Original subtitles

MILITARY DRUM PLAYS

BELL DINGS

Dearest Mother, I write to you with a heavy, heavy heart...

..to tell you that I will not be able to attend Dad's funeral.

I applied to my superior officers in Cairo

to grant me compassionate leave.

For reasons they didn't care to explain,

this permission was denied to me.

As I am sure you can imagine, Ma,

this unexplained refusal

left me in a poor frame of mind.

And has led me to become somewhat aggrieved.

SHOCKED SCREAMING

Fuck it!

KICKS FURNITURE

Apologies, ladies and gentlemen.

But GHQ Cairo has got my fucking goat.

Calm down.

Hold it there.

MUSIC: Rip It Up by Adolescents

CRUNCHING

GLASS SMASHING

This is for my da.

My poor fucking da.

GUN COCKS Enough! Let it go.

You've got a visitor.

COUGHS

RETCHES AND COUGHS

SPITS

# If they wanted a man

# To encourage the van

# Or harass the foe from the rear

# Or to take a redoubt

# They would always send out

# For Abdul Bulbul Ameer... #

Please don't bother to salute.

I won't.

Leave us. Yes, sir.

Who...the fuck...

..are you?

I'm Lieutenant Colonel Bill Stirling.

David Stirling's older brother.

Cigarette?

David sends his warmest regards

from Gavi prisoner-of-war camp in Northern Italy.

You can stand at ease. I am at ease.

Why don't we sit down, eh?

Major Mayne, I've come here to ask you to help me

stop GHQ from disbanding your regiment

and sending all of your men back to their parent units.

Which they are planning to do in the next two days

if we don't do something to stop them.

The nature of the war has changed.

They're looking for an excuse to stand you down

and, at the moment, YOU are that excuse.

You don't look like him.

I'm more patient. Less rash.

More thoughtful.

Less impulsive.

You will think that I'm soft

and then snap. Snap?!

CHUCKLING: Oh...

Oh, I'd fucking love to see snap.

And I would quite like for us to talk as two soldiers.

Two adults, not two reputations.

As far as I'm aware, you don't have a reputation.

Because for the past two years

I've been working for British military intelligence.

Our very existence is secret.

So we're not allowed the luxury of reputations.

Now, do you want to save the SAS, or not?

CLEARS THROAT

You know, when your brother came in these places,

I listened to him because he earned my respect.

Earned.

Like when you're a kid and your da asks you to chop wood...

I heard what happened regarding your father's funeral...

..and you chop the wood, you chop the whole fucking tree...

When I learned they refused you compassionate leave...

..and your da hands you a shilling and says... ..I blew my top.

.."You earned that, Paddy, my boy. My son.

"My sweet son. You earned that for your efforts."

Whereas you, as far as I am aware, have chopped no trees,

picked up no axe, fed no fucking fires,

done nothing to earn my respect.

You blew your top?

Is that what you just said?

Is that how you speak?

You "blew your top"?!

Well, fucking believe you me, I blew my top as well.

I blew the top off fucking Cairo.

And in doing so, you made some of your critics very, very happy.

Oh, fuck.

I've got so much rum and raki inside of me

turning into blood and vinegar...

..I need to either shit or throw up, my body can't decide which.

RATTLES BARS I need a bucket in here!

KEYS JINGLE

I've already secured your release.

You can use the lavatory on the way back to your unit.

If the SAS still exists.

Obviously there are no doors.

So...

..if you want to watch me do

whatever the fuck it is I'm about to do...

CHUCKLES ..be my fucking guest.

Something for you to read and then wipe your arse with.

This memorandum contains two paragraphs.

The first states that now the military campaign

against the Axis powers is moving from Africa to Europe,

ill-disciplined rogue brigades like the SAS...

There are no brigades like the SAS.

PADDY GROANS

..rogue brigades operating behind enemy lines will become redundant

and will be a liability.

Oh...fuck.

The second paragraph states that the commanding officer of the SAS,

Robert Blair Paddy Mayne,

is experiencing difficulties with command.

GROANS

This is what I heard in a bar in GHQ from someone with influence.

"Paddy Mayne is an Irishman of poor temperament.

"Unused to command, unhappy with authority, unable to change."

And without doubt, last night's events will be used as proof.

And might I just add, my experience

working in military intelligence makes me think

they refused you leave to attend your father's funeral

purely to make you react in the way that you did.

Thus proving their point.

You played into their hands, Paddy.

Take a look in the mirror.

You know, don't you,

that "military intelligence" is a contradiction in terms?

Look in the mirror, Paddy... Mirrors are for those

who do not know themselves.

You could be looking at the commanding officer of a new unit.

A re-purposed tool.

A unit that will become the pointed tip of the arrow of invasion.

You should write that stuff down, I'd wipe my arse with that too.

The next stage of this war is invasion.

Taking territory inch by fucking inch.

And some poor bastards have to be the first on the beach,

the first across the river, the first through the door.

Taking the worst of it, the fury, the wall of fire.

I have suggested to GHQ that

those poor bastards who go first could be you.

You, Paddy Mayne, could be the first Allied commander

to set foot in Nazi-occupied Europe.

The very first.

But I need to convince GHQ that the Irishman CAN change.

The Irishman can obey orders.

My brother was the midwife of this regiment.

I refuse to be its coroner.

Agree to be redefined as

a flying commando unit at the sharp end of invasion...

..and the SAS will survive.

RADIO STATIC This is the BBC.

And now here is the...

RADIO RETUNES, SNATCH OF MUSIC

..the RAF attacked German cities setting off a series of fire...

RADIO STATIC

JAUNTY MUSIC PLAYS

DOOR OPENS

FOOTSTEPS

Red. Bien sur, madame.

SIGHS

What?

It seemed disrespectful to use an umbrella in such beautiful weather.

I love the rain.

What, always, or ever since...?

Ever since.

On my third day of walking across the desert, I dreamed about rain.

I could feel it on my face and I licked it from my lips.

I will never again waste a drop.

Thank you.

The wagon is bumpy and uncomfortable, and incredibly boring,

where you remember everything and there's nothing worth remembering.

But I am still on it.

SHE SIGHS AIRILY

Shall we? Mm-hm.

Something new.

And there's something old.

Some lies,

uncomfortable truths.

Oh, and here's a new idea of mine

that I thought you might find amusing.

A request from General de Gaulle.

A suggestion.

More complaints.

And an invitation.

Oooh...!

A cocktail party at The Ritz.

I thought you could be my partner.

Presented by the "Portuguese friends of America".

That means there will be bourbon and swing music.

On the evening of the ninth of July.

Hmm.

Is that date problematic for you?

Er, no. No, not at all.

No, I'd be delighted to join.

If you're resorting to me as a partner,

you must still be alone in London.

And will be until David returns.

I assume he writes to you every day?

When he first found out that I survived, he wrote every day.

Now he's concentrating on finding ways to escape.

But I see his brother William has been busy.

You know, if I didn't know you were such a consummate professional,

I'd swear you only skim those briefing pages

to find references to the SAS.

Except this document refers to the SRS.

Bill Stirling is the Stirling

who did not fall from tree and land on his head.

He's changed the name of the regiment. Mm-hm.

And given them a new and even more effective way of committing suicide.

The Special Raiding Squadron.

Paddy Mayne swallowed the concept, of course.

Because deep in his soul, Paddy's still a little boy

in the headmaster's office,

and those Scottish toffs scare him to death.

First on the beach.

David will be very jealous.

Well, if David has any sense at all, he'll be mightily relieved

he's safely tucked away in an Italian prisoner-of-war camp.

The European campaign is going to make Africa

look like a fucking tea party.

So, Paddy Mayne had better be whipping

that unruly mob of his into shape.

MUSIC: Night Boat to Cairo by Madness

Come on! You English fucker!

I will part your arse... Yeah, yeah?

..and pull out your fucking giblets!

Look, you Scotch cunt, I like a row as much as anyone else,

but sometimes you need to stop

and have a fucking sit down, all right?! Yep, you're on.

Is that English for "I surrender"?

Shut the fuck up!

I surrender!

Reg! Reg! We're already late to the briefing.

Paddy Mayne don't give a fuck about late.

Paddy Mayne don't give a fuck about anything

so long as the job gets done.

All right. All right? Let's do it.

BARKING

I asked you very politely to stay in the truck.

Up.

Withers, you're going to have to get used to not being with me.

Hey, sit.

Good boy.

OK. Better tell it to you straight before the others get here.

You can't come with me to Europe.

We've been given orders and we are shipping out.

I found a family that will take you in.

WITHERS WHINES

I have no choice.

It's an official secret, so don't tell anyone,

but we are shipping out tomorrow.

Destination unknown.

It's a big ship at first, but then lots of small boats.

Tiny boats, 12 men each.

No room for a dog.

WITHERS CRIES

If you want the truth...

..I think it's a suicide mission.

Will you stop looking at me like that?

Look, three days from now,

I'll probably be lying in a slick of my own blood

somewhere in the Mediterranean.

But if you stay here, goat's meat...

..plus they'll let you eat all the lizards you can catch.

If it's easier,

I could shoot him for you.

Or I could shoot you.

There'll be dogs in Sicily.

Sicily?

You see, that is why I am unsuited to command.

I cannot keep a secret.

Sit! Sit! Stay!

If you want me to talk to the dog, I talk dog.

No, I have already explained everything to him, sir.

Problem is, I think that he thinks that he is in charge of us.

Ah, pretty soon you'll wish it was him in charge and not me.

I already do.

Are we on time or early?

We're on time. So where the fuck is everybody?

You know, I actually think that the new intake might be worse than us.

Ah, behold.

The sharp tip of the arrow of invasion.

Right, yous. Come here to me.

CHATTERING

Lads!

THEY QUIETEN

For two months now,

I've been marching you round and round Lake Throw-Up,

and up and down Mount Shite The Bucket.

And for two months yous have been cursing me

and putting me in your crosshairs, just aching to squeeze the trigger.

Well, in ten minutes from now,

yous are going to hate me good and proper.

You die in the desert,

you get eaten by birds.

You die at sea and you get eaten by sardines,

and your granny finds your fingernail

in a tin she bought at the Co-op.

LAUGHTER

Yeah, well, sardines live in the ocean by Sardinia, Paddy.

This looks a lot like a map of Sicily to me, lad.

LAUGHTER It looks like a...

..like a pig's head.

That is exactly right.

Capo Murro Di Porco.

Cape of the pig's snout.

They're sending us to get chewed up by a great big Italian pig.

Looks like it's Sicily for the holidays then.

Who gave you permission to speak?

ALL: Ohhhh!

New intake, listen fucking here.

Any men recruited after December 1942,

keep your fucking mouths shut!

Unless you are addressed directly by a man with sand under his foreskin

from previous exchanges with hostile forces...

Actually, I haven't got a foreskin, sir.

MEN CHEER AND WHOOP

Now you don't have a pipe.

I told you not to smoke that camel shite around me.

Angel!

Hey, sweetie! Coo-coo, coo-coo!

I swear to God this eejit is out his head on something.

Permission to eat a biscuit.

Whoever is giving him whatever it is he's taking, fucking stop.

All this talk of fucking pigs and sardines, it's making me hungry.

Mad fucker.

Why don't you send him back to whichever fucking Scotch swamp

you got him from? Eh?

Because....because...!

..our next mission is utter fucking madness.

So we will require the services of madmen.

Thank you, boss. And on that note,

I would love to go home, by the way, Sergeant Happy Face.

I'll put you on a boat myself, mate.

Oh, great, you going to be the captain, eh?

Yeah, I'll be the fucking captain.

You're like a wee kettle. You what? Boiling with anger.

Close your mouth! Go on, Reg!

I don't need to see the biscuits in it. Get in there, Reg! Go on.

How about you shut up?! Hey, come on then!

Shh! ALL SHOUTING

GUNSHOT

Worse than the kids, you two.

One minute from now,

a Lieutenant Colonel is going to walk into this tent

and brief you about tomorrow.

Which might well be your last day on Earth.

The nature of our role in this war has changed

and I have agreed to that change.

That sign up there, "Fuck off SAS",

could've been written by General Montgomery himself.

It was actually catering.

Aye, well, the sentiment from on high is the same.

In Roman times, they would send in wild dogs

to attack the enemy line before they sent in any human soldiers.

But these days it would be considered cruel to use dogs.

So they are going to use us.

I said we would be OK with that,

since the task we have been given

is the liberation of Europe from the Nazis.

The man in the shiny wee boots will give you the details.

I will give you the words of William Blake.

Had I three lives I'd die in such a cause,

And rise, with ghosts, over the well-fought field.

Prepare, prepare.

Prepare to meet our fathers in the sky.

Listen, boys.

The inexorable, unstoppable approach

to the new way of war.

Sit up! Come to attention!

What did he say?

Something about wanting attention.

At ease, men.

BARKING

Cor, blimey.

Always trust the judgment of a dog.

What did you say?

Nothing.

It was my dog.

He's saying hello to you.

LAUGHTER

Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Colonel William Stirling.

WITHERS CONTINUES TO BARK

The less famous brother to the brother we made famous.

GROWLING AND BARKING

At least please have the dog removed, Paddy.

Do you want all the dogs in here removed, sir?

Because there are 35 of us.

Well, just...

..quieten him down then, yes?

Woof woof! Shh.

What the hell is that?

The catering staff who have been dealing with our reasonable

demands for drink and our varying opinions on how you cook a goat

left it there for us by way of a fond farewell.

The feeling is mutual.

I left a Lewes bomb in their oven.

When it warms up, they'll be blown to hell.

That was a joke, yes?

Johnny doesn't make jokes.

But he does blow things up.

Right. I'm Lieutenant Colonel Bill Stirling and...

A fucking rat!

Mind yourself, Bob.

ALL CHEER

Vermin like the German, eh, lads? LAUGHS

Sorry, sir. Good shot.

Do carry on.

My name is Bill Stirling

and I'm the new liaison between this unit and GHQ.

First of all, let me just say, I am not my brother.

And I am not your commanding officer.

No, put your hand down.

No, no, no. Let him speak.

I like your boots, Bill.

These fuckers here,

these Englishmen, are strangers to polishing brushes.

But I am guessing you are Scottish, huh?

By your boots.

Aye?

Mm.

I am not your commanding officer,

but I do intend to be honest with you.

My brother told me you appreciate honesty.

So tomorrow you deploy here,

the south-eastern tip of Sicily.

And, according to a confidential GHQ report,

which I'm sharing with you against their orders,

the assault on the Italian defences

will result in a casualty rate,

which we estimate will be around 50%.

Is that 50% dead or dead and wounded?

Dead.

I'm...being honest with you,

because my brother told me you appreciate honesty.

Aye, you've said that.

My brother told me that... My brother likes tractors.

But I get on with my own life as myself.

My men would like to get a drink in before they die.

Why don't you give us a briefing?

We don't dilly-dally.

Just ask your brother.

Very well.

Men of the newly formed Special Raiding Squadron...

ALL: SAS!

Now and always!

Whatever your title, this is what your future holds.

On the morning of the tenth of July,

the largest amphibious assault force ever assembled

will gather for the start of the liberation of Europe.

3,000 ships carrying 160,000 soldiers

will deploy the British Eighth Army under General Montgomery

and the US Seventh Army under General Patton.

Aboard the Ulster Monarch

you'll be ahead of the main fleet, leading the way.

Now, before the main force deploys,

you will carry out the initial assault on the coastal defences.

Reconnaissance has identified a mixture of fortified

heavy machine gun nests, heavy and light artillery,

barbed wire and minefields,

manned by two regiments of Italian coastal infantry.

If these defences are not taken out before dawn,

the main attack on the coast of Sicily will be cut to pieces.

This will be the very first mission for the newly formed SRS.

Therefore...

..the successful launch of the campaign to liberate Europe...

..is now in your hands.

Oh, nice.

Suit.

Oh, forget it.

CLOCK ALARM BELL RINGS

RINGING STOPS

Paddy.

We go in one hour.

We should get the men ready.

Men, get ready.

Is that all right?

My men don't need me to tell them to be ready.

They are always ready.

Now, lads...

..listen up.

I have some rather shite news for you.

One hour ago,

19:15 hours,

three squadrons of gliders took off from Tunisia

and are now in the skies above our heads.

They are carrying soldiers...

..who will land in the interior of the island,

cut off communications and supply lines

after we have reached the cliffs,

and be ready to halt the inevitable Italian retreat.

However, since American-made gliders

are quite similar to paper aeroplanes,

some of them have fallen short

and crashed into the Mediterranean.

Get out!

Get out!

This will not be a good outcome for those men onboard.

As a result of this,

as we make our way at speed toward the snout of the Sicilian pig...

..you will encounter soldiers...

..British soldiers, adrift at sea

with very little chance of rescue.

And you will do nothing to help them.

I repeat,

you will do nothing to help those British soldiers

who will pass within a few feet of you.

Instead, you will leave them to drown.

That is an order.

And in the new order of things...

..orders will be fucking obeyed.

Outstretched hands...

..cries for help...

..cries for Mama...

..cries in the name of God, will not slow your landing craft down,

because if you do, our mission will be delayed

and it will fail.

You will not jeopardise the success of the liberation of Europe

with acts of mercy.

Any man who disobeys this order

will face court-martial and my own wrath.

Is that clear?

I said, is that fucking clear?

ALL: Yes, sir!

These are the last moments of your lives when you won't

have images of drowning men stuck inside your head.

Make the most of these moments.

Yous have an hour.

Right, you heard the man!

We have one hour to get our shit together!

Reg!

Let's go.

OK.

This time, I mean it.

You are staying on the ship...

..and I will return.

And if I don't....

..then I was never really that great.

I wish I was the man that you think I am.

Stay close to the fat guy in the big white hat.

Not three. Get over there. They said two.

That's two lines per boat. Line up now.

Yes, sir.

What's up? All right, get cracking. Ready your weapons.

Form up by the nets.

First man over the side and into the landing craft.

Don't be slow about it.

DISTANT SCREAMING

Help!

Help! Help!

Fucking hell!

Stop the boat!

Paddy, there's lads dying out there. Please.

# Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled... #

I don't want to die!

We can't hold on much longer!

Save us!

Please!

Hey!

Over here!

Please!

Over here!

I've a baby I've never seen!

Help me!

Please!

Help!

Help! Come back!

Come back!

Oh!

Come back!

# Wha for Scotland's king and law...#

Paddy, we've got room. No mercy.

SCREAMING

Don't let go!

Where are you going, you bastard?!

In the name of God, help!

# Tyrants fall in every foe...#

Oh, my God!

Stop!

Come back! Come back!

Where are you going?

Please!

Where are you going?

# Let us do or die! #

In the name of God, save us!

Come back!

Where are you going?

THUMPING

Please, stop the boat!

Stop the boat!

Stop the boat, please don't...

THUMPING

Stop the boat!

Seekings... Don't, don't.

Stop the boat!

Help me!

Please!

Paddy, please.

Cut him loose.

Help me!

When I give the order, don't look back.

We have orders.

Please!

Cut him loose or I shoot him.

Don't.

Don't do that, please.

Paddy, wait!

Please don't do that.

Don't do that, please, don't do that!

Paddy! Please, don't do that, please.

Sorry, lad, I'm sorry.

Please, don't do that!

No!

Please!

They were fucking drowning, Paddy.

That's on you, that, Paddy.

Please!

Please, come back!

Come back!

20 yards to range of enemy guns.

Prepare!

RIFLE FIRE

RIFLE FIRE

Go, go, go, go!

THEY SHOUT

Go, go, go!

Fuck it, Paddy, let's go.

Take the right, on the right. Go!

Hey, McDiarmid! On me!

To the left.

Get closer!

Take your bags off!

In the dark and chaos above

the call between us will be Desert Rats!

The only acceptable response

is kill Italians!

ALL: Kill Italians!

Kill Italians! Kill Italians.

Prepare to move!

Ready!

EXPLOSION

Move!

THEY SHOUT

JAZZ MUSIC PLAYS

JAZZ MUSIC AND GUNSHOTS

Thank you, sir. Thank you.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Now for something a little slower paced.

Introducing The Nearness Of You.

Something important?

Eve, when you made a point of inviting me

to a completely inconsequential cocktail party

taking place on the night of July ninth...

You suspected that I knew something that no member of the

French Government was supposed to know.

Your reaction to the date on the invitation

confirmed what I suspected.

Without vodka, I'm somewhat worse at my job.

But where did you get July ninth?

An American ship heading south

docked in Lisbon for repairs.

A sailor got drunk.

A date was mentioned.

I have friends in the Portuguese Embassy.

My suspicion was that on July ninth something was planned

which you were not sharing with your French allies.

My dear, in our bi-weekly meetings in the pub,

I'm simply not allowed to tell you everything.

In fact, you don't tell me anything.

"My dear".

Just tell me.

Has the invasion of Europe begun?

PADDY: Yes, come on, move it!

Left flank!

Take out that pillbox!

Cover my back!

Hurry up!

Covering!

Move, move, move!

Jock, get down, man!

Empty!

Aargh!

Mad fucker!

Fucking bastards!

Aargh!

What are you ladies waiting for?!

May I ask for a dance, Ma'am?

No, thank you.

Thanks anyway, Ma'am.

You made your call?

You have news?

It's gone midnight.

You can tell me.

Where it just you and I, trust would not be an issue.

Trust? Trust requires good faith.

Trust requires an absence of prejudice

and I'm afraid when it comes to General de Gaulle,

there is no absence of prejudice in Whitehall,

and certainly not with the Americans,

who are now calling the shots.

And now the shots are being fired.

Well, you knew it was coming.

You just didn't know where or when.

I tried to tell my superiors,

but they insisted that the British and Americans

would never embark on such an operation without our knowledge.

Well, perhaps next time they'll listen to you.

Won't be no next time.

Not for me.

Not with you.

Look, if you're interested...

..it is the SRS who are spearheading the operation.

And the news is...

..they're hard at work.

Thank you.

Aargh!

Jock, enough! Get down!

Hold fire!

On me, lad!

You got it!

Careful, boys.

You bastards!

Men down!

Reg! Reg!

Get down! Stand fast!

Seekings!

What is he doing?

Cover him! Cover him! Cover him!

Get those men to safety.

Come on, man. Fucking hell!

Go, go, go!

Fucking...!

Aargh!

Mancato.

THEY LAUGH

IN ITALIAN:

I'll prossimo colpo pulito.

We left those men to drown!

So they're on our conscience!

Killing them's none of your fucking business!

Don't shoot!

We surrender.

They think there's more of us than there are. Aye.

Because nobody would be so stupid

as to attack an entire fucking continent with 35 men.

Fuck Germans!

Welcome, America!

We're not fucking Americans.

Should I shoot them for that?

No.

That'll do. Lay down on the ground.

Tutto a terra.

Paddy!

Go!

Grenade!

SCREAMING

Christ!

Clear!

Clear!

Fucking knew you'd come in handy.

Thank you, boss.

Just walk and keep your rifle on them, lad.

No need to pray, sugar pie.

If I wanted you dead, you'd be fucking dead already.

Don't move! Stay down!

Are they alive?

Just flesh wounds, Paddy.

They'll be all right.

Yous did very fucking well.

Including you new boys.

But remember, this is just the snout.

It is our job to take the whole fucking hog

right the way up to the tail.

Search them.

Take weapons only.

McDiarmid, you sit on your fucking hands.

Take the bunker!

Stand up.

Right, round them up, chaps.

Get up! Get up! Fucking move!

Move in, move in.

Kershaw, easy!

SHOUTING

Come on in, boys.

Come and take all the fucking glory.

This is the BBC, London calling.

Good news.

One of the signals officers in three block has a home-made radio.

He just heard - the invasion of Europe has begun.

The game has started.

And they say your boys of the SAS scored the very first goal.