G.I. Jane Page #7

JORDAN:

Funny, the C.O. says I can.

She slaps orders on his chest, continues to unpack.

SLUTNIK:

Aw, lookit this, lookit this --

she's bringin' Tampax in here.

C'mon, you got nothin' but rooms

over there.

JORDAN:

That your desk? I'll take this one.

SLUTNIK:

WOULD YOU JUST GET OUTTA HERE?

JORDAN:

(whirling on him)

Listen, Sex Ape. I'm here to stay.

And if you don't want me for a

roommate or classmate, you got two

options -- move out or ring out.

End of file.

Slutnik stalks out. Jordan fires a look at the innocent

bystander here, McCool. He was studying at his desk when

the fireworks began.

JORDAN:

What about you, McCool? Any problem

with the room assignment?

McCool -- an imperturbable black lieutenant -- just goes

back to his manuals.

MCCOOL:

"It's not a job -- it's an

adventure."

EXT. OCEAN - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

START on flares igniting overhead. FOLLOW the flares as

they parachute down into the surf to illuminate...

The class, standing in one long line, arms linked. As

black waves knock out their legs, we're reminded of show

girls kicking their way through some macabre review.

EXT. BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Firing flare guns and working their bullhorns:

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

58 degrees this morning! That's not

a bad water temp, really -- if

you're standing where we are!

INSTRUCTOR JOHNS

Slurred speech, lack of proper motor

control, short-term amnesia -- all

early signs of hypothermia!

Advanced hypothermia is easy to

detect in a classmate! He'll look

like he's dead!

THE CHIEF:

Body heat. In situations of extreme

cold, you can always count on body

heat to keep you alive -- and I do

not mean your own. We will break

you of the cultural barriers that

dictate you should not invade

another man's space. Are any of you

in a situation of extreme cold right

now?

INTERCUTTING trainees and instructors:

CLASS:

Yes, sir!

THE CHIEF:

Then why aren't you all over the man

next to you?

The class pivots 90 degrees and starts to close rank.

Behind Jordan, Montgomery (a.k.a. "Flea") hesitates:

He's a bantam-weight from Georgia, his manners bred into

the bone. He just can't find a delicate way to grab

Jordan without mounting her.

JORDAN:

Just do it, okay?

INSTRUCTOR JOHNS

If you can't feel the other guy's

pecker, you ain't in tight enough!

I want nuts to butts!

JORDAN:

Come on, Montgomery...

INSTRUCTOR JOHNS

Flea! O'Neil! Why is there a break

in that line?

Finally Jordan grabs Flea by the neck, pushes him ahead

and mounts him. The class closes down into a long human

snake.

JORDAN:

(in his ear)

Montgomery, why do they call you

"Flea"?

FLEA:

It's really "F. Lee Montgomery" --

but that gets whittled down to just

"Flea." For short, ma'am.

JORDAN:

So it really has nothing to do with

actual brain size?

FLEA:

No, ma'am.

JORDAN:

Well, Flea, I appreciate the respect

you just showed me. But I don't

need it and don't want it -- not

that kind of respect, anyway. It's

just gonna hurt us both, okay?

FLEA:

I'll work on it, ma'am.

JORDAN:

Do that.

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

(to the Chief)

Time.

THE CHIEF:

Check your watch, Pyro. Seems fast.

CAMERA POLLS the grim, blue-lipped faces in the water.

Jordan feels Flea starting to shake. Badly.

JORDAN:

Hey. You okay, Flea?

FLEA:

'Snot me. It's him.

Two bodies ahead, it's the big bruiser, Miller, who's

shuddering. Jordan feels him shaking through Flea.

MILLER:

Jesus, my hands... they aren't

workin' right...

NEWBERRY:

How long i'zis for?

WICKWIRE:

'Sposed to be 20-minute intervals,

no more.

NEWBERRY:

Swear each time's gettin' longer.

MCCOOL:

This where you bailed last time,

Wick?

WICKWIRE:

Huh-uh -- but wasn't middla February

last time, either.

FLEA:

How you doin', Miller? Miller?

No answer. Bad sign. On shore:

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

22 minutes...

Ignoring, the Chief lifts his bullhorn:

THE CHIEF:

Remember, all this is completely

voluntary. For any of you who don't

want to continue, Instructor Johns

is now serving coffee and danish at

the ambulance.

A portable light comes on. Indeed, an instructor is

setting up coffee service.

THE CHIEF:

Any takers?

SLUTNIK:

He's the f***in' Antichrist.

MCCOOL:

Wick! They really got donuts over

there? Or just some'a last night's

dinner rolls?

FLEA:

Look like donuts to me...

JORDAN:

(in disbelief)

What're you guys doing? Huh?

MCCOOL:

Just askin'

JORDAN:

What, you gonna give it all up for a

maple twist? How dumb you gotta be?

That's exactly what they --

Suddenly the line rips apart. It's Miller, breaking for

shore.

CLASS:

NO!

Soon the dyke is bursting everywhere: Four others break

rank, following Miller's lead.

The deserters stagger onto the beach. MEDICS close in

quick, draping them with blankets, shining flashlights in

their faces, asking brain-check question.

MEDICS:

Tell me what day this is... look at

me now... what city are you from,

sailor... here, look right here...

A medic nods to the Chief. No hypothermia. Not yet.

THE CHIEF:

You want another minute to think

about this? Huh?

(no response; to

Miller directly)

Do any of you want to reconsider?

Avoiding his eyes, Miller wags his head.

THE CHIEF:

Johnson. Get 'em out of my scan.

It's a death sentence. As the quitters slouch for the

coffee truck...

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

By my watch... which, of course

appears to be broken... they've been

in 27 minutes without the benefit of

protective gear.

TIGHT on the Chief. Scanning the remaining trainees.

Thinking about holding out out for one more.

TIGHT on Jordan. Knowing who he's waiting for. Wondering

if she can outlast him.

THE CHIEF:

(into bullhorn)

Everybody out.

With a SHIVERING CHEER, the trainees stampede ashore,

grabbing blankets, trading body-bumps and high-fives.

Jordan gets swept up in the esprit: They've conquered a

common enemy. But when she tries to get high-fived...

The guys turn their backs. It's a cold rebuff, worse then

any water.

HOLD TIGHT on Jordan. Shivering. Watching the guys drift

away. Hating them.

WICKWIRE:

Hey. Way to gut it out.

JORDAN:

Thanks, Wick.

INT. INSTRUCTOR'S OFFICE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

The instructors are shuffling muster lists, reorganizing

the class. B.G., the BELL TOLLS again and again.

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

(shaking head)

Miller. Thought the guy was made of

depleted uranium. Really didn't

expect to lose him.

THE CHIEF:

Every class has its surprises, Pyro.

This one'll be no different.

EXT. GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Blondell crosses the grinder with another female ensign,

tall and striking. Passing the bell, Blondell checks

on...

The helmets lined up beneath. A dozen already.

An O.S. CADENCE CALL -- then, led by Wickwire, trainees

double-time into the grinder, uniforms drenched from a

beach run. Among them, still, is Jordan. It brings a

Mona Lisa smile to Blondell's face.

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

Change those clothes, be back here

in six minutes! And I am timing

you!

The class scatters. Slutnik hits the brakes when he sees

Blondell and her friend.

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