CORT:
Brothers...Welcome all to this hastily convened meeting on the current crisis There apparently have been security breaches which are causing a great deal of concern in certain quarters. We cannot let the little women deal with this alone. Are we men or mice, I ask you?

JACK:
Security breeches? Pray tell what are those? I have never heard of such breeches...

TERRY:
Jack, they're stain resistant. Killick will be delighted...

BUD:
Don't know about stain resistant, I need strain resistant.... <He smiles smugly> Not that I would ever wear a girlie costume like Laughing Jack here, of course...

JACK:
Sir, are you making an insult against my attire? You dare to imply that my dress is effeminate? I assure you it takes a real man to fill these breeches! I would very much like to see you try...

BUD:
A man and a half in your case, pal - you ever tried working out?

MAXIMUS: <in an attempt to change the subject>
Roman riding breeches were leather as a protective measure...perhaps I recommend the use of those? They were easily rubbed down...

BUD:
Not a bad idea. I find leather has a lot of uses...the ladies seem rather fond of it...

HANDO:
Too right. There's nothing quite like the sound of my belt on soft flesh...

TERRY:
For fuck's sake, are you all deaf or just stupid?  Cort said 'Breaches' - with an 'a', not 'Breeches!' Can't you stay on the bloody point for one minute?

LACHLAN:
I reckon I'd look good in breeches. I always fancied myself as a swashbuckler as a kid...Errol Flynn was from Down Under, ya know? Remember Captain Blood...

TERRY:
Flynn was a Kiwi...and like most of them, he couldn't keep it in his pants...

LACHLAN:
I'll bet he had a bloody good time, though...

<The whole group of men nod in agreement, Flynn being an early Crowe role model>

HANDO:
My grandmother's name was Flynn, ya know...?

CORT:
Good for you...Now, are we all in agreement that we must hide in this bunker until the danger has passed? That's what the girls insist...

MAXIMUS:
But, isn't that a rather unmanly response? I would prefer to be out there facing the danger head on. We can't let hide behind women's skirts as pleasurable a notion as that might be...

HANDO:
No fucking way, mate...I'm out there kicking some heads in. Any excuse for a rumble...

TERRY:
Mate, to be fair, we don't know what we're up against here. It could be chemical warfare. These people do not play nice. You want to be impotent?

BUD: 
Thought we were. Least ways if we weren't one if us would have knocked someone up long ago...

STEPHEN:
...Actually that is not the correct medical diagnosis for the condition we suffer from. We are infertile, it would seem. Infertility is quite separate from impotence. From my research into the sex life of the species Corbus Major I have discovered that there is a directly proportionate inversion of one to the other in this condition ...id est...the more infertile a specimen is, the greater appears to be his sexual potency. It is a startling departure from nature's usual laws...I may be the first to have observed this particular phenomenon....

BUD:
What the fuck's he talking about?

MAXIMUS:
I think he is speaking of us. Corvus Major could be roughly translated as 'Alpha Crowe'...

JACK:
Ah yes.... as we say at sea... 'recta regione'.

TERRY:
Up your arse? That's what you say at sea then?

LACHLAN:
An old naval tradition, I believe. Before each swig of port, root a reefer right up his lily white....

JACK:
...I beg your pardon? Do you accuse me and my crew of sodomy? A heinous crime against the 29th article? Are you asking me to call you out, Curry?

JEFF:
I still say none of you know what you're missing...

ALL:
Shut up, Jeff...or we'll throw you outside to face Uma alone...we might decide to let you go fight with the girls... <Jeff pulls a face>

STEPHEN:
Gentlemen, you misunderstand completely. Recta regione is one of the few bits of Latin that Jack has ever quoted correctly...General, perhaps you could supply us with a translation...?

MAXIMUS:
I believe the modern translation is "As the Crow flies."

LACHLAN:
No shit? That is going on my jet...

TERRY:
My jet, you mean?

DINO:
Our jet, sweetheart...

CORT:
Boys...no fighting , please! Let us join our hands in prayer for help in our time of need and ask God Almighty to send us guidance...

<They bow their heads. Bud fidgets. Dino assumes a choir boy stance. Terry and Lachlan exchange smirks and their shoulders shake. Jack thumps them both on the arm and tells them to have some respect. Jeff looks awkward. Stephen crosses himself. Hando bows his head, surprisingly reverent. Maximus looks aloof.>

BUD:
OK...so here's the juice. We gonna sit about here until the all clear? Let the girls have their war and we wait until after to mop up the tears? We could be lucky boys after that...Anyone got a pack of cards in the meantime? Who's got the booze? Jack, is that a food hamper- Jesus fucking Christ! That could keep us fed for a month... Cort, get the blue film on...might as well make a night of it...

HANDO:
You should have warned me, I could have got a pack of bints in. You're pulling your own dicks tonight, mates.

<Terry pulls a sour face and Hando jerks his clenched fist at him with a leer>

LACHLAN to MAXIMUS: <whispering>
Bloody great idea of yours to stage that false alarm, general. Tell Uma something and the whole bloody world knows in five minutes... A whole weekend to ourselves! Mate, you are something else...

MAXIMUS:
A decoy is always a good way of taking the heat off...but you all played your part fanning the flames, boys. I'm proud of you. It's called working together. An old maxim of mine. We have got it perfected....Now, let's stay together and unleash our own particular brand of hell...

CORT: <tossing cans of beer around>
Come, get some...