01x04 - The Deeper Scar

[bunniefuu]

Beautiful leg swing. Did you see that?

Oh, bloody Horsies. Welcome.

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

I was born with a r*fle in my hand, cobber.

We are fighting a brave and tenacious enemy.

Bartlett's laughing at you, sir.

Quarantine him somewhere, Braith.

I want him gelded.

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

You'll be briefed, by me.

What did he say?

How would I bloody know?

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

Take over what exactly, Bev?

Everything.

Tom, this is Celia.

Hello, Thomas.

Birdy wants an armistice at Anzac. Bodies are piling up.

We learn not to fear our enemy.

That's the thing a soldier does best.

Young men face oncoming fire.

It's the silent b*llet in the back of the neck for the commander.

Not if he's victorious, Johnny.

I'll tell you what happens.

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

And you've got no hope, right?

Wrong. You got hope.

'Cause every 1,000 years, a little bird flies in and takes away one grain of sand.

This is the insignia. Australian Commonwealth m*llitary Forces.

So this is the rising sun.

That's amazing.

Come home safe, Tolly.

Thomas. Thomas.

My goodness. Where were you?

Pyjama top off. Come on.

Lean forward.

I'll change that dressing later. Meanwhile...

Wash down as far as possible.

Wash up as far as possible.

Pants off.

And now we wash possible.

Roll over.

How are you feeling today?

Good.

All done.

Here.

This'll have you back in action in no time.

Is it camel's?

No.

Cow's. Just like home.

They took a delivery of six of them.

Though I'm not sure anyone knows how to milk them properly.

It's only supposed to be for staff.

It's our little secret.

Tolly: Six weeks away from Gallipoli. Six weeks away from the k*lling. They didn't think I'd make it. I'm not sure I did.

Birdy. So good to see you.

You're taking it to them up at the heights, I hear.

Indeed, sir - a few more weeks and it won't do to be a Turk sn*per.

Weeks?

Rome wasn't built in a day, Braith.

Hm?

No, sir.

Gentlemen, take a seat.

So this latest call from the Turks on another truce to bury their dead...

Yes.

On grounds of humanity, I'd like to see the poor chaps decently buried, of course.

Of course.

But, um...

We've heard the Turks don't relish attacking over the bodies of their comrades.

The officers have trouble with the men.

I dare say this is behind the request - simply clearing the way, hm?

Turk corpses.

Better than barbed wire, Sir William, and much easier to set.

I suppose.

I'm, uh, disinclined to give them this one.

What else, Birdy?

Sickness, sir.

Yes.

These numbers are worrying.

We're starting to evacuate more ill than wounded.

It's largely flies. We've given them a breeding ground.

They're k*lling us more effectively than the Ottomans.

I've spoken to the Medical Service director about this.

He's issuing new orders to cope with it.

What else?

No good doing that now.

Gotta wait till night-time when they come out.

Lice don't know day from night.

You've not been bitten in the daytime?

Aha. Gotcha. See? Thank you.

We need a fly burner.

Turn it on and fry the bastards.

Warm enough for you, gents?

Sir...

You reckon you could complain to the Turks about their flamin' insects?

We've sent messages to Medical Services.

They'll come up with something.

Blood and damn.

Heard anything about Tolly?

No.

Lucky bastards.

You know, all we need is a b*llet in the right place and off to Egypt you go.

Gently does it, please.

My God, Bartlett. Now you've got the kitchen sink.

What is that?

Hold your fire, Marcus.

Wait till you see this. I'm taking it over with me.

Where are you going?

Beg your pardon?

Uh... Remember the w*r that we're here to report on?

But you're not allowed anywhere on the peninsula, Ellis.

And you've been granted full permission, haven't you?

I have. I can stay in the trenches indefinitely.

And I can't. But I will.

But Braithwaite barred you entirely. He told me.

Yes. I had a little chat with his superior officer.

He was most accommodating.

Seems I can pop across if needs be.

Hamilton gave you permission?

Yes.

I'd like to have seen Braithwaite's face.

What on earth is it?

Well...

Gentlemen.

This... is a cinematograph machine.

The very best. From London.

You're a newspaper reporter, Ellis. Who needs moving images?

Only the world, Charles.

Not for w*r correspondents.

Especially for w*r correspondents, Charles.

It's the future.

People will see w*r as it really is.

Mr Ashmead-Bartlett?

Ah. Are you one of Malone's?

The colonel sends his best wishes.

I'll be accompanying you to the front.

Excellent - could a few of your chaps collect my things?

They need to be careful with that one in particular.

Shall we?

Oh, Charles. Might see you up there.

Don't get sh*t, now, will you?

I'm the New Zealand correspondent and he gets Malone.

How does he do it?

Lord only knows.

What the hell's he doing?

No idea.

This is the legend?

He'd have trouble getting a bloody job at the 'Taranaki Post'.

Bartlett.

What do you think, Ernie?

I'll take him up the front, get him sh*t at.

That'll give him a thrill.

Ah. Colonel Malone. How do you do?

Leave the damn thing.

Let's go on a Turk walk, shall we?

Oh. Oh, yes. Excellent.

Excuse the fracas.

It'll be quiet here by the end of the week.

How do you know?

Haven't been here long.

It usually takes a few days.

If the Turks fire one sh*t, I fire ten back.

If they fire ten, then I give them bloody hell.

They soon get the picture.

Down. Get down.

How'd you know that wasn't gonna land on your head?

You listen.

Right. I was listening.

Come on.

Hey.

I gather this is yours.

Yes, sir.

Right. Well, get it on, son.

Come on. You're on duty.

Very spongy here. There duckboards underneath here?

No. Turks, mainly.

Excuse me, sir.

Oh. Oh, you bastard.

Get your hands off me.

Bonnie, where are you? Bonnie.

Bonnie? Bonnie.

G'day, Tolly.

Jeez. Two Bob.

When'd you get here?

Come in last night from Gezireh.

You on the mend?

Yeah.

What happened here?

Shrapnel.

Got infected with all sorts of sh*t.

Thought they were gonna cut it off.

Yeah. It's good now, but.

Come on, old man. Keep going.

So how many stockmen were there?

Uh, seven. Only two blackfellas.

Me and one other bloke.

You're an Abo?

Jeez, Tolly. What's it bloody look like?

I...I thought...

Don't know.

Thought you were from somewhere else.

Yeah, like from Mars, you reckon?

So how come your surname's King?

The whitefellas named my grandfather that 'cause he was an elder.

Was he a king?

Nah. We don't have that.

Well, we're here for the King.

Bevan loves him.

Bevan should be a Pommy. Fair dinkum.

Is your grandfather dead?

He taught me a lot of stuff.

Blackfella stories.

That's why I got his last name, not my father's.

My father was an arsehole.

What was his name?

Arsehole.

Cooee.

Cooee.

That one echoed.

One... two, three.

Cooee.

Cooee.

Cooee.

You move your mouth when you read, Cliff.

Is it in Turkish, is it?

Oh. Give it here.

"Dear Clifford..."

What, Clifford? Clifford?

Yeah? What's wrong with that?

Nothing, mate.

"Dear Clifford, I hope you are well and prospering on Gallipoli. Your father and I are very proud of you and... proud of what you and your friends are doing for the King and for Australia. Alice is a little better now."

"She's had such a hard time of it with the doctors and she's so weak."

No. Go on.

"But...we trust the Lord is not ready to take her yet, poor thing. She came home yesterday, and your father was grinning like a Cheshire cat. He sends all his love to you, Clifford, and I hope you will be alright with your friends and come home safe. I hope you like the socks. From your loving mum."

She thinks she's a good knitter.

And what am I gonna do with these, eh?

Who wants 'em?

No, thanks, Cliffy.

I've got something for you.

Wondering whether to give it to you or not.

I've decided.

Hand.

I thought you might like it.

You're the luckiest soldier alive, Thomas.

Well, there's no lucky dead ones.

It came... this far from k*lling you.

It tore the outer lining of your heart.

And there it was... just sitting below the skin of your back, just waiting there.

Now, let's get that dressing off.

You've been passed fit, Thomas.

Must be someone looking after you. Don't you think?

I don't really understand... God much.

Someone else, then.

Tolly: I got better. But somehow, I was different.

Right, on you get. Chop chop.

Tolly: They patched us up. And if we could walk, talk and sh**t, they sent us back. It was simple as that.

Come on, Tom.

Yeah.

Don't want to go back there.

What's wrong with you? I can't wait.

What have you got there?

It's the one that got me.

Jeez, Tolly.

Don't hang onto that.

It's bad luck.

You reckon?

Thought it might be good luck.

You men. What are you doing there? Get below.

I'm telling you, Tol, it's bad. Get rid of it. Quick.

Johnson. You're looking spick-and-span.

Brand-new, sir.

Are you? Good.

I meant the clothes.

Well... It's good to have you back.

You men, report to the front line.

On my way, Sergeant.

Tol.

Bev.

Mate.

You well?

Yeah.

This place looks a bit different.

We've been digging since you left.

We dig more than we sh**t these days.

Let's go. I'm not supposed to be here.

Boys will be glad to see you.

Take cover.

Be careful.

Take cover.

Get down. They got sn*pers everywhere.

Tol.

If a bloke cops one, you gotta get outta there real quick.

It means the sn*per's got the range. They're bastards.

We go out on patrol and get 'em, but mostly they get us.

Come on. We've been lucky.

And your men?

None of this airy-fairy pottering around.

As far as I'm concerned, my men get the best possible chance that I can give them.

Um...pottering around?

I'll tell you what I'm seeing here.

The English, trying to muddle through yet again.

Oh, yes.

It's how we do things.

Muddling through.

You'll have it written on your bloody gravestones.

Sir?

Sit down, Harry.

Sir.

Getting tired.

Tired of this.

Sick with it.

Well, that's understandable, sir.

Another eight men gone in that last exchange.

No, it's not that.

It's from the colonel.

"Re: fly nuisance - it is recommended that short strips of glutinate paper be hung on bushes at sections of most activity. This can have the effect of capturing scores in any 12-hour period."

Flypaper?

Flypaper.

Sir...

We can't take that to the men.

Can you imagine?

So, what was the food like?

It was different to bully beef. So not too bad.

What do you reckon it is?

Who bloody cares?

Yeah. I'm gonna get it.

You'll get it alright.

Stewie, don't.

Don't.

Bloody idiot.

Get down.

Whoo-hoo.

Not English.

It's not Turkish.

Oh, give me a look.

It's French.

"Leave the peninsula immediately. This is your third and final warning."

Ooh-hoo. Really?

Oh, yeah?

Cheeky bastards.

We've decided to stay.

Welcome back, Tolly.

See, Tolly? Don't miss much.

Cheeky bastards.

How was that, eh?

Ooh.

Might be some camel dung in there for ya.

I don't care what anyone says.

They're good blokes.

Fair dink...

"I said in my heart concerning the estate of the sons of men that God might manifest them and that they might see that they themselves are beasts, for that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts. Even one thing befalleth them..."

"As the one dieth..."

Come on, Tol.

"..so dieth the other. Yea, they have all one breath, so that a man hath no pre-eminence above a beast. For all is vanity."

"All go unto one place, all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again. Who knoweth the spirit of the beast that goeth downward to the earth?"

Oh, get off there, Stewie. Show some respect.

Hey? You're bloody sitting on Cliffy.

I'm not lying on him.

I always figured Cliffy would be the one to get home again.

Yeah.

He was, um...

He was a pretty smart bloke in his own way.

Got himself sh*t, but.

Never gonna meet him now, Cliffy. Sorry, mate.

Who?

Victor Trumper.

Reckons he could have bowled him out.

Bowl Victor Trumper? Mate, the Pommies can't even do that.

He was only kiddin'.

I saw him play once.

Best game of cricket ever.

He always wanted to meet him.

100 runs before lunch. Easy, eh?

Hooroo, Clifford.

Tolly: Cliffy told me hell was being buried under burning sand a thousand miles thick. And every thousand years, a little bird would come and take away a single grain, giving you some hope. Cliffy believed in God. And that helped him in his life. But I don't know how it helps when you're dead. I guess Cliffy's finding out.

You'll be out there chewing lead, not sitting on your arse drinking posh tea in some bloody trench.

What'd you volunteer for anyway?

Give it a go.

Can you sh**t?

A bit.

A bloody bit? And you're volunteering to be a sn*per?

You want to k*ll yourself some Turks, do you, son?

'Cause I need blokes that can take the eye out of a crow at a thousand yards.

Can you do that for me, son?

Never tried.

You see that little tree out there?

Go on. Take a bloody look.

It's a Turk's tree. Let's see if you can k*ll it.

You should have volunteered weeks ago, son. Follow me.

Got one here for you, Billy.

He can sh**t a bloody great tree from about 10 yards.

You're gonna have to train him.

Learn from this bloke, son.

He knows more about k*lling Turks than you ever will.

You're Billy Sing.

You know they talk about you?

Even up at Quinn's.

Forget about your V sight. Sit down.

Fit one of those.

Got him?

Yeah.

Well, you got a choice.

You can do this.

Or you can get in a trench with a peephole and a bloke sighting for you.

This'll do me.

You're gonna get sh*t, mate.

You realise that?

You haven't.

Not yet.

Have you really sh*t 200 Turks?

I wish it was only that many.

See ya.

See, the question is... are you part of the Empire and doin' your bit for the King, or are you some uncivilised bastard?

Look at you. You bloody report sick.

I'm leaving here like Cliff or I'm going home.

Oh, for goodness sakes, Dave. Just do what I tell you.

Go to hell, Bevan. I'm not your little brother.

I'm just saying. You're an idiot.

Well, I don't want to hear it.

I am sick. Yeah.

I'm sick of you and your bloody views.

I'm sick of hearing about the bloody King and I'm sick of hearing about the bloody Empire.

Hey, hey. Hey.

Who you bloody fightin' for?

Huh? Eh?

I'm here, Bevan. Who cares why?

You can't even sh**t anyway.

I'll tell you something else.

What?

That bloody King... he doesn't give a bugger whether you're here or not.

Yeah, why would he? He's the f*ckin' King.

Christ, you're thick, Bevan.

Yeah? Yeah, come on.

Cut it out, Bev.

Why don't you just bugger off like Tolly?

Leave it.

What am I doing here, Braith? Huh?

We've all read Homer. We've read all the Greeks.

Gods of this place will destroy you on a whim.

Lack of men, sickness, ill luck and now stasis.

I'm facing a Gordian knot, Braith, and I must cut through it or the... gods will tear me apart.

I wouldn't worry so much about the gods as the Turks, Sir Ian.

I'm going back to Kitchener.

Withdrawal?

Not a bit. I'll defy the gods, Braith.

att*ck.

And damned be him that first cries "Hold, enough."

Sir.

Oh, yes, indeed.

Come on, Braith. Carpe diem.

Tolly: In w*r, there are a lot of ways to die. And in the end... maybe k*lling and dying is the same thing. My b*llet didn't k*ll me. But it k*lled something inside.