01x03 - A Man Alone

[bunniefuu]

Any of you blokes think you can charge it?

I'll give it a burl, sarge.

What?

OK, lads. Come with me.

Ah.

(GRUNTS)

Bloody hell.

Tolly.

What are you doing, Tolly?

Come on.

Bugger me.

Struth, it's the Light Horse.

Hey, where are your gee-gees, fellas? -Go to buggery.

I just wanna get stuck into 'em. -No, you don't, mate.

Ashmead-bartlett: The landing was a mistake, simple as that.

But to build mistake upon mistake like these fools are doing...

Unforgivable.

Keep it up and nothing of yours will leave here.

You've been warned.

So it seems.

(g*nf*re)

Hold your fire.

Perceval: Hold your fire, hold your fire.

Captain, we need to do something about all this.

The heat.

Yes. I will speak.

Birdy wants an armistice at Anzac.

Bodies are piling up.

Sir, I...

Certainly, sir.

Each side collects and deposits enemy bodies on the opposing side.

Thanks.

You could sh**t me tomorrow.

Allah korusun.

God forbid.

Bevan: Celia.

Celia?

(SPEAKS TURKISH)

Çok güzel. Much, much...güzel.

(DISTANT g*nf*re CRACKLES)

(MAN YELLS) More amm*nit*on.

(MAN 2 YELLS) Bring that amm*nit*on to the front.

Dave.

Bevan said you could speak French.

I did it in high school.

What does, um...

Puh...

What does "Per...per vay... vaytre pays"?

"Pour votre pays"?

Yeah.

Um, "for your country".

What about, uh... um, 'mouray'?

'Mourir'?

'Die'. Why?

Where'd you hear that?

Doesn't matter.

(METAL RATTLES)

C'est mauvais.

Souffrir.

Mourir.

Pour votre pays, mourir.

(SPEAKS INAUDIBLY)

(THEME MUSIC)

Well, seven, then.

Mate, they never give you seven days off.

Nuh. They'll give us half. Four days off - you watch.

Yeah, three. Three days, that'll do me.

Three days? I haven't shat for three days. Did I tell you that?

Oh, I don't wanna sh*t anyway.

You squat in there, there's bloody flies up your arse.

Cliff, do you ever stop talking?

(MOCKS) "Do you ever stop talking?"

Stop talking sh*t, eh, Cliffy?

Tolly: After the armistice, the peninsula was quiet for a while. The fighting continued and there were more men k*lled, but the w*r had become routine. Just a daily, weekly routine of craving sleep, and eating when you can, writing letters home, and hoping you didn't get sniped using the latrine.

(CHAPLAIN PRAYS)

Tolly: It became the only life we ever knew.

Amen.

Men: Amen.

Cliffy: The marines.

Where you boys going? You lost?

(SHELL WHOOSHES AND EXPLODES)

What are you doing, boys?

Not time for hide-and-seek.

Englishman: Alright, lads. Form up.

(AUSSIES CHUCKLE)

Quickly.

Oh, it is, actually. Poor buggers.

Yeah, poor bastards.

Englishman: Quick march.

Well, have a dekko at this. It's St Kilda.

Without the ice-cream.

Or the women.

Or anything fun.

Platoon...halt.

Platoon, right turn.

Platoon, fall out.

Alright, working party, listen up.

Working party, sarge.

Quiet, Sutton.

You'll split into three. A third of you will go with Lieutenant Wheeler for digging duties off the beach.

A third of you will come with me to help erect the new casualty clearing station.

The rest of you will stand by.

You'll be unloading supplies as soon as the boats tie up at the pier.

"The rest of you"? That's us.

Perceval: Alright, let's move out. Come on, move.

Ohh.

(THWACK.)

sn*pers.

They can't see us. They're f*ring blind.

Yeah? Come on.

Come on. I'm right here.

Take a bloody sh*t, why don't ya?

(MEN CHUCKLE)

(GASPS)

Cliffy?

Cliffy. Cliffy. Cliffy.

(LAUGHS)

I got ya, Tol.

I got you. I got you.

Christ's sake.

Can't anyone have a joke around here?

Bevan: I'm telling you, he showed me a picture.

Kids and everything?

Two kids. And his missus.

Phwoar.

No. No, you don't think of 'em like that.

For Christ's sake, Cliffy, what do you think of them as?

They're people. Like you.

No, it's...it's just...

You know.

I don't know.

Anyway, who gives a bugger?

They live in a place called Turkey.

Next there'll be a country called Goose.

(CHUCKLES)

Or Duck.

(LAUGHS) Duck, Duck.

Great name for a country to have a w*r in.

Do you reckon you'd still sign up now?

Mate, it's for the empire.

If we don't stop 'em, they'll take over.

Yeah, I suppose.

Dave: Take over what exactly, Bev?

Everything.

You gotta fight 'em.

You needed to speak to me, sir.

Ah, Johnson.

At ease.

Sergeant Perceval reported your actions at the Turkish machine g*n nest.

It was my brother, sir.

Still, it's remarkable.

You're young, but you've a good head on your shoulders.

I've recommended to the colonel that you be promoted to lance corporal.

What?

And he accepted.

(SIGHS)

No, sir.

What do you mean, no?

The army doesn't work like that, son.

You're a lance corporal.

Go and inform your mates.

Dismissed, Johnson.

Bartlett: Uh, excuse me there.

You wouldn't mind awfully if I asked you a few questions?

If I take notes, you'll understand, won't you?

Now, firstly, how old are you?

17.

Good God.

I lied.

And why did you want to join up?

My brother.

To... to help him?

You gotta love your own brother.

Indeed.

Have another.

I've never had brandy before.

Enjoy it. It's older than both of your grandfathers.

(CHUCKLES)

So, tell me, what did your father say when you joined up at 17?

He's dead.

He drowned.

No-one knows why.

I'm sorry.

I think I'm gonna die here.

I just don't know when.

And there you join the rest of humanity, Master Johnson.

None of us ever know.

I'll get sh*t.

What makes you so certain about this?

Tell me, are you frightened... of this...looming sh*t?

What do you think?

(BREATHES RAGGEDLY)

(GRUNTS)

Hey.

It's alright.

Shh.

Tolly: The nights always seem longer and darker at Gallipoli. We all had something that haunted us. We mostly didn't talk about it. It didn't matter how different we were as blokes. Everyone had the same experience. As long as we went on living.

Jack.

C'est mauvais. Souffrir.

Mourir.

Pour votre pays, mourir.

(PANTS)

Steak.

I want a steak with sauce. Yeah.

I reckon a leg of lamb.

Yeah, with...with gravy.

Oh.

And mint sauce.

Yes.

No, my mum's lamb's fry.

(g*nsh*t)

Ooh.

(LAUGHS)

You bastards.

Oh, give us a look.

(LAUGHS) That's a great sh*t.

(MAN SHOUTS IN TURKISH)

Yeah? Alright, then.

(SHOUTS IN TURKISH)

What'd he say?

How would I bloody know?

Now.

(g*nsh*t)

Hah. Missed.

(ALL SPEAK TURKISH)

Yoo-hoo.

Whoa.

Oh, sh*t.

Yeah, good sh*t.

(SPEAKS TURKISH)

(ALL LAUGH)

(MAN CALLS OUT IN TURKISH)

(SHOUTS) Yes, it was bloody good.

(ALL LAUGH)

Good to see you, Ellis.

Donald. Only a damn lieutenant, I see.

I'll have to have a chat with the admiral.

And only a reporter? Where's the novel?

Far too busy to write a novel, Donald.

Welcome to the 'Majestic'.

Thank you.

I've seen cables to Kitchener.

All's going well and we're progressing very soundly.

This is Hamilton's tone to London?

"We gain ground steadily but surely every day," unquote.

Don't we?

Unconscionable.

Well, speaking of mess, I'm the catering officer.

Come with me.

You there. Would you be so kind? Thank you.

Sailor: Yes, sir.

"We are fighting a brave and tenacious enemy who is most skilfully led..."

Note, sir.

"..and who has always proved himself a more formidable foe when backed into a corner and placed on the defensive."

The whole of London's reading this.

He must be stopped.

Well, it's not exactly treason to give the enemy his due, Braith.

If you'll forgive me.

Bartlett's laughing at you, sir.

I've intercepted this he's tried to get past the censors.

A letter to the London editors.

Exactly.

"Expedition failing. British public misled."

Under no circumstances must this be let through.

Why does he write these things?

He's on the 'Majestic'.

I'll have him sent packing immediately.

Uh...perhaps not.

Let's have Bartlett where we can keep an eye on him.

He's well connected - I don't want him playing the gadfly in London.

We should at least get him off the peninsula.

Quite.

Quarantine him somewhere, Braith.

I want him gelded.

(BANG.)

(SHIP'S BELLS RING)

(MEN SHOUT)

Man: Abandon ship.

(GRUNTS)

(HORN BLARES)

And we were picked up by some French warship.

As you can see, they were most accommodating.

I'll have my valet fit you out.

Although I don't see why. Just...add a hat.

What do you think, Roger?

Of course, this would never have happened if I'd been allowed the yacht that I'd requested.

The 'Majestic' would not have been torpedoed if you'd had your own yacht?

Heavens no. That's not what I meant at all.

Still, I have lost all my kit and I will need to replenish.

Do I have your permission to leave, sir?

Of course. And where is this shopping expedition to be?

Well, I thought I might go to Malta.

Very good. And you don't write a word while you're away.

Is that clear?

Thank you, sir.

How's that?

Bit more biscuit.

So, where's Troy?

Here.

Just over there, across the water.

So the Greeks...

They got into the horse and just sat there, waiting to get towed into town?

Yep, they did.

We need some kind of sauce.

Bit more water if you can.

How did they know they'd get past the gates?

What if the Trojans just decided to burn the horse down?

Well, they would have all been b*rned to death.

More biscuit.

So if it was such a long sh*t, why bother making it a horse?

Why not just make it... a big box with wheels?

The Wooden Box of Troy?

(LAUGHS) You're not much of a poet, are you, Tol?

(SHELL WHISTLES)

sh*t.

Incoming sh*t.

Take cover.

(MAN MOANS)

Man 2: Stretcher bearers.

Needs more biscuit.

Beautiful leg swing. Did you see that?

Oops, beam ball. Sorry, Abdul.

Oh, bloody Horsies. Welcome.

Getting stuck in, are ya?

Get f*cked.

Where'd you learn to sh**t like that?

Born with a r*fle in my hand, cobber.

Wow, a yorker. Never even saw it coming.

Who's up next, eh? Eh?

What's it gonna be? You don't know, do ya?

Come on, you better watch out.

Cliffy, will you shut up?

Oh, shut up yourself, Dave.

b*mb.

(LAUGHS)

Whoo.

What do you reckon, Tol?

Returned to the keeper a bloody inch over the bails.

(MEN CHUCKLE)

Bloody Cliffy.

(BELL TOLLS)

(KNOCK AT DOOR)

Man: Yes?

Bartlett.

Lord Kitchener.

Heard you were here. What the hell do you think you're up to?

Well, I was informed you wanted to see me, sir.

Don't be clever. Take a seat.

Thank you, sir.

(SIGHS) The Prime Minister's up and down corridors with fresh ideas about victory on Gallipoli.

Was it you who got to him?

I spent some hours with him last night, sir.

He wanted me to deliver a memo to Cabinet.

Yes, he mentioned you have a new strategy.

You're a reporter, for God's sake.

Well, the present plan isn't working, sir.

An att*ck at Bulair?

A fresh advance across the neck of the peninsula.

Once you're astride it, the campaign's won.

What about Anzac?

The Turks will have to move men away from Anzac to defend Bulair.

Yes.

Yes, the Turks' hold to the south gives them fine position there.

Why hasn't Hamilton used the Australians to take Achi Baba from behind?

That's impossible, sir.

Unless he takes Gaba Tepe first.

Yes, my view exactly.

I don't understand why they gave up Gaba Tepe in the first place.

Sir?

But the Australians have never held Gaba Tepe, sir.

(LAUGHS) Are you sure?

Quite sure.

Damn.

(HORN TOOTS)

Another one from London, sir.

Another one?

From the PM this time.

Why this flurry of queries about my campaign?

It's not the PM's business.

It's Bartlett, sir. Must be.

First he leaves without permission...

I'm afraid not.

I gave him permission to depart for Malta.

He agreed not to write anything while he was away.

He clearly hasn't.

Malta.

And now he fetches up in London on a whispering campaign.

Braithwaite: Treachery.

Leave him to me, sir.

So, an enjoyable voyage back, was it?

Not fast enough, but it's good to be back at work.

Fine, then. Here you are, right here.

The whole of the press corps, Bartlett, and you in particular.

You'll be supplied with tents.

Bartlett: Um...

Just how am I supposed to report on a w*r in Turkey from an island in Greece?

You'll be briefed. By me.

I see.

At least I can see Gallipoli.

Could have chosen a more accommodating spot with my eyes closed.

Our headquarters are just along down there.

It's only marginally better.

We must all sacrifice.

Chased from the ships, were you?

You'll set up here.

You will not leave without permission.

Is that clear?

Abundantly.

You were an army man, Bartlett.

You should know better.

And you're still an army man, sir.

This is an official reprimand.

I speak with the authority of General Hamilton.

No, you don't, Walter.

Misplaced hubris, Bartlett.

So you're opposed to this campaign?

Well, take note - young men flocked to enlist after reading your glowing reports.

Oh, and, Bartlett - we have three more journalists arriving.

You're hardly exclusive to London now.

(GOAT BLEATS NEARBY)

(SPEAKS INAUDIBLY)

(g*nsh*t)

Tolly: The death of a soldier is always the same. No matter who he is. Everything's taken from him. His tags, his pay book and diary, his g*n, letters from his girl, if he has one. You have to stop yourself thinking about it too much.

You lot.

Bury this man.

Move it.

(SONG PLAYS) ♪ Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside ♪
♪ I do like to be beside the sea ♪
♪ I do like to be upon the prom, prom, prom... ♪

Bartlett: No, indeed. There's more than one way to skin a cat.

But all this?

Yes, I know.

Well, I have a friend in the navy.

We were blown up together.

The 'Majestic'?

He was sleeping below deck. By rights, he should have perished.

But sailors, you know - float like corks.

Bean: Not all of them, Ellis.

No. Sadly true.

Still, a wonderful example of cooperation between the senior service and the fourth estate, don't you think?

And let us not forget our Greek friends.

(MEN CLAP)

And - where are my manners? - Henry, welcome to Gallipoli.

It's an honour to have a member of 'The Guardian' in our ranks.

Thank you, Ellis.

This is shaping up to be as fascinating as our previous encounters.

Bartlett: It is indeed.

You've worked together before?

Bartlett: Many years.

Henry covered the Second Punic w*r as a cadet journalist.

He's been hard at it since.

Politicians keep w*r correspondents very busy, bless 'em.

But I hold that one is a mirror.

One must reflect no more and no less than what one sees.

What utter nonsense, Henry.

The man wants to gild the lily.

I don't want to gild the lily, but I reserve the right to have an editorial attitude.

We report on places and numbers and times, Ellis.

No, we don't.

We report on courage, pain and madness.

♪ And there's lots of girls beside ♪
♪ I should like to be beside ♪
♪ Beside the seaside ♪
♪ Beside the sea. ♪

(SHIP'S BELLS RING FAINTLY)

We are ready to disembark you for Imbros, sir.

It's a beautiful sunset, general.

A cold hand, John.

And I'm afraid of it.

"Like one that on a lonesome road doth walk with fear and dread Because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread."

Sir, any man twice recommended for the Victoria Cross is not afraid of much.

We learn not to fear our enemy.

That's the thing a soldier does best.

Young men face oncoming fire.

It's a silent b*llet in the back of the neck for the commander, hmm?

Not if he's victorious, Johnny.

Caesar didn't hear them coming.

I do, John.

Already.

Chandler: We'll att*ck along the ridge with sections of the Light Horse in support.

Ugh, God help us.

(MEN CHUCKLE)

Alright, that's enough. Quiet.

The secondary objective is to destroy the Turkish observation post at the high point of Dead Man's Ridge.

There'll be no preliminary naval bombardment, so we move quietly.

We rely on surprise.

Any questions?

Right.

The att*ck'll begin at midnight.

Senior officers have indicated their complete confidence in the success of this initiative.

Dismissed.

"Complete confidence". Gets you all warm inside, eh?

Yeah, they love us.

But are they coming with us?

(MEN WHISTLE AND WHOOP)

C'est mauvais.

Souffrir.

Mourir.

Pour votre pays, mourir.

Cliffy: Are you scared, Tol?

No.

He is.

Look at him over there with his rosary.

You know what he's scared of?

What?

Well, he might get sh*t.

And he might go to heaven.

But what if he doesn't?

Do you know what happens in hell?

Tell you what happens.

You're lying there naked, under a pile of red-hot burning sand a thousand miles thick.

You choke.

You burn.

And you got no hope, right?

Wrong.

You got hope.

'Cause every thousand years, a little bird flies in and takes away one grain of sand.

(CHUCKLES)

Who thought that up?

It's true, mate.

(MEN LAUGH)

"A naughty young Grecian named Yorick... Flashed his phallus in places historic... Then patiently waited... While scholars debated... Was it Corinthian, Ionic or Doric?"

(ALL LAUGH)

Oh, God. (MUMBLES WARNING)

Welcome to Imbros, sir.

Sit down, gentlemen. I'm only a colonel, for God's sake.

(MEN TITTER)

So, Bartlett, what do we have here?

Well, that depends.

Are you a spy, colonel?

Has the general sent you to wipe us out?

This sounded a lot more convivial.

Oh, it is.

Compared to our camp.

What the dickens are you drinking?

Retsina. It's dreadful. We're enjoying it immensely.

We thought "If it was good enough for Achilles..."

Take a seat, colonel, please.

There's ouzo as well. (LAUGHS) In fact, I think it's worse.

Speaking...of wipe-outs, sir.

General Hunter-Weston's massive casualties at Krithia last week - the man is slaughtering his own troops.

Surely something...

Please, Mr Nevinson.

I'm here to drink wine.

Well, you're in the right place for that.

(REPORTERS LAUGH)

Marcus, pour the colonel another drink, for God's sakes.

(ALL LAUGH)

(MEN SPEAK TURKISH NEARBY)

They're waiting for us.

Course they're bloody waiting for us.

But do they know we're coming, is the question.

I reckon they know.

No, they don't.

We're past that trench I saw the other day.

They would've been f*ring by now if they saw us.

Yeah, you're right.

(g*nsh*t)

Oh, sh*t. Come on, get out of here.

(g*nf*re)

Jeez, it's the little bugger, Tolly.

Chook.

Tol.

G'day, Tol.

Two Bob.

Hey, Stewie.

(BANG.)

sh*t.

(THWACK.)

Man: Captains report to headquarters now.

Man 2: Company headquarters is over there.

(expl*si*n RUMBLES)

(MAN YELLS DISTANTLY) Tolly.

He's here.

(GROANS)

Hey.

Stretcher bearer.

Stretcher.

Tolly, come on. Come on.

Man: Wound to the chest.

No exit wound.

(MAN SPEAKS INDISTINCTLY)

Woman: Tolly? Tolly.

Man: He has to be evacuated.

Man 2: There's no boats till this afternoon.

We'll check on him later.

He won't last long.