Basic

FADE IN ON:

An ARMY HELICOPTER as it soars over the thick LOUISIANA BAYOU.

Lush and green only a day ago, the foliage below has been

ripped to shreds. The kind of damage that can only be done

by nature.

SUPERIMPOSE:
, FEBRUARY 2 - 0630 HOURS - 32 KILOMETERS NORTH

OF FORT MCKINLEY, LOUISIANA

INT. ARMY HELICOPTER (FLYING) -- SUNRISE

Sitting next to the PILOT is COLONEL WILLIAM STYLES. Mid40'

s, normally gruff, but completely cowed by the damage

below. The PILOT, unfazed.

PILOT:

Hurricane Beth, huh? Had an ex-wife

named Beth, this is pretty much par

for the course. This area got the

worst of it, I hope these guys are

all intact-

STYLES:

That's enough, Lieutenant.

SOMEONE'S P.O.V. - RUNNING through the underbrush - ducking

branches, pushing through bushes, splashing through streams.

LABORED BREATHING wheezes over the sound track. We're headed

for a CLEARING...

INT. ARMY HELICOPTER (FLYING) -- SUNRISE

The Pilot pushes his stick forward, descending to tree level.

PILOT:

Coming up on the pick-up.

EXT. CLEARING -- DAWN

TWO MEN emerge from the underbrush at a run. The BIGGER MAN

carrying the wounded SMALLER MAN over his shoulder. Both in

ragged army cadet fatigues - ripped, muddy, and bloody.

The Bigger Man lowers the Smaller Man to the ground and

unshoulders his M-16. Face panicked.

The sound of the HELICOPTER approaching...

2.

INT. ARMY HELICOPTER (FLYING) -- SUNRISE

The unmistakable SOUND OF GUNFIRE from below.

PILOT:

Holy sh*t, that's live fire!

As the Helicopter comes over the clearing, Styles and the

Pilot squint down through the windscreen to see the Two Men,

huddled together as BULLET HITS kick up DUST around them!

STYLES:

Who's shooting at them-

The Bigger Man raising his own his weapon and RETURNING FIRE.

The Smaller Man frantically waving the Helicopter down...

PILOT:

I can't see-

Below, the Bigger Man still shooting and then he lowers his

rifle and there's only SILENCE. No return fire.

And then Styles sees why. A THIRD MAN. Lying by the

treeline. Chest torn open by gunfire. Obviously dead. His

clothes - the same fatigues the first two men are wearing.

STYLES:

That was one of their own, he just

Shot one of their own men-

PILOT:

Who was trying to shoot them-

STYLES:

Get us on the ground!

EXT. CLEARING -- SUNRISE

As the Helicopter comes in for a landing, the Bigger Man

kneels next to the Smaller Man, who bleeds from a bullet

wound to the arm. His face, pale, sweating. The Bigger Man

wipes the Smaller Man's brow and speaks softly and seriously.

BIGGER MAN:

Are you ready for this?

The Smaller Man nods.

INT. ROADHOUSE -- MORNING

A full on sh*t-kicking dive. Nearly empty, given the hour.

A TELEVISION plays the morning news over the bar. Only two

inhabitants - one a BARTENDER, the other the lone CUSTOMER,

smoking and picking at a plate of criminally runny eggs.

3.

HARDY:

Tell the truth, Vic. You made these

with a blender, right?

He grins and we get our first good look at

TOM HARDY - Three day stubble, dark rings around his eyes,

but a with strong jaw and steady voice. Not your average

barfly. Somebody who maybe used to be somebody.

BARTENDER:

Don't like 'em, don't eat 'em, don't

make no damn difference to me.

HARDY:

You know that was like a quadruple

negative?

The Bartender takes the plate away from him.

HARDY:

Can I at least have a drink?

BARTENDER:

It's ten thirty in the morning.

HARDY:

Yeah, if you've slept.

BARTENDER:

You know the law - no liquor before

noon. Could lose my license.

HARDY:

Don't you mean "don't need no liquor

license not taken away from me"?

The Bartender smiles.

BARTENDER:

Hurricane kept you up, too?

HARDY:

Yeah, and I could’ve used the sleep.

I’m supposed to meet people here

tonight, try and get some work going.

He stops, his attention suddenly on the TV. A NEWSCASTER:

NEWSCASTER:

...is expected to announce the grand

jury indictments in the Guissepe

Torres police corruption case as

early as tomorrow afternoon.

Speculations abound that up to ten

former homicide detectives could be

named in the proceedings

4.

The Bartender turns the TV off hastily. Embarrassed:

BARTENDER:

Sorry.

Hardy just looks away. The Bartender puts an empty glass

down and fills it to the lip with bourbon.

Hardy nods a "thank you" and reaches for the glass when the

PAGER on his hip goes off. He checks the number.

HARDY:

Bill Styles...

BARTENDER:

Who?

HARDY:

Old friend. Haven't talked to him

in- 911. Can I use your phone?

The Bartender hands him a cordless and Hardy dials.

HARDY:

Hey, Bill, it's Tom. Long time no.

. . whoa, whoa, slow down. Yeah...

yeah, of course I'll come. An hour.

He hangs up and hands the phone back to the Bartender.

BARTENDER:

What was that?

Hardy, obviously shaken by the call.

HARDY:

I gotta go out to McKinley.

EXT. FORT MCKINLEY -- MORNING

Establishing. A sprawling five square mile compound nestled

in the Louisiana backwoods. Also damaged by the Hurricane.

HELICOPTERS loaded with emergency supplies land and take

off, REPAIR CREWS work feverishly on damaged buildings, all

while CADET PLATOONS complete morning drills around them.

This is still a boot camp after all.

SUPERIMPOSE:
1130 HOURS - FORT MCKINLEY BASIC TRAINING CENTER

EXT. FORT MCKINLEY -- MAIN GATE -- MORNING

Styles stands waiting nervously just beyond the CHECKPOINT

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