Stalag 17 Page #16

HARRY:

Sure, Animal! I'll get you over there!

STOSH:

How? Pinky Miller from Barrack 8

tried to get over there and they

shot him in the leg!

HARRY:

It takes a gimmick, Animal, and I

figured us a little gimmick.

STOSH:

You did?

HARRY:

(tapping his forehead)

Sharp. Sometimes I'm so sharp it's

frightening.

Cookie slides over the two tin jiggers. Harry picks them up,

hands one to Stosh.

HARRY:

(toasting)

To the Brick Kremlin!

STOSH:

(his eyes on the

cheesecake photo)

She'll never forgive me!

HARRY:

Bombs away!

They both drink it down in one gulp, Harry holding his nose.

It's terrible stuff and hits them hard. Stosh goes into a

violent fit of coughing, pulling his barrack cap down over

his eyes.

HARRY:

(to Cookie)

What are you serving today? Nitric

acid?

COOKIE:

I only work here. Talk to the

Management.

He points to Sefton, who is taking inventory of the cigarettes

in his footlocker: cartons, packages, loose ones. He is

tabulating the amounts on a piece of paper.

HARRY:

All right, Management. What are you

trying to do? Embalm us while we're

alive?

SEFTON:

Exactly what did you expect for two

cigarettes? Eight year old Bottled-

In-Bond? All the house guarantees is

that you don't go blind.

(to Cookie)

Don't ever serve 'em again.

STOSH:

Blind! Harry! Harry!

He staggers around, not realizing his cap is pulled down

over his eyes.

STOSH:

Harry -- I'm blind!

HARRY:

(pushing up his cap)

Blind? How stupid can you get, Animal?

I drank the stuff myself.

Suddenly he seems not to see too well himself. He gropes

around in panic.

HARRY:

Animal! Animal! Where are you, Animal?

DISSOLVE:

INT. BARRACK 4 - (DAY)

A big telescope, about seven feet long, is set up on a tripod

at the window pointing toward the Russian Compound. The

telescope is made of various-sized cans soldered together.

It's run by Cookie, behind a table, piled with cigarettes

and chocolate bars. Bent down peering through the telescope,

panning it slowly, is a P.O.W. Across the barrack stretches

a long line of impatient customers, all the way to the open

door and out of it. Cookie taps the peeker to indicate his

time is up. The next in line pays his cigarette and peeks

COOKIE'S VOICE

The killer-diller, of course -- the

real bonanza -- was when Sefton put

up the Observatory. He scrounged

himself some high-powered Kraut lenses

and a magnifying mirror and got Ronnie

Bigelow from Barrack 2 to put the

whole shebang together for a pound

of coffee. On a clear day you could

have seen the Swiss Alps, only who

wanted to see the Swiss Alps? It was

about a mile away, that Russian

delousing shack, but we were right

on top of it. It cost you a cigarette

or a half bar of chocolate a peek.

You couldn't catch much through that

steam, but believe you me, after two

years in that camp just the idea

what was behind that steam sure

spruced up your voltage.

RUSSIAN DELOUSING SHACK - (THROUGH THE TELESCOPE)

About a dozen Russian women, wrapped only in blankets, waiting

in line. The telescope pans across a couple of windows. They

are completely steamed-up by the disinfecting vapors.

INT. BARRACK

The P.O.W. is glued to the telescope. Cookie taps him on the

shoulder.

COOKIE:

Let's go! Thirty seconds to a

customer.

Without moving his eye from the telescope, the P.O.W. fishes

another cigarette from his pocket and gives it to Cookie.

Sefton stands at the open barrack door, a cold cigar in his

mouth. He surveys the landoffice business, both inside and

out, for beyond him a line of about forty more P.O.W.s

stretches into the compound.

P.O.W.

(from rear of line)

Hey, Sefton -- what's snarling up

the traffic? By the time we get to

look they'll be old hags!

SEFTON:

Simmer down, boys. There'll be a

second show when they put the next

batch through.

Hoffy, Price and Duke come in from the compound. Hoffy cases

the situation and pulls Sefton to the side.

HOFFY:

What's the big idea, Sefton? Take

that telescope out of here.

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