Mr de Los Cobos...
Father Maurel is waiting for you in the parlor.
Quickly, Mr de Los Cobos!
Quickly!
Come in.
Come here, Rafael.
Rafael...
This is Major Romeralès,
a friend of your father.
He's come from Spain.
Sir...
Major... my boy. Call me Major.
Sit down.
Your father
has charged him to take you back to Spain.
They apparently need volunteers.
You must go.
When?
Once your bags are packed.
Come see me before you go.
I'll be in the chapel.
News sure travels fast!
Wait here for me.
God be with you, Rafael.
Goodbye, Father.
What're you doing out here? Back to class!
Leave me now, Jean. Let's say goodbye here.
- You should be in class. - I don't care!
Tell everyone goodbye for me.
Of course.
So long!
Are you really going home to go to war?
Yes, I am.
- To fight communists? - That's right.
Some are decent folk. I know a few.
But I guess you know what you're doing.
Rafael de Los Cobos, Captain Moya.
You sure took your time leaving school!
What if you liked it?
But I do like it.
Been here long?
Since the Republic was proclaimed. Four years.
- Jesuits, right? - Dominicans.
Priests are all alike.
To Biarritz, and fast.
You seem to like the French, too.
Very much.
But they're backing the Reds.
I know.
It's wonderful
to return to civilization.
Right, Moya?
Wonderful, sir.
I should tell you, the Captain's been
to Hell and back.
Barcelona?
Barcelona, yes...
- Pretty rough, I hear. - Very.
If I hadn't made it across the border...
How do you know all this?
My grandmother was murdered in Barcelona.
Because you surrendered.
That was by Lorca, no?
Lorca, Madam. You're absolutely right.
May we introduce ourselves?
Romeralès, artillery Major.
Captain Moya, of the Spanish Foreign Legion.
Rafael de Los Cobos, elder son
of the Marquis, cavalry colonel.
Would you care
to have a drink with us?
With pleasure.
Champagne!
I am Harrington-Forbes. I'm English.
Just call me Cecilia.
Are you here on holiday, Madam?
I'm here on leave.
On leave?
As ambulance driver in the Duke of Seville's future army.
In that case, Madam
I drink to you!
Me, too, Madam.
I thought that in England
people in your circle tended to come die
in our land for the Republic.
Those in my circle enjoy playing proletarians
at others' expense.
But you Spanish cannot understand that.
- And you? - Me?
I'm like you.
I fight for the survival of an unjust world.
Sing for you? Never!
Long live the Republic!
Moya!
Sit down!
Here, we're only tourists!
Never forget that.
You insulted him.
Me?
Talking about an unjust world.
What of it?
Spain is an unjust world.
That must make him suffer.
Why fight for a world you seem to doubt?
I'm Spanish, Madam. You English cannot understand.
What's on your mind?
I'm just admiring how you shook off the others.
Were you sincere in there?
About what?
About Spain.
How old are you?
I'm 17.
What will you do in Spain with those two?
- My father had them come for me. - To send you to war?
Of course.
I find that abominable.
Only my father may judge what's right for me.
Do you love your father?
He's my father.
Rafael...
have you ever slept with a woman?
No, never.
Why ask that?
Because tomorrow you may be dead.
The work of those Red bastards again!
Go on, Hopkins. Hurry, we're late.
See you tonight.
Well then, had a good trip?
Fine, Father, thank you.
Something to eat or drink?
Coffee, if it's no trouble.
I should write to her.
- To whom? - My mother.
Later, later.
Any problems at the border?
The French scowled at us.
It comes to them naturally.
Will you send me to the front?
You're here because you carry my name,
Spain is at war, and your place is here.
So I'll see the front?
Not yet.
Dead, you'd be useless.
Will you be in Mondragon for long?
My orders are to report to Colonel Masagual.
That's all I know.
You'll serve under Col. Masagual?
Yes. Why?
No, nothing...
That's not an answer.
I never speak ill of my superiors.
A golden rule the men of God taught me.
The men of God?
I was a seminarian in civilian life.
Not out of conviction.
To be prepared.
Prepared for what?
For life, sir...
For life.
Yes, of course.
Excuse me... Col. Masagual's quarters...
Over there. That way.
Bye, Padre.
My calling was out of sheer opportunism.
Our enemies would have killed you anyway.
That's why I chose this side.
You bastard!
Col. Masagual has finished
his dinner.
This way, sir.
Come in.
Who are you?
What do you want?
I have a letter, sir.
Let's have it.
My net? Where's my net?
In here...
On my table with the syringe.
What's in the news?
Gen. Mola is squabbling again with Rodezno
and Fal Conde...
Over the colors of the flag.
Mola is a prick.
Rodezno and Fal Conde are pricks.
And this flag business is for pricks.
It's freezing in here! The bedsheets will be damp again.
No. I asked Sgt. Fabra to warm the sheets during dinner.
A fine fellow.
He was maître d's at the Ritz in Madrid.
Your Fabra's a prick.
He can't even polish a pair of boots.
Stop reading and do my nails.
Where'd you get those pyjamas?
In Biarritz...
Two months ago. Why? Don't you like them?
You look like a whore on the make.
Making it where?
Here.
No claim to fame!
Could be worse.
So you're the son of my friend, Juan de Los Cobos?
Yes, sir.
Your name is Rafael.
Yes, sir.
His name is Rafael.
How old are you?
Seventeen, sir.
Seventeen...
And fresh out of school.
Exactly, sir.
You'll find war far more thrilling than your studies.
Can't you be careful?
You did it on purpose? On purpose!
Dirty trick!
War talk makes my orderly jittery.
I don't like war!
What of it?
I loathe war, yours especially!
Instead of playing ,Captain in this hole
I should be in London N.Y., Paris...
plying my trade.
You call acting a trade?
Knowing you, you'd never make it past Belgium.
Better than mouldering here.
What's got into you tonight?
In a bad mood?
I'm worn out.
- From what? - Everything.
The rain, the sun the dust, the mud
the stupid Basques and all their fuss...
their bigotry, nationalism, accent, cow-infested
landscapes, and foul women!
And me?
Tired of me?
I wear you out.
Go on, say it: I wear you out!
I bore you!
Stop moaning like an old woman!
Know what's in this letter?
No, sir.
What's all that ruckus?
Reinforcements for Martinez Roldan.
They won't help. He's a prick.
Less than you think.
He's angling for a medal.
- They all are. - Aren't you?
I love war for war's sake. Not for medals.
Bring me my warm milk.
And add two drops of cognac.
That's bad for you.
Do it anyway, grandma. I'll survive.
I knew your father well in Africa.
Ah, Africa... Those were the days!
Fierce! Erotic!
Later, we cut down anarchists in Barcelona together.
And on August 10, 1932,
still side by side, we shared the worst moment of our lives.
Your father's a man.
A real man!
Always follow his advice carefully.
Certainly, sir.
If you wake up at 4 a.m. with heartburn, don't blame me.
Your father fears going straight from school to the firing line
may be too great a shock for you.
He believes you must be toughened up, so to speak,
before going to the front.
Your father's right.
He suggests I have you serve
in one of my firing squads.
That's what I'll do.
Understand?
Yes, sir.
What was that?
At your command, sir.
What did you think I said?
Come in! What is it?
The Captain's suitcase will be repaired tomorrow.
Fine. You can go.
What's this suitcase? You leaving?
I take leave next week.
You know that.
How long?
Three days.
Don't pull that face! How many years did you get by without me?
In the meantime see to this young m!an.
Get him started Sunday, after Mass.
The Aizpiri firing squad should do. They need men.
Two are out sick.
Tender souls. It happens.
That will do!
Sergeant!
The Sergeant will conduct you to Aizpiri.
My orderly will come for you tomorrow.
To Aizpiri!
Go on!
Now for us.
On your feet!
Look at me when you talk to me.
What's this nonsense about leave? Some female business!
You're off your rocker!
And what about that ambulance woman?
The ambulance woman! She gave you the pyjamas!
You dislike them!
It's some tart!
You're the tart!
Where are we going?
To the University Quad, sir.
A former cloister. It's done there.
Many executions?
A fair amount.
Lt. Aizpiri will be glad to have you.
Communists, I suppose?
Whoever is not with us is against us...
Communists, republicans,
separatists, socialists, anybody...
Women?
No distinctions, sir.
Even children, if necessary.
Normal, no? Blood has no age or sex.
Lieutenant, sir!
Second Lieutenant de Los Cobos, sir!
The Colonel just phoned about you.
Tell me, Fabra how long have you been
in the army?
A week, sir.
Caps!
You may go now.
Col. Masagual thinks your father's suggestion shows great wisdom.
I think so, too.
Here...
Well now...
Let's see...
First and second squads full...
Third squad needs
two men. I'll put you with...
No. Not with the Falangists!
I'll use you
in my first squad. I'll transfer a Carlist to third squad.
Thank you.
Anyway, I doubt you'll be here more than a week.
They need officers at the front.
To harden you, as they say,
a week of this work should do.
I'll show you to your quarters.
The army does it here.
The Falange prefers the cemetery wall outside of town.
It's a slaughterhouse! We're selective.
Wonder why I never have the wall cleaned?
Death needs an appropriate backdrop.
As for the ground...
that's another story.
My men should be able to lick it and not soil their tongues.
And get this, Los Cobos,
most of those we execute are common law criminals
monsters.
So shooting them
is doing them a favor.
It's up here.
Here you are...
Just like the Ritz!
Except that here it's free of charge.
If you need more blankets, my orderly, Faustino, is next door.
Reveille at 5:00 a.m.
Mass at 6:00 in the chapel,
except tomorrow:
Sunday, Col. Masagual invites his officers to Mass
and offers them breakfast
before attending executions.
It's a custom.
That's it! Try...
to get some sleep.
Thank you, sir.
Call me Paco.
- Can I really? - You must.
Good night.
Good night, Paco.
By the way... can you shoot?
At the hunt, my father says I'm a good shot.
Fine...
Try not to think too much.
About what?
I don't know... Want a sleeping pill?
No, thank you. I sleep like a log.
Is that so?
Good night.
Who's that?
Jacobo Armendariz the priest ofArgoïtia.
Argoïtia?
The village we took yesterday from the enemy.
Why isn't Tronchapinos saying Mass?
An idea of the Colonel's...
Tronchapinos is fuming. Look at him...
No, the other side.
Bloody awful weather, gentlemen.
- Where to? - Town hall.
The Colonel's Sunday breakfast with the officers.
The weekly bath with the cretins.
He hears suggestions and, thankfully, does the opposite.
I froze to death last night. Didn't you?
And you, Mr de Los Cobos?
Come here, Los Cobos.
Did the cold bother you?
I don't feel the cold, sir. I'm used to it.
From school, I suppose?
Exactly.
So the priests prepared you for a painless war?
In a way, sir.
Gentlemen
may I introduce
Jacobo Armendariz the priest of Argoïtia.
I am Colonel Masagual.
This is Lt.-Colonel La Fuente
Majors Hoyos and Estremara.
Your colleague Tronchapinos.
And lastly,
the son of a dear friend
Second Lieutenant Rafael de Los Cobos
a fresh young recruit.
Gentlemen, I'm flattered.
Come join us for breakfast.
Thank you but
I'd like to be in Argoïtia before noon.
You will join us for breakfast.
It must have been rough at Argoïtia.
I suppose you've heard.
Just some rumors. The region isn't under my command.
Where were you when the town was taken?
In my church. With the women and children.
The rest were fighting?
I hear your church was destroyed. Is it true?
Yes, it was burned...
after the battle.
By whom?
Lopez-Quimbo's men.
Colonel Lopez-Quimbo.
Do you know the reason why our men burned your church?
Someone shot at them from the steeple.
Yes, so I was told.
Who do you think did the shooting?
A woman or a young child, perhaps?
Who then?
I did.
Take an umbrella, sir. It's raining hard.
Give it to Father.
He needs protection. Even from rain from Above.
Father, allow me...
Drink up, Father!
It'll warm you up.
Some liquor, too.
Hot chocolate will do.
- Would you prefer tea? - Really...
- Or coffee. - Honestly...
How many dead in the Argoïtia siege?
Dead?
Or murdered?
What's the difference?
Killed in action or murdered the count's the same.
So, how many?
300.
Roughly speaking.
300?
For 2-3,000 inhabitants? No big deal!
An odd way to count.
And you, Padre?
How did you count from your steeple?
Roughly?
Shooting from on high isn't easy
with a moving target.
And I'm near-sighted and a bad shot.
Nevertheless...
I must have hit a good 15.
Naturally, no one suspected the sniper
to be a man of God like you.
You were disguised.
Disguised?
Yes. As a priest.
You fought in the wrong uniform. That's serious, Padre
very serious.
Well?
Roldan has killed himself.
You don't say...
Yet he was a good Catholic.
That won't squelch a conscience.
As for you, Padre,
shut your trap!
Gentlemen
Martinez Roldan died a hero.
A stupidity at his age.
Only youth could have pardoned his act,
but past 50, it's downright inexcusable.
No, really, what a prick!
He'll receive military honors worthy of his rank.
Captain Casado!
Sir?
See to it personally.
Very well, sir.
And now back to us, Padre.
Do you smoke?
Then, have a cigarette.
No.
No, thanks.
That's a mistake.
It's your last.
I'm going to have you shot.
In two hours' time.
Aizpiri...
He's all yours.
I'm truly sorry, Father.
I have a soft spot for fighting men.
But the Church has always been our preserve.
You seem not to understand
this war is a scrap between rich and poor.
You sided with the poor.
That's an unnatural betrayal I cannot abide.
You should have known, Father
that the rich show no mercy.
The Padre's a hell of a guy.
He's a recalcitrant.
Tronchapinos must use force at times.
Their souls must be saved like it or not.
That won't do, old man!
Be presentable for the one serious event of your life.
Sergeant, take him to the shower.
What a fine figure!
He's superb.
The Colonel liked him a lot.
Yet he's killing him...
He's a prize catch.
A brute'd throw him to the Falangists or Carlists.
Know what that means?
Interrogations, crushed balls, the works.
And a vile end at the cemetery wall.
The priest is a man he feels obliged to save.
But he can't so he gives him a noble death.
These days, it's a gift fit for a king.
I saw this country differently.
How?
With clearer ideals, grander...
Peopled with other men.
Others have had that illusion.
Let's get ready.
- All at once? - No, in groups of six.
Show her up.
And the firing squad?
Right below you, Miss.
But you'll soon see them, and hear them.
Carmen...
Who is she?
A certain Lady Harrington-Forbes.
She must be bedding General Mola.
He wrote me that she insisted on coming.
She's looking for someone.
Fancy that!
Intelligence Service?
No. A wanton.
How many?
In the squad? Twelve.
Two soldiers for each man?
Soldiers, soldiers...
Falangists, Carlists, scum! All volunteers.
- No soldiers? - Rarely.
Or else novices.
Isn't there one rifle loaded with blanks?
It is done
but not with us. It's not the house style.
No thanks.
And women? You shoot them, too?
We shoot all sorts, Miss.
Today, we have a priest.
A Basque nationalist, I suppose!
You know it all, dear.
Never any pardons?
- Not up to me. - Who?
Franco. He alone.
But he accepts no plea for pardons.
That's horrible!
Why?
I think that's terrific!
It takes courage to be that hard.
Even from a distance.
Didn't Faustino tell you?
What about?
Take off your coat.
Hurry...
Killing has no rank.
May I start, sir?
A fine lad. Who is he?
Some two-bit lieutenant. But I like him.
And he's very efficient.
Courteous, well-mannered good at riding and in the brothel.
Six of them! We can start!
Calm down, darling.
A good time to bed the ladies. Death is arousing.
Leave her alone.
You know nothing about women.
- Who are they? - Irregulars.
Caught this morning.
And already tried?
Tried? Sweet Jesus the horror of it!
It looks like we have a novice today.
An aficionado, maybe.
Get some brandy!
What an idea to shoot people in a cloister!
It makes a frightful racket!
Can't they find somewhere else?
They usually use a cemetery wall...
For the riffraff. We get the big fish.
General Mola might not be pleased.
Don't delude yourself!
He was here on inspection tour.
He was outraged by the use of cemetery walls.
He asked me to be more discreet.
Which I have been.
Those Falangist thugs can have the cemetery. They love it.
All we need are pompoms, bells and cracking whips
and the illusion would be perfect.
Or perhaps the beauties of the fiesta are lost on you?
So soon?
Yes, thanks. I've had my fill.
The first time is rather upsettting. Then it becomes second nature.
- Really? - Yes, Lady Forbes.
And very quickly!
Casado, see Madam out.
I'll join you once my other guests have had their turn.
My respects to General Mola.
I have a three-day leave next week.
I could take it in San Sebastian.
What do you say?
What's it to me?
You could come with me.
To do what?
Talk.
I think we have much in common.
For instance?
We're both fighting for a despicable cause.
So there you are!
Well?
Did you confess him?
Who, sir?
What d'you mean, who?
The priest of Argoïtia!
- I tried to. - Tried?
The Father declared I wasn't qualified.
So?
It was hard to accept. I'm a priest, so I am qualified...
For what?
To pardon sins whose consequences escape you?
- What are you insinuating? - I'm not
I'm declaring!
I declare neither of you
worthy to hear the last confessions
of Don Jacobo Armendariz.
I fail to understand.
How could you, Jesuit?
Let me tell you a story:
A Jesuit is lost in the countryside.
He goes up to a peasant working in his field,
and asks directions.
The peasant looks at him:
''You're a Jesuit, right?''
''Yes.''
''You won't find it. It's straight ahead.''
That may be funny,
but I still fail to understand.
Tell me, Father...
Why would Don Jacobo agree
to confess to you?
Why?
Don Jacobo was a free man.
He died looking me in the eye.
You've sold out!
Don't deny it. I know what I'm saying!
I'm the buyer!
How can you say that?
The priest of Argoïtia killed our soldiers!
He's a criminal!
Madam, you know what Jesus said
to the Pharisees...
Spare me your bullshit Jew stories, Jesuit!
Please!
You!
The things I've heard about your friend Martinez Roldan!
I was right. He was a real prick!
You know your ''hero's'' daily schedule?
Mass at 5 in the morning...
Breakfast...
Fornication with a peasant woman
sent from the village...
Front line inspection...
Re-fornication...
before apéritifs...
Feasting.
Same schedule in the afternoon with a bit less zeal
nevertheless.
Result: after 3 weeks of this routine
depression and suicide!
A genuine prick, I say!
But grant him honors, sir?
Naturally!
We're not paying tribute to his intelligence but to his...
- Gallantry. - That's it, his gallantry!
Gentlemen, I drink to
our future victory!
Our enemies will lose this war, I assure you!
Martinez Roldan could have
told us why.
We shall triumph because
we're the greater pricks!
Are you well, sir?
- Yes, why? - You're pale.
Could be the brandy.
That may be it. Mixing liquor and blood...
doesn't agree with everyone.
Find an excuse to dismiss everyone.
But keep the boy here.
Fabra!
Get the medic.
Yes, sir.
Is everything all right?
Yes, sir...
Thank you, sir.
Haven't you had enough?
What was wrong with Fabra?
He just heard that the Reds were shooting domestics.
Seems there are dead maître d's in every gutter.
Leftists the world over lack imagination.
Always the same pecking order in murder.
Priests, pederasts, servants.
If they win, it won't be a joke.
Actually, we kill the same,
but the order's different.
Closer, boy.
At ease.
Cap.
Monsieur rang?
Don't get smart. A brandy.
But Monsieur...
Monsieur my ass!
Very well.
Excuse me.
Feel better?
Every time I have to kill a man like the priest,
I curse the whole world for days.
For hours.
He's right. I'm exaggerating.
I just want to sleep, sleep...
You're just a bit tired, that's all!
Lie down. You're tired.
''Tired''? What about my conscience?
It requires toning, too.
It bothers you only when you're tired.
Think so?
You're randy mornings, not evenings?
Why's that?
Age.
Same goes for conscience.
Tomorrow the priest will be one corpse
among many others.
May God hear you.
Sit down, boy.
Do you like priests?
I respect them.
Why?
Because...
Because why?
Because.
You know the key words! ''Because''!
We die because...
We respect because...
But nothing follows.
Or, if something does, it's unmentionable.
Because... Because...
Stop it, Joachim!
Sorry. Just kidding.
''Because'' is a very nice word.
Useful. Practical.
Keep it up and you'll make a career for yourself.
Tell me...
You like it here?
Yes, sir.
It's nice, eh?
- Yes. - Yes, who?
Yes, sir.
Get along with Aizpiri?
- Very well. - Glad to hear it.
And your job... Your work this morning?
- My work? - Yes, your job!
Didn't you study English?
What is it?
Dr Salamanca is here, sir.
Tell that twit, tomorrow!
Tomorrow I'm on leave, sir.
I have brothel rights, too... How do you feel?
Rotten.
Does it hurt when I press here?
It hurts wherever you touch me!
Still taking aspirin?
Yes, but it doesn't work. You're a charlatan.
- I never called you a joker. - A mistake.
And here?
You prick!
Back to the shots.
It's done.
How's that?
Since when?
10 days ago. It really helped,
you know.
Yes, it really helped.
Who gives shots?
Who else can he trust?
He has an angel's touch.
- Where do you get the morphine? - We manage.
But we're glad to have you among us. It's not always easy.
I'm not here to supply drugs!
I'm here to treat you. I'm a doctor, not a dealer!
Two armed guards to arrest this hypocrite!
Nice work, no?
He'll cool his heels in a cell for few days.
- And then... - And then?
And then, when he's ripe...
we'll have all the drugs we need at a good price.
That fool still hasn't understood that for a man my age
the fundamental pursuit is pleasure.
For me, that means war
and morphine.
Once, it was war and love.
And food cooked in butter.
What about you, Los Cobos?
True, in the army
pleasure and duty rarely mix.
Although...
This morning, our young friend seemed
to shoot with fervor that was...
What's the word? Frenetic!
If you were him?
Me?
But I've never killed anyone!
What's wrong, Los Cobos?
Does the word ''kill'' disturb you?
It shouldn't.
War exists to cleanse you of all guilt.
When you shoot those fellows, remember they're only men.
- Yes, but... - There are no ''buts''!
Just do as I do. As he does. As we all do!
Don't give a shit!
Take off!
Your father will be proud
when I tell him you're doing your duty.
With pleasure, isn't that so?
Still hungry?
This is fine. Thanks.
Brandy?
A double.
Attaboy! Bravo!
Brandy, please!
We'll finish these then off to the brothel, OK?
Something against it?
The one in Mondragon's okay.
Reserved for officers.
Just 5 or 6 girls, class stuff.
Prisoners?
What're you getting at?
Whores! Real ones! Honest, conscientious and all!
Prisoners!
Can you see me fucking a trade unionist?
Here's to you!
- Shall we go? - I don't know.
Tell the truth...
Ever sleep with a woman?
- Often? - Yes, often.
With who?
Your pimply cousins, in the haystack?
My cousins don't sleep with anyone!
Know the price of brandy?
Damn your brandy.
I apologize. My cousins don't sleep around either.
- Let's go. - No, he stays with me.
- Coming? - He's staying.
The lessons of the brothel can wait.
Leave us alone.
As for lessons, I suspect, Madam,
you're highly qualified.
Why did we come here?
Life is short, Rafael.
You know that now.
I don't give a damn about life.
Death and I get on famously.
Look at me.
Won't you look at me?
Look at me.
You're hurting me!
Not like that!
There
you're a real man now.
Now you can kill at ease.
Stop!
How old's the girl?
15, sir. Maybe younger.
Only daughter?
So I'm told, sir.
Fine.
Here are my orders:
Let the Mondragon town crier announce all night and tomorrow:
If Valentin doesn't surrender within 24 hours
I'll have his daughter shot next Sunday.
Sunday?
In public?
And on the town square, so everyone can watch.
A very democratic execution.
- Go on. - Sir!
She's young, you know.
Sorry, never mind.
What is it?
The Valentin farm fell
barely an hour ago.
How about Valentin?
He got away.
We have his daughter.
Where is she?
At the Quad. In a cell.
Brandy?
Any chance of Valentin giving up?
None.
Does she know?
When's it for?
Sunday, of course. A prize catch.
Lt. Los Cobos is here, sir.
Show him in.
Come here, my boy.
At ease, my boy.
I have two bits of news for you.
Which one first?
I don't know, sir. As you see fit.
The good news first.
Your father read my report.
He phoned this morning, very pleased.
You leave for the front day after tomorrow, Monday.
Now for the bad news...
You're on squad duty Sunday.
Yes, sir.
For the girl, you see,
everything must go properly. I feel at ease with you.
You can count on me, sir.
Thank you, my boy.
May I go now, sir?
Still have a lot of work today?
As usual, sir.
Go on, then. Do your duty.
Who is it?
Lt. Los Cobos.
- Good evening, Fabra. - Good evening, sir.
Go have a cigarette.
But...
I'll stand in for you.
I mean it.
Yes, sir.
Thank you, sir.
I'll be back in 5 minutes.
Take your time.
Not asleep?
When will I be able to go, sir?
What's your name?
Angela.
It's raining heavily. If I let you go
you'll get drenched.
That's all right. I can dry off at home.
Come on...
Go on...
Run for it, Angela!
You always forget behind the ears.
That's just where it gets driest.
Come in!
He let the girl escape, sir!
- What girl? - Angela.
Valentin's daughter.
Why did you do that?
Yes, why?
You all ask the same thing.
Answer!
I had no choice!
Just like that?
Yes, sir.
Get me a towel
and stop giggling like a girl!
Go to Aizpiri.
All officers to report in 3 minutes.
I could have you court-martialed for high treason.
I betrayed no one.
Yes, me!
Know what you risk?
You freed an enemy under your guard.
Angela, an enemy? She's 15!
Enemies come in all ages, fool!
What am I going to tell your father?
You realize the fix I'm in?
My father'd never murder a girl of 15.
You don't know him! If I told you...
Don't!
Go on.
I'll teach you to get sentimental.
Gentlemen
this prick let Valentin's daughter escape.
And he did it on purpose.
Gentlemen
I think this fool doesn't realize war is something
to take seriously.
Tell me, Los Cobos...
Why do you think we're fighting this war?
For a better Spain, sir.
''For a better Spain''?
You make Spain sound like an automobile.
Gentlemen
are you fighting ''for a better Spain''?
As a Greek chorus you leave much to be de!sired.
Look at them, Los Cobos!
Ask them why they fight, and they have no answer!
As for me, sir
I fight for my ideals.
Ideals? What ideals?
That's all very well, but first you need some!
No, ideals are not our line. We're officers, not soldiers.
We fight for promotions, medals,
to strut in front of the ladies in our prick-like costumes.
Sir, really!
Ideals belong to the other side.
Those who fight for a cause. Always the same, the world over!
Stop! Or it's you
we'll try for treason.
Let me tell you why we're fighting this war.
For the pleasure of it.
Because we're dilettantes.
Aficionados of twilight cannonade.
We worship war!
We play at it like a sport!
Most of all, Los Cobos
most of all
we fight because it's our only escape from boredom.
You're so lucky this is a civil war.
The only kind of war that isn't an absurdity.
You kill people you've always known
and never could stand.
With a little bit of luck
you can even do in undesirable members of your own family.
Look at me...
Don't you have a cousin or two, or a brother
you'd like to be rid of?
This is your chance.
Sergeant Fabra, this boy's under arrest.
Put him in a cell that locks this time.
It's time.
It's a nice day.
There he is.
Going down?
No.
Bring me my tray.
You'll miss him, won't you?
That idealistic little aristocrat.
He'll learn many things over there.
If he survives he'll have his life ahead of him.
A life I wouldn't want to live.
This war, which we're going to win, will lead to a sordid world...
Want jam on your toast?
Jam on your toast?
I don't want your toast.
Once peace breaks out,
the Sancho Panzas will slaughter Don Quixote
and take power.
My pills...
Hand me my pills.
Our Sanchos will be notaries priests,
shopkeepers,
dukes...
No poets among them.
Under them beauty will be an offense,
intelligence a provocation,
and love a sin.
There they go.
Subtitles: Lenny Borger
Subtitling by TVS - TITRA FILM