Fury

OVER A BLACK SCREEN:

April 1945 -- The Allied Armies strike at the heart of

Germany. In four weeks the Third Reich will be no more...

1 EXT. FARMER'S FIELD - PREDAWN 1

Thick morning fog blankets all. A faint glow in the East.

It's quiet save for the DISTANT RUMBLE of artillery.

Super title:
Somewhere in Nazi Germany...

A Spanish Arabian STALLION emerges from the fog. A wasp

waisted German Army LIEUTENANT erect in its saddle. His

disciplined horse elegantly picks its way over the furrowed

soil. A dark hulk looms in the mist -- Horse and rider

approach...

IT'S A BURNED OUT TANK -- An American Sherman. Still

smoldering. Steel armor ripped open like tin foil.

The Lieutenant moves on. Encounters another charred tank.

Its entire turret blown off. A small fire still burns

inside. Around it are the blackened twisted shapes of burnt

shrunken men.

He moves on. Another hulk emerges from the mist --This tank

looks like a scrap heap -- Sandbags, railroad ties, sloppy

steel plate, cases of wine, rations and ammunition.

Battered, scarred and seemingly abandoned.

The Lieutenant guides his horse in a slow circle around the

armored vehicle. He HEARS a faint CLINK -- And draws his

Luger from its shiny black holster -- THEN:

An AMERICAN SOLDIER hiding BEHIND THE TURRET leaps on him...

Tearing the German from his horse. The two men CRASH to the

ground. The American stabs the Lieutenant in the face --

THWICK-THWICK-THWICK! Fast, violent, shocking...

The American then carefully slides the knife blade behind the

German's eye -- Piercing his brainpan with a CRACK. The

German convulses for a moment. And dies...

The American retrieves his knife. Wipes it clean on the

German's uniform and scans the area with burning primal eyes.

This is DON "WARDADDY" COLLIER. Late twenties he looks

middle aged. A light beard and hollow cheeks. Years of

combat have ground him into something hard and sharp.

With the mechanical clumsiness of exhaustion, Wardaddy cuts

the mapcase from the German's belt. Then rips the large

Knight's Cross medal from the dead man's neck.

Wardaddy stands to his full impressive height in his oil

blackened overalls. He crosses to the horse. He grabs the

beautiful animal's bridal and looks at it for a moment...

(CONTINUED)

Pink Revision - 30th Oct 2.

1 CONTINUED:
1

Eye to eye. Connecting with the animal. With incredible

gentleness he rubs its muzzle. And kisses it...

Then he pulls his knife -- The horse jerks back, but Wardaddy

holds it firm. He knows horses...

THWICK! -- He cuts off the bridle, slips the bit from its

mouth. He unbuckles the saddle and drops it to the soil.

Wardaddy looking at the horse. Then it heads back the way it

came -- Now without rider and tack...

Wardaddy climbs aboard his tank --Her name is "FURY" -- It's

painted on her cannon...

2 INT. FURY - PREDAWN 2

Dark. Cramped. Crowded. A filthy machine with filthy men.

There's two main areas --THE TURRET BASKET -- A big

cylindrical cage that spins with the turret.

And the BOW -- The front of the tank where the driver and a

machine gunner sit. The sound of piss hitting tin...

BOYD "BIBLE" SWAN is draped casually across the cannon

breech. A pastor's kid from Des Moines, he's serious, calm,

centered. You'd never guess he's killed a thousand men. He

finishes urinating into an ammo can.

TRINI "GORDO" GARCIA sits in the driver's seat sipping wine

from a bottle. A Mexican butcher from Chicago. He's been

drunk since 1942. He once went into combat sober -- And

vowed never to do it again.

Next to Gordo, the transmission housing between them, is the

body of RED. A blood soaked jacket pulled over his head.

His blood spattered inside the tank.

GRADY "COON-ASS" TRAVIS, a good-old-boy from Arkansas, is

wedged into the battery compartment fixing a short. He's

cunning, viscous and World wise.

Wardaddy drops down into the Commander's hatch.

COON-ASS

Get that f***er?

WARDADDY:

I knocked him off.

Gordo offers Red a drink, pushes the bottle into his

shoulder. Whispers to him...

BIBLE:

Gordo. Stop. Leave him rest.

WARDADDY:

He's dead. Or did you forget? Drunk

damn fool.

(CONTINUED)

Pink Revision - 30th Oct 3.

2 CONTINUED:
2

Gordo shoots them a dirty look. Keeps whispering to his dead

friend. Wardaddy watches Coon-Ass work.

WARDADDY (CONT’D)

Goddammit. Ain't you done?

COON-ASS

Keep ridin' me.

WARDADDY:

I'm not riding you. If I was, you'd know

it. More where he came from.

Wardaddy tosses Bible the Knight's Cross -- Bible hangs it in

the turret --Where more German combat decorations hang like

Christmas ornaments.

WARDADDY (CONT’D)

You get some canned bacon for this?

He tosses Gordo the dead Officer's Luger. He inspects it.

GORDO:

For this? Yeah. A case or two.

Wardaddy lights a cigarette. Then scratches another notch in

his knife with his GI can opener. It's tense -- They are

behind German lines and acutely aware of the danger they're

in. But danger becomes routine. After years of it...

Coon-Ass smirks -- KNOWING he'll get a rise...

COON-ASS

How come you didn't shoot that horse?

You love shooting horses so much.

Wardaddy darkens with outrage -- He works his way over to

Coon-Ass and begins kicking the Hell out of him.

COON-ASS (CONT’D)

Stop it! What's that for?

WARDADDY:

You know what it's for.

COON-ASS

Why you always whoopin' on me?

WARDADDY:

Because you're an animal. A dog. All

you understand is the fist and boot.

COON-ASS

Bull-sheeet. I understand me the p*ssy

and the gun. Killin' and f***in'.

WARDADDY:

In that order?

(CONTINUED)

Pink Revision - 30th Oct 4.

2 CONTINUED:
(2) 2

COON-ASS

Maybe. Timing's important. I like me

warm p*ssy. Pipin' hot.

GORDO:

You still talking? Can we get out of

here? Everyone shut up.

WARDADDY:

You shut up. You're a goddamn bottle of

wine. Stink like wine. Think like wine.

Alcohol never solved nothing.

GORDO:

Neither did milk. Let's go. Vamanos.

Vamanos ya.

WARDADDY:

Wanna talk Mexican? Find another tank.

A Mexican tank. This is an American

tank. We talk American.

GORDO:

Who put a nickel in you? You talk Kraut.

You can talk German and I can't talk

Spanish?

WARDADDY:

I use my German as a tool of war.

Coon-Ass grabs his crotch...

COON-ASS

Here's my tool of war.

Bible realizes this isn't about horses or Spanish. It's

about Red --The man with his head blown off in the Bow

Gunner's seat. Bible hands Wardaddy some coffee he warmed on

a Coleman stove.

WARDADDY:

Thanks, Boyd.

BIBLE:

Stop ragging on everyone. You didn't

kill Red. The German's did.

WARDADDY:

That's true. But I sure didn't keep him

alive.

BIBLE:

His number came up. That's all. We've

been lucky. Until now. Settle down.

Wardaddy adds sugar to his coffee. Stirs it with a greasy

callused finger. He opens the German's mapcase --Discovers

several maps...

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