G.I. JANE
by
David Twohy
FIRST DRAFT
August 6, 1995
FADE IN:
INT. SENATE HEARING ROOM - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY
Blinding in their white uniforms, naval flag officers sit
in the audience, showing their support for THEODORE HAYES,
a 50-year-old civilian. This is his confirmation hearing.
Reading from prepared material:
HAYES
... last few years have brought many
advances in the interests of women
in naval service, particularly in
the land-based maritime specialties.
What's more, the Navy has instituted
special sensitivity courses with an
eye on --
DEHAVEN
Whoa, whoa, whoa. "Land-based
maritime specialties." Gimme a
second here to de-euphemize that...
At the center of a dais, LILLIAN DEHAVEN leans back to
ponder the ceiling of the hearing room. Her plaque card
reads "CHAIRPERSON -- SENATE ARMS COMMITTEE." DeHaven is a
tough-hided old Southern belle, Scarlett O'Hara at 60.
In her arsenal she carries conversational hand-grenades --
and she's apt to pull a pin at the slightest whim.
DEHAVEN
Would that be anything like
"typing"? "Restocking the
cupboards"? That sort of thing, Mr.
Hayes?
CHUCKLES from the packed gallery. The flag officers go
stone-faced. Hayes forces a smile.
HAYES
Hardly the case, Senator.
DEHAVEN
Well, I'm just an old dame without
much time left, so you'll pardon me
if I jump right in here before they
discontinue my blood-type. I am
deeply concerned over the Navy's
seemingly incontrovertible attitude
toward women in the military. Case
in point...
On cue, aides begin distributing reports to other members
of the dais. Hayes gets a copy, too. And it jars him.
DEHAVEN
"The Lark Report."
HAYES
Madam Senator... this is an internal
document of the U.S. Navy. I must
seriously question whether --
DEHAVEN
(to others on panel)
The Navy's conclusion regarding the
crash of an F-14 aboard an aircraft
carrier. Female aviator, it just so
happens.
(to Hayes)
You're familiar with this report and
its conclusion, am I right?
HAYES
I was one member of the investigating
commission.
DEHAVEN
Yes, I see your signature right here
-- twice the size of everyone
else's. And your conclusion was
"pilot error," hmm?
HAYES
I'm really not prepared for any kind
of in-depth review of --
DEHAVEN
I'd like to think our next Secretary
of the Navy would be prepared for
anything, Mr. Hayes.
A humorless smile. She's roasting his nuts over an open
fire, and everyone knows it.
HAYES
The commission concluded that the
aviator in question failed to
execute a proper approach to the
carrier.
DEHAVEN
That aside for the moment, I'm
struck by the tenor, the ill-spirit
of your report... the degrading
remarks by other aviators...
innuendo about her performance in
unrelated situations... even a
reference to her sexual activity the
weekend prior.
(closing report)
In my seven years on this committee,
I've never seen a downed aviator
treated like this. Never. I'm
deeply disturbed by this report, Mr.
Hayes. Not just what it bodes for
women in the military -- but for
your own confirmation as well.
INT. CORRIDOR - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY
Heading for her office, DeHaven is escorted by a small
PRESS RETINUE.
DEHAVEN
... a full 35 percent of all jobs in
the U.S. military are still, to this
day, off-limits to women. And
that's simply gotta change.
PRESS #1
What about those who say women
aren't suited for all jobs? That
they're physically weaker... they
have less stamina...
DEHAVEN
Sure. And we're gonna hog the
bathroom, too.
DEHAVEN'S AIDE catches up, pulls her aside.
DEHAVEN'S AIDE
White House boys want a private
meeting.
DEHAVEN
I'll act surprised.
INT. DEHAVEN'S OFFICE - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY
Shoes dumped on her desk, DeHaven changes out knee-high
stockings while devoting one ear to...
WHITE HOUSE #1
... to reassure you that he has
every faith in the ability of Mr.
Hayes to guide the Navy into the
next century. The task, as the
Administration sees it, is to
acknowledge changing realities
without losing traditional values.
A beat. DeHaven looks between the two WHITE HOUSE boys --
#1 young and eager, #2 older and cagier.
DEHAVEN
'Zat it? Ten minutes, nothin' on
the table? Sweetcakes, you best go
back to the President and tell him
to open up the phone book and start
lookin' for his next nominee.
White House #1 looks spanked. Taking over, #2 pops a
briefcase. An inch-think report appears before DeHaven.
WHITE HOUSE #2
Administration's plan for 100
percent integration. If female
candidates measure up in a series of
test cases, the President will
support full integration within
three years' time.
Surprised -- maybe even startled -- DeHaven flips through
the report, absorbing by osmosis.
WHITE HOUSE #2
It's your gender-blind Navy,
Senator. Surely you're not going to
balk now.
DEHAVEN
Well, it's just that askin' you all
to integrate the Navy is like
sending a man to do a woman's job.
(a beat)
How do you propose to handle the
Combat Exclusion Laws?
WHITE HOUSE #2
Keep narrowing the definitions.
Keep redefining.
WHITE HOUSE #1
We got around it in Saudi Arabia.
DEHAVEN
By calling women "Honorary Men."
Ingenious.
WHITE HOUSE #2
C'mon, Senator, President's pitchin'
right down the center of your plate.
If women measure up to men, they've
got the job. You going to take a
swing? Or step out of the box?
DeHaven riffles the edges of the report, thinking it over.
Thinking light years ahead.
EXT. CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY
Buttoning up topcoats, the White House boys move down
marble steps to reach a pair of limousines. Hayes and two
FLAG OFFICERS wait.
HAYES
Well?
WHITE HOUSE #2
(shaking hand)
Congratulations, Mr. Secretary.
INT. HAYES' LIMOUSINE - DAY
Inside the moving car:
HAYES
So she picks the women, we pick the
programs. Seals?
FLAG OFFICER #1
I'd go Special Reconnaissance.
Every bit as tough -- and we have a
60 percent drop-out rate among the
men.
HAYES
Then I suggest we start there.
FLAG OFFICER #1
Doesn't matter who she picks. No
woman is going to last one week in a
commando training course. And I
don't care who it is.
EXT. POTOMAC RIVER - WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY
Winterscape: Dotted with ice floes, the Potomac wends
through the capitol city, banks iridescent with snow,
morning water calm. There's an almost hallowed beauty to
it all. Soon we pick out...
A spot of day-glo. Coming out of the mouth of morning.
Overtaking the floes.
CLOSER on JORDAN O'NEIL. She pushes her flat-water kayak
downriver, paddling hard and clean, making good time.
Gliding through the graceful arches of the Arlington
bridge, she passes...
Cars overhead. Grid-locked by snow conditions.
In seconds Jordan paddles clear, leaving the traffic
behind as she heads toward the Washington Monument.
Something BURRS from a life-vest pocket. She rips through
velcro to free a cell phone.
JORDAN
Lieutenant O'Neil.
ROYCE (V.O.)
Gotta situation here. Where are
you? Stuck in traffic?
JORDAN
(checking dive watch)
Not due in for 22 minutes, sir.
Watcha got?
INT. SITUATION ROOM - N.I.C. - DAY
ROYCE
All right, stand by, we're going to
switch over to COMSAT...
A TACTICAL OFFICER reroutes the call via defense
satellite, cryptography flashing on terminals. Lieutenant
Commander ROBERT ROYCE joins other Intel officers at a
conference table. They're pouring over weather charts,
navigation logs, high-altitude NRO video.
TACTICAL OFFICER
Voice-system now secure...
ROYCE
(into speaker)
Okay, fresh stuff: Lost a NATO
plane over the Sea of Japan. ELB
signals leads us to believe the
pilot is alive and has made his way
to the North Korean shore, near a
fishing village, "Tamyung."
JORDAN (V.O.)
Do we know it's him using the
beacon? Not a decoy?
ROYCE
Signals received only sparingly, in
such a pattern that leads us to
conclude it is a downed aviator
trying to conserve his batteries.
JORDAN (V.O.)
Chances of recovery?
ROYCE
You're the analyst for East China,
O'Neil. Analyze.
EXT. POTOMAC RIVER - WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY
Riding the current, Jordan blows a troubled sigh as she
accesses the file of her brain. Drifting past the
Jefferson Memorial:
JORDAN
North Korean beaches are the best
protected, most heavily monitored in
the world. The civilian population
is so propagandized that it acts as
an Early Warning system. Extraction
team has to be small and silent --
I'd go with Seals over Delta Force.
Problem is, don't want to hold a
conventional sub off-shore for
target practice. Where's The Polk?
INTERCUTTING:
ROYCE
Halfway 'round the world. So that's
the problem -- we can get the team
in, just not out.
JORDAN
(an inspired beat)
Unless you Whiskey Run.
ROYCE
Blank faces here, O'Neil.
JORDAN
Quick-hit technique used by Capone.
Rigged a getaway car with running
boards and handles. All his guys
had to do was jump on and take a
ride. Check the files -- DPRK-57 --
I doped it out as a contingency
plan: Seal Team infiltrates, picks
up the package, links up with
recovery sub. But don't waste time
opening and closing hatches. They
just grab the periscope and hang on
for neutral waters.
A dubious beat.
ROYCE
You expect the extraction team to
ride the sub bare-back? Is that
correct, O'Neil?
JORDAN
Only four minutes to neutral waters,
sir. Why not?
Silence on the radio: They're discussing her scenario
privately. During, Jordan's kayak reaches the junction of
the Potomac and the Anacostia rivers. On the far bank
lies...
Naval Intel Center (N.I.C.), bristling with communication
antennae.
Jordan stares at the complex, waiting for a response.
ROYCE
All right, sending the
recommendation across the river.
Royce out.
The phone goes dead.
JORDAN
No, thank you, sir.
EXT. SECURITY STATION - N.I.C. - DAY
Bundled in topcoat and scarves, military and civilian
employees transit a security station on their way inside.
Presently Jordan appears -- wearing a wetsuit and
balancing a collapsed kayak on her head. She flashes a
photo-badge and double-times inside.
INT. CORRIDOR - N.I.C. - DAY
Jordan exits a locker room. Smoothing out her Khaki
uniform, she heads down a broad corridor with cipher-lock
doors. Falling in step:
ROYCE
That was good headwork, lieutenant.
JORDAN
Thank you, sir. We hear back from
the Pentagon?
ROYCE
(scoffing)
Probably hear back from CNN first.
JORDAN
Hate this part. Just sweating it
out on the sidelines.
ROYCE
Intel has its own glory, lieutenant
-- no matter how subtle.
Now they reach...
INT. BULLPEN - N.I.C. - DAY
A circular chamber. Dominating the ground floor is the
bullpen, a hive of cubicles an computer stations. On the
second floor are executive offices, ringing the bullpen.
ROYCE
By the way, I'll need that option
paper by 11-hundred today so I can
review it with Admiral Hanover. And
do we have any of that breakfast tea
around here?
JORDAN
(with a look)
Is this my glory, sir?
On the upper walkway, a frazzled N.I.C. SECRETARY
appears. She spots Royce and Jordan below.
N.I.C. SECRETARY
Excuse me, but I have Senator
DeHaven on the line for you.
ROYCE
Jesus God, what now?
He bounds up the stairs toward his office.
N.I.C. SECRETARY
I'm sorry, sir no -- she asked to
speak with Lieutenant O'Neil.
Royce turns back and gives Jordan a hall-of-fame look.
"Oh, really?"
INT. DEHAVEN'S OFFICE - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY
DEHAVEN
(into phone)
So everyone I talk to says you're
top drawer with silk stockings
inside.
JORDAN (V.O.)
Thank you, ma'am. Um, may I ask
what this is regarding?
DEHAVEN
(reading file)
High-school pentathlete... ROTC
scholarship, graduated with
honors... top marks in Basic
Training... and, as it just so
happens, a constituent of my home
state of Virginia. Oh, the things
I'll do for one extra vote.
INT. BULLPEN - N.I.C. - DAY
On the phone, Jordan glances around. Co-workers mull
within earshot. Those out of earshot post E-mail memos on
Jordan's computer: "Moving up in life." "I want a full
report." "Don't tell her who you really voted for."
DEHAVEN
Lieutenant O'Neil, I am prepared to
nominate you for the Navy's Special
Reconnaissance program. Should you
accept, you'll ship out to Coronado
next week and join in the big
testosterone festival. Complete the
course, and you'll have a fast
ticket to any assignment you want.
That's my personal promise to you.
A beat as Jordan's mind catches up to her ears. Now
INTERRCUTTING the two:
JORDAN
"Coronado."
DEHAVEN
California.
JORDAN
I know that, sir. Ma'am. It's just
that... Beggin' your pardon,
Senator, but... do you understand
that this involves combat training?
DEHAVEN
This is just a test case, O'Neil.
But if it works out -- if you work
out -- it could well change the
Navy's official policy on women in
combat. Or, actually, its official
non-policy. Now who's your
immediate superior there?
JORDAN
Captain Dwyer. Technically.
DEHAVEN
My office will fill him in and help
expedite. Look forward to meeting
you at the proper time. Jumping off
now...
JORDAN
Uh, question, ma'am.
DEHAVEN
Yes, dear.
JORDAN
Would I be the only one? The only
woman?
DEHAVEN
There'll be more to follow -- but
yes, dear, right now you're the pick
of a very large litter. And your
success would mean a lot. Jumping,
now...
The line goes dead. Jordan hangs up catatonically.
JORDAN
Well, shit-a-doodle-do...
EXT. GUNKHOLE HARBOR - POTOMAC - NIGHT
A small gunkhole harbor up the Potomac. Snow falls thick
and silent on overturned canoes, stored for the winter.
Beyond stands a clapboard rental house.
INT. JORDAN'S HOUSE - NIGHT
It's not so much furnished as equipped -- scuba gear and
wetsuits in the mud room, life vests on coat racks, a
training bag and boxing gloves hanging in the living room.
In the kitchen we find...
A naked man. He's steeping tea.
JORDAN (O.S.)
... well, I survived Basic Training
and three brothers -- so I know how
to fight. What scares me are the
sexual politics. I don't want to be
turned into some poster girl for
women's rights.
CAMERA FOLLOWS as the naked man carries a steaming mug
through the house...
INT. BATHROOM - JORDAN'S HOUSE - NIGHT
... and sets it down beside Jordan, languishing in a tub.
Snow builds on a window sill. Facing Jordan, the man
slides into the tub.
ROYCE
So why're you even considering it?
Are you?
JORDAN
Just like you would be.
ROYCE
Spec-Recon. Those guys are world-
class warriors. And they will not
want you there, Jordan.
JORDAN
I take it you don't either. Feet.
Dutifully, Royce massages her feet.
ROYCE
Well, you're doin' shit-hot at
Intel.
JORDAN
Royce. We're the same age, we
started the same time -- and now
you're sitting in the upperdecks
while I'm still down in the bullpen.
What does that tell you about the
Navy?
ROYCE
(shaking head)
She's haze grey and underway...
JORDAN
You need operational duty to really
advance... you need combat training
to go operational... yet combat
training is off-limits to people
with tits. I'm topped out at Intel.
Forget the glass ceiling -- I'm
beating my head on a big brass
ceiling.
ROYCE
So dump on me.
JORDAN
This has nothing to do with you.
ROYCE
(getting out)
Well, guess I don't even need to be
here...
JORDAN
Get your dick back here. It has
everything to do with you.
ROYCE
You're such a ball-breaker
sometimes. Especially at night.
JORDAN
Sorry. But after our days...
(a thoughtful sip)
So if I try this thing... if I ship
out to Coronado... what happens
here?
ROYCE
I'll try to keep the door open. If
you wash out, I make it so that --
JORDAN
Wai', wait. What happens if it
works? Four months of training,
three years of operational duty.
What then?
ROYCE
(blowing a sigh)
I don't feel like doing an option
paper on the rest of my life,
Jordan. Maybe we should just let it
happen.
JORDAN
Which is guy-speak for...
ROYCE
(conceding)
Sounded lame as soon as it came out
of my mouth. But I'm trying to be
honest, okay? Three years is a long
time. Don't ask me to predict how
I'll feel then, Jordan, because I
don't know. And either do you.
JORDAN
You know, right up until you said
that -- I thought I did know.
Wounded, she gets out.
ROYCE
Jordan...
JORDAN
Thank you, Royce. It was shaping up
like such a tough call -- and then
you go and make it so goddamn easy.
Really, thank you so much.
She punches into a robe and leaves. Royce considers
drowning himself in the tub.
EXT. CORONADO BRIDGE - SAN DIEGO - DAY
Jordan drives a top-down Mustang across the sweeping
Coronado Bridge, cityscape behind her, naval base ahead.
A flock of pelicans pace Jordan alongside the bridge.
Suddenly two NAVY HELOS BLAST overhead, scattering the
pelicans.
EXT. THE GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
On base, Jordan carries a gunnysack across an asphalt
courtyard. The is "the grinder," reminiscent of a
gladiator's arena. She notices at one end...
A silver ship's bell. Hung prominently.
INT. ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
JORDAN
Excuse me, lieutenant. I was told
this is where I check in.
A DUTY OFFICER looks up to find Jordan across a counter.
In no particular hurry, the duty officer makes his way
over to check Jordan's orders.
DUTY OFFICER
(looking up)
So you're the one.
Hearing, other workers look up. Among them is a female
ensign, KATHY BLONDELL -- no makeup, no nail polish, no
concession to her sex. Throughout, she'll watch Jordan
with more than passing interest.
JORDAN
Still don't have my bearings yet.
Direct me to the officer's quarters?
The duty officer stamps her paperwork, returns it with
room assignment and keys.
DUTY OFFICER
You'll proceed directly to the
infirmary for eye tests, blood
tests, urinalysis, pregnancy test.
Uniform issue adjacent. Then you're
to report to the Base Commander.
He'd like a word with you.
JORDAN
Fine. And the officer's quarters?
DUTY OFFICER
C.O.'s office can supply you with
directions. Enjoy your visit,
lieutenant.
It's a nasty little barb -- one that Jordan decides to let
slide. Jordan turns for the door. Blondell catches up
with a base map.
BLONDELL
B.O.Q., south side. Take a
starboard tack out the door.
JORDAN
Thank you, ensign.
BLONDELL
No problem, lieutenant.
INT. C.O.'S OFFICE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
A soft KNOCKING.
C.O.
Come.
A YEOMAN opens the door. Behind him is Jordan.
YEOMAN
Lieutenant j.g. O'Neil reporting,
sir.
For a beat, COMMANDING OFFICER (C.O.) TURRENTINE takes
stock of the female in his doorway, sizing her up like a
fighter across the ring. Then he stubs out a perfectly
good cigar, rises with an amiable face, and touches the
back of a chair -- stopping just short of pulling it out
for her.
C.O.
Yes, of course. Please, have a
seat, lieutenant...
JORDAN
Thank you, sir.
C.O.
Would you care for a beverage? Tea?
JORDAN
I'm fine, sir.
C.O.
So. We're still coming to terms
with the exact protocol for this --
for integrating the Spec-Recon
training. It may not always be
smooth, but we're trying to make it
as painless as possible for you.
JORDAN
Thank you, sir. But I expect a
certain amount of pain.
More stock-taking. Is he looking at her hair?
JORDAN
Barber was my next stop, sir.
Would've had it regulation sooner,
only --
C.O.
Don't worry about it. If it's off
your collar and out of your eyes,
that's all I'm going to ask.
JORDAN
Really, I have no problem with --
C.O.
I'm not out to change your sex,
lieutenant. You'll have separate
beds, separate heads. If you have
specific medical needs, inform the
infirmary. If a classmate or
superior acts in an harassing or
otherwise unbecoming manner, please
inform me immediately so I can deal
with it immediately. Questions?
JORDAN
None at this time, sir.
C.O.
Then that's all I have to say.
Dismissed.
Another smile, another phantom gesture on the back of her
chair. If Jordan was expecting a fight, the bell never
sounded. She rises, salutes -- then turns back at the
door.
JORDAN
Sir, I just want you to know... I'm
not here to make a statement. I
don't want to make men look foolish.
All I care about is completing the
training and getting operational
experience -- just like everyone
else, I suspect.
C.O.
If you were like everyone else,
lieutenant, I suspect we wouldn't be
making statements about not making
statements, would we?
(a beat)
Take your leave.
EXT. B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
The Spec-Recon TRAINEES loiter outside their open rooms,
pumping weights, hosing down dive gear, trading Walkman
tapes. This is the last day of liberty they'll have for a
long time.
MILLER
What am I scannin' here?
Other eyes quickly lock in on...
Jordan. Across a grass courtyard, she walks the ground
floor of an identical building, trying to match key number
to room number. Every door is open, every room empty.
Soon she feels the presence of...
The men. They're disgorging from their rooms -- ten,
twenty, thirty of them -- all buffed and cut. These guys
are what Hitler saw in his dreams.
Jordan picks up her pace. Where the hell is her room?
On all three levels of their building, the men shadow
Jordan en masse. Not hooting. Not leering. Just
assessing.
Jordan finds her room at the far corner of the building:
She's got the entire floor to herself. With a last look
over her shoulder, Jordan vanishes inside.
EXT. THE GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
C.O.
Special Reconnaissance. Here you
will be trained to infiltrate
hostile territory... to be the real-
time eyes on the ground... to
recover assigned targets and, if
need be, to fight your way out under
adverse conditions.
CAMERA SURVEYS faces of the trainees: MILLER, MCCOOL,
SLUTNIK, CORTEZ, FLEA, STAMM, ENGLAND, NEWBERRY, WICKWIRE.
We'll get to know them later. Dressed in Navy greens,
they stand in formation -- ten rows, ten deep, helmets in
hand. Pacing before them:
C.O.
That is all that will be said about
the special nature of this class --
by us or by you. Many of you have
waited years for admission to this
program. Opportunities like this
are rare -- and those who seize upon
them are rarer still.
He approaches Jordan. We can tell what she's thinking.
"Just keep moving. Don't single me out."
C.O.
Other than that, there is little to
be said but "Good luck, gentleman."
(correcting)
"Gentlepersons."
Jordan flinches.
C.O.
Now I turn you over to the chief
training officer. He has earned six
naval commendations, the purple
heart, and the Navy Cross for
heroism and valor. I give you
Master Chief John James Urgayle.
Taking over, THE CHIEF stands before the class a moment,
sizing them up while giving them -- get an eyeload of him,
too: His body is 30 years old, his face 40, his eyes 50.
An ageless warrior. Somewhere, the blood of Ulysses runs
in this guy's veins.
The Chief lifts a bullhorn to deliver his opening salvo --
and it's anything but the kick-ass rant the class is
expecting:
THE CHIEF
The sun and moon... the ebb and flow
of the Pacific tides... global
warming... the very angle of the
Earth upon its axis... these are
just some of the things I control in
my world.
Trainees swap private looks.
MCCOOL
We're fucked.
SLUTNIK
Darth Vader reads poetry...
MCCOOL
We are so fucked.
EXT. BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL STATION - DAY
START on boots, crashing through shallow surf, spraying
water. We assume this is a routine beach run -- until
VIEW RISES to reveal...
Telephone poles on their shoulder. Working in groups of
10, trainees labor under 300-pound poles. Jordan, six
inches shorter than most, looks like Atlas carrying the
weight of the world. But she's doing it.
INSTRUCTOR
Count down... one, two... count
down... three, four...
CLASS CADENCE
One, two, three, four... One, two,
three, four...
An ambulance shadows the class. Perched on the front
bumper like an hood-ornament, the Chief keeps working his
bullhorn:
THE CHIEF
You may think that you are the
brightest, the best, the strongest.
I assure you, that is a total
delusion on your part. It is my job
to show you just how weak human
beings can truly be. 60 percent of
you will not finish this course.
How do I know? Because that is an
historical fact.
It's also intimidating shit.
THE CHIEF
Poles down.
The earth literally shakes as the phone poles hit the damp
sand. Approaching on foot, the Chief loads fresh
batteries into his bullhorn. He does it like a man
thumbing rounds into a shotgun.
THE CHIEF
Now for the bad new: I always like
to get one quitter on the first day.
And until I do, the first day does
not end. So look around right now
-- go on, do it. I wonder who it's
gonna be...
He passes right by Jordan, never meeting her eyes.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO steps up. He's the Chief's bulldog.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
Down to BVDs!
The guys strip down to boxers. Jordan settles for boxers
and jog bra.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
Now face the Pacific... link arms...
and take a stroll!
The class wades in. The first wave takes Jordan's breath
away: It's February, and the water is cold. When they
move out of instructors' earshot:
STAMM
What is it with the damn phone
poles? We sign up for Spec-Recon or
GTE?
WICKWIRE
Just trying to thin the herd.
That's all they want to do right
now.
Some of the guys are glancing Jordan's way, cashing in on
a cheap wet T-shirt contest. Jordan covers herself
instinctively -- and hates the instinct. Modesty isn't
going to get her through this.
SLUTNIK
Man. Doesn't she know it's rude to
point?
NEWBERRY
Wow. You see that girl?
WICKWIRE
I got eyes, Newberry.
SLUTNIK
One night. Just one night in my
room, she'd forget all about playin'
commando.
ENGLAND
Tone that shit down, Slutnik. You
heard with they said.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
Out of the water!
The class breaks for the beach.
THE CHIEF
Now make like sugar cookies and roll
in the sand for me.
The trainees hit their bellies and roll. Indeed, they
look like sugar cookies.
THE CHIEF
Collect those poles, gentlemen.
Still a lotta beachfront you haven't
seen...
Groaning, the trainees grab poles. Jordan's pole, wet
slips from their collective grasp...
And bangs Stamm's ankle. He HOWLS through his teeth.
ENGLAND
How bad? Stamm?
JORDAN
We better get a medic over --
STAMM
No, goddamnit. No.
INSTRUCTOR
Up! Up! Up! Up!
Stamm swallows the pain. Poles go back on shoulders.
Looking like drunk centipedes, the class staggers off down
the beach.
EXT. MUD PIT - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
Wallowing in mud, the class does belly-busters, atomic
sit-ups -- and the sadistic reverse push-up, where
trainees lie of their backs, place hands under shoulder
blades and push their crotches skyward.
THE CHIEF
Pain is your friend. You ally. It
will keep you awake in times of
emergency... it will tell you when
you are seriously injured... it will
keep you angry and remind you to
finish the job and get the hell
home. But you know the best thing
about pain?
CLASS
No, sir!
THE CHIEF
It lets you know that you aren't
dead yet.
Instructors roam, RASPING ORDERS, kicking students into
proper position. Jordan struggles with the reverses.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
Go regulation if you can't do the
reverses, O'Neil.
She looks around. A lot of the guys are having trouble
with the reverses, not just her.
JORDAN
Thank you, sir. But I like these
just fine.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
Not doin' them very fine, O'Neil.
JORDAN
I'll try anyway, sir.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
You'll try what we tell you to try,
O'Neil. Go regulation.
She switches to standard push-ups, her face disappearing
into the ooze with every downstroke. Soon the Chief's
boots slosh into FRAME. He's still looking for his human
sacrifice.
THE CHIEF
Who's it gonna be. I just wonder,
who is it gonna be...
EXT. BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL STATION - SUNSET
INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
On your belly... on your back... on
your feet... on your belly... on
your back... on your feet...
Whistle-drills. Silhouetted against a lowering sun, the
students flop around like docked fish.
INT. ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Blondell is ending her shift. She shoulders a purse and
pauses at a window, seeing...
The trainees shuffling into formation like the living
dead. Jordan is still among them.
EXT. THE GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
THE CHIEF
You have noticed a ship's bell
hanging at the west side of this
courtyard. If, at any time, you
feel you cannot continue with your
training -- that bell is your
salvation. Strike it three times,
and the ordeal is over.
Nervous eyes flick to the bell.
THE CHIEF
Yes, it is a long walk. So I'll
make it as easy as I can.
He turns his back to the class.
THE CHIEF
Now you don't have to watch me
watching you break rank. Because I
know someone here wants to do it.
CAMERA SEARCHES their faces. There isn't one trainee here
who hasn't thought about it. Including Jordan.
THE CHIEF
Now I know what you're thinking...
SLUTNIK
(low)
I'm thinkin' we could jump him right
now...
THE CHIEF
"Can I really take 15 weeks of this
bubonic asshole?" If you don't know
the answer to that question, the
answer is "No, you cannot." And
that is another historical fact. So
do it. Admit you don't have what it
takes... admit you are out of your
depth -- or we're all heading back
to the beach right now.
(waiting a beat)
Instructors! Time hack!
Following the Chief's lead, Instructors lift their dive
watches.
THE CHIEF
Six... five... four... three...
two... one... HACK!
(to class)
The time is now 12-hundred. The sun
is shining brightly. Plenty of
daylight left for another phone-pole
run...
GROANS behind him. The groans give way to the SOUND OF
BOOTS breaking rank.
INT. ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
BLONDELL'S POV: Of a lone figure crossing to the bell.
EXT. GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
QUICK CLOSEUPS of Miller, Slutnik, Wickwire, turning to
watch someone cross the grinder. At least we know who it
isn't.
CLOSE on the Chief as the BELL RINGS THREE TIMES. He
turns around to find...
Stamm at the bell.
For the first time, the Chief looks dead-bang at Jordan.
Was he expecting her?
THE CHIEF
Leave your helmet there, Stamm.
Back to the barracks.
Stamm drops his helmet and limps away.
THE CHIEF
The rest of you should remember one
thing. The only easy day was today.
Lieutenant Wickwire? Turning it
over to you.
WICKWIRE
Cuh-lass, face right!
They march off.
INT. MESS HALL - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Dead-ass tired, Jordan slides her tray down the line,
piling on food that means nothing more than raw calories.
She heads for...
A table of trainees, one spot open. Seeing her coming,
the guys shift position. Suddenly the table is full.
ENGLAND
Better look elsewhere, O'Neil.
Jordan glares. None of them meet her eyes. She wheels
around -- and now all eyes are on her, watching her ass
walk away. FEATURE Slutnik, the walking sperm bank.
SLUTNIK
Half a night, Lord, just gimme half
a night to set her straight...
Jordan tries another table. This one, too, becomes
abruptly full. As Jordan leaves, HOLD on Miller. He's a
human eclipse -- six-three, 220, the perfect commando
physique. Instructors wish they could clone him.
MILLER
Average woman is 25 percent body
fat. That's one-quarter fat, man.
Think about that.
MCCOOL
Nice distribution, though.
MILLER
No way does she makes this program.
No way.
After wandering the mess hall like a homeless person,
Jordan finds refuge at a table with female mess stewards.
They look at her with blank faces. No understanding. No
compassion.
EXT. B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Jordan walks in a bathrobe, toweling her hair dry. She
fishes for keys at her door.
VOICE
It's not so much that they hate
you...
Jordan looks. Someone is sitting on an outdoor table,
smoking. He leans into the light so she can see his face.
It's Wickwire, the mid-30s lieutenant who doubles as class
officer. He's dangerously handsome.
WICKWIRE
They're more afraid of you.
JORDAN
Well, now I feel so much better.
WICKWIRE
It was made clear before you came --
harassment equals career suicide.
Can't say anything good, so they
don't say much at all. To your
face, anyway.
JORDAN
Whose orders were those?
WICKWIRE
It was made clear.
(getting up)
Anyway, stay ballsy. First week's
hell, then it levels out. Until
S.E.R.E. training, anyway. That's
hell-and-a-half.
JORDAN
And how do you know that?
WICKWIRE
Made it to Week 10 last time.
JORDAN
I didn't know they let you try
again. Especially at your age.
WICKWIRE
You're kind of a surprise yourself.
A faint grin from Wickwire before he shadows back across
the courtyard that separates the two B.O.Q. buildings.
Back across no-man's land.
INT. JORDAN'S B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Two beds. Matching lockers. A desk, a chair, a mirror.
All overwhelmingly dull.
Jordan drops the robe off her shoulders to take inventory
of her body. Both sides of her neck are bruised from the
phone-pole run. Her back and thighs are sand-burned.
Mirror cuts abound. She's already a mess.
Jordan uncaps some cologne. It's a vestige of her old
life she's not going to surrender. She sniffs. Savors.
Dabs. Looks back in the mirror...
And breaks out laughing. It's like dropping a rose in a
cesspool.
EXT. SILVER STRAND HIGHWAY - CORONADO - DAY
A PHOTOGRAPHER stands near a car parked just outside the
base. He's peering through a 600mm lens.
PHOTOGRAPHER'S POV: FOCUSING through cyclone fencing...
PANNING past the sand dunes... and finding green-clad
trainees gathered at an obstacle course.
EXT. OBSTACLE COURSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
An explosion of sand: England and Wickwire belly-flop
into a sand pit and speed-crawl under barbed wire. Clear,
they gain their feet and blitz toward...
The rolling logs. They balance-beam their way to...
The rope climb. Racing to the top, they reach a platform
and fling themselves down onto...
The high poles. They land awkwardly, losing their wind
and their grip, tumbling into the sand pit below before...
Racing for the finish. The Chief thumbs a stopwatch.
THE CHIEF
England, 88 seconds. You're good to
go for the slide-for-life.
Wickwire, roll back till you get
south of 90.
WICKWIRE
Fuck. Yes sir.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
Who'd you kiss to get back in here,
anyway?
Wickwire dusts off and starts back for...
The starting line. Stepping up next is Cortez, the human
fighting cock. Jordan lines up beside him and psyches up
for the first obstacle -- and eight-foot sheer wall.
INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
Hang on, here...
He grabs something off a truck and positions it at the
base of the wall. It's a little two-step platform.
SNICKERS, MOANS from the guys. Cortez can barely contain
his disgust.
CORTEZ
Aw, what is this...
JORDAN
(mortified)
Sir...
INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
Don't have to use it, O'Neil, but
it's gotta go out.
(calling out)
Five... four... three...
JORDAN
I can make this wall without --
INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
... two... one... MARK!
Cortez blurs away. Jordan starts a step late.
Cortez takes the wall clean. Eschewing the two-step,
Jordan jumps right over it -- but jumps too far out
because of it. She takes the wall awkwardly.
INTERCUT the others as they break rank to follow, eager to
see Cortez blow her off the course.
CLASS
Lesgo, Cortez, LESGO, GO, GO!
Cortez belly-flops into the sand pit -- and snags going
under the barbed wire.
CORTEZ
Shit of a saint...
Catching up, Jordan clears the wire without a hitch and
leads going into...
The rolling logs. They both tight-rope across nimbly and
bound on toward...
Rope climb. Jordan starts up at a decent clip -- but
Cortez comes from behind like a chimp on white sugar,
doubling her speed.
CLASS
Take her, take her here, Cortez...
lookit that monkey-man go... hoo-
yah, hoo-yah...
Cortez reaches the top platform. Now he's faced with...
The high poles. He's seen others land sideways and pay
the price. Trying another way, Cortez takes a flying
leap...
And WHUMPS down with legs astraddle. He tried to cushion
the landing with his hands -- and failed magnificently.
His balls took the brunt.
Jordan WHUMPS down beside him with legs astraddle -- and
shoots Cortez a "Hey, no problem" look. She rolls off the
poles...
And drops to the pit below. Cortez lands right behind.
Now it's a flat-out sprint for...
The finish line. He takes her at the tape.
THE CHIEF
Cortez, 93 seconds. O'Neil, 94.
Cortez, do a little rescue-recovery
on your gonads and line up again.
O'Neil... move ahead.
Heading back to the starting line, Jordan wheels around.
JORDAN
Say again, sir?
THE CHIEF
You heard me. Move on.
CORTEZ
Aw, this is such bullshit...
Others GRUMBLE in commiseration. Jordan flushes with
anger.
JORDAN
Chief, sir, I don't understand
why --
THE CHIEF
Educate her, Pyro.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
Automatic five-second deduction,
which slips you under the wire.
It's called "gender-norming," O'Neil
-- standard procedure for all
females in physical training
courses. Where you been the last
few years?
JORDAN
What "all females"? If I'm the
only --
THE CHIEF
Twice now, I have said the words
"move on."
He turns his back, leaving no possibility of discussion.
Jordan stares after.
SLUTNIK
Can't live with them, can't kill
them. What's the point?
MCCOOL
Somebody throw a tent over this
circus.
WICKWIRE
(low to Jordan)
Just let it go. If it's in your
favor, just shut the hell up and
take it.
EXT. B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Dressed in bathrobe, Jordan reaches her door. She pauses
to check...
The outdoor table. No visitors tonight.
INT. JORDAN'S B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Jordan pushes inside -- and stops when she sees the little
two-step platform. That awful crutch. Someone has put it
beside her bed.
Jordan wheels around to check...
EXT. B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
The men' building. Slutnik and a few others loiter on a
balcony, mirroring her stare.
EXT. CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Hastily dressed, Jordan marches across the base. Her
march turns into an angry run as she cuts through parking
lots... jumps hedges... and finally reaches...
EXT. C.O.'S HOUSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
An on-base bungalow. Jordan bangs on the front door until
the C.O.'S scowling face appears.
JORDAN
Pardon the hour, sir. But you told
me to come to you immediately if I
felt I was being mistreated in any
way.
C.O.
Didn't take long.
He waves her inside.
INT. C.O.'S HOUSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
C.O.
All right, lieutenant, give me a
name and specifics, I'll have the
X.O. file an action first thing in
the morning.
(waits)
A name?
JORDAN
It's you, sir. And it started the
day I came here.
C.O.
(jolted)
Oh, really.
JORDAN
It's this double-standard, the
separate quarters, the deferential
treatment. It's how you pulled out
my chair and nearly served high tea
the first time we met.
C.O.
Because I was civil, now you're
complaining.
JORDAN
I can't afford civility, sir. How
am I supposed to fit in with these
guys when you've got me set up as an
outsider? Even if I make it under
these rules, I still lose, because
there'll always be a flag in my file
-- "Yeah, she made it, but..." I
mean, really -- why didn't you just
issue me a goddamn petticoat to wear
around the base?
C.O.
Did you just have a brain-fart?
JORDAN
Pardon?
C.O.
Did you just barge in here and curse
at your base commander? If so, I
regard that as a bonafide brain-
fart, and I resent it when people
fart inside my home.
JORDAN
I think you've resented me from the
start, sir.
Now, finally, her opponent steps into the ring. And he's
a bare-knuckle brawler.
C.O.
(building)
What I resent, lieutenant, is some
politician using my base as a test
tube for her grand social
experiment. What I resent is the
sensitivity training that is now
mandatory for my men... the day-care
center I have to build where an
officer's lounge used to be... and
the OB/GYN I have to keep on staff
just so someone can keep track of
your personal pap smears.
(drawing close)
But most of all, lieutenant, I
resent your perfume, however subtle
it may be, competing with the aroma
of my fine three-dollar-and-fifty-
nine cent cigar, which I will
happily put out this very instant if
the phallic nature of it happens to
offend your goddamn fragile
sensibilities. DOES IT?
JORDAN
No, sir.
C.O.
No, sir, WHAT?
JORDAN
The shape doesn't bother me. It's
just that goddamn rotten stench.
A dangerous beat -- before the C.O. disengages.
C.O.
Well. 'Least now we're talking the
same language.
(a beat)
So one standard. Is that what
you're after?
JORDAN
Same rules for everyone, sir.
C.O.
Straight up?
JORDAN
Across the board, sir.
C.O.
And if you just happen to wash out,
I won't have to contend with you
bitchin' to some hairy-chested
female Senator? And please note I
did not identify any one in
particular.
JORDAN
Wouldn't dream of it, sir.
A deciding beat.
C.O.
Then good night.
JORDAN
So I'll get a fair shot?
C.O.
You'll get everything you want,
O'Neil. Let's see if you want what
you're gonna get.
INT. BARBER SHOP - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
Jordan gets her hair cut to regulation length. It's over
in seconds.
INT. ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
Jordan slaps down old room keys and new orders. Blondell
scans the paperwork with deepening concern.
BLONDELL
This some kind of joke?
INT. JORDAN'S B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
Jordan tosses her belongings into a laundry bag. She
slings the bag over her shoulder, boots aside the hated
two-step on her way out...
EXT. B.O.Q. BUILDING - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
... marches across the no-man's land...
INT. B.O.Q. ROOM - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
... and bangs open a door. Slutnik sits up on his bed.
SLUTNIK
Well, who the shit you think you
are? Comin' in here like that?
JORDAN
Your new roommate.
Slutnik's face curdles. Jordan dumps her bag on an open
bunk and starts unpacking.
JORDAN
Anybody usin' these drawers here?
SLUTNIK
Hey, hey, HEY. No possibility. You
can't stay in here. You can't sleep
right next to me.
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 fuckin' 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.
SLUTNIK
Jesus Christ. And I only got three
minutes apiece...
ENGLAND
(jerking him away)
Barkin' up the wrong dress, Slutnik.
You ain't their type.
Overhearing, Jordan snaps a look at Blondell, only now
realizing. Their eyes meet.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
O'Neil! What're you gawking at?
INT. C.O.'S OFFICE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
P.R. FLAK
(reading newspaper)
"... last week at Coronado. The
woman, identity unknown, is believed
to be the first female candidate for
the elite Special Reconnaissance
program. Her presence could signal
a shift in the Navy's long-standing
policy that excludes women from
combat positions."
The P.R. FLAK drops the newspaper on the C.O.'s desk.
It's the San Diego Tribune. Under the headline "G.I.
JANE," a photo shows a chesty sailor running the obstacle
course.
C.O.
(calling O.S.)
I'm asking again. Where is she?
YEOMAN
Inbound now, sir. Had to pull her
out of the dive bell.
P.R. FLAK
I have interview requests from two
local TV stations. And a
sociologist from U.C. San Diego
called, wanted to know if she could
examine the interaction between
"G.I. Jane" and the men.
C.O.
"A sociol..." Kill the interviews.
I don't need civilians nosin' around
in matters that are supposed to be
covert in nature. Just kill 'em
before this whole thing gets outta
con --
YEOMAN
Senator DeHaven calling, sir.
The C.O. gets an instant headache.
INT. SENATE BARBER SHOP - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY
C.O. (V.O.)
Base Commander Turrentine speaking.
In the Senate barber shop, DeHaven is having her hair
colored. She holds a fax of the Tribune article in one
hand, a cell phone in the other.
DEHAVEN
(hitting like a Scud)
Commander, are you of the habit of
letting photographers traipse around
your base snappin' their fill?
These were supposed to have been
discreet test cases --
INTERRCUTTING:
C.O.
Senator, they stand out on the
public highway with telephoto
lenses --
DEHAVEN
-- and now I got reporters from
Toadsquat, Iowa, calling my office
and askin' what I know about this
"G.I. Jane" thing.
C.O.
-- nothing I can do about it unless
you're suggesting I infringe on
their civil liberties -- which I'd
happily do if you'll just trim a
little fat off the Constitution.
DEHAVEN
Are you truly mouthin' off to a
senior member of the Senate Arms
Committee? I mean, I'll give you
points for style -- just nothin' for
smarts.
INT. C.O.'S OFFICE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
The C.O. double-takes as Jordan enters: She's sun-burned,
wind-burned, sand-burned, chapped and chaffed, bloody and
soggy. Her dive suit leaks onto the floor.
JORDAN
See me, sir?
C.O.
You makin' friends with the press,
lieutenant?
He tosses her the paper. Jordan scans the article as
DeHaven continues over speakerphone:
DEHAVEN
Well, seein's how this thing is out,
you let me handle the r.p.m. From
this point forward, I want all press
matters coordinated via my office.
I'll be god-damned if I'm gonna
watch Hayes pull flowers out of his
ass and take credit for this one.
Him or the President.
(aside to beautician)
This my shade? "Midnight Mahogany"?
'Cuz I'm comin' dangerously close to
lookin' like Ronald Reagan here.
C.O.
Your prerogative, Senator.
DEHAVEN
Awright. How's our girl doin',
anyway?
C.O.
Standing right here in my office.
DEHAVEN
Jordan, dear. How are they treating
you?
JORDAN
(catching C.O.'s
eyes)
Can't complain, ma'am.
DEHAVEN
Hmmm. Maybe I'll ask when I see you
in person.
JORDAN
Uh, ma'am.
DEHAVEN
Gonna be visiting that all-woman's
America's cup team in a few weeks --
If I were a gambler, I'd say Dennis
O'Conner's days are numbered. But
they're in San Diego, so I thought
I'd take a quick promenade of the
base.
Deafening silence. We aren't sure who dreads the idea
more -- the C.O. or Jordan.
C.O.
Uh, V.I.P. security arrangements
generally take some time, Senator.
DEHAVEN
"Security"? What the hell you
talkin' about? Your base isn't
secure?
C.O.
Of course, but there's more --
DEHAVEN
Then set out the good plates, we'll
all have lunch. My office will
follow up with details. Jumping
off, now...
Phone goes dead. The C.O. gives Jordan a look one might
reserve for a lab technician who inadvertently unleashed
Ebola upon the world.
JORDAN
Sir, I want you to know that I had
nothing to do with any of this. Not
this article, not --
C.O.
"We'll all have lunch." Good idea.
Oh, and let's be sure to invite this
sociologist, too -- just in case we
want to have a FUCKING BRIDGE GAME
AFTERWARDS!
YEOMAN
Sir? Secretary Hayes calling.
The C.O.'s headache becomes a migraine.
JORDAN
(backing out)
Permission to leave, sir?
C.O.
Permission to evaporate, O'Neil.
INT. SENATE BARBER SHOP - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY
DeHaven hands the phone to her aide. He's set up a
portable office in the next barber chair.
DEHAVEN
Think I overplayed it?
DEHAVEN'S AIDE
Congress and the Pentagon share a
lot of plumbing. They'll never know
whose leak it is.
EXT. BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
150-pound rubber boats ("Zodiacs") litter the beach. The
class is breaking down into six-man crews.
THE CHIEF
Boat Five -- Wickwire, Cozad, Vinyl,
Intagliata, Ayers, and Wise.
Lieutenant Wickwire is your senior
officer. Follow his orders to your
death.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
Get it up!
Crew Five finds their Zodiac, hoists it onto their heads.
THE CHIEF
Boat Six -- England, O'Neil, McCool,
Montgomery, Cortez, and Slutnik.
Lieutenant England is your senior
officer.
Jordan rolls her eyes: At least two of the guys in her
crew are blue-ribbon misogynists. Cortez and Slutnik
don't like it any better.
JORDAN
Ah, c'mon...
CORTEZ
Motherachrist...
SLUTNIK
Me? Again?
THE CHIEF
(looking up)
Somebody got a problem with the
muster?
JORDAN
Fine by me, sir!
CORTEZ
No problem, sir!
SLUTNIK
Full of joy here, sir!
Exchanging looks across their Zodiac, Jordan and her new
crewmates lift the boat overhead.
THE CHIEF
Boat Seven...
EXT. BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
With BATTLE CRIES, 12 boat crews charge into the teeth of
the POUNDING SURF. Some lose their boat to the first
wave; others clear the surf and scramble aboard.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
(into bullhorn)
First crew to finish gets hot food
and warm racks for the night! Rest
of you are digging hide-sites and
eating earthworms tonight!
EXT. OCEAN - DAY
Beyond the breakers, the Zodiacs run parallel to shore,
crews paddling furiously, racing the wind, the sun, the
other crews. Instructors shadow in power boats,
stopwatches running.
EXT. BOAT SIX - OCEAN - DAY
McCool
Don't wanna be pickin' no sandcrabs
outta my ass tonight!
ENGLAND
So shutup and stroke, McCool!
SLUTNIK
Hoo-yah! Hoo-yah!
Flea checks on Jordan. She paddles hard, really digging
in. Flea grins: On some level, he has to admire this
women.
Jordan catches the grin, gives one back.
Ahead, buoys mark the finish line. And just when it seems
victory is at hand...
THWUNK. Something hits Boat Six. Suddenly it's losing
air. Jordan torques around to see...
The Chief on a nearby boat, speargun in hand.
THE CHIEF
Your boat just hit razor coral.
What do you do now?
ENGLAND
Patch and pump! C'mon! Whose ass
is on the kit?
MCCOOL
I say keep paddlin'! We're
almost --
ENGLAND
Forget it, McCool! Pri One is to
save the boat, not win a race! So
let's get on it!
They flail to save their sinking boat. Boat Five noses
past, stealing the lead. Wickwire tosses Jordan a passing
look. "Sorry, but..."
EXT. UPPER DUNES - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Up and down the dunes, crews are digging "hide-sites" --
six-man holes that will be their homes tonight. Cortez
and Slutnik are uprooting shrubs, collecting camouflage
material.
CORTEZ
Four years I petition to get into
this program. Four years. Finally
get here, and now it's co-ed? Such
bullshit. Now I'm gettin' hammered
just 'cuz she's on our crew.
SLUTNIK
Least you don't have to sleep with
her every goddamn night.
CORTEZ
Tellin' you, I'd rather be the last
class with balls than the first one
with chicks.
CUT TO:
EXT. UPPER DUNES - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Jordan and Flea fill sand bags to shore up the walls of
their hide-site. England and McCool shovel back to back.
MCCOOL
Had a grandaddy who wanted to be a
Navy man. Wanted to fire them big
guns on a big-ass battleship. But
Navy said to him, "Oh, no. You can
only do one thing on a battleship."
"Well what's that?" grandaddy said.
"Cook," they said. Now this ain't
100 years ago -- I'm talkin' United
States Navy, middla World War II.
And you know the reason they gave
him? You know why they tol' my
grandaddy he couldn't fight for his
country?
ENGLAND
He talked too much?
MCCOOL
"Negroes can't see at night. Bad
night vision."
JORDAN
You're kiddin' me.
Jordan jumps in the hole, ready to take over shoveling.
MCCOOL
See, you just the new nigger on the
block, O'Neil. That's all. And
maybe you moved in too early.
He climbs out. HOLD on Jordan, looking off down the
dunes, seeing the other crews covering up and going
underground for the night. How the hell did she wind up
here? So far from home?
EXT. SILVER STRAND HIGHWAY - DAY
A Jeep speeds along the public highway, carrying the C.O.
back to base. When the Jeep tops a rise:
C.O.
What in God's name...
Ahead, a half-dozen news crews are camped on the shoulder.
All cameras are trained on the base.
INT. BEDROOM - GEORGETOWN APARTMENT - NIGHT
CAMERA FINDS Navy dress blues laid out on a bed... topcoat
draped on a chair-back... CNN on a television.
CNN COMMENTATOR (TV)
... is denying that it is
considering changing its long-held
policy of exclusion -- but it isn't
denying the presence of at least one
female in a heretofore all-male
program. Dubbed "G.I. Jane" by the
media, this woman is now undergoing
commando training at the Special
Warfare Command Center in San
Diego...
Half-shaven, Royce leans out of the bathroom in time to
catch...
Footage from Coronado: A woman in Navy greens is on a
beach run, loaded down with backpack and M-16. The NEWS
FOOTAGE ZOOMS IN, FREEZE FRAMES with the indelible image
that will be used over and over in coming weeks: Woman
cradling rifle. Madonna for the 21st century.
ROYCE
Goddamn. My poster girl.
CNN COMMENTATOR (TV)
Senator DeHaven's office still has
not released the identity of the
woman, but DeHaven is confirming
that "G.I. Jane" has outlasted many
of her male counter-parts in the
program, said to be one of the most
grueling anywhere. Joining us now
on "Washington Tonight" for the
feminist perspective is Gloria
Allred, live from --
Royce snaps it off. He can't take anymore.
INT. BEAU-ART HALL - WASHINGTON D.C. - NIGHT
Beneath the coffered ceiling of a great Beau-Art hall, one
of Washington's power-tribes is celebrating. We find
gowned women, tuxedoed men, gold-braided naval officers, a
SWING BAND, and...
Secretary Hayes, newly confirmed. He beams as he dances
with his wife. Compliments and friendly barbs come from
all directions:
COMPLIMENTS (O.S.)
Congratulations, Mr. Secretary. Say
hello to the President for me...
Maybe now you can change that carpet
in your office, Teddy... So what was
the deal you made with DeHaven? Or
was it the Devil? Always get them
confused...
HAYES
Didn't you hear? Effective
immediately, all navy vessels can no
longer be referred to as "she."
BRAYS of laughter.
CUT TO:
INT. BEAU-ART HALL - WASHINGTON D.C. - NIGHT
Royce, EXCUSING his way through the crowd, fixating on the
bar, leading his DIAL-A-DATE winner by the hand.
Conversations drift into earshot:
VOICE #1
... women are child-bearers. Life-
givers. Now we're going to make
them killers?
VOICE #2
... just don't have the upper-body
strength...
VOICE #3
How strong do you need to be to
launch a rocket? To push a button
or pull a trigger?
Royce can't get away from it.
DIAL-A-DATE
Are we going to dance?
ROYCE
Not right now.
Just yards from the bar, a Pentagon E-RINGER snags Royce's
elbow.
E-RINGER
Commander Royce. How's life across
the river?
ROYCE
Little slow, sir. When's the
Pentagon going to send me a good
crisis?
E-RINGER
I'll check my out-basket in the
morning. Say, do you know...
The E-Ringer turns to make introductions -- but finds his
CIRCLE OF FRIENDS embroiled in the topic du jour:
CIRCLE #1
... but men have trained as athletes
for 5,000 years. Women have been at
it for, what, couple of decades? Do
we really know the limits of their
strength?
CIRCLE #2
Or their endurance? You know, 30
years ago, women marathoners were 90
minutes off the pace of the men.
Now, the women's time is probably
only 20 minutes off.
CIRCLE #1
Try 15.
CIRCLE #3
But what do female soldiers really
contribute? I mean, why is this
"G.I. Jane" there instead of a man?
Eyes drift to Royce, inviting him into the fray.
ROYCE
(to dial-a-date)
You wait right here. I'll get the
drinks.
INT. MEZZANINE - BEAU-ART HALL - NIGHT
Heading upstairs with an iceless rum. Royce finds a calm
and secluded place to get drunk in peace and quiet.
VOICE #1
Take my word for it. It's just not
going to happen. Not now, not
anytime soon.
VOICE #2
You're guaranteeing that?
Royce frowns: He thought he was alone. He tracks the
voices to a forced-air vent beside the chaise.
VOICE #1
I have it on unorthodox but reliable
authority that combat positions will
remain off-limits. Despite what's
happening with our Babe in Boyland.
Alarms go off in Royce's head. He moves quickly to a
railing, looks down.
ROYCE'S POV: Of two naval officers on the floor below.
They stand beside a matching vent. It's impossible to see
faces from this angle -- but one man has a distinct bald
spot.
NAVAL OFFICER (VOICE #1)
Well, isn't that what these test
cases are supposed to decide?
(thinking)
Unless, of course, you're suggesting
that "G.I. Jane" is on her way to
becoming "Jane Doe"...
BALD SPOT (VOICE #2)
All I'm saying is that we won't be
integrating -- despite the rhetoric
coming off Capitol Hill, despite
what's happening in Coronado. And
you did not hear it from me.
NAVAL OFFICER (VOICE #1)
Hear what?
A conspiratorial handshake. The men split up.
INT. BEAU-ART HALL - WASHINGTON D.C. - NIGHT
Royce flashes down the stairs. Hitting main floor, he
looks around and then bumps into...
DIAL-A-DATE
There you are. Can we please dance
now?
Over her shoulder, Royce spies Bald Spot heading for the
cloak room. Royce commandeers the nearest J.O.
ROYCE
Lieutenant!
J.O.
Yes sir?
ROYCE
Take a dance!
INT. BEAU-ART HALL - WASHINGTON D.C. - NIGHT
Royce bobs and weaves through the crowd, trying to keep
sight of...
Bald Spot. Pushing through the exit doors.
Only steps behind, Royce shoulders through the doors...
EXT. BEAU-ART HALL - WASHINGTON D.C. - NIGHT
And blasts outside, intending to shake some answers out of
Bald Spot. But here Royce finds...
A dozen naval officers waiting for their cars. All of
them now wear caps.
Royce tries to check faces of the quickly departing men.
but it could have been anyone.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. OCEAN - DAY
A high-speed transport ("Seafox") is SLAMMING OVER SWELLS.
Lashed to one side is a rubber life boat.
EXT. SEAFOX - OCEAN - DAY
THE CHIEF
Crew Six! Stand by!
ENGLAND
Flea! 'Cool! O'Neil! Cortez!
Slutnik! In that order! Five-
second intervals! Let's go!
England's crew lines up for cast-and-recover drills: One
by one, they speed-roll off the transport...
... and drop into the life boat. After quickly
stabilizing, they roll off the life boat...
... and disappear underwater like human bullets. England
is last to cast off.
EXT. OCEAN - DAY
Jordan resurfaces. Treading water, she scans for...
Seafox. It makes a hard turn in the water and starts
back. The recovery rig -- a big flexible loop -- is
lowered into position.
Still hauling ass, Seafox picks up the trainees in reverse
order -- England, Slutnik, Cortez. They each stab an arm
through the passing loop...
EXT. SEAFOX - OCEAN - DAY
... and vault back aboard, slick as hell.
CORTEZ
Hoo-yah! Better'n sex in a car
crash!
But now they're bearing down fast on...
EXT. OCEAN - DAY
Jordan. She braces as best she can. As SEAFOX THUNDERS
past, she stabs for the loop...
And snags it with her hand. But only her hand.
Hanging on grimly, Jordan drags face down in torrential
water. Her mouth gropes for clean air but can't find it.
If she doesn't let go soon, she'll drown.
EXT. SEAFOX - OCEAN - DAY
At the stern, the Chief spots Jordan bobbing up in the
boat's wake.
THE CHIEF
(to pilot)
Next recovery! Keep goin', keep
goin'!
EXT. OCEAN - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
COUGHING up water, Jordan watches Seafox speed on toward
McCool and Flea. They make textbook recoveries. She's
the only one who couldn't cut it.
INT. WOMEN'S SHOWERS - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Head hung, Jordan showers alone.
THE CHIEF (O.S.)
You know, the Israelis...
Jordan recoils. Christ, how long has he been there? Just
standing in the doorway?
THE CHIEF
... they tried women in the 1967
War. Female soldiers.
With forced calm, Jordan squeaks off the water and finds a
towel.
JORDAN
Permission to get dressed, sir?
THE CHIEF
It seems the men couldn't get used
to the sight of women blown open and
their viscera hanging from tree
limbs. Israeli men would linger
over wounded females -- often to the
detriment of the mission, often
endangering their own lives. They
don't use women anymore.
JORDAN
(moving closer)
Sir, someone mentioned you received
the Navy Cross. May I ask what you
got it for?
THE CHIEF
For pulling a 210-pound man out of a
burning barrack in Saudi Arabia.
JORDAN
I see. So when a man tries to
rescue another man, he's a hero.
But when he tries to rescue a woman,
he's gone soft.
THE CHIEF
Could you have pulled that 210-pound
man clear, lieutenant?
She can't say yes. She wants to but can't.
THE CHIEF
Females in combat situations impact
unit cohesion. Men fight better
without women around. And that is
an historical fact.
JORDAN
It also seems like a problem with
the men's attitude, sir. So maybe
you should be sniffing around their
shower room instead.
She shoulders past. The Chief gives her a few steps
before dropping his bomb:
THE CHIEF
England went out with a stress
fracture. That puts you in charge,
lieutenant.
JORDAN
(off-balance)
McCool's that same rank. We're both
j.g.'s.
THE CHIEF
You were commissioned one month
earlier, which makes you the senior
officer.
(passing her on his
way out)
Remember. There are no bad crews --
only bad leaders.
INT. ARTILLERY RANGE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY
Trainees are getting familiar with M-60 machine guns,
firing SHORT BURST at downfield targets.
CORTEZ
(pissed)
No operational experience, and now
she's callin' the shots?
Unbelievable.
SLUTNIK
Suppose she'll wanna eat with us
now...
Jordan overhears them BITCHING. She steps up to an open
slot -- and proceeds to WAIL AWAY with her M-60, tracer
rounds blazing. Her target vaporized, she keeps WAILING
madly, taking out Slutnik's target... then Cortez's...
then...
INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
O'Neil... O'Neil... O'NEIL!
Finally she stops.
INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
One burst, one body, O'Neil! What
the fuck you trying to do? Spell
your name?
(to class)
You are not infantry! Your
firepower is limited! Excessive
killing only risks compromise...
Reloading, Jordan tosses a look at Slutnik and Cortez.
Ain't nobody bitchin' now.
EXT. MESS HALL - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
BLONDELL (O.S.)
S.E.R.E. training coming up.
Eating at a table with other women, Jordan turns to see
Blondell setting down her tray.
BLONDELL
They take you away to San Clemente
Island. Half the guys quit when
they come back. Supposed to be just
hell-and-a-half.
JORDAN
That's what I hear.
BLONDELL
Can I ask you somethin', lieutenant?
How come you're doing this? I mean,
we're kinda curious.
JORDAN
Who's "we"?
BLONDELL
Just some of the women.
EXT. QUARTERDECK - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Walking across the base:
JORDAN
I don't know if there's any single
reason. But my father was Navy.
And he had this old-time recruiting
poster in his den. It showed a girl
trying on a sailor's uniform while
saying, "Gee, I wish I were a man!
I'd join the Navy!" Was maybe 10
years old when I first saw it, and
even then it felt wrong. Made me
mad. And I don't think a month has
gone by that I haven't thought about
that poster. "Gee, I wish I were a
man."
BLONDELL
I've been accused of that wish.
JORDAN
The woman I saw you with...
BLONDELL
Just a friend. We have friends,
too, you know.
JORDAN
But are there... I mean, how many...
BLONDELL
More than you'd guess. It's just
that we don't hold coffee klatches.
If more then three of us get
together at any one time, the guys
think it's some kind of uprising.
They laugh.
BLONDELL
Sounds funny now, but it's really
not. We have to be careful. The
Navy still knows how to put on a
witch-hunt.
Reaching the quarterdeck, they scan a message board.
Jordan finds a half-dozen phone slips for her.
JORDAN
Royce...
INT. GEORGETOWN APARTMENT - NIGHT
ROYCE
(into phone)
I've been trying you for five days.
Don't they give you messages?
JORDAN (V.O.)
It's hard to find time to sleep,
Royce. Much less keep up with my
phone life.
ROYCE
How hard they making it on you?
EXT. PHONE KIOSK - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
Jordan sighs and slumps against the phone kiosk. Where to
start?
ROYCE (V.O.)
That bad?
JORDAN
I feel like there's men here,
there's women here -- then there's
men. But hey, what'd I expect?
INTERCUTTING Jordan and Royce:
ROYCE
Well, not this. I was doing the
Pentagon scene few nights ago. Got
some fresh stuff -- about you. You
may be in a hostile camp. I think
someone may be taking steps to
ensure that you crash and burn.
JORDAN
Me? Why me?
ROYCE
Don't you know? How they're talking
about you?
JORDAN
I saw an article...
ROYCE
I can't walk two blocks in
Washington without hearing about
"G.I. Jane." You're all over the
place, and whether you wanted it or
not, the feminists are sizing you up
for that poster.
Jordan's face sours with an errant thought.
JORDAN
So why are you telling me this?
ROYCE
Big symbols make big targets,
Jordan. I think someone's gunning
for you.
JORDAN
You know, Royce, I got enough heat
on me without you turning up the
jets, too.
ROYCE
I'm only trying to warn you in
case --
JORDAN
Well, let me warm you: I'm going
though with this. The more
everybody fucks with me, fucks with
my head, the more it just makes me
want to finish. So don't expect me
back crying in your arms any time
soon, okay?
ROYCE
That's not what I want, Jordan. I
mean... it is and it isn't...
JORDAN
Still can't make up your mind, huh?
Gotta go, Royce.
ROYCE
Jordan. You watch your ass.
JORDAN
Sure. I'll join the crowd.
EXT. AIR STATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT
A HELO WARMS UP on its pad.
Crew Six approaches, garbed in black wetsuits, loaded down
with weapons and rucksacks. Jordan is at the lead.
INT. HELO - NIGHT
The helo is airborne. Sitting on rucksacks, trainees
slather their faces with green camouflage paint. Over the
HOWLING ROTORS:
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
Infiltrate... establish your hide-
site... record any movement of
troops, vehicles, patrols -- any
activity inside your scan. If you
are compromised, you have two
options! Newberry!
Newberry is the new sixth man. He's young enough to still
have a hyperactive Adam's apple.
NEWBERRY
Evasive maneuvers or radio for
emergency extraction, sir!
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
If you are extracting, be damn sure
to follow procedures you have
learned in your classroom training!
A helo cannot extract you from a
wooded area! You must bring it down
in a clearing! What's the minimum
clearance for an MH-60 Black Hawk,
McCool?
MCCOOL
32 feet, six inches, sir!
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
You will be penalized for early
extraction, but you will be
penalized more for capture -- trust
me, far more! Survival! Evasion!
Rescue! Evacuation! Welcome to
S.E.R.E.!
EXT. OCEAN - NIGHT
The helo swoops low over the water, moon silhouetting.
Black figures helo-cast into the ocean.
INT. HELO - NIGHT
Last out, Jordan is poised to follow when...
INSTRUCTOR PYRO
Lieutenant! Don't back down!
Jordan looks back. "What the hell does that mean?"
Offering no elaboration, Pyro signals "GO!" Jordan
springs clear...
EXT. OCEAN - NIGHT
... and knifes into black water.
The HELO PATTERS away.
An inky stillness overtakes the world.
Jordan activates a red-light beacon, sweeps it around,
revealing her position to...
Her crew. Five black faces regroup around her.
SLUTNIK
Feel right at home, McCool?
They secure weapons atop their waterproof rucksacks.
Jordan checks a heat-bearing compass.
JORDAN
(nodding direction)
South-southeast. And I don't want
to hear another word till we're
underground.
Pushing rucksacks ahead of them, they start swimming
towards...
A moonlit shoreline. Half-mile ahead.
EXT. ROCKY SHORELINE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - NIGHT
Jordan's crew reaches shallow water. They deflate their
vests and rucksacks. Jordan trades her face mask for
night-vision goggles.
NIGHT-VISION POV: Sweeping the rocks. Nothing at first.
Then two "hostiles" appear, patrolling the rocks.
Jordan motions "down." Six faces sink from sight.
NIGHT-VISION/UNDERWATER POV: Of the "hostile" patrol
moving on.
They resurface. On Jordan's cue, the crew sheds flippers
and begins scaling rocks. They've made landfall.
EXT. HIDE-SITE MONTAGE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - NIGHT
MONTAGE: Racing the coming sun, Jordan's crew builds
their hide-site... digging feverishly... filling sand
bags... telescoping open a roof pole, fanning out spars...
laying canvas roof panels into place... camouflaging the
panels... sprinkling sanitizing powder around the
perimeter to ward off animals. INTERCUT WITH...
A snake slithering across the ground. As it nears the
hide-site...
A knife whacks its head off.
Slutnik picks up the carcass, kicks dirt over the severed
head. No trace.
EXT. SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
CAMERA PANS the island, awash in morning light. Woodlands
lie distant. A road is the only man-made feature -- until
in FOREGROUND, we find a spotting scope poking from the
ground.
INT. HIDE-SITE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
SCOPE POV: Of the road. Fast-attack vehicles approach.
MCCOOL
(peering into scope)
Got two FAVs moving south. I
make... four banditos aboard,
carrying... H-60 machine guns...
Jordan REPEATS THE INFO into a digital tape-recorder, adds
the time.
JORDAN
Newberry, get a photo. South?
CORTEZ
Entering my scan now...
JORDAN
West?
SLUTNIK
Clear.
JORDAN
North?
FLEA
Clear.
SCOPE POV: Of the FAVs disappearing down the road.
CORTEZ
FAVs clear.
Everyone relaxes -- as much as six people can in a hole
five feet-wide. McCool opens up MREs (Meals Ready to Eat)
Slutnik guts his snake.
MCCOOL
You mind? I'm trying to eat here.
SLUTNIK
So am I.
Cortez finishes pissing into a tin pot. He transfers the
waste to a zip-lock baggy, offers the pot.
CORTEZ
Anyone?
He looks at Jordan. She eyes the pot, tempted and nettled
at the same time.
FLEA
Don't wanna evacuate 'cuz someone
came down with uric poisoning, el-
tee.
Abruptly Jordan unzips, drops her pants, sticks the pot
under her. It raises eyebrows: It's a far cry from when
she was covering up in cold water.
JORDAN
Didn't even bitch about the seat,
did I?
EXT. SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
WIDE VIEW: As a lone figure appears on foot.
INT. HIDE-SITE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
MCCOOL
What the... Got an unknown here.
100 yards north-northeast.
They pile up at McCool's scope. Jordan bulls her way
through.
SCOPE POV: It's a women. Dressed in civilian clothes,
she collects firewood. And she's coming this way.
MCCOOL
She part of the training?
JORDAN
I don't know...
SLUTNIK
"She?" There's another one?
McCool takes a second look.
SCOPE POV: Of the women drawing closer... closer... and
finally looking dead-bang at us. She does an about-face
and walks away. Quickly.
MCCOOL
Shit. Think we're had.
CORTEZ
Smoke her.
MCCOOL
I ain't gonna shoot her.
CORTEZ
Only blanks. Lemme do it.
MCCOOL
(pushing him away)
Hey. Ain't your call, man.
He looks to Jordan.
JORDAN
Pri One is to protect the mission.
If she represents a real threat, we
have to do it.
Pleased, Cortez slips his rifle under a roof panel.
JORDAN
(to McCool)
But did she see us? Do you know for
a fact that we are compromised?
McCool doesn't. Not for sure.
JORDAN
If not, firing will only give away
our position to hostiles in the
area. Now how smart is that?
MCCOOL
(a beat)
Mighta been civilian.
NEWBERRY
They got regular peeps on this
island, don't they?
EXT. ROAD - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
The asphalt road shimmers with midday heat. Suddenly a
TROOP CARRIER ROARS over a rise.
INT. HIDE-SITE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
SCOPE POV: Of the troop carrier braking hard. "Hostiles"
spill out the rear -- and fan out all around us.
CORTEZ
(at scope)
Banditos on the east perimeter! 150
yards! Shit, she was part of it!
MCCOOL
Fuck me.
FLEA
What's the word, el-tee? We're
about one minute from a major take-
down here.
HOLD on Jordan, heart skipping. Did she really make the
wrong call?
JORDAN
All right, fire-and-evade maneuvers.
Drop everything but weapons and the
PRC radio -- we're gonna be high
speed, low drag all the way to the
link-up site. Ready?
SLUTNIK
Sure. Now she wants to shoot.
JORDAN
MOVE!
EXT. SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
They come out of the hide-site like atomic locusts,
splintering into three groups and laying down SUPPRESSIVE
FIRE as they blitz for...
The woodlands.
"Hostiles" FIRE and pursue.
Flea is running flat out when the ground vanishes beneath
him. He goes down like a doped race horse. Suddenly
exposed, another crew scrambles into daylight: Flea ran
right over their hide-site.
Slutnik yanks Flea out, gets him back on his feet.
EXT. WOODS - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
Breathing like asthmatics, Jordan's crew regroups at the
link-up site just inside the woods. Flea comes in
hobbling. Badly.
SLUTNIK
This ain't workin' right!
MCCOOL
What's our go-to-shit plan, O'Neil?
SLUTNIK
This ain't even workin' wrong!
A beat as Jordan deliberates. She doesn't want to go out
like this.
FLEA
Really don't wanna be captured, el-
tee. Heard some bad things.
JORDAN
Fuck.
(snatching the radio)
Basher-Basher, this is Ground Crew
Six requesting emergency extraction.
Stand by for a PRC fix...
EXT. SKY - DAY
As a helo pirouettes in midair.
EXT. WOODS - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
Jordan's crew lopes through the woods, searching for a
place to bring the helo down. Right on their heels...
ARTILLERY SIMULATORS THUMP-THUMP-THUMP, illumination
GRENADES POP and flare. This may not be war, but it'll do
until the real thing comes along.
INT. HELO - DAY
PILOT'S POV: Buzzing treetops, searching.
EXT. WOODS - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
On the run:
MCCOOL
32 feet, six inches!
JORDAN
I'm lookin', I'm lookin'!
Finally they break into a clearing. Is it big enough?
JORDAN
'Cool?
MCCOOL
(doesn't care)
Smoke it!
Jordan chucks a smoke grenade.
INT. HELO - DAY
PILOT'S POV: Yellow smoke rises from the woods. We swoop
toward it.
EXT. CLEARING IN WOODS - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
Whirling smoke, the helo descends. Jordan's crew breaks
early, trying to get there the instant it touches down.
But before they can...
An FAV crashes through the underbrush, M-60s BARKING in
the helo's direction. The helo bounds away.
Jordan's crew tries to retreat -- but a second FAV cuts
them off.
INT. HELO - DAY
PILOT'S POV: Of the action below, growing smaller and
smaller: Jordan's crew. Surrounded. Laying down
weapons. Captured.
EXT. WOODS - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
JORDAN'S POV: Brush slapping her face.
Crew Six is being hauled through the woods, hands tied
back, boots around their necks, pulled along by...
The captors. We assume they're instructors in camouflage
paint -- but we're moving so fast it's impossible to be
sure.
EXT. P.O.W. CAMP - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
A P.O.W. camp, disturbingly authentic. A dozen trainees
are already here, held in pens of bamboo and barbed-wire.
Flea, McCool, Slutnik, Cortez, Newberry -- all five get
tossed into a pen. Jordan is pulled away.
FLEA
Where are you... HEY! Where are you
taking her?
EXT. BOXES - P.O.W. CAMP - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
Jordan is thrown to the ground. Her eyes go wide when she
sees a row of steel boxes nearby. They're scarcely larger
then coffins.
INT. BOX - P.O.W. CAMP - DAY
Hands push Jordan inside the box. She has to curl up
fetally just to fit.
JORDAN
How long?
(no answer)
Please, HOW LONG?
The LID BANGS closed. A LOCK RATCHETS, FOOTSTEPS RETREAT.
Daylight sheets in through ventilation slats.
When her eyes adjust, Jordan finds markings on the lid and
walls. Scratchings made with a nail. The memoirs of
previous tenants.
JORDAN
"Don't know how much I can take"...
"A little taste of death"... "Save
the nail"...
(then the real kick-
in-the-teeth)
"It's been three days now"...
EXT. P.O.W. CAMP - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - NIGHT
As "hostiles" pull Flea out of the pen.
INT. BOX - P.O.W. CAMP - NIGHT
A BANGING wakes Jordan. Are they coming for her? But
FOOTSTEPS LEAVE. A GROAN from the adjacent box.
JORDAN
Who is it?
WICKWIRE (O.S.)
(a beat)
You know, I had an apartment about
this size once.
JORDAN
Wick. They got your crew, too?
WICKWIRE (O.S.)
Intagliata was out chasing
breakfast. They found his tracks.
Well, shit.
A beat.
JORDAN
You really came back for more? Of
this?
WICKWIRE (O.S.)
When I was sittin' behind a desk in
Washington, it made sense, somehow.
Blame it on my big brother. He was
Spec-Recon. And the stories he used
to tell...
JORDAN
If you got a good one, Wick...
Anything to get her mind off this box. Out of this box.
Now INTERCUT Jordan and Wickwire, lying like fraternal
twins in their wombs of steel:
WICKWIRE
One time he was doing a rekkie of
the Libyan coastline. This is,
like, right before we bombed
Khadaffi into the past tense. So
his crew does a nighttime infil,
maps all the big artillery
placements and stuff, then turns
around to get the hell gone. But
between them and the water are five
Libyan guards, all armed to the
nuts.
JORDAN
They had to kill 'em?
WICKWIRE
Nah, they were dead-ass asleep. But
on every guard's chest,they left one
Marlboro cigarette. Just a little
calling card to say they'd been
there -- and could come back any
time they wanted.
JORDAN
That's a good story.
WICKWIRE
So the shit you gotta go through?
To get from here to there? Brother
said it was worth it. Worth the
training... worth the divorce...
worth anything.
JORDAN
He was married?
WICKWIRE
At first.
JORDAN
You got anybody, Wick?
WICKWIRE
Not me. You?
It hurts to think about it. The Potomac. The gunkhole
harbor. Royce.
WICKWIRE
O'Neil?
JORDAN
How'd you make it last time, Wick?
How'd you get through this part?
WICKWIRE
(a beat)
Last time I didn't.
JORDAN
(jarred)
Let's keep talkin', Wick. Just keep
talkin' to me...
EXT. NEWSSTAND - WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY
Royce stops for a newspaper. As he pays, something else
catches his eye. He picks up...
A "People" magazine. The grainy image of "G.I. Jane"
fills the cover. A photo inset, much clearer, shows a
beaming DeHaven. "BEHIND EVERY GREAT WOMAN..."
ROYCE
(shaking head)
Suitable for framing...
INT. CORRIDOR - N.I.C. - DAY
ROYCE
Got time for a brain-pick?
Reading as he walks, a former CIA spook looks up to find
Royce in lockstep. It surprises him: Not many people
here talk to him -- unless they're in trouble. THE SPOOK
is physically unremarkable except for a face that would be
right at home on Easter Island: This is a man who's seen
most of the world's ills -- and forgotten none.
THE SPOOK
Subject?
ROYCE
O'Neil, Jordan.
THE SPOOK
Thought you two were file-closed.
ROYCE
You knew about us?
THE SPOOK
Sorry. Thought you knew I knew.
INT. SITUATION ROOM - N.I.C. - DAY
Royce and the Spook enter. The vault-like door closes
emphatically. Ensuring their privacy:
ROYCE
Computer -- no transcription, no
com-link, no data-link. In fact...
shut-down sequence 0-Niner-0-8,
mark.
All around, screens go blank, phone lights extinguish.
They sit at the conference table. No Computer. No files.
Just two guys doing headwork.
THE SPOOK
All right. So who stands to gain if
Jordan flames out in a big way?
ROYCE
The E-Ringers? Full integration is
gonna cost the services billions at
the worst possible time -- when
Congress is already swinging the
axe.
THE SPOOK
(agreeing)
Congress cuts, military bleeds. But
Pentagon's a big place. Let's
narrow the sights.
ROYCE
The Navy? They've made it clear
they don't want to pull missiles out
of subs to make room for women's
heads. What's it gonna cost to make
a fleet of Trident's co-ed?
THE SPOOK
Sabotage born of economics?
Wouldn't be a first. But is Hayes
really going to start his watch with
such a public failure?
ROYCE
Possibly. Just to spite DeHaven.
THE SPOOK
Hmm. Let's aim higher.
Royce blinks. "What's higher?"
THE SPOOK
The White House. If Jordan wins,
DeHaven wins in spades. Why? Well,
it's been said that the only man the
President fears -- ain't no man.
ROYCE
The first female President?
THE SPOOK
Don't for a second think she didn't
leak this story. "G.I. Jane" gives
DeHaven a symbol that taps into the
biggest constituency of them all.
ROYCE
Women.
THE SPOOK
If you were the President, wouldn't
that put a little piss in your
shoes?
ROYCE
I don't know. Seems...
THE SPOOK
This ain't about some little soldier
girl sloggin' her way through
commando school. The implications
go way beyond.
ROYCE
Christ, I don't want to see her take
a fall. She thinks I do, but...
THE SPOOK
I take it this file is still open.
ROYCE
(shaping his words)
Even tough I don't talk to her every
day -- I still talk to her every
day. Know what I mean?
THE SPOOK
(nodding)
Okay, so now work it from the other
end. Think about California -- and
how things might be handled there.
ROYCE
I don't...
(scoffing)
What, someone on base? A "mole"?
THE SPOOK
This is what you get for brain-
picking an old CIA spook. but if I
needed to control the outcome of
this test case, that's how I'd do
it. A man-in-place. Makes
everything very controllable.
INT. BOX - P.O.W. CAMP - DAY
JORDAN'S POV: The box opening. Daylight assaulting us,
blowing out our eyes. Disembodied hands pulling us out.
EXT. P.O.W. CAMP - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY
Legs hobbled, uniform soiled, Jordan is led past a row of
huts. She looks like |
