Stalag 17 Page #2

THE FAR END OF THE BARRACK

This is the strategic spot of the story. In the five tiers

of bunks live our major characters.

In the upper bunk lies HOFFY. Little fellow. Plenty of

authority. The Barrack Chief. His eyes are wide open. He is

studying his wristwatch, the phosphorescent numerals shining

in the dark.

In the other bunks lie the others, wide awake, tense:

DUKE, big bellyacher.

TRIZ, six-foot-three, ninety-eight pounds.

PRICE, the barrack Security Chief. Quiet, touch of class.

MANFREDI, no cover, fully dressed.

HARRY, bug-eyed, cocky.

BLONDIE, fair-skinned, boyish.

JOHNSON, fully dressed like Manfredi. Scared.

SEFTON, casual. In his mouth a cold cigar butt.

Hoffy again. Still staring at the wristwatch. This is the

moment. He lifts the metal dogtags off his chest and jiggles

them. This is the signal.

Duke instantly slides out of the bunk, grabs up his blanket

and moves toward the window. A searchlight beam sweeps across.

Duke goes flush on the ground. The light passes on. Duke

gets up again and starts hanging the blanket over the window.

Now the others go into action, silently, efficiently. Except

for Manfredi and Johnson they are all in long winter

underwear, some in slacks and socks.

As for Sefton, he is lying in his bunk just watching them.

Blondie hangs a blanket over the window. Triz swings one

over the clothesline to shield off their end of the barrack.

Hoffy and Price light a couple of handmade lamps: margarine

in tin cans with the wick stuck inside.

Manfredi and Johnson are putting on their leather jackets.

Harry tries to awaken STOSH in the bunk above him. The wooden

boards around Stosh's bunk are plastered with Betty Grable

cheesecake. Harry pokes him. Stosh does not respond. Harry

interlocks his fingers, puts them close to Stosh's ears and

cracks them in a SHARP SALVO. Stosh opens his eyes, dazed.

Harry pats Stosh's cheek.

HARRY:

(in a whisper)

Get up, Animal! Betty Grable's on

the phone!

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