G.I. Jane Page #11

They laugh.

BLONDELL:

Sounds funny now, but it's really

not. We have to be careful. The

Navy still knows how to put on a

witch-hunt.

Reaching the quarterdeck, they scan a message board.

Jordan finds a half-dozen phone slips for her.

JORDAN:

Royce...

INT. GEORGETOWN APARTMENT - NIGHT

ROYCE:

(into phone)

I've been trying you for five days.

Don't they give you messages?

JORDAN (V.O.)

It's hard to find time to sleep,

Royce. Much less keep up with my

phone life.

ROYCE:

How hard they making it on you?

EXT. PHONE KIOSK - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Jordan sighs and slumps against the phone kiosk. Where to

start?

ROYCE (V.O.)

That bad?

JORDAN:

I feel like there's men here,

there's women here -- then there's

men. But hey, what'd I expect?

INTERCUTTING Jordan and Royce:

ROYCE:

Well, not this. I was doing the

Pentagon scene few nights ago. Got

some fresh stuff -- about you. You

may be in a hostile camp. I think

someone may be taking steps to

ensure that you crash and burn.

JORDAN:

Me? Why me?

ROYCE:

Don't you know? How they're talking

about you?

JORDAN:

I saw an article...

ROYCE:

I can't walk two blocks in

Washington without hearing about

"G.I. Jane." You're all over the

place, and whether you wanted it or

not, the feminists are sizing you up

for that poster.

Jordan's face sours with an errant thought.

JORDAN:

So why are you telling me this?

ROYCE:

Big symbols make big targets,

Jordan. I think someone's gunning

for you.

JORDAN:

You know, Royce, I got enough heat

on me without you turning up the

jets, too.

ROYCE:

I'm only trying to warn you in

case --

JORDAN:

Well, let me warm you: I'm going

though with this. The more

everybody fucks with me, fucks with

my head, the more it just makes me

want to finish. So don't expect me

back crying in your arms any time

soon, okay?

ROYCE:

That's not what I want, Jordan. I

mean... it is and it isn't...

JORDAN:

Still can't make up your mind, huh?

Gotta go, Royce.

ROYCE:

Jordan. You watch your ass.

JORDAN:

Sure. I'll join the crowd.

EXT. AIR STATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

A HELO WARMS UP on its pad.

Crew Six approaches, garbed in black wetsuits, loaded down

with weapons and rucksacks. Jordan is at the lead.

INT. HELO - NIGHT

The helo is airborne. Sitting on rucksacks, trainees

slather their faces with green camouflage paint. Over the

HOWLING ROTORS:

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

Infiltrate... establish your hide-

site... record any movement of

troops, vehicles, patrols -- any

activity inside your scan. If you

are compromised, you have two

options! Newberry!

Newberry is the new sixth man. He's young enough to still

have a hyperactive Adam's apple.

NEWBERRY:

Evasive maneuvers or radio for

emergency extraction, sir!

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

If you are extracting, be damn sure

to follow procedures you have

learned in your classroom training!

A helo cannot extract you from a

wooded area! You must bring it down

in a clearing! What's the minimum

clearance for an MH-60 Black Hawk,

McCool?

MCCOOL:

32 feet, six inches, sir!

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

You will be penalized for early

extraction, but you will be

penalized more for capture -- trust

me, far more! Survival! Evasion!

Rescue! Evacuation! Welcome to

S.E.R.E.!

EXT. OCEAN - NIGHT

The helo swoops low over the water, moon silhouetting.

Black figures helo-cast into the ocean.

INT. HELO - NIGHT

Last out, Jordan is poised to follow when...

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

Lieutenant! Don't back down!

Jordan looks back. "What the hell does that mean?"

Offering no elaboration, Pyro signals "GO!" Jordan

springs clear...

EXT. OCEAN - NIGHT

... and knifes into black water.

The HELO PATTERS away.

An inky stillness overtakes the world.

Jordan activates a red-light beacon, sweeps it around,

revealing her position to...

Her crew. Five black faces regroup around her.

SLUTNIK:

Feel right at home, McCool?

They secure weapons atop their waterproof rucksacks.

Jordan checks a heat-bearing compass.

JORDAN:

(nodding direction)

South-southeast. And I don't want

to hear another word till we're

underground.

Pushing rucksacks ahead of them, they start swimming

towards...

A moonlit shoreline. Half-mile ahead.

EXT. ROCKY SHORELINE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - NIGHT

Jordan's crew reaches shallow water. They deflate their

vests and rucksacks. Jordan trades her face mask for

night-vision goggles.

NIGHT-VISION POV: Sweeping the rocks. Nothing at first.

Then two "hostiles" appear, patrolling the rocks.

Jordan motions "down." Six faces sink from sight.

NIGHT-VISION/UNDERWATER POV: Of the "hostile" patrol

moving on.

They resurface. On Jordan's cue, the crew sheds flippers

and begins scaling rocks. They've made landfall.

EXT. HIDE-SITE MONTAGE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - NIGHT

MONTAGE:
Racing the coming sun, Jordan's crew builds

their hide-site... digging feverishly... filling sand

bags... telescoping open a roof pole, fanning out spars...

laying canvas roof panels into place... camouflaging the

panels... sprinkling sanitizing powder around the

perimeter to ward off animals. INTERCUT WITH...

A snake slithering across the ground. As it nears the

hide-site...

A knife whacks its head off.

Slutnik picks up the carcass, kicks dirt over the severed

head. No trace.

EXT. SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

CAMERA PANS the island, awash in morning light. Woodlands

lie distant. A road is the only man-made feature -- until

in FOREGROUND, we find a spotting scope poking from the

ground.

INT. HIDE-SITE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

SCOPE POV:
Of the road. Fast-attack vehicles approach.

MCCOOL:

(peering into scope)

Got two FAVs moving south. I

make... four banditos aboard,

carrying... H-60 machine guns...

Jordan REPEATS THE INFO into a digital tape-recorder, adds

the time.

JORDAN:

Newberry, get a photo. South?

CORTEZ:

Entering my scan now...

JORDAN:

West?

SLUTNIK:

Clear.

JORDAN:

North?

FLEA:

Clear.

SCOPE POV:
Of the FAVs disappearing down the road.

CORTEZ:

FAVs clear.

Everyone relaxes -- as much as six people can in a hole

five feet-wide. McCool opens up MREs (Meals Ready to Eat)

Slutnik guts his snake.

MCCOOL:

You mind? I'm trying to eat here.

SLUTNIK:

So am I.

Cortez finishes pissing into a tin pot. He transfers the

waste to a zip-lock baggy, offers the pot.

CORTEZ:

Anyone?

He looks at Jordan. She eyes the pot, tempted and nettled

at the same time.

FLEA:

Don't wanna evacuate 'cuz someone

came down with uric poisoning, el-

tee.

Abruptly Jordan unzips, drops her pants, sticks the pot

under her. It raises eyebrows: It's a far cry from when

she was covering up in cold water.

JORDAN:

Didn't even b*tch about the seat,

did I?

EXT. SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

WIDE VIEW:
As a lone figure appears on foot.

INT. HIDE-SITE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

MCCOOL:

What the... Got an unknown here.

100 yards north-northeast.

They pile up at McCool's scope. Jordan bulls her way

through.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes