(dawn, in the dugout)
Baldrick: (enters) It's stopped raining at last, sir, begging your pardon --
looks like we might have a nice day for it.
George: Yes, it's nearly morning...
Edmund: (peeks outside) Good lord -- so it is. Right, time to make my call.
(winds the telephone) Hello? Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, please.
Yes, it's urgent...
(Haig picks up and is looking over a model of the battlefield.)
Haig: Haig.
Edmund: Hello, Sir Douglas.
Haig: Who is this?
Edmund: Captain Blackadder, sir, erstwhile of the 1945th East African rifles.
Haig: Good lord! Blacky! (knocks down an entire line of model soldiers)
Edmund: Yes, sir.
Haig: I haven't seen you since... (knocks down the second line of model
soldiers on the same side)
Edmund: '92, sir -- Mboto Gorge.
Haig: By jingo, yes. We sure gave those pygmies a good squashing.
Edmund: We certainly did, sir. And do you remember...?
Haig: My god, yes. You saved my damn life that day, Blacky. If it weren't for
you, that pygmy woman with the sharpened mango could have seriously...
Edmund: Well, exactly, sir. And do you remember then that you said that if
I was ever in real trouble and I really needed a favour that I was
to call you and you'd do everything you could to help me?
Haig: (sweeps the fallen soldier models into a dustpan) Yes, yes, I do, and
I stick by it. You know me -- not a man to change my mind.
Edmund: No -- we've noticed that.
Haig: So what do you want? Spit it out, man. (hurls the dead platoon over
his shoulder)
Edmund: Well, you see, sir, it's the Big Push today, and I'm not all that
keen to go over the top.
Haig: (sits) Oh, I see. Well...
Edmund: It was a viciously sharp slice of mango, wasn't it, sir...
Haig: (fiddles with one of the soldiers) Well, this is most irregular, but,
erm, all right. If I do fix it for you, I never want to hear from you
again, is that clear?
Edmund: Suits me, Douggy.
Haig: Very well. Listen carefully, Blackadder; I won't repeat this. Put your
underpants on your head and stick two pencils up your nose. They'll
think you're crazy and send you home. Right, favour returned. (hangs up)
Edmund: (hanging up his end) I think the phrase rhymes with `clucking bell'.
Baldrick: Does that mean you'll going over the top, now, sir?
(phone rings, Edmund quickly picks it up)
Edmund: Field Marshal?
Melchett: (on the other end, laughs) Well, not quite, Blackadder -- at least
not yet. No, I just wanted to let you know I've sent a little
surprise over for you.
(Darling enters, wearing helmet)
George: Sir! (salutes)
Edmund: (hangs up the phone, turns) Captain Darling...
Darling: Captain Blackadder.
Edmund: Here to join us for the last waltz?
Darling: (nervous) Erm, yes -- tired of folding the general's pyjamas.
George: Well, this is splendid, comradely news! Together, we'll fight for king
and country, and be sucking sausages in Berlin by teatime.
Edmund: Yes, I hope their cafes are well stocked; everyone seems determined
to eat out the moment they arrive.
George: No, really, this is brave, splendid and noble! Sir?
Edmund: Yes, Lieutenant?
George: I'm scared, sir.
Baldrick: I'm scared too, sir.
George: I mean, I'm the last of the tiddlywinking leapfroggers from the Golden
Summer of 1914. I don't want to die. I'm really not overkeen on dying
at all, sir.
Edmund: How are you feeling, Darling?
Darling: Erm, not all that good, Blackadder -- rather hoped I'd get through the
whole show; go back to work at Pratt & Sons; keep wicket for the
Croydon gentlemen; marry Doris... Made a note in my diary on my way
here. Simply says, "Bugger."
Edmund: Well, quite.
(a voice outside gives orders)
Voice: (??)! (??)!
Edmund: Ah well, come on. Let's move.
Voice: Fix bayonets!
(They start to go outside)
Edmund: Don't forget your stick, Lieutenant.
George: Oh no, sir -- wouldn't want to face a machine gun without this!
(outside, they all line up as the shelling stops)
Darling: Listen! Our guns have stopped.
George: You don't think...?
Baldrick: Maybe the war's over. Maybe it's peace!
George: Well, hurrah! The big knobs have gone round the table and yanked the
iron out of the fire!
Darling: Thank God! We lived through it! The Great War: 1914-1917.
George: Hip hip!
All but Edmund: Hurray!
Edmund: (loading his revolver) I'm afraid not. The guns have stopped because
we're about to attack. Not even our generals are mad enough to shell
their own men. They think it's far more sporting to let the Germans
do it.
George: So we are, in fact, going over. This is, as they say, it.
Edmund: I'm afraid so, unless I think of something very quickly.
Voice: Company, one pace forward!
(everyone steps forward)
Baldrick: Ooh, there's a nasty splinter on that ladder, sir! A bloke could
hurt himself on that.
Voice: Stand ready!
(everyone puts a foot forward)
Baldrick: I have a plan, sir.
Edmund: Really, Baldrick? A cunning and subtle one?
Baldrick: Yes, sir.
Edmund: As cunning as a fox who's just been appointed Professor of Cunning
at Oxford University?
Baldrick: Yes, sir.
Voice: On the signal, company will advance!
Edmund: Well, I'm afraid it'll have to wait. Whatever it was, I'm sure it was
better than my plan to get out of this by pretending to be mad.
I mean, who would have noticed another madman round here?
(whistle blows)
Edmund: Good luck, everyone. (blows his whistle)
(Everyone yells as they go over the top. German guns fire before
they're even off the ladders. The scene changes to slow motion,
and explosions happen all around them. [An echoed piano slowly plays
the Blackadder theme.] The smoke and flying earth begins to obscure
vision as the view changes to the battlefield moments later: empty
and silent with barbed wire, guns and bodies strewn across it. [A
bass drum beats slowly.] That view in turn changes to the same field
as it is today: overgrown with grasses and flowers, peaceful, with
chirping birds.)
