You seen Bean? Charles Bean?
Yeah, he's at the medical station.
Ohh!
Is... is that sea water?
We ran out of alcohol.
Another two inches it would have hit the artery
and you would have bled out.
Urgent cable, sir.
Well, read it for me.
It's from General HQ.
'Due to imminent military action on the Gallipoli coast,
the travel ban on all war correspondents
is hereby lifted, effective immediately.'
The attack is on.
This will finish it.
Left, left, left right, left!
Soldier!
Over here!
What are you doing?
Someone's made a mistake here.
They've only ordered enough water for one new division.
That's not a mistake.
That's how much water they ordered from Cairo.
That should be enough for two divisions for a few days.
Thank you. You've been very helpful.
Don't let me influence you, but pick a card.
Put it right here.
Cheers.
OK.
Shit! Fuck!
Oh, shit, shit, shit!
Stop. Fuck, get a rag or something, Jimmy.
Oh, no, he's going to kill me for this.
Tada!
Get out of my way. Captain Bean...
Where are you meant to be, boy?
Get out!
Stupid idiots. What are you doing?
I'll redraw it, sir... No, you don't know the terrain.
I do, sir.
So, you want to know what's going on?
Yes, sir.
The Kiwis, Indians and Australians will attack here, up from the...
Bazley, are you listening to me? Mmm.
Kiwis... the Kiwis, Indians and Australians
will attack here, up in the hills.
And the French and the Brits will come up from here,
from Suvla Bay, and swing around there, to meet up with us.
Sounds pretty complicated.
Yes, it is, but it's a very good plan,
and at last we have the element of surprise.
And we'll smash the fuckin' Turks to smithereens.
That's the general idea.
Oi!
This one's full. Tell him to put 'em on that one.
Have you been here?
To Suvla Bay? No.
I'm an accountant from Constantinople.
It is a holiday resort.
Is it farmland?
Rock.
You messing this up on purpose?
I told you to tell 'em to put 'em over there.
Tell 'em to stop!
I said, over there!
What'd you say to 'em?
Why are they laughing?
If I tell you, you will shoot me.
Get back to work, you slimy Gyp.
This battle you start now is big?
This is the end.
Allah visikurtarsin.
What does that mean?
May God save us.
Enter.
Good evening, sir.
Owing to tomorrow morning's Suvla offensive,
breakfast will be served at 6:30 instead of the usual 8 o'clock.
Is Hamilton still awake?
I couldn't tell you, sir.
You'd have to enquire with his batman.
Enter.
I wondered if I might have a quick word.
Well, make it quick.
Whisky? Thanks.
Water if you want it.
Thank you.
To tell you the truth, I can't sleep myself.
I keep thinking about Winston's speech at Dundee.
Oh, yes?
Mustafa would have got that intelligence a month ago.
Winston basically told the Turks a new offensive...
Yes, well Churchill should kept his mouth shut.
But we have momentum and it is unbreakable,
if we stand together.
Yes, well what I'm getting at
is that the Turks would have heavily reinforced by now...
We have three divisions. Kitchener has also given us the Irish 13th.
Three? Mm-hmm.
But we only have water for one.
Oh, Bartlett, we have a murderous task ahead of us.
I'm not sure why we're quibbling over details.
Everything is ready.
For the first time in months, we have a bloody good chance.
We just need to have faith in ourselves.
What we need, sir, is ammunition, competent officers
and, in this particular enterprise, water.
Now I understand... No.
I don't believe you do understand.
It's very easy to stand on the side-lines and just criticise.
We need to pull together.
Now, we both know the winner is asked no questions.
And the loser has to answer for everything.
And I plan on being the winner.
Do you even know how to use that thing, Bartlett?
There's nothing to it, really. It's merely point and shoot.
Any fool could do it.
Perhaps not any, Lester. A blind fool might find it a challenge.
What have you documented thus far?
Oh, some of the most beautiful vistas, sir,
and a sunset that'd make your wife weep.
Not to mention Harry here, taking a dip,
as naked as the day he was born.
Oh, you did not?
No, you're right, I didn't.
There are certain horrors of war even I can't stomach.
Carry on.
Vera, here are the last of the bandages.
Ahuh.
Hurry up! We almost left without you.
Fear keeps you alert. Keeps you sharp.
And it will keep you alive.
But being afraid will paralyse you,
make you freeze when you should act.
Don't confuse the two.
It will kill you.
He's my son.
Remember, when you're in the firing lines,
keep your mouths open at all times.
It'll reduce the impact of the shockwaves
on your bodies.
Not yet, Jimmy, you bloody goose.
Bean! Where's Ross?
With the New Zealanders, towards Chanuk Bair.
They told me to go with the 2nd Infantry.
Lone Pine.
Where? Lone Pine.
It's the next gully over.
Look, you'd better hurry,
because the first is already in the thick of it
and the second's about to go. Good luck.
Get ready, men.
Get up, boys.
You'll be right, mate. You'll be right.
Ladies.
You're a bit close to the action, aren't you, mate?
I wanted to make sure you boys stayed out of trouble.
You gonna cover us with that camera? I feel safer already.
Hey, just take a picture, will ya?
Smile. One for your Mum back home, huh?
Perfect.
OK, boys!
Thanks, Schuler. Keep your head down.
Go, boys!
Get the fuck out of the way!
Bomb!
Move forward!
Help. Help.
Help.
It's OK.
Can I get a stretcher bearer!
It's alright. It's alright, mate.
I'm going, aren't I?
Message is to go, sir. Are you sure?
Quite sure, sir. Yes.
Jimmy.
Why are the men not wearing their coats and tunics?
Orders, sir. All great coats,
tunics, blankets, mess tins were all collected last night.
They've been ordered to fight in their flannels and shorts.
What?
Why have they stopped shelling?
Perhaps someone's watch is out, sir.
The shelling was to continue, unabated, until the men charged.
Tell the men to ready themselves.
Does Birdwood know the support troops are not in place, sir?
You will follow orders, Colonel White.
What are you doing? I'm merely following orders, sir.
Don't be stupid, man. You're a Colonel.
That's even more reason why I should go.
Colonel White, you'll be...
I'll be what, sir?
Ready yourselves, boys.
Make sure your bayonets are fixed.
Unload your magazines.
Colonel White, the timing's out.
They're reinforcing every position.
This is a mistake, sir.
We stick to the plan, gentlemen.
We will push on.
You coming with us, sir? I am.
Does that mean you're confident, sir?
Very.
I promise to do my best. I know you will, son.
One minute, men.
Ready yourselves gentlemen!
Good luck!
Charge!
What are you doing? Move it!
You get out there now, man!
I've got children. I've got three children.
Please.
You get out there, now.
Here!
Alright, gentlemen, prepare to go!
What's that fucking Turk saying?
Stop.
He's saying 'stop'.
Unconscious.
Too much blood loss.
Red card.
Severe dehydration.
White card.
He should make it.
Red. No chance.
That looks like gangrene, sir.
Severe blood loss.
Thank you, sir.
Severe dehydration.
You know, nobody's ever going to see these.
You did.
♪ Whenever I had a face like you
♪ I joined the British Army ♪
'When I Was Wounded on Chocolate Hill', by HW Nevinson.
Give it back. It's not done.
Listen here. 'A terrific crash sounded above my head.'
'Instantly, came a blow like a trip hammer,
falling upon my skull.
I fell like a slaughtered ox, but was up again the next second'!
I thought only Bartlett could come up with such purple bloody prose.
Look, Ross, I'm warning you!
'I heard a cry of 'stretcher!
Stretcher!' I kept repeating, 'no, I must see the battle!
I must see the battle!'
Oh, come on then Henry, put 'em up.
Ever the wordsmith, Henry.
Golden rule of journalism is objectivity.
People don't want objects. They want subjects.
Oh, subjects like you?
Better me who is here than the rubbish
those hacks in Cairo are tossing off as fact.
♪ Too rah loo rah, loo rah loo # Look at the monkeys in the zoo
♪ If ever I had a face like you # I'd join the British Army.
♪ Henry Nevison's such a lout
♪ Just give him a couple of jars of stout
♪ He'll bend the enemy with his mouth
♪ And save the British Army
♪ Too rah loo rah, loo rah loo # Look at the monkeys in the zoo
♪ If ever I had a face like you # I'd join the British Army
They belonged to a digger named Charlie Hodson.
He used to carry them in his pack.
I can only presume they hold some sentiment for his family.
I thought you might be able to mail them for me.
This is why you came here?
And to say goodbye.
I'm leaving tomorrow.
I've decided to enlist.
I daresay your father is unaware of this.
My father will learn to understand.
I doubt it.
I'm no different from any of those men out there.
No, just luckier.
They're good men,
with futures.
Gone.
For what?
They give their lives so that we can achieve an objective.
It is you, you and the other journalists,
who give their death meaning,
with the words and the pictures that you send home.
You seem to be in a bit of a funk, Phillip.
Are you having trouble sleeping?
How do you sleep?
Not well, since you ask.
I have nightmares.
More often than not, the same one.
I am dining alone, and I feel something.
I look down and a stray dog is licking my palm.
Then it begins to gnaw through my hand,
and through my legs, ripping flesh from the bone.
I cannot move.
I'm frozen.
Stuck there.
Observing.
Never have I had such frightful dreams, till I came here.
I thought you were dead.
I'm not dead.
I have something for you.
It's a goodbye present.
Efxaristo, Phillip.
Send me photos of your grandchildren.
Good. Now, just one more, Mr Murdoch.
The confidentiality agreement.
Just sign there at the bottom.
Very good.
Heard you were in the ballot
to be the official Australian war correspondent here.
You against Captain Bean.
There were others.
Heard you came in second.
By six votes, I heard.
Three votes.
Must have stung pretty bad, eh?
More of this. Jesus.
Bean?
Murdoch?
Just think.
Another three votes, that could have been you.
Why are you here?
The mail. It's impossibly slow.
I'm investigating the Australian Imperial Mail...
That's pure bullshit, Keith.
Look, the information we're getting's not accurate.
The Government knows that.
We can't get anything out.
Nothing real, anyway.
You know, we've got men dying of trench foot.
Stinking, rotting feet, riddled with gangrene.
It beggars belief. We've got lice and dysentery, typhoid, pneumonia.
What happens when we add frostbite to the equation?
We're shipping one thousand a day to ill-equipped hospitals.
How long's it been raining?
Three weeks, off and on.
No-one in London thought about what happens now.
The August offensive failed.
We're stuck,
sinking in this rancid bloody mud.
This isn't war, this is a slow death through negligence.
And I've come to realise that the British
couldn't organise a fucking children's fete.
There's nowhere left to bury them.
Blasted things.
Come on, where are you?
Who are you?
Murdoch.
I work for The Sun.
Oh, another hack and a whore.
It's a term I endearingly apply to all journalists.
Bean told me Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett was here.
Oh, don't bother with him.
He's the worst kind of correspondent.
Deceitful?
Compliant.
It's flat.
I've read many of your articles.
Mr Bartlett.
Oh, an intelligent Australian?
Wonders will never cease.
Your recent dispatches paint a picture
completely at odds with reality.
You called The Nek
'the greatest battle fought on the Gallipoli Peninsula.'
Well, Bean told me today it was a slaughter.
Murdoch, is it?
Did you read Bean's account?
It was a fraudulent dream.
I look forward to seeing you do better.
I might turn in. I return to London in the morning. Goodnight.
What are you doing? Excuse me?
What are you doing in London?
Meeting the Australian Ambassador.
Tell me what you made of the Cove.
I've only been here four days.
I value an outsider's opinion.
I'd say it is the most terrible chapter in Australia's history.
And the Mother Country?
A mother is supposed to protect her children.
And um, you believe that...
well, something must be done?
I'm not even going to answer that.
Goodnight, Mr Murdoch.
Dear Mr Asquith,
I hope you'll excuse the liberty I am taking
in writing to you,
but I consider it absolutely necessary that you should know
the true state of affairs out here.
Good morning, sir.
Which is Murdoch's tent? It's just down the end, sir.
I'll take his.
Put it over there.
We agree that something must be done.
Well, of course.
Only an imbecile would think otherwise.
Everything we write is censored.
Nothing's getting out.
I believe that you and I can radically influence this er,
dire um, situation.
This letter is a detailed account of the Gallipoli campaign.
It is a summary of the many failed offensives,
the bungling of the officer class, specifically Hamilton,
and the slaughter and chronic illness
that are mowing down thousands of our young men.
It's addressed to Asquith, the British Prime Minister...
I know who the British Prime Minister is, Mr Bartlett.
I'll deliver it.
If the military find the letter, you could be shot.
I'll take my chances.
Thank you. My pleasure.
My despatches are blue lined into oblivion.
They speak only of a fairy-tale existence
that doesn't damn well exist.
What are you talking about? Fairy tales?
My Australian editors no longer publish my work.
I can assure you that is not my doing.
But it is.
You know, you let these Johnny-come-latelies publish
any sensationalist rubbish they please.
This article states that the Allied troops
have captured a German officer,
and are keeping him captive in our trenches.
Now that is, as our men would state, overcooked bullshit.
The men send these articles from Cairo.
As you can see, I'm not in Cairo.
But you blue line everything I write
until it is virtually unreadable. You manipulate everything.
What you're doing is not censorship,
but you're manufacturing a whole lot of lies.
And I'll have you know, it's been recently mentioned
in the New South Wales Parliament.
Where? This is a short-lived problem.
Can't you see that, Bean?
War correspondents are a dying breed.
In future, we won't need your kind.
The government will simply tell the people what it thinks
is conducive to winning the war.
If truth is good for the war, we will tell them the truth.
If a lie is likely to win the war, we will tell them lies.
Now, as I see it,
this story may simply give people back home a bit of a chuckle.
And Bean, really, what is the problem with that?
No. I take full fuckin' responsibility.
Sir, something's not right.
Charles, you didn't tell me we were breakfasting here.
And now they're drinking pot after pot of fresh tea,
and the men have no clean drinking water?
And I can see that they're settling in for winter.
What are you doing?
I find it utterly perplexing.
I want to know what the plan is!
We both know they have no plan.
We can wait for the ship to sink,
or we can swan dive into the swirling Black Sea.
Such a rare pleasure to be invited to join you.
You'll be pleased to know
that Mr Murdoch has been arrested in Marseilles,
with your article on his person.
You have put him in a most compromising position.
What article?
You deny you gave Murdoch an article?
I gave him a letter.
To whom?
To the Prime Minister.
To what did it pertain?
It pertained to the state of affairs here.
You were under strict instructions not to comment on the campaign,
or on its leadership.
You are no man's saviour.
I am aware of that, sir.
You have broken every rule of censorship.
Your accreditation is withdrawn.
You will return home.
Then may I leave at once?
What the hell happened?
They sent over three men to find your letter.
Oh.
Surprisingly, I feel quite sad to leave.
Where are you going?
Murdoch was arrested carrying my letter.
Braithwaite has let me off the chain. I am to return home.
I can't believe it!
I came because you convinced me.
You cost me a bloody fortune!
You shouldn't be whinnying about being left behind.
This is your chance to shine.
Everywhere you go, you create a god-awful mess.
And others are forced to clean up after you.
Have you ever thought about that?
And what of young Murdoch? Where is he?
Probably got his cock up some poor sheep's arse by now.
Shall we begin?
It is to our Prime Minister.
Dear Mr Fisher,
I shall talk as if you are by my side, as in the good old days.
I write to you of the Dardanelles campaign.
Make it, "unfortunate Dardanelles campaign."
Officially, I have approved the services of our stenographer
for your use, for two hours.
Unofficially, you should know
that I think that what you're doing is seditious.
Do you know how hard this embassy has worked to keep you out of jail?
I booked you a berth on the Adelaide.
You should bloody well be on it. What was that last bit?
Ah, "I write to you of the unfortunate Dardanelles campaign."
It is undoubtedly one of the most terrible chapters in our history.
Your fears are being justified.
I'm, of course, only repeating what I've been told,
but you will trust me when I say
that the work of the General Staff in Gallipoli has been deplorable.
The obvious conflicts and confusion between the British Generals
is staggering.
We are left holding positions
which are nothing more than an embarrassment.
Nowhere are our men protected from Turkish shells.
End this section with,
"Winter is upon us,
"and it brings grave danger."
Take that. Jimmy, hold my watch, please.
Come on.
Quickly, spread them out so they don't run.
The mail boat has sunk.
This one's from my dad,
saying if I don't come home soon,
he's... he's gonna give me a hiding. Take that off him.
Jimmy. Jimmy.
Keep each envelope with each letter.
Otherwise we'll lose track.
I've got it.
Jimmy, where are you meant to be, son?
I can feel it in my mouth.
Come here, come on..
Sit down.
Feel what?
It's a bullet.
It's... it's lodged in my mouth.
Jimmy, get a grip, OK? There's nothing in your mouth.
Have you seen the medic about it?
He... he couldn't find it, cos it's in...
cos it's in too deep.
It's in too deep.
It is stirring to see them, magnificent manhood,
swinging their fine limbs as they walk about Anzac.
To be an Australian is the greatest privilege the world has to offer.
I don't remember writing that bit.
Well, you couldn't have. You're not one of the privileged.
Why do all you colonials have such a chip? Bean was the same.
Do you use the word 'colonial' to make yourself feel superior?
Poor form to emphasise the self-evident, don't you think?
Thank you.
So, you memorised my letter, but you rewrote it as your own.
I intended to protect you.
So, nowhere do you mention me?
Well, I knew you would have done the same for me.
Very decent of you.
We have to talk to the War Council. How soon can you get us in?
It's difficult. Hamilton still has support in the Council.
But I thought you also had support? I'm not a general.
How long before your article comes out?
Two days. We're staging it as an interview to get around the censors.
And in this interview, you will condemn Hamilton.
That's not something that I relish.
"Undoubtedly, the essential and first step
"to restore the morale of the shaken forces is to recall Hamilton.
"In his head, evacuation will lead to 50% casualties."
If they attempt a Turkish winter, they'll lose 80%.
I stated that in my letter.
We got it!
They fuckin' hate bully beef as much as us.
Throw 'em some smokes.
I have mail. Arthur Smith. I'm Smith.
Bobby Hayes. Haven't had mail in months.
Go on, read it, Terry. The hills of old Gallipoli
Are barren and austere...
There you go, Stan.
And fairy folk, unhappily
Are few indeed out there.
But one I know whose industry, Both night and day is seen,
For all attest her ministry,
It's my Lady...
Nicotine...
Nigel. Nigel, you OK?
Where are we? I need a piss. I got no piss.
I'm sorry, mate.
I've pissed myself.
This is it, isn't it?
Oh, mate, you'll be right. Bullshit.
You'll pull through. Could you go and get Mum?
Please? She's in the yard.
Yeah, mate, I'll go and get Mum for ya, OK?
I'll get your Mum.
Stretcher bearer!
Bean?
Give the poem to Terry, Bean.
Give the poem to Terry.
Bean, give the poem to Terry.
He's OK.
Just telling Bean to give the poem to Terry, getting reinforcements.
You know, legally, I can't pay you for an interview?
We should start. I have a luncheon engagement.
What are you getting out of this?
Fucked if I'm going to be upstaged by an Australian.
Thank God. I thought you'd had some sort of epiphany.
Can we just start?
Question one. You even numbered them.
If you were to highlight one reason
for the failure of the Dardanelles campaign,
what would it be?
From the very beginning, few minds engaged in the enterprise
knew the fighting qualities of the Turk
or the geography of his country.
It was almost as if our leadership...
Perhaps we should outline a little of the geography?
The geography doesn't matter.
This is solely about getting rid of Hamilton.
Winter is approaching.
You already have 50,000 dead, and incompetent leadership...
Perhaps you should temper that. Calling Hamilton incompetent.
Thank you, I don't need to be told the correct use of the word.
I've seen it in action for months.
You realise this article will make you unemployable.
If you agree, we could secure speaking engagements.
Do they pay well? They can do.
If you pull a crowd. This will pull a crowd.
Good.
It is time, Mr Bartlett.
General Hamilton says
that an evacuation will lead to 50% casualties
at the hands of the Turks.
Certainly, evacuation is fraught with danger,
but to stay will be catastrophic.
Ladies and gentlemen, the true enemy in our midst
is not the honourable Turk.
It is our incompetent leadership.
And the price for such poor planning is disastrous
not only for Great Britain,
but for her loyal and brave dominion troops.
Hello. Excuse me. Mr Bartlett.
Ah. Lady Hamilton.
You will be pleased to know
the Turks have translated your Times article from last week
and it was greeted with resounding cheers.
You've given the enemy hope and courage.
My husband, on the other hand,
is to return home completely dishonoured.
General Hamilton is returning? Kitchener's recalled him.
Why do you look surprised?
He'll spend his remaining years unveiling war memorials.
A great man, brought down by your seditious gossip.
No, he is brought down by his own strengths and weaknesses, madam.
Why would you unleash this vengeance on my husband, Ellis?
It is not personal, Lady Hamilton.
This was a sort of cumulative thing, you see.
Every day, I witnessed the same polite incompetence,
and every day, pointless suffering and death.
Until it became too much, I suppose, and I had to act.
I'm sorry. There was an awful queue.
That's quite alright.
We're finished here. Good day, Mr Bartlett.
Good day.
You've bitten one too many hands.
Not by choice.
Are you alright?
Yes, never better. Be careful.
Bean.
I thought you might want this.
For your collection.
A letter came for him.
I don't want it.
Can you open it?
There's a new baby.
A boy.
Harold.
That's our dad's name. Harry.
Thank you.
You keep 'em.
The Christmas mail's here.
Oh, it's from France.
Who's it from?
I don't know.
It's from a friend.
My dear friend,
I'm in the Somme, and joined the Ambulance Brigade.
So you can see your words never fell on deaf ears.
I feel like I observed the life from the sidelines until we met.
I pray this is all over soon.
I'm now collecting the limbs of the men I once framed
in my camera lens.
Know you are a most cherished memory.
I thought you would like this photograph. I carry a copy.
Merry Christmas.
With fondest regard, Phillip Schuler.
"Dear, Mother?" Mum.
I've written this just to you
because I know Dad tends to take these things a bit hard.
Captain Bean, the journalist, is writing for me.
Terry Sutton passed away last week.
His brother Nigel's taking it very hard.
If I don't get out, I want you and Dad to know...
I can't write any more of this rubbish.
It will break your mother's heart.
It's not rubbish.
22 of us came from Ballarat.
Only Nigel and I are left.
We've been pretending we'll get out.
We fuckin' won't.
Just don't waste any more of my paper.
Oh, Jesus.
"Dear Mum, all is good here.
"We thought we might be home for Christmas,
"but it is looking like we'll stay on."
We are to get an extra ration of rum and chocolate for Christmas,
so I have no doubt that the men will make a party of it.
Tell me, Mr Murdoch, what singular event proved to you
that our troops were such a bunch of drooling simpletons,
and your Australians so competent?
Well, it was not one incident, sir,
but rather what I gleaned from many.
I write mainly about the officer class.
Inefficiency is rife.
Instead of seeking out our enemy's most vulnerable points,
we persist in attacking prepared strongholds,
resulting in horrendous...
Are we to then take it
that all of the facts in the aforementioned document
are what you gleaned from, what was it, 48 hours on Gallipoli?
We are throwing innocent men at a cause that we cannot...
Mr Murdoch had assistance in this matter. Mr Bartlett.
You've made it your life's mission to ruin this campaign.
What is your endgame, sir?
Evacuation.
Every source we have tells us
evacuation will have devastating consequences.
Excuse me, sir.
By spring, you will not have troops left on the cove to fight.
If we not evacuate before winter... Mr Murdoch, Mr Bartlett,
we thank you for your frankness, but let me remind you
that countless men's lives are at stake.
You will both refrain from speaking about the Dardanelles
again outside of this room. And let me remind you,
Lord Kitchener, that I'm under the jurisdiction
of the Australian Government
and I'm free to act and speak as I see fit.
There will be no evacuation.
If we turn our back on an entrenched enemy,
I will be condemning a large percentage of our men to death.
General Monro has left to take command.
He'll settle them in. We will stay.
With all due respect, sir, you've condemned them already.
Thank you, Mr Bartlett.
Your time here is done.
What do we do now?
We get very drunk.
Jimmy?
Jimmy.
Dead? Over there.
Where will he be buried?
How the fuck should I know?
The boy's 15. He just froze to death.
Why are they being moved?
They don't want the new bloke, Monro, having to see all this mess.
This mess is flesh and blood.
This is exactly what he must see.
You're not to move a man.
Where is Monro?
Move 'em back.
Why are the men not in winter uniform?
There seems to have been some confusion, sir.
The great coats have not left Egypt.
Well, I suggest you go and ask HQ what is happening.
Find out when they are arriving. The men are cold.
The General Staff are not on speaking terms with us, sir.
What?
They no longer speak to each other, sir.
The men have lost all faith in HQ.
Who are you? Charles Bean.
Official Australian correspondent.
No, just... just stop. Please stop, sir. I need to speak.
I don't need to tell you how bad things are here.
You see death and suffering all around you.
We are stuck in some sort of putrid hell.
We have 15,000 dead for the 10 yards that you stand on.
We are evacuating 1,000 a day, sick and wounded.
But most men don't make it to a hospital. No, they die on the beach.
You look at these men,
you see weakness and suffering.
You don't think we have the will or energy to get off this cove,
but you are mistaken.
Now these men, they volunteered to fight for your nation,
but you have deserted us.
We're not stupid.
We know we have lost, but we will not quietly
devote ourselves to death.
We will fight, with our last breath, to get home.
You speak of defeat again,
I will shoot you myself.
Why is it so quiet?
We're under orders to hold all fire.
Why?
No fuckin' idea.
Beanie must be pretty crook to let you come up.
Typhoid.
Down. Don't move.
I can't fuckin' see a thing.
Baz, you stay in your corner.
Don't move.
Stay there.
Remember, boys, hold your fire.
Get him! Get him!
Nige!
Hey, Australia.
Hey, what's that? Can you play that music?
Can you play that music for us, like a little bit of Allah?
They'll never give up this bastard of a place.
We've dug trenches in their bloody backyards.
Oi! Go! Turn around! Abdul, get out!
Go!
You knew they'd shoot him.
You taking notes for Beanie?
Well you can fuck off back to him.
Go and have your little whinge down on the beach.
Tell him we are shooting 'em in the back,
cos no-one up here gives a shit.
Enter!
Bartlett.
Only men are allowed to call me Bartlett.
I'm appalling at following orders.
I'm appalling at most things.
May I have a drink?
Sorry, of course.
This is awkward. I've come to ask you to stop writing about us.
Did Winston send you?
God, what do you think I am?
I think you're a Churchill. Well, I've come as your friend.
My friend? You come to protect you and yours.
Winston's position is precarious.
And now with the evacuation,
please believe me, these are frightening days for us.
What?
Evacuation?
They're evacuating the Dardanelles.
When? Any day.
Will you please stop writing about us?
Do you think I did the right thing?
To write the letter?
Well, Winston thinks that the evacuation is suicide.
He's distraught, and Clementine cries all the time...
Fuck the Churchills. What do you think?
Does it matter what I think?
We've got over 50,000 men to get out of here.
And we've only got seven nights.
Any ammo and supplies we can't get off, we destroy.
Same with livestock.
If the Turks cotton on, we'll be sitting ducks.
On the last night, we will have 10,000 men to get off,
and we need to keep 170 men on the front line,
so Abdul thinks it's business as usual.
If anything goes wrong,
these men will be on their own.
We all know what that means.
Unmarried men can volunteer.
Stafford Wales,
Andrew Canny,
David Hopper.
Melvyn, you're in. Stan.
The rest of you, dismissed.
Sir.
Stan and I came from Ballarat together.
Stan is not injured.
Captain Bean knows me.
I think you should go home.
I can't go home. My brother's still here.
Mind your mouth. You bloody asked him.
Your mother still needs one son alive.
Please, sir.
Alright.
Thank you, sir.
Thank me on your gravestone, you bloody idiot.
You're a fuckin' turncoat.
Take these, Bean.
Hey, Bean.
Good luck.
I won't come down.
It's best you be off before the fireworks start.
I'm being practical.
One of us has to ensure that all this gets out.
Otherwise, if it doesn't, all this was for nothing.
Now, I'm not being maudlin, but I just want it said.
If I don't get off, then all the men's letters and diaries,
our recollections, especially the unsentimental ones,
will be of enormous importance.
Don't let others tell the men's story.
They won't get it right.
Not once have you let me down.
I don't think you know how rare that is in a fellow.
I'll be waiting for you, sir.
It's like a little gift for Johnny Turk I've left for him.
What, under here?
Yeah, under there.
It's just very gentle... gentle, gentle.
That's it. A bit higher.
And that'll blow Abdul's fuckin' head off.
You're a fuckin' animal.
You're not gonna write about this, are you, Beanie?
Don't tell 'em we did this.
What's that?
Hmm?
Ah, he's getting wood.
Did you fix up Terry's grave?
Yeah. Got a nice spot alongside it for you. Get fucked.
Johnny Turk.
Enjoy these smokes.
Nigel Sutton from Ballarat.
Christmas 1915.
Winston, look who I found. Well, well.
I had a wager with Clementine.
I swore there was no way in hell
you'd show your traitorous face here tonight.
I have found myself pilloried by the public
and the War Council alike.
Mr Bartlett.
How delightful you came.
Good evening.
Lovely bracelet. It suits you.
It was a gift from a friend.
The Hamiltons are expected.
So perhaps it may be better...
If I have another engagement. Oh.
I read the Times article.
You decimated Ian Hamilton.
You and that Australian are nothing more than seditious meddlers.
Well, someone had to meddle.
You're a journalist, not an agitator.
Maybe a war correspondent needs to be both.
♪ God rest ye merry gentlemen
♪ Let nothing you dismay
♪ Remember Christ our saviour
♪ Was born on Christmas Day
♪ To save our souls from Satan's power
♪ When we were gone astray
♪ Oh, tidings of comfort and joy
♪ Comfort and joy... ♪
Whot's that? Don't shoot!
There's Turks crawling everywhere.
I'm looking for the 3rd New Zealanders.
For fuck's sake, they left hours ago. Get going!
Time's up, mate. Fall in.
I'm staying.
It's 2:00am. You've gotta come now.
Yeats, get down!
You're six minutes early.
The boats aren't back yet.
Something's not right.
Shut the fuck up!
Thank you.
Well, Merry Christmas, Mr Bartlett. Sir.
You have won.
While we are singing carols, our men will be slaughtered.
OK, that's it. Go.
Go, mate.
Come on Beanie, get on the boat!
Get on the boat. Almost there. Keep it down!
Yeats?
Any news?
Nothing as yet, sir.
General Birdwood.
The evacuation is complete.
Beanie.
G'day.
Stan.
Oh, thank god.
What is it? Get over here.
What is it? What is that?
Sir, if you could move your hand a little.
You're hiding the brand.
Oh. Should I take my hands away altogether?
Just place them as you normally would.
France, I'm afraid.
Mr Bartlett, we can take a break,
if you'd like to see the victory parade.
No, I don't think so.
Perfect.
That's it. A little more to the right.
Yeah, just on top of the old Turkish trench.
He was playing that just before he died.
Saw him get shot in the back.
A Turk. Towards the end?
That's him, isn't it?
Here. We'll tag it.
♪ Songs
♪ In the days long vanished
♪ Seldom from her eyelids
♪ Were the teardrops banished
♪ Now I teach my children
♪ Each melodious measure
♪ Oft the tears are flowing
♪ Oft they flow from my memory's treasure
♪ Treasure
♪ Songs my mother taught me
♪ In the days long vanished
♪ Seldom from her eyelids
♪ Were the teardrops banished... ♪
Captioned by Ai-Media ai-media.tv