Kajaki: The True Story

This film contains some violent scenes, very strong language

and scenes which some viewers might find upsetting.

MUFFLED EXPLOSION

GRENADE EXPLODES

Man in the fucking water.

Man in the fucking water.

Shit. Stick to their own fucking side, man.

Cheeky fucking midgets.

Oi. Check your arcs, Rambo.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, Mowgli!

I'm here trying to bring fucking peace and love to your shitty stone-age country.

Is it too much to be able to enjoy a rinse without taking indirect fucking fire from you lot?

SPEAKS PASHTO

Let that be a lesson to ya.

Go on, fuck off now then.

Ever heard the one about not walking into a room

until you know how you're walking out of there, Tug?

We all miss our birds, mucker. No need to start grooming the local nippers.

Fuck off.

Grenade fishing - nearly catch of the fucking day, me.

Hey, no harm done.

SPEAKS PASHTO

Two, yeah?

SPEAKS PASHTO

First lesson my grandma taught me, Tug. Don't pick a fight with an armed midget.

We're a long way from home.

What you talking about, you're from Huddersfield.

-Go on, mate.

-Cheers.

Race you back up?

Ah, you're fully loaded, mate. Unfair fight.

HELICOPTER BLADES WHIR

OK, go! Now!

-Signals?

-Yeah, mate. Cheers.

Come on, then, what's the news? Heard there was a heat wave back home.

-Typical, innit?

-Heat wave? Pissed it down, mate.

Anyway, where's the FLET?

FLET? Hat!

It's all around you, mate.

Terry pokes his nose up here. We smash him back into his hole.

Bosh!

-Did you bring it?

-In the back, pal.

My guide tells me something's coming.

They got a new field commander. Keep your eyes open.

Sure, John. Cheers.

-Civvies here?

-Yank security.

They look after the engineers working on the dam.

Talk about hearts and minds,

this joint would supply electricity to half of bloody Helmand,

if someone could work out how to turn it on.

-So where have you been?

-Ops room, Bastion. Sangin, then here.

-Ah, Sangin. Proper tasty, right?

-Telling me.

-Is this us?

-Nah. OMLTs.

Teaching the ANA which end of a weapon's the noisy bit.

We're up top, mate.

-So what's it like up here?

-Right, OK, fellas...

It's going on, that's what it is, mucker.

I quit the reg after Telic - zero contacts, mate.

I joined back when Herrick was on. Finally get a piece of the action.

Rather be in the scrum than on a subs bench, do you know what I mean?

Not really.

Rugby's a real game, mate. Taliban should play it. Tough bastards.

I'm pretty sure Afghans don't play rugby.

Here, look, look, look.

-Give us a lift up, pal?

-Hop on, Tug.

-Do one, Prosser!

-Good for you, hat.

Fucking dick swinger.

Hop on, Mark!

-Did they come?

-Dunno, look in here, Spud.

Sergeant McMellon. Signaller Jones.

Shit the fucking bed!

I hope you know how to use a radio without batteries, Signaller Jones.

For fuck's sake.

-Right, welfare box. Who wants it?

-Yeah, I'll have it, Pross.

Any decent scoff though, we split it, yeah?

Prosser, stop twatting about and get that stuff up there!

Fusilier AL Barlow's got his porn re-sup.

Fuck me, Ken, your mum looks hotter every month.

Yeah, fucking hands off, mate. The rest?

Mark. Here you go, mate.

Cheers, pal.

-Signals?

-Oman, yeah.

-Jonesy.

-Mark.

-How you doing, man?

-Good, mate.

-What the fuck's this?

-You been up here before?

-You dicks!

No, first time.

-Aye, mortar boys, you can have that one.

-Jay, you want to show him around, mate.

Well, we know where your basha is, Barlow. Keep an eye open, that's all I'm saying, mate.

Luke.

Luke, boat came in, mate.

Skin 'em up, will you.

-Prosser, catch you up there, pal.

-Yeah, man.

Fuck it. Ten quid. Thanks, Aunt Pam, just what I fucking need out here(!)

New TACSAT's come in, Spud. I'll set it up.

This is Athens. You've got 360 all-round defence.

Down here you've got the GPMG 50 cal.

Clackers for the claymores. In here's the interpreter's place.

That's water, ablutions. You got burn pit, shit pit down beyond that.

Right, this needs to go over with the other stuff.

-Ken.

-Oh, for fuck's sake, Spud, I did it yesterday.

Thank you, Ken. Thank you, Prosser.

-Come on, lads...

-You're in here with the medic and the med store.

-HQ, mortar pit.

-Go on, then, fucking sign 'em out...

There's about 16 odd here at Athens.

Seven, eight, up at Normandy. That's it. Stay on marked tracks. Enjoy.

DISTANT EXPLOSION

Well, the clinical term is dick rot.

-Was it anyone nice?

-Four, actually. All delightful.

Bastard. Right, put it away.

You gotta be careful flashing it about this lot.

What is it? Long time on the hill.

Gungy mortars? The rumours are true, pal.

Not that they'd go near that rancid thing.

Oh, yeah.

From Nog Gorman.

Happy birthday.

He says make sure you save 'em till the big day. When's that?

7th. Why, what are we now?

Unlucky, pal. 5th.

Fuck that. I'm not waiting two fucking days.

Oh. You taking heat up here?

Nah, I get more contact when my bird's on the rag.

I mean, it were busy for a bit but Terry's pissed off back to Sangin.

We own all this high ground. Out of small-arms' range.

A few Chinese rockets, bit of boom, boom in the valley, but that's it.

Lucky, cos we're out of ammo.

Nah, boredom or ANA'll get you before Terry does.

-Right. Jonesy, yeah?

-Yeah.

Antibiotics, anti-inflammatories. Take one of each before each meal.

Run the course.

Give the pin dick a bit of R&R, yeah?

HE BURPS

Stop staring at my arse, you throbber.

What's the fucking hurry, hat?

Aye up, lads, budgie express inbound.

Er, wind direction please, Private Harvey.

-I do know this guy, right?

-Out of the west, Private Smith.

Er, yeah.

OK, I'm, er...

I'm dead. I'm a man. I'm British. I've got a gay beard.

We think.

We think. I, er, killed a king and I'm not Guy Fawkes.

Who didn't kill anyone.

-For fuck's sake, Stu, mate.

-Fucker!

It's like watching a retard trying to fuck a doorknob.

I thought you knew your fucking history.

Just fucking guess, will you, before I slit my fucking wrists.

-Am I anything to do with King Arthur?

-No.

You got three guesses and then it's five bines for mush.

-This is a fucking stitch-up.

-Ah, hey, rules is rules. Right, Stu?

"When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains

"and the women come out to cut up what remains,

"just roll to your rifle and blow out your brains...?"

ALL ..and go to your God like a soldier.

For fuck's sake!

What you doing putting this shit in your fucking head?

Well, it's a bit of perspective, innit?

Perspective on what?

What a dour-faced bastard Rudyard Kipling was?

You fucking pricks.

GENERAL CHEERS

It's Quasimodo and Worzel Gummidge.

-It's all right...

-What happened, Ken?

..you can get your own fucking shit tomorrow, OK?

Did you get the 350 chargers?

Uh, negative.

IMITATING PEARSON: For fuck's sake.

-Fuck off the two of youse.

-Prosser's got another unit.

-All right, cock smokers?

-Yeah.

Here, how come it's always you that gets the crap jobs, then, Ken?

-Ah, fuck off.

-Crap hat, crap job.

Eh, you can fuck off too, Cromwell.

Faz.

-Am I Oliver Cromwell?

-You're an idiot.

It doesn't count if someone fucking tells you, does it?

-Rules is rules, Smudge, yeah. Five bines.

-You absolute knob.

Ma shot...

I swear to fuck, Smudge, see if you make me Jimmy fucking Krankie one more time...

SONG OVER RADIO

# I know where I'm going

# And I will stop at nothing just to get what I want

# It's the only way... #

Here, Smudge, watch this. Ready?

'Pressive.

Ninja fingers, mate.

..weird. Mayo on sausage? You fucking weirdo, mate.

-It's sweet, mate.

-Mate, sausage, cheese and mayo on a fucking sandwich.

Swear to God, mate. Don't look at me like that, I'm telling you.

Hurry up, man. I'm fucking starving.

CHATTER OVER RADIO

ANIMAL CALLS

There's a lot of fucking about down there, mush.

Oh. Fucking petrol station again, mate.

-Here, go get Stu.

-Sure.

Stu, Stu, Stu, Stu.

Wake up, mate.

Activity at the petrol station. Come on, get your arse up.

-Come on.

-Fucking hell. All right, come on.

Bloody hell, Jarhead. I was just getting to the good bit.

Right, what we looking at?

It's that fucking petrol station again, mush.

They're persistent little bastards, I'll give 'em that.

Right.

Kilo Two, this is Kilo Five, over.

WHITE NOISE

Kilo Two, this is Kilo Five. Over.

For fuck's sake.

DISTANT GUNSHOT

Kilo Five to Kilo Two. What the fuck was that? Over.

HALE OVER RADIO: 'Kilo Two. Enemy activity in the vicinity of the petrol station. Over.'

-Roger, wait out.

-GUNFIRE

What's the rush, you fuckers. We got all night.

Call it in.

-Somebody get Mark.

-I'm here. What we got?

Contact from petrol station.

-Hello, Zero, this is Emerald 79. Over. OVER RADIO:

-'Kilo Four to Kilo Five

'enemy fire from direction of petrol station.'

-I thought we'd smashed that?

-RADIO: All ANA call signs...

-Apparently not.

-ANA call sign engaged. Wait out.

Roger, Kilo Four. Out.

Area around firing point clear. Request CAS. Mark, you're up.

Hello, Zero, this is Emerald 79, JTAC requests immediate close air support. Over.

RADIO: 'Roger, wait out.'

RADIO: 'Hello, Emerald Seven-Nine, this is Zero.

'One Dutch F-16 available, call sign Hitman One-One. ETA two, out.'

-Roger last. Two minutes.

-Tidy.

Roger, Kilo One, we're on this. Out.

-Hello, Hitman One-One, this is Widow One-Three.

-'You got to hit those bastards hard and fast. Over.'

-Roger. Out. Again.

-'Widow One-Three, Hitman One-One...

-'has you five by five. Be advised no laser munitions on pod at this time.'

-No LGB.

Jay, take post.

Hitman One-One, we will illuminate target. I will clear hot on your confirmation of target.

'Copy, Widow One-Three.'

Fire mission - number two - illume X-ray one-three.

Number two, illume X-ray one-three.

Guess we're not the only ones who got re-supped today.

Ammo ready.

Number two, fire.

Number two firing.

Firing... Now!

Five, six, seven, eight, boom.

Spot on, Jay.

-Hitman One-One, target is lit.

-Master craftsman, this one.

Petrol station in low ground, base of forward slope.

-RADIO: 'Tally target.'

-Widow One-Three, clear hot, clear hot.

RADIO: 'Hitman One-One, clear hot. Hitman One-One all hot, nine seconds.'

He needs double tops...

EXPLOSION

-Still needs double tops.

-What's he fucking doing over there?

Hitman One-One, missed target.

-That cunt couldn't finish off his dinner.

-Target is 200 metres west...

-Well, it shut 'em up at least.

-..of impact point. Request another run.

RADIO: 'Hitman One-One.

'Negative, Widow One-Three, I am bingo fuel. RTB. Out.'

Hitman.

-RADIO:

-'Zero, this is Sandstone Two-Eight, contact.

-'Multiple Chinese rockets fired from Wombat Wood.

-Over.

-'Returning fire with GPMG...'

-That Sangin?

-'..50 cal and mortars. Over.'

-Yeah.

We can pick them up 46Ks away but not Normandy 1K away, mate.

-Fucking Scalies, right?

-Yeah.

-You just come from there?

-Yeah. R&R, but before then, though, yeah.

Were you there when Bry Budd got killed?

Team medic. I saw him when he came in.

Brave fucker should get something for it.

Yeah, too right, mate. Too right.

We spent five weeks up there with our arses hanging out.

-I was there the night they hit the tower.

-I heard about that.

There was Pete Thorpe, Hashmi and a terp listening to all the icomm chatter.

Told us to get down, knew something was coming, then it fucking took them all out.

Aye.

-Anyway. You on selection, that you?

-Yeah, maybe.

I fucked my knee on the hill two years ago.

One shot left. Gill's not exactly crazy about it, like.

What, your missus?

-Fiancee.

-Still do it though, yeah?

My uncle's an SSM in Hereford, mate. Wouldn't let me hear the end of it if I didn't.

-How about you?

-I don't know...

maybe in a few years.

Yeah, good.

-STONES DISLODGE

-Shh, shh, shh, shh.

CLICKS TONGUE

Dog biscuits?

Best mate's wife sends 'em out.

-Yah.

-There a lot of mines out there?

Mate, this whole country's full of shit left behind when armies fucked off.

Roads, tanks, mujahideen.

CLICKS TONGUE

Russians - it was the mines.

Ten million fucking mines.

Come on.

God knows what we're going to leave behind.

Come on.

-PEARSON:

-Aye up. Looks like Kajaki Jon was right for once. Definitely stopped that motor.

-HALE:

-Yeah, they're pulling them out the back. It's two adults, looks like, er, two children.

Cash changing hands.

Well, that's an illegal vehicle checkpoint on the 611, Corporal Pearson.

Militia threatening and extorting money from civilians.

-Well, that explains that fucking about last night.

-Hmmm.

Range?

Two-five, two-eight?

-Too far for a snipe.

-Not from here, yeah.

-What about a mortar?

-Nah, civvies.

There's a possible firing position, ridge to the south. Brings 'em in range.

Dunno, there's a lot of deep ground out there.

Cannae see any ground sign.

Could take the goat track down.

Smudge's been laying trip flares down there, right?

Well...at least it ain't just another day on Mount fucking Longer.

Fuck it.

-We need to OK this with Spud, all right?

-Hmm.

Right, go and give the ladies a shout, get a plan together.

I'll meet you back here in 20.

Hey, there's one for you here, Jarhead.

"Tanning Tips for Red Heads".

Comedy tips for cunts.

Right, who fancies a bimble?

-Yeah.

-Yeah.

-I do.

RADIO: 'Cobalt Four-Five. Acknowledge Cobalt Four-Five.

-RESPONSE:

-'Cobalt Four-Five, roger. Nothing further to report. Out.'

Emerald Seven-Nine, SITREP.

Nothing significant since last engagement at 0100.

Critical request for 350 battery re-sup. Over.

RADIO: 'Requests at the end of the show. Up on the roof Bronze Seven-Seven. Over.'

Go straight to RC South, Spud.

When I want your opinion, I'll fucking give it to you, Prosser.

Right, change lads.

Cheers.

LAUGHS

Admiring my Napoleonic combined arms assault tactics, are we, Jay?

Checkmate. Watch and learn, hat.

Fuck it. I should have just droned the shit out of you.

Once more unto the breach?

Once more unto the fucking khazi.

Morning, mate.

-Med kit?

-Yeah, mate, yeah.

Boys. Let's make it quick, yeah?

-Fucking Ali. Ali fucking Baba.

-Bell end.

-All OK'd?

-Yeah.

-Youse are good to go?

-Yes, mucker.

Faz is on fire support. Jarhead's taking the 350 and he's a team medic.

Yeah, you get a sore throat down there, you'll be in safe hands.

All right.

Talk me through it.

Down the goat's track to the south-east,

re-entrant to the wadi, up the slope to the west ridge.

Faz is rear man, and, uh, Bomb Head's got eyes on, so it's full cover.

All right, ladies, radio check at the bottom.

I'll see you when you get back.

Oi, fatty.

Anything happens to me down there, make sure you tell your mum I love her.

Will do.

Right, eyes on, boys.

Where's Ken?

Ah, don't make me go over there again, Sergeant.

MUSIC PLAYS

# You... Oh, oh, you can have it all

# If that's all right Cos I will give it all to you

# Cos you never lied before. And you... #

MUSIC TURNS OFF

Radio check, mate.

Hello, Kilo Two.

This is Kilo Two Bravo, radio check, over.

-RADIO:

-'Kilo Two, OK, over.'

OK, out.

EXPLOSION

-Stu?

-Contact! Mortar!

Stu!

-Fucking eyes on, yeah, mate. Fucking eyes on.

-Calm it down, Stu, right. Just leave the rifle.

I just lost my fucking finger, pal. Don't tell me to fucking calm down.

Stu, Stu. Listen to me. You stepped on a fucking mine, mate, all right.

What?

-Oh! Fuck! Jesus fucking Christ!

-It's all right... Just fucking hold it, all right?

Fuck. Ah, fuck!

Ah!

-Fucking shit!

-All right, nearly there, pal, all right? Just fucking bear with me, man.

-Ah! Fucking tie... Fucking tie it! Shit!

-Shut the fuck up!

Fuck! Ah! Shit!

OK, OK, OK.

There it's on. It's on. It's on. OK, it's on.

Where the fuck's the 350?

Where the fuck is 350?

Fuck me!

Right, Kilo Two.

Kilo Two Bravo, come in.

Kilo Two, this is Kilo Two Bravo, come in.

For fuck's sake!

Stu, Chris, come on, man, man. We've got a man down in the wadi!

Faz, you tell them we need a cas evac, fucking smart, all right?!

Now, go! Go!

Stu! Stu! Now, fucking wake up.

Yeah.

You're going to be all right, OK.

-Yeah, well, I'm fucking... I'm fucking not, am I?

-No, you are. OK, listen to me, OK.

I'm going to check you for other injuries, yeah.

Get some morphine into you, buddy. Yeah? You just fucking hang tight, OK?

Kilo Two Bravo.

Kilo Two Bravo.

Jarhead, what the fuck's going on? Did any youse see anything?

-No enemy movement.

-Fuck.

Right. I want eyes on them, I want eyes on the wadi.

If anything moves, fucking smash it.

OK, lads, let's fucking go.

RADIO: 'Kilo Five to Kilo Two. What the fuck's going on over there?'

Kilo Two. Mine strike.

-RADIO:

-'Mine strike.'

-Kilo Two?

Fuck!

-Zero, this is Emerald Seven-Nine...

-Dave, Jay, Luke, Ken

mine strike on Normandy.

Tug, man down, mate. Med bergen, let's go, yeah.

-Anyone else got a med kit?

-One here, mucker.

All right, get on, Jay, and we'll follow.

-I've got one. Team medic.

-All right, good lad.

-Come on, man down, boys. Let's fucking go.

-Mark.

Mark, you don't know what you're moving into.

Well, someone's got to fucking do it.

Faz, what the fuck's going on!

-Stu stood on a mine.

-Fuck! How bad?

His fucking leg's gone, mate.

Bomb Head. Get a Nine Liner to Athens.

It's Stu Hale, confirmed. P1, winch required.

Bastard!

Come on, Tug, one of our boys is fucking dying over there!

There'll also be another one over here in a minute, fucking hell!

Tug.

Mine strike on Normandy?

-That's what they said.

-Get in.

Not long now, Stu. All right?

All right, lads, the fucking cavalry's here.

-All right, Stu boy. Smudge is here, mate.

-Here, Smudge. Get this would you, mate.

I've got it, I've got it. Go on. Go on, mate.

Guy, what the fuck have you done now, eh?

-How we doing, Jar?

-Yeah. Got a tourniquet on.

Given him a shot of morphine... in the good leg.

How we doing, big fella?

Heard you screaming all the way from the top, you big homo.

Aye.

All I heard was "Oh, my leg! My fucking leg."

I thought to myself, here, I know that big poofy voice.

You reckon I'll still be all right for selection, mucker?

Course you will, buddy, all right. You're going to be fine.

I was fucking joking, mate.

Just sit tight, all right? We're going to get you out of here.

Hey. You all right, yeah?

Maybe we can carry him up?

I don't know, mate. We need to keep him level.

HE GRUNTS

One times P1 casualty.

ZAP Hotel Zero-Nine-Eight-Three. Winch required.

Kilo Two to Kilo Five.

Hello, Kilo Five, it's Kilo Two.

Fucking piece of fucking shit.

What's happening?

Stu Hale went on a patrol. Think he trod on a mine.

Where?

Down the wadi. Stu Pearson took Smudge to check him out.

There's no comms on the ground.

What's that?

"I. Am. Gay." Jarhead, mate, now's not the time.

Oi, Smudger.

-You couldn't check my prick for me, mucker?

-Yeah, it's all right. It's still there, still tiny.

Give us a fag, would you.

Watch your step, mate. There's mines.

I've got a med kit.

Oi, follow our line in, mush.

-Yeah, you got it.

-Rescue party's come down from Athens.

Mark's got a stretcher.

Fuck me!

-How you doing?

-Yeah, no fucking drama, mate.

It's still bleeding. I got another tourniquet.

Hold on, Stu, yeah. Hold on, mate.

-Right, ju... Hey, give me a second, right.

-Now, hold on.

Hold on, mate.

Ah! Fuck!

Fucking... Ah. Fuck you!

-Well done.

-Well done, mate.

Nearest secure HLS is Lancaster. No emergency HLS identified at this time.

Winch requested. Over.

-RADIO:

-'Can casualty be extracted to HLS? Over.'

Unknown. Winch requested. Over.

-RADIO:

-'Wait out.'

Heard you needed comms. 808.

-How many have you got?

-Er. Two more.

You stay here. Give me the comms.

I'll take one up to Normandy, put the other on the ground with the medic.

Right, I'm Kilo Five Alpha. Kilo Five Bravo - in the wadi. Normandy stays Kilo Two.

-All right, let's go, come on.

-Yeah.

You're doing brilliant, buddy. You're doing absolutely fucking brilliant, all right?

Keep the leg still, yeah?

Any of youse know how to cannulate?

-Glad you could join us, Tug.

-I'm faster downhill.

Fucking...

Follow the line in, Mark.

..dressing to the knee.

Tug. Tug, I'm out of dressings, mate.

-Grab a stretcher, buddy.

-There's still dripping on the stump here, mate.

-OK, everybody. Nothing left, mate, at all.

-Shut the fuck up, now!

Jarhead, get them buttons done.

Tell me what's going on, pal.

All right, um, right leg as you see it, mate

-Er, right hand.

-Yeah.

-Damage to left leg.

-Yeah.

Er, says his right knee's giving him jip, too.

I've strapped it off, given him a pen of morphine, marked it up.

-I'm fucking shit out of med kit now, mate.

-Right, Jay?

-SITREP, mate.

-I applied a second tourniquet.

-Erm, I've wrapped it up...

-We've got deep ground all round, buddy.

I've got the OP keeping an eye on us, but we don't want to get taken by surprise.

All right. Nicely done, lads.

-Further mine threat?

-Fuck knows. We need to assume there is.

-Extraction?

-I've asked for a winch.

Good job.

Right lads, listen in.

We've a bloke on his arse, so let's make him comfortable.

Smudge, get some cover on him, mate.

Luke, join Foreman on stag.

Kenny, you mucker, mark the safe route in, clear the area around Stu.

Check your immediate space, fellas. Stand only on proven safe route.

-Jonesy, get on Athens, check on cas evac.

-Right, Stuart...

-Stick your ball... ball your hand on my fist, yeah?

-Dave.

Nobody else in or out without my say so, buddy, all right?

-What's our call sign?

-Kilo Two Bravo, mate.

-But you won't get any response from that one.

-Just fucking try it!

Hello, Kilo Five, this is Kilo Two. Bravo, over.

Hello Kilo Five, this is Kilo Two Bravo. Radio check, over.

Always get the crap jobs, eh, Ken.

Down the wadi. Follow the goat track.

We got comms.

Hey, radio check when you're in.

All right, lads, this isn't working, we need to get that bergen

-underneath his knee, keep it elevated, yeah. Smudge?

-Ah, cool.

Let's get this med pack underneath his head, Jarhead.

-Yeah, just watch his spine, pal.

-Cheers.

Tanning tips for redheads, eh?

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait.

I think I've found something.

No, it's just a rock.

-Jesus, Ken.

-Hey, hey...

-I'm sorry, lads, I'm sorry.

Come on, listen. It's important that we clear the rocks out as well.

You know, in case we want to come down and plant some fucking cabbages one day.

Right, Stu. Looks like you might have a break above the knee.

Nothing I can do now, but I've given you another stick of morphine, yeah?

I know it chafes but you're not dying today, yeah.

You're a strong fucker, you're going to be all right.

Onto the fucking paperwork.

-Oi, Tug.

-Yes, mate.

Give us a fag, would you, mate?

Mate, just one fucking bine.

What's it going to do? Blow my other fucking leg off?

Huh?

FLICKS LIGHTER

You fucking legend, mate.

I won't tell on you, if you don't tell on me.

Stable down here, Mark. How we doing on cas evac?

Nobody else in, mate.

I've got comms from Normandy.

The medic can come in, Dave, no-one else.

Be my guest.

Marked route, pal.

You're Kilo Five Bravo

Spud's Kilo Five Alpha and Normandy's Kilo Two.

Cheers, pal.

Alex, how are you for fluids, pal?

Hello, Kilo Five Alpha, this is Kilo Five Bravo, over.

-RADIO:

-'Kilo Five Alpha, what's the status on casualty? Over.'

Corporal Hale is P1.

Stable but needs immediate evac, Spud.

-RADIO:

-'Can casualty be moved to Normandy for evac? Over.'

-Wait out. Medics, can we carry him out?

-Well, he's stable when he's flat.

At an angle there's a chance he could bleed out or bleed in.

-We need a winch, pal.

-That's what I've been saying.

-We've got a stretcher.

We should have enough bodies to keep him level.

-Have you seen how fucking steep it is?

-Just cut the corner, go up the re-entrant.

No way are we leaving the path. I'm saying stick tight, wait here for the heli. That's my opinion.

Mark, what you thinking?

We need to pull him away from the rocks. Get him out in the open.

There, the raised bank.

-All right.

-Right, lads, listen up.

-I need two bodies to help clear a route over there.

-RADIO:

-'Kilo Five Alpha, send, over.'

-Kilo Five Bravo, preparing to move.

-Tidy, step in.

I want youse on your belt buckles, shoulder to shoulder.

I'm going to follow youse with the flags.

-RADIO:

-'Roger. Wait out.'

Come on, lads, let's fucking move.

You're seeing this?

Kilo Two to Kilo Five Alpha. Taliban movement on the 611.

RADIO: 'Might be headed your way.'

-RADIO:

-'Roger, Kilo Two, keep your eyes on it.'

'Kilo Five Alpha to all call signs. Be advised, enemy movement in the vicinity of Tangi.

'Possible threat to Kilo Five Bravo position. Wait out.'

I might as well be prodding a fucking car park.

At least if it's this hard, they won't detonate if you walk over 'em.

I don't think that's how it work.

One here, boss.

Just mark it, buddy, and then deviate.

-So I killed lots of people but I'm not a soldier?

-Correct.

-Killed myself?

-Yeah, um. Hanged yourself, I think.

What am I, some kind of fucking serial killer or something?

-Correct.

-Fucking prick.

HE GROANS

Oi, same again, barman, yeah?

How many's he had now?

That's his third.

-Stu?

-Huh?

You got a bleed on on the left leg, mate. Nothing major.

Just going to tie you off, pal, all right?

Better safe...

-Am I... Er... Am I Fred West?

-No.

-This is the last from Normandy.

-Nice one, Prosser.

Cheers, Jonesy.

-I'm alive?

-No.

Kilo Five Bravo, ETA on cas evac, over.

-RADIO:

-'Wait out.'

Look out.

-RADIO:

-'Kilo Five inbound. ETA on task 1-0 minutes. Over.'

Confirm minutes 1-0. Over.

-RADIO:

-'Confirm. Wait out.'

You hear that, Stu? Ten minutes, pal.

What they sending, Mark?

They'll send what they send.

-They going to touch down or...

-Tug, we'll work it out, fuck.

Stu!

HE EXHALES

Path's safe.

-All right. Moving day, gents.

-Right.

You, you, you and you on Stu. You guys grab anything that's left.

Strong grip. My count, on three. One, two, three.

-Strain. One, two, three.

-Here we go.

Oi, somebody get my rifle.

-Cheers, mucker.

-Yeah, I've got it, mate. That all right?

-Yeah.

Here, Jonesy, give us your bergen, pal.

-You all right up there, Stu?

-Hmm-mm.

Ah, like the Maharajah of Helmand Province, aren't you.

You want to peel me a grape?

Nah, but I've got a couple of ripe plums here, if you want.

LAUGHTER

Kilo Five Bravo to Kilo Five Alpha.

Casualty moved to pick-up point. ETA on cas evac. Over.

WHITE NOISE

Hello, Kilo Five Alpha, this is Kilo Five Bravo. Over.

Do you need anything else?

-RADIO:

-'Kilo Two to Kilo Five Bravo. Your man's on the TACSAT to the JOC.

'Cas evac options are fluid, believe we have Black Hawks inbound to you from Kandahar. Wait out.'

Good job, guys.

Cas evac inbound.

I need overwatch from all of you, got that?

Stretcher bearers and Tug stay with Stu.

All other personnel, thank you for your help, boys, and you can all fuck off now.

-Cheers, crap hat.

-Endex.

Oi.

Stuey, smile for the camera, buddy.

-Stu.

-Hmm?

-Fancy getting a photo?

-All right.

Where's my bergen?

Oh, fuck, sorry, mate. I took it over there.

-That's one for the khazi, that one.

-Stu!

-Bring that other med bergen out with you, yeah?

-Will do.

You all right, Mark?

You smash those fuckers tonight, yeah?

-Will do, buddy.

-Hmm.

With fucking pleasure.

You faggots, stop flirting.

If you're the Russians, you know, '79, '80 and you're defending Normandy...

Where'd you lay your APs?

-Try not to fuck it up from here, eh?

-Dead ground on approaches to the OP.

-Why, what's up?

-Dunno.

What the fuck are mines doing down here, mate?

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Oh, fuck. I'm down. Lads, I'm down.

GROANS

Fuck. My leg. My fucking leg!

-Stu, wait, I'm coming.

-Jay, Smudge, get the fuck back!

Stand fast, Smudge, the whole place is fucking loaded.

I stood on a fucking...

Safe route is not fucking safe, man.

Ah, fuck! Ah, fuck!

Let's go.

Somebody get me some fucking morphine.

Oh, fuck. Ah, fuck. Fuck off.

It's all right, Stu. Let me do my job, buddy.

-Let me do my job.

-Leave me! Fucking leave me!

-Stuey... Stu.

-Fuck! Fucking hell.

-Was it fucking Stu?

-Come on. Come on, keep your shit together.

-Alex, do you need any kit?

-Get off me.

Ah, leave me. Just fucking leave me.

-Right, all done.

-Nice and tight, mate.

-Yup.

-Get ready to take his leg.

-No!

Right. PEARSON SCREAMS

Fuck! Fuck!

-OK, all done.

-Any kit out?

Right, move it.

-Fuck. Oh, fuck!

-OK, mate.

-Ah, fucking leave it...!

-Right, all right...

-Fuck!

-What kit have you got?

-Oh, fuck!

-Mate, where's your fucking bergen?

He was carrying it.

What have you got?

Er, morphine, tourniquet, saline, dressing. One of each.

Ken, elevate the leg!

-What do you need, pal. Let me know.

-Stay there, Tug. Just fucking stay with Stu.

-Mark. Now, Mark do you need me in there?

-Stand firm, Jarhead. No-one in.

Help yourself here. Here, take the fucking leg.

-RADIO:

-'Kilo Two to Kilo Five Bravo. SITREP, over.'

-Take his leg.

-Yeah.

-His leg, mate.

-Move it, move.

-You got it?

-Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Kilo Five Bravo. Mine strike, Stu Pearson. P1, left leg.

Notify cas evac need for second winch. Over.

-RADIO:

-'Kilo Two to Kilo Five Bravo. It's a negative on the winch. Over.'

Say again. I was informed Black Hawk was inbound, over.

-RADIO:

-'We'll get you out of there. Just hang tight, Bravo. OK, wait out.'

Go to fucking shit!

-Come on.

-Fuck you!

Can we not just take him over the ridge?

Right, there's a...there's a route up to Normandy already. It's already fucking marked.

-Just take 'em up there. Enough is enough we're getting blown up here!

-Smudge, Smudge, Smudge.

Did you not just see what happened to your pal Stu?

-Yeah!

-The fucking whole place is charged, mate.

We're going nowhere. Fucking sit down.

Turn your fucking head around and don't look anywhere except for up there.

Just don't look at him, all right?

DISTANT HELICOPTER

See, you hear that? Angels with fucking wings.

Fuck me. Ah, fuck!

DISTANT HELICOPTER

That's not a Black Hawk.

HELICOPTER APPROACHES

Chopper inbound.

Laid them in fucking threes, didn't they?

What's that, pal?

Fucking APs. Ah, fuck.

Hit the guy treating the first victim.

Maximum clusterfuck.

That's a Chinook.

They'll be dropping the MERT at Lancaster.

How you doing, fella? You all right?

Save my nuts, Doc. That's all I ask.

Fuck.

Hey. Your nuts are fine.

-Fuck. Oh, Alex, it's still bleeding, mate.

-What? Yeah, all right, smart.

-This is my last tourniquet.

-Oh, fuck!

-Boys...this fucking minefield.

-All right, mate. All right.

Fuck!

Here's something to put on it.

All right.

-Right, hold this fucking leg too.

-Yeah, brother.

-Fuck you!

-All right, mate, we've got you.

HELICOPTER APPROACHES

Kilo Five Bravo to all Kilos. We have a Chinook inbound.

Please confirm this is not our cas evac, over.

-Snoop, you got a med pack?

-RADIO:

-'Kilo Four, affirmative.'

-Nah. RADIO:

-'Kilo Five Bravo. Cas evac inbound.'

-Luke, med pack?

-Nah, I got nothing, mate.

-RADIO:

-'Recommend move casualty to HLS nearby. Over.'

Negative. Confirm, we have two, repeat, two P1s requiring cas evac.

Movement impossible due to location being minefield...

Chinook unsuitable for pick-up due to location being minefield

Request HH60 with winch, as previously indicated.

Location is a fucking minefield. Over.

STU SCREAMS

-RADIO:

-'Chinook only asset available at present. Over.'

Can I have direct comms with Chinook?

-RADIO:

-'Negative, Kilo Five Bravo, comms via JTAC to Apache to Chinook.'

-Whoever this is, come in. RADIO:

-'Go ahead, Bravo.'

Suggest Chinook enter via re-entrant to south-west.

Back wheels down onto the rocks. We'll drop smoke.

We may be able to load one casualty this way. Over.

-RADIO:

-'Wait out.'

-You fucking wait out, pal.

-RADIO:

-'Kilo Two to Kilo Five Bravo.

'They're not going to land in a minefield, buddy. Just sit tight.'

Hey! Drop smoke.

We need to show him where to touch down, yeah.

..Not to land in the fucking wadi. This is a hot HLS, repeat, mines, over

The fucking rocks. Land on the rocks.

-What's he fucking saying?

-He wants to bring him over.

All right, let's do it, then.

No fucking way. That's 30 metres to fucking carry him.

-You fuck off!

-Bring him on!

We fucking wait! We get them to send in the ATOs, clear us a fucking path out.

Ammunitions Technical Officer. ATO, fucker.

ATO.

What the fuck are they doing?

ATO.

-TO. Take off.

-It's like the fucking YMCA.

ATO.

-RADIO:

-'Charlie, what's going on?'

-They're not moving.

They're signalling something. I can't work it out.

What's going on, mate?

The airframe's here, but we can't get you fucking over there. For fuck's sake.

Any call sign, tell the bird to clear the fuck out of here!

This is a hot HLS, repeat, mines. Over.

They are posing a major risk to themselves and to us!

Jarhead, SITREP.

Jarhead, SITREP

-Jarhead!

-Yeah?

Fucking SITREP.

Mark's taken it in the chest...

..and Stu's been hit again.

And the med's down.

Alex.

Alex?

OK?

Oi, Jarhead, get him out of here, man. Fucking get that man up.

Fucking get him out of here. You do not let that fucking man drop!

Come on, man, get your arse over here.

Get him out. Help him out!

It's all right, mate, come on.

Tug!

What do I do?

Tug, what do I fucking do?

Tug!

Tug! Tug, what do I fucking do?

HE SCREAMS

You fu... Somebody get that...

SCREAMS OF INJURED SOLDIERS

-I'm fucking dying, man.

-What do I do?

Just hang fucking tight, Mark.

I'm going to get you out of here.

SCREAMS OF INJURED SOLDIERS

-Come and help me out!

-Tug!

Tug, what we doing?

Prosser! Triage!

Prosser, triage!

Erm...

Mark's got wounds to the chest. It's pretty fucking ugly.

Stu's been hit again but...

I can't see where, there's fuck loads of blood.

-PEARSON:

-Where's the fucking chopper?

And Ken's got no fucking idea.

And w... what med kit have you got?

Fuck all!

I left me day sack over there. It's still got a bit of stuff left.

OK, erm.

Ken. Ken, should be a day sack near you. Can you see it?

-Yeah, yeah it's here.

-All right, pal.

Can you try and reach it for me?

Ken, fucking hell.

-He's going to set off another...

-Ken, Ken! Don't worry about it, mate.

We'll fucking sack it off, mate. Don't worry, we'll try something else.

-Wait, I'm nearly there.

-Ken, don't do it! No! No, Ken, fucking don't!

I've got it! I've got it!

Oh, God.

OK, what's it got?

IV fluids. Some dressings.

Two sticks of morphine. That's it.

Er, tourniquet. Has it got a tourniquet?

No, no. That's all there is.

Ken, listen to me.

You need to get those dressings to Mark's chest.

Yeah, you need to make your way over there.

Now, Ken.

OK.

OK. OK. OK.

-OK, I'm here. I'm here.

-Right, then... I want you to use a rifle sling

to tourniquet his arm, yeah?

And that'll stop the bleeding. All right?

Ken, catch.

-OK... OK.

-That's it, tourniquet his arm.

And try to cannulate and get some IVs into him.

That's it, tourniquet his arm. Yeah.

No, just stop. Mark. Mark, I've got to!

-You need to try to cannulate.

-Mark!

Just a circle, mucker.

Tie it in a circle and put it round his arm, all right mate?

Put it round his arm and tie it tight, it'll stop the bleeding.

Nobody's asking you to do open fucking heart surgery, Ken.

Where, Prosser!

Where do you want me to fucking tie it?

His arm is barely fucking hanging on!

Mark, please.

Please, Mark, please.

Fuck off!

Someone help me out.

KEN SOBS

-KEN:

-Fucking hell.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, all right, all right, Ken, Ken, Ken. Just forget the tourniquet.

Use the T-shirt, plug the fucking hole.

OK, let me...

-Mark, stop. Mark.

-Prosser.

-Where's the fucking Motorola?

-KEN:

-Fucking stop, mate! OK, OK, OK.

Must have gone up with Mark.

SCREAMING

Ken. Ken, look at me.

You're doing a fucking great job, all right, mucker.

Ah, fucking hell!

Fucking wait. Sit, sit down.

Tug.

If you get yourself pinged halfway we've got ourselves a whole new nightmare.

But I'm the only... I'm the only medic and this is the only fucking med kit.

You were just telling Smudge not to be a dick, right don't do anything stupid.

Yeah, but this is stupid.

It is a bit fucking stupid.

Yeah, but I've got a plan.

-Listen, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.

-Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Easy, mate, what is it?

Come on.

-What's up?

-It's my fucking lung.

-Fucking hell.

-You're supposed to land on the fucking thing.

Fuck off.

OK. OK. OK...

OK, OK, OK, OK...

OK...

OK. OK.

HE PANTS

-That's much better.

-Fuck off!

OK. OK, now.

OK. OK. OK...

Come on, you fucking pussy. Fucking hell.

What are you doing, Tug?

You can shut up, Mark. Before I change my fucking mind.

It's too fucking dangerous. Stop it.

I need you to put a tube in me.

-What?

-You're a...trained medic.

Ah, no, mate, no. No, no, that was,

that was two days in Belfast, man. Two fucking years ago.

Piece of piss. I put one in a few weeks ago.

What's your name?

-Wha...?

-I said...

-Harvey.

-What's your name?

-Jarhead.

Jarhead. My right lung's collapsed. If you don't cut me...

stick this in my chest,

I'll stop breathing and die.

Second rib.

Mid-clavicular.

I've asked you once, I can't ask again. Just cut me.

Fucking...

Halfway, Tug. Fucking awesome.

It's like watching him mount his missus.

Oh, fucking hell... What the fuck am I doing?

Oh, fuck...

Oh, fuck it.

Sod's law you get pinged on the way back anyhow.

MARK: Here, I thought I told you about not walking into a room

until you know how you're walking out of there.

OK. OK. You can fucking do this.

You can fucking do this.

You can fucking do this.

Oh, why the fuck not? You can fucking do this! Fuck it.

OK. OK.

TUG JUMPS

It's all right. I trust you.

Second rib.

Just go, right.

-Three...

-Hey! Doctor coming down.

Ah, fuck's sake.

Thank fuck for that.

Tension pneumothorax.

-What?

-Tension pneumothorax.

Right side. I need it released, now.

Fuck you, fucking fuck.

Sir.

Where's my camera?

-I need my fucking photos.

-Oi, Tug. Hold him still, buddy.

-He's going to set off another...

-Stu, stop moving, mate.

-I need my fucking camera.

-All right, all right. We'll get your photos, just stop moving, please.

Hey, pal, cas evac.

Ken, you got a drink of water, mate, I'm fucking dying here.

No, no, no, I'm out, mate.

Tug? Have you got any water?

What? You want me to pop back and get some?

And water!

Casualty evacuation, ten minutes.

Barlow. Heads up.

-MARK: Thank fuck for that.

-Here, Mark.

OK. You got it. OK.

-OK, next one.

-Cas evac, ten minutes. Yeah.

-Yeah.

-Always fucking t...

Goddamn it! What the fuck is going on down there? Huh?

HE COUGHS

Ah, fuck!

Ah! fuck it...

What is so fucking... Man!

Fuck!

Tug, Tug, fucking help me.

MEN CRY OUT

Fucking help me.

OK.

Ken, Ken, I'll get to you when I can, OK?

There's a tourniquet and a morphine pen, yeah.

-You know what you're fucking doing, lad.

-Tug!

Be with you in a minute, man. Be with you in a minute.

Tug, I need some fucking morphine.

OK, OK.

Oh, God!

I need some fucking morphine.

Yeah, I'm with you, Stu. I'm with you. Prosser!

-I think my lung's fucked.

-OK, mate.

I need you to lean on your side,

don't let any shit drain into the good one, yeah.

Lean up on that rock there.

Tug, please.

HE SCREAMS

Stu, have a pen, yeah?

Find somewhere soft, give it ten. That's your lot, all right?

Thanks, mate.

What are we going to do with you?

Fuck you.

All right, mate. All right, OK.

Where's the fucking blood going?

You're all right, pal. I got you.

Bite down.

..Stay with us now, OK?

Lad, it's all right. Yeah, take it easy now, all right.

Hold on a minute. Any minute the helicopter's going to come, right?

Stay with us, now, OK?

Prosser, are we ready?

Hold on.

All right, lads.

ZAP numbers on my say, yeah. Give the medics a head start.

Half a fucking job, Ken.

Could have done it a lot better myself, but it'll do for now.

-It still fucking hurts!

-You've had your left pin nipped off, pal.

It's meant to hurt, but the morphine'll kick in soon, yeah.

MEN GROAN AND PANT

Er. OK, OK, go.

All right, Stu. Go, pal.

I cannae...

-I cannae fucking remember.

-Don't be a fucking bender, Stu.

It's important information, it could save your fucking life, pal.

-Cool it, Mark, cool it, Mark, cool it.

-Stu, go!

Pearson, Corporal, SH, 3 Para...

Papa 6439.

P1, left fucking peg.

Sorry, sorry, wait, Papa what?

Papa 6439.

OK, and a, a left, what?

Jesus fucking Christ, anyone here speak gangsta?

Sorry. Right. Got it now.

Ken, you're up next, pal. Go on.

Barlow. Fusilier.

-How about you, mate? How you doing? BARLOW:

-AL 2RRF.

-Yeah, I'm all right. I think I might get a tan out of this, though.

-Here.

-BARLOW:

-Bravo five...

Keep an eye on Stu, yeah. He's all over the fucking shop.

He's slamming the morphine sticks like they're fucking voddies.

How's it look?

Barlow, Fusilier, AL, 2RRF.

-AL? Thought you were called fucking Ken?

-Bravo 5376... P1.

My name's Andy.

-Why are you called Ken?

-Ah, don't be a spaz, Tug.

-Ken Barlow?

-Hmm.

HE CHUCKLES

Ken fucking Barlow?

Ken fucking Barlow!

OK, OK, pal. All right, all right.

Here you are, Stu, pal. Let's get some water on board.

-Hey.

-What, pal?

-What's your name, Scalie?

-Jonesy, Jones.

It's a shit nickname.

You do any better?

Stu.

That's not a nickname.

Stu Hale.

Haley. I, er...

-I tried to get them to go for Halo.

-Nice.

-But Stu stuck.

-So...

what do they call the other Stu?

Stu.

Someone needs to look at that.

It's all my fault, isn't it?

No.

-It's not your fault, mate.

-Don't talk like that, mucker.

Think about getting out of here. Think about your family.

Yeah. Hey, yeah. Have you got any kids?

Hmm. Jimmy. He's, er, five. He's, he's a good kid. And...

-..and I got another one on the way...

-Yeah.

Oi, Smudge.

You tell Shannon, yeah...

you tell her if it's a boy...

you fucking tell her to call him Alexander, yeah?

And if it's a girl, call her Sofia.

Would you do that mate, for me, yeah?

-I need you to fucking do that for me.

-Shut up! No, I'm not going to tell her that.

I'm not going to tell her anything.

Right, cos if I need to clear a route

with my bare fucking hands all the way to Camp Bastion

I'm getting you out of this gash pit. Do you hear me?

And it's not going to be, what is it, Sofia, fucking Alexander

it'll be fucking Smudge Junior, or Smudgella.

And I'll tell you something else, mush, you're going to fucking make selection, and all.

You're going to be the first fucking one-legged, bunny-hopping badge there's ever been, all right?

So none of this fucking platform four, self-pity fucking bullshit.

We spent too much BST getting you this far.

We haven't given up on you,

the least you could do is not give up on us, you cunt.

Jesus, Smudge, easy on.

-"Gash pit".

-Shut the fuck up.

Fucking beautiful.

PEARSON SINGS UNINTELLIGIBLY

-BARLOW:

-Shit. Tug, it still fucking hurts.

The morphine will work, pal. You just got to give it time.

It's been a fucking hour, man.

It's been half an hour, Ken. Let me tell you something, Ken.

The more you shout, the faster your heartbeat, the quicker you'll bleed out.

All right, so for your own good, and ours, just shut your fucking jimmy, all right.

OK, OK.

All right, Mark, I'm just going to have another look at this, yeah?

It's going to fucking hurt so bite down, mate.

OK.

MARK GROANS

Right, all of you. Just fucking...

ignore this next bit, yeah, ignore what I fucking say.

Jay, Smudge. I'm going to talk shit for a bit to keep things moving, all right?

Just fucking... Everyone fucking ignore what I say, OK?

Right, listen to me, you pricks!

We've been waiting for this chopper for three fucking hours.

And if it don't come soon,

and I'm talking NOW, people are going to start dying down here.

Minutes, all right, that's what we've fucking got.

You have to fucking sort it out!

C-Cas evac. How long?

Just going to catch 40 winks, lads.

-Stu.

-While Cathy gets her nails done.

-No fucking Kraut's getting this deckchair off me.

-Stu, don't go to sleep, man.

Unless they want a fucking set...

-Stu, you're talking shit, pal.

-I'm up, I'm up.

Sorry, man.

Fuck. I'm back in the room, lads. I'm back in the room.

Fuck.

Hey, lads.

I'd kill anybody right now for a cold tin of brew, so is.

That's it, mate. Cheerful fucking thoughts.

-Mark, you're getting married, so I hear.

-Hmm. Aye. November.

Just as well, lads, think my wanking days are over.

Might need to get my suit re-measured, though.

Think she'll fucking recognise me?

Course she fucking will.

-Mark?

-Hmm? Aye?

You going to...you going to have a big piss-up afters?

Oh, you bet you. Er, Minto Hotel. Bells and whistles.

-Yeah?

-If we get out of this, you, you lads are all coming, yeah.

-Cash bar?

-Fuck you.

Fucking cash bar(!)

Fucking arse.

Free bar, fuck, free bar.

Ah, fucking hell. That's diamond. I'm going to fucking go all out.

-Aye?

-I...I haven't been legless since February.

-PEARSON:

-You don't need to fucking worry about that any more, do you, Barlow?

THEY LAUGH

Ah, I'm going to be fucking legless every night, now.

-PEARSON:

-Ken Barlow.

Hey, lads. I just realised, we don't need to worry about the third mine any more.

Good old Ken's fucking found it for us. Cheers, Ken!

Always getting dicked, mate.

MARK: The really funny thing is, boys...

they didn't get fucking planted here, they all just washed off the hill

and down to the river beds.

There could be fucking hundreds of them...

All around here. All around us.

-PEARSON:

-Great place for a fucking bimble, lads.

Quick snipe, then it's tea and fucking medals.

Cas evac, ten minutes.

-HALE:

-Um...

what's his name... fucking, um, Jeffrey Dahmer?

-SMUDGE:

-No. Two more.

-HALE:

-Jack the Ripper.

-SMUDGE:

-No. Last guess, make it a good one.

-Come on, give me, give me some more...

-Eh? What did you say? "Rules is rules", Stu.

I just had my fucking leg blown off, mate.

Is that how it's going to be now? "Oh, my poor leg. Oi, lend us a quid, Smudge."

All right, fuck off.

-Hannibal Lecter?

-Nah.

Let's call it quits.

Harold Shipman.

Harold fucking who?

Harold Shipman, the Doctor of Death.

No, I've never heard of him.

Of course you have. He killed, like, 200 people, maybe more.

-He's not, like, fucking world famous, is he?

-He's from your neck of the woods.

You know exactly who I'm talking about.

-Well, there's not a fucking plaque to him.

-He's up there. You'd be surprised.

We're never getting out of here.

-HALE:

-I reckon you made him up.

-SNOOP:

-Ten minutes.

Kenneth Arthur Barlow.

-Hey, Ken!

-HE GROANS

-It still fucking hurts.

-Yeah, that's good, mucker.

If it's hurting it means you're alive, mate. All right?

Stu.

Stu, punch your card.

-My camera...

-Fucking camera, pal.

I need more fucking morphine.

You take the pain, Stu. You're a big lad, you'll be all right.

Mark?

No fucking snoozing, boys, yeah?

-Prosser? You with us?

-Yeah.

Y... Yeah. Yeah.

Keep talking to me, Prosser.