Short screenplay from the Done Deal Memorial Day contest,
June 2007
"Enemy Mine"
FADE IN:
EXT. FLAT DESERT - DAY
Sizzling emptiness, as far as the eye can see.
EXT. MILITARY LAND ROVER - DAY
Painted in desert camouflage, a British Union Jack on the
side, machine guns mounted front and rear.
THREE SOLDIERS stand watching a FOURTH SOLDIER who leans
over to peer at the exposed engine.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Well what about it?
PRIVATE HODGE
Radiator's blown.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
Come on Hodgy stop messing about,
how long to fix it? Even the sweat
on my bollocks is sweating.
CORPORAL LANE
Can you fix it, Hodgy?
PRIVATE HODGE
Someone better call the A.A.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
You are kidding me.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Haven't you got spares?
PRIVATE HODGE
Not for this. The hoses have gone.
It's a right bleeding mess.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
Christ Almighty.
Richards shakes his head in disgust and walks away.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Better get on the blower then.
CORPORAL LANE
Hodgy, you're sure?
PRIVATE HODGE
Not a chance, Corp. Sorry.
Private Richards scans their surroundings, they're in the
middle of nowhere.
Corporal Lane takes a radio handset from the Land Rover,
extends the aerial.
CORPORAL LANE (INTO RADIO)
Mike Seven Piper, receiving, over.
(pause)
Mike Seven Piper, receiving, over.
The SSSSSHHHHHH of radio mush.
CORPORAL LANE (INTO RADIO)
Mike Seven Piper, receiving, over.
He listens. Nothing. He takes out a Global Positioning
System device (GPS) and fiddles with it.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
Does anyone know where the France we
are?
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Shut up, Richards. Hodgy, close her
up. Let's get organized.
PRIVATE HODGE
Organized for what?
SERGEANT HIGGINS
We can't be more than ten klicks
from Jazz Al.
CORPORAL LANE
G.P.S. puts us seventeen klicks south-
east of Ja'zal and ten klicks north
of Baker Echo.
PRIVATE HODGE
What's Baker Echo?
CORPORAL LANE
Bacon and eggs. Yank supply base.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Can you trust that thing?
CORPORAL LANE
Seven hundred quid's worth of the
latest Japanese technology. Wife
bought it for my birthday.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
Thank God for that, if it was Army
issue we'd be toast.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Shut up, Richards.
PRIVATE HODGE
Ten klicks. That's a fierce tab in
this heat.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
What's wrong with the blower?
CORPORAL LANE
Can't get a signal.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Christ what I'd give for a sand dune.
Elevation, that's what we need.
Private Richards calls back over his shoulder--
PRIVATE RICHARDS
We've got company.
"Company" is an Arab on a camel, a flapping white mirage in
the shimmering heat. Hard to tell how far away he is.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
Lawrence of bloody Arabia.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Where the hell is he going?
PRIVATE HODGE
He's coming right at us.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
It's a suicide attack. He's got a
stick of dynamite up his arse.
CORPORAL LANE
Maybe he's wondering who we are.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Hodgy, you're on Big Bertha.
PRIVATE HODGE
Maybe he just wants a brew. Fancy
one myself.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
Those camels are dirty bastards,
they spit phlegm all over you.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Knock it off, the pair of you. Hodgy?
Private Hodge mans the Land Rover's 12.7mm heavy machine gun
with its auto-feed ammo box.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
Aim for his bollocks, Hodgy.
CORPORAL LANE
I don't think he's armed.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
He could he hiding a pair of harem
slave girls under all that mufti.
Hodgy, you got his range?
PRIVATE HODGE
Not sure, Sarge. Maybe two hundred.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
I reckon one-fifty, just about.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Just keep an eye on him, Hodgy. If
he does anything stupid, teach the
bugger a lesson.
(to Corporal Lane)
Get on the blower again, see if you
can raise someone.
CORPORAL LANE
Okay but for Christ's sake hold your
fire, he's probably a friendly.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Don't be stupid. We're just being
careful.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
Everyone in this bloody country hates
us. I say we slot the bastard.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
One more word out of you, Richards--
CORPORAL LANE (INTO RADIO)
Mike Seven Piper, receiving, over.
(pause)
Mike Seven Piper, receiving, over.
(pause)
Any Coalition unit receiving my
signal, I am a British Army ground
callsign requesting net to Juliet
Alpha Zero. Over.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
Bet you wish the wife bought you a
Jap radio for your birthday.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Maybe if you climb onto the roof?
CORPORAL LANE
Yeah, and maybe if Hodgy stood on my
shoulders and waved his knickers
around we might pick up Radio Baghdad.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
The bugger's getting close.
The Arab and his camel are solid now, riding steadily.
PRIVATE HODGE
Range seventy metres! Give me some
bloody room!
Everyone shifts well out of Hodge's field of fire.
CORPORAL LANE
Just hold your fire, Hodgy.
Private Richards peers through his SA-80 rifle's sight.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
Jesus, I can't tell which one's
uglier, the camel or the rider.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Right. I want no mistakes here,
Hodgy. Give him a warning burst.
Make sure you fire over his head.
CORPORAL LANE
Hodgy, don't shoot.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
This isn't a flaming democracy!
CORPORAL LANE
He's not doing anything. Rules of
engagement. We cannot open fire
unless directly threatened.
PRIVATE HODGE
Aw give me a break. Sarge?
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Corporal bleeding Lane says we have
to follow rules of engagement, Hodgy.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
I bet I could put three rounds through
his chest in a six-inch grouping.
CORPORAL LANE
Put that rifle down, Richards.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
I'm just saying...
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Private Richards, lower your rifle.
PRIVATE HODGE
Christ I could do with a brew, my
mouth's dry as an old whore's twat.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
He's stopped.
The Arab has stopped. He moves his arm in a wide sweeping
gesture. He speaks, but his words are muffled by distance.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
What the bleeding hell is he saying?
CORPORAL LANE
I'm going to talk to him.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Hold your position.
The Arab points to the ground between them. His finger stabs
at specific spots... there, there, and there.
CORPORAL LANE
He's trying to tell us something.
The Arab mimes something unmistakable -- an explosion. He
points again, there, there, there. Mimes another explosion.
Private Richards slowly lowers his rifle.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
Oh my sainted aunt. Is he saying--
SERGEANT HIGGINS
He'd bloody better not be.
Corporal Lane pushes Hodge aside and climbs up onto the Land
Rover. He balances on the roof, and looks around.
Sure enough, all around them are little "dents" in the sand.
Not visible from ground level, but visible from up here.
CORPORAL LANE
We're in a fucking minefield.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Bollocks. There's no minefield on
the map.
CORPORAL LANE
I can see them! God knows who planted
them or how long they've been here.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Nobody move a muscle. Right. Who's
got a bayonet?
Private Richards sees the Arab point out what appears to be
a path among the land mines.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
You know what? I think our new pal
wants us to follow him.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Can we trust him?
CORPORAL LANE
He's got elevation. He can see where
they are. We can't, if we walk out
of here.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Maybe it's a trick.
Corporal Lane, Private Richards and Private Hodge stare at
him. Sergeant Higgins realizes what a plonker he is.
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Yeah all right. Grab your gear and
let's follow the nice gentleman.
But if his camel so much as farts,
slot the bastard.
EXT. DESERT - DAY
The four British soldiers follow the Arab.
The Arab waves to them, and trots off into the desert.
The Arab stops, points ahead. Corporal Lane checks his GPS.
CORPORAL LANE
Bacon and eggs, bearing one seven
eight, distance two klicks.
The Arab waves to them, and trots off into the desert.
PRIVATE RICHARDS
You want me to shoot him, Sarge?
SERGEANT HIGGINS
Shut up, Richards.
PRIVATE HODGE
You think those Yanks know how to
make a brew? I can't stand coffee.
FADE OUT.
05/07
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