All language subtitles for blackadder.s04e04.1080p.bluray.x264-stories

By the centre, quick march!

(MARCHING MUSIC PLAYING)

Eyes right!

Eyes right!

(ON PHONOGRAPH)
# A wandering minstrel

(BOMBS EXPLODING)

(SONG SKIPPING) #A wandering
minstrel I... ...minstrel I

# A thing of shreds and patches

(BOMBS EXPLODING)

# A thing of shreds and...
A thing of... #

-(SHELLS WHISTLING)
-Oh, God! Why do they bother?

Well, it's to kill Jerry, isn't it, sir?

Yes, but Jerry is safe underground
in concrete bunkers.

We've shot off
over a million cannon shells,

and what's the result?

One dachshund with a slight limp.

-(BOMB EXPLODING)
-Shut up!

- (BOMBS CEASE)
-Thank you.

Right, I'm off to bed,
where I intend to sleep

until my name changes to Rip Van Adder.

# And dreamy lullaby #

Ah...

Mmm...

(SIGHING)

(AIRCRAFT PASSING OVERHEAD)

(MACHINE GUN FIRING)

Oh, the bloody Germans!
They can't take a joke, can they?

Just cos we take
a few pot-shots at them,

they have to have an air raid
to get their own back.

Where are our air force?

The men that defend us
against this sort of thing.

(AIRCRAFT FLYING OVERHEAD)

Right! That's it! (GRUNTING)

Hello?

Yes, I'd like to leave a message for
the head of the Flying Corps, please.

To Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh
Massingbird-Massingbird VC, DFC and Bar.

Message reads,
"Where are you, you bastard?"

-Here I am, sir.
-For God's sake Baldrick, take cover!

-Why's that, sir?
-Because there's an air raid going on

and I don't want to have to
write to your mother at London Zoo

and tell her that
her only human child is dead.

All right, sir. It's just that
I didn't know there was an air raid on.

I couldn't hear anything
over the noise of the terrific display

by our wonderful boys
at the Royal Flying Corps, sir.

-What?
-I say, those chaps

can't half thunder
in their airborne steeds!

Can't they just...

Hello, what's going on here?
Game of hide and seek?

Excellent! Right, er,
I'll go and count to 100.

Er, no, better make it five actually.

Oh, it's sardines! Oh, excellent!
That's my favourite one then.

-George!
-Yes, sir?

Shut up and never say anything
again as long as you live.

Right you are, sir!

Crikey, but what a show it was, sir!
Lord Flasheart's Flying Aces.

How we cheered when they spun,
how we shouted when they dived!

How we applauded when one chap
got sliced in half by his own propeller.

Well, it's part of a joke

for those magnificent men
in their flying machines.

(CRASHING)

For "magnificent men"
read "biggest show-offs

"since Lady Godiva entered
the royal enclosure at Ascot,

"claiming she had literally
nothing to wear."

I don't care how many times they go
up-diddly-up-up, they're still gits.

Oh, come on, sir. I'd love to be a flier

up there where the air is clear.

The chances of the air being clear
anywhere near you, Baldrick, are zero.

Oh, sir, it'd be great,
swooping and diving.

- (IMITATING AIRCRAFT NOISE)
-Baldrick...

-Baldrick...
-(CONTINUES IMITATING AIRCRAFT NOISE)

Baldrick, what are you doing?

-I'm a Sopwith Camel, sir.
-Oh, it is a Sopwith Camel.

Ah, all right. I always get confused
between the sound of a Sopwith Camel

and the sound of a malodourous
runt wasting everybody's time.

Now, if you can do without me
in the nursery for a while,

I'm going to get some fresh air.

- (SIGHING)
-Ha! Eat knuckle, Fritz!

(GRUNTING)

How disgusting!
A boche on the sole of my boot.

I shall have to find a patch of grass
to wipe it on.

I'll probably get shunned
in the officer's mess.

"Sorry about the pong, you fellows.

"I trod in a boche
and can't get rid of the whiff."

Do you think we could dispense

with the hilarious
doggie-doo metaphor for a moment?

I'm not a boche.
This is a British trench.

Is it? Ah! That's a piece of luck.

Thought I'd landed sausage-side. Ha!

Mind if I use your phone?

If word gets out that I'm missing,
500 girls will kill themselves.

I wouldn't want them on my conscience,

not when they ought to be
on my face! Ha!

Hi! Flasheart here. Yeah.

Cancel the state funeral,
tell the king to stop blubbing.

Flash is not dead!
I simply ran out of juice.

Yeah, and before
all the girls start saying,

"Oh, what's the point
in living any more?"

I'm talking about petrol! Woof! Woof!

Yeah, I dumped the kite on the proles
so send a car.

Er, General Melchett's driver should do.
She hangs around with the big knobs

so she'd be useful to a fellow like me.
Woof! Woof!

Look, do you think you can make
your obscene phone call somewhere else?

No, not in half an hour,
you rubber-desk-johnny!

Send the bitch with the wheels right now
or I'll fly back to England

and give your wife something
to hang her towels on!

Okay, dig out your best booze and
let's talk about me till the car comes.

Yeah, you must be pretty impressed,

having Squadron Commander
The Lord Flasheart

drop in on your squalid bit of line.

Actually, no. I was more impressed
by the contents of my handkerchief

the last time I blew my nose.

Yeah, like hell. (LAUGHING)

You've probably got little piccies of me

on the walls of your dug-out,
haven't you?

I bet you go all girly
and giggly every time you look at...

(SCREAMS) No, I'm afraid not.

Unfortunately, most of the infantry
think you're a prat.

Ask them who they'd prefer to meet,
Squadron Commander Flasheart

and the man who cleans out
the public toilets in Aberdeen,

and they'd go for Wee Jock
Poo-Pong McPlop every time.

(LAUGHING)

So, when that fellow looped the loop,
I honestly thought that... (STAMMERING)

-My God!
-Yes, I suppose I am.

Lord Flasheart,
this is the greatest honour of my life.

I hope I snuff it right now,
to preserve this moment forever.

It could be arranged.

Lord Flasheart,
I want to learn to write

so I can send a letter home
about this golden moment.

So, all the fellows hate me, eh?

Not a bit of it!
I'm your bloody hero, eh, old scat?

Jesus!

My Lord, I've got every cigarette card
they ever printed of you.

My whole family took up smoking
Just so that we could get the whole set.

My grandmother smoked herself to death
so we could afford the album.

Of course she did.

Of course she did,
the poor love-crazed old octogenarian!

(LAUGHS)

Well, all right, you fellows!

Let's sit us down and yarn about
how amazingly attractive I am.

Yes, would you excuse me for a moment.
I've got some urgent business.

There's a bucket outside
I've got to be sick into.

(SCORNFULLY) Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

All right, you chaps, let's get comfy.

You look a decent British bloke.

I'll park the old booties on you,
if that's okay.

-It would be an honour, My Lord.
-Of course it would, ha!

Ah... Any idea what it's like to have
the wind rushing through your hair?

-No, sir.
- (FARTING)

He has. Lucky devil!

So, I flew straight through
her bedroom window,

popped the box of chocs
on the dressing table,

machine-gunned my telephone number
into the wall,

and then shot off
and shagged her sister.

(SPLUTTERING)

Driver Parkhurst reporting
for duty, My Lord.

Well, well, well,
if it isn't little Bobby Parkhurst!

Saucier than a direct hit
on a Heinz factory.

-I've come to pick you up.
-Well, that's how I like my girls.

-Direct and to my point! Woof!
-Woof!

BOTH: Mmm, mmm...

(BOTH MOANING)

-(GASPING)
-Ah!

Tally ho, then, back to the bar!

You should join
the Flying Corps, George.

That's the way to fight a war.

Tasty tuck, soft beds,
and a uniform so smart,

it's got a PhD from Cambridge.

You could even bring
the breath-monster, here.

Anyone can be a navigator
if he can tell his arse from his elbow.

Well, that's Baldrick out, I fear.

We're always looking for talented types
to join the 20-Minuters.

And there goes George.

Tally ho, then, Bobby! (GRUNTING)

Hush, here comes a whizz-bang,

and I think you know
what I'm talking about.

-Woof!
-Woof!

God, it's like Crufts in here.

I say, sir, what a splendid notion!

The 20-Minuters.

Soft tucker, tasty beds,
fluffy uniforms!

Begging your permission, sir,

but why do they call them
the 20-Minuters?

Ah! Now, yes... Now, this one
is in my Brooke Bond Book of the Air.

Now, you have to, er,
collect all the cards

and then stick them into
this wonderful presentation booklet.

Er... Ah, here we are! 20-Minuters.

Oh, damn! I haven't got the card yet.
Ah, but the caption says,

"Twenty minutes is the average amount
of time new pilots spend in the air."

-Twenty minutes?
-That's right, sir.

I had a 20-hour watch yesterday,

with four hours’ overtime,
in two feet of water.

Well, then, for goodness sake, sir,
why don't we join?

Yeah, be better than just sitting
around here all day on our elbows.

No, thank you. No, thank you.

I've no desire to hang around
with a bunch of upper-class delinquents,

do 20 minutes’ work,

and then spend the rest of the day
loafing about in Paris,

drinking gallons of champagne,

and having dozens of moist, pink,

highly-experienced
young French peasant girls

galloping up and down my...

Hang on...

-(KNOCKING ON DOOR)
-Come!

-Ah, Captain Blackadder.
-Good morning, Captain Darling.

(BLUNTLY) What do you want?

You're looking so well!

I'm a busy man, Blackadder.
Let's hear it, whatever it is.

Well, you know, Darling,

-every man has a dream.
-Hmm...

And when I was a small boy,

I used to watch the marsh warblers
swooping in my mother's undercroft,

and I remembering thinking,
"Will men ever dare do the same?"

And, you know...

Oh, you want to join
the Royal Flying Corps?

Now that's a thought.

-Could I?
-No, you couldn't. Goodbye.

Come on, Darling,
Just give me an application form.

It's out of the question.

This is simply a ruse
to waste five months of training,

after which you'll claim
you can't fly after all,

because it makes your ears go "Pop!"

Come on, I wasn't born
yesterday, Blackadder.

More's the pity, we could have
started your personality from scratch.

So, the training period
is five months, is it?

It's no concern of yours
if it's five years

and comes with a free holiday
in Tunisia, contraceptives supplied!

Besides, they wouldn't admit you.

It's not easy getting transfers,
you know.

Oh, you've tried it yourself, have you?

No, I haven't!

Trust you to try and skive off
to some cushy option.

There's nothing cushy about life
in the Women's Auxiliary Balloon Corps.

Well, then the Bishop said,

"I'm awfully sorry,
I didn't realise you meant organist."

(GEORGE AND MELCHETT LAUGHING)

Thank you, George. (CLEARS THROAT)

At ease, everybody.
Now, where's my map? Come on!

-Sir.
-Thank you.

God, it's a barren,
featureless desert out there, isn't it?

It's the other side, sir.

Hello, George.
What are you doing here?

Me, sir? I just popped in
to join the Royal Flying Corps.

Hello, Blackadder,
what are you doing here?

Me, sir? I just popped in
to join the Royal Flying Corps.

-And, of course, I said...
-"Bravo," I hope, Darling.

Because, you know,
I've always had my doubts

about you trenchy-type fellows.

Always suspected there might be

a bit too much of the battle-dodging,
nappy-wearing,

"I'd rather have a cup of tea than
charge stark naked at Jerry" about you.

If you're willing to join
the 20-Minuters,

then you're all right by me

and welcome to marry my sister any day.

Are you sure about this, sir?

Certainly. You should hear the noise
she makes when she eats a boiled egg!

Glad to get her out of the house.

So, report back here, 090@ hours,
for your basic training.

Crikey, I'm looking forward to today!

Up-diddly-up, down-diddly-down.
Whoops! Poop-twiddly-dee!

Decent scrap
with the fiendish Red Baron,

a bit of the jolly old crash-landing
behind enemy lines.

Capture, torture, escape, and then,
back home in time for tea and medals.

George, who's using
the family brain cell at the moment?

This is just the beginning
of the training.

The beginning of five long months

of very clever,
very dull men looking at machinery.

FLASHEART: Hey, girls,
look at my machinery!

(GIRLS SCREAMING EXCITEDLY)

Enter the man who has no underwear.
Ask me why.

ALL: Why do you have
no underwear, Lord Flash?

Because the pants haven't
been built yet that'll take the job on.

And that's the type of guy who's doing
the training around here. Sit down!

Well, well, well, well, well,
if it isn't old Captain Slack Bladder!

-Blackadder.
-Couldn't resist it, eh, Slack Bladder?

Told you you thought I was great.

All right, men, let's do it!

The first thing to remember
is always treat your kite

like you treat your woman.

How... How do you mean, sir?
You mean, uh...

You mean, take her home
at the weekend to meet your mother?

No, I mean get inside her five times
a day and take her to heaven and back.

I begin to see why the suffragette
movement want the vote.

Hey! Hey!

Any bird who wants
to chain herself to my railings

and suffer a jet movement gets my vote!

Right, well, I'll see you
in 10 minutes for take-off.

Hang on, hang on!

What about the months of training?

Hey, wet-pants, this isn't
the Women's Auxiliary Balloon Corps!

You're in the 20-Minuters now!

-Er, sir, sir.
-Yes, prat at the back?

(LAUGHING) I think
we'd all be intrigued to know

why are you called the 20-Minuters?

Oh, Mr Thick-o!
Imagine not knowing that!

Well, it's simple.

The average life expectancy
for a new pilot is 20 minutes.

Ah!

Life expectancy...
Of 20 minutes.

That's right! Goggles on, chocks away,
last one back's a homo. Hooray!

ALL: Hooray!

So, we take off in 10 minutes,

we're in the air for 20 minutes.

Which means we should be dead
by 25 to 10:00.

Hairy blighters, sir.

This is a bit of a turn-up
for the plus-fours!

You shouldn't worry
about it too much, Blackadder.

Flying's all about navigation.

As long as you've got a good navigator,
I'm sure you'll be fine.

(SNICKERS)

(BLACKADDER AND BALDRICK
HUMMING A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE)

BLACKADDER: Actually,
they're right, this is a doddle.

BALDRICK: Careful, sir.

BLACKADDER: Whoops! Whoops!
A little wobble there.

I'll get the hang of it, don't worry.

All right, Baldrick,
how many rounds have we got?

BALDRICK: Er, 5QQ, sir.
Cheese and tomato for you, rat for me.

GEORGE: I say! Tally bally ho!

-BALDRICK: What's this, sir?
- (BLACKADDER SCREAMING)

BLACKADDER: Baldrick!
Baldrick, will you stop arse-ing about

-and get back in the cockpit!
- (BALDRICK WHOOPING)

BALDRICK: Eh, sir, look, I can see
a pretty red plane from up here.

(BALDRICK WHOOPING)

(MEN SPEAKING GERMAN
AND LAUGHING)

BLACKADDER: Oh, no! Watch out,
Baldrick, it's still right on our tail!

Yes, now this is developing

into a distinctly boring situation.

-Lucky we're still on
our side of the lines.

(BALDRICK SCREAMING)

BLACKADDER: I'll crash land and claim
my ears went "Pop!" first time out.

BALDRICK: Oh, let's hope
we fall on something soft!

BLACKADDER: Fine, I'll try
and aim between General Melchett's ears.

(BALDRICK LAUGHING)

I don't believe it!

A German prison cell!

For two and a half years,
the Western Front

has been as likely to move

as a Frenchman who lives
next door to a brothel!

And last night, the Germans advance
a mile and we land on the wrong side.

Oh, dear, Captain B,
my tummy's gone all squirty.

That's because you're scared, Baldrick,
and you're not the only one.

I couldn't be more petrified
if a wild rhinoceros

had just come home
from a hard day at the swamp

and found me wearing his pyjamas,
smoking his cigars,

and in bed with his wife.

I've heard what
these Germans will do, sir.

They'll have their wicked way
with anything of woman born.

Well, in that case, Baldrick,
you're quite safe.

However, the Teutonic reputation
for brutality is well-founded.

Their operas last three or four days,

and they have no word for "fluffy."

I want my mum!

Yes, it would be good to see her.

I should imagine a maternally outraged
gorilla could be a useful ally

when it comes to the final scrap.

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)

Prepare to die like a man,
Baldrick.

Or as close as you can come to a man

without actually shaving
the palms of your hands.

(IN GERMAN ACCENT) Good evening.

I'm Oberleutnant von Gerhardt.

I have a message
from the Baron von Richtoven,

the greatest living German.

Hmm, which considering
his competition consists entirely

of very fat men in leather shorts,

burping to the tune of
She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain,

is no great achievement.

Quiet!

-And what is your message?
-It is,

"Prepare for a fate worse than death,
English flying fellow."

Well, so it's the traditional
warm German welcome.

Hmm.

Also, he is saying,

"Do not try to escape,
or you will suffer even worse."

A fate worse than
a fate worse than death?

That's pretty bad!

It's just not possible.

Yes, well, you see, it's all
very well for you, isn't it?

Sitting here behind your, behind your,
behind your comfy desk!

Don't you take that tone
with me, Lieutenant,

or I'll have you on a charge
for insubordination!

Well, I'd rather be on a charge
for insubordination

than on a charge of deserting a friend!

-How dare you talk to me like that!
-How dare I?

Now then, now then, now, now then!

Now then, now then, then, now!

Now then, what's going on here?

That damn fool Blackadder has crashed
his plane behind enemy lines, sir.

This young idiot wants to go
and try and rescue him.

It's a total waste of men and equipment!

He's not a damn fool, sir.

-He's a bally hero!
-All right!

All right, all right, all right.

I'll deal with this, Darling.
Delicate touch needed, I sense it.

Now, George...

Do you remember when
I came down to visit you

when you were a nipper,
for your sixth birthday?

You used to have a lovely little rabbit.

Beautiful little thing,
do you remember?

Flossie!

That's right, Flossie.

Do you remember
what happened to Flossie?

You shot him.

That's right.
It was the kindest thing to do

after he'd been run over by that car.

By your car, Sir.

Yes, by my car.

But that, too, was an act of mercy,
when you'd remember that

that dog had been set on him.

-Your dog, sir.
-Yes, yes, my dog.

But what I'm trying to say, George,
is that the state young Flossie was in

after we'd scraped him off
my front tyre,

is very much the state
that young Blackadder will be in now.

If not very nearly dead,
then very actually dead.

Permission for lip to wobble, sir.

Permission granted.

Stout fellow!

But surely, sir, you must allow me
to at least try and save him.

No, George, it would be as pointless
as trying to teach a woman

the value of a good
forward defensive stroke.

Besides, it would take a superman
to get him out of there,

not the kind of weed who blubs

just because somebody gives him a slice
of rabbit pie instead of birthday cake.

-Oh, I suppose you're right, sir
-Of course I am.

Now, let's talk about something
more jolly, shall we?

Look, this is the amount of land
we've recaptured since yesterday.

Oh, excellent.

Um, what is the actual scale
of this map, Darling?

Um... One to one, sir.

-Come again?
-Um...

The map is actually life-size, sir.

It's superbly detailed.

-Look, there's a little worm!
-Oh, yes.

So, the actual amount of land
retaken is...

Excuse me, sir.

Seventeen square feet, sir.

Excellent. So you see, young Blackadder
didn't die horribly in vain, after all.

If he did die, sir.

- (SCOFFS)
-That's the spirit, George!

If nothing else works,
then a total pig-headed unwillingness

to look facts in the face
will see us through.

(KEYS JINGLING)

(THICK GERMAN ACCENT)
So, I am the Red Baron von Richtoven.

And you are the two English flying aces

responsible for the spilling
of the precious German blood

of many of my finest

and my blondest friends.

I have waited many months to do this.

(SIGHING)

You may have been right, Balders.

Looks like we're going to get
rogered to death after all.

Do you want me to go first, sir?

(LAUGHING LOUDLY)

You English and your sense of humour!

During your brief stay,
I look forward to learning

more of your wit, your punning,

and your amusing jokes about
the breaking of the wind.

Well, Baldrick's the expert there.

-I certainly am, sir.
- (LAUGHING LOUDLY)

How lucky you English are
to find the toilet so amusing!

For us, it's a mundane
and functional item.

For you, the basis of an entire culture!

I must now tell you of the full horror
of what awaits you.

Ah, you see, Balders, dress it up in
any amount of pompous verbal diarrhoea,

and the message is, "Square-head's
down for the big boche gang-bang!"

As an officer and a gentleman,

you will be looking forward
to a quick and noble death.

-Well, obviously.
-But instead,

an even worse fate awaits you.

Tomorrow, you will be
taken back to Germany.

Here it comes!

To a convent school outside Heidelberg

where you will spend the rest of the war

teaching the young girls home economics.

-Er...
-For you, as a man of honour,

the humiliation will be unbearable!

Oh, I think you'll find we're tougher
than you imagine.

(SCOFFS) I can tell how much
you are suffering by your long faces.

We're not suffering too much to say,
"Thank you."

Thank you. Say thank you, Baldrick.

Thank you, Baldrick.

(LAUGHING LOUDLY) How amusing!

But now, forgive me.

I must take to the skies once again.
Very funny. (LAUGHING)

The noble Lord Flasheart
still eludes me.

Oh, I think you'll find he's over-rated.

Bad breath and...

Impotent, they say.

(LAUGHING) Sexual innuendo!

But enough of this.
As you Say in England,

"I must fly."

(LAUGHS HEARTILY)

Perhaps, I will master this humour
after all, ja?

I wouldn't be too optimistic.

And the little fellow...

If you get lonely in the night

I'm in the old chateau.
There's no pressure.

Pratfall! (LAUGHING)

Is it really true, sir?
Is the war really over for us?

Yup. Out of the war and teaching nuns
how to boil eggs.

For us, the Great War is finito.

A war that would be a damn sight simpler

if we just stayed in England
and shot 50,000 of our men a week.

No more mud, death, rats, bombs,
shrapnel, whizz-bangs, barbed wire

and those bloody awful songs

that have the word "Whoops!"
in the title.

Oh, damn, he's...
He's left the door open!

Oh, good! We can escape, sir.

Are you mad, Baldrick?
I'll find someone to lock it for us.

Shush! Keep-ee!
Mum's the word! Not ‘arf, or what?

Sir, why did you just
slam the door on Lt George?

I can't believe it. Go away!

-It's me, it's me!
-Well, what the hell are you doing here?

Oh, never mind the Hows and Whys
and the Do-You-Mind-If-I-Don'ts.

But it would take a superman
to get in here!

Well, it's funny you should
say that because, er,

as it happens, I did have some help
from a rather spiffing bloke.

He's taken a break from some
crucial, top-level shagging.

(DRAMATICALLY) It's me!
Hooray! Hooray!

God's potatoes, George!

You said noble brother fliers
were in the lurch.

If I'd known you meant old Slack Bladder

and the mound of the hound
of the Baskervilles,

I'd probably have let them
stew in their own juice!

And let me tell you,
if I ever tried that,

I'd probably drown!

(BOTH LAUGHING)

(GRUNTING)

Still, since I'm here,
I may as well do it,

as the Bishop said to the netball team,
"Come on, chums!"

Ah... Ow... Argh...

-Come on!
-Ah, yes, but look, I'm sorry, chaps,

but I've splintered my pancreas,
and I seem to have this terrible cough.

(COUGHING) Guards! Guards!

Wait, wait, wait, wait.
Wait a minute.

Now, I may be packing the kind of tackle
that you'd normally expect to find

swinging about between the hind legs
of a Grand National winner,

but I'm not totally stupid.

I've got the kind of feeling
you'd rather we hadn't come.

No, no, no. I'm very grateful.
It's just that I'd slow you up.

-I think I'm beginning to understand.
-Are... Are you?

Hmm! Just because
I can give multiple orgasms

to the furniture just by sitting,

doesn't mean I'm not sick
of this damn war.

The blood, the noise,
the endless poetry!

Is that really what
you think, Flasheart?

Of course it's not what I think!

Now, get out that door
before I redecorate that wall

in an interesting new colour
called "hint of brain."

Excellent. Well, that's clear.
Let's get back to that lovely war, then!

-BOTH: Woof!
-Bark!

Not so fast, Blackadder.

Oh, damn! Foiled again.
What bad luck!

Ah, and the Lord Flasheart.

This is indeed an honour!

Finally, the two greatest
gentlemen fliers in the world meet.

Two men of honour,

who have jousted together
in the cloud-strewn glory of the skies,

face to face at last.

How often I have rehearsed
this moment of destiny in my dreams.

The valour we two encapsulate,

the unspoken nobility
of our comradeship...

What a poof! Come on! Let's go!

Oh! Ow!

-Hello, Darling.
-(SPLUTTERING) Good Lord!

Captain Blackadder,
I thought you were...

-Playing tennis?
-(STAMMERING) No...

-Dead?
-Well, yes. Unfortunately...

Well, I had a lucky escape,
no thanks to you.

This is a friend of mine.

-Argh!
-Hi, creep!

Flasheart, this is Captain Darling.

Captain Darling?
Funny name for a guy, isn't it?

The last person I called "darling"
was pregnant 20 seconds later.

I hear you couldn't
be bothered to help old Slackie, here.

(STAMMERING) Er, well,
it wasn't quite that, sir.

It's just that we weighed out
the pros and cons and decided

it wasn't a reasonable use

of our time and resources.
(LAUGHS NERVOUSLY)

Well, this isn't
a reasonable use of my time

and resources
but I'm gonna do it anyway.

-What?
-This!

Oh!

All right, Slackie.
All right, Slackie, I've gotta fly.

Two million chicks, only one Flasheart.

Remember, if you want
something, take it!

Bobby!

-My Lord?
-I want something.

-Take it!
-Woof!

Git!

-Ah, Blackadder, so you escaped!
-Yes, sir.

Bravo! Don't slouch, Darling.

I was wondering whether,
having been tortured

by the most vicious sadist
of the German army,

I might be allowed
a week's leave to recuperate, sir?

Excellent idea!

Your commanding officer would have
to be stark raving mad to refuse you.

-Well, you are my commanding officer.
-Well?

Can I have a week's leave,
to recuperate, sir?

-Certainly not!
-Thank you, sir.

(BLEATING)

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)