Platoon (1986)

by Oliver Stone.

Final script.

More info about this movie on imdb.com



FADE IN:



A QUOTATION AGAINST A BLACK SCREEN:



'REJOICE, O YOUNG MAN, IN THY YOUTH ...'



The sound now of a C-130 air cargo plane roaring over us and we

cut sharply to:



EXT.AIRSTRIP - BASE CAMP - VIETNAM - DAY



As the C-130 coasts to a stop, the hatch rotating down on a hot,

dusty lifeless airstrip somewhere in Vietnam. Nothing seems to

live or move in the midday sun.



TITLES RUN



A DOZEN NEW RECRUITS step off the plane, unloading their duffel

bags, looking around like only the new can look around, their

hair regulation-clipped, crisp, new green fatigues fitting them

like cardboard.



CHRIS TAYLOR is just another one of them - as he turns into a

tight closeup, to look at a motorized cart pulling up alongside

... He's about 21. Newmeat. His face, unburned yet by the sun,

is tense, bewildered, innocent, eyes searching for the truth.



They fall now on a heap of BODY BAGS in the back of the cart.

Two soldiers begin loading them onto the plane. Flies - hundreds

of flies - buzz around them, the only cue to their contents.



GARDNER

(next to Chris, Southern accent)

That what I think it is?



SOLDIER 1

(a look)

I guess so ...



An uncomfortable look between them.



SERGENT

Okay, let's go ...



As they move out, Chris' eyes moving with the body bags being

loaded onto the plane. Moving over now to a motley HALF DOZEN

VETERANS bypassing them on their way to the plane. They look

happy. Very happy, chatting it up.



They pass the newboys - and they shake their heads, their eyes

full of an almost mocking pity.



VETERANS

Well I'll be dipped in shit - new meat! Sorry bout

that boys - 'sin loi' buddy ... you gonna love the

Nam, man, for-fucking-ever.



Chris looking at them. They pass, except for the last man who

walks slower than the rest, a slight limp. His eyes fall on

Chris.



They're frightening eyes, starved, hollow, sunken deep in his

face, black and dangerous. The clammy pallor of malaria clings

to him as he looks at Chris through decayed black teeth. Then

the sun flares out on him and he's past. And Chris looks back.

Disturbed. It's as if the man was not real. For a moment there.

As if he were a ghost.



Chris walking, duffel bag on the shoulder, looks up at the

lollipop sun burning a hole through the sky. A rushing SOUND

now. Of frightening intensity, an effect combining the blast of

an airplane with the roar of a lion as we hardcut to:



EXT. JUNGLE - SOMEWHERE IN VIETNAM - DAY



The sun matches the intensity of the previous shot as we move

down into thick green jungle. We hear the sound of MEN coming, a

lot of men. The thwack of a machete. Brush being bulled. We

wait. They are getting close.



The CREDITS continue to run.



SUBTITLE reads: December 1967 - Bravo Company, 25th Infantry

Division - Somewhere near the Cambodian Border.



A sweating white face comes into view. CHRIS - cutting point.

Machete in one hand, whacking out a path for the platoon, M-16 in

the other, he looks like he's on the verge of heat exhaustion.

Breathing too hard, pacing himself all wrong, bumping into

things, tripping, not quite falling, he looks pathetic here in

the naturalness of the jungle. An urban transplant, slightly

neurotic and getting more so.



His rucksack is coming apart as well, about 70 badly packed

pounds banging noisily.



Behind him BARNES now comes, the Platoon Sergeant. Then the RTO,

his radio man, humming lightly. Others are behind, the column

snaking back deep into the brush.



We cut around some FACES of the Platoon - all to be seen later.

Young faces, hard and dirty after weeks in the field, exhausted

yet alert, fatigues filthy, slept-in, torn, personalized, hair

way past regulation length, medals, bandanas. A jungle army.

Boys.



Chris glancing down at his raw bleeding blisters. Transfers the

machete to his other, slightly less blistered, hand. The kid

cuts on - struggling but trying, on his last reserves of

strength, smashing almost straight forward through brush, not

even bothering to look ahead. He smells something, looks around,

slows his pace, eyes working ... around to the base of a tree.

He moves past it.



And as he does so, the camera from his POV comes around on a dead

decomposing 10-day-old GOOK - eyes starting from its sockets,

worms and flies feasting.



Chris draws his breath in, terrified. Barnes suddenly appears

alongside, his hard humourless eyes looking annoyed from the gook

to Chris.



BARNES

What are you waiting for? He ain't gonna bite you.

Move out.



Chris looks at him with pent-up hatred and crashes on.



EXT. PLATOON PC - DAY - MOVING



At the COMPANY PC, CAPTAIN HARRIS on the radio.



HARRIS

Bravo Two, Six. What's the delay up there, move it

out on point. We've got a link up at Phase Line

Whiskey at One Eight Zero Zero, over.



EXT. PLATOON PC - DAY - MOVING -- MORNING



At the PLATOON PC, LIEUTENANT WOLFE sweats heavily as he speaks

in his radio. He is also new to the field, a dark little feisty

guy, about 24, very hairy, especially in the eyebrows, an intense

get-ahead look.



LIEUTENANT WOLFE

Two Bravo, Two move it out. Six says we're jamming

'em up back there. Over.



Barnes, upfront, turns to SAL, his radio man, under his breath.



BARNES

Tell that dipshit to get fucked. Get that other

freshmeat up here. Gardner.



As Barnes picks up his pace, irritated now at this reprimand from

the CO - coming up on Chris, who is soaked now from head to foot

in sweat, dizzy, feeling sick, about to vomit.



BARNES (CONT'D)

What the hell's the matter with you Taylor! You a

sorry ass motherfucker. Fall back.



He grabs Chris's machete out of his hand and bulls his way into

the foliage, tearing it apart, setting a new pace.



Chris being bypassed by the column, their eyes on him. He is

swatting at the red ants that are all over his neck.



GARDNER, another new recruit, fat, hustling up to replace him.



A big and black medic - DOC - comes over, gentle eyes and manner;

with him is Sergeant ELIAS, concerned.



DOC

You okay?



CHRIS

Ants. I got ants on my neck ...

(shaking them out)



DOC

(helping him)

Yeah, black ants are killers, you look sick man. You

need a little salt.

(reaching into his satchel)



Sergeant Elias, a handsome, graceful dark-haired Indian kid of

23, the squad sergeant, is taking items out of Chris' pack - air

mattress, extra unnecessary clothing, extra canteens, grenades,

gas mask, books.



ELIAS

(shaking his head, amused)

You're humping way too much, troop, don't need half

this shit. I'll haul it for you but next time you

check it out with me okay?



Chris nodding, grateful, panting.



The men passing, watching. Chris sorry about this, trying to

keep up face.



BUNNY, a young 18 year-old with an angel's face, is pissing in

the dead gook's face.



KING passes, glances at him.



KING

You're a sick mother Bunny.



Bunny laughing about it.



Chris standing there one moment, fighting for his breath,

suddenly passes out, going over with his 70 pound rucksack,

hitting the ground with a loud bang.



ELIAS

(concerned)

Hold it up.



On Chris - his eyes opening. He seems all right.



CHRIS

(trying to get up)

I'm okay ... I'm okay.



Chris crumples backwards. Elias helps him.



EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - DUSK



The COMPANY - about 100 men who seem insignificant amid the size

of the surrounding jungle - is digging into a perimeter of some

100-yard radius. A RESUPPLY CHOPPER lifts off in a flurry of

blowing leaves. Bare-chested soldiers chop down trees, clear

fields of fire, set out claymores, fill sandbags, chow down.

Little fires snake up against the greying red horizon.



EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER 31 - DOC'S POSITION - DUSK



We cut close on a pair of grungy feet - the staple of the

infantry - moving up to DOC, the Medic, bandaging them for FU

SHENG, a Hawaiin kid.



EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - RHAH'S POSITION - DUSK



Rhah sets his tripflare. Crawford, with him, putting out a

claymore.



EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - RODRIGUEZ - POSITION - DUSK



Back in the perimeter RODRIGUEZ sets his M-60 in the newly dug

foxhole. SAL, next to him, is shaving in his helmet.



EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - KING'S POSITION - DUSK



KING looks like a king. A lion of a black man but with a sleepy,

gentle face, not to be roused, is painfully trying to scrawl a

letter home with the pencil held awkwardly, mouthing the words.

FRANCIS, a young baby-faced black with long lashes and soft eyes,

peeks over his shoulder, shaking his head.



FRANCIS

Shit, King, it ain't d-e-r-e man, it's d-e-a-r, and

Sara don't have no two r's in it, fool. Shame on

you.



King shrugs, a sleepy stoned voice.



KING

Don't matter, she knows what it means ... an she

don't read too good nohow ...



EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - COMPANY PC - DUSK



Sgt. Elias washes himself, attentive to his body, slender and

well-muscled, and extremely handsome youth. Of Indian blood,

with long black hair, generous smile, wide facial bone structure,

gypsy eyes, and the cleanest white teeth, he could be a young

Greek god. He is given somewhat to panache, a silver wristband

on his arm, a bandana of black parachute silk hanging from his

neck, his fatigues tightened down at the ankle, he pulls his

pants down, checking for crotch rot, applying talcum powder to

the area, his buttocks facing us.



LERNER, a white kid, 19, from Florida, stopping to admire the

frontal view.



LERNER

Mumm, any time sweetheart.



ELIAS

Lerner, you'd choke to death on it.



EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - COMPANY PC - DUSK



At the COMPANY COMMAND POST a beehive of activity with its four

radios, personnel, some Vietnamese scouts milling around.

CAPTAIN HARRIS is running down a field map with his THREE

LIEUTENANTS. Harris, a broad-shouldered fine-looking military

specimen with the requisite Southern accent and football coach

mannerism, is directing his remark to 2nd Platoon's LT.WOLFE, who

looks a little nervous.



CAPTAIN HARRIS

Sky Six reports a fresh company of NVA moving across

from Cambodia to this blue line.

(points to position)

We got a good chance to light 'em up tonight. All

platoons will set squad-size ambushes before full

dark. Lt. Wolfe

(glances at him)

You 'bush in this area near that ol' Buddhist temple

we passed on the hump in. Lt. Hawkins, you take this

area in the rubber plantation...



LIEUTENANT WOLFE

(eager)

No problem sir ...



EXT. PLATOON PERIMETER #1 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK



Elsewhere, Chris scrapes out a foxhole, his shirt off, bandana

around his head, the work hot and heavy.



TEX is out there setting the claymore as BIG HAROLD and JUNIOR

start breaking down their C's.



JUNIOR

(a whining high voice)

Hey Big Harold, gimme your peaches for the fruitcake

man.



BIG HAROLD

(laughes loudly)

Fuck you bitch.



JUNIOR

C'mon man, didn't I do you right that time I give you

the turkey loaf for the ham and lima beans shit.



BIG HAROLD

Tricky bitch, reason you gimme dat turkey loaf is

nobody else can eat that shit 'cept me so don't start

your game playing with me Junior.



They're both black, Junior with huge goggle eyes and a face of

pimples and pockmarks, his teeth yellowed and decayed, some of

them missing. Harold is about twice his size, about 250 pounds,

a baby huey concentrating real hard on preparing his stove to eat

with.



JUNIOR

Youse a pig man. I hope Manny get dat laundry gig

for' you do.



BIG HAROLD

De fool think he's gonna get it but he ain't known

for his thinking.



JUNIOR

He's a fool alright but you a bigger fool. Hey,

whiteboy, watcha waiting for - dat hole ain't gonna

dig itself ...



Chris looks up, continues working, as Junior chuckles.



JUNIOR (CONT'D)

Hey Taylor, you don't know it but I saved your ass

today. I killed a shit-eating dog.

(laughing)



BIG HAROLD

(getting up)

That reminds me, I gotta take a shit.



JUNIOR

You gonna wipe your ass dis time?



BIG HAROLD

Yeah if you let me have your shirt.



CHRIS

(VOICE OVER, as he digs)

Somebody once wrote Hell is the impossibility of

Reason. That's what this place feels like. I hate

it already and it's only been a week. Some goddamn

week, grandma ...

(checking his raw blisters)

... the hardest thing I think I've ever done is to go

on point, 3 times this week - I don't even know what

I'm doing. A gook could be standing 3 feet in front

of me and I wouldn't know it, I'm so tired. We get

up at 5 a.m., hump all day, camp around 4 or 5 p.m.,

dig foxhole, eat, then put out an all-night ambush or

a 3-man listening post in the jungle. It's scary

cause nobody tells me how to do anything cause I'm

new and nobody cares about the new guys, they don't

even want to know your name. The unwritten rule is a

new guy's life isn't worth as much cause he hasn't

put his time in yet - and they say if you're gonna

get killed in the Nam it's better to get it in the

first few weeks, the logic being: you don't suffer

that much. I can believe that ... If you're lucky

you get to stay in the perimeter at night and then

you pull a 3-hour guard shift, so maybe you sleep 3-4

hours a night, but you don't really sleep ... I don't

think I can keep this up for a year, grandma - I

think I've made a big mistake coming here ...



As he speaks, we cut around to various shots of the platoon

members on the perimeter - shaving, eating, cooking, playing, etc

...



EXT. PLATOON PC - NIGHT



Towards the end of this voice over, we cut to Sgt. BARNES moving

towards the PLATOON PC. A powerful face, a quiet, angry fixed

stare, a thick trimmed moustache that helps conceal a network of

plastic surgery grafts and scars. The distortion from the jaw up

the left side of his face to his forehead, punctuated by a severe

indentation above the left eye where a bullet once penetrated his

skull.



Walking with him is Sgt. O'NEILL as they join WOLFE, Sgts. ELIAS

and WARREN at the PLATOON PC where they're huddled over maps.

Warren is a black, thin, tall, paranoid man with untrusting eyes,

silent and bitter.



BARNES

(to all, almost pleased about it)

We got boo-coo movement. 3rd Battalion just got hit

15 kliks north of here.

(the MEN react with wary silence)



O'NEILL

(eager to elaborate)

Yeah, they had claymores strung up in the trees, blew

a whole fucking platoon to pieces. BAAD SHIT.



Barnes inflects his next words at Wolfe, who is worried.



BARNES

Yeah, they got two Lieutenants and a Captain.



WOLFE

Jesus.



Elias quiet. Barnes studying the map.



WOLFE (CONT'D)

(to Barnes)

Who do you want on ambush, Sergeant?



Barnes doesn't bother acknowledging the question, barely glancing

at the Lieutenant, to him a necessary evil. Everybody knows

who's really in charge of the Platoon. Barnes flicks his gaze to

Elias.



BARNES

Elias - you take your squad and I'll take Tex and

Francis from your squad.

(to Warren)

We move out in two-zero mikes.

(concluding)



ELIAS

I thought it was O'Neill's turn tonight.



They all look at each other. O'Neill spits in the dust, a

freckled, short red head with a hard worried face, a lifer, 30

going on 60.



O'NEILL

Shit! Morehouse and Sal are short. Fu Sheng's going

on R&R, you don't want to send their asses out on an

ambush. You got the fresh meat Elias.



ELIAS

(to Barnes)

They don't know shit Barnes, and chances are we gonna

run into something.



O'NEILL

So what am I going to do! Get one of my guys zapped

so some fuckface fresh from the World can get his

beauty fucking sleep!



ELIAS

Hey O'Neill why don't you cool it, you don't have to

be a prick everyday of your life, you know.



O'NEILL

Fuck you Elias.



BARNES

You get your men ready Elias ...



Concluding the debate, no further argument, Barnes rises. The

meeting's closed. Lt. Wolfe hasn't said a word, looking as Elias

departs, without a word.



O'NEILL

(watching him)

Fucking guy's got 3 years in and he thinks he's

Cochise or something ...



His resentment directed partly at the way in which Elias carries

himself, the natural sense of grace - and the dignity it bestows.



CUT TO:



EXT. PLATOON PERIMETER #1 - SQUAD ASSEMBLY POINT - DUSK



Later. On the very edge of the perimeter, darkness coming down

fast, the men in the ambush patrol rustle into their packs, all

of them bitching.



Tex, carrying the M-60, looks up at the glowering sky.



TEX

Shit, looks like rain. All night too. Gonna grow

mushrooms in your bad-ass crotch Junior.



JUNIOR

(under his breath)

Goddamn ain't no justice round here, you break your

ass for de white man ... gonna get our act together,

do some rappin' wid de brothers, change things ...



CRAWFORD

What's O'Neill have a nose up the lieutenant's ass

already, how come we always get ambush.



FRANCIS

Politics, man, politics. We always getting fucked

around here.



Chris is scared, nervous with his last-minute equipment

adjustments, his pack obviously overweight for a night mission as

he hauls it up.



Gardner, the other new boy, is jovial in contrast, his wallet

extended towards Chris.



GARDNER

Hey Chris, I show you a picture of Lucy Jean?



CHRIS

(not to be bothered)

No ...



Gardner shows him his girl. She's real dog u-g-l-y, and what

makes it worse is Gardner's put the standard photo of Raquel

Welch alongside it, tits and all. But he misses the irony of it.



GARDNER

(admiring)

Yeah she's the one all right ... that's Lucy Jean.

She's a-waiting for me.



CHRIS

(nodding)

Yeah she's real pretty, you're lucky ...



Gardner puts it away. Elias appears alongside them, checking

their packs out, takes out Chris's poncho liner and other items.

He carries a modified M-16 with a short barrel and a collapsible

stock.



ELIAS

(to both boys)

Don't need this or this ... you're doing okay. Just

stick close to Tex, do what he does.

(calling out to Tex)

Tex you got Junior and Taylor here on your position.



Tex is a sour Texas Ranger type, chews tobacco, spits.



TEX

Damn, 'Lias this gun's boss. Put Taylor someplace

else.



Chris feels the words like lashes on him.



ELIAS

You got Taylor ...

(to Gardner)

... Gardner you go with me

(to Chris and Gardner)

'Case somethin' happens to you, you get separated or

lost don't yell out okay. Sit tight. We'll get to

you.



His eyes. Chris watching them. A smile in them. Elias moves

off, a quality to the man that Chris admires. A natural sense of

leadership.



BARNES

Okay, let's move out.



As he follows King, on point, out the perimeter. A single file.



EXT. THE AMBUSH NIGHT (RAIN)



Night is coming down. The tone of the jungle sounds has subtly

shifted - mellower, more sinuous and certainly scarier.



The file stops. King, an experienced point man, listens.



Chris - carrying Tex's linked ammo - looks around, tense. Behind

him is Gardner, trying to smile, starts to whisper something

('Hey Taylor ...') when he's abruptly shushed.



The file moves on. Gardner's pack rattling a little too loud. A

weird rush of cold wind now rattles the trees and the MONSOON

comes. A hard slanting rain, sudden, tropic.



EXT. RUINS - JUNGLE - NIGHT (RAIN)



A piece of an old Buddhist temple, under a sulky moonlight now in

a state of decay, the jungle surging to engulf it.



The Men are setting up quickly and relatively quietly in the

ruins - alongside a miniscule trail. The rain is coming down

harder than ever.



Chris and Tex setting out their claymore mines, raveling back

their detonating cords to their position, drenched. In the far

distance, an ILLUMINATION ROUND brightens the sky for a brief

moment. Various ad lib curses and directions are lost in the

sound of the rain.



EXT. AMBUSH - BARNES' POSITION - NIGHT (RAIN)



At the Ambush CP, Ace whipsers into his radio. A soft hissing

sound.



EXT. AMBUSH - CHRIS'S POSITION - NIGHT (RAIN)



Later. Close on Chris being shaken awake.



TEX

Taylor, you're on.



CHRIS

(groggy)

Uh hunh.



The rain continuing to pelt them. Tex hands him an infrared

scope.



TEX

(suspicious)

You sure you know how to work the claymore?



CHRIS

(offended)

Sure.



Tex curls up as best he can in his poncho to sleep.



TEX

Okay ... don't catch no zzz's on me buddy or I'll

sling your motherfucking ass ... You hear me?



CHRIS

(grits his teeth)

Yeah.

(looking at his watch)

Hey Tex - you're ten minutes fast.



TEX

Sin Loi.

('tough luck', closes his teeth)



Chris lets it go, scans the jungle and trail with the scope. The

POV is greasy and blurred. He puts it aside.



Suddenly a series of resonant SNORES crack through the jungle.

Chris starts, then sees it's from JUNIOR lying out there,

spreadeagled in the rain. Chris prods him.



CHRIS

Junior!



JUNIOR

Unh? ... Unh.



CHRIS

Shaddup! You're snoring ... Shhh.



Bending low into his eardrum. Junior never wakes, rolls over

with a growl. Silence.



CUT TO:



EXT. CHRIS' POSITION - NIGHT (RAIN)



Later. A pool of muddy water has formed, in which a pair of

buttocks sit. Move up to Chris still on duty, looking at his

watch, drawn, drenched, pathetic, rainwater coursing down his

face.



CHRIS (V.O.)

(continuing his letter)

... 'Course Mom and Dad didn't want me to come, they

wanted me to be just like them - respectable, hard-

working, making $200 a week, a little house, a

family. They drove me crazy with their goddamn

world, grandma, you know Mom, I don't want to be a

white boy on Wall Street, I don't want my whole life

to be predetermined by them.



A large RIPPING SOUND as the wind blows down a big tree branch

onto the jungle floor. He starts, peering out. Nothing. He

looks at his watch again.



CHRIS (V.O.) (CONT'D)

... I guess I have always been sheltered and special,

I just want to be anonymous. Like everybody else.

Do my share for my country. Live up to what Grandpa

did in the First War and Dad the Second. I know this

is going to be the war of my generation. Well here I

am - anonymous all right, with guys nobody really

cares about - they come from the end of the line,

most of 'em, small towns you never heard of -

Pulaski, Tennessee, Brandon, Mississippi, Pork Bend,

Utah, Wampum, Pennsylvania. Two years' high school's

about it, maybe if they're lucky a job waiting for

'em back in a factory, but most of 'em got nothing,

they're poor, they're the unwanted of our society,

yet they're fighting for our society and our freedom

and what we call America, they're the bottom of the

barrel - and they know it, maybe that's why they call

themselves 'grunts' cause a 'grunt' can take it, can

take anything. They're the backbone of this country,

grandma, the best I've ever seen, the heart and soul

- I've found it finally, way down here in the mud -

maybe from down here I can start up again and be

something I can be proud of, without having to fake

it, maybe ... I can see something I don't yet see,

learn something I don't yet know ... I miss you, I

miss you very much, tell Mom I miss her too - Chris.



He moves towards Junior, shakes him, but Junior seems to be out

of this world.



CHRIS (CONT'D)

Wake up!



Junior opens one dead eye.



CHRIS (CONT'D)

It's your shift, man ...



Junior scowls, swears, looks around for his rifle in the mud.



Chris crawls back to his position, curling himself up in his

soaked poncho, teeth chattering from the cold, rain splattering

over him. A long beat. He sighs, the sigh kicking off the next

image.



EXT. CHRIS' POSITION - NIGHT



Chris jerks awake - very suddenly, very frightened. THE RAIN HAS

STOPPED. The jungle sounds are loud. Cicadas, night animals,

water dripping hypnotically from leaf to leaf. And the whirr of

a million mosquitoes out after the rains, chewing at Chris' face.

He looks around, startled.



Tex is asleep. Junior is asleep. What happened? He looks at

his watch. The mosquitoes are eating him alive. He buries his

head in his green towel which he wears around his neck, but he

can't see. A beat. He moves again, miserable from the bites.

Another beat. Then suddenly the sounds of the jungle shift -

some of the animals dropping out. A different tone. A piece of

wood is stepped on, a rustle of bush ...



Chris sees something, lifts an edge of the towel to peek out.



A shoadow of a figure is frozen there in front of him about 15

yards. It looks like a man. But it doesn't move. At all. It

listens.



Chris, his heart in his mouth, tries to peer through it. It's a

bush. It has to be. No human being could stand that still. His

heartbeats are up. The moments take forever. But deep down -

somewhere in his psyche - he knows who it is.



The figure now shifts, ever so slightly - and moves. It IS a

human being. Oh my God!



Chris looks around. Tex seems like a mile away. Why doesn't

anyone fire! He casts a desperate look at his rifle, at his

grenades encrusted with mud, but in spite of all his training, he

is frozen with indecision and fear at the sight of his enemy.



The figure seems to whisper something back, then turns and comes

down the trail. Now a second and third figure appear behind him

- all in helmets and packs. All coming right past Chris'

position. Ten yards. Nine.



Chris is rigid with terror. Stark eyes. Pleading with Tex to

wake up, but out of reach. He is about to have an anxiety

attack, his heartbeats so far up he is sure they will hear him.



The first figure is now directly in front of Chris on the trail,

looking left and right. A rattle of his equipment, a creak of

leather. A smell. The man's face now catches the moonlight and

his eyes come around on Chris.



Oriental eyes. Looking right at him. Startled. Chris staring

back, hypnotized. It all happens very fast. The figure murmurs

something in Vietnamese. A warning. He swivels.



A flash of muzzle fire. A raking cough of automatic fire. A

grenade explosion.



Chris is hurled to the ground, helmet bouncing off, scattered,

confused, jarred. All hell breaks loose around him with NOISE

and SHOUTS.



Tex, kissing the ground, is yelling at him.



TEX

THE CLAYMORE! GET THOSE FUCKERS!



Chris, not knowing what he's doing, is fumbling with the claymore

handles, presses them. INSERT: They won't give. He tries again

and again to the squeeze the life out of them. Tex is screaming

at him.



TEX (CONT'D)

THE SAFETY! TAKE THE SAFETY OFF YOU ...



Lunges over and grabs the handle from Chris. Clicks the safeties

off and blows them.



Three EXPLOSIONS rip out into the night - and one of the ENEMY is

caught in a brief instant looking like an X-ray, his body lifted

and swirling in the air, then enveloped in swirls of smoke.



Chris, trying to keep up, grabs his M-16, lays out a stream of

fire. The sound all around him is deafening.



EXT. GARDNER'S POSITION - NIGHT



Gardner, freaking out, stands crouched, confused, tries to run,

collapses.



EXT. O'NEILL'S POSITION - NIGHT



O'Neill throws a grenade, wild.



EXT. CHRIS' POSITION - NIGHT



An explosion. Chris hits the deck.



Tex is now on the M-60 machine gun, yelling at Junior who is

cringing on the ground.



TEX

Feed me!



He lays out red tracer bullets like laser beams, then suddenly

reels back, whiplashed, screaming. A grenade explosion rocks

them.



TEX (CONT'D)

AAAAAGHHH! MY ARM! MY ARM!



His hand and wrist are gone, his face in the dirt. Junior is

fumbling around, trying to stay down and help him at the same

time.



JUNIOR

(grabbing Tex's gun)

DOC! GET UP HERE! TEX IS HIT!



Chris, looking out to his front, has no clue what's going on.

Except the fire is slacking. Relayed shouts of 'Medic! Medic!'

Other SHOUTS.



SHOUTS

HOLD IT UP! HOLD IT UP!



The firing has ceased. A silence, punctuated by occasional

shouts and fast moments, has enveloped once more the cemetery.

Doc crashes through the bush, kneels over Tex, who continues to

howl in deep pain.



TEX

(freaked out)

MY ARM! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!



DOC

Easy Tex easy boy!



Trying to sound calm but his voice is on the edge, examinging the

mutilation with a pen flashlight, he whips out his morphine in a

big hypodermic.



VOICE

(next position)

Doc over here! Gardner's hit.



DOC

'Right there.



As he slips the morphine into Tex's arm.



TEX

(muttering at Chris)

... godamn! Godamn! DUMB FUCKER, DUMB FUCKER!



Chris watching, suddenly feels himself dizzy, instinctively runs

his hands over the back of his neck. Feels the warm blood there.

A moan comes from his lips. Junior looks at him.



JUNIOR

Oh shit, Doc he's hit too.



CHRIS

(weakly)

I'm hit ...



Barnes and Big Harold come hustling up.



Doc finishes tourniquetting Tex, cradles Chris onto the earth,

his flashlight probing the wound. Tex in background continues to

thrash and moan.



Chris waits, tensely for the verdict, his eyes big with fear on

Doc, who takes out his morphine.



JUNIOR

(to Barnes, pointing at Chris)

That dumb fuck didn't blow his claymore!



Chris hearing this. Barnes looks at him.



DOC

(to Chris)

... it's a scratch, nothing to worry about.



CHRIS

(suspicious)

Doc ... tell me the truth, don't lie to me.



The needle goes in. Tex lets out this strange keening moan that

sets everyone's teeth on edge.



JUNIOR

(to Barnes)

He let'em walk right up on us. He was sleeping on

his shift.



CHRIS

(muttering weakly)

I was not ... it was your ...



DOC

(leaving, to Harold and Junior)

Self-preservation's the first law of nature. Gotta

learn how to work your shit Taylor. Watch me, don't

let'em go into shock.



Tex's moans are maddening and scary. Barnes suddenly clamps his

hand over Tex's mouth shutting him up and from way down deep in

his throat, chokes out the words.



BARNES

Shut up! Shut up - and TAKE IT! TAKE THE PAIN!



Tex's eyes roll wildly, uncomprehending. Doc and Big Harold

looking at Barnes, wondering. Tex is suddenly silent, shocked.

Barnes stands, an icy glare, goes. Junior scrambles over to

Tex's side. Doc runs off.



Big Harold cradles Chris, his big black hands like a mother,

reassuring him.



BIG HAROLD

You gonna be okay Taylor, okay, don't you start

worrying now.



Chris looking up at him, eyes blinking slowly, dazed already by

the morphine. He's very scared.



CHRIS

Do you ... do you know you're gonna die ... Big

Harold? ... do you feel like ... like ...

everything's gonna be fine and then ...



BIG HAROLD

Bullshit man, you gettin outta the field, man. Three

hots a day, white sheets, dem pretty white nurses

give you blowjobs too you pay em enough, I heard tell

bout dem white bitches. Better save yo strength

Taylor.



JUNIOR

(muttering darkly)

Don babytalk him man. Cocksucker fell asleep. They

walked right up on us, he don do shit.



BIG HAROLD

Shaddup bitch.



Chris is gettin woozier, feeling he is dying but starting to

grin, not caring about it anymore. Yet he is nowhere close to

dying.



CHRIS

It's not ... so bad ... dying. How long .. it ...



EXT. TRAIL - RUINS - POSITION #1 - NIGHT



Barnes stands over a moaning, ripped up ENEMY SOLDIER. FIRES his

M-16 point blank into the head. The Soldier bucks and dies,

quivering.



EXT. TRAIL - RUINS - POSITION #2 - NIGHT



ELIAS, checking out a blood trail some distance away, shifts on

the shot, looks back.



EXT. TRAIL - RUINS - POSITION #3 - NIGHT



FRANCES, MANNY, BUNNY and KING are huddled over another mangled

enemy corpse.



BUNNY

(stripping the corpse)

That's no NVA man. That's a chink - look at 'em, the

cocksucker's six and a half feet tall. Look at his

gear - good as ours.



FRANCIS

Shit I blew my claymore right in one dude's face and

I seen him walking around afterwards.



MANNY

What we fighting here, vampires?



EXT. TRAIL - RUINS - POSITION #1 - NIGHT



Elias comes up to Barnes swiftly, indicating the blood trail

leading off into the bush.



ELIAS

Blood trail just keeps going and going but no body.



BARNES

How the hell did he get away?



ELIAS

Fuckers returned fire soon as we lit 'em up. Hard

core fuckin' NVA. They got their shit together.



RING

(coming up to Barnes)

Sarge - Doc wants you. There's a problem with the

new man.



Elias and Barnes go with King. Past Chris and Tex who are

ambulatory and bandaged, being helped along. As Barnes passes,

the men look at him, everybody quickly senses something is wrong.



EXT. GARDNER'S POSITION - NIGHT



At one of the positions Doc is working feverishly to knock the

life back into Gardner who lies there, his shirt stripped off on

his cottage cheese belly. A huge sucking chest wound. He's

dying. You know it because he knows it. The eyes do the

talking, numb, terrorized yet strangely detached, accepting, not

protesting or concerned any longer.



Most of the ambush has assembled and is watching, Chris moving in

to see. Doc is mumbling to him, low key.



DOC

Chopper's on the way Gardner, hang in there, you

gonna be okay ...



But Gardner seems unconcerned. Things are going on in his head -

who knows what. And in his eyes there are big tears rolling.

Then a morphine smile. A sort of goofy Gardner smile, maybe

thinking about Lucy Jean, who knows. He's dead.



BARNES

(to all)

Take a good look at this lump o'shit ...

(motions to Gardner's body)

Rmember what it looks like, all of you. You fuck up

in a firefight and I guaran-goddamn-tee you, a trip

out of the bush - IN A BODYBAG. Out here, assholes,

you keep your shit wired tight at ALL times ...

(glares directly at Chris)

and that goes for you, shit for brains. You don't

SLEEP ON NO FUCKIN' AMBUSH. Next sonofabitch I catch

coppin' z's in the bush I'm personally gonna take an

interest in seeing him suffer - I SHIT YOU NOT ...



He thumps Chris lightly but menacingly in his chestbone and moves

on.



CHRIS

(drowsy)

I didn't fall asleep, Sergeant, Junior ...



BUNNY

(pissed, cuts in, shoves him hard)

Shut your face chicken shit! You in big trouble boy!



O'NEILL

Excuses are like assholes, Taylor - everybody got

one.



ELIAS

Knock it off! We got two men need attention here.

Police up your extra ammo and frags, don't leave

nothing for the dinks. Hoyt, Junior, carry Gardner.



JUNIOR

(muttering)

Let de white boy carry his ass, he this dude that got

him fucked up. Who'd be hauling his ass if that was

a brother laying there?



Elias follows Barnes out of earshot of the others.



ELIAS

Man'd be alive if he'd had a few more days to learn

something.



Barnes, registering it, just keeps on walking.



EXT. BASE CAMP - DAY (WEEK LATER)



Chris is driven up in a jeep to his Company PC - marked 'Bravo

PC' on a C-ration box. It's midday on a hot lazy afternoon, few

people out in the 102 degree sun.



Chris' Company is on the outskirts of the base camp, their

barracks regulation wood, canvas, and fine mesh screening, red

dust everywhere, bunkers down on the perimeter, reams of barbed

wire and concertina, a sand-bagged MESS HALL and CHAPEL, 81 mm

mortar pits, observation towers, recoiless rifles, 50-caliber

machine guns.



Chris gets out of the jeep, stiff-necked, a bandage around it,

still in some pain. The first man he intersects is KING,

carrying crates of beer.



KING

Hey Taylor, what's in the breeze?



In King's mild tone Chris tries to read his standing in the

platoon.



CHRIS

Okay - got light duty, three days.



KING

Shit, too bad we in base camp anyway.



CHRIS

What you got there - beers?



KING

Yeah, just stole me some from the Top's supply but

he's stealing it from us anyway.

(sees somebody coming)

Chucks are coming. You better 'didi' man.



Too late. Sgt. O'NEILL, the redhead lifer accompanied by Spec 4

SANDERSON, a big handsome blond kid, not too bright in the face,

both slightly drunk, come around a corner, beer cans in hand.

O'Neill sees Chris immediately.



O'NEILL

Hey Taylor - you back?



CHRIS

(pause)

Uh, looks like it?



SANDERSON

(spotting King's beer)

Where'd you get that beer King?



KING

(a funny look)

I found it ...



SANDERSON

You found it? ... Bullshit! You going on report.

Gimmee that shit.



O'NEILL

Awright, come here both of you. You too Taylor

(wags his finger)

Got a little special job for you.



They advance toward him reluctantly.



CHRIS

I got light duty, Sarge. Doctor said to take it easy

couple days.



O'NEILL

(laughes)

... ain't that tough shit now.



EXT. THE OUTHOUSE - DAY



A wooden cabin with some half-dozen seats built over half barrels

cut from empty oil drums. A guy is in there, pulling up his

pants.



Chris, King and Crawford, a California blond with a handsome

honeyed look, are sweeating heavily as they roll the barrels out

from under the outhouse, the smell of human waste strong. A hot

midday emptiness, nobody around except the flies.



KING

(pissed)

... Motherfuckah, motherfuckah, I'm too short to be

dealing with this shit! They keep fucking with us

man, no letup ...



CRAWFORD

(equally pissed)

Politics man, fuckin' politics. That O'Neill man got

his nose so far up Top's ass he gotta be Pinocchio...



KING

Forty-two days man and a wakeup and I'm a gone

motherfucker. Back to de WORLD.

(dreaming in his eyes)



CRAWFORD

Broke a 100. Got 92 to go. April 17. DEROS man.

California this summer. Waves are good they tell me,

surfin's gonna be good ...



KING

March man in Tennessee, sniff the pines ... sniff

that crossmounted pussy walkin' down by the river.

What you got Taylor?

(a snicker)

Let's see three hundred and WHAT?



CHRIS

... 32. 332 days.



CRAWFORD

(groans)

Oh man! Sorry bout that. I can't even remember when

I was 332. You gotta count backwards like you got 40

days in - think positive.



KING

(to Chris)

How the fuck you get over here man, you look like you

educated ...



CHRIS

I volunteered.



KING

You WHAT? Say 'gain.



CHRIS

Yeah, I dropped out of college and told 'em I wanted

infantry, combat, and Nam ...



He grins, finding their reactions funny. It's also the first

time we've seen Chris crack a smile.



CRAWFORD

You volunteered for this shit man?



KING

You a crazy fucker, givin' up college man.



King has long sleepy eyelids and cat's eyes, a large pink tongue

and big white-edged cotton picker's nails - a lazy, gentle

nature, content with the world.



CHRIS

Didn't make much sense. Wasn't learning anything ...

(hesitates)

And why should just the poor kids go to the war - and

the college kids get away with it.



King and Crawford share a smile.



KING

What we got here a crusader?



CRAWFORD

Sounds like it.



They pause, wipe the sweat off. King lighting up a half-smoked

joint, hitting a few puffs, eyes shooting around, making sure

he's not spotted, passing it to Crawford.



KING

Sheeit, gotta be rich in the first place to think

like dat. Everybody know the poor always being

fucked by the rich. Always have, always will.



Noticing Chris is having trouble with his neck, picking at his

bandage.



KING (CONT'D)

You okay man? Neck botherin' you?



CHRIS

Nah ...



KING

Here have some of this. Won't feel a thing.



Chris looking at the joint, a little apprehensive. He's never

smoked.



CHRIS

No, thanks ...



KING

Go on, whatcha gotta lose, yo' here now ...



CRAWFORD

Kills the smell of shit anyway.



The joint proferred. Chris waits a beat, shrugs, takes it,

smokes.



KING

Suck it in. Hold it ... That's it. Now let it out.



Chris blows it out.



CHRIS

Don't feel it.



King and Crawford chuckle, go on rolling the cans.



KING

Dat's what they all say.



CUT TO:



EXT. OUTHOUSE - LATER - DAY



King, Crawford and Chris pour kerosene over the cans at a secure

distance from the outhouse.



King lights it. The cans pop and start crackling. A line of

burning barrels. Rings of dirty black smoke rise against a soft

blue sky.



They watch, stoned. Chris turns to both of them.



CHRIS

... you know that night we got hit ... I ...

(ashamed)



KING

Fuck it, don't mean nothing, no such thing here as a

coward, done your best man, next time y'do better.



CRAWFORD

History, man, history.



Chris surprised at their attitude. The joint suddenly hits him,

a look in his face, eyes looking around different. Over at King.



CHRIS

(deadpans)

I think I'm starting to feel that stuff ...



Crawford laughes.



KING

(laughes)

Yo getting there Taylor. You be cool now and I'll

introduce you 'round to some of the 'heads'.



CHRIS

What are the heads?



KING

(laughes, walks away with Crawford)

Later ...



Chris alone, breathes deep, feeling the full effect.



EXT. BASE CAMP - NIGHT



A relief against the long harsh, hot day. We see lights on all

over the camp, sounds of music, laughter from the barracks.



INT. UNDERWORLD HUTCH - NIGHT



King leads Chris down to a specially constructed cellar-like

hutch dug deep into the ground on an isolated edge of the

battalion perimeter. Ammo casing and canvas are piled over it,

and sandbags surround it. From the outside very little sound can

be heard as they go down through a trap door made of ammo crates.

Past a lookout (Adams) pulling security, hitting a joint but

alert. King motions to him, it's cool.



Inside is another world. Chris looking around amazed. It's like

a private cabaret for the 'heads' who are there cooling out.

Boxes of food from the States, beers, whiskey bottles, crates

functioning as tables, hammocks hanging from poles, electric

fans, tape decks, paraphenalia.



The boys are all dressed up in their Saturday night rags. The

clothes are clean, the headbands, the medallions are out,

anything distinctive and individualistic. On the tapedeck,

Jefferson Airplane's 'Go Ask Alice'.



To Chris it is a new world. And RHAH, the resident head, sitting

there in all his finery puffing a huge burning red bowl in a

three foot long Montagnard pipe, seems to be the lord of final

judgement in this smoky underworld.



Across his naked chest, birds and snakes are tatooed. Around his

neck a black skull and white ivory cross side by side. On his

knuckles 'Love' and 'Hate' are tattooed. In his eyes, a dancing

Satanic fire. A poor rural Southern white, in his grizzled late

20's, he could be a Biker King. Giving Chris the once-over.



RHAH

Whatcha doing in the underworld Taylor?



KING

(smiling)

This ain't Taylor. Taylor been shot. This man Chris

been resurrected ...



Chris wondering what he's doing here. His eyes roving over

LERNER, CRAWFORD, MANNY, FLASH, FRANCIS, HOYT, TUBBS, DOC, other

from the Platoon, about 9 or 10 of them.



Rhah eyes him back, hands him the bowl.



RHAH

You lame Taylor?



CHRIS

What?



RHAH

You lame or something?



KING

(smiling)

... go ahead on, smoke it man.



Chris understands, takes the bowl. Hesitates. Then smokes it.

The contact fumes are almost enough to knock him out. He starts

coughing. They're all laughing.



RHAH

Your shit's in the wind troop. Baaaaah!



Lerner replies, his tongue hanging out in parody.



LERNER

And Baaaaaaa! back on you.



RHAH

(looking at Lerner with distaste)

If you're gonna do it man, 'least do it right.



Building up to it, his eyes shaking with conviction at the whole

insanity of the world, he neighs with all the venom he can

muster.



RHAH (CONT'D)

Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!



They all laugh and applaud. King smoking from the pipe passing

it back to Chris who takes another hit, doesn't cough this time,

looking around, wondering about these guys.



LERNER

I didn't like it.



RHAH

Bah, you're a child, Lerner. Rhah don't waste time

on you.



They go on ad-libbing with each other, teasing Doc, who's fairly

straight, saying he wants to go to med school in the fall. 'Be

what?''A gynecologist, man.''What dat?' Francis suggests, 'Dats a

pussy doctor, man - he's gonna be Doctor Feelgood, man!' They're

all cracking up, finding every joke funny. As Chris finishes his

hit on the pipe, looks up across the smoke, already dazed,

surprised to see ELIAS suddenly there - leaning out of his sling

in a far corner of the hooch. A Monkey is draped around his neck

with silver bracelets, rings, a necklace - like a sensual little

Egyptian whore, Elias playing with it, spaced out in a sleeveless

vest, tiger pants. Dancing eyes on Chris, he swings out the

hammock, comes over with the monkey.



Meanwhile Manny has broken into a high falsetto snatch of blues

directed at Chris, joined by Big Harold and Francis, all of them

clicking their hands.



MANNY & BIG HAROLD & DOC

Oooh Chris, you look like you is high oh yeah, he

looks like he is high Ooooh Chris, you know you gonna

be that way all night oh yeah I think that you are

... Yeah! up now and up to par oh yeah.



Elias pulls out a Remington 870 shotgun, jacks it to the rear,

points it at Chris.



ELIAS

Put your mouth on that.



Chris does so slowly, a little worried. Elias takes a hit and

blows it down the bore - 'shotgunning' it into Chris' lungs.

Chris staggers back, coughing. Everybody laughes 'hey dude - you

done had your ass blown away' etc ...



Elias smiles his big white-tooth smile.



ELIAS (CONT'D)

First time?



CHRIS

Yeah.



ELIAS

Then the worm has definately turned for you man.



Chris puzzled by this expression.



ELIAS (CONT'D)

(smiles)

Feel good?



CHRIS

(a sense of euphoria now)

Yeah. No pain in my neck now. Feels good.



ELIAS

Feelin' good's good enough.



As he sucks in a huge mass of smoke off the bowl. His eyes

performing a funny little hop, skip and jump, as he holds it, his

face turning red.



The monkey jabbers and jumps around on his neck, worried. Elias

then blows the smoke out in its face, the monkey hating it.



The Group laughes.



ELIAS (CONT'D)

Hey Crutcher. I hear you got a Dear John from your

gal. Told you she wasn't getting 'nuff from you.



Lerner looks up, stoned out of his mind, wearing a ring in his

ear.



LERNER

Shit. Sold me out for some lame dude with a 4-F.



ELIAS

What'd you say her name was again?



LERNER

(recalling her image)

Daisy Mae.



BIG HAROLD

Hey look at Charlotte!



The monkey is sitting quietly stoned, its eyes blinking.

Laughter off.



ELIAS

Daisy Mae! What Daisy Mae look like Crutcher?



MANNY

She look huge and got freckles on her ass.



LERNER

She look beautiful.



FRANCIS

How much she weigh man?



BIG HAROLD

She braid her hair under her armpits, Crutcher.



FRANCIS

(sarcastic)

Daisy Mae what?



KING

Daisy Mae Highway, that's what.

(laughing)

Well whatcha want, Lerner, your dick been limp for a

year, 'cept when you're bopping your buddy Tony up

there.



LERNER

Fuck that.



ELIAS

I fucked this chick in Hawaii man. Couple weeks ago

... Oooooh! Wow - outasight. Gracie Slick man, she

looked like Gracie man, I shit you not.

(remembering)



The look on his face ensnares all of them, except perhaps Rhah.



MANNY

What happened man. What whorehouse you go to?



ELIAS

No whorehouse man. On the beach.



FRANCIS

Sure.



ELIAS

Yeah, sure. She walked right by me. Long black

hair, tits swinging. Ass like French bread. Legs

don't end right.



LERNER

(skeptical)

You can plant that shit in Tennessee man, but it

won't come up in Texas.



CRAWFORD

So what she got, hair on her tits.



ELIAS

I just stopped man. My heart's beating like a hardon

right I got a hardon sticking through my pants, my

bathing suit looks like a hutch ...



BIG HAROLD

I know dat feeling ...



ELIAS

So I'm thinking to myself - Elias you walk away from

this, you gonna regret this the rest of your natural

life. So I go after her, follow her down the beach.

You know find out if she is what she is.



They're all hooked into this now.



KING

And?



ELIAS

Well she was picking up her kids.



MANNY

Dat's dat.



ELIAS

No, dat ain't dat.



FRANCIS

Get outta here, she married ...



ELIAS

Like two hogs in heat. Boy.



Their throats knotting ...



CHRIS

(joining in)

... But what'd she do?



ELIAS

What didn't she do. She fucked the living shit outta

me, that's what she did!



CRAWFORD

(sucking in air)

Jesus!



ELIAS

Couldn't get enuff ...



CHRIS

But what'd she actually do?



ELIAS

She was a crossbreed, Chinese and Polish.



BIG HAROLD

What dat?



RHAH

(finally hooked in)

And living in Hawaii man?



ELIAS

Yeah - and has blonde hair and almond-shaped eyes.



FRANCIS

Hey man didn't you say she had black hair?



ELIAS

She had blonde hair man. And long tan legs, in those

leather sandals you know, with those thongs up to her

knees, this musky oil on it ... mmmm smelled good

when they were wrapped around my face ...



They groan, dreaming of Hawaii.



DOC

Yeah!



CHRIS

God!



BIG HAROLD

Please, somebody hold my dick!



ELIAS

(in afterthought)

... and a broken nose.



DOC

Broken man?



ELIAS

Yeah, otherwise she would've been too perfect, y'know

what I mean ... some woman. Her name was ...



He forgets it. A grass blackout. Lerner urging him on.



LERNER

Susan?



MANNY

Tamara?



CHRIS

Elizabeth?



Elias shaking his head, trying to remember.



KING

Merle?



RHAH

Merle? Jesus! ... Patty?



BIG HAROLD

Inga?



CHRIS

Jennifer?



HOYT

Connie?



Elias snapping his fingers.



ELIAS

Dawn! That was it!



CHRIS

(repeating it)

Dawn ...



King listening to the sound of it.



KING

Dawn?



The others nodding, musing over it.



BIG HAROLD

Yeah, Dawn ...



INT. THE BARRACKS - NIGHT



In comparison to the darkness of the hooch, a highly lit

atmosphere, attracting bugs ... dusty gear lying around a

disordered hooch, loud and finger-snapping COUNTRY WESTERN MUSIC

playing from a tape deck, a well-known tune, circa 1967.



BUNNY, the 18 year-old angel face, totters drunk with a Colt-45

beer in hand, over to JUNIOR, the badass black kid with the zits,

who just lies there on his cot sweating, doing nothing.



BUNNY

(listening to the music)

Listen to that shit, that's good shit!



JUNIOR

(irritated as always)

Fuck that redneck noise, dude. All dem chicks be

rappin' how dey losin' der' ho's and how dey ain't

got no bread for beer. Fuck dat honky shit. Got to

get me some motown jams, dig it?



BUNNY

(doesn't understand a word of it)

Whaddaya talking shit for man. Hey Junior! Y'ever

smoke any shit?



JUNIOR

Das right dude. You be tryin' to string de black man

out on dat shit and keep him DOWN. Time's be coming,

my man, when de black man's gonna throw off that

yoke.



BUNNY

(lonely in his way for company)

Say I can dig it. Smoke that shit everything kinda

gets weird y'know?

(hiccups, sits)

Y'hear that story the gooks is putting chemicals in

the grass so's we become 'pacifists' so's we don

fight

(to no one in particular)

Where the hell's everybody, they'se gettin high

that's what - bunch of hopheads, they think they

special ...



JUNIOR

(turns away, bored)

Don you worry Bunny, youse a killer anyway.



BUNNY

Yeah but I still like a piece of pussy once in a

while - ain't nothing like a piece of pussy cept

maybe the Indie 500.



JUNIOR

Youse so fucked up man.



BUNNY

Y'ever look at yoself in the mirror Junior, youse

uglier than a dick on a dog man.

(laughing)



JUNIOR

Yeah, you had a piece of pussy on a plate in front of

you, you'd probably kill it.



BUNNY

Shit, I bet I been laid more'n you have.



JUNIOR

Sure, you probably stick it in tween her knees and

think youse there.



BUNNY

Yeah?



JUNIOR

Only way you'd get some pussy is your bitch dies and

wills it to you - and then maybe.



Lt. WOLFE wanders down the aisle, beer in hand, slightly lonely,

bypassing FU SHENG, the Hawaiin and TONY, a mustached hairy-

browed Italian kid from Boston, who are playing some kind of dice

game. They hardly acknowledge the Lieutenant who stops by

RODRIGUEZ, the Mexican-American kid who is on his cot in his

neatly arranged area writing a letter home with a pencil, forming

his words with his mouth, as always minding his own business.

Religious objects comprise his few decorations.



LIEUTENANT WOLFE

(amiable)

How you doing Rodriguez?



RODRIGUEZ

Good sir.



WOLFE

Need anything?



RODRIGUEZ

No sir.



Wolfe winks at him, continues on to the POKER GAME going on in

the center of the barracks, the main action. BARNES,

Sgts.O'NEILL and WARREN, the quiet sullen black, SANDERSON and

SAL play as ACE, the tiny radio kid, and MOREHOUSE look on; all

of them drinking beer and bourbon chasers from a bottle.



WOLFE

(to O'Neill)

How's it going Red?

(using his nickname)



O'NEILL

Shit, cocksucker's got all the cards tonight.



WOLFE

(to Barnes)

Looks like you're doing all right Sergeant.



Barnes, raking in the chips, is the big winner, a light bead of

sweat on his forehead and a somewhat glassy look to the eye the

only indication he is drunk - his shirt peeled off revealing a

muscular, scarred body.



BARNES

Yeah, and I ain't even cheating yet.



SANDERSON

(the big blond kid)

Have some Kentucky windage Lieutenant.

(passes him the bottle of bourbon)



Wolfe takes a nip.



BARNES

Play Lieutenant?



WOLFE

Nah, I wouldn't want to get raped by you guys ...



O'NEILL

What are you saving up to be Lieutenant - Jewish?



Laughes. Wolfe forces a smile, glad to move on. There is a

continual worried rodent air about him, an anxiety, a desire to

fill the vacuum in his leadership with a false masculinity.



WOLFE

Catch you men later. Enjoy yourselves.



As he goes, O'Neill shakes his head after him.



O'NEILL

Sorry ass motherfucker ain't he. You think he gonna

make it Barnes?



Barnes plays a card, glances, a minute movement of his head.



O'NEILL (CONT'D)

Yeah that's what I figger. Some dudes you jes' look

in their faces and you KNOW they just ain't gonna

make it.



Barnes looks - with some irony - at O'Neill. The Country Western

tune has reached a crescendo whine which now mixes into:



INT. UNDERWORLD HUTCH - NIGHT



Francis, the baby-faced black, and Manny, green shades covering

his skinny face, lead with a high blues falsetto.



FRANCIS AND MANNY

(singing)

'People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a

joke or two Although I may be laughing loud and

hardy Deep inside I'm blue ...



The Hutch looks now like a Turkish bath with minimum visibility,

the smoke fumes dense. They are all up dancing on their feet -

King, Tubbs, Big Harold, Hoyt, Lerner, Crawford, Flash, Doc,

Elias - a few light gestures with their hands above shoulder

level, passing around the grass pipes while they shuffle, fingers

clicking. The song - Smokey Robinson's "Tracks of My Tears" -

accompanies them from a vintage tapedeck.



ALL

'... Since you've left me, if you've seen me with

another girl seeming like I'm having fun although she

may be cute she's just a substitute because you're

the permanent one ...'



King and Big Harold wave Chris into the Circle and he starts

swaying with them, feeling as if he's being accepted into a new

family.



Rhah watches it all, puffing away on his magic dragon pipe, the

shadows dancing on the walls.



It looks like a Saturday night dance party. A yearning for

tenderness, for feminity, for a moment of peace in this nightmare

life. Their eyes closed, thinking of dance partners that can't

be here tonight. Singing their souls out.



ALL (CONT'D)

'... So take a good look at my face. You'll see the

smile looks out of place. Look a little bit closer.

It's easy to trace. The tracks of my tears...'



EXT. JUNGLE - NVA BUNKER COMPLEX - DAY



An overwhelming 103 degree heat. Chris is once more on point, a

little better now but obviously struggling with a thick

unyielding bamboo thicket that forces him forward in a caveman

crouch. Napalm jelly is hanging from the trees in great canopies

of spider webs, obliterating the sky.



CHRIS (V.O.)

New Year's Day, 1968. Just another day. Staying

alive. There's been a lot of movement neat the

Cambodian border, regiments of NVA moving across. A

lot of little firefights, ambushes, we drop a lot of

bombs, then we walk through the napalm like ghosts in

a landscape ...



Chris working his way over twisted, broken stumps, branches. On

the back of his flak jacket he's written, 'If I die bury me

upside down so the whole world can kiss my ass'.



BARNES

Pssst!



The signal for silence. Chris freezes. Barnes edging up to him.



BARNES (CONT'D)

(whispers)

Bunker ...



CHRIS

Where?



Doesn't see it. Following Barnes' imperceptible

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