Platoon Page #2

ELIAS:

(concerned)

Hold it up.

On Chris - his eyes opening. He seems all right.

CHRIS:

(trying to get up)

I'm okay ... I'm okay.

Chris crumples backwards. Elias helps him.

EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - DUSK

The COMPANY - about 100 men who seem insignificant amid the size

of the surrounding jungle - is digging into a perimeter of some

100-yard radius. A RESUPPLY CHOPPER lifts off in a flurry of

blowing leaves. Bare-chested soldiers chop down trees, clear

fields of fire, set out claymores, fill sandbags, chow down.

Little fires snake up against the greying red horizon.

EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER 31 - DOC'S POSITION - DUSK

We cut close on a pair of grungy feet - the staple of the

infantry - moving up to DOC, the Medic, bandaging them for FU

SHENG, a Hawaiin kid.

EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - RHAH'S POSITION - DUSK

Rhah sets his tripflare. Crawford, with him, putting out a

claymore.

EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - RODRIGUEZ - POSITION - DUSK

Back in the perimeter RODRIGUEZ sets his M-60 in the newly dug

foxhole. SAL, next to him, is shaving in his helmet.

EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - KING'S POSITION - DUSK

KING looks like a king. A lion of a black man but with a sleepy,

gentle face, not to be roused, is painfully trying to scrawl a

letter home with the pencil held awkwardly, mouthing the words.

FRANCIS, a young baby-faced black with long lashes and soft eyes,

peeks over his shoulder, shaking his head.

FRANCIS:

Sh*t, King, it ain't d-e-r-e man, it's d-e-a-r, and

Sara don't have no two r's in it, fool. Shame on

you.

King shrugs, a sleepy stoned voice.

KING:

Don't matter, she knows what it means ... an she

don't read too good nohow ...

EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - COMPANY PC - DUSK

Sgt. Elias washes himself, attentive to his body, slender and

well-muscled, and extremely handsome youth. Of Indian blood,

with long black hair, generous smile, wide facial bone structure,

gypsy eyes, and the cleanest white teeth, he could be a young

Greek god. He is given somewhat to panache, a silver wristband

on his arm, a bandana of black parachute silk hanging from his

neck, his fatigues tightened down at the ankle, he pulls his

pants down, checking for crotch rot, applying talcum powder to

the area, his buttocks facing us.

LERNER, a white kid, 19, from Florida, stopping to admire the

frontal view.

LERNER:

Mumm, any time sweetheart.

ELIAS:

Lerner, you'd choke to death on it.

EXT. COMPANY PERIMETER #1 - COMPANY PC - DUSK

At the COMPANY COMMAND POST a beehive of activity with its four

radios, personnel, some Vietnamese scouts milling around.

CAPTAIN HARRIS is running down a field map with his THREE

LIEUTENANTS. Harris, a broad-shouldered fine-looking military

specimen with the requisite Southern accent and football coach

mannerism, is directing his remark to 2nd Platoon's LT.WOLFE, who

looks a little nervous.

CAPTAIN HARRIS:

Sky Six reports a fresh company of NVA moving across

from Cambodia to this blue line.

(points to position)

We got a good chance to light 'em up tonight. All

platoons will set squad-size ambushes before full

dark. Lt. Wolfe

(glances at him)

You 'bush in this area near that ol' Buddhist temple

we passed on the hump in. Lt. Hawkins, you take this

area in the rubber plantation...

LIEUTENANT WOLFE

(eager)

No problem sir ...

EXT. PLATOON PERIMETER #1 - CHRIS' FOXHOLE - DUSK

Elsewhere, Chris scrapes out a foxhole, his shirt off, bandana

around his head, the work hot and heavy.

TEX is out there setting the claymore as BIG HAROLD and JUNIOR

start breaking down their C's.

JUNIOR:

(a whining high voice)

Hey Big Harold, gimme your peaches for the fruitcake

man.

BIG HAROLD:

(laughes loudly)

F*** you b*tch.

JUNIOR:

C'mon man, didn't I do you right that time I give you

the turkey loaf for the ham and lima beans sh*t.

BIG HAROLD:

Tricky b*tch, reason you gimme dat turkey loaf is

nobody else can eat that sh*t 'cept me so don't start

your game playing with me Junior.

They're both black, Junior with huge goggle eyes and a face of

pimples and pockmarks, his teeth yellowed and decayed, some of

them missing. Harold is about twice his size, about 250 pounds,

a baby huey concentrating real hard on preparing his stove to eat

with.

JUNIOR:

Youse a pig man. I hope Manny get dat laundry gig

for' you do.

BIG HAROLD:

De fool think he's gonna get it but he ain't known

for his thinking.

JUNIOR:

He's a fool alright but you a bigger fool. Hey,

whiteboy, watcha waiting for - dat hole ain't gonna

dig itself ...

Chris looks up, continues working, as Junior chuckles.

JUNIOR (CONT'D)

Hey Taylor, you don't know it but I saved your ass

today. I killed a sh*t-eating dog.

(laughing)

BIG HAROLD:

(getting up)

That reminds me, I gotta take a sh*t.

JUNIOR:

You gonna wipe your ass dis time?

BIG HAROLD:

Yeah if you let me have your shirt.

CHRIS:

(VOICE OVER, as he digs)

Somebody once wrote Hell is the impossibility of

Reason. That's what this place feels like. I hate

it already and it's only been a week. Some goddamn

week, grandma ...

(checking his raw blisters)

... the hardest thing I think I've ever done is to go

on point, 3 times this week - I don't even know what

I'm doing. A gook could be standing 3 feet in front

of me and I wouldn't know it, I'm so tired. We get

up at 5 a.m., hump all day, camp around 4 or 5 p.m.,

dig foxhole, eat, then put out an all-night ambush or

a 3-man listening post in the jungle. It's scary

cause nobody tells me how to do anything cause I'm

new and nobody cares about the new guys, they don't

even want to know your name. The unwritten rule is a

new guy's life isn't worth as much cause he hasn't

put his time in yet - and they say if you're gonna

get killed in the Nam it's better to get it in the

first few weeks, the logic being: you don't suffer

that much. I can believe that ... If you're lucky

you get to stay in the perimeter at night and then

you pull a 3-hour guard shift, so maybe you sleep 3-4

hours a night, but you don't really sleep ... I don't

think I can keep this up for a year, grandma - I

think I've made a big mistake coming here ...

As he speaks, we cut around to various shots of the platoon

members on the perimeter - shaving, eating, cooking, playing, etc

...

EXT. PLATOON PC - NIGHT

Towards the end of this voice over, we cut to Sgt. BARNES moving

towards the PLATOON PC. A powerful face, a quiet, angry fixed

stare, a thick trimmed moustache that helps conceal a network of

plastic surgery grafts and scars. The distortion from the jaw up

the left side of his face to his forehead, punctuated by a severe

indentation above the left eye where a bullet once penetrated his

skull.

Walking with him is Sgt. O'NEILL as they join WOLFE, Sgts. ELIAS

and WARREN at the PLATOON PC where they're huddled over maps.

Warren is a black, thin, tall, paranoid man with untrusting eyes,

silent and bitter.

BARNES:

(to all, almost pleased about it)

We got boo-coo movement. 3rd Battalion just got hit

15 kliks north of here.

(the MEN react with wary silence)

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