I'm not asking for anything other than permission.
And 60 men. Men I will choose according to my own criteria.
If you decide to join them, I will join the SAS too.
Dearest Mirren, you know I love you.
I know I could make you so happy.
If you go out in this, it will be suicide.
- Who? - McGonigal, sir.
What is it about Stirling that you dislike so much?
I invented the SAS.
He had no right to destroy it on its first mission.
We have a second chance.
Let's see what the stars have in store for us.
That's Paddy Mayne in Tamet.
And here am I in the dark and silence in Sirte.
It's not a competition, sir.
Of course it is.
Oh, I see. Let the games begin.
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Come on, catch him.
How do you like these?
Where the hell did you learn to drive like that, Paddy Mayne?
Now, we will break off into four units as before.
I'm guessing it's the same teams as the last time we attacked
these same airstrips, just to keep the scoring system fair?
Nope.
Different teams, same team leaders.
Because this whole exercise, the whole North Africa campaign
is about my team versus your team, Paddy.
Aye. Just as long as that is clear.
Gentlemen, this is a theatre of war, not a playground.
And this time it will be different, because now the Germans
are expecting us.
Every airstrip will be on high alert.
Even more fun, Jock.
So now perhaps double points
for each plane destroyed?
Lewes, you will take Almonds and Riley to Nofilia airstrip.
- Fraser... - I want no part in this idiotic game.
... you will go with Lewes, but take four men and break
off at the airstrip to attack the airfield to the west.
And Paddy, just as the last time,
you will take Tamet and I will take Sirte.
Round two then, sir.
Oh, yes, round two.
Can I come on your team, then, sir?
Of course you can, sweetheart, you stick with Uncle Paddy.
Oh, she's a keen kitten. She is.
And whoever destroys the most aeroplanes tonight will win a bottle
of 20-year-old single malt Scotch whisky!
Oh, my father's favourite.
Now, I carry it with me in case I'm fatally wounded.
Now, I'm offering it as a prize in our game.
Paddy, you've had a lot of whisky in your time.
Nothing as good as this,
considering your humble background.
Shall I stand between you two fucking
idiots like a headmaster?
Myself, I prefer potcheen, distilled in bathtubs.
But I will gladly take this pish off your hands when I win, sir.
Okay, men, check your weapons.
David.
What's this idiotic nonsense about a game?
No commanding officer has ever been able to control Paddy Mayne
because none of them understood him.
He will fight against me come what may.
But now, he will try to retain dominance by destroying enemy
aircraft, which is essential if we don't want Tobruk to fall.
Yes, but is it really clever strategy, David,
or do you just want to win the game?
- What time is it? - Ten minutes to midnight.
We need to wait for the moon to set.
Let's wait here for the moon to set.
Four miles to the airstrip.
The coast road is just over that ridge.
We can't risk the vehicles any further.
Fuck the moon.
- There you are, sir. - Let's go.
The cheeky bastards have put up fences.
Aye, cheeky fox.
But it'll make it more fun this time.
I think we should wait for the moon to settle... they'll see us.
No, the moon is our friend.
Patience is our enemy.
And besides, those that see us will soon be dead.
Listen...
Just as I thought, fences and searchlights this time.
All righty.
I want you to read this.
Um...
... I'm not religious, sir.
If you're unable to read the print,
the light will be sufficiently bad for us to move.
Pass it me, it's my favourite.
And, er, what are you doing, sir?
We have at least 15 more minutes.
So you read your Bible.
I'm going to pray in my own way.
My dearest Mirren,
it has been two weeks since I sent you my letter of marriage proposal.
I'm imagining that I haven't received a response
because of faults in the mail service.
We are now based on the planet Mars.
And mail comes once every blue moon.
And speaking of the moon, every time I look at it, I think of you.
So damn corny, isn't it? Like one of those awful Hollywood films.
But the moon gives me hope that something so cold and remote
can appear beautiful.
I believe I too am considered cold and remote by some, and I am hoping
that you might also consider me, if not beautiful,
then at least dependable.
And I hope that your answer to my proposal will be yes.
The light died just after "Thou shalt not kill", sir.
Well, I can tell you the full commandment... Thou shalt not kill,
except in a very good cause.
Every day, Hitler sends innocents to their deaths.
So we have a very good cause.
Fraser.
Take your men west.
We go east.
Go well, sir.
Best of luck, boys.
Mac, Mac...
German reinforcements heading to Agheila to join Rommel.
We can't reach Sirte airstrip without crossing that road.
Fuck!
- Only five Messerschmitts on the strip. - Meaning what?
Five is five.
Five Messerschmitts taken out of action,
British lives saved.
Yes, sir.
I only wish there were more.
They don't care about the scores on the blackboard, none of us do.
Good.
Only monsters would keep count.
If that's Rommel's main relief column, there will be
- no break for three hours. - There will be a break.
German troops stay tight to prevent...
There will be a bloody break, Sadler!
I will get a break.
I am owed a fucking break!
Bad dog.
Looks like Paddy's lit another bonfire.
- Bravo. - What the fuck has he blown up?
Whatever it is, I imagine there's little doubt about the destination
of my father's favourite whisky.
My father would be very proud.
That's it, road's clear. That's the last of them.
What time is it?
4:26 sun rises at 4:40. It's another 20-minute march to Sirte airstrip.
It's too late.
Looks like Lewes and Fraser have had some success, too.
Bravo!
Of course. Of course.
The road became clear when it was already too late.
Or imagine a more amusing possibility.
The road became clear because it was too late.
Therein lies a crucial philosophical distinction.
In The Iliad, Homer wrote, Fate is born with us.
No man escapes it, neither brave man nor coward.
What do you say, Sadler?
I say no when he's talking of bravery or cowardice.
Indeed.
No-one is talking at all.
If you see a brown stone, Rog, stay away from it.
Stirling!
We done it.
I want to write down the scores.
Why don't you leave it alone, Paddy?
Rog, 24 plus 27...
50...
... 1.
Scare the Jerries off, that.
Even though they took extra precautions,
I think we did rather well.
Wires, dogs, wide-eyed, boys notwithstanding.
What caused all the fireworks?
5,000 gallons of aviation fuel.
Ah.
I'm not counting that in my tally.
What about you?
Who's getting the whisky?
The prize has gone, Paddy.
Some of it I drank, the rest shot to pieces.
Decided it was a worthless gesture.
My strategy was ugly and vain, and a bottle of whisky is not
a fitting reward for the resourcefulness and courage
you have shown over two very dangerous assignments.
So...
... I'm going to recommend to GHQ that you be awarded
the Distinguished Service Order Medal and that you be promoted
to the rank of captain.
Congratulations, Captain Mayne.
The Special Air Services first combat medal and first promotion.
Three cheers for Captain Paddy Mayne,
the mad bastard of Tamet strip!
- Hip-hip... - Hooray!
Now you can try wearing the mantle of power yourself,
you mutinous Irish cunt.
You see you...
You are the first commanding officer that I've ever actually liked.
Huh.
Where in the hell is Lewes?
Mirren?
What are you doing?
I was asking my dear-departed grandmother a question.
What question?
You're being very mysterious.
Where are we going?
My grandmother said yes.
So let's do it.
In the back of the car!
It's what all the young people in America do, apparently.
Erm...
Remember, you have to pull out.
I will, my love.
I will.
I love you, Mirren.
Oh!
Oh, oh, Lord!
What?
- Quickly, for God's sake. - What do we do?
- Like this? - Yes, quicker.
Oh!
- Oh! - Goodness.
Such a lot!
Oh!
What? Now you are ruined?
My dress is ruined.
Well, Mirren...
When we're married, there will be no need
for strategic withdrawals.
You always resort to military terms when you're embarrassed.
Did you hear me?
I said, when we're married.
Oh, Jock...
Enemy aircraft, due south!
- Everyone, fan out. - Watch out!
Almonds, head for the rocks.
Everyone out. Fan out!
- Grab your weapons, take cover. - Get the Bren gun.
Scatter!
Everybody scatter!
Go!
- Get down, sir, there's another plane! - Obviously made ourselves
something of a priority, how flattering.
- Almonds, take cover. - Jim. Come on.
Fuck off!
Are you hit, sir?
They're swinging back 'round.
- Duck! - Are you okay, sir?
Just head for the rocks.
I'll meet you there.
Sir, you have to run, run.
Run? Walk would be a fine thing.
Sir! Are you okay?
Sir!
Do you need help?
We'll come and get you.
Get back behind the rocks!
They're coming again!
Jock.
In answer to your proposal, my love...
... I really have to say no.
How can I marry a man who's already dead?
No.
No, no, no.
No, Mirren.
No.
No, I'm not dead.
I'm alive. Mirren...
I'm not dead, Mirren!
I'll be with you in a moment.
As quickly as I can.
Jock! Sir, you're hurt.
Wait, I'll come to you.
Do not go down there, that's a fucking order. I will not let you die.
- Jock! - Jim, come back!
- Jock. - Sir, keep coming.
Almost there, darling.
There's only one vehicle.
I wonder if the Germans have a blackboard.
Everyone all right, lads?
You all right, fellas?
Get them a drink.
Jock didn't make it.
What-what do you mean?
What do you mean?
What do you think I mean?
No. Where is he?
He's fucking dead.
Hey, hey..
Where is he?!
He's where he fell.
You left him?
I left him on your orders!
On SAS orders. S-A-fucking-S protocol!
You, and your fucking order.
"Do not attempt to retrieve the bodies of the fallen
as it will impede swift execution of the given mission", sir.
He's a bloody mess, out in the sun.
Which is where we
are all going to be, now that Jerry is onto us.
I actually didn't believe John Lewes was human.
Sir, put out your cigarette.
- Sir, put out your cigarette. - Fuck off!
Fuck off!
He died well.
Sand, sand, quick.
So...
... only the dreamer and the madman left.
Who the fuck is going to be the sensible one now?
Dear Jock, I received your letter this morning, and I danced.
I actually danced with the letter in my hand as if it was
you I was dancing with.
Of course I will marry you, Jock.
Of course I will.
Parade.
Attention.
Morning, gentlemen.
Morning, sir.
He said, "Good morning, gentlemen".
Good morning, sir!
Like fucking primary school.
Relax.
Well, if this is primary school,
I've had a message from the headmaster,
General Auchinleck himself.
But before I tell you what he has to say...
... the period of mourning for Lieutenant Jock Lewes is over.
Cooper,
- hoist the flag. - Sir!
Auchinleck expresses his astonishment at the success
that we have achieved in such a short space of time.
Having destroyed 90 enemy aircraft in three weeks,
we have exceeded the number destroyed by the RAF
- by a factor of three. - Fuck!
Paddy Mayne's DSO has been confirmed and he has been promoted
- to the rank of captain. - Sir?
It's not working.
Right, Seekings,
help that poor boy now.
Fucking gladly, sir.
Fraser has been awarded the Military Cross.
- Rope snagged, is it? - Yeah.
And I have been promoted to the rank of major.
- We have made... - Not so sure about that Cooper,
I think it's the wheel.
It's the fucking rope, you oaf.
Hey, talk to me like that,
I'll knock your bleeding block off! Go on, then!
Oh! For fuck sake!
In the bigger picture,
against the odds, we now have the initiative.
This success is in thanks in no small part to the work that you,
the men of the SAS have carried out.
We achieve our success because we do things differently.
We achieve our goals in our own way.
Fuck wheels. Fuck ropes.
Just tie the fucking thing.
In recognition of your startling successes, GHQ
have awarded you all five days leave.
We may not be an official regiment, but when you make your way
to your bars and brothels in Cairo, you will all be wearing
one of these... cap badges by Bob Tait.
The flaming sword is the legendary sword Excalibur.
New jump wings.
They were designed by Jock.
Those of you that can read, will have read the motto
on our badge.
Now, Paddy, since you have embodied the words best, I will leave
it to you to say them.
The new motto of the Special Air Service is...
drink rum, fight dirty, fuck the rules.
The new motto is Who Dares Wins.
Who dares... wins.
And we will continue to dare.
There are trucks on the way to take you all to Cairo.
Wear the beret on your head, and a condom on your massive cocks.
That'll be all.
Mutinous Irish cunt
requesting permission not to travel to Cairo, sir.
Hey, lads, who ordered the coffee
and the ice cream cones here?
So what's the white bonnet represent, then, ladies?
Are you Girl Scouts?
Let me see that.
Oh, oh!
Hold on to your hat lad. Shouldn't have done that.
What do you think?
Which one of you lovely ladies wants to take me to Ascot, for Ladies Day?
- What? - Remember, Davey boy...
... even though we can't understand
a fucking word these Scotch wankers say...
... they are British and we're not allowed to kill them.
For fuck's sake.
I can't bear this thing... complaining.
Fuck off!
Jesus.
I'm sorry.
You're joking.
What the fuck's going on, Reg?
They don't like the colour of our berets.
Anybody else have an opinion on our fucking headgear?!
Please step forward.
MPs are coming!
Although, I have to say, regarding the colour of the new beret,
they do have a point.
I hear your new detachment's doing very well.
This isn't really my detachment.
It's Jock's detachment.
I suppose now it is mine, belongs to me and that madman.
- Here. - Thank you.
If you don't like canaries in cages, why did you get one?
Er... so I can set it free.
You might think I'm compassionate.
Are you not compassionate?
No, I don't think I am.
- To your victories. - Ah...
Though you look like someone who is losing.
Yes, I am a boy playing a game while my father watches...
... as he always did.
If I don't score the most tries, or make the most runs,
he won't speak to me all the way home.
It's the sound of the car engine, the windscreen wipers
and the thunderous roar of his silence.
Let's go out for a drink.
What's the rush?
No rush.
Just want to see the sunset from the balcony of the Empire Club.
I would, er, rather stay here.
Okay.
The truth.
There's someone I want you to meet... tonight.
Top secret.
And there was me thinking that you were with me
because you liked me.
I'm trying very hard to only like you.
Come.
Owen!
Owen?!
Your bodies
meet your spirits here, I think.
I was going to read you, Homer or Keats...
... but then I thought, fuck that.
I think I used to bore you with it.
And you were just being polite.
You remember that idiotic Percy French song we used to sing?
I'll sing you the Percy French thing and we'll have a laugh.
♪ We'll cross the ditch, our leader said and take the foe in flank ♪
♪ But yells of consternation then arose from every rank ♪
♪ For posted high upon a tree ♪
♪ We very plainly saw ♪
♪ Trespassers prosecuted in accordance with the law ♪
♪ We're foiled, exclaimed bold slattery ♪
♪ Here ends our grand campaign ♪
♪ Tis merrily throwing life away to face that mare and drain ♪
♪ Now I'm not as brave as lions but I'm braver than the hen ♪
♪ And he who fights and runs away will live to fight again... ♪
Oh, to run away, eh, Owen?
Oh, how grand a life it would be to be a coward.
To love life that much.
We'll sleep here tonight, I think.
Dear God, I do hope this isn't your little surprise.
Look...
No, it isn't.
- He's seen us. - And he's drunk.
Stirling. Major Stirling, now, I hear.
Although I believe you personally have achieved nothing.
I have something for you.
It seems my phantom regiment has a new ethos.
Who Dares Wins?
Where the fuck did you get that?
Someone picked it off a barroom floor after a brawl?
My great friend, the Commissariat of Cairo Police, tells me
there were seven fights resulting in injury across the red light
district of Cairo since 10:00 this morning, six of them involving
men wearing the SAS beret.
Yes, they are men who will not back down if they are insulted.
Oh, I see.
And the choice of colour was deliberate.
Mr. Clarke, Eve and I are planning to have dinner.
You chose white to provoke confrontation.
You see, my dear, there's nothing like a barroom brawl
to bring men together.
Good for company morale.
Mr. Clarke, I am asking you politely.
Leave us alone.
You are a specimen.
You've achieved nothing.
Yet you have the audacity to redesign my regiment's jump wings.
Thank you for bringing the SAS into being.
Thank you for returning the beret.
Now, fuck off.
You'd better get her to teach you some French, old boy.
The French are coming your way, and they are the real deal.
What did he mean... French coming my way?
Let's dance.
All right.
What the fuck is this all about?
Perhaps you should ask General Auchinleck.
He just arrived.
- General. - Miss Mansour.
How do you do? Stirling.
- A little. - Well, for business,
I prefer to use English. General Auchinleck, what brings you here?
Well, your success brings us here,
and Captain Berge's request for help.
Please, allow me.
I would not want anyone to impose upon me,
therefore, I don't want to impose on you.
Impose what?
I have 20 of
the toughest, finest paratroopers in the French Army,
under my command.
They're like wild dogs on leashes, wanting to kill Germans.
Well, we want to deploy them in the desert,
but they have to be trained.
Our chief training officer was killed in action.
We'll find somebody else.
It's all been arranged.
We're sending French paratroopers to join you in Jalo.
Decided by who?
This was my idea.
And everything up until then has been part of the strategy.
My first priority is the execution of the war.
So is yours.
To begin with, you'd only have to spare one man.
Somebody left behind to train the Free French in desert warfare.
But in order to deal with my wild dogs,
he would have to be a very strong man.
When would this deployment begin?
Good man.
Come on, have a drink. Can we get some chairs?
Miss Mansour, you must tell me all about your last few days...
Did you find him?
Yep.
Paddy...
... GHQ are sending us a detachment of French paratroopers.
We don't need many more men.
Well, it's a direct order from Auchinleck himself, a favour
to Charles de Gaulle, promised by Winston Churchill.
But we would need someone to train them.
Someone with experience.
Someone to set up a training camp.
Train them to fight in this oven made of sand, you see.
Who?
Well...
... with Jock gone...
... there is no-one else experienced enough or tough enough.
I've decided it has to be you.
So I stay in Jalo while you continue to go out on missions?
Yes, of course, we will continue our campaign.
So the loser finds a way to win.
You know, my old dad, Irish from both sides, stabbed
from both sides by men like you.
Landowning gentry.
Paddy, there is no-one else..
He said to me about life as a common man,
he said...
You don't deserve my father's wisdom.
Right. Well, listen, Paddy.
Oh... sometimes when you are in command,
you need to make difficult decisions.
Not play the fucking piano and go sightseeing in the desert.
We're fucked.
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