G.I. Jane Page #5

The trainees shuffling into formation like the living

dead. Jordan is still among them.

EXT. THE GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

THE CHIEF:

You have noticed a ship's bell

hanging at the west side of this

courtyard. If, at any time, you

feel you cannot continue with your

training -- that bell is your

salvation. Strike it three times,

and the ordeal is over.

Nervous eyes flick to the bell.

THE CHIEF:

Yes, it is a long walk. So I'll

make it as easy as I can.

He turns his back to the class.

THE CHIEF:

Now you don't have to watch me

watching you break rank. Because I

know someone here wants to do it.

CAMERA SEARCHES their faces. There isn't one trainee here

who hasn't thought about it. Including Jordan.

THE CHIEF:

Now I know what you're thinking...

SLUTNIK:

(low)

I'm thinkin' we could jump him right

now...

THE CHIEF:

"Can I really take 15 weeks of this

bubonic a**hole?" If you don't know

the answer to that question, the

answer is "No, you cannot." And

that is another historical fact. So

do it. Admit you don't have what it

takes... admit you are out of your

depth -- or we're all heading back

to the beach right now.

(waiting a beat)

Instructors! Time hack!

Following the Chief's lead, Instructors lift their dive

watches.

THE CHIEF:

Six... five... four... three...

two... one... HACK!

(to class)

The time is now 12-hundred. The sun

is shining brightly. Plenty of

daylight left for another phone-pole

run...

GROANS behind him. The groans give way to the SOUND OF

BOOTS breaking rank.

INT. ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

BLONDELL'S POV:
Of a lone figure crossing to the bell.

EXT. GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

QUICK CLOSEUPS of Miller, Slutnik, Wickwire, turning to

watch someone cross the grinder. At least we know who it

isn't.

CLOSE on the Chief as the BELL RINGS THREE TIMES. He

turns around to find...

Stamm at the bell.

For the first time, the Chief looks dead-bang at Jordan.

Was he expecting her?

THE CHIEF:

Leave your helmet there, Stamm.

Back to the barracks.

Stamm drops his helmet and limps away.

THE CHIEF:

The rest of you should remember one

thing. The only easy day was today.

Lieutenant Wickwire? Turning it

over to you.

WICKWIRE:

Cuh-lass, face right!

They march off.

INT. MESS HALL - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Dead-ass tired, Jordan slides her tray down the line,

piling on food that means nothing more than raw calories.

She heads for...

A table of trainees, one spot open. Seeing her coming,

the guys shift position. Suddenly the table is full.

ENGLAND:

Better look elsewhere, O'Neil.

Jordan glares. None of them meet her eyes. She wheels

around -- and now all eyes are on her, watching her ass

walk away. FEATURE Slutnik, the walking sperm bank.

SLUTNIK:

Half a night, Lord, just gimme half

a night to set her straight...

Jordan tries another table. This one, too, becomes

abruptly full. As Jordan leaves, HOLD on Miller. He's a

human eclipse -- six-three, 220, the perfect commando

physique. Instructors wish they could clone him.

MILLER:

Average woman is 25 percent body

fat. That's one-quarter fat, man.

Think about that.

MCCOOL:

Nice distribution, though.

MILLER:

No way does she makes this program.

No way.

After wandering the mess hall like a homeless person,

Jordan finds refuge at a table with female mess stewards.

They look at her with blank faces. No understanding. No

compassion.

EXT. B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Jordan walks in a bathrobe, toweling her hair dry. She

fishes for keys at her door.

VOICE:

It's not so much that they hate

you...

Jordan looks. Someone is sitting on an outdoor table,

smoking. He leans into the light so she can see his face.

It's Wickwire, the mid-30s lieutenant who doubles as class

officer. He's dangerously handsome.

WICKWIRE:

They're more afraid of you.

JORDAN:

Well, now I feel so much better.

WICKWIRE:

It was made clear before you came --

harassment equals career suicide.

Can't say anything good, so they

don't say much at all. To your

face, anyway.

JORDAN:

Whose orders were those?

WICKWIRE:

It was made clear.

(getting up)

Anyway, stay ballsy. First week's

hell, then it levels out. Until

S.E.R.E. training, anyway. That's

hell-and-a-half.

JORDAN:

And how do you know that?

WICKWIRE:

Made it to Week 10 last time.

JORDAN:

I didn't know they let you try

again. Especially at your age.

WICKWIRE:

You're kind of a surprise yourself.

A faint grin from Wickwire before he shadows back across

the courtyard that separates the two B.O.Q. buildings.

Back across no-man's land.

INT. JORDAN'S B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Two beds. Matching lockers. A desk, a chair, a mirror.

All overwhelmingly dull.

Jordan drops the robe off her shoulders to take inventory

of her body. Both sides of her neck are bruised from the

phone-pole run. Her back and thighs are sand-burned.

Mirror cuts abound. She's already a mess.

Jordan uncaps some cologne. It's a vestige of her old

life she's not going to surrender. She sniffs. Savors.

Dabs. Looks back in the mirror...

And breaks out laughing. It's like dropping a rose in a

cesspool.

EXT. SILVER STRAND HIGHWAY - CORONADO - DAY

A PHOTOGRAPHER stands near a car parked just outside the

base. He's peering through a 600mm lens.

PHOTOGRAPHER'S POV: FOCUSING through cyclone fencing...

PANNING past the sand dunes... and finding green-clad

trainees gathered at an obstacle course.

EXT. OBSTACLE COURSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

An explosion of sand: England and Wickwire belly-flop

into a sand pit and speed-crawl under barbed wire. Clear,

they gain their feet and blitz toward...

The rolling logs. They balance-beam their way to...

The rope climb. Racing to the top, they reach a platform

and fling themselves down onto...

The high poles. They land awkwardly, losing their wind

and their grip, tumbling into the sand pit below before...

Racing for the finish. The Chief thumbs a stopwatch.

THE CHIEF:

England, 88 seconds. You're good to

go for the slide-for-life.

Wickwire, roll back till you get

south of 90.

WICKWIRE:

F***. Yes sir.

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

Who'd you kiss to get back in here,

anyway?

Wickwire dusts off and starts back for...

The starting line. Stepping up next is Cortez, the human

fighting cock. Jordan lines up beside him and psyches up

for the first obstacle -- and eight-foot sheer wall.

INSTRUCTOR JOHNS

Hang on, here...

He grabs something off a truck and positions it at the

base of the wall. It's a little two-step platform.

SNICKERS, MOANS from the guys. Cortez can barely contain

his disgust.

CORTEZ:

Aw, what is this...

JORDAN:

(mortified)

Sir...

INSTRUCTOR JOHNS

Don't have to use it, O'Neil, but

it's gotta go out.

(calling out)

Five... four... three...

JORDAN:

I can make this wall without --

INSTRUCTOR JOHNS

... two... one... MARK!

Cortez blurs away. Jordan starts a step late.

Cortez takes the wall clean. Eschewing the two-step,

Jordan jumps right over it -- but jumps too far out

because of it. She takes the wall awkwardly.

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