it's all reconnaisance trips. the river's too swollen to move troops in numbers. her majesty's army's rotting in suakin. harry which other regiments were with you?
they're all there: the hussars, the highlanders, the grenadiers. which newspaper did you say you were from? harry the london times.
you must think i'm a disgrace? 'sand happy'. that's what those officers called me. harry how much longer do you think the troops will be held up in suakin?
as long as they can if they're lucky. does the prime minister read your paper? harry i imagine so.
then tell him from me we're on a losing wicket here. these bastards aren't scared of anything. if they saw death walking down the street they'd hide in an alleyway and try to pick him off with a stone. how do you fight people like that.  he tries to drain the last few drops from his empty glass, then looks over longingly, at the tattooed dancers. ext. sand storm.  desert near suakin.  sudan - day. thick gusts of sand blow at us. as the swirling clouds settle we see a group of misshapen figures, huddled together. as they finally rise and start to move, we realise they're british soldiers, on camels. amongst the dust caked faces we see trench, castelton, willoughby and durrance. ext. desert near suakin.  sudan - day. the sand storm has cleared, and in its place a harsh desert sun beats down. the column of british scouts trudges forward. durrance rides at the front, looking as if he were born here, eyes alert to every shimmer and nuance. up ahead he sees a large mound of stones standing out amongst the mud flat. he drives his camel forward. as he approaches he sees that it's a dervish burial mound. skulls and skeletons are splayed across the rocks. willoughby rides up through the ranks and joins him.