Orders from Headquarters, Sir.
The orders...
are to attack the bridge.
We can expect heavy casualties.
No-one will reach that bridge alive.
Find your nerve, men.
We risk our lives
but we can take back our home!
For centuries, poets have dreamt of dying for love.
I suppose we shall be the lucky ones.
The orders are to wait three hours for the wind to turn east
then fire every gas canister we have.
There is an alternative, Captain.
What is it, Poirot?
We attack right now.
Now?
Yes.
Within the next seven minutes.
Perhaps eight.
Every morning
the petrels take flight
just before the wind turns east.
You see?
This morning
they fly early.
The wind conditions are ideal now
to hide our advance.
Hidden by the gas
we will cross 200 metres of no man's land without being seen.
Before the enemy even knows
that we attack!
If you're wrong, the wind will blow the gas back on the rest of our army.
We gas ourselves as they kill us, that's what you want?
I am not wrong.
It's an ambush.
I can't see them.
Retreat!
You were right!
You are too sharp to be a farmer, Poirot.
It's perfect.