The Secretary of State for War has
today received the following dispatch
from Lord Chelmsford,
Commander in Chief of Her Majesty's
forces in Natal colony, South Africa.
"I regret to report
a very disastrous engagement
"which took place on the morning
of the 22nd January
"between the armies of
the Zulu king Cetshwayo
"and our own Number 3 Column,
consisting of Five Companies
"of the 1 st Battalion,
24th Regiment of Foot,
"and one company of the 2nd Battalion,
"a total of nearly 1,500 men,
officers and other ranks.
"The Zulus, in overwhelming numbers,
launched a highly disciplined attack
"on the slopes of the mountain
of Isandhlwana,
"and in spite of gallant resistance..."
What did he ask, Father?
Whether a man of God like myself
was pleased
to see so many warriors married
to so many maidens at one time.
How can he imagine
it would please anyone?
Do you think I said it pleased me,
daughter?
I told him I was unhappy
to see so many brides
who may soon become widows.
That was a very good answer, Father.
Why do they have those little spears?
The girls, I mean?
It's a symbol of their chastity, daughter.
It's splendid, I know,
but it's quite horrible too, isn't it?
The Book says, "What went ye out
into the wilderness to see?
- "A man clothed in soft raiment?"
- Yes, Father.
You must understand these things
if you're going to stay in Africa,
Margareta.
That's why I brought you here.
They are a great people, daughter.
But how can they let themselves
be married in droves like this?
Young girls to old men.
In Europe, young women accept
arranged marriages with rich men.
Perhaps the Zulu girls are luckier
getting a brave man.
Margareta.
Wait.
- All right.
- Father!
Wait. Wait, Margareta.
- Dear Lord in Heaven!
- What is it? Father?
One thousand British soldiers
have been massacred.
While I stood here talking peace,
a war has started.
Ishiwan! Ishiwan!
Ishiwan? Didn't you say that Ishiwan...
Yes. It's their name for
our mission station at Rorke's Drift.
- They're going to destroy it.
- Why?
Because there are British soldiers
at Rorke's Drift.
- But it's only a handful.
- Come.
- It is a hospital. Father, tell him.
- Do you think he will listen?
We must get there.
There'll be a massacre.
Father! Father!
- All right, Corporal Allen.
- Sir. Corp? Let go.
Right turn.
Quick march.
Colour Sergeant Bourne,
what's that shooting?
A rifle, Hughes.
If you're sick in hospital,
I suggest you go and lie down.
Yes, Colour Sergeant.
Hey, Hookie,
who's doing all that shooting?
- Who do you think?
- Who do you think?
Mr Flaming Bromhead is shooting
flaming defenceless animals
for the flaming officers' flaming dinner.
I wish he'd bring us some fresh meat.
I wonder what they're cooking
for supper.
Same as usual.
Horse meat and axle grease.
Which one has got the bullet?
She was as beautiful as a butterfly.
She was as beautiful as a buttertly
and as proud as a queen
Was pretty little Polly Perkins
of Paddington Green
Shut up, you cripple!
She was as beautiful as a buttertly
and as...
Come on, make your mind up.
It's turning blue.
Yeah, yeah, very pretty, lovely.
Which one?
It's under that one.
The boy's clever. The boy's good.
How about putting some money on?
Five rounds!
Independent! Fire!
Stuff me with green apples.
You know, if a dog was as sick as him,
they'd shoot him.
Five rounds! Independent!
Fire!
Shut up, you rotten, sick...
Why don't you leave him alone?
He's sick enough. You'll kill him!
Wouldn't bother Hookie,
would it, Hookie?
Wouldn't bother, Hookie,
it wouldn't matter if Maxfield was dead.
I don't care if you were all dead. Blimey!
Rorke's Drift.
It'd take an Irishman to give his name
to a rotten, stinking
middle-of-nowhere hole like this.
Hold that pont!
- Corporal Allen?
- Sir?
- Get some men in the water!
- Sir.
Hey!
You heard that Officer of Engineers.
Get it.
Heave! Put a bit more weight
on that rope, you men.
- He's even got a voice like a corporal.
- Yeah.
Sort of like a female hippopotamus
in labour.
- Hot work?
- Damned hot work.
Still, the river cools you off
a bit, though?
- Who are you?
- John Chard. Royal Engineers.
Bromhead. 24th.
That's my post, up there.
You've come down from the column?
That's right.
They want a bridge across the river.
Who said you could use my men?
They were sitting around
on their backsides doing nothing.
Rather you asked first, old boy.
I was told their officer was out hunting.
Yes.
I'll tell my man to clean your kit.
- Don't bother.
- No bother.
I'm not offering to clean it myself.
Still, a chap ought to look smart
in front of the men.
Don't you think?
Well, chin-chin.
Do carry on with your mud pies.
You.
- What's your name?
- Owen.
Sir.
- Are you supposed to be here?
- Yes, sir.
Well, not exactly. You see, sir,
only, you've got my solo tenor out there.
- I've got your what?
- 612 Williams, sir.
We were going to practise this
afternoon with the company choir.
But you've got my only solo tenor
working out there in the cold water.
Well, I hope he sings better
than he works.
Oh, indeed, sir. He does.
Every piece of wood in this
blistering country's eaten by ants.
The heat and the dust, sir.
Very nasty on the larynx.
Mr Bromhead lets you have a choir,
does he?
Well, every Welsh regiment
has a choir, sir.
Mr Bromhead is English,
but he is a proper gentleman.
There's no doubt of that.
- And what do you sing?
- Me, sir? Baritone, sir.
Good.
I can find work for baritones
as well as tenors.
See what you make of that, over there,
below the escarpment.
- Two riders.
- Gallopers from the column, sir?
Very wonderful things, these, sir,
aren't they?
- Corporal Allen?
- Sir?
- Get your party ashore at the double.
- Sir.
All right, you heard
that Officer of Engineers.
Make fast and back to the bank. Move.
Come on, lad. Hop on it.
- Trouble, sir?
- Could be.
I can anchor the ponts midstream, sir.
With six riflemen I could...
This is a situation you think an Engineer
Officer can't handle, Corporal?
- No, sir. Beg your pardon, sir.
- Fall them in.
We ain't finished the bridge, sir.
- Fall them in, Corporal.
- Sir.
Get fell in, you men. Squad.
Squad, 'shun.
Left turn.
Left wheel. By the left. Quick march.
Left, left.
Left, left, left, right, left. Left, left.
Hey! Hey, you!
What's going on down there?
They're building barricades
or something.
What's that?
Ride like hell.
Tell them they can't get here too soon.
- Corporal.
- Sir.
I want all these people out of here.
Douse these cooking fires
and turn the boilers over.
- But they've got soup in them, sir.
- Pour it on the fires.
- And get yourself a rifle.
- A rifle, sir? But I don't...
Mr Chard? Mr Chard?
- Commissary Dalton, is it?
- That is correct.
But Mr Chard,
you've just asked this man...
To pour the soup on the fires.
See that he does it.
All these bags of maize
inside the perimeter.
And I don't want these tents
providing cover for the enemy.
Does he know what it's like
to make soup for 100 men
in this flaming heat, Mr Dalton,
does he, sir?
Oh, now, don't distress yourself,
my dear fellow.
There's your own officer over there.
- You go and speak with him.
- Yes, sir.
Chard?
This is Adendorff, Natal Native
Contingent from Isandhlwana.
Bromhead, 24th Foot.
You've come from there?
All right, man, is it true?
Beg your pardon, sir.
About the soup, sir.
- What about the soup?
- Well, this gentleman, sir,
said to put it on the fire.
He did?
We have thatched roofs here,
Bromhead.
No need to make the Zulus
a present of fire.
Yes.
Then get on with it.
- There's a good fellow.
- Well, am I to take a rifle, too, sir?
The entire column.
- It's damned impossible. 800 men?
- 1,200 men.
There were 400 native levies also.
Damn the levies, man.
More cowardly blacks.
What the hell do you mean,
cowardly blacks?
They died on your side, didn't they?
And who the hell do you think is coming
to wipe out your little command,
the Grenadier Guards?
What the deuce is the matter with him?
- Adendorff? Are you staying?
- Is there anywhere else to go?
Talk to our levies, will you?
Tell them whose side they're on.
Did the runner bring orders?
He brought orders
to the commander of this post.
- To do what?
- To hold our ground.
To hold our ground?
What military genius
thought up that one?
Somebody's son and heir
who got a commission
before he learnt to shave?
I rather fancy
that he's nobody's son and heir now.
- Who are they?
- The Witts.
- Witts?
- The Swedish missionaries here.
This is their station.
They've chosen a damned odd time
for a prayer meeting.
I think you better get them out of here.
Are you giving me an order, old boy?
Bromhead?
Let's get one thing clear.
I'm no line officer. I'm an engineer.
- I came here to build a bridge.
- Jolly lucky for you.
I mean, otherwise,
you would've been chopped
with the rest of the column,
wouldn't you?
All right.
What's the date of your commission?
Now don't tell me.
I suppose you have seniority.
1872. May.
1872. February.
Oh, well. I suppose there are such
things as gifted amateurs. If I may...
Are you questioning my right
to command?
Oh, not your right, old boy. Never mind.
We can cooperate, as they say.
- I'll be here, won't I?
- Bromhead?
Have you been here long enough
to put a lookout on that hill?
Not since we've been chatting, no.
I've started the barricades, though.
I managed to think of that.
Who's the sergeant with the muscles?
Sgt Windridge. Good man.
Not you again?
Yes, sir, Surgeon Reynolds.
It's me arm, sir.
The only trouble with your arm
is you never do any work with it.
Pretty terrible pain, sir.
All right. Off with your vest.
- Now, sir?
- Now, sir.
Yes, sir.
It's cruel to bend, sir.
You know what you've got there,
my malingering Hector?
No, sir. Hook's the name, sir.
You've got a fine, handsome boil,
my friend.
There's one glistening boil
for every soldier in Africa.
You may not win many medals
on this campaign, Hook,
but you'll certainly get more boils.
For every gunshot wound I probe,
I expect to lance three boils.
Spot of medicinal brandy
would set me up, sir.
Brandy's for heroes, Mr Hook.
The rest of you will make do with boils
in your skin,
flies in your meat
and dysentery in your bellies.
Now, then, this is going to hurt you
a lot more than it will me,
I'm happy to say.
Mr Bromhead? Cetshwayo is coming
with two impis to destroy you.
You must talk to Lt Chard, Mr Witt.
He commands here. Margareta.
Mr Chard, I am ready to take away
your sick and wounded.
Please supply the wagons. Daughter,
tell the men in the hospital to get ready.
One moment, Miss Margareta. Mr Witt?
I don't suppose
you hold the Queen's Commission?
I am a man of peace, sir.
Then allow a Queen's officer
to give orders to her soldiers.
Now, how do you know
what Cetshwayo is doing?
We have just come from his kraal, sir.
He's a member of my parish.
Your parish? Are you sure you're on
the right side of the river, Mr Witt?
I am here to do my duty.
I expect your cooperation.
What's our strength?
Seven officers, including surgeon,
commissaries and so on.
Oh, and Adendorff now, I suppose.
Wounded and sick, 36.
Fit for duty, 97.
And about 40 native levies.
Not much of an army for you.
There are 4,000 Zulus
coming against you.
You must abandon this mission.
Mr Chard?
Adendorff sent his trooper
to Helpmekaar.
There's a relief column there,
isn't there? A cavalry?
There was three days ago.
Mr Bromhead, issue all our walking
wounded with arms and ammunition.
You will all be killed like those
this morning.
And now the sick in their beds.
All of you.
I don't think so, Mr Witt.
The army doesn't like
more than one disaster in a day.
It looks bad in the newspapers and
upsets civilians at their breakfast.
Sir, the Book says,
"There is no king that can be saved
by the multitude of a host,
"neither is any man..."
Mr Witt?
When I have the impertinence to climb
into your pulpit and deliver a sermon,
then you may tell me my duty.
It is not your duty to sacrifice the sick.
Are you a student of tactics too,
Miss Witt?
Are you a Christian?
Sgt Windridge?
It is your duty to let us
take those men away.
Not that way, Miss Witt.
- Sir.
- Come, daughter.
Sergeant, put two good men on that hill
and tell them to keep their eyes peeled.
- Mr Bromhead, sir?
- Double up, damn it!
Carry on, Sgt Windridge,
there's a good fellow.
Sir.
- Colour Sergeant Bourne?
- Sir.
Mr Bromhead?
You know, I had a calf like you once,
back home in Merioneth.
I'll get you some milk.
I'll make you strong.
Would you like that, then?
What the hell do you think you're doing
at a time like this? Shut up!
Owen!
Yes, Sergeant?
- You've got a voice, haven't you?
- Yes, baritone, Sergeant.
Well, get up on that hill
and sing out if you see anything.
You, too.
And take your bandook,
you dozy Welshman!
The classical attack of the Zulus
is in the shape of a bull buffelo like this.
The head, the horns and the loins.
First, the head moves forward and the
enemy naturally moves in to meet it,
but it's only a feint.
The warriors in the head then disperse
to form the encircling horns
and the enemy is drawn in on the loins.
And the horns close in
on the back and sides.
Finish.
It looks jolly simple, doesn't it?
Though it's jolly deadly, old boy.
Well done, Adendorff.
We'll make an Englishman of you yet.
No, thanks. I'm a Boer.
The Zulus are the enemies of my blood.
What are you doing here?
You don't object to our help, I hope?
It all depends what you damned English
want for it afterwards.
All right. Hospital. Church.
Cattle kraal. Stables.
An outside perimeter
joining the buildings here and here.
Now, we don't move out to meet
the feint of the buffelo head.
We hold the outside perimeter.
If and when that collapses,
we move back into this area here.
How high can you build a wall there,
Bromhead?
Well, it should be about shoulder high.
But if the fuzzies moved out
of Isandhlwana immediately,
they could be here, well, now.
It's just a matter of time.
Now, we'll have to make the time.
You mean your only plan is to stand
behind a few feet of mealie bags,
and wait for the attack?
That's right. We wait.
If 1,200 men couldn't hold
a defensive position this morning,
what chance have we with 100?
Listen, old boy,
I'll take the company up into the hills.
I know exactly how to disperse them.
Ambush, you see?
We cut them down in the passes.
Bromhead?
I want that line of boxes across here,
from the cattle kraal
to the outside perimeter.
And if they get over this, redoubt.
And a final redoubt here.
That, put it in the middle.
What are you doing in here?
This is a church!
Don't you realise, this is an altar table?
I'm sorry. There's nothing larger.
We need it now.
And there's no chloroform.
Go to the hospital.
Tell the sick to be ready to leave.
I want water, cold water, lots of it,
a probe, a saw, some nitric acid.
Don't take it too badly, Mr Witt.
Isn't this as good a place as any
for a man to be when he's in pain?
Excuse me, sir.
Tuck your heads in afore they fall off.
Sorry, sir. I have orders
to get some of these bags outside.
All right, get on with it.
I was praying that your officer
may turn to God's word.
That's right, sir. A prayer's as good
as a bayonet on a day like this.
- Have you prayed?
- There'll be a time for it, sir.
What will you say?
Pick it up.
Bit of the Psalms, I suppose, sir.
My father was a lay preacher.
A great one for the Psalms, he was.
There was one that might have been
written for a soldier.
Say it, man. Lift your voice to God.
- Now, sir?
- Yes. Let them hear your voice.
They know my voice
when they hear it, sir.
Let them hear it now
in praise of the Lord.
Call upon him.
Call upon him, man, for your salvation.
Well, as far as I can remember, sir,
it goes something like this.
"He maketh wars to cease
in all the world,
"he breaketh the bow
and snappeth the spear in sunder."
Do you know it, sir?
"I shall be exalted among the heathen,
"I shall be exalted in the earth.
The Lord of hosts is with us."
That's it, sir.
All right.
Nobody told you to stop working.
You lead-backsided. Get sweating.
I've been sitting there thinking.
I've got it all sorted out.
Company!
What are you doing here, Miss?
He doesn't need any help.
I'll look after him.
Won't I?
You are all to be evacuated soon
in the wagons.
- Who says?
- My father.
That's nice, isn't it? Your father.
You and me, Hookie.
Mr Chard's orders. In this room.
Here we are.
Hey, what are you talking about?
I'm sick. I'm excused duty.
What are you doing?
I'm making a loophole, see?
Me and Hookie's gonna fight in here.
Aren't we, Hookie?
You're joking! I'm sick.
Nobody's got any right to ask me
to muck around in a flaming battle.
I'm getting out.
- Private Hook!
- Yes?
Yes, Sergeant.
I know you, Hook.
Yeah, you ought to.
You're no good, Hook.
They gave us you
because you are no good to anyone
except the Queen and Sgt Maxfield.
Thank you very much, the both of you.
Take this rifle, Hook, and get to it!
I'll make a soldier of you yet.
And what for? Did I ever see a Zulu
walk down the City Road? No!
So what am I doing here?
- You are here because you were a thief.
- Yeah.
- And you still are one...
- Certainly.
...Hook, my lad.
And now, you can be a soldier,
like what they pay you for.
Look, you got me 28 days'
field punishment in Brecon.
Isn't that enough?
Pick up the bayonet and help Williams.
And put your tunic on!
28 days' field punishment. No pay.
You know what he did?
Sent money to my missus.
What did you do that for?
You hate him for it?
What do you want me to do?
Cry me heart out?
Give him a big kiss?
I thought you might pray for him.
Oh, she's a dry one. Very cool.
You know what she needs.
Play your cards right,
and it could be you.
Can I help anyone?
There will be wagons soon
to take you away.
He's dying. There's nothing you can do.
Nothing?
There must be.
- 'Shun!
- Now pay attention.
Is there any walking sick without rifles?
Me.
You, Dutchy?
You couldn't walk to the latrine.
This is not my first action. Come on.
Are you expecting sick men to fight?
What's he going to do, 593?
Oh, I think he wants to be a hero, 716.
Haven't you red necks got names
instead of numbers?
This is a Welsh regiment, man.
Though there are some foreigners
from England in it, mind.
I am Jones from Bwlchgwyn.
He is Jones from Builth Wells.
There are four more Joneses
in C Company.
Confusing, isn't it, Dutchy?
What's your name, then?
It's Schiess. And I'm not Dutch.
I'm Swiss.
Well, there's a silly man, by damn.
He's got himself into a private war.
I belong to Natal Mounted Police.
Is that true, then? He's a peeler, 716.
Come to arrest the Zulus.
What do you know about Zulus?
Bunch of savages, isn't it?
All right, how far can you red necks
march in a day?
Oh, 15, 20 miles, is it?
A Zulu regiment can run, run, 50 miles
and fight a battle at the end of it.
Well, there's daft, it is then.
I don't see no sense in running
to fight a battle.
What are you doing here in such a time
like this? Why don't you go?
No. Not until you have gone.
You know Cetshwayo has a regiment
of young girls, warriors,
called Ripen At Noon.
There's pretty.
Hey, come on. Come on. Here.
Here! Here! Give us... Come on.
Come on. Just a little kiss?
Hey! Yeah! Come on!
Hey. Hey, boys! Take a look at this.
- What is it, boyo?
- Flaming dust. What else?
No, by damn, it's horses!
The cavalry!
Yeah. It's a relief column,
you long-range sniper, you.
Colour Sergeant?
Sir?
Stephenson, Durnford's Horse.
- Thank God you're here.
- I'm surprised you're still here.
You know there are 4,000 Zulus
coming this way?
We know. Can you throw out your men
in a screen to the south of here?
You know how the Zulus feel
about cavalry.
I know how my men feel about Zulus.
We've only just got through them.
- Stephenson.
- Bromhead. What price, this?
I know your whole regiment's gone.
Bromhead? You know this man.
Tell him we need him.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Look at my men.
Stand fast. Stand fast, all of you!
Where the hell are they going?
Get them back here!
- Let go of my bridle!
- Get them back here!
If they're going to die,
they'll die on their own farms.
You're the professionals.
You fight here if you want to.
We need you! Don't go! Don't go! Stay!
We need you, damn you! We need you!
You didn't say a single word
to help, Bromhead.
Oh, when you take command, old boy,
you're on your own.
The first lesson the General,
my grandfather, ever taught me.
All right, then.
Nobody told you to stop working.
Brothers! Oh, brothers!
The way of the Lord
has been shown to us.
"Thou shalt not kill," saith the Lord.
Brothers! Oh, brothers!
God's love is peace.
- Colour Sergeant Bourne?
- Go in peace!
Stay not to kill and be killed. Go, I say.
The sin of Cain will be upon you.
"Am I my brother's keeper?" asked Cain.
Yea, we are all our brother's keeper.
"The nations are but a drop of a bucket,
"and are counted as the small dust
of the balance."
Bring him along.
Mr Witt, I'm getting you off this post.
Sir, they've all hopped it. All of them.
Give me those wagons
and I will save the sick.
You want the wagons?
Mr Bourne? Windridge?
Get those wagons in.
Sir.
God loves a sinner
come to his understanding.
Hey, we're in luck.
Hey, looks like the old parson
got Chard to let us go.
Heave!
Right, lads. Heave.
Heave.
Oh, Lord, God, give me strength!
Oh, God! God forgive me.
I have the strength of thousands
while the spirit of God is with me.
- Colour Sergeant Bourne?
- Sir.
Oh, God, forgive me.
Get him away from here.
Leave him alone! Leave him alone!
Miss Witt!
Animals! All of you! Animals!
- Sgt Woodridge.
- Sir!
We shall not go. If you send us away,
we shall come back.
Lock him up. Lock him in the storeroom.
- Put a man on the door.
- Sir.
All right, you men, get back to work.
And you.
Put Miss Witt in the church
with Surgeon Reynolds.
Sir.
It was sad, you know. And sick.
Had a battle coming, see?
Animals are very sensitive to noise,
you know.
Why worry about a calf?
I thought I was tired of farming.
No adventure in it.
But when you look at it,
this country's not a bit as good as Bala
and the lake there.
Not really green, like.
And the soil.
There's no moisture in it.
Nothing to hold a man in his grave.
Chard? One of my men, Hook.
- Do you know him?
- No.
In the hospital, malingering,
under arrest.
He's a thief, a coward and
an insubordinate barrack-room lawyer.
- And you've given him a rifle.
- What?
In Queen's regulations,
it specifically states...
Damn funny.
Like a... Like a train in the distance.
You were saying about Hook?
Mr Bromhead, sir? Sentries come in
from the hill. They say...
- Colour Sergeant?
- Sir.
- You have something to report?
- Sir?
Then tell me.
Very good, sir.
The sentries report Zulus to
the southwest, thousands of them.
All right, Colour Sergeant, stand to.
Stand to!
Look to your front. Mark the orders.
Mark the target when it comes.
Look to your front.
Mark your target when it comes.
Look to your front.
Look to your front.
Mark your target when it comes.
Mark your target. Look to your front.
- Hitch, do your tunic up.
- My tunic?
Do it up.
Where do you think you are, man?
Look to your front.
Mark your target when it comes.
To your front.
- Mark your target when it comes.
- Look to your front.
Mark the orders.
Mark your target when it comes.
- Look to your front.
- Mark your target when it comes.
Boy? You hear me, boy?
Will you be Cain and kill your brother?
"Thou shalt not kill," saith the Lord.
You believe in the Lord's word,
don't you?
Obey the word, boy. Obey the Lord.
Go to the others.
Boy, go to the others.
He's...
- Mr Witt says...
- Never mind him, boy.
Now, you get along back to the ramparts
with your mates.
Yes, sir.
Mr Witt, sir? Be quiet now, will you?
There's a good gentleman.
You'll upset the lads.
- You know my father was at Waterloo.
- He was?
He got his colonelcy after that.
Did he?
And my great-grandfather,
he was the Johnny
who knelt beside Wolfe at Quebec.
Did they make him a colonel too?
No, you don't see what I'm driving at.
You're telling me you're
the professional, I'm the amateur.
No. What I mean is...
I mean, I wish right now,
I were a damned ranker,
like Hook or Hitch.
You're not, are you?
You're an officer and a gentleman.
Listen.
That damned train again.
"He breaketh the bow
and snappeth the spear in sunder!"
"I will be exalted among the heathen.
"I will be exalted in the earth.
"The Lord of hosts is with us."
I hope so. As I live and die, I hope so.
Company will fix bayonets!
Fix!
Bayonets!
Attention!
You slovenly soldier, Hitch.
Load!
North rampart, stand fast!
South rampart at 100 yards!
Volley fire!
Present!
Fire!
Reload!
Fire!
Reload!
Independent, fire at will!
That's very nice of him.
They're just standing there asking for it.
Keep firing, soldier.
Mark your targets before you fire.
Adendorff, what's wrong with them?
- Why don't they fight?
- They're counting your guns.
What?
Can't you see that old boy up
on the hill?
He's counting your guns.
Testing your firing power
with the lives of his warriors.
Cease firing!
- Well?
- They'll be back.
Stand fast!
Sixty. We dropped at least 60,
wouldn't you say?
That leaves only 3,940.
"Rise up, my love, my fair one,
and come away.
"Behold, thou art fair, my love!"
How long?
Ten, 15 minutes. Maybe less.
As soon as they've regrouped.
"Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet,
"and thy speech is comely."
He can't be!
He is. Drunk as a Lord.
- Fifteen minutes.
- If we're lucky.
Colour Sergeant Bourne?
"Many waters cannot quench love,
"neither can the floods drown it."
Yes, sir, the gentleman has a bottle.
Then get him out of here.
Put him on his cart.
Tie him on if necessary.
The sooner we get rid of them
the better.
Sir.
Chard. They won't stand a chance
with the Zulus.
They're Witt's parishioners, aren't they?
But the woman,
do you want to see her killed?
Do you, Bromhead?
Because you will
if we don't get them out of here.
Come along, sir.
There's a good gentleman.
All right, pick him up.
"I have sinned against heaven,
and before thee."
Oh, no!
Father!
"Peace be within thy walls..."
Father!
Keep driving with the sun at your back.
You should make it safely.
Sergeant!
- Father!
- Leave me alone!
Try to understand him, Miss Witt.
Death awaits you!
You have made a covenant with death
and with hell you are in agreement!
You're all going to die!
Don't you realise?
Can't you see?
You're all going to die!
Die!
- Death awaits you all!
- He's right.
Die!
Why is it us?
- Die!
- Why us?
Because we're here, lad,
and nobody else.
Just us.
Colour Sergeant.
Right, now get back to your posts.
At the double.
Here they come again!
Volley!
Fire!
- I can't see a bloody one now.
- They've gone to ground.
Reload!
There they go!
Eyes front. Look to the front!
What the devil's going on?
Well, tell me what's happening.
I've got to know.
They're on both sides!
We haven't enough men
at the north wall.
Can't you take some from the south?
How will we hold that if we do?
Damn it, Adendorff,
you're supposed to know.
Are they going to hit us
everywhere at once?
I told you, remember.
The horns of the buffelo.
The south could have been a feint.
We can't man the whole perimeter.
We've got to outgun them somewhere.
Right?
All right, Bromhead, take men
from the south, one section in three.
Reinforce the north wall.
But if they do come
from the south again?
Get on with it, Mr Bromhead.
At the double.
Colour Sergeant Bourne,
I want every other man
from sections one, three and five
over at the north wall.
Come on, then, at the double.
First two.
Follow me.
Where would you like me?
You pick your own ground.
It's your country, isn't it?
Hey, who left the door open?
Blazes!
Where the deuce did they get those?
I'd say, off the bodies of your regiment
at Isandhlwana.
Now, that's a bitter pill,
our own damn rifles!
Keep your heads down.
- Corporal Allen!
- Sir.
- This is your section now.
- Sir.
Well, see, if you can keep the heads
of those marksmen down.
Can't see none of them, sir.
You should know, Corporal Allen,
fire at the smoke.
- Keep them pinned down, not us.
- Sir.
Fire at the smoke.
Mr Bromhead!
- Not the best of shots, are they?
- Get a platoon together.
I'll need more than one, old boy,
if I'm going up there after them.
You're not going up there after them.
Get a platoon of good bayonet men.
Take them head on at anything that
breaks through where our lines weaken.
- It's still a holding action, is it?
- That's right.
Your job is to plug the gaps
from the inside.
- And get yourself a good sergeant.
- Yes, sir!
Hitch! Get down from there!
How can I shoot them
if I can't see them?
- Hitch!
- My leg! Corp!
Corp?
Can I undo my tunic buttons now,
can I, Corp?
Stretcher bearers!
Come on, attack, damn you!
Here they come!
North wall, volley fire! Present!
At 100 yards!
Fire!
Reload!
Independent, fire at will!
- Bromhead!
- Follow me!
Bromhead!
Mr Chard, I'll get you help.
Keep our squad on the wall, Sergeant.
Chard! Are you all right?
Take command.
Corporal!
You're the professional.
- Take command.
- Lance Corporal!
Now, listen, old boy,
you're not badly hurt.
We need you!
Damn you, we need you. Understand?
Get him to Surgeon Reynolds.
Take command. You want it, don't you?
- Sergeant Windridge!
- Sir!
Scalpel.
Orderly, damn it!
Will you keep the flies away!
Fan it!
Damn you, Chard!
Damn all you butchers!
Why? Why?
Why?
- Why?
- It's all right, boy, you sleep.
I'm damned if I can tell you why.
You know this boy?
Name of Cole, sir.
He was a paperhanger.
He's a dead paperhanger now.
Orderlies!
Are you all right?
There they go, boys. After them!
Stand fast! They're retiring, sir.
North wall, hold your fire.
Down!
What is it now? Another blasted trick?
They're forming up on the south plain
again, sir.
I knew it! I knew it! They're going
to attack both walls at once.
I doubt it, not unless
they have no other choice anyhow.
It could mean the old general
couldn't use his rifles on the hill side
for fear of hitting down to his own men.
This way, he keeps probing
for weaknesses on the one wall
while he keeps the other one
pinned down.
Oh, yes.
They're on the move, sir!
North wall, keep those riflemen
on the hill side pinned down.
South wall, volley fire!
Present!
Fire!
Reload!
- Hookie, come on, boy, do something!
- I'm excused duty.
- Well, I haven't excused you, have I?
- You want some help.
Well, why didn't you say so?
This rifle! Honestly, I can't manage it.
Now, now, you heard
what the officer said. Come on.
But if it really came down to it, sir,
I couldn't really shoot anyone.
Careful! Pop that chap, somebody!
Good fellow. Good fellow. You see?
Sir!
Sir.
Now, you're doing fine.
Where...
You want to rest here a bit?
Watch it!
Can you move your leg?
- If you want me to dance.
- I want you to crawl.
Come on, you slovenly soldier,
we've got work to do.
It's all right, sir, we'll do that for you.
I'm all right.
You better get along to the surgeon, sir.
I'll try to get someone to help you, sir.
I can manage.
Here.
Hold them! Hold them!
Hey, Noel, Tommy, look!
Oh, my God!
Bromhead, reorganise your
flying platoon with Sgt Windridge.
But I... Yes, sir, of course.
Sir.
- Well done, Corporal. Stand by.
- Sir.
Colour Sergeant Bourne!
Sir? Are you all right, sir?
Thank you, Mr Bourne.
The men on the church roof,
have them support your fire
against the hillside.
- Corporal?
- Sir.
Section on the roof, bring your
rifles about on the hillside.
Fire at the smoke.
- The men on the hospital loopholes...
- Sir.
...they've nothing to fire at.
Bring them to the front windows
to support the north wall.
Sir.
Colour Sergeant?
- Sir.
- I want half your men now.
An even number, sir?
- Form two lines on the double.
- Sir!
Company!
Fall back! Clear the line of fire!
Front rank! Fire!
Rear rank! Fire! Advance!
Rear rank!
Fire! Advance!
Rear rank! Fire! Advance!
Rear rank!
Fire! Advance!
Rear rank! Fire! Advance!
Rear rank!
Fire! Advance!
Rear rank! Fire! Advance!
Rear rank!
Fire! Advance!
Independent, fire at will!
Cease firing!
- Hey, Thomas. There's some water.
- Oh, thank God!
- Hey, 470 Davies was hit, you know.
- No!
Aye, in the throat.
What a pity.
The man is a great bass baritone.
In the throat, is it?
Aye.
Hey, where are you going?
I'm going to see that calf, man.
Hey, come back, you fool!
What are you doing?
Tommy!
Mr Bourne, there should be 12 more
men working on this redoubt.
They're very tired, sir.
I don't give a damn.
I want this nine foot high,
firing steps inside.
Form details to clear away
the Zulu bodies.
Rebuild the south ramparts.
Keep them moving.
- Do you understand?
- Yes, sir.
Very good, sir.
All right, lads, keep it moving.
We're next, boys. This is the blind spot.
Even if those flaming officers
ain't seen it, I bet the Zulus have.
- Come on, Howarth, put your money up.
- Have you gone stupid?
What bloody good you think
it will do you if you do win?
We're all goners!
Well, it don't matter if you lose, does it?
Hey, Hookie.
Hughsie.
There's some brandy in Reynolds'
medical cabinet, go and borrow some.
- It's locked up down that end.
- Kick it down, then.
Hey, that's company punishment.
Company punishment.
On the right.
Form close columns of platoons.
- By the right!
- You lucky bastard!
Oh dear. Oh dear.
Well, your mum will need somebody
to milk her now, won't she?
Stand to!
All right, all right, I can hear you.
Out you get, Hookie,
you've done your bit.
Quick! Thousands of them! 612!
Knock a hole in that wall!
Better get down now, sir.
Sir!
Get down now, sir!
No! Jones, it's me!
Come on, get through,
you bloody Englishman!
Get out! Get out! Get out!
Jonesy!
Come on up!
Get to Surgeon Reynolds.
Right, get on the wall.
Hook!
I know you!
What about the money
you sent my old woman?
Hook!
That's it, Hook, my lad!
That's it, soldier!
Hookie!
Stay where you are, Maxfield!
Hookie! Hookie!
Get out! Get out, man.
That's my boy, Hook!
You're a soldier now!
I've made a soldier of you!
Where's my bloody sergeant?
Get out! Come on!
- Is everybody out?
- Yes, sir.
On the wall.
Hookie? Where's Hookie? Hookie?
Come down, Hookie! Hookie!
Hookie! That's a flogging offence!
Get out, for God's sake, man!
- Everybody out?
- Everybody that will get out.
- Abandon the outside ramparts.
- Bugler! Retire to this wall!
- Colour Sergeant.
- Sir.
- Carry on building the inner redoubt.
- Sir!
All right, nobody told you
to stop working!
Look at that.
- Do you think he wanted it that way?
- Look at it burn!
Any more in there?
Then we'll have to take them
from the outside walls.
- Colour Sergeant Bourne.
- Sir?
Hey, Owen?
- Are you awake, man?
- What is it?
I didn't think it was going to die though.
- Can you see something?
- No, the calf, I'm talking about.
There's sorry I am.
Aye.
Seems a pity, doesn't it?
How many times have they come
since sunset do you reckon?
I don't know.
Do you reckon they'll come again?
I think they've got more guts
than we have, boyo.
Soldiers!
All right, back to your posts.
You, hold there.
Orderly, see to these men.
Colour Sergeant.
Put a third of our men in the redoubt.
Send the bugler to me.
I was asleep, sir.
You let me sleep?
You shouldn't have done that.
Is there any water?
I sent what was left to Reynolds.
Yes, of course.
It's fear dries the mouth, isn't it?
When a man's as thirsty as this.
I could have drunk a river.
Thank you for what you said.
Oh, you mean about our needing you?
Yes. Don't bother, old boy, it's true.
Sir?
Come with me.
Get in the redoubt, my lucky lads.
Make a move.
Come on. Come on.
All right, lads, take up your positions
on the firing step.
Keep your heads down.
- How old are you, boy?
- Sir?
It doesn't matter.
You know how to sound?
Yes, sir.
Stay by me.
Do you think the Welsh
can't do better than that, Owen?
Well, they've got a very good
bass section, mind,
but no top tenors, that's for sure.
Men of Harlech
stop your dreaming
Can't you see
their spear points gleaming
See their warrior pennants streaming
To this battlefield
Sing!
Men of Harlech stand ye steady
Come on, sing!
It cannot be ever said ye
For the battle were not ready
Welshmen never yield
The mighty force surrounding
Men of Harlech on to glory
This will ever be your story
Keep these burning words before ye
Welshmen will not yield
At 100 yards!
Volley fire! Present!
Aim! Fire!
Right, stand by. Lips dry?
- Sergeant!
- Prepare!
Now!
Spit, boy, spit!
Redoubt party!
Fire!
Volley by ranks!
Front rank, fire!
Second rank, fire!
Third rank, fire!
First rank, fire!
Second rank, fire!
Third rank, fire!
First rank, fire!
Second rank, fire!
Third rank, fire!
Fire! Fire!
Cease firing!
Three hours
and they haven't come again.
Mr Chard, sir.
The patrol's come back.
The Zulus have gone. All of them.
It's a miracle!
If it's a miracle, Colour Sergeant,
it's a short chamber
Boxer-Henry.45 calibre miracle.
And a bayonet, sir,
with some guts behind it.
- Fall them in. Call the roll.
- Sir.
Well, you did it.
Me?
- Abel?
- Sir.
Adams?
Adam?
- Barry?
- Sir.
- Beckett?
- He's wounded, sir.
- He's dying, sir.
- It's sad.
Keep your voices down.
Byrne?
- Camp?
- Sir.
Chick?
Cole?
- Colin.
- Sir.
- Who was left in here?
- I don't know.
They had names, they had faces.
They were our men.
- What do you mean, you don't know?
- Chard!
All right.
470 Davies?
- 363 Davies?
- Sir.
Well,
you've fought your first action.
Does everyone feel like this afterwards?
How do you feel?
Sick.
Well, you have to be alive to feel sick.
You asked me, I told you.
There's something else.
I feel ashamed.
Was that how it was for you?
The first time?
The first time?
You think I could stand
this butcher's yard more than once?
I didn't know.
I told you.
I came up here to build a bridge.
Fagan?
Green, 459?
Sir.
- Hughes?
- Excused duty.
No comedians, please.
- Hughes?
- Yes, Colour Sergeant.
Say "sir." Officer on parade.
Sir!
Hayden?
Hitch?
Hitch, I saw you. You're alive.
I am? Oh, thanks very much.
- Answer the roll. Say "sir."
- Sir!
All right. Now get off into the sickbay
where you belong.
- Hook?
- Yes, sir, me too, sir.
Stay where you are, Hook!
Well, we haven't done too badly.
Oh, my God!
Adendorff, why have they stopped?
God damn you!
- I want an answer!
- Haven't you had enough?
Both of you!
My God, can't you see it's all over!
Your bloody egos
don't matter any more!
We're dead!
What are you waiting for?
Come on. Come on.
Those bastards!
They're taunting us!
No.
No. You couldn't be more wrong.
They're... They're saluting you.
They're saluting fellow braves.
They're saluting you.
Oh, my eye! Oh, my eye! Will you look!
In the 100 years
since the Victoria Cross was created
for valour and extreme courage
beyond that normally expected of
a British soldier in face of the enemy,
only 1,344 have been awarded.
Eleven of these were won by
the defenders of the mission station
at Rorke's Drift, Natal,
January 22nd to the 23rd, 1879.
Frederic Schiess, Corporal,
Natal Native Contingent.
William Allen, Corporal, B Company,
2nd Battalion, 24th Foot.
Fred Hitch, Private, B Company,
2nd Battalion, 24th Foot.
James Langley Dalton,
Acting Assistant Commissary,
Army Commissariat Department.
612 John Williams, Private, B Company,
2nd Battalion, 24th Foot.
716 Robert Jones,
593 William Jones,
Privates, B Company,
2nd Battalion, 24th Foot.
Henry Hook, Private, B Company,
2nd Battalion, 24th Foot.
James Henry Reynolds,
Surgeon Major, Army Hospital Corps.
Gonville Bromhead, Lieutenant,
B Company, 2nd Battalion
of the 24th Regiment of Foot,
South Wales Borderers.
John Rouse Merriott Chard, Lieutenant,
Royal Engineers,
Officer Commanding Rorke's Drift.
