The Last Mission (3) He notices the handcuffs. ANDERSON You can remove those Lieutenant. TAYLOR Begging the Captain's pardon but- ANDERSON Now Lieutenant. Reluctant, Taylor removes them. Anderson looks at Mitchell. Waiting. MITCHELL What? TAYLOR Salute him. Mitchell doesn't budge. ANDERSON Regardless of what you think Sergeant, you're still a soldier in this army. Mitchell's arm remains at his side as if tied there. ANDERSON It's the rank you salute Mitchell. Not the man. MITCHELL And I don't respect either. Anderson frowns. TAYLOR Do as you're told Sergeant. ANDERSON Stand easy Lieutenant. Wait outside for a moment. Taylor and Shaw reluctantly leave. MITCHELL What's his story? ANDERSON Taylor's with the Long Desert Group. Our ride into Tobruk. MITCHELL I don't think he likes me. ANDERSON He doesn't. MITCHELL Why? Because he thinks- ANDERSON Because he thinks you're a coward. Mitchell looks to the floor. MITCHELL What do you think? ANDERSON The brave put their life before all others. The coward? Before no one. MITCHELL So which am I? ANDERSON You wouldn't be here if I thought you were a coward. A KNOCK. Taylor pops his head in. TAYLOR Excuse me, sir. Flash traffic. Anderson walks to the door. Reads the message. Mitchell pretends to ignore them. Spots a pair of calipers on Anderson's desk. He watches them out of the corner of his eye. Several trucks ROAR past the tent. Drowning out Anderson and Taylor's voices. Neither pays attention to him. He palms the calipers. Slips them into his pocket. The trucks pass by. ANDERSON ...and proceed as planned. Acknowledge her. He hands the message back. Taylor salutes. Departs. Anderson returns to Mitchell. Face grim. Lips tight. MITCHELL Something wrong? ANDERSON Not at all. MITCHELL What's with all those trucks? ANDERSON El Kufra is too remote to be adequately supplied by air. Most come by ground. Twelve hundred kilometers. Quite a remarkable operation. MITCHELL Yeah. Fascinating. Now what? ANDERSON Now we show you how this game plays out. INT. HANGAR Tiny German airplanes, like toys in a sandbox are parked beside miniature hangars. A miniature airfield beside a miniature town. Very detailed. Even tiny palm trees. A vast model. Arranged on the floor. A GRINDING. Light creeps across the model's surface. Like sunrise. The hangar door opens. Anderson and Mitchell enter. Astounded by the model. ANDERSON Mitchell. This is Tobruk. INT. HANGAR - LATER Mitchell stands to one side. Looking at Anderson in disbelief. The model between them. ANDERSON What? MITCHELL That's it. That's the plan? Anderson nods. MITCHELL Then I'm a dead man. And so are you. ANDERSON Hardly. Under the cover of darkness, we insert at the target site. Target is scheduled to depart at thirteen hundred on D day. From one half mile, you engage the target and- MITCHELL Kill him. That part I got. (beat) How did you get all this information anyway? ANDERSON Luftwaffe radio operators are lazy. Special flight coverage was requested from Tobruk all the way to Berlin. It has to be for Rommel. MITCHELL Meaning you're not sure who could be on that plane. ANDERSON It could only be for Rommel. MITCHELL But you're not sure. ANDERSON It's a calculated risk. Mitchell sighs. Shakes his head. MITCHELL What about exfiltration? ANDERSON By submarine. East of the town. Pickup window is twelve hours. MITCHELL And how do we get in? ANDERSON That's need to know. Mitchell's face turns red. MITCHELL Need to know? I need to know. The Germans aren't going to let us just walk in- The NOISE of an airplane motor grows louder. SILENCING Mitchell. He and Anderson walk to the door. ANDERSON On the contrary. A transport plane rolls up and stops. It's door opens. Pritchard steps out. Wearing German uniform. Several Soldiers follow. All in German uniforms. Mitchell looks to Anderson. Quizzical. ANDERSON They just might. EXT. NEAR GOBI AIRFIELD - DAY A German transport plane on final approach passes low over a MOSQUE Some distance from the runway. SAMIRA AND ZAHIR Stand in the Mosque's tower. Watching the airfield through binoculars. Far off, Soldiers dig near the perimeter fence. Others patrol with dogs. Zahir lowers the binoculars. They speak in Arabic. ZAHIR Engineers? SAMIRA Minefields. She lowers hers. SAMIRA This complicates things. The PATTER of feet. Coming up the spiral steps. IMAM appears. Carrying a tray with glasses. An ancient looking guy. Craggy face. Leathery skin. Thick moustache. IMAM Tea? Samira and Zahir take a glass each. SAMIRA Thank you. Imam notices her concerned face. IMAM Problems? SAMIRA We need another way in. Imam ponders for a moment. IMAM There. He points toward the airfield. Samira raises the binoculars. Searching. SAMIRA I can't see it. IMAM Further... She stops moving them. SAMIRA Now I do. Zahir raises his binoculars and looks. It's an ordinary pile of rocks. Just beyond the perimeter fence. Barely noticeable. ZAHIR What is it? IMAM An old foggara. It runs to the drainage ditch. SAMIRA Not an easy shot from there. ZAHIR It'll have to do. He turns to her. ZAHIR Call for extraction. EXT. GOBI AIRFIELD A truck stops at a large tent, bristling with antenna. LT. WERNER KEMPKA gets out. Early twenties. Slight. Bookish. Keen eyes. Hauls out a kit bag and walks to the tent. INT. OPERATIONS TENT Kempka enters. It's filled with radio equipment and file cabinets. Soldiers and Clerks move with a sense of urgency. Kempka stops one passing by. KEMPKA Captain Cruwell? The Clerk points. Cruwell's on the far side of the tent. Engrossed in a map. FRANZ stands beside him. Late twenties. Crew cut. Barrel chest. Intense eyes. Kempka walks over. Rests his bag. Comes to attention. If Cruwell notices, he makes no sign. Kempka clears his throat. CRUWELL I see you Lieutenant. Cruwell looks up. Walks over. Kempka gives the Nazi salute. KEMPKA Heil Hitler. Cruwell and Franz exchange glances. Embarrassed, Kempka slowly lowers his arm. CRUWELL Orders. Kempka reaches into his pocket. Hands Cruwell a document. CRUWELL Name? KEMPKA Lt. Werner Kempka. Radio intercept company three twenty one. CRUWELL Not any more. Now you're with the Brandenburg Battalion. Understand? KEMPKA Yes sir. CRUWELL Stand at ease. I'm Captain Cruwell. This is Lt. Franz. My second in command. Franz smiles. Phoney. Forced. CRUWELL Kempka was sent to us personally by Field Marshall Rommel. FRANZ Really? Perhaps he can impart some divine wisdom to find the British commandos. KEMPKA I'm an intelligence officer. Not a medium Lieutenant. Franz frowns. Cruwell smirks. Walks to the map. Kempka joins him. Cruwell takes a pointer and SLAPS it. Kempka's startled. CRUWELL Think like the British would. What is your target? Derna? Benghazi- KEMPKA Someplace vital. CRUWELL Like...? KEMPKA Like Tobruk. Cruwell nods agreement. CRUWELL Approach by land or sea? KEMPKA Land. Our surface vessels and U boats rule the sea. CRUWELL Good answer. Which route? KEMPKA As far south as possible. CRUWELL What's the range of a Stuka? KEMPKA Six hundred miles. But, too slow for recon work. CRUWELL It's worth the risk. KEMPKA At what cost? Cruwell thinks for a second. CRUWELL Any cost. You've never been in combat, have you? KEMPKA No sir. That's why I took this assignment. CRUWELL Combat you want? Combat you'll get. First, draft an air recon plan for the area. Kempka clicks his heels. Salutes. KEMPKA Yes sir. Picks up his bag. KEMPKA Where should I start? CRUWELL The operations tent. KEMPKA Yes sir. He turns to leave. Stops suddenly. KEMPKA How do I know where the operations tent is? CRUWELL Just look for the sign. Kempka nods. Leaves. Franz watches him go. FRANZ How long before he realizes he was in the operations tent? CRUWELL Could be a while. FRANZ We could have done worse. Cruwell returns to the map. CRUWELL No. We couldn't. INT. EL KUFRA - HANGAR - DAY The door closes with a BANG. Anderson stands by the model. Taylor, McTavish, Shaw, Currie and Campbell stand nearby. Pritchard and the Soldiers in German uniforms stand to the side. Mitchell stands off by himself. PRITCHARD We are the Special Identification Group. If the Germans were to capture us, they'd kill us. So we don't ever get caught. Understand, gentlemen? Pritchard lets that sink in. PRITCHARD My men are Germans. They speak German. Look German. They even smell German. Muted laughter. Mitchell looks at the new arrivals. Wearing Afrika Korps fatigues. German weapons and grenades. All look tough. All are young. PRITCHARD Make no mistake. They are the best at what they do. Mitchell notices each has a similar tattoo on the right forearm. Six digits in faded, black ink. PRITCHARD Our job is to get you into Tobruk. Getting out alive is up to you. ANDERSON Our shooter, Mitchell... McTavish glares at Mitchell. Sour face. Mitchell notices. ANDERSON Will be protected by a security team from SIG. PRITCHARD (in German) Fuchs! Steiner! Step out! STEINER and FUCHS step forward. Steiner's twenty-two. Wiry frame. Chilling eyes. Lethal-looking. He's dwarfed by Fuchs, who's a little older. Farm boy. Squat face. Legs like trees. PRITCHARD Where you go. They go. Mitchell walks over. Sizes them up. Not impressed. MITCHELL I can take care of myself. PRITCHARD You're an asset Mitchell. A tool for getting the job done- MITCHELL It's nice to know you care. PRITCHARD You will be protected. Get it? Mitchell nods. ANDERSON Let's get to why you're here. EXT. EL KUFRA - RIFLE RANGE - DAY It's a wide open space. Firing positions at measured intervals. All marked by signs. Targets at the opposite end. A mound of sand behind. Anderson holds up a bolt action rifle with sniper's scope. A sign beside him reads, EIGHT HUNDRED YARD MARK. ANDERSON This is the Lee Enfield mark four. Best sniper rifle in the world. Target range. Eight hundred eighty yards. He tosses it to Mitchell who catches it. ANDERSON Let's see if you're worth all the trouble. Mitchell smirks, confident. Blackness. A CLINKING noise. A shiny brass bullet is inserted into the rifle breech. The bolt is cocked. BANG! The bullet streaks from the muzzle. Racing over sand. Within seconds, it SMASHES through the paper target. Dead center. EXT. RIFLE RANGE - EIGHT HUNDRED YARD MARK Mitchell lays prone. Eye pressed to the scope. Calm. SHOOTING Like a pro. Anderson stands well behind. Watching downrange through binoculars. Small neat holes appear in the target. Tight groupings in the chest. Then the head. The SHOOTING STOPS. Mitchell reloads. Anderson lowers the binoculars. ANDERSON Now, that's talent. MCTAVISH (O.S.) He's not bad. Anderson turns. McTavish walks up. ANDERSON He's better than you. And the decision is final. McTavish steps in close. Really close. MCTAVISH Don't you think I know what this is about? MCTAVISH Do you think I've forgotten what happened the last time we had Rommel in our sights- ANDERSON You think I have? McTavish steps back. MCTAVISH Mitchell can't erase that- ANDERSON You have a point McTavish? MCTAVISH He'll crack. And then where are we? ANDERSON If he does. You're number one again. Taylor walks up. Shaw accompanies. Taylor hands Anderson a message. TAYLOR Excuse me sir. Anderson reads it. MCTAVISH I'm no second stringer sir. I can do this. Anderson looks over. ANDERSON This isn't personal McTavish. It's about getting the job done. Anderson walks off. TAYLOR What do we do now? MCTAVISH We get the job done. Taylor nods. So does Shaw. INT. MITCHELL'S TENT - NIGHT Mitchell enters. Steiner sits on his bunk. Cleaning his sub machine gun. Mitchell walks to his bunk. Reaching it, he stops. A long object wrapped in a blanket rests on his bunk. He unrolls it. It's a long, menacing rifle. A silhouette of a rat painted on the stock. Mitchell's Boys Gun. A little dusty. Mitchell smiles. MITCHELL That son of a bitch. INT. MITCHELL'S TENT - LATER Mitchell sits on his bunk. Cleaning his Boys Gun. Across the room, Steiner whistles. Still cleaning his weapon. Mitchell looks up. Catches Steiner looking at the rat painted on the stock. MITCHELL The symbol of my old unit. Ninth Australian. The rats of Tobruk. STEINER Yeah. I know. That's where you got the VC. They say you took out a squad of tanks by yourself. MITCHELL It's true, if you're asking. STEINER How did you do it? MITCHELL Shoot straight. Don't miss. STEINER They also say you hid in a hole while your men were being killed. Mitchell turns sullen. Silent. An uncomfortable moment. Steiner stands. Walks for the door. STEINER I didn't mean anything Sergeant. MITCHELL It's all right. STEINER Need anything? Mitchell shakes his head. Steiner leaves. Whistling as he walks off. Mitchell polishes the barrel. He stops suddenly. He shudders, remembering. From his pocket, he removes Carter's identity disc. A CREAK. The door opens. Mitchell looks up. McTavish, Taylor and Shaw enter. Mitchell puts the disc in his pocket and stands. MCTAVISH Evening Sergeant. McTavish walks over. Rolls up his sleeves. MCTAVISH Mitchell? I grew up poor. My Father didn't teach me much. What I know, I learned on the streets of Glasgow- MITCHELL And look how well you turned out. McTavish laughs. Walks right up to Mitchell. MCTAVISH Do us a favor. Run and beg Anderson to take you off this mission. MITCHELL Or what? McTavish CRACKS his knuckles. MCTAVISH Or I'll show you what the streets of Glasgow taught me. He spits on Mitchell's boot. Taylor and Shaw chuckle. MCTAVISH It's not personal. No offense intended. Mitchell spits back in McTavish's face. MITCHELL None taken. Furious, McTavish wipes the spit away. MCTAVISH Time for your first lesson. He lunges. But, Mitchell's ready. He sidesteps and brushes McTavish aside. McTavish trips. Tumbles to the floor. He slowly gets up. They circle. Each waiting for the other to make a move. Mitchell strikes. A roundhouse kick knocks McTavish backward. Right out the door. Past a stunned Taylor and Shaw. They turn to Mitchell dumbfounded and leave hastily. Mitchell follows. EXT. MITCHELL'S TENT Mitchell walks out as McTavish gets up. Helped by Taylor and Shaw. MITCHELL McTavish. I'm here because I have to be. Not because I want to be. McTavish dusts himself off. MCTAVISH You don't get it do you? I want you out. One way... He draws a knife. Taylor and Shaw back away. MCTAVISH Or another. Mitchell tenses. Getting ready. McTavish swipes. Misses. Mitchell grabs his wrist. Twists it hard. McTavish drops the knife and Mitchell kicks it away. McTavish punches Mitchell in the face. Mitchell reels. McTavish grabs him in a bear hug. They fall, CRASHING into some metal drums. McTavish rolls off one way. Mitchell, the other. He lays there for a moment. His lip bleeding. He gets up. McTavish stands before him. Grinning. There's something in his hand. He holds it out. It's Carter's identity disc. It must have fallen from Mitchell's pocket. MITCHELL I'll be getting that back. MCTAVISH You'll try. Mitchell swings. McTavish ducks. Mitchell kicks. Gets McTavish in the groin. He doubles over. Falls on the ground. Near some wooden tent frames. Mitchell walks over. Stands over McTavish. He doesn't notice McTavish grab a fistful of sand. MITCHELL Are we finished now? Or are we just getting started? McTavish reaches up. Tosses the sand in Mitchell's eyes. Blinding him. He staggers backward. McTavish grabs the tent frame. Swings. WHAM! Whacks Mitchell across his body. He drops to his knees. McTavish swings again. SMACKS Mitchell on the head. Mitchell collapses. Blood seeps down his face. Taylor and Shaw are aghast. TAYLOR That's enough, McTavish. MCTAVISH I say when it's enough. McTavish raises the makeshift club high. Ready to strike. MCTAVISH Now Mitchell. Now, we're finished. Whistling. FOOTSTEPS. Someone's coming. McTavish turns. Steiner approaches. A carton of cigarettes under his arm. Whistling away. McTavish drops the wood. He, Taylor and Shaw run off. Disappearing between some tents. Steiner walks up. SEES Mitchell. Drops the smokes. Races over. Mitchell doesn't move. INT. EL KUFRA - HOSPITAL TENT - DAY Several cots are arranged in neat rows. White sheets. Gray blankets. Mitchell's the lone patient. Head wrapped in a bandage. Black eyes. Bruises. Gauze over a cut on his cheek. Campbell tends to him. Anderson enters. Pritchard follows. Anderson summons Campbell. He walks over. ANDERSON How is he? CAMPBELL Should be fine in a day or two. Big bump on the head. But, nothing permanent.
Copyright © 2004 Shaun Goldsmith |