The Devil's Rock
- NOT RATED
- Year:
- 2011
- 83 min
- 65 Views
- We're on the wrong f***ing beach.
- Ah...
Tide turning.
- Yeah.
We were moving faster
through the channel.
- It plonked us around the f***ing corner.
- No chance getting back round the coast
fighting that rip.
I was hoping for a cup of tea and a cake.
- Better get off this beach.
- Mines?
- Bound to be.
: Ben...
Got a date tomorrow.
: Let me guess.
You met her down the pub.
Nurse, huge tits.
- Like a pair of ripe melons
ready for the plucking.
She's got this friend...
I was...
You've got to move on sometime, Ben.
Look, just come along,
have a bit of fun.
Her friend's a real doll.
She's tall, ugh, blonde.
Legs all the way up to her armpits.
Ben...
- We haven't got time for this.
I'm walking it.
- Oh, sh*t.
I was just admiring the view.
My little nurse is not gonna be too happy
blown all over this beach.
You better back off, Ben.
- I trust you.
If you marry her and have kids...
name one after me.
- Slow... and steady this time.
Better get on with it.
Don't wanna keep the nursey
waiting now, do we?
- Path up there.
- Oh...
- What the f*** was that?
- I don't know, I don't care.
Let's just get the job done
and get the f*** off this island.
Ugly-looking place.
This is bullshit.
Where is everyone?
- They're f***ing torturing
some poor bastard in there.
- This isn't a rescue mission.
- What if it's one of ours?
You know what those bastards did
to Blondie's men in Bordeaux.
- It's not our mission.
: Jesus.
Jesus Christ in heaven!
Help... Help us, please!
- There's bad sh*t going on here.
Bad sh*t.
Bastards. F***in' Nazi bastards.
- No.
It's not our war. This is our fight.
The gun, that's our mission.
- F*** the mission.
- Jesus Christ.
We leave. Now.
We get out alive.
We get back home.
- Back home to what?
- Look, we've done what we came here to do.
We'll get f***ing medals for this.
The girls will be falling all over us!
- Give me ten minutes, Joe.
- Five.
F***.
F*** it.
Bravo Seven Foxtrot,
this is Alpha Nine Golf. Over.
Bravo Seven Foxtrot,
this is Alpha Nine Golf. Over.
Bravo Seven Foxtrot,
this is Alpha Nine Golf. Over.
Bravo Seven Foxtrot,
this is Alpha Nine Golf.
Request radio check. Over.
Bravo Seven Foxtrot,
this is Alpha Nine Golf. Over.
- F*** you.
- Joe...
- Name...
Rank...
Number. Yes?
Good teeth.
Clean.
Some people I know in Germany
actually collect teeth.
Perhaps I should cut
But what use are you, if you can't...
talk to me, yes?
You can thank your own people
for this little trick.
Was it not your own gangster commandos
who raided these very islands,
killing innocent German prisoners
with their hands tied behind their backs?
Cathartic, is it not?
The release of pain surging
through your body.
What was your mission?
- Hmm...
- Not enough to destroy the installation,
but adequate...
to put it out of action for a while.
Why?
To protect your armies...
as they cross the English Channel
You're a little late,
aren't you?
The population here is so hungry...
they're reduced to eating rats.
What is this English... Channel... anyway?
Does anybody outside of England
call it that?
Do the people of these... Channel Islands
even think themselves English?
So, you planned to put the gun
out of action.
And presumably others
of the neighbouring islands,
which... as the Fhrer predicted
are to become the staging post
for your invasion of... France.
Your silence is admirable.
- F*** you, Fritz.
: God in heaven...
It is hungry.
: You b*tch!
You think I have nothing better to do
than feed you?
Whore!
in a more civilized way?
Or do you wish to end up
like your unfortunate friend over there?
Grogan.
Captain.
Who is that woman up there?
- If only you knew the truth of that.
- Oh, I can see the truth,
splattered all around this room.
What is she, a plaything
for you and your men?
You take a special little fancy to her, yeah?
Want her all for yourself?
Even your own army
will hang you for this.
- This?
is responsible for this?!
She did this to them!
- You're insane.
- You may not believe this,
but you and I are in the same boat.
- Call me picky,
but I'm the one who's tied up
and threatened with
summary execution here... Fritz.
- Meyer. Klaus Meyer.
Perhaps I should rephrase.
We are in the same sh*t.
I admire your marvellous accent.
South Africa?
Australia? Ah!
The guttural... nuance.
New Zealand.
You are indeed
a long way from home.
- Same could be said about you.
New Zealanders.
A bunch of farmers
pretending to be soldiers,
driving around the deserts
of North Africa,
attacking by night,
then fleeing to hide like cowards.
So, where in England
will the invasion come from?
Southampton?
Poole?
Which of these islands
do you plan to take first?
Guernsey, perhaps?
Alderney?
Then to France?
Which beaches?
Oh, perhaps it's not so... bad
if we were to lose these islands...
to men like you.
- And yet here you are,
thousands of miles from home.
And what... exactly is your home,
Captain Grogan?
An... island that does not
belong to you either,
populated by the descendents
of cannibals and headhunters.
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