Brothers of w*r (2015)

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Brothers of w*r (2015)

Post by bunniefuu »

"Subject to the payment

of my just debts,"

and funeral and

testamentary expenses,

I give, devise and bequeath

all my effects

and estates whatsoever,

including any property

over which I have a general

power of appointment by will,

to my trustees upon trust,

to my two beloved sons,

Kurt Ludwig Gutenberg

and Gustav Otto Gutenberg

in equal shares, absolutely.

Provided that if either of them

shall predecease me,

"leaving a child..."

None of that last bit

is relevant.

You're both alive, and there are

no grandchildren... yet.

So it couldn't be

more straightforward.

Everything is split

right down the middle.

Oh, and, uh...

there was... this.

- What is it?

- I have no idea.

- It's addressed to both of you.

- Thank you.

"My darling boys."

By the time you are

reading this, I will be gone,

but I wanted you to know

that you have both given me

so much joy in my life.

Not just watching you grow

as individuals,

but in the knowledge

that you both have

so much affection

for each other.

I think brotherly love

is a truly wonderful thing.

Do you remember

when you were both little

how we would sit together

in front of the fire

on rainy evenings,

and I would tell you stories?

And when I had finished,

you used to say,

"Papa, just one more."

Well, I have one final story

for you both.

So why don't you

pour yourself some beer, hmm?

I think you are

going to need it.

It all began in 1939,

on a little dairy farm

in England.

The farm was owned

by Jacob Jackson

and his wife Margaret.

"They had two sons,

Jake and Greg."

Throw you that.

Here.

Jake, get down!

I've told you before!

Jake, I said get down!

Just you wait till your father

hears about this.

That's enough, Jacob.

Not so rough, Jake!

You should learn

to treat a lady properly.

I'll have that, thank you.

Come on.

I ain't going up there.

Come on.

I suppose I'll just have

to come down and get you then.

You could've

k*lled yourself doing that.

But I didn't, did I?

Why didn't you have a go?

You don't wanna do it because

you haven't got the balls.

That's why, eh?

Have ya?

You ain't got

the balls to do it.

So where did the bike

come from, eh?

I borrowed it off a mate.

500. Vertical twin.

Very sweet.

Triumph Tiger.

And what mate might that be, eh?

He says he borrowed it, Jacob.

Just for the day.

It's Charlie Palmer's.

I'm giving it back tomorrow.

You're working here tomorrow,

that's what you're doing.

There's more than enough work

to be done

without you messing about

with motorbikes

that don't belong to you.

We're fixing the Fordson

tomorrow.

Magneto's not sparking.

Nothing the two of us

can't put right now, eh, Dad?

Get rid of it, Jake.

We can eat it.

Get rid of it.

I know how to skin it.

Dad showed me.

We'll see what your father

has to say, shall we?

Just a kitten.

He took your g*n.

Not enough meat on it

to feed a sparrow,

let alone a family of four.

Sorry, old boy.

Dogs will like it.

What do you want?

Well, go on, have a look.

Stop it, Jake!

Well, he's not interested

in your tits, Sally.

He's a h*m*.

You're not a h*m*,

are you, Greg?

Made you jump.

You shouldn't

take notice of Jake.

He's daft.

I don't take any notice of him.

I don't believe

what he said about you.

I know you like girls.

I've seen you looking at me.

They say there's gonna be a w*r.

What will you do

if there's a w*r?

- There might not be.

- Of course there will!

Everyone says it's gonna happen.

What will you do?

Are you gonna fight?

They might call.

That's what they do, ain't it?

Come and get you,

make you sign up and all.

If you go to w*r,

you have to k*ll people.

I don't think

I could ever k*ll anyone.

Could you?

Oh, there might not be a w*r.

What were you reading just now?

Nothing.

Weren't nothing.

I saw you reading.

I like reading.

Oh!

"Shakespeare's Sonnets."

They're poems.

I know what a sonnet is.

Shakespeare.

- He's good, he is.

- He wrote plays as well.

Greg, I ain't stupid.

Sorry.

We used to have to learn

poems in school.

I liked poetry.

I was good at it.

Not like sums and stuff.

Could never add up

to save my life.

But... poetry...

makes everything...

matter.

We used to have to learn poems.

Bright star,

would I were steadfast

as thou art.

Not in lone splendor

hung aloft the night.

And watching,

with eternal lids apart.

Like nature's patient,

sleepless Eremite.

John Keats.

"In a sweet unrest,"

still, still to hear

her tender-taken breath,

and so live ever

"or else swoon to death."

I love all that.

"Tender-taken breath."

The words are so pretty.

What's that?

What's it look like?

Where did you get it?

Borrowed it off a mate.

No, you didn't.

Colt Peacemaker.

Don't point that thing at me.

Ain't loaded.

I don't care

if it's loaded or not.

Don't point it at me.

What are you doing with my girl?

I'm not your girl.

You don't own me.

Oh, yes, I do.

What's yours is mine.

Go to hell, Jake.

One in six.

One in six.

What you reckon, eh?

You're mad, you are.

Yeah, maybe.

You haven't got the balls

to do it, have you?

See? Wouldn't have k*lled me.

I reckon the odds

are still the same.

They don't change, do they?

For however many times

you do it.

Always gonna be one in six.

Do you think there will be

a w*r, Mrs. Jackson?

- The boys might have to fight.

- No one's leaving the farm.

Will you miss him

if he had to go to w*r?

Right?

No one's going anywhere!

"And Cain talked

with Abel, his brother,"

and it came to pass

when they were in the field

that Cain rose up against Abel,

his brother,

and slew him.

And the Lord said unto Cain,

'Where is Abel, thy brother?'

And he said, 'I know not.

Am I my brother's keeper?'

"And he said,

'What hast thou...'"

I'll have that, thank you.

In your pocket.

What's in your pocket, Gregory?

Nothing.

Stand up.

Empty your pockets.

- Please...

- Now.

To the front.

- Please...

- Now.

- Another one for you, Frank?

- Not for me. Got work to do.

Work? This time of night?

You staying on

for a few more then, are ya?

You know me. Friday night.

I'll be here for a while.

Yeah.

I'll be seeing you then.

I'll have another one.

Who else is having one?

I shouldn't have asked,

should I?

One drink all around.

Come home safe, son.

For God's sake, Greg,

you're a farmer.

I'll be fine, Mother.

What do you know about fine?

There are plenty of young men

who can go off and fight.

I'm sorry.

I can't stay here.

Not now.

I have to go.

If you let him go...

He's not a child no more.

He can make up his own mind.

No, he can't!

- If you let my son go to w*r...

- Our son!

Greg's mine.

You had nothing to do with him.

Jake's yours.

Don't fall behind!

Like the bloody lambs...

If you lot are the best

our country can muster

in its hour of crisis,

God help the regiment,

and God help the country!

And what have we got here?

An honorable little nancy-boy?

Let me make one thing

abundantly clear.

The only thing you'll be

sticking up

another man's assh*le

is the bayonet attached

to your Lee Enfield r*fle!

And the only recipient

of such dubious pleasure

will be Jerry.

- And he's not Jerry, are you?

- No, sir.

And he's not Jerry either,

are you?

No, sir!

No, sir, no, sir!

- Do I make myself clear?

- Yes, sir.

- Loud and clear?

- Yes, sir!

Then stand up straight

like a soldier,

not a f*cking nancy-boy

I'm not a nancy-boy, sir.

Are you contradicting me, laddy?

No, sir.

What are you then?

A nancy-boy, sir.

Louder!

A nancy-boy, sir!

I wanna hear what you are!

Louder!

A nancy-boy, sir!

Not in my f*cking army,

you're not.

If I so much as see you

looking in the direction

of another man's assh*le,

I'll personally ensure

you wish you hadn't been born.

- Do I make myself clear?

- Yes, sir.

Do I make myself clear?

Yes, sir!

You lot, stop bloody smirking

and move your asses

or Mr. Nancy-boy here will be

poking something up there!

Next two, en guard!

En guard!

Charge!

Next two, en guard!

- En guard!

- Charge!

Next two, en guard!

En guard!

Charge!

Next two, en guard.

- En guard!

- Charge!

Hey!

We will take prisoners.

Fire!

Does my breath smell?

No more than the rest of you.

You're soft in the

bleedin' head, you are.

Come on.

Get your stuff together.

We need to make a move.

- Flax?

- That's what the w*r Ags say.

This is a dairy farm, Frank.

I ain't never grown

no flax before.

They use the seeds

for linseed oil.

Good for waterproofing

and treating timber.

It's all part of the w*r effort,

as they say.

What about you then? You gonna

be growing this stuff and all?

Don't you worry about me.

I'm already doing my bit

for king and country.

What if I says no, eh?

What if I says

they can stick their flax?

What are these w*r Ags

gonna do then, eh?

They got powers, they have.

Oh, yeah?

And how come you know

so much about it?

How come you know so much

about these w*r Ags?

You're one of 'em,

aren't you, Frank?

Not content with

running your own farm,

you have to go

sticking your nose

into other people's affairs.

Like I said, Jacob, I'm just

doing my bit for England.

Look, I don't wanna make things

difficult between us.

I've always been very fond

of you and Margaret.

I'm just in the middle of

a great big chain, that's all.

They gives me my orders,

and I just pass them on.

I know.

It's just this bloody w*r.

What with Jake as he is now

and Greg gone...

Yeah, Margaret

is beside herself.

I spoke with Greg.

I told him he didn't have to go.

His mind was made up.

You told him that, did you?

Well, I knew just how much

it would break Maggie's heart

to have him gone.

Did you now?

It was him, wasn't it?

Frank.

It was him.

It was a long time ago, Jacob.

Oh, I can do

the adding up, Maggie.

I can work out exactly

how long ago it was.

Let's go, eh?

Come on then.

Monsieur, no.

I am your friend.

I bring you le petit djeuner.

Voil.

For you, English soldier.

Eat.

I am a miller. I make the flour.

All my own work.

Well, not quite.

My daughter,

she bakes the bread.

Christabelle.

This is not a good place

for you.

Germans are everywhere,

like rats.

Vermin.

It's good. Thank you.

She's very, uh, timid.

Thanks, sweetheart.

I thought the French

had all surrendered.

We're still bleeding

from the last w*r,

and the wounds are deep.

But we do what we can.

Some of us anyway.

We do our bit.

But you must go

when you've finished.

If you head due north,

you'll get to the coast.

It's only about

20 kilometers from here.

And then, when we get there?

You have more chance of survival

than you've got here.

And you?

I can take care of us.

Mmm.

Very good.

Oui!

No!

Bastard!

No!

Bastard!

Ehhh!

Two pints of the usual,

Janet, love.

Please.

Just having a pint

with my son, Frank,

if that's all right with you.

You don't have to stay

if you don't want to.

Not if you got work to be doing.

Like f*cking my wife.

Easy does it.

I know.

You must have a pint, innit?

Where do you live?

The mill?

Where is the mill?

En... Moulin.

Is it just you and...

Moulin.

See? Wouldn't

have k*lled me.

I reckon the odds

are still the same.

They don't change, do they?

You're right.

You're right.

I haven't got the balls.

But you have.

You have.

You're mad.

Why would I wanna k*ll myself?

No. I don't mean

aim at you.

I want you to aim at me.

Why?

Bit of fun.

Come on, Greg.

Come on, Greg.

Do it for me.

Do it for me, Greg.

Do it.

One in six.

One in six.

Come on, Greg.

Do it for me.

Do it for me, Greg.

My uniform?

Of course.

Yes, thank you.

Why did you have to do it?

Why did you have to go

and do this to yourself, son?

Flax.

They want us to grow flax.

What the f*ck do they know?

f*cking w*r Ags.

What do they know about farming?

We don't need them, do we, son?

We can run this f*cking farm

on our own, eh?

Just the two of us.

You and me, right?

What do you reckon, son?

Time to call it a day?

I'm so sorry, son.

I'm sorry.

It might sting.

It's easy.

Come on, Greg.

Do it.

Do it for me, Greg.

How long have you

been here at the mill?

Just over a week.

Nine days, to be exact.

Burn your uniform, Gregory.

They're bringing

the new Fordson tomorrow.

Apparently this new model

is a sight easier to start

than the old one.

Never did like those

chilly mornings.

Neither do I, for that matter.

Flax is doing nicely

up in the top field.

I thought you

might like to know.

You will tell me if you need

anything, won't you, Maggie?

Right then, uh, I best be off.

Well, then,

see you tomorrow morning.

All being well.

Thank you.

Uh, merci.

Le pain?

Le pain.

Et merci pour le pomme.

La pomme.

Le pain, masculin.

La pomme, fminin.

And what's this?

Non. Vous tes cens dire.

Qu'est-ce?

Le qu'est-ce...

La qu'est-ce.

C'est une bche.

Une bche.

- Qu'est-ce?

- Un feu.

- Un feu.

- Oui.

- Qu'est-ce?

- Les flammes.

Les flammes.

Qu'est-ce?

Votre coeur.

Votre coeur.

Votre coeur, mon coeur.

Votre coeur, mon coeur.

Vous tes un tres bon lve.

Elve?

Elve.

Uh, tudiant, pupille.

Ah, pupille.

Yeah, it's the same

in English: pupil.

Qu'est-ce?

La bouche.

La bouche.

Le bouche? La bouche?

La bouche.

C'est fminin.

Fminin pour vous et pour moi.

Qu'est-ce?

Mes levres.

- Here, you must be thirsty.

- There you are.

You should've seen him.

Oh, not so rough, Jake.

Come on, chop-chop, ladies.

We've got lots of moving to do.

Here.

Are you thirsty?

More?

It ain't fair.

All us girls.

And nothing you can do about it.

Sorry, Jake.

I'd better get back to work.

Come on.

A bit of fresh air.

Christabelle.

Here, let me help.

Looks like you twisted

your handlebars.

What about me?

Ain't nothing wrong with

your handlebars, sweetheart.

Here.

Hey, look, your leg's bleeding.

Get your hands off me!

I'm medically trained, ma'am.

I don't care if

you're a bloody surgeon.

You're not touching me.

Okay, I'm sorry.

It's my fault

you fell off your bike.

I'll get your bike fixed up

free of charge and...

Look, and I promise

I'll never, ever whistle again.

Ever.

Ever, ever.

Cross my heart.

Shut up.

Nice buns.

It's true what they say

about you Americans, ain't it?

What do they say

about us Americans?

Overpaid, oversexed

and over here.

That's harsh.

We're not overpaid.

I'm Sam.

Sam Williams.

You know, I fly T-Bolts with the

outfit out of Steeple Morden.

You ever been in a Thunderbolt?

I could take you for a spin

if you like.

Or maybe you'd like

to come to the dance with me

on Saturday

at the town hall in Litlington.

We could go for a spin on

the dance floor, if you prefer.

Can you jitterbug?

I could show you all the moves.

Or maybe you got a few moves

of your own you could show me.

Greg?

Greg!

Non! S'il vous plait!

S'chapper!

S'chapper!

She's not here.

You know she's not.

Is this what you wanted?

You have to be

more careful, Greg.

It's got all the names,

all the codes.

It's all in here.

Is there anything else inside?

No.

Are you sure?

I wouldn't go in there.

There are expl*sives everywhere.

I laid them earlier.

Come, this way.

It's their dogs.

We need to move quickly.

Wake up, Greg.

We need to make more progress

tonight before it gets light.

Where are you taking me?

Just outside Beauvais.

It's about 50 kilometers

from here.

Beauvais?

There's a plane dropping off

a British agent.

There will be space for you

on the way back.

You're going home.

This is my home now.

No. You can't stay in France.

It's not safe here.

You know too much.

It's not safe for any of us

if you remain here.

You have to leave.

But Christabelle...

Christabelle is strong.

Believe me.

She is made out of

the same stuff as her father.

She will be fine.

She needs me.

Listen, my friend.

It's too late.

It will be over by now.

There's nothing you can do.

It's w*r, Greg.

And w*r is not kind.

Come on my signal.

Allez.

Come on, Greg.

I can't wait!

Allez!

I thought you were dead.

You never wrote...

or anything.

Not a word.

How could you do that to me?

My own son!

I thought you were dead.

Do it for me.

One in six.

One in six. Come on.

Do it for me.

Do it for me, Greg.

I've done it!

I've done it.

We've done it, Greg!

Greg, we've done it.

Greg!

No, Greg!

What are you...

What are you doing?

I'm so sorry, Jake.

You didn't deserve any of this.

"You are probably both wondering"

why I have chosen

to tell you this story

and why I have spared you

none of the unpleasant details.

About 20 years ago,

I made a shocking discovery.

I was adopted as a young child.

I came across the adoption

papers purely by chance,

when both my parents

were still alive.

But they had brought me up

with so much love

that I could never

bring myself to tell them

that I had discovered the secret

which they had decided

to keep from me.

But of course curiosity

is a very powerful thing.

I wanted to find out more,

and the more I found out,

the more I needed to know.

I was born in Abbeville in 1943

to a young French girl

who had been captured

by officers from

the Sicherheitsdienst.

Yes, of course

you realize now, don't you?

Her name was Christabelle.

She d*ed in labor

in a basement of the town hall

which was being used

to interrogate

members of

the French Resistance.

But I... I had survived.

And by a stroke of good fortune,

I had blue eyes and blond hair,

a typical Aryan,

so I was taken as part of

the n*zi Lebensborn Program.

Six months later, I was adopted

by Wilhelm and Helga

Gutenberg, your grandparents.

Soon after Mama and Papa d*ed,

I decided to travel to England

to find my birth father.

By then I already knew

his name was Gregory Jackson.

My journey took me

all the way to Manor Farm.

He was still there

farming the land,

although he was frail and weak.

Like Mama and Papa,

he had carried

the burden of his secret

throughout his life.

He told me everything.

His court-martial for desertion

and the dark days

he spent in prison

for his brother's death.

It all just poured out of him.

He even took me into

the barn to show me

where he had ended Jake's life.

I promised that I would

go back and see him again,

but as you know, my recent

illness has been debilitating.

I never made it back to England,

so in a way,

the story is incomplete.

Gregory Jackson,

your grandfather,

grew old in the belief

that brotherly love

was just a fanciful notion

which could never be a reality.

There is a chance,

a probability even,

that he is now dead.

But he may still be alive.

Go and see him, will you?

Go and show him that

he has two wonderful grandsons

who love each other

the way brothers should.

And tell him that you

both made me, his son,

the proudest man who ever lived.

Do it for him and you

and for me.

Finish the story.

"Your loving father."
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