G.I. Jane Page #17

DeHaven glances back at the doors to the Senate chamber --

the open doors. Walking Jordan a few steps away:

DEHAVEN:

Wickwire was there to help. To be

my eyes on the inside, to make sure

you were getting a fair shot. At

least that was the intent.

JORDAN:

What changed?

DEHAVEN:

Should probably ask him that.

JORDAN:

If I have to ask again, Senator,

I'll be asking in front of cameras.

It's a threat DeHaven doesn't appreciate. The Senate

DOORKEEPER appears.

DOORKEEPER:

Madam Senator? Your esteemed

colleagues are requesting --

DEHAVEN:

Two seconds, Walter.

(answering Jordan)

In 1981, the Supreme Court was

asked to rule on the issue of women

in combat positions. The Court

cited the 1948 Combat Exclusion Laws

as a legal foundation for keeping

women ineligible. That decision

held for all these years -- until

the White House, 10 days ago, moved

to have the Exclusion Laws voided.

To demolish that legal foundation.

JORDAN:

So? Isn't the President jumping on

your bandwagon?

DEHAVEN:

What he did was light the bandwagon

on fire. Because he knows what I

know -- that American families are

not prepared to put their daughters

in harm's way.

JORDAN:

You don't know that.

DEHAVEN:

In face, I do:
Roper, Harris,

Gallop -- they all come back the

same.

JORDAN:

What are you saying? That a women's

life is more valuable than a man's?

That a women's death hurts a family

more?

DEHAVEN:

I'm saying it's not going to happen.

Not when the President is set to

turn this into a third-rail issue

should I choose to ever campaign

against him. He will fry me six

ways to Sunday for sending daughters

and young mothers off to war -- and,

quite possibly, for bringing them

back in body bags.

Jordan shakes her head in disbelief. She has met the

enemy -- and she is us.

JORDAN:

You were never going to let women

serve in combat. You always had a

safety net. Or thought you did.

DEHAVEN:

Jordan. I don't expect you to fully

understand this -- but sometimes

there's more to be gained from the

fight than the victory.

JORDAN:

So the rhetoric gets you headlines.

But the reality gets you in trouble.

DEHAVEN:

The reality is this: We send far

too many men off to war. I don't

need to compound the problem with

women.

(off Jordan's look)

Can you honestly tell me you wanted

that life? Squat-pissing in some

third-world jungle with --

JORDAN:

I wanted the choice. The chance to

prove myself, my skills, my work,

me. That's how it should've been.

DOORKEEPER:

Madam Senator, once again I must --

DEHAVEN:

Just hold the goddamn clock, Walter.

Not happy about it, the doorkeeper reaches into an alcove,

grabs a broom he keeps around for just these occasions.

He enters the chamber...

INT. SENATE CHAMBER - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

... and moves behind the rostrum. Holding the broom by

the bristles, the doorkeeper stands on tip-toes...

And uses the broom handle to turn back the Senate clock by

three minutes.

Senators GROAN. It's an old trick played by senior

members -- and they all hate it when it happens to them.

INT. CLOAK ROOM - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

DEHAVEN:

I once promised you a fast ticket,

Jordan, and I always meant to make

good on that. Come work for me. I

can always use a hard-charger on my

team.

JORDAN:

You promise Wickwire a fast ticket,

too?

DEHAVEN:

I've had no direct communication

with him since this whole thing

began. And that's quite verifiable.

JORDAN:

I'm sure it is.

DEHAVEN:

You'll think about my offer?

JORDAN:

You know, I wonder what the SecNav

would think about it. If I spoke

with him.

DEHAVEN:

Well, I spoke with Mr. Hayes this

morning myself -- and told him the

deal was off. No more test cases.

He was only too happy to oblige.

(dangerously low)

Don't play politics with me, little

darlin'. You'd be up way past your

bedtime.

DOORKEEPER:

(distraught)

Madam Senator, please...

DEHAVEN:

I'll call you in a few days.

She flashes a winning smile and turns away. As the

chamber doors start to close behind her:

JORDAN:

So I wonder what the President would

think.

The last image we have of DeHaven is her whirling back,

startled. The DOORS BOOM CLOSED in her face.

EXT. C.O.'S HOUSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Through a window, we see the C.O. with a phone pressed to

his ear. He stands at attention even though wearing a

bathrobe. Half-audible through the glass:

C.O.

Yes sir. No, I'm not saying it

would be impossible, sir, just...

Yes sir. No sir. Yes sir. I can

appreciate that, sir. Good night,

sir.

INT. C.O.'S HOUSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

The C.O. hangs up and looks to Jordan, heretofore unseen.

She waits anxiously.

C.O.

Well, if you had to go over my

head, lieutenant, that's the way to

do it. Christ, nothin' like a 0-200

call from the Commander and Chief to

get the bowels movin'.

JORDAN:

Sir? What did he say?

C.O.

Basically -- he asked me if I could

unring a bell.

EXT. GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

START on the helmet graveyard. Hands enter FRAME to

reclaim one helmet in particular. TILT UP on Jordan,

back in the grinder, back in Navy greens.

The Spec-Recon class is here. Crewmates gawk like stone

idiots as Jordan takes her old place in the line-up.

C.O.

(to class)

One of you here understands better

than anyone what this is all about.

Someone who has engaged in conduct

unbecoming. Someone who knows, I

would hope, what he must now do.

CLOSE on Wickwire. Feeling the heat. Wondering if they

really know who it is. Now the C.O. parks himself right

in Wickwire's face.

C.O.

And unless that someone takes the

honorable way out in the next 10

seconds -- I will make certain he

faces action under the Uniform Code

of Military Justice.

Wickwire breaks rank and heads for the bell. He slows

when reaching Jordan, considering an apology he knows

would be inadequate.

JORDAN:

Just walk away and never stop.

He does. As Wickwire RINGS OUT:

C.O.

It seems we have an opening for

class officer. Any nominations?

Eyes swing to Jordan. Way ahead of them:

C.O.

All those in favor?

A CHORUS OF AYES. Jordan puddles up.

C.O.

Chief Urgayle, turning it back over

to you.

On his way to the front, the Chief stops to check in with

Jordan.

THE CHIEF:

Well, I'm trying to figure out if

you're stupid, unlucky, gluttonous

-- or some new alloy of all three.

JORDAN:

Good to see you again, too, sir.

THE CHIEF:

Okay, O'Neil. So you've impressed

all the others. Now try me.

EXT. CORONADO BRIDGE - DAY

The morning sun is an orange ball balanced on the Coronado

Bridge. In silhouette, pelicans circle, some dive-bombing

into the bay below. Suddenly a HELO HOWLS across the sun,

scattering the birds as it heads off-shore.

INT. HELO - DAY

THE CHIEF:

(setting watch)

Four... three... two... one... hack!

Flea, McCool, Slutnik, Cortez, Newberry, Jordan. Inside

the airborne helo, they synchronize their dive watches.

THE CHIEF:

Final assignment! Each crew will be

dropped 12 miles out! Between you

and the shore is a network of mines

and underwater obstacles! You will

clear the obstacles, you will tag

the mines with your crew number!

You have until 18-hundred to make

landfall!

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes