«ZUGZWANG OF OBER LIEUTENANT BRUNO THEVS» Page #13

A gray-bearded man HALFUTDIN of about fifty in a blue perukhan and a light turban enteres Yakub Khan's teahouse. Yakub Khan leads the man to the cot where Otto and Yahya are sitting, points with his palm at the man.

YAKUB KHAN:

This is the one you need.

Otto and Yahya politely get off the couch, invite the guest to sit down together. Yakub Khan calls Zalmai, orders tea for the guest, returns to the entrance himself. The guest silently takes off his shoes, climbs onto the cot, sits down in a corner.

OTTO:

I am Otto Greenberg, a reporter for the German magazine Der Spiegel.

(nodding at the translator Yahya Muhadi)

This is my translator Yahya Muhadi.

His brother, Sultan Mukhadi, one of the hostages who died during the liberation in the village of Khalazai.

Yahya translates Otto's speech without hesitation. The guest-parliamentarian nods his head, putting his palm to his heart, expresses his condolences to Yahya.

HALFUTDIN:

(looking at Otto, coldly)

I am Halfutdin. What do you want?!

OTTO:

I ask to be admitted to the village of Daftani so that I can interview local residents, and if possible, the families of the victims.

HALFUTDIN:

(with a pause)

Good!

(looks piercingly)

We will guide you to Daftani and are ready to ensure your safety. In return, we must receive truthful coverage of this outrage, without distortion. Exactly as it is.

OTTO:

I promise you to shoot a report on photo and video cameras and send it to the editorial office along with the written material.

This will complicate the falsification attempt.

HALFUTDIN:

Tomorrow at dawn at 5.00 on the southern outskirts of Daftani.

OTTO:

(excited)

Agreed!

Otto is pleased, climbs off the couch with Yahya, warmly thanks Yakub Khan for the meeting. At the exit of the teahouse, Otto claps in a handshake, leaving Yakub Khan a few hundred euros. Zalmai accompanies Otto and Yahya Mukhadi, calls a taxi. Otto and Yahya Muhadi get into a taxi that has arrived, goes to the MSF hospital.

86. EXT. HOSPITAL — DAY

Otto takes a taxi to the entrance to the courtyard of the MSF hospital. The courtyard is filled with ambulances and more than a hundred Afghans. Male hubbub is heard, female sobs. The MSF hospital is completely filled with children wounded in the village of Daftani.

87. EXT. DAFTANI VILLAGE — FLASHES OF DAWN.

TITLE:
DAFTANI VILLAGE, KUNDUZ PROVINCE.

Early hour. A taxi pulls up to the vacant lot in front of Daftani with Otto and Yahya Mukhadi in it. Halfutdin is waiting on the spot. Otto and Yahya approach, Halfutdin coldly greets, looks sharply into Otto's eyes.

HALFUTDIN:

Do you confirm the fulfillment of our requirements?!

Muhadi translates.

OTTO:

(firmly)

I confirm!

Halfutdin leads Otto, Yahya through the narrow streets of Daftani. They approach the building of the village mosque. Its facade is riddled with a thousand fragments of bombs, from the edge you can see the sagging frame of the tent erected for the festivities, the roof torn off by the explosion, heaps of pairs of children's shoes left behind.

Otto takes the camera out of the bag, sets the current time, starts shooting. The place of celebrations, where the children were, is abundantly covered with blood. Scattered around are scraps of clothing fabrics, small fragments of human bodies. Otto leads the camera smoothly, misses nothing.

A large group of men gathered at the Daftani Mosque, passionately discussing yesterday's tragedy. Halfutdin brings Otto and Yahya, covers his face with a piece of turban against the background of the crowd, leaves only his eyes, points his thumb at himself, orders Otto to take himself off first in the report.

HALFUTDIN:

(heartfelt)

Corrupt government officials said that the Afghan Air Force carried out a targeted air strike on the village of Daftani in Kunduz province, destroying a Taliban training center and thirty of its militants. Among those killed, Taliban leader Mullah Biryani, who allegedly arrived from the Quetta Shura, and nine field commanders. It was also said that none of the civilians were injured in the airstrike. Now you will see for yourself that there was no training center in Daftani, but there was a mass murder of children.

Halfutdin has finished, steps aside, makes way for an interview with a resident of Daftani, a lanky dehkan MOHAMMAD ISHAN in a brown perukhan, beige pakol.

MOHAMMAD ISHAN:

When helicopters appeared in the sky, the children got scared and started shouting: "They will drop bombs on us! They will drop bombs on us!", and the adults calmed them down. "No, that's not going to happen! Don't be afraid!"

However, it happened!

(emotionally, wiping his tears with the sleeves of perukhan)

More than 200 children attended the ceremony. They were 11-12 years old, a little older, even younger.

I was lucky, I was standing a little further away, and I miraculously survived. It's better, instead of children, all the adults who were on the holiday died!

A bony dehkan HADJI GHULAM holds a gray donkey with fascines by the bridle – with a tremor in his voice, sorrow in his eyes.

HADJI GHULAM:

They do not spare us or our children! O Allah, why do we have this grief?!

Halfutdin leads Otto and Yahya through the narrow streets of Daftani past the dwellings, women's wailing, sobbing, crying can be heard from the courtyards. Parents, relatives say goodbye to the dead children before taking the bodies to the cemetery.

They enter the courtyards, Halfutdin raises his hand, makes it clear to the residents of Daftani that kafirs (infidels, not Muslims) Otto and Yahya are under his protection. Otto is serene, continues to shoot everything that appears on camera.

A BLACKSMITH NAMED ABDUL KHALID

(sitting by his son's body)

My son was only thirteen years old!

(wipes tears from his eyes with cracked, crooked fingers)

He learned the Koran by heart and was invited to the awards.

On this day, he dressed festively,

was especially happy.

AFGHAN WOMAN DRESSED IN A BURGUNDY BURQA

(moaning, sobbing)

My two sons have memorized the Quran. Finally, the long-awaited day of their awarding with diplomas, participation in the ceremony of tying the turban came.

The sons wanted it so much. The day before they brought home two flower wreaths, they asked me to put them on them on my return from the celebrations. I went out to meet them on the street, holding in my hands the wreaths they had prepared, I was waiting, but they were still not there. Suddenly two helicopters flew low in the sky, and I heard four loud explosions, followed by screams.

A little while later, their father returned, carrying the bodies of our two sons on his shoulders. When he entered the house, he told me: "Our sons learned the book of the Almighty by heart and immediately went to meet him."

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