Saving Private Ryan Page #6

The other officers freeze, listening without turning. Colonel

Anderson glares at Miller.

COLONEL ANDERSON

You think just because you hold the

Congressional Medal of Honor, you

can say any damn thing you please to

your superior officers?

Miller considers the question, then smiles.

MILLER:

Yes, sir, more or less.

Colonel Anderson looks as if he's about to bit Miller's head

off, then he smiles, too.

COLONEL ANDERSON

Alright, I'll give you that.

Continue.

MILLER:

The numbers don't make sense, sir.

His brothers are dead, that's too

bad, but they're out of the equation.

Sending men up there is bleeding

heart crapola from three thousand

miles away. One private is simply

not worth a squad. Colonel anderson

This one is. He's worth a lot more

than that. Which is why I'm sending

you, you're the best field officer

there is.

Miller Shrugs.

MILLER:

Yes and no, sir, what about Morgan?

Fine officer, regular church goer,

writes poetry, he might like a mission

like this.

(beat)

And he's taller than me.

Colonel Anderson listens with amused tolerance, but it's

time to get back to business.

COLONEL ANDERSON

That's enough, Captain, you have

your orders. Major Thomas will fill

you in.

Miller knows when to back off. He salutes.

MILLER:

Yes, sir.

Miller and Colonel Anderson exchange a private look.

COLONEL ANDERSON

Good luck, John.

MILLER:

Thank you, sir.

Miller joins Major Thomas at one of the smaller map tables.

Colonel Anderson watches Miller for an instant, then notices

the other officers in the tent watching. A glare and they

go back to work.

EXT. BATTLESHIP - DAY

A MASSIVE BARRAGE of fifteen-inch shells BLASTS from the

deck of the enormous ship.

EXT. CRATER FIELD - CRANBERRY BOG - DAY

HUGE EXPLOSIONS. The big naval shells SLAM into the German

position on the far side of the cranberry bog crater field.

IN THE CRATERS:

Miller's Ranger company ducks and

covers. The BARRAGE SUBSIDES. The

Rangers rise, FIRING, leap-frogging

from crater to crater, advancing

against the remaining Germans who

return SMALL ARMS FIRE.

MILLER:

Crouch-runs and dives into a crater

with Sarge.

MILLER:

Put on your traveling shoes, Sarge,

we're heading out.

SARGE:

Caen?

MILLER:

I wish. You and I are taking a squad

up to Ramelle on a public relations

mission.

SARGE:

You? Leading a squad?

MILLER:

Some private up there lost three

brothers, got a ticket home.

SARGE:

What about the company?

MILLER:

Simpson.

SARGE:

Simpson? Jesus Christ on a f***ing

pogo stick!

MILLER:

I want Reiben on B.A.R; Jackson with

his sniper rifle; Beasley, demolition.

SARGE:

Beasley's dead.

MILLER:

Okay, Wade. Translators?

SARGE:

Fresh out.

MILLER:

What about Talbot?

SARGE:

Twenty minutes ago. Miller Damn,

I'll go see if I can find another

one. You get Reiben, Jackson and

Wade, meet me at transport.

SARGE:

Yes, sir.

They wait for a lull in the firing, then scramble out of the

crater and crouch-run in opposite directions.

EXT. TRANSPORT H.Q. - NINETEENTH INFANTRY - DAY

Just in from the beaches. DISTANT ARTILLERY AND EXPLOSIONS.

Nothing close. Dust. Confusion. Vehicles of every sort

moving out. Tanks, half-tracks, troop trucks. In the middle

of the mess, a cigar-chewing SUPPLY SERGEANT works at a make-

shift desk made out of crate. He yells at a PRIVATE.

SUPPLY SERGEANT:

GET THOSE GODDAMNED HALF-TRACKS OUT

OF THERE!

Private They're blocked in!

SERGEANT:

THEN UNBLOCK 'EM!

SARGE:

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