"Убрать перископ" - текст на английском

Полный текст фильма "Убрать перископ" на английском

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I want a man with a tattoo on his dick. Have I got the right man?

Вы когда-нибудь топили раньше лодку, лейтенант? Я имею в виду, умышленно?

Убрать Перископ (Down Periscope)

В двух словах

Лейтенант-коммандер Том Додж в третий раз подает прошение на командование подводной лодкой. У него отличные результаты, и особо он отмечен за успехи в тактике...

Зачем стоит перечитать текст фильма "Down Periscope (Убрать перископ)"

- чтобы понять, что настоящи моряков бояться даже акулы;
- и вспомнить, что мы будем делать, если перед нами встанут трудности...

О, будьте уверены, это именно она. Класс Айдахо, модернизированная в 58 году

А теперь - текст

Moving on to the last name on the list, Lt Cmdr Thomas Dodge.
Third in his class at sub school. Did even better in the advanced course.
Cited for tactical excellence, joint NATO exercise.

- 180 and closing, sir.
- Ahead one-third, steady on course.
- Ahead one-third, steady on course. Aye, sir.
- Target at 175 and closing, sir.
- Let's try a shot.

- This is the third time Tom Dodge has come up for command.
If we don't give him a boat, he'll be dropped from the command programme,
which would be a tragedy for him and a mistake for us, given the years and dollars spent training him.
- Well, I'd have to disagree with you, Admiral Price.
Dodge's fitness report also presents a man who three years ago brushed against a Russian missile sub just off Murmansk.
Not exactly a promotional bell-ringer.

Target at 160, sir. Five-knot aiding wind.
- Delivery seven.
- We have a shooting solution.

More to the point, I simply don't approve of his command style.
He's impulsive. He's often undisciplined, even reckless at times..

Отличный выстрел, сэр.

- Fire one!
- Get up there, you miserable little puke. /* whistles */
- It's a fine shot, sir.
- Well, what the heck? Why don't we pull in so you can putt out?

- I will simply remind the selection board of one irrefutable fact that seems to sum up Dodge's character. There is physical evidence that as an ensign Dodge became so physically intoxicated
that he not only allowed himself to be tattooed, but tattooed on his genitalia.
Now, call me a prude if you want, but I don't think it's good policy for the navy
to hand over a billion-dollar piece of equipment to a man who has
"Welcome Aboard" tattooed on his penis.

After 80 days under the ice pack I thought some recreation might be in order.
- Priority message, sir.
- I was not endangering the boat.
- Your actions were totally inappropriate. It's not the way a prospective captain acts.
A failing noted more than once in your fit rep.
As much as I like to see my men advance, I have an obligation to be as honest as I can.
- Then I'm in trouble.
- This is entirely of your own making.
- This is a confirmed kill. 20 years down the fucking drain.
- Watch your language, Dodge. You know how I hate that.
- Gee, now I've gone and done it. Ruined my career!

Apparently not.
This is just in from COMSUBLANT. You are to report to Norfolk immediately. To command your own submarine.
- That's not funny.
- No, it's not. That's why they decoded it twice. Congratulations.
/* triumphant cry */

- Oh, yeah! I just hope they have one in turquoise. Thank you! It's good to see you again, Dodge. Been about four years. Something like that, sir. Not since we were both at Kings Bay. Well, you're about to join the elite of the submarine service. The best the United States Navy has to offer. Damn good feeling, sir. As a matter of fact, there she is right now. Your new boat. USS Stingray. SS 161. That? This can't be my boat, sir. Well, it most certainly is. Balao class, refitted 1958. Balao class? But that's a diesel sub. The navy doesn't even use diesels any more. They do now. She's been recommissioned. No disrespect to the USS Rustoleum here, but I'd be better off in the Merrimack. I was trained to command a nuclear boat. Are you refusing to take command? No, sir. Good. - Meet your crew here tomorrow at 07-00. They also left over from World War Two, sir? No, Captain. They've been handpicked... by me.

а вот и она, Ваша новая лодка. U.S.S. Стингрэй, SS-161 О, будьте уверены, это именно она. Класс Айдахо, модернизированная в 58 году

Come on in.
- Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Admiral Winslow.
- Take a seat.
- Thank you.
- Well, how do you like your boat?
- It's a complete piece of... antiquated equipment, sir.
I have dedicated a substantial portion of my life to getting my own boat. I was wondering why you chose to embarrass me.
- No embarrassment intended. You've been chosen for a specific mission.
- To turn her into a museum, sir? The Wonderful World Of Corrosion?
- Hardly. Here are recent satellite photos of Russian bases at Petropavlovsk and Vladivostok.
That's where the Russians have got their diesel sub fleet.
But each week they're fewer because they're selling them off like hot cakes to countries like Iran, Iraq and Libya, to name a few.
- With respect, sir, one American nuclear attack sub could defeat several diesels.
- In conventional battle, certainly that's true.
What if you had one renegade diesel captain who decided to hit us without warning,
a terrorist intent on getting a nuclear warhead into a harbour? Do you think we could catch and kill a bogie like that in time?
- Absolutely, sir.
- Well, most of the admiralty, they would agree with you. But me, personally, I'd like to know for sure. That's why you'll clean up the Stingray and take her out off the Atlantic coast for a series of war games.
One rebel diesel against the US nuclear navy.
Come on. First you'll attempt to invade Charleston harbour.
If you're good enough to evade further pursuit, you're going to attempt to sink shipping right here at the naval base in Norfolk. Simulated, of course.
What do you think?
- I think I'm gonna get my ass kicked, sir.

Проклятье! Не будьте таким книжным! Думайте, как пират

- Don't think like that. Damn it to hell, don't go by the book. Think like a pirate.
I want a man with a tattoo on his dick. Have I got the right man?
- By a strange coincidence you do, sir.
However, the task you've given me here is close to impossible.
If I pull it off, that is get both ports... I would like command of my own nuclear sub.
- Setting terms now?
- No, sir. But without command, once this exercise is over I'm headed for a deskjob, which means I'm out of the navy.
- I can't make you any guarantees, Dodge, but this is what I'll do. I'll give you two live torpedoes. I'll set a dummy ship in Norfolk harbour. If I see that baby go up, then we'll talk about your boat.
- Thank you, sir.

Nice pants. Lose the cigar. You better burn that shirt, sailor. It's the crew from hell. Good morning, sir! Martin G Pascal, Executive Officer of the Stingray, sir! Do you come with a volume control? Sir? Lt Commander Tom Dodge. You're kind of young for an XO. Excellence knows no age, sir. What do you think about our boat? I need a tetanus shotjust from looking at it.
The only thing holding her together are the bird droppings, sir. We have our crew here, I see. What do you say we board them? Yes, sir.

Seaman Stanley Sylvesterson, sir!
- Welcome aboard, Sylves-terson.
- Sylvesterson, sir. Though my friends call me Spots.
- Spots.
- I'm a bit of a gambler, sir.
- What happened to your shoes?
- Ever bet on a sure thing and the horse gets a cramp, sir?
- Grab a bunk.
- Thank you, sir.

- Hey, get your hands off of me!
- Oh, good. Our chaplain has arrived.

- Sonar Technician, Second Class, ET Lovacelli, sir! Goes under the name "Sonar".
- Welcome aboard, Sonar.
- Excuse me, sir. This is an actual navy submarine? Not a float in a parade or something?
- I'm afraid so, Sonar.
- Isn't that odd.

Don't tell me. Deaf as Beethoven.
- Oh, no. Great ears, sir. Watch what you say around him. He hears everything.
His last CO thought he was a security problem.
- Excuse me, sir, I don't hear everything. And I'm quite trustworthy too.
- Right.

Engine Man, First Class, Brad Stepanak!
- Sit on it and rotate, sir.
- What did you say, sailor? You can't say that. He can't say that!
- Pascal, down. Heel.
- By the code of military justice, that constitutes gross insubordination, punishable by one month in the brig. I'm ready to go, sir.
- Board the boat. I like a challenge.
- You'll throw me off within a week. I'm a dedicated pain in the butt, sir.
- Stepanak.
- What?
- If I throw you off, it'll be in the middle of the Atlantic. Board the damn boat.
- Oh, man. What's our mission, rescue Gilligan?

― You're mine, maggot!
― Ha!

I love this job.
And who's our next contestant?

- /* groaning */
- Sorry. The name's Buckman.
- Nitro, hi.
- Interesting nickname. What's your real name?
- Nitro.
I'm working on a nickname, though.
- Oh, yeah?
- Listen to this.

- You're Stoneball, Jackson.
- Who you calling Stoneball?
- I lost a grand on that army game, butterfingers. For your information, I was mugged. Gaines was all over me that play. I saw that play. I saw the replay. There was nobody near you but the mascot, and he could have made that lay-up.
- That's cute. But it's on now.

Small, but... filthy.

Come in. Hell of a day, huh, Marty?
- It's not over yet, sir. Lt Lake is here.
- Show him a bunk.
- There's a problem, sir.
- Lt Lake reporting for duty, sir. And there's no problem.

I get it. Please, don't take off your clothes.
It's nice of the guys to get me a stripper, but I got a lot of work to do.
Thank you. Nice job on that uniform though.
- I am not a stripper, sir. I am Lt Emily Lake, your new dive officer.
- Well, that's impossible. They must be confusing you with Emilio Lake.
Women aren't allowed on submarines.
- They are now. Admiral Graham instituted a trial programme. I'm it.
- Good old Graham.

Men! At ease. I'd like to introduce our newest crew member - Lt Emily Lake.
Emily is part of a pilot programme to test the feasibility of women serving on submarines.
She's going to be our diving officer.
- Can she do a back inward one-and-a-half in the layout position? /* raucous laughter */
- Look, gentlemen, I know this is an unusual situation. It can't be easy for Lt Lake here to be thrown into this jungle.
And I know it will make things hard on all of us. Let me rephrase that.
It's going to make things difficult on all of us as well.
But if we just work together as a team, I'm sure we can handle ourselves... Ping! Comport ourselves as professionals.
That is all. /* kissing noises and wolf-whistles */
/* lascivious mumbling */
- Come on, put some muscle into it.

Stepanak, what are you doing?
- As little as possible, sir. I'm a detriment to the entire operation. A total morale-crusher.
- You know that the submarine service is entirely volunteer. All you have to do is quit.
- My old man won't let me. He's an admiral. He thinks sub duty will shake me up. Ha!
- I'm afraid you leave me no choice but to relocate you.
- Really?
- Really. Buckman.
- Yes, sir?
- Thank you, Buckman. That'll be all.

1B, cold. 1C... Hot.
― Let me guess. Our electrician.
― 2B...
― Yes, sir.

Naturally you would take the light end.
- You can't handle it, sweetheart?
- Hey, this is the navy. Don't call me sweetheart.

Hey, Gomer, can you get this hatch for us?
- This week.

Uh-oh. Buckman!
What the hell are you doing?
- Stocking the pantry, sir.
- You forgot "like an idiot", because you're stocking the pantry like an idiot.
What are in these cans, Buckman?
- That one's coffee. That one looks like cooking lard, sir.
- And which do you think we're going to be using more often? The coffee or the lard?
You think we're all going to jump out of bed and have a big hot steaming cup of pig fat?
- Well, if it's a cold morning, sir, you might...
- The lard is in your head, Buckman! Now you take a look at that galley chart.
Cos I want that cabinet repacked regulation-style by 1100. Do you know what time 11:00 is?
- That would be after 10:00, sir.

- What?!
- Can we speak in my cabin? Carry on.

Marty, I'm a little worried about your health. Not exactly a people person, are you?
I'm afraid you're headed straight for an ulcer if you can't ease up a little bit.
- I'm not happy with this boat, sir. Requesting permission for a transfer.
- What?
- Commander, this boat is... It's a rustbucket. It's a shitbox!
This crew is the most incompetent bunch of retards and assholes in naval history.
I know why you're here, but I don't know why I was considered for such an assignment.
- Excuse me. Why am I here?
- You know. Your thing.
- What thing?
- The weenie tattoo.
- Wow! Look, I hate to disappoint you, but I may have had some other things going for me.
- Yeah, yeah, yeah. I believe you, sir. Now, about my transfer. This post could jeopardise my chances for advancement.
I mean, I am this close to command, sir.
- Forget it.
― You think you're the only one embarrassed to be here? That it's what I dreamed about.
We're all in this together, and you and your career are in the hands of those assholes.
Including this one. Does that answer your question?
- Yes, sir.
- Dismissed.

(sailor) Go, boys! Jesus Christ.
(Buckman) You sure her clothes are in there?
Uh, unless this is yours.

Well done, guys.
She may not be the youngest girl at the ball, but she'll turn a head or two.
If she drives as well as she looks, we may even survive.
Dive test tomorrow morning 10:00. The rest of you are on leave until...
Lt Lake, you're almost out of uniform.
Either you're confused about your dress size or there's been foul play.
- If it's a disqualifying offence I'd like to take full and sole responsibility, sir.
- Gentlemen, I want to know who did this or shore leave is cancelled tonight.
Very well. Everybody back into the boat. /* disapproving murmurs */

- You heard the captain. Back on the boat! /* mutinous muttering */
- Lt Lake. Sorry. It won't happen again.
- Thank you, sir. But I can take care of myself.

All right, gentlemen. Let's kick this pig!
- All lines clear.
- "Anchors Away"
- Get the lookouts below and button her up.
- Aye, sir.
- Prepare to rig for dive!
- Aye, rig for dive.

- Watch your drift here. Strong crosscurrents.
- I'm aware of that, sir. I've compensated.
- Excellent.

- So, you ever dived a boat before, Lieutenant? I mean on purpose?
― I've done over 300 on a simulator, sir. 75 of them were strong-current dives.
― And I'm sure you scored high, but...
― Higher than you, sir.
― Oh. How would you know that?
― I looked up your scores. I have a printout.
― I have no doubt. Still, a simulator is not a boat.
Nobody talks about brave men in their proud simulators.

Way to go, sir. (obsequious snicker)
All right, gentlemen. Let's take her down.
― Prepare for dive!
― (sailor) Aye! Prepare for dive.
Does he mean underwater?
Dive, dive. Rig for deep submergence.
― Make your depth 6-2 feet.
― 6-2, aye.
Seven, down 6-2.
Full ahead two-thirds.
Blow negative to the mark.
OK, boys. Down we go.

/* Oi! */
(sinister chuckle)
― Oh, my God.

― What the hell did you do?
― What the hell did you do?
― We're dead. Five to one says we're dead.
― Cool. Did we hit an iceberg?
― Off the coast of Virginia?

Sir, we have 12 degrees tilt starboard.
― Lt Lake, check all emergency vents open.
― The board indicates all vents are open, sir.
― I can see that.
― Captain, maybe we're taking on water.
― Mr Pascal, it must be a vent.

/* sailor on Tannoy */
― Emergency vent two-bravo appears shut.
― Well, then open it.
― Roger. /* OK! */
― What?

Lt Lake, that bump looks bad. You'd better get to sickbay.
― I'd rather not, sir. I want to finish this dive.
― Very well. Continue the dive. Let's take her down to... oh, say 5-0-0 feet.
― Yes, sir. Make your depth 5-0-0 feet, seven degree down bubble.

― This is good coffee, Buckman.
― Thank you, sir.
― I'd better go see if any of the other rooms are still tilted.
This one's all right.

1-0-0 feet, ma'am.
― Passing 100 feet.

Now, keep an eye on the string.
Cos the water pressure is going to squeeze the hull of this boat like an empty beer can.

2-8-0 feet, ma'am.
― Passing 280 feet, Captain.
Jackson, adjust trim.
No, it's OK.
Passing 300 feet. /*(metal buckling)(thudding)*/
Passing 350 feet, sir.

Bet you never saw anything like that on one of them big nukes.
― We didn't have clotheslines. We had those dryer things with the window on the front.

400 feet. No leaks.
(metal buckling)
― Sir, I believe this is crush depth for this particular boat.
― I have to know what she can do, Lake. You nervous?
― No, sir.
― (clanking)

(Lake) Maintain seven down.
(thudding, clanking)
(loud thud)
(screeching metal)
― Bingo! 500 feet. God, I love this job. All right, that's enough for today. Let's get the hell out of here.
― Mr Pascal please, periscope depth.
― Periscope depth.
― Ladies and gentlemen, let me be the first to congratulate you on a textbook dive.

Carl, you and the Orlando are about to take part in a highly experimental war game conceived by Admiral Winslow.
The objective is for the Orlando to protect Charleston against an unknown submarine that'll try to invade the harbour.
Now, I would love to be able to tell you more, but the conditions of the exercise prohibit it.
However, I can tell you this. Given the nature of the intruder, you won't have much trouble.
― We'll be more than ready, sir.

I'm going to feel the way I do today
Cos you, you nutsy chick, you broad
You make me feel so young. Boom!
― Look, boys, that was terrible. I'm going to go outside for a smoke.
When I get back in you'd better have the horn section figured out. I can't work like this.
It's two on and two outs. Bonds is up again. Swung on.
Foul down the right-field line. It struck the ball girl. Knocked her cold.
― Today's game is brought to you by...

― Boy's absorbed a lot of voltage.

― Conn-sonar. So far, sir, I'm only picking up some faint merchant traffic.
― Roger that, Sonar.

― Captain, I'm just wondering. We're in the engagement zone. Shouldn't we be running silent?
― Notjust yet.
― They'll find us in no time like this, captain.
― They'll probably find us in no time anyway, Marty.

― Lt Lake, anything unusual up there?
― Just fishing boats. Weather's gotten bad.

The intruder is probably coming from Norfolk.
Her captain will assume we'll concentrate our efforts to the north.
But her captain is undoubtedly a cunning man, so we shall do the opposite and deploy southerly.

XO, come to 1-7-6, ahead full.
Aye, sir. Course 1-7-6 ahead full.

― Picking up anything, Sonar?
― Nothing much, sir. Buckman's eating an Oreo up in the galley. Stepanak's taking a leak.
― In the ocean, I mean.
― Oh. No, just a couple of biologics, sir. Would you like to listen?
― No, I'll pass on that, thanks. What are these tapes you got here?
― Those are whales, sir. I tape them, try to learn their language. Just basic chitchat and so on.
I do their hailing call against the hull. Sometimes they actually answer back.
Had a nice young couple alongside two or three hours ago.
― If you hear them talking about the new nuclear attack sub in town, let me know.
― Aye-aye, sir.

― Conn-sonar. I've got a noise level bearing 3-4-6 that may be a contact.
― But it's pretty shallow to be a sub.
― Make normal one-third turns. Come right at 3-4-6.
― Try to get a definitive classification.

― Secure the engines. Periscope depth. Answer bells on batteries. I want to hear if anybody's out there.
― Aye, sir. Kill the engines.

― Conn-sonar. Captain, we've lost the contact.
― Continue course and speed.
― Aye, sir. Continue course and speed.
Sonar originally classified this contact as a possible submarine. Now they think it was a diesel engine.
― If it's a diesel contact, then it's not a sub.
― Aye, sir.
― Wait. Better check it outjust to make sure.
― Bring me to single-ping range.
― That'll give away our position.
― Minimal risk with this contact. Single-ping range, please.

― Jeez! Just been pinged big time, sir. Bearing 0-3-0.
― That didn't take long. This could be the shortest command stint in history.
― I knew we shouldn't have come in from the south.
― Nice tactics, Captain Custer. We should be home in a couple of hours.

― It's the Orlando, sir. No question. I know her machinery signature.
Judging by that ping, she's about 12,000 yards off and closing.
― The Orlando. Carl Knox.
― We still might have time to go deep and run.
― I doubt it. Lake, prepare to surface.
― Surface? What for? I mean aye, sir.
― Sir, respectfully, I can't concur with your decision to surrender this quickly.
― I'm proud of you, Marty. Once we're on top, run on one screw only.
Rig for red. And, Howard, send somebody forward with a drop light and duck tape.
― (Howard) What is this, a scavenger hunt?

― Mr Jackson, you look like you could use some fresh air.
― Uh, no.

― Conn-sonar. We have the contact steady at 5,000 yards.
― Come to periscope depth.
― Make your depth 6-4 feet, ahead two-thirds.

― RJ, I want you to climb the periscope and put that lamp up on top of it.
― All the way up there, sir?
― Yes.
― Look, I need an athlete and you're the only one I got, so get going.
― Oh, shit. Agh!
― Hang on, RJ. You're not getting out of it that easy. Now get your butt up there.
― I never saw this shit on the recruiting poster.
― All right. Lash the lamp to the scope.
― OK, OK.

― Passing 9-0 feet.

― Got it, sir. Be all that you can be.
― That's the army song, Jackson. Raise the periscope!

― Sonar, plug that in. Running lights on.
― Running lights?
― Turn 'em on! We are not running silent. Listen up.

― Oh, my Lord, what is that? Looks like nothing but a fishing trawler.
(all sing "Louie, Louie")
(faint strains of "Louie, Louie")

― Captain. Listen to this.
("Louie, Louie" continues)
― Perfect. We just chased down a boatload of beered-up fishermen.
Come to north at full speed. Set your depth at 200 feet.

("Louie, Louie")
― Contact is breaking off, sir. Leaving the area fast and noisy. I... I think we did it, sir.
― Pay up.
― (Dodge) Well done.

― Mr Pascal, let's go to Charleston harbour and blow something up.
Now we're talking.
― Are we really going to blow something up, sir?
― No, no, Sonar. We'll just use flares.

― Well, the storm's passed. Not a word on Dodge.
Appears he doesn't want to come near the engagement area.
― Too bad for me. That's why you invited me to Charleston, to gloat that he didn't show up?
― No, sir. Not at all. Dodge was simply outclassed.
I've never lost a war game, and I'm not about to start right now. I'm in line for a third star.
― Oh, my God. I'll no longer outrank you. What a horrifying thought.
― Oh, boy, look at the fireworks.
― No, I believe that's a flare.
― Oh, no. It can't be!
(Winslow) Chalk one up for the diesel navy!
He got Charleston. One down, one to go.
― Yeah!
― Damn it to hell.
― War game record's starting to look shaky, not to mention that third star.
― I don't know how he pulled this stunt off, but I guarantee you one thing, sir.
There will not be a repeat of this embarrassment because I will have his tattooed hide nailed to my office door.

― What is this doing here?
― This? It's to remind me what I'll be driving next year instead of this.
― How do you figure that?
― I got four months to go in the navy. I'll play in the CBA until some NBA team need a point guard.
Then I pick up my ride.
― Another loser fantasy.
― Loser? At least I can say I played in front of 19,000 people. What the hell have you ever done?
― More than you know, including being chauffeured around in your dream car.
― The only you ever been chauffeured around in is a paddy wagon.
― 50 bucks.
― It's a bet.

― Big Jimmy, a guy I owed money to, had one. His boys threw me in the trunk and they dumped me naked in the country.
Nice car. Even the trunk had cut-pile carpeting. Gimme the money. Pay it up.
50 bucks. Ulysses S Grant.
― That is so nasty.
― I'm sorry. A little dusty in here.

― Admiral Graham on the radio for you, sir.
― Thank you.
― Patching you through.
― Radio's working like a Swiss... car.
― Dodge here. "Stairway To Heaven." Led Zeppelin, 1971, right?
OK! Good news, guys. We've just won the Billy Joel tickets and the WROK T-shirts.
Nitro, do you want to get me Admiral Graham now?
― OK.
It's a little tickle. (laughs)
Go ahead, sir. Try it now.

― Hello, Admiral Graham. Called to congratulate me?
― I'd say the weather was the determining factor, wouldn't you?
― All part of my strategy, sir.
― Uh-huh. Look, Dodge, for the rest of this exercise, there's been a reconfiguration.
― Your new orders are to operate only in sections 3A and 3B.
And, as usual, you will surrender upon confirmation of a shooting solution.
― But that cuts the containment area in half, sir. Does Admiral Winslow know about this?
― He is not administering this war game. You have your orders, Captain. Do you read me?
― Loud and clear.
― Good. And, Dodge, remember... just a game.

― Buckman! There was a fingernail in my food, you fat-ass moron. Yesterday, it was a Band-Aid!
― Sorry, sir. The Band-Aid was holding the fingernail on.
― What else do you put in your sauces?
― It's an old family recipe, sir. It's a secret.
― Oh, my God. There's cockroaches in the flour. Your cigar ash is in the spaghetti.
Jesus, Buckman. This stuff's been on the Stingray since Korea. This can expired in 1966.
― It still tastes like creamed corn.
― Except it's devilled ham!
― That would be a problem.
― The captain's gonna hear about this.

― Nobody saw that.
― You should more careful, sir. Remember, when you rush, that's when accidents happen.
― Shut up, Buckman!
― Uh-oh.

― Excuse me, sir, but I'm picking up all kinds of stuff.
― Up periscope.
― Oh, my God. Three destroyers and a frigate.
― Active pinging, sir. From aircraft sonar buoys.
― Down periscope. Emergency deep. Rig for silent running. Battle stations.
― (Lake) All ahead full. All planes on full dive.
Full negative to the mark.
Passing 100.

― What's going on? Any way I can cause a problem?
― No, we're pretty well covered for now.
― Shit.

― Passing 120.
― Let the air out. We got to get below that P3 sonar.
― 20 degrees down bubble.
― Take her all the way down to the bottom.
― To the bottom?
― Confuses their sonar. They can't distinguish between us and the ocean floor.

― Passing 300 feet.
― Approaching the bottom, sir. I can hear a couple of lobsters duking it out.
― Two degrees down bubble. No, one-and-a-half degrees down bubble.
― Everything in hand, Lake?
― Yes, sir. Didn't do much bottoming on the simulator.
― Nothing to it. Piece of cake.
― One degree down bubble. No. Yes.
― Approximately ten feet to bottom, sir.
― All stop. Half-degree down bubble.

― Conn-sonar. Hot noise in the water. (clanking)
― What did it sound like?
― It was loud, sir. Two heavy bangs.

― Nice job, Lake. Like dropping a piano. Hey, why don't you do it again in case they didn't hear you?
― It's all right. Everybody back to stations. Begin damage check.
All hands, we are now going silent. Repeat, full silent.

― P3's reported possible submarine. Approximately 9,000 yards. Shall I go active?
― Passive sonar only. Let's not give away our position.

― Chin up, Lake, it wasn't your fault.

― This is the approximate area of the last sonar buoy contact, sir. Don't hear anything, but they may be playing possum.

― Gimme a pack of gum. The Fruit Stripe.
― That's 25. Chew it silently.

― (whispers) Sir. It's the Orlando. Somebody just dropped 45 cents.
― You're sure?
― Oh, yeah. A quarter and two dimes.

― Hear something?
― Yeah. Almost sounded like... an explosion.

― Oh, man!

― Anything else?
― Not yet.

― Somebody needs to sew his ass shut.

(whale-like squealing)
(whale noises)

― Is it a biologic?
― Sounds like a whale. (whale noises)

― It must be a whale. It's moving around.
― Now it sounds like there's two of 'em.

(noises continue)

― Ahh, the heck with it. False alarm. Back to periscope depth. Ahead full.

― (squeaks) Orl... Orlando, sir. 300 yards and opening.
― OK. Somebody find Buckman, launch him out of a torpedo tube.
XO, let's get this boat moving, course 0-2-7, and vent this smoke.
― Sir, that's out of the quadrant.
― Yes, it is.
― I must protest. We have orders from Admiral Graham to stay in this containment area.
― I know my orders, XO. Course 0-2-7. When we're clear, surface and run all full.

― Stepanak. You missed an opportunity there. One noise from you, we could have been in a world of trouble.
― That would have been unethical, sir. I'm only out to screw myself. That would have screwed everybody.

Live to fight another day, Captain Poon.
― Permission to enter, Lt Lake. Lt Lake?
― I didn't give you permission to enter.
― Well, sometimes a captain must take unilateral action.
― I could have you put on report.
― Pfft! Be my guest. Look, Lake. There is no way you could know what the contour of the ocean floor was like.
It was as much my fault as anybody's.
― No. It was mine. I don't have the necessary training to continue to be the dive officer on this boat.
Especially given your high-risk manoeuvres.
― Let me be the judge of that. No one could have set us down in any better condition.
― Sir, I not only gave away our position, I potentially endangered the crew.
Would you be this easy on me if I was a properly experienced sailor?
― I'd like to think so.
― Thank you, Captain. Good night.
― Good night.
― Sir... The Murmansk brushing incident. How did you get over that?
― Got drunk and passed out. Woke up the next morning with a hangover and a tattoo. I wouldn't recommend the tattoo.

― Polishing the old torpedo, sir?
― Shut up, Stepanak.
― Thank you, sir. It's nice to be noticed.
― Oh, get out.
― Come on. Get back to bed!

― May I have a word with you in private, sir?
― Sure.

― Sir... Your decision to leave the engagement zone is a direct violation of our standing orders.
― I'm aware of that, XO.
― And now we appear to have broken off radio contact.
― You are right on top of things as usual, Marty.
― Captain, we are not following the parameters of this exercise.
― I have been individually briefed.
I believe we are following the spirit of this exercise, its intent.
― And I believe that you are deluded. You've hijacked your own boat.
I think it's my duty to inform the crew that we are operating outside of the navy's control and ask you to relinquish command.
― Relinquish command.
― Yes, sir.
― To who?
― To me.
― Excuse me.
― Captain! Sir. Sir? I checked the manual and I am well within my rights.
― All hands, this is the captain speaking. Executive Officer Martin Pascal as something he'd like to say to you.
(clears throat)

― Men... XO Pascal here. I feel it is my duty to inform you that we are no longer in contact with COMSUBLANT.
And we have left the containment area, in direct violation of orders from Admiral Graham.
The captain does not deny this. So I need, I would like, your support
in asking that the captain hand over command of the Stingray to me. Marty Pascal. God bless you all.

― This is Captain Tom Dodge. No man ore woman in US Navy has ever been court-martialled for following the captain's orders.
However, if any of you would like to support XO Pascal, you may speak up now without fear of punishment or reprisal from me.
Well, Mr Pascal, looks like you're guilty of attempted mutiny.
― That's absurd. These men love me!
― Mr Stepanak, would you come to the control room, please?

― Come all ye young fellows
who follow the sea
Yo-ho and blow the man down
It's time to be bathing Lieutenant Marty
Yo-ho and blow the man down
Oh, give me a plank
that looks down on the sea
Yo-ho and blow the man down
It's a short little walk bound for eternity
Yo-ho and blow the man down

Blow that nutso kooky punk back downtown/

Captain Blood, bring forth the prisoner.

― Hey, Nitro. Ain't that one of my chickens?
― No, it's a parrot. From the Caribbean.
― Don't let it fly away. That's supper.
― Aar.

(pirate-like cries of "Aar!")

― (pirate accent) Mr Pascal. Have you any last words before you walk the plank, sir?
― You can't do this, you maniac. This is the modern navy! People don't walk the plank.
― Cap'n Blood, consign him to the briny deep!

― Sonar, play me a dirge, matey.
("Funeral March")
(crew hums along)

― Luck be with ye, Mr Pascal. Walk!
― This is crazy! This can't be happening.
You've lost it, Dodge. You've gone round the bend.
You'll hang for this. Stop or you'll all hang.
― Eternal ocean from which we came, receive Lt Martin Pascal. May God have mercy on his soul.
― Now you're mine, maggot. Watch that last step.
― Mommy!
― The US Navy thanks you for your help, gentlemen.
― Any time.
― You bastard, Dodge!
― Oh!
― That wasn't so bad, was it, Lieutenant?

― All right. All hands below. We're going back inside the containment area.

― He made him walk the plank?!
― Sir, this exercise has gotten out of hand. Not only has he violated the rules of this war game,
but he's gone AWOL with US government property. The man should be court-martialled.
― Maybe, but you can't find him.
― I don't have to. Dodge wouldn't have pushed it unless he planned to make a run on Norfolk. I'll be waiting for him.
― You'll be waiting for him?
― Yes, sir. I plan on taking charge of his capture. Personally.

― Yeah, there are about 15 ships out there. They got 'em set up like a picket line.
― They must know we're coming.
― Down periscope.

― Attention on deck.
― It's all right, men. Carry on.
― Welcome aboard, sir.
― Just what the hell is that supposed to mean? I haven't been getting much sleep. Everything's set to go, right?
― Yes, sir. The harbour is blockaded.
― Good. Have all surface ships begin their sonar search.
― Aye-aye, sir. Submerge the boat.
― Now, gentlemen, now! Let's go. Like it already happened.

― Active sonars in all quadrants, sir. Air, ship, ocean floor sensors. They got everything on.
― Aar!
― No surprise. From here on out, no unnecessary conversation.

― We have a faint echo, Captain. 15,000 yards at three-four-niner.
― Track steady.

― We're being actively pinged, sir. Repeat, active sonar, 12,000 yards.
― Steady on course. Keep an ear out for commercial traffic.

― 11,000 yards and closing.
― OK, let's prepare torpedo guidance.
― Aye, sir. Prepare torpedo guidance.


― What's the surface traffic like?
― Five destroyers, three frigates and a commercial supertanker, sir.
― The Denali, out of Philadelphia.
All right, ladies and gentlemen, we have fulfilled every requirement of this mission except one.
Presently there are several ships positioned outside the harbour to intercept us.
To get in, we're going to have to use a tactic that is somewhat bizarre and extremely risky.
If any of you feel it's not worth it, please let me know now.

― Actually, sir, I think we'd prefer to go with the bizarre and risky. It worked for us so far.
― I think we should continue to kick ass, sir.
― Yeah!

― Very well, then. Make for the tanker. All ahead full.
― The tanker, sir?
― We're going to use it as a hat.
― How do we get in?
― Right between the screws.
― Why not we just come up from underneath?
― You got to go through the cavitation. They lose us for 20, 30 seconds, then all they can pick up is the tanker.
― I've never done a manoeuvre like that, sir.
― You have. Pinpoint drills on the simulator.
― Captain, this is way over my head.
― Just focus on your procedures.
― You've all worked so hard, I don't want to be the one who screws it up.
― Emily...
― Please. Don't ask me.
― OK, I'll take it, Lieutenant.
― Thank you, Captain.

― Make your depth 1-2-5 feet.
― 1-2-5, aye.

― 8,000 yards and closing, sir. Confirm torpedo range.
― Fix position. Prepare for guidance lock.
― I got you now, Popeye.

― 100 yards and closing, sir. Two minutes to contact.
― Three degrees down bubble.
― Three degrees down bubble, aye.
― Three degrees? Sir?
― What is it, Lake?
― Nothing, sir.

― Propeller turbulence is becoming a problem.
― Two degrees down bubble. Make that two-and-half degrees.
― Two-and-a-half degrees, aye.
― Maybe one-and-a-half, sir.
― Be quiet, Lake, or do it yourself.

― It's getting tough to hold on in this wash. I must be right behind a prop.
― One degree left rudder.
― No, sir! Chop's heavier to port. We need right rudder.
― You think you know better, get up here and drive.
― I don't think I should, sir.
― You're the only one who can, Lake. I'm guessing here.

― All back one-third. Right full rudder.
― Right full rudder, aye.
― Ten feet and closing, sir.
― All ahead two-thirds. Rudder amidships. Zero bubble. Steady course 2-7-0. Balls to the wall, boys!
Stay right full. Hold steady now.
― We're holding, ma'am. Hang with me, Jackson.
― Tight on it.

― Sir, sonar contact is breaking up. We're having some trouble tracking them.
― What? Don't you dare tell me that.

― Conn-engine room. We're taking on water!
― I'll take care of it, sir.
― Maintain course. Help is on the way.

― (Stepanak) Hey, Fowler!
― The leaks are too strong. We've got to abandon.
― You're not abandoning shit! I hate these stinking submarines, but I sure as hell am not going to die in one.
Plug those leaks!

― Bump it up to full.
― Keep your trim. One-and-a-half down bubble. All ahead full.

― Come on, guys, let's work on this one.
― Oh, shit, it's the main.
― Dress rehearsal for hell, boys!

(long yell)

― You all right, Howard?
― Yeah. Did I miss anything?
― Just a little water.

(clanking subsides)
― We're through.
― Yeah!
― How about some quesadillas?
― Nice work, Lake.
― Thank you, sir.
― Spots, Jackson, you too.

― How you doing back there, Howard?
― We'll be up in a couple of minutes. I just got out of the shower.
― Glad to hear it. Hang in there.
― Now, that was fun.

― I'm sorry, sir, but we've lost her. Nothing out there but commercial traffic.
― I just don't believe it. I can't goddamn believe it!
The man's got to be out there somewhere. He can't just have vanished.

― Come in.
― Excuse me, Captain.
― All right, Lieutenant. Yes?
― I was wondering how much longer you would have waited before doing it right.
― Half a heartbeat. (laughs) You scared the hell out of me, Emily.
― Permission to speak freely, sir.
― Granted.
― Sir.

― Hey, Spots.
― Yes, Mr Jackson.
― You know that lay-up at the end of the army game?
― I know. You were fouled.
― I choked. I just wanted you to know that.
― What are you talking, men? You are the best hands in the Navy. You were tomahawked.
― I'm a mediocre player. I never started for any team I ever played for.
― Don't give me that. You are NBA material. You remember that.
― Yeah. I guess you're right.
― What, are you kidding?

― He's not in the area. He must have headed back out to sea.
― Oh, no. Not him. Not now. Trust me. He is out there.

― Uh-oh. Tanker's turning.
― What?
― It's not going to Norfolk, sir.
― We're going to be uncovered real soon.
― Damn.
― You want me to stay with them, sir?
― No.
― We got a lead on the Orlando and we passed the surface ships. We got to make our run on Norfolk now.
― There's a lot of active sonar out there, sir. Orlando is on definitive search and destroy.
― Can't be help. At least we'll know where she is.

― Got him. 2-5-0, 12,000 yards.
― Christ, he's already ahead of us. The admiral has the conn.
― Admiral, all due respect, this is my boat.
― Not right now it's not. With all due respect. Ahead full. Course 2-5-0.

― They're on us, sir. We're being actively pinged, 11,000 yards and closing.
― Aar!
― Up periscope. OK, we've got cloud cover up there. Low overcast.
Their planes'll have trouble seeing us. Surface. We'll run on top.
All right, everybody, it's time to kick this pig.
Leave Graham squealin 'from the feelin'.
― Squeakin' from the freakin'.
― Oinkin' from the boinkin'.

― 10,000 yards and closing.
― Prepare for torpedo guidance. Let's get a shooting solution.

― 8,000 yards and closing, sir.
― Radio call for you, cap'n. Some guy named Gramanhamham.
― Put it on the overhead.
― Uh, just a minute, sir.
― Aar! Go ahead, sir.

― Dodge here.
― Dodge, this is Admiral Graham. I'm on the Orlando. And I'm putting you on notice.
When informed of a shooting solution, I expect you to acknowledge it in accordance with the rules of this war game.
― Since when were rules important to you, sir?
― You watch yourself, Dodge. You are addressing a superior officer.
― No, merely a higher-ranking one. Catch us if you can.

― Gimme all you got, Howard.
― Aye, sir. This is what I live for! DBF.
― What are you doing?
― Whisky thins down the mix. Gives us another 50rpms.

― 5,000 yards and closing.
― Confirm torpedo range. We have guidance lock.
― Report when you have a shooting solution. Put on some speed.
― Aye, sir.

― Orlando 3,000 yards and closing.
― Conn-torpedo. Request permission to arm flare, sir.
― Hell, no. Ready torpedo tubes one and two.
― Aye, sir.

― Torpedoes?
― Trust me.
― 1100 yards to target and closing.
― Ha-cha-cha!
― Up periscope.

(series of commands)
Squawk on hands-free.

― Bearing mark.
― 2-6-3.
― Range 9-0-0.
― Second mark, sir?
― Haven't got the time, got a shoot from the him.

― Bearing 2-6-3.
― Fire one.
― Fire one.

― Bearing 2-6-4. Range 8-5-0.
― Fire two.
― Fire two.

― Sir, we have a shooting solution.
― Well! Get the Stingray right away. Give them the coordinates.
I want to tell them. He's targeted. If he has the guts to acknowledge.

― Sir, it's that General Whatshisname again.
― Forget the phone. Put it on the squawk.
― OK. Yes, sir.

― Submarine "Stingray", this is submarine "Orlando". It has been confirmed. You are targeted.
― Submarine "Orlando", this is Stingray. Stingray one speaking. We acknowledge the kill and congratulate the "Orlando" and all the fine men on your boat.
― Well, thank you, Captain.
― However, at the time of your transmission I had already fired two torpedoes.
― What?!
― You can probably hear them in the water. And though we are dead, our fish are on their way to the naval station dummy ship.
They hit, we still win. Aar-harr!
― You son of a bitch.

― Were those hot torpedoes or exercise shots?
― Sir, our fish are running hot, straight and normal.
If we aimed them right, any kills should be visible in your scope.
― Ten seconds.
― Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...
― Sweet!
― Aar!
― Yes!

― God, I love this job!

(faint cheering)

― Sir, this exercise is invalid. Dodge left the containment area...
― After you had narrowed it without authorisation.
― He ignored a direct order.
― Stow it, Yancy. He had higher orders. And you can forget about that third star.
(calls marching pace)

― Crew, halt.
― Crew, salute.

― Welcome back, captain. You certainly pushed my order to the breaking point.
― Thank you, sir. I mean, if that's a compliment.

― However, under the circumstances, I will not be able to give you your own Los Angeles class nuclear submarine.
― Yes, sir.
― You will be given instead a new Seawolf class nuclear submarine and will attend its launching on Friday. And this time you'll be given a proper crew, one commensurate with your tactical and leadership abilities.
― Thank you, sir, but I'd have to decline.
― Decline?
― I would not be in line for such a promotion without the help of my present crew.
I could not in good conscience accept another command without them.
― Still setting terms, huh, Dodge?
― Just respectfully requesting, sir.
― Well, at least you got my son to face forward.

/* stifled laugh */

― Your son? Stepanak, sir?
― Yes. It's his mother's name. His salute still leaves something to be desired.
― We'll work on that, sir.
― You do that, Commander.

― Dismissed!

- Live it up, guys. You earned it.
- Thank you, sir. I'll try not to overdo it.

- What exactly is this tattoo I keep hearing about?
- Well, it's a long story. It was just after the Murmansk brushing incident.
I believe you're familiar with that?

Лейтенант Эмили Лэйк - наш новый оператор погружения

И ведь что интересно...

Смотреть этот фильм на русском нужно только в переводе Павла Санаева.

Спасибо ему за этот праздник и вообще. Благодаря его переводу фраза «Добро пожаловать на борт» всегда вызывает у меня самые лучшие воспоминания.

Отдельный респект - лейтенанту Эмили Лэйк.

Она первый на флоте оператор погружения - женщина.

Лорен Холли, которая исполнила ее роль, не последний раз исполнила роль первой женщины-кого-то там на флоте. Еще она сыграла первую женщину-директора NCIS (из одноименного сериала).

А еще она сыграла Мэри Свэнсон в "Тупой и еще тупее".

Чему как бы учит нас текст фильма

Даже если вам досталась дизельная лодка, которой место в музее, в заботливых руках коррозии, вы вполне можете устроить маленький взрывчик и доказать разных нехорошим людям типа адмирала Грэма, кто тут настоящий капитан. Если у вас есть две торпеды, конечно.

Добро пожаловать на борт!

Смотрите хорошие фильмы, и будет вам счастье.
И помните: Погода была частью моей стратегии, сэр.

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