Kajaki

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Man in the f***ing water.

Sh*t. Stick to their own f***ing side, man.

Cheeky f***ing midgets.

Oi. Check your arcs, Rambo.

Woah, woah, woah woah, Mowgli!

I'm here trying to bring f***ing peace and love

to your shitty stone-age country.

Is it too much to be able to enjoy a rinse without

taking indirect f***ing fire from you lot?

SPEAKS PASHTO:

Let that be a lesson to ya.

Go on, f*** 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.

F*** off.

Grenade fishing -

nearly catch of the f***ing 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.

OK, go! Now!

Signals?

- Yeah, mate. Cheers.

Come on then, what's the news?

Heard there was a heatwave back home.

Typical, innit?

- Heatwave? 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 guy 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.

F***ing dick swinger.

Hop on, Mark!

Did they come?

- Dunno, look in here, Spud.

Sergeant McMellon. Signaller Jones.

Sh*t the f***ing bed!

I hope you know how to use a radio

without batteries, Signaller Jones.

For f***'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.

F*** me, Ken, your mum

looks hotter every month.

Yeah, f***ing 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 f***'s this? You d*cks!

- You been up here before?

No, first time.

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

- Jay, you wanna show him around, mate.

Well, we know where your basha is, Barlow.

Keep an eye open, that's all I'm saying, mate.

Look.

Luke, boat came in, mate.

Skin 'em up will you.

Prosser, catch you up there, pal.

- Yeah, man.

F*** it. Ten quid. Thanks Aunt Pam,

just what I f***ing need out here.

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

This is Athens.

You've got three-sixty all-round defence.

Down here you've got the GPMG fifty cal.

Clackers for the claymores.

In here's the interpreter's place.

That's water, ablutions.

You got burn pit, sh*t pit down beyond that.

Right, this needs to go over

with the other stuff.

Ken.

Oh for f***'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, f***ing sign 'em out...

There's about sixteen odd here at Athens.

Seven, eight, up at Normandy.

That's it. Stay on marked tracks. Enjoy.

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?

Seventh. Why, what are we now?

Unlucky, pal. Fifth.

F*** that. I'm not waiting two f***ing 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 and R, yeah?

BURPS:

Stop staring at my arse, you throbber.

What's the f***ing 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 f***'s sake, Stu mate.

- F***er!

It's like watching a retard

trying to f*** a doorknob.

I thought you knew your f***ing history.

Just f***ing guess, will you,

before I slit my f***ing 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 f***ing 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...?

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

For f***'s sake.

What you doing putting

this sh*t in your f***ing head?

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

Perspective on what?

What a dour-faced bastard

Rudyard Kipling was?

You f***ing pricks.

GENERAL CHEERS:

It's Quasimodo and Wurzel Gummidge.

It's alright...

- What happened, Ken?

...you can get your own

f***ing sh*t tomorrow, OK?

Did you get the three-fifty chargers?

Uh, negative.

IMITATING PEARSON

For f***'s sake.

F*** off the two of youse.

- Prosser's got another unit.

Alright cock smokers?

- Yeah.

Here, how come it's always you

that gets the crap jobs then, Ken?

Ah, f*** off.

Crap hat, crap job.

Eh, you can f*** off too, Cromwell.

Faz.

Am I Oliver Cromwell?

- You're an idiot.

It doesn't count if someone

f***ing tells you, does it?

Rules is rules, Smudge, yeah. Five bines.

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