Platoon
EXT. TRAIL – RUINS – POSITION #1 – NIGHT
Elias comes up to Barnes swiftly, indicating the blood trail leading off into the bush.
ELIAS Blood trail just keeps going and going but no body.
BARNES How the hell did he get away?
ELIAS Fuckers returned fire soon as we lit ’em up. Hard core fuckin’ NVA. They got their shit together.
RING (coming up to Barnes) Sarge – Doc wants you. There’s a problem with the new man.
Elias and Barnes go with King. Past Chris and Tex who are ambulatory and bandaged, being helped along. As Barnes passes, the men look at him, everybody quickly senses something is wrong.
EXT. GARDNER’S POSITION – NIGHT
At one of the positions Doc is working feverishly to knock the life back into Gardner who lies there, his shirt stripped off on his cottage cheese belly. A huge sucking chest wound. He’s dying. You know it because he knows it. The eyes do the talking, numb, terrorized yet strangely detached, accepting, not protesting or concerned any longer.
Most of the ambush has assembled and is watching, Chris moving in to see. Doc is mumbling to him, low key.
DOC Chopper’s on the way Gardner, hang in there, you gonna be okay …
But Gardner seems unconcerned. Things are going on in his head – who knows what. And in his eyes there are big tears rolling. Then a morphine smile. A sort of goofy Gardner smile, maybe thinking about Lucy Jean, who knows. He’s dead.
BARNES (to all) Take a good look at this lump o’shit … (motions to Gardner’s body) Rmember what it looks like, all of you. You fuck up in a firefight and I guaran-goddamn-tee you, a trip out of the bush – IN A BODYBAG. Out here, assholes, you keep your shit wired tight at ALL times … (glares directly at Chris) and that goes for you, shit for brains. You don’t SLEEP ON NO FUCKIN’ AMBUSH. Next sonofabitch I catch coppin’ z’s in the bush I’m personally gonna take an interest in seeing him suffer – I SHIT YOU NOT …
He thumps Chris lightly but menacingly in his chestbone and moves on.
CHRIS (drowsy) I didn’t fall asleep, Sergeant, Junior …
BUNNY (pissed, cuts in, shoves him hard) Shut your face chicken shit! You in big trouble boy!
O’NEILL Excuses are like assholes, Taylor – everybody got one.
ELIAS Knock it off! We got two men need attention here. Police up your extra ammo and frags, don’t leave nothing for the dinks. Hoyt, Junior, carry Gardner.
JUNIOR (muttering) Let de white boy carry his ass, he this dude that got him fucked up. Who’d be hauling his ass if that was a brother laying there?
Elias follows Barnes out of earshot of the others.
ELIAS Man’d be alive if he’d had a few more days to learn something.
Barnes, registering it, just keeps on walking.
EXT. BASE CAMP – DAY (WEEK LATER)
Chris is driven up in a jeep to his Company PC – marked ‘Bravo PC’ on a C-ration box. It’s midday on a hot lazy afternoon, few people out in the 102 degree sun.
Chris’ Company is on the outskirts of the base camp, their barracks regulation wood, canvas, and fine mesh screening, red dust everywhere, bunkers down on the perimeter, reams of barbed wire and concertina, a sand-bagged MESS HALL and CHAPEL, 81 mm mortar pits, observation towers, recoiless rifles, 50-caliber machine guns.
Chris gets out of the jeep, stiff-necked, a bandage around it, still in some pain. The first man he intersects is KING, carrying crates of beer.
KING Hey Taylor, what’s in the breeze?
In King’s mild tone Chris tries to read his standing in the platoon.
CHRIS Okay – got light duty, three days.
KING Shit, too bad we in base camp anyway.
CHRIS What you got there – beers?
KING Yeah, just stole me some from the Top’s supply but he’s stealing it from us anyway. (sees somebody coming) Chucks are coming. You better ‘didi’ man.
Too late. Sgt. O’NEILL, the redhead lifer accompanied by Spec 4 SANDERSON, a big handsome blond kid, not too bright in the face, both slightly drunk, come around a corner, beer cans in hand. O’Neill sees Chris immediately.
O’NEILL Hey Taylor – you back?
CHRIS (pause) Uh, looks like it?
SANDERSON (spotting King’s beer) Where’d you get that beer King?
KING (a funny look) I found it …
SANDERSON You found it? … Bullshit! You going on report. Gimmee that shit.
O’NEILL Awright, come here both of you. You too Taylor (wags his finger) Got a little special job for you.
They advance toward him reluctantly.
CHRIS I got light duty, Sarge. Doctor said to take it easy couple days.
O’NEILL (laughes) … ain’t that tough shit now.
EXT. THE OUTHOUSE – DAY
A wooden cabin with some half-dozen seats built over half barrels cut from empty oil drums. A guy is in there, pulling up his pants.
Chris, King and Crawford, a California blond with a handsome honeyed look, are sweeating heavily as they roll the barrels out from under the outhouse, the smell of human waste strong. A hot midday emptiness, nobody around except the flies.
KING (pissed) … Motherfuckah, motherfuckah, I’m too short to be dealing with this shit! They keep fucking with us man, no letup …
CRAWFORD (equally pissed) Politics man, fuckin’ politics. That O’Neill man got his nose so far up Top’s ass he gotta be Pinocchio…
KING Forty-two days man and a wakeup and I’m a gone motherfucker. Back to de WORLD. (dreaming in his eyes)
CRAWFORD Broke a 100. Got 92 to go. April 17. DEROS man. California this summer. Waves are good they tell me, surfin’s gonna be good …
KING March man in Tennessee, sniff the pines … sniff that crossmounted pussy walkin’ down by the river. What you got Taylor? (a snicker) Let’s see three hundred and WHAT?
CHRIS … 32. 332 days.
CRAWFORD (groans) Oh man! Sorry bout that. I can’t even remember when I was 332. You gotta count backwards like you got 40 days in – think positive.
KING (to Chris) How the fuck you get over here man, you look like you educated …
CHRIS I volunteered.
KING You WHAT? Say ‘gain.
CHRIS Yeah, I dropped out of college and told ’em I wanted infantry, combat, and Nam …
He grins, finding their reactions funny. It’s also the first time we’ve seen Chris crack a smile.
CRAWFORD You volunteered for this shit man?
KING You a crazy fucker, givin’ up college man.
King has long sleepy eyelids and cat’s eyes, a large pink tongue and big white-edged cotton picker’s nails – a lazy, gentle nature, content with the world.
CHRIS Didn’t make much sense. Wasn’t learning anything … (hesitates) And why should just the poor kids go to the war – and the college kids get away with it.
King and Crawford share a smile.
KING What we got here a crusader?
CRAWFORD Sounds like it.
They pause, wipe the sweat off. King lighting up a half-smoked joint, hitting a few puffs, eyes shooting around, making sure he’s not spotted, passing it to Crawford.
KING Sheeit, gotta be rich in the first place to think like dat. Everybody know the poor always being fucked by the rich. Always have, always will.
Noticing Chris is having trouble with his neck, picking at his bandage.
KING (CONT’D) You okay man? Neck botherin’ you?
CHRIS Nah …
KING Here have some of this. Won’t feel a thing.
Chris looking at the joint, a little apprehensive. He’s never smoked.
CHRIS No, thanks …
KING Go on, whatcha gotta lose, yo’ here now …
CRAWFORD Kills the smell of shit anyway.
The joint proferred. Chris waits a beat, shrugs, takes it, smokes.
KING Suck it in. Hold it … That’s it. Now let it out.
Chris blows it out.
CHRIS Don’t feel it.
King and Crawford chuckle, go on rolling the cans.
KING Dat’s what they all say.
CUT TO:
EXT. OUTHOUSE – LATER – DAY
King, Crawford and Chris pour kerosene over the cans at a secure distance from the outhouse.
King lights it. The cans pop and start crackling. A line of burning barrels. Rings of dirty black smoke rise against a soft blue sky.
They watch, stoned. Chris turns to both of them.
CHRIS … you know that night we got hit … I … (ashamed)
KING Fuck it, don’t mean nothing, no such thing here as a coward, done your best man, next time y’do better.
CRAWFORD History, man, history.
Chris surprised at their attitude. The joint suddenly hits him, a look in his face, eyes looking around different. Over at King.
CHRIS (deadpans) I think I’m starting to feel that stuff …
