[After Fitzjames' death and burial, Crozier and Blanky discuss strategy to fight the Tuunbaq]
We need high ground. Put all the sick in the middle, then face it down with all the ammo we've got.
[nodding] I've got a strategy, Francis. You cut inland a bit, and I drive it back out onto the ice.
Not possible.
It is. I smell like a thousand-year-old armpit.
I mean permission not granted! I'm not saying goodbye to two friends in one day.
Between me and you, Francis, I'm done for.
If you need to ride in a damn boat, I'll put you there myself! [Blanky pulls up his pant-leg, showing his peg leg is cracked] Mr. Weeks can make another one.
They're gonna have to cut it a lot higher this time. And that's only for the time being. [pulls his pant-leg up further to show his stump has gone gangrenous] Let's not make me or Mr. Bridgens go through that, shall we?
[voice breaking] Bleedin' hell, Thomas, why didn't you speak up?!
I kept it tidy. No one could've done a better job.
[anguished sigh] Jesus Christ!
Francis, we both know what's comin' for me now! At least love me enough to admit it! [limps over to Crozier and puts an arm around his shoulders]
[quietly] What do you need?
I've got half a pouch for me last smoke. That'll do for me. Oh, I'll take some forks off you and the men. Forty or fifty.
[incredulous] Forks?
Aye, and a piece of rope. Enough to go around me a few times. [Crozier suddenly realizes what he's asking] Fifteen feet should do it. [starts laughing as Crozier shoves him off]
You're mad! [Blanky nods as he laughs uproariously; after a moment, Crozier joins him, and the two men embrace for the last time]
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