They're tripling the size.

More resources,
more freedom of movement.

A massive success.

And the bad news?

They're taking it away from us.

Too many complaints,
too much indiscipline.

- Could be worse, I suppose.
- It is worse.

They're relieving me of my command.

Harris got his way.

30 AU was all the excuse he needed.

I've crossed a line
and I must pay the price.

30 AU was mine.
I'll hand in my resignation.

No.

You have to know when to hold out
and when to fall on your sword.

I've enjoyed our time together.

But I shall fade away
into the background.

In any case, there it is.

Your replacement will be
some faceless timeserver

who won't say boo to a goose.

Yes, you'll have your work cut out
to cause any trouble at all.

But I have faith in you.

Oh, I think I need that cigarette now.

I think you've earned it, sir.

Ann?

It's me.

I need to see you.

Don't do this to me.

Please.

Ann?

Who were you talking to?

It was him, wasn't it?

What's his hold over you?

All this time...

I thought it was your husband
that was the barrier between us.

- But it's Ian, isn't it?
- Don't. Not now.

Tell me, why are you like this?
I want to know.

You're being ridiculous.

Why can't we just be happy? Hmm?

My condolences.

Are you all right?

Esmond.

He's going to ask me to marry him.

One man, a vehicle, that's all I need.

You live in a fantasy world.

Lies and inventions.

Remember me?

This question's becoming
an obsession to you.

We found nothing here. Why?

I want to be married.

My son, he's not for you.

Ian, old chap.

Looks like you might
have a war after all.

Nazi soldiers, they slit your throats,
they keep you alive, just for fun.

I'm a British officer.