EXT - BARENTS SEA - NIGHT
... a storm of inconceivable force and violence. Merciless
arctic winds whip the sea in a frenzy of thirty-foot swells.
This is the last place in God's creation that any human
being should be. And yet ...
...the prow of a three-masted ship rises massively before
us, looming from the darkness and chaos. it crashes upward
through a swell and slams back down again, plunging nose-
first into the trough. The sails on the forward mast are
still deployed. It's insane; in this weather they should be
stowed (as is already the case with masts 2 and 3).
Hurtling toward us. Rising and falling. Thundering through
the swells. And as she sweeps past CAMERA within a seeming
hairbreadth, we PAN with the ship and find ourselves ...
EXT - SHIP - NIGHT
... aboard the "Alexander Nevsky," along for the ride whether
we like it or not. There are men all around us, dark
screaming FIGURES glimpsed and half-glimpsed, heavy oilskin
clothes flapping in the gale. A GROUP OF MEN are in a life-
or-death tug of war
PULL, YOU BASTARDS! PULL!
Riiiiippp! All eyes turn skyward as the uppermost sail tears
loose, the heavy canvas shredding away in huge billowing
tatters. The jib-arm wrenches free and plummets toward us,
trailing rope and fabric. The men dive aside as the jib
smashes into the deck like an exploding bomb. Splintered
shards of wood cartwheel through the air like shrapnel.
Walton catches a glancing blow to the head and slams face-
down on the pitching deck.
GRIGORI, the first mate, scrambles to Walton's aid. Walton
shoves him off, pushes painfully to his knees. LIGHTNING
throws his face into a stark relief map of pain and fury:
blood is streaming from his hairline, freezing in his eyes,
staining his teeth. He gazes up at the mainsail, still
intact and straining against the wind. We hear a huge CRACK!
The base of the mast is starting to give.