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Waterloo 1970 CD2

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Killing is a brotherly business, isn't it, de Lancey?
- Shall I shut them up, sir? - No.
No, indulge it.
Anything that wastes time this morning, indulge it.
Normally, I don't like cheering.
But there's always a time to cut cards with the devil.
Would you kindly announce me?
- Who's the lad who leathers the French? - Our Atty!
I've no need of a white horse to puff me, by God.
- Who gives salt to Marshal Soult? - Our Atty!
- Who gave Johnny Francois a jolt? - Our Atty!
- Who will peck Boney's bum? - Our Atty!
- Who makes the "Parlez-vous" to run? - Our Atty!
- Who's the boy with the hooky nose? - Our Atty!
- Who's the lad who leathers the French? - Our Atty!
- Who's the boy to kick Boney's arse? - Our Atty!
Come on, get me out.
Drouot was right. This mud may kill us.
The only enemy I fear is nature.
The battle orders, Sire.
There are more orders here than there were for the siege of Troy.
You can tell by the position of his guns that his might is on the right side.
He is afraid of his right.
All right.
Therefore that's where we'll tease him.
We'll have a diversionary action.
We tease his right side. If he weakens his centre to support the right -
- Then I will know the calibre of this English aristocrat.
Gentlemen... today's fox.
- Clever chap, your tailor, Hay. - Dunmore and Locke's in St. James.
Remind me of that de Lancey. I like my men well dressed.
For the enemy.
- La Bedoyere? - Yes, Sire.
Do you have children?
Yes. I have one son. Very young. No taller than your boot.
And would you want him to be with you today?
- Yes? Why? - So he could see you, Sire.
See me...
I have a son.
I would give anything to see him. I'd give my heart, my life.
But not here.
I wouldn't want him to witness this battle today.
His main strength is beyond that hill.
What he shows me is only a facade. He is clever. Clever.
We'll begin the attack there. At Hougoumont.
Well, that opens the ball.
Thirty-five minutes past eleven.
Thank you, gentlemen. Return to your positions.
Battalion, advance!
He's committed Foye's division. He intends to turn us on the right.
What he seems to intend and what he does. -
- Will be as different as white knight to black bishop.
We can move the 95th down, sir.
I will not run around like a wet hen. There will be plenty of time, sir.
He hasn't moved. He's nailed himself to his ridge.
This Englishman has two qualities that I admire.
Caution and, above all, courage.
He hasn't moved. Now we move the heavy artillery against Picton.
It seems he's swinging his weight to you, Picton.
- His guns move so smoothly. - He moves his cannon like a pistol.
I doubt if Byland's brigade will stand.
Never mind. Let him have a taste of it.
If they don't run first.
They're coming on in the same old style.
And we'll have to meet them in the same old style.
This one's going to take careful timing.
Gin up, boys. Get it while you can.
The French will have it out of you in a minute, anyway.
- Dick? - No, thank you.
Have a sup of gin with His Majesty's compliments.
Remind me to thank him next time we visit the palace.
- Would you say there are many of them? - I can't see through a hill.
It's like the whole of bloody hell is coming up out of the ground.
Nothing frightens me more than being next to a friend of the Almighty.
The 72nd will prepare to advance!
Before we go, Uxbridge.
Savage stuff, Ponsonby.
You don't see its like anymore. My father left us a hundredweight.
An old Jew in Alexandria had the blend.
My father was killed by the French. It never should have happened.
His horse got bogged in a field and the brute just gave up.
Seven lancers had him like a tiger in a pit.
- Bad luck, eh, Uxbridge? - Damned bad luck.
Yes, particularly bad luck. He had 400 better horses at home.
Byland's brigade has broken. Plug the gap, if you please.
Now is the time for the heavy cavalry, I think.
Get your bastards up onto the crest. I'll bring up the rest of the brigade.
Don't hurry yourself, Pic. My lads'll hold them 'till you come.
Get forward, damn you.
The 92nd will advance! Greenslade Mackenna!
Has Wellington nothing to offer me but these Amazons?
On, you drunken rascals! You whore's melts! You thieves!
Now, Scots Greys, now!
Those men on grey horses are terrifying.
They are the noblest cavalry in Europe. And the worst led.
That may be. That may be.
But we'll match them with our lancers.
We're the hard boys!
Charge for the guns!
Sound the recall!
Stop that useless noise. You'll hurt yourself.
Get back! Sound the recall!
Lancers on your left!
Look out on the left!
Give these to my son. Ride on. Save yourself.
By God, sir, the cannons are calling us. March to the sound of the guns.
- Our duty is to... - Do not teach me my duty, General.
My orders from the Emperor were precise. To keep my sword in Blucher's back.
If you will not march to the sound of the guns, allow me to go.
And divide my force? France would hang me.
And maybe France would be right.
- La Bedoyere! - Yes, Sire.
What's moving there?
I see men marching in column. Maybe five or six thousand.
He's right.
I see horses now.
Horses, but whose? The French or the Prussians?
I think it's Grouchy's blue, sir.
It's what we feared, sir. Grouchy has come across.
Damn it, it could be Prussian black.
Hay, your eyes are young. Tell me the colour.
I think they're...
That's not necessary. It's the Prussians.
But as far as we are concerned, they're on the moon.
- Is that understood? - Yes, Sire.
Wellington wages war in a new way. He fights sitting on his arse.
We'll have to move him off it.
Where's Grouchy?
La Haye Sainte. The one who wins the farmhouse wins the battle.
Where is Grouchy?
I need those men. Where is Grouchy? Why must I do everything myself?
Sire, are you wounded?
As your doctor I advise you to come off the field. You must lie down.
I'm all right. It's just my stomach.
After Austerlitz -
- I said I would have six more good years.
Now it's ten years and nine campaigns later.
- Listening? - Every word.
After I am dead and gone, what will the world say of me?
It will say you extended the limits of glory.
Is that all I'll leave my son? The limits of glory?
He's concentrating his cavalry. The infantry is still sitting.
Smoke without fire. What's he at?
- A hard pounding, gentlemen. - Yes, sir.
Lord Hay, take yourself for a run.
General Lambert will retire a hundred paces.
- But, Your Grace... - Do as you're told, sir!
General order. The army will retire a hundred paces.
The army retires 100 paces!
The 27th will take position behind the Gordons!
It's bad policy to stay near a tree in a thunderstorm. It attracts bolts.
I'll take your impudent advice.
Wellington's retreating! Nillion, follow me!
Trumpeter, sound the advance!
- Le Fevre, are you with me? - Yes, Sire!
Withdraw to square! Shoot at the horses!
What's Ney doing?
Can't I leave the field for a minute? What's he doing there?
How can the cavalry go forward without infantry support?
Remember your wives, your sweethearts, your homes! Think of England, men!
Think of England!
Come on, you bastards!
Let me go! For God's sake, leave me alone!
- Let me go. - Stop him, someone!
We've never seen each other. How can we kill one another?
How can we? How can we? How can we kill one another?
How can we? How can we? Why do we? Why?
Ney requests infantry, Sire.
- General Lambert needs reinforcements. - I can only give him my best wishes.
De Lancey, move that battery down towards Hougoumont.
Get the surgeon over here!
The farm house is ours! Long live France!
Soult, write a letter to Paris right now and tell them...
- What time do you think it is? - About six o'clock, Sire.
Tell them that at six o'clock we broke Wellington's forces -
- And won the battle. No. Tell them that we won the war.
The farm house has fallen, sir. We can't hold them.
It appears, Uxbridge, that we're losing the battle.
Give me night.
Or give me Blucher.
Wellington's beaten. He's bled to death.
Now move the Old Guard forward. Then, on to Brussels.
Sire, if you go any further, you will be killed.
- A general should die on the field. - Sire, you must go back. Please.
I abandon my position on the left. I want all remaining men here!
Here. Every brigade, every battalion, here!
Put every gun to them, sir. Every gun.
Very good, sir.
The lads are down to five rounds a man, Wellington.
But they'll stand.
If Blucher doesn't come through now, they'll break every bone in my body.
Good beans, Wellington.
If there's anything I know nothing about it is agriculture.
Sire, the Prussians are in the woods! Blucher is in the woods!
I should have burned Berlin.
Raise the black flags, children. No pity. No prisoners.
I'll shoot any man I see with pity in him.
On, my children!
Now, Maitland! Now's your time!
To the guard!
- It's Grouchy! - It's Blucher, look!
Run! All is lost! Run!
Why do you stand there like frightened children?
What are you afraid of?
You call yourselves soldiers! Soult, remember you're a general.
La Bedoyere, the Prussians are too late. Too late. Wellington is beaten.
Don't you understand? Wellington is beaten! Where's your faith?
I was in this position at Marengo.
I lost the battle at five o'clock, but I won it back again at seven!
Is it Prussians?
Up to them! Up to them!
Am I to fight alone? Stand with me!
Are you French? Stand with me!
Are you the Guard?
One more hour and we have them beaten!
Don't you know me?
I'm Ney, Marshal of France!
Sir, the Prussians are here!
The Old Guard has broken!
Damn me, Uxbridge, if I ever saw 30,000 men run a race before.
- The whole line will advance. - In which direction, Your Grace?
Straight ahead, to be sure.
Stand firm on the right! Form square!
Form square!
By God, sir, I've lost my leg.
By God, sir, so you have.
Get forward with him!
Stand by the flag! Stand!
Sire, you must get out! You must escape!
If I die, it will be here in the field, with my men.
Please, Sire.
The enemy must not touch you. France must not lose you, Sire.
- Sire, the battle is lost. - Where is Grouchy?
Where is Grouchy?
Vive la France!
You must stay alive, Sire.
Stand and form square!
We're doing murder, Your Grace.
I hope to God -
- I've fought my last battle.
Brave Frenchmen!
You have done all that the honour of war requires.
His Grace, the Duke of Wellington, invites you to save your lives.
Will you agree to surrender?
Why do we? Why? Why?
Next to a battle lost, the saddest thing is a battle won.
You must leave this place of dead flesh.
They will chain you -
- Like Prometheus to a rock.
Where the memory of your own greatness will gnaw you.
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