Accused (2010–2012): Season 1, Episode 2 - Frankie's Story - full transcript
Young Frankie Nash joins the army to get off an assault charge and is sent to Afghanistan with best mate Peter. Peter has only joined up to impress his war hero father and goes to pieces under fire. Consequently he is subject to m...
This programme contains
strong language
and prolonged violent scenes
There's a boozer about
half a mile away.
How long is it going to take us?
Ten minutes, tops.
Mate, I don't think
I can last ten minutes.
Do you know what the secret is?
Shall I tell you the secret?
You're loving this, aren't you?
I'm mortified for you, mate!
The secret is, tell yourself
it's 20 minutes away. Don't let your
bowels know you're getting close.
You let your bowels know you're
getting close and it's whoosh!
Shall we run?
That'd be a fatal error. Running
gets everything going, don't it?
Your heart-rate, your blood,
your bladder, your bowels.
I can understand people giving
in to the temptation to want to run,
but it's always a fatal error.
I'm not going to make it.
Oh, shit!
It's always the last few seconds.
The last few seconds
fumbling with your kecks.
It's the killer, isn't it?
'Scuse me, mate. Yeah?
You bumped into my bird
and didn't say sorry. Did I? Yeah.
On your way to the toilet.
Sorry, mate. I were desperate.
I don't want you to apologise
to me...MATE.
I want you to apologise to my bird.
'Course I will.
I'm really sorry, love. I had the
blinkers on, you know what I mean?
Really, really sorry.
OK?
Come on, we're spewing it.
Where you going?
Home. You're going nowhere, son.
You're not going anywhere
till you've gone back in that toilet
and cleaned up the mess you left.
Can you get this lad a plastic bag?
He seems to have left his underpants
in our toilets, you see, Moira.
For fuck's sake.
A plastic bag to put them in, please.
It was like that when
I went in there. You're lying.
It was in that state already.
Shall I tell you
how I know you're lying?
Can you back me up on this one?
You're on.
They're all regulars in here.
They wouldn't leave a toilet
in that state. One of them did.
They've got too much respect.
Too much respect for others.
Something you... What are you going
to do? I'm an ABA champion. Are you?
Yeah. So am I.
I'm doing nothing, mate.
You're going nowhere until
you've got in there and sorted it.
I'm going and I'm going now.
You know why
you bumped into his bird?
Shall I tell you why he bumped
into your bird? Yeah.
We can deal with that issue first,
bumping into the bird,
and then we can turn our minds
to item two, the toilets, yeah?
Yeah.
He couldn't help it.
She's so bleedin' fat, she's huge.
It's impossible
not to bump into her!
She could be over the other side
of the... Fucking hell.
Fucking run!
Honestly, I thought
I'd broke my hand on his jaw.
It's like he just went down, bong!
Size of him to her.
Oh, hey up.
Oh, no, look at the bag.
You left your underpants behind,
Cinderella.
Don't know what you're talking
about. The landlord's in hospital.
Broken jaw.
That's a funny name for a hospital.
He reckons you'll get two years.
What? You've got previous.
Affray. Still counts.
I'll get two years? Yeah. Not you?
No.
You did it! You broke his jaw.
I'm joining the Army.
He reckons the judge'll go
easy if I'm joining the Army.
The Army? Yeah.
He reckons the judge'll go, "What's
the best place for a vicious thug,
prison or the Army?"
Well?
I don't know!
What's your opinion?
I don't want you to join the Army.
But I want you
to go to prison even less.
I'm pregnant.
'Rapid fire!'
What are you fucking idiots doing?
Return fire!
Return fire! Return fire, you pricks!
Return fire! Return fire!
If you don't return fire,
I'll kill you.
Return fire! I'll count to three.
One, two... Return fire!
If you don't return fire,
I'll kill you.
MacShane, return fire!
Return fire! I won't tell you again!
I said return fire!
I'm sure I got him.
He had a green turban on.
Must've thought it were camouflage
or something but I went for it.
I got two, I think.
It disappeared and I didn't see
it again, so I must've got him.
Slotted two of the bastards.
14 years old with a big fuck-off
rifle and he's wearing flip-flops.
If it wasn't two, it was three.
If they can afford
to give him a rifle,
why can't they get him
a proper pair of shoes? I don't
want to hear any more about them
being good soldiers, cos they're
crap. What's he fighting for?
A country so screwed up
no-one's got any shoes.
I'm not saying
they've got no bottle.
I'm just saying
they're crap soldiers.
That's done my head in. 14 years old
and no shoes, that's the enemy.
MacShane. Come here.
Why didn't you return fire?
Come on, smart arse.
All you've ever done is give it loads
of that. Ever since you got here.
So come on,
why didn't you return fire?
I couldn't lift my head. Why not?
Scared.
Scared of getting a round in it?
Yeah.
What's going to happen
if you don't return fire?
I'll tell you what's going to
happen if you don't return fire,
you dirty, filthy faggot.
The Taliban'll say, "There's nothing
coming back at us here."
The Taliban's going to walk
over to where you're hiding
and shoot you in the head.
What you're most scared of, that's
going to happen, you stupid gobshite,
cos you're not returning fire. Right?
Overwhelming force
and ruthless efficiency.
That's how you beat sneaky bastards
like the Taliban -
overwhelming force
and ruthless efficiency.
And what about your mates? It's OK
for them to get slotted and not you?
They've got their heads up,
returning fire, protecting you,
and you're cringing like a tart.
See this?
See this, faggot?
You're the bitch.
Right? Right, bitch?
Right.
Till you prove yourself in battle,
you faggot, till you return fire
while under fire, you are the bitch.
This man doesn't belong here.
This man will get you killed.
Have nothing to do with him.
Don't.
Why would a man rip up
his own blankets?
No idea.
Did you do it? No.
MacShane. Sarge.
Why did you rip your blankets?
I didn't rip them, Sarge. Who did?
I don't know, Sarge.
Nash.
Sarge?
You're mates with this man?
Yes, Sarge.
Did you see anyone
rip up his blankets?
No, Sarge. MacShane.
Sarge. Latrines.
You call that clean?
Saw a bit of action the other day.
Can't tell you that.
Pretty serious, yeah.
I did all right. Not going to get
the VC for it, but I did all right.
We all did.
It's a good bunch of lads.
Did you say he could sit there?
Did you say he could sit there?
No. Then why did you sit there?
Why did you sit there?
Just did. What?
I just did.
Do you like being the bitch? No.
Would you like
someone else to be the bitch?
Yeah. Who?
Frankie?
Frankie's your mate.
Would you like Frankie
to be the bitch?
No.
Then who?
Who deserves to be
the bitch more than you?
No-one.
Thank you.
Tell him to piss off. What?
Tell the bitch to piss off.
All right? All right.
Perhaps your friend buy?
No, thanks, mate. He doesn't
understand no. Made in home.
No, thanks. Good price.
I'm going to kill him.
He's only trying to make a few bob.
Not him. Buckley.
You buy for your woman?
Just do one, mate, yeah, please?
All silk, you see? How?
Don't know yet.
Beautiful scarf for your woman.
You need to get yourself home, mate.
Go sick and get yourself home.
I'm not sick. You're mental.
I go and come back? Yes, mate!
It's not your fault
you're not up to it.
There is no shame
in not being up to it.
Throw a big one, your nerves
or something, get banged up.
I can't. You can.
I can't let me dad down.
Even if I could get home,
which I don't think I can,
the only way home is in a box.
I couldn't do it, anyway,
cos I can't let my dad down,
cos he's a fucking hero,
and he thinks I'm one, too.
He thinks I'm slotting
all kinds of Taliban. I come back.
You join up,
but you haven't got a clue.
If someone
could somehow show you it.
"Look, this is incoming fire.
"You've got to stick your head up
in it and fire back. Can you do it?
"If so, join.
If not, then off you pop."
But they can't do that.
So by the time you see what
it's like, what it's really like,
it's too late.
You've already joined.
You're a soldier.
We're picking up a monkey, a
military policeman, fucking gobshite.
All day, every day,
we're waiting for a bullet or an IED.
Is it any wonder we get
rat-arsed every now and again?
But when we do,
they're onto us, aren't they?
Those bastards that have never
seen action in their lives
are banging up proper soldiers.
Bastards.
OK, he knows, I've told him about
four times, all right?
We'll be moving soon.
Taxi for McVey?
Parkie, swap with the bitch. Bitch!
Corporal. Come here.
You're as good as two men short,
so get in here. Right? Right.
Had a good night?
Bang anyone up? Very funny.
Let's go.
This could be your chance, bitch.
Your chance to redeem yourself.
Contact left! Contact left!
Get down, you stupid bastard.
Soldier's work. Step on it!
Proper fucking soldier's work,
you prick.
I said keep your head down!
MacShane, return fire!
Cease fire! Cease fire!
Name and number. Why? You're
on a charge. I don't think so.
I know so. You were pissed.
I had trouble restraining you.
That's how you come
by all those cuts and bruises.
What cuts and bruises?
British soldiers
are not taxi drivers!
You don't endanger their lives
cos you fancy a lift home.
He was pissed. Right? Back me up.
Cos pricks like this get you killed.
I get you home safe and sound.
So back me up.
The monkey was very drunk.
He kept making himself a target,
so I had to restrain him, and I think
that's how he came by his injuries.
Monkey was paralytic,
Sarge. Corporal Buckley
had to restrain him,
and that's how
he came by his injuries, Sarge.
The monkey was rat-arsed, Sarge.
Bucks had to hold him down,
and I think that's how he
sustained those injuries, Sarge.
The monkey was bevvied, Sarge. He
kept making himself a target, Sarge.
Corporal Buckley restrained him,
and that's how he came
by his injuries, Sarge.
The monkey was pissed, Sarge.
Corporal Buckley had
to restrain him, and that's
how he came by his injuries, Sarge.
I'll give you five for it.
We agreed ten.
Five. You shake my hand on ten.
That was before I saw it.
You not like? I not like. Why?
It's dirty.
It is clean. It's been used.
Look, it is new. Five.
You insult me.
Five. We had deal. Ten.
I don't want it. You don't want it?
No. Dollars?
Yes. I'll have it.
My friend!
What?
You said you didn't want it.
You said you didn't want it!
I wanted it for five.
I didn't realise.
You realised. I didn't.
Give us five, then.
Shove it up your arse.
What? Shove it up your arse.
You think you're special, don't you?
No. Yes, you do.
You think you're special, mate.
Cut above the rest of us.
Making a twat out of me
in front of some raghead.
I wasn't trying to make a twat out
of you. A cut above the rest of us,
something very fucking special.
I wasn't trying to make a twat
out of you and I don't think
I'm anything special. No? No.
Piss on that bed.
What?
Piss on your mate's bed.
Piss on the bitch's bed.
No.
Parkie?
Yes, Bucks? Would you piss on
the bitch's bed if asked to do so?
Yes, Bucks. Scouse?
Yes, Bucks?
Would you piss on the
bitch's bed if asked to do so?
Yeah, Bucks.
Piss on the bitch's bed.
No.
Or take the bitch's place.
Sorry about your mate.
There's nothing
we can do about it now.
He's dead, we're alive, so we've
got to get our story sorted. Right?
We've got to get... Don't do that.
Don't even think about doing that,
because I'll kill you if you do.
I'm twice the man you are.
Don't even think about...
You as good as killed him!
I've told you, don't do it.
Don't even think about doing it.
Just get off me. Do it again,
I'm going to have to hurt you again.
Don't want to have to get serious, so
be a good boy and promise to behave.
Say, "I promise to behave."
I promise to behave.
I as good as killed him, yeah? Yeah.
I didn't, but let's say I did.
I made him the bitch,
and that's what killed him. Yeah?
Yeah.
I did it for you.
What?! I did it for you.
Cowards like him get you killed.
He was no coward. He was a coward.
He was an ABA champion. You do not
win an ABA if you're a coward.
We've got to go forward.
We're stuck,
and we've got to forward.
I come up behind you, right,
tap you on the shoulder, you go.
You go safe in the knowledge
that I'm behind you, I'm covering
you, I'm watching your back.
But what if a bitch
taps you on the shoulder?
Do you go forward then?
He's not going to cover you.
He's not going to watch your back.
First shot, he's got his head down,
cringing. Men like the bitch
get other men killed.
I'm sorry he's dead.
I don't want any man dead.
But I'd sooner him dead
than a proper soldier.
And now that he is dead,
we're all a little bit safer. Right?
Right? So, story.
It's time to get our story sorted.
I know what the story is.
The story is you drove him to
suicide. That's the fucking story.
What are you doing? I'm going.
You're going nowhere.
You go when I tell you to go.
The story is he killed himself?
Yeah. What's that
going to do to his family?
A military family, you gobshite.
A military family.
Old man a war hero...
You don't give a shit about
his family. You're just covering
your own back, you lying bastard!
You're just covering yourself,
that's all.
Can I go? No. Imagine it's you.
You're dead, not him.
Just let me leave.
You're married, yeah?
Yeah. Parents alive?
Yeah.
Imagine that.
We've got to tell your bird
and your parents you're dead.
That's hard enough. But imagine this.
You're not only dead,
you were a shithouse.
A coward.
Such a coward
that we made you the camp bitch.
We made your life so fucking
miserable that you went
to a dark, lonely corner,
stuck a rifle in your gob
and blew your brains out.
What's that going to do to
your bird and your parents?
What's it going to do to his?
What about this?
Isn't this better?
Killed in action.
Died a hero's death.
Sacrificed his life to save a mate.
10 mates. 100.
A war hero like his dad.
You hate me, yeah?
Yeah. Want to pay me back?
Yes.
Understandable.
But it's not about us, is it?
It's about them. His parents.
It's about not making their
pain any worse than it has to be.
Yeah? Yeah?
Would you like to take him home?
Escort the coffin?
I can fix that for you.
You can talk to his parents,
make them feel proud of him,
and then spend a bit of time
with your bird and your baby.
Would you like that?
Spend some time back home? Yeah.
Right.
What are you doing? Mr Mac?
They said not to do that.
He was shot through the head.
They said to keep it sealed. They
said it'd be too distressing to...
I want to see
what they did to my son!
Give me a hand to lift him.
Come on.
Come on. All right. One, two, three.
Careful. Careful.
Push him up.
Let's have a look at you.
He looks great.
He's got a bad head wound, but...
you can't see it.
Apart from that, it's Peter.
He looks great.
If you could give
Jinny and Gill some time,
and then after that
if anyone wants to see him,
you're more than welcome.
Smoke?
Why a sealed coffin?
They didn't say.
Not a mark on him, so why seal it?
They didn't say.
They didn't want me to look
at the body, that's why.
I don't know anything
about that, Mr Mac, honest.
I couldn't find an entry wound.
No? No.
The wound to the back of the head
is an exit wound.
There's no visible entry wound.
How do you explain that?
I don't know.
Frankie, you were like brothers.
Don't make me
turn gangster on you, son.
Right. The bullet entered
through the roof of the mouth.
That's the only possible explanation,
isn't it?
In there,
out there. Yeah? Yeah.
So he was shot by a two-foot dwarf,
or he's done it himself.
I think he's shot himself.
He was killed in action.
Frankie, I told you...
He was killed in action.
He was killed in action.
How was he killed in action?
Ricochet.
Ricochet?
Yeah.
We had our heads down.
Bullets flying everywhere.
One hit the ground right by him,
bounced up through his mouth.
That's what they say happened.
I didn't see it.
Must have hit a rock, eh? To bounce
like that, it must have hit a rock.
It must have hit a rock?
Yeah.
There wasn't a mark on his face.
There'd be bits of gravel,
bits of shite embedded in his face,
pockmarks all over his face,
but there wasn't a scratch.
How do you explain that?
I didn't see it. How do you
explain it? I can't. He shot himself.
I know he shot himself.
As far as his mother's concerned,
as far as anyone else is concerned,
he was killed in action,
but I know the truth.
He was killed in action.
Why would he kill himself?
He was killed in action.
Did they make him the bitch?
I served in that regiment.
I know what goes on.
Did they make him the bitch? No.
Did they rip his blankets?
Did they spit in his food?
Did they piss on his bunk? No!
I can't believe a word
you're telling me, Frankie.
Tell me the truth, lad,
otherwise I going to believe
everything's a lie.
He was killed in action.
Right.
Thanks.
'You broke his jaw.'
'I'm joining the Army.'
'You're loving this,
aren't you?' 'That's a funny
name for a hospital.'
So shall we establish the rules?
Shall we do that, Frankie,
shall we establish the rules?
Right, we come as a pair.
Me and him, him and me.
But as of this moment, and
I don't want to build your hopes up,
I'm just telling you the score
as it stands right at this moment,
so it is subject to change...
but I'll probably have you.
Now, it isn't all good news...
A flu party, she said.
I thought it was some kind
of a joke. But it wasn't.
They get the kid who's had the flu,
had it, but is still contagious,
and they make all
the other kids play with him.
Apparently the earlier
you get it, the better, because
it won't be as strong or as bad.
They reckon the worst one to get
is the one that's been passed
on five or six times,
because the more it's passed on,
the stronger it gets
and the harder it is to treat.
You beauty!
Everything OK? Yeah.
No awkward questions?
One or two.
But all sorted, yeah?
I'm going to grass. What?
I'm going to grass you up.
What have I done?
You drove Peter MacShane to suicide.
You know what we do
to grasses in the Army?
I can imagine. You can't. If you
could imagine it, you wouldn't do it.
I'm going to grass.
Right now.
Sarge. What is it?
I'm going to grass someone up,
Sarge.
And I know what you'll
think of me for doing that,
but I'm going to do it anyway.
Who is it? Buckley.
What's he done?
He bullied Peter MacShane, Sarge.
Made him the camp bitch,
treated him like shite, and that's
why Peter shot himself, Sarge.
Peter MacShane died in action.
We all know that's bollocks, Sarge.
Why are you doing it?
I'd like you to put it to Corporal
Buckley, Sarge. Your mate's dead.
I'd like you to put it
to Corporal Buckley, Sarge.
OK.
You want me? Private Nash
has something to say to you.
You drove Peter MacShane to suicide.
MacShane was killed in action.
He wasn't.
Permission to speak freely.
Granted.
Overwhelming force,
ruthless efficiency.
For that, you need soldiers.
Proper soldiers.
MacShane was never going to make
a soldier. Too much of a coward.
So it was my job to find him
something useful to do,
something that would contribute to
the wellbeing of the men in my care.
So I made him the bitch.
And the bitch has a big role to play
in the British Army, Private Nash,
and here's why.
We don't get many
intellectuals in here.
We get young men
with very little imagination.
That's why they're so fucking brave,
cos half the time they can't imagine
the consequences of their actions.
And that's how we like it.
Trouble is they can't imagine the
consequences of stepping out of line,
either, of letting their mates down,
losing their mates' trust,
losing their mates' friendship.
So you need a bitch.
That's what it's like
to lose your mates' friendship,
to lose your mates' support,
that poor bastard in the corner
shivering and covered in shit.
And you could be next.
Step out of line,
and you could be next.
I'd go so far as to say
MacShane's role was crucial.
You should be proud of him.
Permission to leave.
Granted.
What are you going to do about it,
Sarge?
Nothing.
I demand that you take action,
Sarge.
I demand that you do something!
All rise.
You're the bitch.
The last bitch was
an exceptionally bitchy bitch.
A hugely entertaining faggot,
but sadly, he didn't last that long.
From you, we expect rather more.
Why would a man destroy his own bed?
No idea.
Did you do it? No.
Nash. Sarge. Who was it?
Buckley, Sarge.
Can you prove it? No, Sarge.
Latrines.
For Peter MacShane.
He could blag
much better than I could.
I reckon he'd say something like,
"Note the overwhelming force and
ruthless efficiency of the attack.
"Even though you're bound to
be a little bit pissed off,
does the soldier in you salute me?"
Nash.
Nash! Nash!
Yes, Sarge.
Why are you in Buckley's bed?
I knew he wouldn't be using it
on account of being dead, Sarge.
My barrister asked me why I did it.
I said I killed him because if
I didn't, I'd have to kill myself.
He said, "How do you know that?"
I said, "Because
it happened to my mate."
He said, "You have
to tell the court that.
"It'll help you enormously."
It would break his mother's heart.
I know. And his sister's. I know.
What'll you do?
Keep shtoom.
That's big of you.
It is.
It isn't.
I pissed on his bunk.
Why?
If I didn't, I was the bitch.
I pissed on his bunk
and he saw me do it...
and an hour later, he was dead.
Stand up, lad.
It's OK.
It's OK.
Members of the jury,
do you find the defendant guilty
or not guilty of murder?
Guilty.
Is that the verdict of you all?
Yes, Your Honour.
Silence in court!
If I do not have silence
in the public gallery,
I will have it cleared.
Frank Nash,
I refuse to take into account
your service in the Army.
That was obviously done in 2009,
when you faced an earlier court,
charged with assault.
I will not let
you claim credit for it twice.
Furthermore, I think you have
done the Army a great disservice.
Corporal Buckley was, by
all accounts, a brilliant soldier,
and you have robbed
your country of his services
at a time when they are most needed.
Not once have you offered
this court any explanation,
any reason, any motive,
any excuse for this savage crime.
It is as much a mystery
now as when the trial began.
A life sentence is mandatory, but
it is for me to set a minimum term.
Frank Nash, you will serve
a minimum of 25 years.
Take him down.
strong language
and prolonged violent scenes
There's a boozer about
half a mile away.
How long is it going to take us?
Ten minutes, tops.
Mate, I don't think
I can last ten minutes.
Do you know what the secret is?
Shall I tell you the secret?
You're loving this, aren't you?
I'm mortified for you, mate!
The secret is, tell yourself
it's 20 minutes away. Don't let your
bowels know you're getting close.
You let your bowels know you're
getting close and it's whoosh!
Shall we run?
That'd be a fatal error. Running
gets everything going, don't it?
Your heart-rate, your blood,
your bladder, your bowels.
I can understand people giving
in to the temptation to want to run,
but it's always a fatal error.
I'm not going to make it.
Oh, shit!
It's always the last few seconds.
The last few seconds
fumbling with your kecks.
It's the killer, isn't it?
'Scuse me, mate. Yeah?
You bumped into my bird
and didn't say sorry. Did I? Yeah.
On your way to the toilet.
Sorry, mate. I were desperate.
I don't want you to apologise
to me...MATE.
I want you to apologise to my bird.
'Course I will.
I'm really sorry, love. I had the
blinkers on, you know what I mean?
Really, really sorry.
OK?
Come on, we're spewing it.
Where you going?
Home. You're going nowhere, son.
You're not going anywhere
till you've gone back in that toilet
and cleaned up the mess you left.
Can you get this lad a plastic bag?
He seems to have left his underpants
in our toilets, you see, Moira.
For fuck's sake.
A plastic bag to put them in, please.
It was like that when
I went in there. You're lying.
It was in that state already.
Shall I tell you
how I know you're lying?
Can you back me up on this one?
You're on.
They're all regulars in here.
They wouldn't leave a toilet
in that state. One of them did.
They've got too much respect.
Too much respect for others.
Something you... What are you going
to do? I'm an ABA champion. Are you?
Yeah. So am I.
I'm doing nothing, mate.
You're going nowhere until
you've got in there and sorted it.
I'm going and I'm going now.
You know why
you bumped into his bird?
Shall I tell you why he bumped
into your bird? Yeah.
We can deal with that issue first,
bumping into the bird,
and then we can turn our minds
to item two, the toilets, yeah?
Yeah.
He couldn't help it.
She's so bleedin' fat, she's huge.
It's impossible
not to bump into her!
She could be over the other side
of the... Fucking hell.
Fucking run!
Honestly, I thought
I'd broke my hand on his jaw.
It's like he just went down, bong!
Size of him to her.
Oh, hey up.
Oh, no, look at the bag.
You left your underpants behind,
Cinderella.
Don't know what you're talking
about. The landlord's in hospital.
Broken jaw.
That's a funny name for a hospital.
He reckons you'll get two years.
What? You've got previous.
Affray. Still counts.
I'll get two years? Yeah. Not you?
No.
You did it! You broke his jaw.
I'm joining the Army.
He reckons the judge'll go
easy if I'm joining the Army.
The Army? Yeah.
He reckons the judge'll go, "What's
the best place for a vicious thug,
prison or the Army?"
Well?
I don't know!
What's your opinion?
I don't want you to join the Army.
But I want you
to go to prison even less.
I'm pregnant.
'Rapid fire!'
What are you fucking idiots doing?
Return fire!
Return fire! Return fire, you pricks!
Return fire! Return fire!
If you don't return fire,
I'll kill you.
Return fire! I'll count to three.
One, two... Return fire!
If you don't return fire,
I'll kill you.
MacShane, return fire!
Return fire! I won't tell you again!
I said return fire!
I'm sure I got him.
He had a green turban on.
Must've thought it were camouflage
or something but I went for it.
I got two, I think.
It disappeared and I didn't see
it again, so I must've got him.
Slotted two of the bastards.
14 years old with a big fuck-off
rifle and he's wearing flip-flops.
If it wasn't two, it was three.
If they can afford
to give him a rifle,
why can't they get him
a proper pair of shoes? I don't
want to hear any more about them
being good soldiers, cos they're
crap. What's he fighting for?
A country so screwed up
no-one's got any shoes.
I'm not saying
they've got no bottle.
I'm just saying
they're crap soldiers.
That's done my head in. 14 years old
and no shoes, that's the enemy.
MacShane. Come here.
Why didn't you return fire?
Come on, smart arse.
All you've ever done is give it loads
of that. Ever since you got here.
So come on,
why didn't you return fire?
I couldn't lift my head. Why not?
Scared.
Scared of getting a round in it?
Yeah.
What's going to happen
if you don't return fire?
I'll tell you what's going to
happen if you don't return fire,
you dirty, filthy faggot.
The Taliban'll say, "There's nothing
coming back at us here."
The Taliban's going to walk
over to where you're hiding
and shoot you in the head.
What you're most scared of, that's
going to happen, you stupid gobshite,
cos you're not returning fire. Right?
Overwhelming force
and ruthless efficiency.
That's how you beat sneaky bastards
like the Taliban -
overwhelming force
and ruthless efficiency.
And what about your mates? It's OK
for them to get slotted and not you?
They've got their heads up,
returning fire, protecting you,
and you're cringing like a tart.
See this?
See this, faggot?
You're the bitch.
Right? Right, bitch?
Right.
Till you prove yourself in battle,
you faggot, till you return fire
while under fire, you are the bitch.
This man doesn't belong here.
This man will get you killed.
Have nothing to do with him.
Don't.
Why would a man rip up
his own blankets?
No idea.
Did you do it? No.
MacShane. Sarge.
Why did you rip your blankets?
I didn't rip them, Sarge. Who did?
I don't know, Sarge.
Nash.
Sarge?
You're mates with this man?
Yes, Sarge.
Did you see anyone
rip up his blankets?
No, Sarge. MacShane.
Sarge. Latrines.
You call that clean?
Saw a bit of action the other day.
Can't tell you that.
Pretty serious, yeah.
I did all right. Not going to get
the VC for it, but I did all right.
We all did.
It's a good bunch of lads.
Did you say he could sit there?
Did you say he could sit there?
No. Then why did you sit there?
Why did you sit there?
Just did. What?
I just did.
Do you like being the bitch? No.
Would you like
someone else to be the bitch?
Yeah. Who?
Frankie?
Frankie's your mate.
Would you like Frankie
to be the bitch?
No.
Then who?
Who deserves to be
the bitch more than you?
No-one.
Thank you.
Tell him to piss off. What?
Tell the bitch to piss off.
All right? All right.
Perhaps your friend buy?
No, thanks, mate. He doesn't
understand no. Made in home.
No, thanks. Good price.
I'm going to kill him.
He's only trying to make a few bob.
Not him. Buckley.
You buy for your woman?
Just do one, mate, yeah, please?
All silk, you see? How?
Don't know yet.
Beautiful scarf for your woman.
You need to get yourself home, mate.
Go sick and get yourself home.
I'm not sick. You're mental.
I go and come back? Yes, mate!
It's not your fault
you're not up to it.
There is no shame
in not being up to it.
Throw a big one, your nerves
or something, get banged up.
I can't. You can.
I can't let me dad down.
Even if I could get home,
which I don't think I can,
the only way home is in a box.
I couldn't do it, anyway,
cos I can't let my dad down,
cos he's a fucking hero,
and he thinks I'm one, too.
He thinks I'm slotting
all kinds of Taliban. I come back.
You join up,
but you haven't got a clue.
If someone
could somehow show you it.
"Look, this is incoming fire.
"You've got to stick your head up
in it and fire back. Can you do it?
"If so, join.
If not, then off you pop."
But they can't do that.
So by the time you see what
it's like, what it's really like,
it's too late.
You've already joined.
You're a soldier.
We're picking up a monkey, a
military policeman, fucking gobshite.
All day, every day,
we're waiting for a bullet or an IED.
Is it any wonder we get
rat-arsed every now and again?
But when we do,
they're onto us, aren't they?
Those bastards that have never
seen action in their lives
are banging up proper soldiers.
Bastards.
OK, he knows, I've told him about
four times, all right?
We'll be moving soon.
Taxi for McVey?
Parkie, swap with the bitch. Bitch!
Corporal. Come here.
You're as good as two men short,
so get in here. Right? Right.
Had a good night?
Bang anyone up? Very funny.
Let's go.
This could be your chance, bitch.
Your chance to redeem yourself.
Contact left! Contact left!
Get down, you stupid bastard.
Soldier's work. Step on it!
Proper fucking soldier's work,
you prick.
I said keep your head down!
MacShane, return fire!
Cease fire! Cease fire!
Name and number. Why? You're
on a charge. I don't think so.
I know so. You were pissed.
I had trouble restraining you.
That's how you come
by all those cuts and bruises.
What cuts and bruises?
British soldiers
are not taxi drivers!
You don't endanger their lives
cos you fancy a lift home.
He was pissed. Right? Back me up.
Cos pricks like this get you killed.
I get you home safe and sound.
So back me up.
The monkey was very drunk.
He kept making himself a target,
so I had to restrain him, and I think
that's how he came by his injuries.
Monkey was paralytic,
Sarge. Corporal Buckley
had to restrain him,
and that's how
he came by his injuries, Sarge.
The monkey was rat-arsed, Sarge.
Bucks had to hold him down,
and I think that's how he
sustained those injuries, Sarge.
The monkey was bevvied, Sarge. He
kept making himself a target, Sarge.
Corporal Buckley restrained him,
and that's how he came
by his injuries, Sarge.
The monkey was pissed, Sarge.
Corporal Buckley had
to restrain him, and that's
how he came by his injuries, Sarge.
I'll give you five for it.
We agreed ten.
Five. You shake my hand on ten.
That was before I saw it.
You not like? I not like. Why?
It's dirty.
It is clean. It's been used.
Look, it is new. Five.
You insult me.
Five. We had deal. Ten.
I don't want it. You don't want it?
No. Dollars?
Yes. I'll have it.
My friend!
What?
You said you didn't want it.
You said you didn't want it!
I wanted it for five.
I didn't realise.
You realised. I didn't.
Give us five, then.
Shove it up your arse.
What? Shove it up your arse.
You think you're special, don't you?
No. Yes, you do.
You think you're special, mate.
Cut above the rest of us.
Making a twat out of me
in front of some raghead.
I wasn't trying to make a twat out
of you. A cut above the rest of us,
something very fucking special.
I wasn't trying to make a twat
out of you and I don't think
I'm anything special. No? No.
Piss on that bed.
What?
Piss on your mate's bed.
Piss on the bitch's bed.
No.
Parkie?
Yes, Bucks? Would you piss on
the bitch's bed if asked to do so?
Yes, Bucks. Scouse?
Yes, Bucks?
Would you piss on the
bitch's bed if asked to do so?
Yeah, Bucks.
Piss on the bitch's bed.
No.
Or take the bitch's place.
Sorry about your mate.
There's nothing
we can do about it now.
He's dead, we're alive, so we've
got to get our story sorted. Right?
We've got to get... Don't do that.
Don't even think about doing that,
because I'll kill you if you do.
I'm twice the man you are.
Don't even think about...
You as good as killed him!
I've told you, don't do it.
Don't even think about doing it.
Just get off me. Do it again,
I'm going to have to hurt you again.
Don't want to have to get serious, so
be a good boy and promise to behave.
Say, "I promise to behave."
I promise to behave.
I as good as killed him, yeah? Yeah.
I didn't, but let's say I did.
I made him the bitch,
and that's what killed him. Yeah?
Yeah.
I did it for you.
What?! I did it for you.
Cowards like him get you killed.
He was no coward. He was a coward.
He was an ABA champion. You do not
win an ABA if you're a coward.
We've got to go forward.
We're stuck,
and we've got to forward.
I come up behind you, right,
tap you on the shoulder, you go.
You go safe in the knowledge
that I'm behind you, I'm covering
you, I'm watching your back.
But what if a bitch
taps you on the shoulder?
Do you go forward then?
He's not going to cover you.
He's not going to watch your back.
First shot, he's got his head down,
cringing. Men like the bitch
get other men killed.
I'm sorry he's dead.
I don't want any man dead.
But I'd sooner him dead
than a proper soldier.
And now that he is dead,
we're all a little bit safer. Right?
Right? So, story.
It's time to get our story sorted.
I know what the story is.
The story is you drove him to
suicide. That's the fucking story.
What are you doing? I'm going.
You're going nowhere.
You go when I tell you to go.
The story is he killed himself?
Yeah. What's that
going to do to his family?
A military family, you gobshite.
A military family.
Old man a war hero...
You don't give a shit about
his family. You're just covering
your own back, you lying bastard!
You're just covering yourself,
that's all.
Can I go? No. Imagine it's you.
You're dead, not him.
Just let me leave.
You're married, yeah?
Yeah. Parents alive?
Yeah.
Imagine that.
We've got to tell your bird
and your parents you're dead.
That's hard enough. But imagine this.
You're not only dead,
you were a shithouse.
A coward.
Such a coward
that we made you the camp bitch.
We made your life so fucking
miserable that you went
to a dark, lonely corner,
stuck a rifle in your gob
and blew your brains out.
What's that going to do to
your bird and your parents?
What's it going to do to his?
What about this?
Isn't this better?
Killed in action.
Died a hero's death.
Sacrificed his life to save a mate.
10 mates. 100.
A war hero like his dad.
You hate me, yeah?
Yeah. Want to pay me back?
Yes.
Understandable.
But it's not about us, is it?
It's about them. His parents.
It's about not making their
pain any worse than it has to be.
Yeah? Yeah?
Would you like to take him home?
Escort the coffin?
I can fix that for you.
You can talk to his parents,
make them feel proud of him,
and then spend a bit of time
with your bird and your baby.
Would you like that?
Spend some time back home? Yeah.
Right.
What are you doing? Mr Mac?
They said not to do that.
He was shot through the head.
They said to keep it sealed. They
said it'd be too distressing to...
I want to see
what they did to my son!
Give me a hand to lift him.
Come on.
Come on. All right. One, two, three.
Careful. Careful.
Push him up.
Let's have a look at you.
He looks great.
He's got a bad head wound, but...
you can't see it.
Apart from that, it's Peter.
He looks great.
If you could give
Jinny and Gill some time,
and then after that
if anyone wants to see him,
you're more than welcome.
Smoke?
Why a sealed coffin?
They didn't say.
Not a mark on him, so why seal it?
They didn't say.
They didn't want me to look
at the body, that's why.
I don't know anything
about that, Mr Mac, honest.
I couldn't find an entry wound.
No? No.
The wound to the back of the head
is an exit wound.
There's no visible entry wound.
How do you explain that?
I don't know.
Frankie, you were like brothers.
Don't make me
turn gangster on you, son.
Right. The bullet entered
through the roof of the mouth.
That's the only possible explanation,
isn't it?
In there,
out there. Yeah? Yeah.
So he was shot by a two-foot dwarf,
or he's done it himself.
I think he's shot himself.
He was killed in action.
Frankie, I told you...
He was killed in action.
He was killed in action.
How was he killed in action?
Ricochet.
Ricochet?
Yeah.
We had our heads down.
Bullets flying everywhere.
One hit the ground right by him,
bounced up through his mouth.
That's what they say happened.
I didn't see it.
Must have hit a rock, eh? To bounce
like that, it must have hit a rock.
It must have hit a rock?
Yeah.
There wasn't a mark on his face.
There'd be bits of gravel,
bits of shite embedded in his face,
pockmarks all over his face,
but there wasn't a scratch.
How do you explain that?
I didn't see it. How do you
explain it? I can't. He shot himself.
I know he shot himself.
As far as his mother's concerned,
as far as anyone else is concerned,
he was killed in action,
but I know the truth.
He was killed in action.
Why would he kill himself?
He was killed in action.
Did they make him the bitch?
I served in that regiment.
I know what goes on.
Did they make him the bitch? No.
Did they rip his blankets?
Did they spit in his food?
Did they piss on his bunk? No!
I can't believe a word
you're telling me, Frankie.
Tell me the truth, lad,
otherwise I going to believe
everything's a lie.
He was killed in action.
Right.
Thanks.
'You broke his jaw.'
'I'm joining the Army.'
'You're loving this,
aren't you?' 'That's a funny
name for a hospital.'
So shall we establish the rules?
Shall we do that, Frankie,
shall we establish the rules?
Right, we come as a pair.
Me and him, him and me.
But as of this moment, and
I don't want to build your hopes up,
I'm just telling you the score
as it stands right at this moment,
so it is subject to change...
but I'll probably have you.
Now, it isn't all good news...
A flu party, she said.
I thought it was some kind
of a joke. But it wasn't.
They get the kid who's had the flu,
had it, but is still contagious,
and they make all
the other kids play with him.
Apparently the earlier
you get it, the better, because
it won't be as strong or as bad.
They reckon the worst one to get
is the one that's been passed
on five or six times,
because the more it's passed on,
the stronger it gets
and the harder it is to treat.
You beauty!
Everything OK? Yeah.
No awkward questions?
One or two.
But all sorted, yeah?
I'm going to grass. What?
I'm going to grass you up.
What have I done?
You drove Peter MacShane to suicide.
You know what we do
to grasses in the Army?
I can imagine. You can't. If you
could imagine it, you wouldn't do it.
I'm going to grass.
Right now.
Sarge. What is it?
I'm going to grass someone up,
Sarge.
And I know what you'll
think of me for doing that,
but I'm going to do it anyway.
Who is it? Buckley.
What's he done?
He bullied Peter MacShane, Sarge.
Made him the camp bitch,
treated him like shite, and that's
why Peter shot himself, Sarge.
Peter MacShane died in action.
We all know that's bollocks, Sarge.
Why are you doing it?
I'd like you to put it to Corporal
Buckley, Sarge. Your mate's dead.
I'd like you to put it
to Corporal Buckley, Sarge.
OK.
You want me? Private Nash
has something to say to you.
You drove Peter MacShane to suicide.
MacShane was killed in action.
He wasn't.
Permission to speak freely.
Granted.
Overwhelming force,
ruthless efficiency.
For that, you need soldiers.
Proper soldiers.
MacShane was never going to make
a soldier. Too much of a coward.
So it was my job to find him
something useful to do,
something that would contribute to
the wellbeing of the men in my care.
So I made him the bitch.
And the bitch has a big role to play
in the British Army, Private Nash,
and here's why.
We don't get many
intellectuals in here.
We get young men
with very little imagination.
That's why they're so fucking brave,
cos half the time they can't imagine
the consequences of their actions.
And that's how we like it.
Trouble is they can't imagine the
consequences of stepping out of line,
either, of letting their mates down,
losing their mates' trust,
losing their mates' friendship.
So you need a bitch.
That's what it's like
to lose your mates' friendship,
to lose your mates' support,
that poor bastard in the corner
shivering and covered in shit.
And you could be next.
Step out of line,
and you could be next.
I'd go so far as to say
MacShane's role was crucial.
You should be proud of him.
Permission to leave.
Granted.
What are you going to do about it,
Sarge?
Nothing.
I demand that you take action,
Sarge.
I demand that you do something!
All rise.
You're the bitch.
The last bitch was
an exceptionally bitchy bitch.
A hugely entertaining faggot,
but sadly, he didn't last that long.
From you, we expect rather more.
Why would a man destroy his own bed?
No idea.
Did you do it? No.
Nash. Sarge. Who was it?
Buckley, Sarge.
Can you prove it? No, Sarge.
Latrines.
For Peter MacShane.
He could blag
much better than I could.
I reckon he'd say something like,
"Note the overwhelming force and
ruthless efficiency of the attack.
"Even though you're bound to
be a little bit pissed off,
does the soldier in you salute me?"
Nash.
Nash! Nash!
Yes, Sarge.
Why are you in Buckley's bed?
I knew he wouldn't be using it
on account of being dead, Sarge.
My barrister asked me why I did it.
I said I killed him because if
I didn't, I'd have to kill myself.
He said, "How do you know that?"
I said, "Because
it happened to my mate."
He said, "You have
to tell the court that.
"It'll help you enormously."
It would break his mother's heart.
I know. And his sister's. I know.
What'll you do?
Keep shtoom.
That's big of you.
It is.
It isn't.
I pissed on his bunk.
Why?
If I didn't, I was the bitch.
I pissed on his bunk
and he saw me do it...
and an hour later, he was dead.
Stand up, lad.
It's OK.
It's OK.
Members of the jury,
do you find the defendant guilty
or not guilty of murder?
Guilty.
Is that the verdict of you all?
Yes, Your Honour.
Silence in court!
If I do not have silence
in the public gallery,
I will have it cleared.
Frank Nash,
I refuse to take into account
your service in the Army.
That was obviously done in 2009,
when you faced an earlier court,
charged with assault.
I will not let
you claim credit for it twice.
Furthermore, I think you have
done the Army a great disservice.
Corporal Buckley was, by
all accounts, a brilliant soldier,
and you have robbed
your country of his services
at a time when they are most needed.
Not once have you offered
this court any explanation,
any reason, any motive,
any excuse for this savage crime.
It is as much a mystery
now as when the trial began.
A life sentence is mandatory, but
it is for me to set a minimum term.
Frank Nash, you will serve
a minimum of 25 years.
Take him down.