Battle of Britain Page #5

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for all the use they are.

We were up, sir.

Trying to knock out

the enemy en masse.

But it takes time to assemble 40

or 50 aircraft at 15,000 feet.

It takes far too long.

By the time

your Big Wing is up...

the enemy have hit their targets

and are on their way home.

All that matters is to shoot

them down in large numbers.

I'd rather destroy fifty after

they've hit their targets...

than ten before.

Don't forget the targets are

my airfields, Leigh-Mallory...

and you're not getting fifty.

You're not even getting ten.

Gentlemen, you're missing

the essential truth.

We're short

of two hundred pilots.

Those we have are tired,

strained...

and all overdue for relief.

We're fighting for survival.

Losing.

We don't need a big wing

or a small wing.

We need pilots.

And a miracle.

Good night, gentlemen.

- Good night, sir.

- Good night, sir.

And now, over to

the Savoy Hotel, London...

for dance music

until midnight...

with Carrol Gibbons

and his Savoy Hotel Orpheans.

You look a damn sight better

out of uniform.

Hardly remember you

out of yours.

And who's fault's that?

For God's sake, not again.

Look, damn it,

my squadron's come south.

You just apply

for that posting!

Colin, no!

All right, agreed!

Taboo subject tonight.

Old wafs.

You really think

we're solemnly going...

to get into these

ridiculous garments?

Not at this stage, surely.

I'm shy.

Oh, Maggie, come on.

It's just...

I am shy.

Honestly.

I'll put out the light.

No, Colin!

No, it's not just bed, it's us!

It's you.

And me.

You and me.

We should have been over target

nine minutes ago.

The wind has veered.

So where are we?

Where is London?

Far back in the south-west.

Good. Then get rid of the bombs

and let's go home.

Colin.

I will put in

for that posting.

Promise.

That's their bombs!

They're bombing London!

It isn't funny! Cut it out!

Too damn close.

Colin, I promise.

I promise.

Attacks on London

are strictly forbidden.

This order you know as well

as I do, Major Brandt.

These attacks

may only be flown...

on the specific order

of the Fuehrer.

I regret, gentlemen...

that this is now

completely out of my hands.

By order

of Vice Marshal Goering...

you two are to report

to Berlin to testify.

Thank you.

Major Brandt?

Flying Officer Froedl.

Please follow me.

Would you believe it?

Don't they know

there's a blackout?

You know what Goering said:

"If ever a bomb falls

on Berlin...

- "you may call me Meier."

- Hmm.

You are to report to Colonel

Schroeder at 9 A.M. Sharp.

This car will take you

to your quarters...

and you are to remain there.

"As from today,

we are called Meier."

Last night, bombs were dropped

on Berlin by the British.

So be it.

That is a game

at which two can play.

If the R.A.F. Drops

three, four...

five thousand kilograms of bombs

on Germany in one night...

then in one night we shall drop

three hundred...

four hundred, five hundred,

five thousand on England!

When they attack our cities,

we will flatten theirs.

Then we will obliterate them!

The hour will come

when one of us must crack.

It will never be

National Socialist Germany!

Never! Never!

The English are wondering.

They keep asking,

"Why doesn't he come?"

Be patient. Patience.

We are coming.

We are coming!

Sieg heil! Sieg heil!

Attention!

Reichsmarschall, I welcome you

in the name of...

It's all right, Kesselring.

Thank you, thank you.

Ah, Osterkamp,

everything all right?

Yes, sir.

Then it can begin.

- Come with me, Kesselring.

- Yes.

Don't stand around

like a bunch of pigs!

Fall in!

I'll let the lot of you

swim over the Channel!

Attention!

In the ditch! March!

Get off the road!

Attention!

There they come.

If we lose the war now...

they'll tear our arses asunder.

Arrow to Rabbit Leader.

Vector 1-6-0.

Bandits one hundred plus.

Angels 1-5.

Bandits one hundred plus. Over.

Rabbit to Arrow.

I can't see them.

But they must be there.

Well, come have a look

for yourself then.

Nothing, I repeat, nothing.

Group, please.

Everything we've got,

and get them moving.

They've caught us this time.

They're turning northwest.

It looks like London.

It's London, all right...

and we've got everything up

covering airfields.

Where is the Royal Air Force?

- Messerschmidt.

- Iron Corps.

Messerschmidt!

No, they ain't.

They're Iron Corps.

Five seconds.

Away!

Away!

The pressure's dropping again.

This is as far

as I can get, lad.

Down at the end there,

by that car.

- Hey, no you don't.

- What do you mean?

There's a thousand-pounder

down there...

and it's not gone off.

If you're looking

for somebody...

they're all down

at the church hall.

They got the Rose 'n' Crown.

He'll have to drink

at the Red Lion now.

If they'll have him.

How bloody stupid can you get?

I spend half a leaf seeing you

all safe in the country...

and you bring her back

to all this.

I'm sorry, it's just

we missed everyone.

You're all going back.

Dad, have you finished it?

Have you got it?

Thank you.

There's a family

trapped in Shaw Street.

Can we have

some more volunteers?

I'll be back, luv.

Stop that bloody bell!

It came more from the back.

Not real Spitfires.

They couldn't land here.

You'll see in a minute.

Only officers fly Spitfires.

You're not a fighter pilot.

What about your top button?

Anybody can do that.

T-5? What's that?

They're a training

squadron, sir.

The Poles.

Get them out of it.

Get them down.

Blackhawk Leader,

vector 2-3-0...

and return to base

immediately. Over.

Blackhawk Leader.

Received and understood. Out.

Blackhawk Leader to "A" flight.

Turn to port and steer 2-3-0.

Germans! Germans, on the right!

- I don't see! Where?

- Down there on the right!

I see the Jerries. I see!

Stop that Polish chatter

and steer 2-3-0.

Repeat, please.

I say again, 2-3-0.

Repeat, please.

For crying out loud, 2-3-0!

- Repeat, please.

- Repeat, please.

Now, just shut up,

the lot of you, and follow me...

unless you're blind

as well as...

Oh, God's truth.

Shut up!

Silence, in Polish!

Get out quickly!

One, the R.A.F.

Is not a flying circus.

Two, strict R.T. Procedure

will be observed at all times.

And it is never... repeat,

never... to be used...

for private Polish chitchat.

Finally, and God alone

knows why...

I've received

the following signal.

"Congratulations. As of today,

this squadron is operational."

Signed, "Keith Park...

"Air Vice Marshal,

A.O.C. 11 Group."

I was wrong about the Poles.

We also have the second

Polish squadron, sir.

I thought you'd mention that.

All right.

Make them operational.

And the Canadians?

And the Czechs.

We need them all.

Looks like London again, sir.

Yes.

And there's nothing

we can do about it.

But if Goering

should concentrate...

on London by day...

it's another matter.

If it means he leaves

my airfields alone...

I shan't complain.

Even a few days would

give me the chance...

to get back to full strength.

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