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G.I. Jane Movie Script

Writer(s) : David Twohy

Genres : Action, Drama

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                         G.I. JANE


                             by

                        David Twohy
























                                            FIRST DRAFT

                                            August 6, 1995






FADE IN:

INT.  SENATE HEARING ROOM - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

Blinding in their white uniforms, naval flag officers sit
in the audience, showing their support for THEODORE HAYES,
a 50-year-old civilian.  This is his confirmation hearing.
Reading from prepared material:

                         HAYES
          ... last few years have brought many
          advances in the interests of women
          in naval service, particularly in
          the land-based maritime specialties.
          What's more, the Navy has instituted
          special sensitivity courses with an
          eye on --

                         DEHAVEN
          Whoa, whoa, whoa.  "Land-based
          maritime specialties." Gimme a
          second here to de-euphemize that...

At the center of a dais, LILLIAN DEHAVEN leans back to
ponder the ceiling of the hearing room.  Her plaque card
reads "CHAIRPERSON -- SENATE ARMS COMMITTEE." DeHaven is a
tough-hided old Southern belle, Scarlett O'Hara at 60.
In her arsenal she carries conversational hand-grenades --
and she's apt to pull a pin at the slightest whim.

                         DEHAVEN
          Would that be anything like
          "typing"?  "Restocking the
          cupboards"?  That sort of thing, Mr.
          Hayes?

CHUCKLES from the packed gallery.  The flag officers go
stone-faced.  Hayes forces a smile.

                         HAYES
          Hardly the case, Senator.

                         DEHAVEN
          Well, I'm just an old dame without
          much time left, so you'll pardon me
          if I jump right in here before they
          discontinue my blood-type.  I am
          deeply concerned over the Navy's
          seemingly incontrovertible attitude
          toward women in the military.  Case
          in point...

On cue, aides begin distributing reports to other members
of the dais.  Hayes gets a copy, too.  And it jars him.

                         DEHAVEN
          "The Lark Report."

                         HAYES
          Madam Senator... this is an internal
          document of the U.S. Navy.  I must
          seriously question whether --

                         DEHAVEN
                  (to others on panel)
          The Navy's conclusion regarding the
          crash of an F-14 aboard an aircraft
          carrier.  Female aviator, it just so
          happens.
                  (to Hayes)
          You're familiar with this report and
          its conclusion, am I right?

                         HAYES
          I was one member of the investigating
          commission.

                         DEHAVEN
          Yes, I see your signature right here
          -- twice the size of everyone
          else's.  And your conclusion was
          "pilot error," hmm?

                         HAYES
          I'm really not prepared for any kind
          of in-depth review of --

                         DEHAVEN
          I'd like to think our next Secretary
          of the Navy would be prepared for
          anything, Mr. Hayes.

A humorless smile.  She's roasting his nuts over an open
fire, and everyone knows it.

                         HAYES
          The commission concluded that the
          aviator in question failed to
          execute a proper approach to the
          carrier.

                         DEHAVEN
          That aside for the moment, I'm
          struck by the tenor, the ill-spirit
          of your report... the degrading
          remarks by other aviators...
          innuendo about her performance in
          unrelated situations... even a
          reference to her sexual activity the
          weekend prior.
                  (closing report)
          In my seven years on this committee,
          I've never seen a downed aviator
          treated like this.  Never.  I'm
          deeply disturbed by this report, Mr.
          Hayes.  Not just what it bodes for
          women in the military -- but for
          your own confirmation as well.


INT.  CORRIDOR - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

Heading for her office, DeHaven is escorted by a small
PRESS RETINUE.

                         DEHAVEN
          ... a full 35 percent of all jobs in
          the U.S. military are still, to this
          day, off-limits to women.  And
          that's simply gotta change.

                         PRESS #1
          What about those who say women
          aren't suited for all jobs?  That
          they're physically weaker... they
          have less stamina...

                         DEHAVEN
          Sure.  And we're gonna hog the
          bathroom, too.

DEHAVEN'S AIDE catches up, pulls her aside.

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE
          White House boys want a private
          meeting.

                         DEHAVEN
          I'll act surprised.


INT.  DEHAVEN'S OFFICE - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

Shoes dumped on her desk, DeHaven changes out knee-high
stockings while devoting one ear to...

                         WHITE HOUSE #1
          ... to reassure you that he has
          every faith in the ability of Mr.
          Hayes to guide the Navy into the
          next century.  The task, as the
          Administration sees it, is to
          acknowledge changing realities
          without losing traditional values.

A beat.  DeHaven looks between the two WHITE HOUSE boys --
#1 young and eager, #2 older and cagier.

                         DEHAVEN
          'Zat it?  Ten minutes, nothin' on
          the table?  Sweetcakes, you best go
          back to the President and tell him
          to open up the phone book and start
          lookin' for his next nominee.

White House #1 looks spanked.  Taking over, #2 pops a
briefcase.  An inch-think report appears before DeHaven.

                         WHITE HOUSE #2
          Administration's plan for 100
          percent integration.  If female
          candidates measure up in a series of
          test cases, the President will
          support full integration within
          three years' time.

Surprised -- maybe even startled -- DeHaven flips through
the report, absorbing by osmosis.

                         WHITE HOUSE #2
          It's your gender-blind Navy,
          Senator.  Surely you're not going to
          balk now.

                         DEHAVEN
          Well, it's just that askin' you all
          to integrate the Navy is like
          sending a man to do a woman's job.
                  (a beat)
          How do you propose to handle the
          Combat Exclusion Laws?

                         WHITE HOUSE #2
          Keep narrowing the definitions.
          Keep redefining.

                         WHITE HOUSE #1
          We got around it in Saudi Arabia.

                         DEHAVEN
          By calling women "Honorary Men."
          Ingenious.

                         WHITE HOUSE #2
          C'mon, Senator, President's pitchin'
          right down the center of your plate.
          If women measure up to men, they've
          got the job.  You going to take a
          swing?  Or step out of the box?

DeHaven riffles the edges of the report, thinking it over.
Thinking light years ahead.


EXT.  CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

Buttoning up topcoats, the White House boys move down
marble steps to reach a pair of limousines.  Hayes and two
FLAG OFFICERS wait.

                         HAYES
          Well?

                         WHITE HOUSE #2
                  (shaking hand)
          Congratulations, Mr. Secretary.


INT.  HAYES' LIMOUSINE - DAY

Inside the moving car:

                         HAYES
          So she picks the women, we pick the
          programs.  Seals?

                         FLAG OFFICER #1
          I'd go Special Reconnaissance.
          Every bit as tough -- and we have a
          60 percent drop-out rate among the
          men.

                         HAYES
          Then I suggest we start there.

                         FLAG OFFICER #1
          Doesn't matter who she picks.  No
          woman is going to last one week in a
          commando training course.  And I
          don't care who it is.


EXT.  POTOMAC RIVER - WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY

Winterscape:  Dotted with ice floes, the Potomac wends
through the capitol city, banks iridescent with snow,
morning water calm.  There's an almost hallowed beauty to
it all.  Soon we pick out...

A spot of day-glo.  Coming out of the mouth of morning.
Overtaking the floes.

CLOSER on JORDAN O'NEIL.  She pushes her flat-water kayak
downriver, paddling hard and clean, making good time.
Gliding through the graceful arches of the Arlington
bridge, she passes...

Cars overhead.  Grid-locked by snow conditions.

In seconds Jordan paddles clear, leaving the traffic
behind as she heads toward the Washington Monument.
Something BURRS from a life-vest pocket.  She rips through
velcro to free a cell phone.

                         JORDAN
          Lieutenant O'Neil.

                         ROYCE (V.O.)
          Gotta situation here.  Where are
          you?  Stuck in traffic?

                         JORDAN
                  (checking dive watch)
          Not due in for 22 minutes, sir.
          Watcha got?


INT.  SITUATION ROOM - N.I.C. - DAY

                         ROYCE
          All right, stand by, we're going to
          switch over to COMSAT...

A TACTICAL OFFICER reroutes the call via defense
satellite, cryptography flashing on terminals.  Lieutenant
Commander ROBERT ROYCE joins other Intel officers at a
conference table.  They're pouring over weather charts,
navigation logs, high-altitude NRO video.

                         TACTICAL OFFICER
          Voice-system now secure...

                         ROYCE
                  (into speaker)
          Okay, fresh stuff:  Lost a NATO
          plane over the Sea of Japan.  ELB
          signals leads us to believe the
          pilot is alive and has made his way
          to the North Korean shore, near a
          fishing village, "Tamyung."

                         JORDAN (V.O.)
          Do we know it's him using the
          beacon?  Not a decoy?

                         ROYCE
          Signals received only sparingly, in
          such a pattern that leads us to
          conclude it is a downed aviator
          trying to conserve his batteries.

                         JORDAN (V.O.)
          Chances of recovery?

                         ROYCE
          You're the analyst for East China,
          O'Neil.  Analyze.


EXT.  POTOMAC RIVER - WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY

Riding the current, Jordan blows a troubled sigh as she
accesses the file of her brain.  Drifting past the
Jefferson Memorial:

                         JORDAN
          North Korean beaches are the best
          protected, most heavily monitored in
          the world.  The civilian population
          is so propagandized that it acts as
          an Early Warning system.  Extraction
          team has to be small and silent --
          I'd go with Seals over Delta Force.
          Problem is, don't want to hold a
          conventional sub off-shore for
          target practice.  Where's The Polk?

INTERCUTTING:

                         ROYCE
          Halfway 'round the world.  So that's
          the problem -- we can get the team
          in, just not out.

                         JORDAN
                  (an inspired beat)
          Unless you Whiskey Run.

                         ROYCE
          Blank faces here, O'Neil.

                         JORDAN
          Quick-hit technique used by Capone.
          Rigged a getaway car with running
          boards and handles.  All his guys
          had to do was jump on and take a
          ride.  Check the files -- DPRK-57 --
          I doped it out as a contingency
          plan:  Seal Team infiltrates, picks
          up the package, links up with
          recovery sub.  But don't waste time
          opening and closing hatches.  They
          just grab the periscope and hang on
          for neutral waters.

A dubious beat.

                         ROYCE
          You expect the extraction team to
          ride the sub bare-back?  Is that
          correct, O'Neil?

                         JORDAN
          Only four minutes to neutral waters,
          sir.  Why not?

Silence on the radio:  They're discussing her scenario
privately.  During, Jordan's kayak reaches the junction of
the Potomac and the Anacostia rivers.  On the far bank
lies...

Naval Intel Center (N.I.C.), bristling with communication
antennae.

Jordan stares at the complex, waiting for a response.

                         ROYCE
          All right, sending the
          recommendation across the river.
          Royce out.

The phone goes dead.

                         JORDAN
          No, thank you, sir.


EXT.  SECURITY STATION - N.I.C. - DAY

Bundled in topcoat and scarves, military and civilian
employees transit a security station on their way inside.
Presently Jordan appears -- wearing a wetsuit and
balancing a collapsed kayak on her head.  She flashes a
photo-badge and double-times inside.


INT.  CORRIDOR - N.I.C. - DAY

Jordan exits a locker room.  Smoothing out her Khaki
uniform, she heads down a broad corridor with cipher-lock
doors.  Falling in step:

                         ROYCE
          That was good headwork, lieutenant.

                         JORDAN
          Thank you, sir.  We hear back from
          the Pentagon?

                         ROYCE
                  (scoffing)
          Probably hear back from CNN first.

                         JORDAN
          Hate this part.  Just sweating it
          out on the sidelines.

                         ROYCE
          Intel has its own glory, lieutenant
          -- no matter how subtle.

Now they reach...


INT.  BULLPEN - N.I.C. - DAY

A circular chamber.  Dominating the ground floor is the
bullpen, a hive of cubicles an computer stations.  On the
second floor are executive offices, ringing the bullpen.

                         ROYCE
          By the way, I'll need that option
          paper by 11-hundred today so I can
          review it with Admiral Hanover.  And
          do we have any of that breakfast tea
          around here?

                         JORDAN
                  (with a look)
          Is this my glory, sir?

On the upper walkway, a frazzled N.I.C. SECRETARY
appears.  She spots Royce and Jordan below.

                         N.I.C. SECRETARY
          Excuse me, but I have Senator
          DeHaven on the line for you.

                         ROYCE
          Jesus God, what now?

He bounds up the stairs toward his office.

                         N.I.C. SECRETARY
          I'm sorry, sir no -- she asked to
          speak with Lieutenant O'Neil.

Royce turns back and gives Jordan a hall-of-fame look.
"Oh, really?"


INT.  DEHAVEN'S OFFICE - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

                         DEHAVEN
                  (into phone)
          So everyone I talk to says you're
          top drawer with silk stockings
          inside.

                         JORDAN (V.O.)
          Thank you, ma'am.  Um, may I ask
          what this is regarding?

                         DEHAVEN
                  (reading file)
          High-school pentathlete... ROTC
          scholarship, graduated with
          honors... top marks in Basic
          Training... and, as it just so
          happens, a constituent of my home
          state of Virginia.  Oh, the things
          I'll do for one extra vote.


INT.  BULLPEN - N.I.C. - DAY

On the phone, Jordan glances around.  Co-workers mull
within earshot.  Those out of earshot post E-mail memos on
Jordan's computer:  "Moving up in life."  "I want a full
report."  "Don't tell her who you really voted for."

                         DEHAVEN
          Lieutenant O'Neil, I am prepared to
          nominate you for the Navy's Special
          Reconnaissance program.  Should you
          accept, you'll ship out to Coronado
          next week and join in the big
          testosterone festival.  Complete the
          course, and you'll have a fast
          ticket to any assignment you want.
          That's my personal promise to you.

A beat as Jordan's mind catches up to her ears.  Now
INTERRCUTTING the two:

                         JORDAN
          "Coronado."

                         DEHAVEN
          California.

                         JORDAN
          I know that, sir.  Ma'am.  It's just
          that... Beggin' your pardon,
          Senator, but... do you understand
          that this involves combat training?

                         DEHAVEN
          This is just a test case, O'Neil.
          But if it works out -- if you work
          out -- it could well change the
          Navy's official policy on women in
          combat.  Or, actually, its official
          non-policy.  Now who's your
          immediate superior there?

                         JORDAN
          Captain Dwyer.  Technically.

                         DEHAVEN
          My office will fill him in and help
          expedite.  Look forward to meeting
          you at the proper time.  Jumping off
          now...

                         JORDAN
          Uh, question, ma'am.

                         DEHAVEN
          Yes, dear.

                         JORDAN
          Would I be the only one?  The only
          woman?

                         DEHAVEN
          There'll be more to follow -- but
          yes, dear, right now you're the pick
          of a very large litter.  And your
          success would mean a lot.  Jumping,
          now...

The line goes dead.  Jordan hangs up catatonically.

                         JORDAN
          Well, shit-a-doodle-do...


EXT.  GUNKHOLE HARBOR - POTOMAC - NIGHT

A small gunkhole harbor up the Potomac.  Snow falls thick
and silent on overturned canoes, stored for the winter.
Beyond stands a clapboard rental house.


INT.  JORDAN'S HOUSE - NIGHT

It's not so much furnished as equipped -- scuba gear and
wetsuits in the mud room, life vests on coat racks, a
training bag and boxing gloves hanging in the living room.
In the kitchen we find...

A naked man.  He's steeping tea.

                         JORDAN (O.S.)
          ... well, I survived Basic Training
          and three brothers -- so I know how
          to fight.  What scares me are the
          sexual politics.  I don't want to be
          turned into some poster girl for
          women's rights.

CAMERA FOLLOWS as the naked man carries a steaming mug
through the house...


INT.  BATHROOM - JORDAN'S HOUSE - NIGHT

... and sets it down beside Jordan, languishing in a tub.
Snow builds on a window sill.  Facing Jordan, the man
slides into the tub.

                         ROYCE
          So why're you even considering it?
          Are you?

                         JORDAN
          Just like you would be.

                         ROYCE
          Spec-Recon.  Those guys are world-
          class warriors.  And they will not
          want you there, Jordan.

                         JORDAN
          I take it you don't either.  Feet.

Dutifully, Royce massages her feet.

                         ROYCE
          Well, you're doin' shit-hot at
          Intel.

                         JORDAN
          Royce.  We're the same age, we
          started the same time -- and now
          you're sitting in the upperdecks
          while I'm still down in the bullpen.
          What does that tell you about the
          Navy?

                         ROYCE
                  (shaking head)
          She's haze grey and underway...

                         JORDAN
          You need operational duty to really
          advance... you need combat training
          to go operational... yet combat
          training is off-limits to people
          with tits.  I'm topped out at Intel.
          Forget the glass ceiling -- I'm
          beating my head on a big brass
          ceiling.

                         ROYCE
          So dump on me.

                         JORDAN
          This has nothing to do with you.

                         ROYCE
                  (getting out)
          Well, guess I don't even need to be
          here...

                         JORDAN
          Get your dick back here.  It has
          everything to do with you.

                         ROYCE
          You're such a ball-breaker
          sometimes.  Especially at night.

                         JORDAN
          Sorry.  But after our days...
                  (a thoughtful sip)
          So if I try this thing... if I ship
          out to Coronado... what happens
          here?

                         ROYCE
          I'll try to keep the door open.  If
          you wash out, I make it so that --

                         JORDAN
          Wai', wait.  What happens if it
          works?  Four months of training,
          three years of operational duty.
          What then?

                         ROYCE
                  (blowing a sigh)
          I don't feel like doing an option
          paper on the rest of my life,
          Jordan.  Maybe we should just let it
          happen.

                         JORDAN
          Which is guy-speak for...

                         ROYCE
                  (conceding)
          Sounded lame as soon as it came out
          of my mouth.  But I'm trying to be
          honest, okay?  Three years is a long
          time.  Don't ask me to predict how
          I'll feel then, Jordan, because I
          don't know.  And either do you.

                         JORDAN
          You know, right up until you said
          that -- I thought I did know.

Wounded, she gets out.

                         ROYCE
          Jordan...

                         JORDAN
          Thank you, Royce.  It was shaping up
          like such a tough call -- and then
          you go and make it so goddamn easy.
          Really, thank you so much.

She punches into a robe and leaves.  Royce considers
drowning himself in the tub.


EXT.  CORONADO BRIDGE - SAN DIEGO - DAY

Jordan drives a top-down Mustang across the sweeping
Coronado Bridge, cityscape behind her, naval base ahead.

A flock of pelicans pace Jordan alongside the bridge.
Suddenly two NAVY HELOS BLAST overhead, scattering the
pelicans.


EXT.  THE GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

On base, Jordan carries a gunnysack across an asphalt
courtyard.  The is "the grinder," reminiscent of a
gladiator's arena.  She notices at one end...

A silver ship's bell.  Hung prominently.


INT.  ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

                         JORDAN
          Excuse me, lieutenant.  I was told
          this is where I check in.

A DUTY OFFICER looks up to find Jordan across a counter.
In no particular hurry, the duty officer makes his way
over to check Jordan's orders.

                         DUTY OFFICER
                  (looking up)
          So you're the one.

Hearing, other workers look up.  Among them is a female
ensign, KATHY BLONDELL -- no makeup, no nail polish, no
concession to her sex.  Throughout, she'll watch Jordan
with more than passing interest.

                         JORDAN
          Still don't have my bearings yet.
          Direct me to the officer's quarters?

The duty officer stamps her paperwork, returns it with
room assignment and keys.

                         DUTY OFFICER
          You'll proceed directly to the
          infirmary for eye tests, blood
          tests, urinalysis, pregnancy test.
          Uniform issue adjacent.  Then you're
          to report to the Base Commander.
          He'd like a word with you.

                         JORDAN
          Fine.  And the officer's quarters?

                         DUTY OFFICER
          C.O.'s office can supply you with
          directions.  Enjoy your visit,
          lieutenant.

It's a nasty little barb -- one that Jordan decides to let
slide.  Jordan turns for the door.  Blondell catches up
with a base map.

                         BLONDELL
          B.O.Q., south side.  Take a
          starboard tack out the door.

                         JORDAN
          Thank you, ensign.

                         BLONDELL
          No problem, lieutenant.


INT.  C.O.'S OFFICE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

A soft KNOCKING.

                         C.O.
          Come.

A YEOMAN opens the door.  Behind him is Jordan.

                         YEOMAN
          Lieutenant j.g. O'Neil reporting,
          sir.

For a beat, COMMANDING OFFICER (C.O.) TURRENTINE takes
stock of the female in his doorway, sizing her up like a
fighter across the ring.  Then he stubs out a perfectly
good cigar, rises with an amiable face, and touches the
back of a chair -- stopping just short of pulling it out
for her.

                         C.O.
          Yes, of course.  Please, have a
          seat, lieutenant...

                         JORDAN
          Thank you, sir.

                         C.O.
          Would you care for a beverage?  Tea?

                         JORDAN
          I'm fine, sir.

                         C.O.
          So.  We're still coming to terms
          with the exact protocol for this --
          for integrating the Spec-Recon
          training.  It may not always be
          smooth, but we're trying to make it
          as painless as possible for you.

                         JORDAN
          Thank you, sir.  But I expect a
          certain amount of pain.

More stock-taking.  Is he looking at her hair?

                         JORDAN
          Barber was my next stop, sir.
          Would've had it regulation sooner,
          only --

                         C.O.
          Don't worry about it.  If it's off
          your collar and out of your eyes,
          that's all I'm going to ask.

                         JORDAN
          Really, I have no problem with --

                         C.O.
          I'm not out to change your sex,
          lieutenant.  You'll have separate
          beds, separate heads.  If you have
          specific medical needs, inform the
          infirmary.  If a classmate or
          superior acts in an harassing or
          otherwise unbecoming manner, please
          inform me immediately so I can deal
          with it immediately.  Questions?

                         JORDAN
          None at this time, sir.

                         C.O.
          Then that's all I have to say.
          Dismissed.

Another smile, another phantom gesture on the back of her
chair.  If Jordan was expecting a fight, the bell never
sounded.  She rises, salutes -- then turns back at the
door.

                         JORDAN
          Sir, I just want you to know... I'm
          not here to make a statement.  I
          don't want to make men look foolish.
          All I care about is completing the
          training and getting operational
          experience -- just like everyone
          else, I suspect.

                         C.O.
          If you were like everyone else,
          lieutenant, I suspect we wouldn't be
          making statements about not making
          statements, would we?
                  (a beat)
          Take your leave.


EXT.  B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

The Spec-Recon TRAINEES loiter outside their open rooms,
pumping weights, hosing down dive gear, trading Walkman
tapes.  This is the last day of liberty they'll have for a
long time.

                         MILLER
          What am I scannin' here?

Other eyes quickly lock in on...

Jordan.  Across a grass courtyard, she walks the ground
floor of an identical building, trying to match key number
to room number.  Every door is open, every room empty.
Soon she feels the presence of...

The men.  They're disgorging from their rooms -- ten,
twenty, thirty of them -- all buffed and cut.  These guys
are what Hitler saw in his dreams.

Jordan picks up her pace.  Where the hell is her room?

On all three levels of their building, the men shadow
Jordan en masse.  Not hooting.  Not leering.  Just
assessing.

Jordan finds her room at the far corner of the building:
She's got the entire floor to herself.  With a last look
over her shoulder, Jordan vanishes inside.


EXT.  THE GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

                         C.O.
          Special Reconnaissance.  Here you
          will be trained to infiltrate
          hostile territory... to be the real-
          time eyes on the ground... to
          recover assigned targets and, if
          need be, to fight your way out under
          adverse conditions.

CAMERA SURVEYS faces of the trainees:  MILLER, MCCOOL,
SLUTNIK, CORTEZ, FLEA, STAMM, ENGLAND, NEWBERRY, WICKWIRE.
We'll get to know them later.  Dressed in Navy greens,
they stand in formation -- ten rows, ten deep, helmets in
hand.  Pacing before them:

                         C.O.
          That is all that will be said about
          the special nature of this class --
          by us or by you.  Many of you have
          waited years for admission to this
          program.  Opportunities like this
          are rare -- and those who seize upon
          them are rarer still.

He approaches Jordan.  We can tell what she's thinking.
"Just keep moving.  Don't single me out."

                         C.O.
          Other than that, there is little to
          be said but "Good luck, gentleman."
                  (correcting)
          "Gentlepersons."

Jordan flinches.

                         C.O.
          Now I turn you over to the chief
          training officer.  He has earned six
          naval commendations, the purple
          heart, and the Navy Cross for
          heroism and valor.  I give you
          Master Chief John James Urgayle.

Taking over, THE CHIEF stands before the class a moment,
sizing them up while giving them -- get an eyeload of him,
too:  His body is 30 years old, his face 40, his eyes 50.
An ageless warrior.  Somewhere, the blood of Ulysses runs
in this guy's veins.

The Chief lifts a bullhorn to deliver his opening salvo --
and it's anything but the kick-ass rant the class is
expecting:

                         THE CHIEF
          The sun and moon... the ebb and flow
          of the Pacific tides... global
          warming... the very angle of the
          Earth upon its axis... these are
          just some of the things I control in
          my world.

Trainees swap private looks.

                         MCCOOL
          We're fucked.

                         SLUTNIK
          Darth Vader reads poetry...

                         MCCOOL
          We are so fucked.


EXT.  BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL STATION - DAY

START on boots, crashing through shallow surf, spraying
water.  We assume this is a routine beach run -- until
VIEW RISES to reveal...

Telephone poles on their shoulder.  Working in groups of
10, trainees labor under 300-pound poles.  Jordan, six
inches shorter than most, looks like Atlas carrying the
weight of the world.  But she's doing it.

                         INSTRUCTOR
          Count down... one, two... count
          down... three, four...

                         CLASS CADENCE
          One, two, three, four... One, two,
          three, four...

An ambulance shadows the class.  Perched on the front
bumper like an hood-ornament, the Chief keeps working his
bullhorn:

                         THE CHIEF
          You may think that you are the
          brightest, the best, the strongest.
          I assure you, that is a total
          delusion on your part.  It is my job
          to show you just how weak human
          beings can truly be.  60 percent of
          you will not finish this course.
          How do I know?  Because that is an
          historical fact.

It's also intimidating shit.

                         THE CHIEF
          Poles down.

The earth literally shakes as the phone poles hit the damp
sand.  Approaching on foot, the Chief loads fresh
batteries into his bullhorn.  He does it like a man
thumbing rounds into a shotgun.

                         THE CHIEF
          Now for the bad new:  I always like
          to get one quitter on the first day.
          And until I do, the first day does
          not end.  So look around right now
          -- go on, do it.  I wonder who it's
          gonna be...

He passes right by Jordan, never meeting her eyes.
INSTRUCTOR PYRO steps up.  He's the Chief's bulldog.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Down to BVDs!

The guys strip down to boxers.  Jordan settles for boxers
and jog bra.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Now face the Pacific... link arms...
          and take a stroll!

The class wades in.  The first wave takes Jordan's breath
away:  It's February, and the water is cold.  When they
move out of instructors' earshot:

                         STAMM
          What is it with the damn phone
          poles?  We sign up for Spec-Recon or
          GTE?

                         WICKWIRE
          Just trying to thin the herd.
          That's all they want to do right
          now.

Some of the guys are glancing Jordan's way, cashing in on
a cheap wet T-shirt contest.  Jordan covers herself
instinctively -- and hates the instinct.  Modesty isn't
going to get her through this.

                         SLUTNIK
          Man.  Doesn't she know it's rude to
          point?

                         NEWBERRY
          Wow.  You see that girl?

                         WICKWIRE
          I got eyes, Newberry.

                         SLUTNIK
          One night.  Just one night in my
          room, she'd forget all about playin'
          commando.

                         ENGLAND
          Tone that shit down, Slutnik.  You
          heard with they said.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Out of the water!

The class breaks for the beach.

                         THE CHIEF
          Now make like sugar cookies and roll
          in the sand for me.

The trainees hit their bellies and roll.  Indeed, they
look like sugar cookies.

                         THE CHIEF
          Collect those poles, gentlemen.
          Still a lotta beachfront you haven't
          seen...

Groaning, the trainees grab poles.  Jordan's pole, wet
slips from their collective grasp...

And bangs Stamm's ankle.  He HOWLS through his teeth.

                         ENGLAND
          How bad?  Stamm?

                         JORDAN
          We better get a medic over --

                         STAMM
          No, goddamnit.  No.

                         INSTRUCTOR
          Up!  Up!  Up!  Up!

Stamm swallows the pain.  Poles go back on shoulders.
Looking like drunk centipedes, the class staggers off down
the beach.


EXT.  MUD PIT - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Wallowing in mud, the class does belly-busters, atomic
sit-ups -- and the sadistic reverse push-up, where
trainees lie of their backs, place hands under shoulder
blades and push their crotches skyward.

                         THE CHIEF
          Pain is your friend.  You ally.  It
          will keep you awake in times of
          emergency... it will tell you when
          you are seriously injured... it will
          keep you angry and remind you to
          finish the job and get the hell
          home.  But you know the best thing
          about pain?

                         CLASS
          No, sir!

                         THE CHIEF
          It lets you know that you aren't
          dead yet.

Instructors roam, RASPING ORDERS, kicking students into
proper position.  Jordan struggles with the reverses.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Go regulation if you can't do the
          reverses, O'Neil.

She looks around.  A lot of the guys are having trouble
with the reverses, not just her.

                         JORDAN
          Thank you, sir.  But I like these
          just fine.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Not doin' them very fine, O'Neil.

                         JORDAN
          I'll try anyway, sir.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          You'll try what we tell you to try,
          O'Neil.  Go regulation.

She switches to standard push-ups, her face disappearing
into the ooze with every downstroke.  Soon the Chief's
boots slosh into FRAME.  He's still looking for his human
sacrifice.

                         THE CHIEF
          Who's it gonna be.  I just wonder,
          who is it gonna be...


EXT.  BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL STATION - SUNSET

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          On your belly... on your back... on
          your feet... on your belly... on
          your back... on your feet...

Whistle-drills.  Silhouetted against a lowering sun, the
students flop around like docked fish.


INT.  ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Blondell is ending her shift.  She shoulders a purse and
pauses at a window, seeing...

The trainees shuffling into formation like the living
dead.  Jordan is still among them.


EXT.  THE GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

                         THE CHIEF
          You have noticed a ship's bell
          hanging at the west side of this
          courtyard.  If, at any time, you
          feel you cannot continue with your
          training -- that bell is your
          salvation.  Strike it three times,
          and the ordeal is over.

Nervous eyes flick to the bell.

                         THE CHIEF
          Yes, it is a long walk.  So I'll
          make it as easy as I can.

He turns his back to the class.

                         THE CHIEF
          Now you don't have to watch me
          watching you break rank.  Because I
          know someone here wants to do it.

CAMERA SEARCHES their faces.  There isn't one trainee here
who hasn't thought about it.  Including Jordan.

                         THE CHIEF
          Now I know what you're thinking...

                         SLUTNIK
                  (low)
          I'm thinkin' we could jump him right
          now...

                         THE CHIEF
          "Can I really take 15 weeks of this
          bubonic asshole?"  If you don't know
          the answer to that question, the
          answer is "No, you cannot."  And
          that is another historical fact.  So
          do it.  Admit you don't have what it
          takes... admit you are out of your
          depth -- or we're all heading back
          to the beach right now.
                  (waiting a beat)
          Instructors!  Time hack!

Following the Chief's lead, Instructors lift their dive
watches.

                         THE CHIEF
          Six... five... four... three...
          two... one... HACK!
                  (to class)
          The time is now 12-hundred.  The sun
          is shining brightly.  Plenty of
          daylight left for another phone-pole
          run...

GROANS behind him.  The groans give way to the SOUND OF
BOOTS breaking rank.


INT.  ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

BLONDELL'S POV:  Of a lone figure crossing to the bell.


EXT.  GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

QUICK CLOSEUPS of Miller, Slutnik, Wickwire, turning to
watch someone cross the grinder.  At least we know who it
isn't.

CLOSE on the Chief as the BELL RINGS THREE TIMES.  He
turns around to find...

Stamm at the bell.

For the first time, the Chief looks dead-bang at Jordan.
Was he expecting her?

                         THE CHIEF
          Leave your helmet there, Stamm.
          Back to the barracks.

Stamm drops his helmet and limps away.

                         THE CHIEF
          The rest of you should remember one
          thing.  The only easy day was today.
          Lieutenant Wickwire?  Turning it
          over to you.

                         WICKWIRE
          Cuh-lass, face right!

They march off.


INT.  MESS HALL - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Dead-ass tired, Jordan slides her tray down the line,
piling on food that means nothing more than raw calories.
She heads for...

A table of trainees, one spot open.  Seeing her coming,
the guys shift position.  Suddenly the table is full.

                         ENGLAND
          Better look elsewhere, O'Neil.

Jordan glares.  None of them meet her eyes.  She wheels
around -- and now all eyes are on her, watching her ass
walk away.  FEATURE Slutnik, the walking sperm bank.

                         SLUTNIK
          Half a night, Lord, just gimme half
          a night to set her straight...

Jordan tries another table.  This one, too, becomes
abruptly full.  As Jordan leaves, HOLD on Miller.  He's a
human eclipse -- six-three, 220, the perfect commando
physique.  Instructors wish they could clone him.

                         MILLER
          Average woman is 25 percent body
          fat.  That's one-quarter fat, man.
          Think about that.

                         MCCOOL
          Nice distribution, though.

                         MILLER
          No way does she makes this program.
          No way.

After wandering the mess hall like a homeless person,
Jordan finds refuge at a table with female mess stewards.
They look at her with blank faces.  No understanding.  No
compassion.


EXT.  B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Jordan walks in a bathrobe, toweling her hair dry.  She
fishes for keys at her door.

                         VOICE
          It's not so much that they hate
          you...

Jordan looks.  Someone is sitting on an outdoor table,
smoking.  He leans into the light so she can see his face.
It's Wickwire, the mid-30s lieutenant who doubles as class
officer.  He's dangerously handsome.

                         WICKWIRE
          They're more afraid of you.

                         JORDAN
          Well, now I feel so much better.

                         WICKWIRE
          It was made clear before you came --
          harassment equals career suicide.
          Can't say anything good, so they
          don't say much at all.  To your
          face, anyway.

                         JORDAN
          Whose orders were those?

                         WICKWIRE
          It was made clear.
                  (getting up)
          Anyway, stay ballsy.  First week's
          hell, then it levels out.  Until
          S.E.R.E. training, anyway.  That's
          hell-and-a-half.

                         JORDAN
          And how do you know that?

                         WICKWIRE
          Made it to Week 10 last time.

                         JORDAN
          I didn't know they let you try
          again.  Especially at your age.

                         WICKWIRE
          You're kind of a surprise yourself.

A faint grin from Wickwire before he shadows back across
the courtyard that separates the two B.O.Q. buildings.
Back across no-man's land.


INT.  JORDAN'S B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Two beds.  Matching lockers.  A desk, a chair, a mirror.
All overwhelmingly dull.

Jordan drops the robe off her shoulders to take inventory
of her body.  Both sides of her neck are bruised from the
phone-pole run.  Her back and thighs are sand-burned.
Mirror cuts abound.  She's already a mess.

Jordan uncaps some cologne.  It's a vestige of her old
life she's not going to surrender.  She sniffs.  Savors.
Dabs.  Looks back in the mirror...

And breaks out laughing.  It's like dropping a rose in a
cesspool.


EXT.  SILVER STRAND HIGHWAY - CORONADO - DAY

A PHOTOGRAPHER stands near a car parked just outside the
base.  He's peering through a 600mm lens.

PHOTOGRAPHER'S POV:  FOCUSING through cyclone fencing...
PANNING past the sand dunes... and finding green-clad
trainees gathered at an obstacle course.


EXT.  OBSTACLE COURSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

An explosion of sand:  England and Wickwire belly-flop
into a sand pit and speed-crawl under barbed wire.  Clear,
they gain their feet and blitz toward...

The rolling logs.  They balance-beam their way to...

The rope climb.  Racing to the top, they reach a platform
and fling themselves down onto...

The high poles.  They land awkwardly, losing their wind
and their grip, tumbling into the sand pit below before...

Racing for the finish.  The Chief thumbs a stopwatch.

                         THE CHIEF
          England, 88 seconds.  You're good to
          go for the slide-for-life.
          Wickwire, roll back till you get
          south of 90.

                         WICKWIRE
          Fuck.  Yes sir.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Who'd you kiss to get back in here,
          anyway?

Wickwire dusts off and starts back for...

The starting line.  Stepping up next is Cortez, the human
fighting cock.  Jordan lines up beside him and psyches up
for the first obstacle -- and eight-foot sheer wall.

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          Hang on, here...

He grabs something off a truck and positions it at the
base of the wall.  It's a little two-step platform.

SNICKERS, MOANS from the guys.  Cortez can barely contain
his disgust.

                         CORTEZ
          Aw, what is this...

                         JORDAN
                  (mortified)
          Sir...

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          Don't have to use it, O'Neil, but
          it's gotta go out.
                  (calling out)
          Five... four... three...

                         JORDAN
          I can make this wall without --

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          ... two... one... MARK!

Cortez blurs away.  Jordan starts a step late.

Cortez takes the wall clean.  Eschewing the two-step,
Jordan jumps right over it -- but jumps too far out
because of it.  She takes the wall awkwardly.

INTERCUT the others as they break rank to follow, eager to
see Cortez blow her off the course.

                         CLASS
          Lesgo, Cortez, LESGO, GO, GO!

Cortez belly-flops into the sand pit -- and snags going
under the barbed wire.

                         CORTEZ
          Shit of a saint...

Catching up, Jordan clears the wire without a hitch and
leads going into...

The rolling logs.  They both tight-rope across nimbly and
bound on toward...

Rope climb.  Jordan starts up at a decent clip -- but
Cortez comes from behind like a chimp on white sugar,
doubling her speed.

                         CLASS
          Take her, take her here, Cortez...
          lookit that monkey-man go... hoo-
          yah, hoo-yah...

Cortez reaches the top platform.  Now he's faced with...

The high poles.  He's seen others land sideways and pay
the price.  Trying another way, Cortez takes a flying
leap...

And WHUMPS down with legs astraddle.  He tried to cushion
the landing with his hands -- and failed magnificently.
His balls took the brunt.

Jordan WHUMPS down beside him with legs astraddle -- and
shoots Cortez a "Hey, no problem" look.  She rolls off the
poles...

And drops to the pit below.  Cortez lands right behind.
Now it's a flat-out sprint for...

The finish line.  He takes her at the tape.

                         THE CHIEF
          Cortez, 93 seconds.  O'Neil, 94.
          Cortez, do a little rescue-recovery
          on your gonads and line up again.
          O'Neil... move ahead.

Heading back to the starting line, Jordan wheels around.

                         JORDAN
          Say again, sir?

                         THE CHIEF
          You heard me.  Move on.

                         CORTEZ
          Aw, this is such bullshit...

Others GRUMBLE in commiseration.  Jordan flushes with
anger.

                         JORDAN
          Chief, sir, I don't understand
          why --

                         THE CHIEF
          Educate her, Pyro.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Automatic five-second deduction,
          which slips you under the wire.
          It's called "gender-norming," O'Neil
          -- standard procedure for all
          females in physical training
          courses.  Where you been the last
          few years?

                         JORDAN
          What "all females"?  If I'm the
          only --

                         THE CHIEF
          Twice now, I have said the words
          "move on."

He turns his back, leaving no possibility of discussion.
Jordan stares after.

                         SLUTNIK
          Can't live with them, can't kill
          them.  What's the point?

                         MCCOOL
          Somebody throw a tent over this
          circus.

                         WICKWIRE
                  (low to Jordan)
          Just let it go.  If it's in your
          favor, just shut the hell up and
          take it.


EXT.  B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Dressed in bathrobe, Jordan reaches her door.  She pauses
to check...

The outdoor table.  No visitors tonight.


INT.  JORDAN'S B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Jordan pushes inside -- and stops when she sees the little
two-step platform.  That awful crutch.  Someone has put it
beside her bed.

Jordan wheels around to check...


EXT.  B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

The men' building.  Slutnik and a few others loiter on a
balcony, mirroring her stare.


EXT.  CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Hastily dressed, Jordan marches across the base.  Her
march turns into an angry run as she cuts through parking
lots... jumps hedges... and finally reaches...


EXT.  C.O.'S HOUSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

An on-base bungalow.  Jordan bangs on the front door until
the C.O.'S scowling face appears.

                         JORDAN
          Pardon the hour, sir.  But you told
          me to come to you immediately if I
          felt I was being mistreated in any
          way.

                         C.O.
          Didn't take long.

He waves her inside.


INT.  C.O.'S HOUSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

                         C.O.
          All right, lieutenant, give me a
          name and specifics, I'll have the
          X.O. file an action first thing in
          the morning.
                  (waits)
          A name?

                         JORDAN
          It's you, sir.  And it started the
          day I came here.

                         C.O.
                  (jolted)
          Oh, really.

                         JORDAN
          It's this double-standard, the
          separate quarters, the deferential
          treatment.  It's how you pulled out
          my chair and nearly served high tea
          the first time we met.

                         C.O.
          Because I was civil, now you're
          complaining.

                         JORDAN
          I can't afford civility, sir.  How
          am I supposed to fit in with these
          guys when you've got me set up as an
          outsider?  Even if I make it under
          these rules, I still lose, because
          there'll always be a flag in my file
          -- "Yeah, she made it, but..."  I
          mean, really -- why didn't you just
          issue me a goddamn petticoat to wear
          around the base?

                         C.O.
          Did you just have a brain-fart?

                         JORDAN
          Pardon?

                         C.O.
          Did you just barge in here and curse
          at your base commander?  If so, I
          regard that as a bonafide brain-
          fart, and I resent it when people
          fart inside my home.

                         JORDAN
          I think you've resented me from the
          start, sir.

Now, finally, her opponent steps into the ring.  And he's
a bare-knuckle brawler.

                         C.O.
                  (building)
          What I resent, lieutenant, is some
          politician using my base as a test
          tube for her grand social
          experiment.  What I resent is the
          sensitivity training that is now
          mandatory for my men... the day-care
          center I have to build where an
          officer's lounge used to be... and
          the OB/GYN I have to keep on staff
          just so someone can keep track of
          your personal pap smears.
                  (drawing close)
          But most of all, lieutenant, I
          resent your perfume, however subtle
          it may be, competing with the aroma
          of my fine three-dollar-and-fifty-
          nine cent cigar, which I will
          happily put out this very instant if
          the phallic nature of it happens to
          offend your goddamn fragile
          sensibilities.  DOES IT?

                         JORDAN
          No, sir.

                         C.O.
          No, sir, WHAT?

                         JORDAN
          The shape doesn't bother me.  It's
          just that goddamn rotten stench.

A dangerous beat -- before the C.O. disengages.

                         C.O.
          Well.  'Least now we're talking the
          same language.
                  (a beat)
          So one standard.  Is that what
          you're after?

                         JORDAN
          Same rules for everyone, sir.

                         C.O.
          Straight up?

                         JORDAN
          Across the board, sir.

                         C.O.
          And if you just happen to wash out,
          I won't have to contend with you
          bitchin' to some hairy-chested
          female Senator?  And please note I
          did not identify any one in
          particular.

                         JORDAN
          Wouldn't dream of it, sir.

A deciding beat.

                         C.O.
          Then good night.

                         JORDAN
          So I'll get a fair shot?

                         C.O.
          You'll get everything you want,
          O'Neil.  Let's see if you want what
          you're gonna get.


INT.  BARBER SHOP - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Jordan gets her hair cut to regulation length.  It's over
in seconds.


INT.  ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Jordan slaps down old room keys and new orders.  Blondell
scans the paperwork with deepening concern.

                         BLONDELL
          This some kind of joke?


INT.  JORDAN'S B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Jordan tosses her belongings into a laundry bag.  She
slings the bag over her shoulder, boots aside the hated
two-step on her way out...


EXT.  B.O.Q. BUILDING - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

... marches across the no-man's land...


INT.  B.O.Q. ROOM - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

... and bangs open a door.  Slutnik sits up on his bed.

                         SLUTNIK
          Well, who the shit you think you
          are?  Comin' in here like that?

                         JORDAN
          Your new roommate.

Slutnik's face curdles.  Jordan dumps her bag on an open
bunk and starts unpacking.

                         JORDAN
          Anybody usin' these drawers here?

                         SLUTNIK
          Hey, hey, HEY.  No possibility.  You
          can't stay in here.  You can't sleep
          right next to me.

                         JORDAN
          Funny, the C.O. says I can.

She slaps orders on his chest, continues to unpack.

                         SLUTNIK
          Aw, lookit this, lookit this --
          she's bringin' Tampax in here.
          C'mon, you got nothin' but rooms
          over there.

                         JORDAN
          That your desk?  I'll take this one.

                         SLUTNIK
          WOULD YOU JUST GET OUTTA HERE?

                         JORDAN
                  (whirling on him)
          Listen, Sex Ape.  I'm here to stay.
          And if you don't want me for a
          roommate or classmate, you got two
          options -- move out or ring out.
          End of file.

Slutnik stalks out.  Jordan fires a look at the innocent
bystander here, McCool.  He was studying at his desk when
the fireworks began.

                         JORDAN
          What about you, McCool?  Any problem
          with the room assignment?

McCool -- an imperturbable black lieutenant -- just goes
back to his manuals.

                         MCCOOL
          "It's not a job -- it's an
          adventure."


EXT.  OCEAN - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

START on flares igniting overhead.  FOLLOW the flares as
they parachute down into the surf to illuminate...

The class, standing in one long line, arms linked.  As
black waves knock out their legs, we're reminded of show
girls kicking their way through some macabre review.


EXT.  BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Firing flare guns and working their bullhorns:

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          58 degrees this morning!  That's not
          a bad water temp, really -- if
          you're standing where we are!

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          Slurred speech, lack of proper motor
          control, short-term amnesia -- all
          early signs of hypothermia!
          Advanced hypothermia is easy to
          detect in a classmate!  He'll look
          like he's dead!

                         THE CHIEF
          Body heat.  In situations of extreme
          cold, you can always count on body
          heat to keep you alive -- and I do
          not mean your own.  We will break
          you of the cultural barriers that
          dictate you should not invade
          another man's space.  Are any of you
          in a situation of extreme cold right
          now?

INTERCUTTING trainees and instructors:

                         CLASS
          Yes, sir!

                         THE CHIEF
          Then why aren't you all over the man
          next to you?

The class pivots 90 degrees and starts to close rank.
Behind Jordan, Montgomery (a.k.a. "Flea") hesitates:
He's a bantam-weight from Georgia, his manners bred into
the bone.  He just can't find a delicate way to grab
Jordan without mounting her.

                         JORDAN
          Just do it, okay?

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          If you can't feel the other guy's
          pecker, you ain't in tight enough!
          I want nuts to butts!

                         JORDAN
          Come on, Montgomery...

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          Flea!  O'Neil!  Why is there a break
          in that line?

Finally Jordan grabs Flea by the neck, pushes him ahead
and mounts him.  The class closes down into a long human
snake.

                         JORDAN
                  (in his ear)
          Montgomery, why do they call you
          "Flea"?

                         FLEA
          It's really "F. Lee Montgomery" --
          but that gets whittled down to just
          "Flea."  For short, ma'am.

                         JORDAN
          So it really has nothing to do with
          actual brain size?

                         FLEA
          No, ma'am.

                         JORDAN
          Well, Flea, I appreciate the respect
          you just showed me.  But I don't
          need it and don't want it -- not
          that kind of respect, anyway.  It's
          just gonna hurt us both, okay?

                         FLEA
          I'll work on it, ma'am.

                         JORDAN
          Do that.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
                  (to the Chief)
          Time.

                         THE CHIEF
          Check your watch, Pyro.  Seems fast.

CAMERA POLLS the grim, blue-lipped faces in the water.
Jordan feels Flea starting to shake.  Badly.

                         JORDAN
          Hey.  You okay, Flea?

                         FLEA
          'Snot me.  It's him.

Two bodies ahead, it's the big bruiser, Miller, who's
shuddering.  Jordan feels him shaking through Flea.

                         MILLER
          Jesus, my hands... they aren't
          workin' right...

                         NEWBERRY
          How long i'zis for?

                         WICKWIRE
          'Sposed to be 20-minute intervals,
          no more.

                         NEWBERRY
          Swear each time's gettin' longer.

                         MCCOOL
          This where you bailed last time,
          Wick?

                         WICKWIRE
          Huh-uh -- but wasn't middla February
          last time, either.

                         FLEA
          How you doin', Miller?  Miller?

No answer.  Bad sign.  On shore:

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          22 minutes...

Ignoring, the Chief lifts his bullhorn:

                         THE CHIEF
          Remember, all this is completely
          voluntary.  For any of you who don't
          want to continue, Instructor Johns
          is now serving coffee and danish at
          the ambulance.

A portable light comes on.  Indeed, an instructor is
setting up coffee service.

                         THE CHIEF
          Any takers?

                         SLUTNIK
          He's the fuckin' Antichrist.

                         MCCOOL
          Wick!  They really got donuts over
          there?  Or just some'a last night's
          dinner rolls?

                         FLEA
          Look like donuts to me...

                         JORDAN
                  (in disbelief)
          What're you guys doing?  Huh?

                         MCCOOL
          Just askin'

                         JORDAN
          What, you gonna give it all up for a
          maple twist?  How dumb you gotta be?
          That's exactly what they --

Suddenly the line rips apart.  It's Miller, breaking for
shore.

                         CLASS
          NO!

Soon the dyke is bursting everywhere:  Four others break
rank, following Miller's lead.

The deserters stagger onto the beach.  MEDICS close in
quick, draping them with blankets, shining flashlights in
their faces, asking brain-check question.

                         MEDICS
          Tell me what day this is... look at
          me now... what city are you from,
          sailor... here, look right here...

A medic nods to the Chief.  No hypothermia.  Not yet.

                         THE CHIEF
          You want another minute to think
          about this?  Huh?
                  (no response; to
                   Miller directly)
          Do any of you want to reconsider?

Avoiding his eyes, Miller wags his head.

                         THE CHIEF
          Johnson.  Get 'em out of my scan.

It's a death sentence.  As the quitters slouch for the
coffee truck...

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          By my watch... which, of course
          appears to be broken... they've been
          in 27 minutes without the benefit of
          protective gear.

TIGHT on the Chief.  Scanning the remaining trainees.
Thinking about holding out out for one more.

TIGHT on Jordan.  Knowing who he's waiting for.  Wondering
if she can outlast him.

                         THE CHIEF
                  (into bullhorn)
          Everybody out.

With a SHIVERING CHEER, the trainees stampede ashore,
grabbing blankets, trading body-bumps and high-fives.
Jordan gets swept up in the esprit:  They've conquered a
common enemy.  But when she tries to get high-fived...

The guys turn their backs.  It's a cold rebuff, worse then
any water.

HOLD TIGHT on Jordan.  Shivering.  Watching the guys drift
away.  Hating them.

                         WICKWIRE
          Hey.  Way to gut it out.

                         JORDAN
          Thanks, Wick.


INT.  INSTRUCTOR'S OFFICE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

The instructors are shuffling muster lists, reorganizing
the class.  B.G., the BELL TOLLS again and again.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
                  (shaking head)
          Miller.  Thought the guy was made of
          depleted uranium.  Really didn't
          expect to lose him.

                         THE CHIEF
          Every class has its surprises, Pyro.
          This one'll be no different.


EXT.  GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Blondell crosses the grinder with another female ensign,
tall and striking.  Passing the bell, Blondell checks
on...

The helmets lined up beneath.  A dozen already.

An O.S. CADENCE CALL -- then, led by Wickwire, trainees
double-time into the grinder, uniforms drenched from a
beach run.  Among them, still, is Jordan.  It brings a
Mona Lisa smile to Blondell's face.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Change those clothes, be back here
          in six minutes!  And I am timing
          you!

The class scatters.  Slutnik hits the brakes when he sees
Blondell and her friend.

                         SLUTNIK
          Jesus Christ.  And I only got three
          minutes apiece...

                         ENGLAND
                  (jerking him away)
          Barkin' up the wrong dress, Slutnik.
          You ain't their type.

Overhearing, Jordan snaps a look at Blondell, only now
realizing.  Their eyes meet.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          O'Neil!  What're you gawking at?


INT.  C.O.'S OFFICE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

                         P.R. FLAK
                  (reading newspaper)
          "... last week at Coronado.  The
          woman, identity unknown, is believed
          to be the first female candidate for
          the elite Special Reconnaissance
          program.  Her presence could signal
          a shift in the Navy's long-standing
          policy that excludes women from
          combat positions."

The P.R. FLAK drops the newspaper on the C.O.'s desk.
It's the San Diego Tribune.  Under the headline "G.I.
JANE," a photo shows a chesty sailor running the obstacle
course.

                         C.O.
                  (calling O.S.)
          I'm asking again.  Where is she?

                         YEOMAN
          Inbound now, sir.  Had to pull her
          out of the dive bell.

                         P.R. FLAK
          I have interview requests from two
          local TV stations.  And a
          sociologist from U.C. San Diego
          called, wanted to know if she could
          examine the interaction between
          "G.I. Jane" and the men.

                         C.O.
          "A sociol..."  Kill the interviews.
          I don't need civilians nosin' around
          in matters that are supposed to be
          covert in nature.  Just kill 'em
          before this whole thing gets outta
          con --

                         YEOMAN
          Senator DeHaven calling, sir.

The C.O. gets an instant headache.


INT.  SENATE BARBER SHOP - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

                         C.O. (V.O.)
          Base Commander Turrentine speaking.

In the Senate barber shop, DeHaven is having her hair
colored.  She holds a fax of the Tribune article in one
hand, a cell phone in the other.

                         DEHAVEN
                  (hitting like a Scud)
          Commander, are you of the habit of
          letting photographers traipse around
          your base snappin' their fill?
          These were supposed to have been
          discreet test cases --

INTERRCUTTING:

                         C.O.
          Senator, they stand out on the
          public highway with telephoto
          lenses --

                         DEHAVEN
          -- and now I got reporters from
          Toadsquat, Iowa, calling my office
          and askin' what I know about this
          "G.I. Jane" thing.

                         C.O.
          -- nothing I can do about it unless
          you're suggesting I infringe on
          their civil liberties -- which I'd
          happily do if you'll just trim a
          little fat off the Constitution.

                         DEHAVEN
          Are you truly mouthin' off to a
          senior member of the Senate Arms
          Committee?  I mean, I'll give you
          points for style -- just nothin' for
          smarts.


INT.  C.O.'S OFFICE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

The C.O. double-takes as Jordan enters:  She's sun-burned,
wind-burned, sand-burned, chapped and chaffed, bloody and
soggy.  Her dive suit leaks onto the floor.

                         JORDAN
          See me, sir?

                         C.O.
          You makin' friends with the press,
          lieutenant?

He tosses her the paper.  Jordan scans the article as
DeHaven continues over speakerphone:

                         DEHAVEN
          Well, seein's how this thing is out,
          you let me handle the r.p.m.  From
          this point forward, I want all press
          matters coordinated via my office.
          I'll be god-damned if I'm gonna
          watch Hayes pull flowers out of his
          ass and take credit for this one.
          Him or the President.
                  (aside to beautician)
          This my shade?  "Midnight Mahogany"?
          'Cuz I'm comin' dangerously close to
          lookin' like Ronald Reagan here.

                         C.O.
          Your prerogative, Senator.

                         DEHAVEN
          Awright.  How's our girl doin',
          anyway?

                         C.O.
          Standing right here in my office.

                         DEHAVEN
          Jordan, dear.  How are they treating
          you?

                         JORDAN
                  (catching C.O.'s
                   eyes)
          Can't complain, ma'am.

                         DEHAVEN
          Hmmm.  Maybe I'll ask when I see you
          in person.

                         JORDAN
          Uh, ma'am.

                         DEHAVEN
          Gonna be visiting that all-woman's
          America's cup team in a few weeks --
          If I were a gambler, I'd say Dennis
          O'Conner's days are numbered.  But
          they're in San Diego, so I thought
          I'd take a quick promenade of the
          base.

Deafening silence.  We aren't sure who dreads the idea
more -- the C.O. or Jordan.

                         C.O.
          Uh, V.I.P. security arrangements
          generally take some time, Senator.

                         DEHAVEN
          "Security"?  What the hell you
          talkin' about?  Your base isn't
          secure?

                         C.O.
          Of course, but there's more --

                         DEHAVEN
          Then set out the good plates, we'll
          all have lunch.  My office will
          follow up with details.  Jumping
          off, now...

Phone goes dead.  The C.O. gives Jordan a look one might
reserve for a lab technician who inadvertently unleashed
Ebola upon the world.

                         JORDAN
          Sir, I want you to know that I had
          nothing to do with any of this.  Not
          this article, not --

                         C.O.
          "We'll all have lunch."  Good idea.
          Oh, and let's be sure to invite this
          sociologist, too -- just in case we
          want to have a FUCKING BRIDGE GAME
          AFTERWARDS!

                         YEOMAN
          Sir?  Secretary Hayes calling.

The C.O.'s headache becomes a migraine.

                         JORDAN
                  (backing out)
          Permission to leave, sir?

                         C.O.
          Permission to evaporate, O'Neil.


INT.  SENATE BARBER SHOP - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

DeHaven hands the phone to her aide.  He's set up a
portable office in the next barber chair.

                         DEHAVEN
          Think I overplayed it?

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE
          Congress and the Pentagon share a
          lot of plumbing.  They'll never know
          whose leak it is.


EXT.  BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

150-pound rubber boats ("Zodiacs") litter the beach.  The
class is breaking down into six-man crews.

                         THE CHIEF
          Boat Five -- Wickwire, Cozad, Vinyl,
          Intagliata, Ayers, and Wise.
          Lieutenant Wickwire is your senior
          officer.  Follow his orders to your
          death.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Get it up!

Crew Five finds their Zodiac, hoists it onto their heads.

                         THE CHIEF
          Boat Six -- England, O'Neil, McCool,
          Montgomery, Cortez, and Slutnik.
          Lieutenant England is your senior
          officer.

Jordan rolls her eyes:  At least two of the guys in her
crew are blue-ribbon misogynists.  Cortez and Slutnik
don't like it any better.

                         JORDAN
          Ah, c'mon...

                         CORTEZ
          Motherachrist...

                         SLUTNIK
          Me?  Again?

                         THE CHIEF
                  (looking up)
          Somebody got a problem with the
          muster?

                         JORDAN
          Fine by me, sir!

                         CORTEZ
          No problem, sir!

                         SLUTNIK
          Full of joy here, sir!

Exchanging looks across their Zodiac, Jordan and her new
crewmates lift the boat overhead.

                         THE CHIEF
          Boat Seven...


EXT.  BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

With BATTLE CRIES, 12 boat crews charge into the teeth of
the POUNDING SURF.  Some lose their boat to the first
wave; others clear the surf and scramble aboard.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
                  (into bullhorn)
          First crew to finish gets hot food
          and warm racks for the night!  Rest
          of you are digging hide-sites and
          eating earthworms tonight!


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

Beyond the breakers, the Zodiacs run parallel to shore,
crews paddling furiously, racing the wind, the sun, the
other crews.  Instructors shadow in power boats,
stopwatches running.


EXT.  BOAT SIX - OCEAN - DAY

                         McCool
          Don't wanna be pickin' no sandcrabs
          outta my ass tonight!

                         ENGLAND
          So shutup and stroke, McCool!

                         SLUTNIK
          Hoo-yah!  Hoo-yah!

Flea checks on Jordan.  She paddles hard, really digging
in.  Flea grins:  On some level, he has to admire this
women.

Jordan catches the grin, gives one back.

Ahead, buoys mark the finish line.  And just when it seems
victory is at hand...

THWUNK.  Something hits Boat Six.  Suddenly it's losing
air.  Jordan torques around to see...

The Chief on a nearby boat, speargun in hand.

                         THE CHIEF
          Your boat just hit razor coral.
          What do you do now?

                         ENGLAND
          Patch and pump!  C'mon!  Whose ass
          is on the kit?

                         MCCOOL
          I say keep paddlin'!  We're
          almost --

                         ENGLAND
          Forget it, McCool!  Pri One is to
          save the boat, not win a race!  So
          let's get on it!

They flail to save their sinking boat.  Boat Five noses
past, stealing the lead.  Wickwire tosses Jordan a passing
look.  "Sorry, but..."


EXT.  UPPER DUNES - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Up and down the dunes, crews are digging "hide-sites" --
six-man holes that will be their homes tonight.  Cortez
and Slutnik are uprooting shrubs, collecting camouflage
material.

                         CORTEZ
          Four years I petition to get into
          this program.  Four years.  Finally
          get here, and now it's co-ed?  Such
          bullshit.  Now I'm gettin' hammered
          just 'cuz she's on our crew.

                         SLUTNIK
          Least you don't have to sleep with
          her every goddamn night.

                         CORTEZ
          Tellin' you, I'd rather be the last
          class with balls than the first one
          with chicks.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  UPPER DUNES - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Jordan and Flea fill sand bags to shore up the walls of
their hide-site.  England and McCool shovel back to back.

                         MCCOOL
          Had a grandaddy who wanted to be a
          Navy man.  Wanted to fire them big
          guns on a big-ass battleship.  But
          Navy said to him, "Oh, no.  You can
          only do one thing on a battleship."
          "Well what's that?" grandaddy said.
          "Cook," they said.  Now this ain't
          100 years ago -- I'm talkin' United
          States Navy, middla World War II.
          And you know the reason they gave
          him?  You know why they tol' my
          grandaddy he couldn't fight for his
          country?

                         ENGLAND
          He talked too much?

                         MCCOOL
          "Negroes can't see at night.  Bad
          night vision."

                         JORDAN
          You're kiddin' me.

Jordan jumps in the hole, ready to take over shoveling.

                         MCCOOL
          See, you just the new nigger on the
          block, O'Neil.  That's all.  And
          maybe you moved in too early.

He climbs out.  HOLD on Jordan, looking off down the
dunes, seeing the other crews covering up and going
underground for the night.  How the hell did she wind up
here?  So far from home?


EXT.  SILVER STRAND HIGHWAY - DAY

A Jeep speeds along the public highway, carrying the C.O.
back to base.  When the Jeep tops a rise:

                         C.O.
          What in God's name...

Ahead, a half-dozen news crews are camped on the shoulder.
All cameras are trained on the base.


INT.  BEDROOM - GEORGETOWN APARTMENT - NIGHT

CAMERA FINDS Navy dress blues laid out on a bed... topcoat
draped on a chair-back... CNN on a television.

                         CNN COMMENTATOR (TV)
          ... is denying that it is
          considering changing its long-held
          policy of exclusion -- but it isn't
          denying the presence of at least one
          female in a heretofore all-male
          program.  Dubbed "G.I. Jane" by the
          media, this woman is now undergoing
          commando training at the Special
          Warfare Command Center in San
          Diego...

Half-shaven, Royce leans out of the bathroom in time to
catch...

Footage from Coronado:  A woman in Navy greens is on a
beach run, loaded down with backpack and M-16.  The NEWS
FOOTAGE ZOOMS IN, FREEZE FRAMES with the indelible image
that will be used over and over in coming weeks:  Woman
cradling rifle.  Madonna for the 21st century.

                         ROYCE
          Goddamn.  My poster girl.

                         CNN COMMENTATOR (TV)
          Senator DeHaven's office still has
          not released the identity of the
          woman, but DeHaven is confirming
          that "G.I. Jane" has outlasted many
          of her male counter-parts in the
          program, said to be one of the most
          grueling anywhere.  Joining us now
          on "Washington Tonight" for the
          feminist perspective is Gloria
          Allred, live from --

Royce snaps it off.  He can't take anymore.


INT.  BEAU-ART HALL - WASHINGTON D.C. - NIGHT

Beneath the coffered ceiling of a great Beau-Art hall, one
of Washington's power-tribes is celebrating.  We find
gowned women, tuxedoed men, gold-braided naval officers, a
SWING BAND, and...

Secretary Hayes, newly confirmed.  He beams as he dances
with his wife.  Compliments and friendly barbs come from
all directions:

                         COMPLIMENTS (O.S.)
          Congratulations, Mr. Secretary.  Say
          hello to the President for me...
          Maybe now you can change that carpet
          in your office, Teddy... So what was
          the deal you made with DeHaven?  Or
          was it the Devil?  Always get them
          confused...

                         HAYES
          Didn't you hear?  Effective
          immediately, all navy vessels can no
          longer be referred to as "she."

BRAYS of laughter.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  BEAU-ART HALL - WASHINGTON D.C. - NIGHT

Royce, EXCUSING his way through the crowd, fixating on the
bar, leading his DIAL-A-DATE winner by the hand.
Conversations drift into earshot:

                         VOICE #1
          ... women are child-bearers.  Life-
          givers.  Now we're going to make
          them killers?

                         VOICE #2
          ... just don't have the upper-body
          strength...

                         VOICE #3
          How strong do you need to be to
          launch a rocket?  To push a button
          or pull a trigger?

Royce can't get away from it.

                         DIAL-A-DATE
          Are we going to dance?

                         ROYCE
          Not right now.

Just yards from the bar, a Pentagon E-RINGER snags Royce's
elbow.

                         E-RINGER
          Commander Royce.  How's life across
          the river?

                         ROYCE
          Little slow, sir.  When's the
          Pentagon going to send me a good
          crisis?

                         E-RINGER
          I'll check my out-basket in the
          morning.  Say, do you know...

The E-Ringer turns to make introductions -- but finds his
CIRCLE OF FRIENDS embroiled in the topic du jour:

                         CIRCLE #1
          ... but men have trained as athletes
          for 5,000 years.  Women have been at
          it for, what, couple of decades?  Do
          we really know the limits of their
          strength?

                         CIRCLE #2
          Or their endurance?  You know, 30
          years ago, women marathoners were 90
          minutes off the pace of the men.
          Now, the women's time is probably
          only 20 minutes off.

                         CIRCLE #1
          Try 15.

                         CIRCLE #3
          But what do female soldiers really
          contribute?  I mean, why is this
          "G.I. Jane" there instead of a man?

Eyes drift to Royce, inviting him into the fray.

                         ROYCE
                  (to dial-a-date)
          You wait right here.  I'll get the
          drinks.


INT.  MEZZANINE - BEAU-ART HALL - NIGHT

Heading upstairs with an iceless rum.  Royce finds a calm
and secluded place to get drunk in peace and quiet.

                         VOICE #1
          Take my word for it.  It's just not
          going to happen.  Not now, not
          anytime soon.

                         VOICE #2
          You're guaranteeing that?

Royce frowns:  He thought he was alone.  He tracks the
voices to a forced-air vent beside the chaise.

                         VOICE #1
          I have it on unorthodox but reliable
          authority that combat positions will
          remain off-limits.  Despite what's
          happening with our Babe in Boyland.

Alarms go off in Royce's head.  He moves quickly to a
railing, looks down.

ROYCE'S POV:  Of two naval officers on the floor below.
They stand beside a matching vent.  It's impossible to see
faces from this angle -- but one man has a distinct bald
spot.

                         NAVAL OFFICER (VOICE #1)
          Well, isn't that what these test
          cases are supposed to decide?
                  (thinking)
          Unless, of course, you're suggesting
          that "G.I. Jane" is on her way to
          becoming "Jane Doe"...

                         BALD SPOT (VOICE #2)
          All I'm saying is that we won't be
          integrating -- despite the rhetoric
          coming off Capitol Hill, despite
          what's happening in Coronado.  And
          you did not hear it from me.

                         NAVAL OFFICER (VOICE #1)
          Hear what?

A conspiratorial handshake.  The men split up.


INT.  BEAU-ART HALL - WASHINGTON D.C. - NIGHT

Royce flashes down the stairs.  Hitting main floor, he
looks around and then bumps into...

                         DIAL-A-DATE
          There you are.  Can we please dance
          now?

Over her shoulder, Royce spies Bald Spot heading for the
cloak room.  Royce commandeers the nearest J.O.

                         ROYCE
          Lieutenant!

                         J.O.
          Yes sir?

                         ROYCE
          Take a dance!


INT.  BEAU-ART HALL - WASHINGTON D.C. - NIGHT

Royce bobs and weaves through the crowd, trying to keep
sight of...

Bald Spot.  Pushing through the exit doors.

Only steps behind, Royce shoulders through the doors...


EXT.  BEAU-ART HALL - WASHINGTON D.C. - NIGHT

And blasts outside, intending to shake some answers out of
Bald Spot.  But here Royce finds...

A dozen naval officers waiting for their cars.  All of
them now wear caps.

Royce tries to check faces of the quickly departing men.
but it could have been anyone.

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

A high-speed transport ("Seafox") is SLAMMING OVER SWELLS.
Lashed to one side is a rubber life boat.


EXT.  SEAFOX - OCEAN - DAY

                         THE CHIEF
          Crew Six!  Stand by!

                         ENGLAND
          Flea!  'Cool!  O'Neil!  Cortez!
          Slutnik!  In that order!  Five-
          second intervals!  Let's go!

England's crew lines up for cast-and-recover drills:  One
by one, they speed-roll off the transport...

... and drop into the life boat.  After quickly
stabilizing, they roll off the life boat...

... and disappear underwater like human bullets.  England
is last to cast off.


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

Jordan resurfaces.  Treading water, she scans for...

Seafox.  It makes a hard turn in the water and starts
back.  The recovery rig -- a big flexible loop -- is
lowered into position.

Still hauling ass, Seafox picks up the trainees in reverse
order -- England, Slutnik, Cortez.  They each stab an arm
through the passing loop...


EXT.  SEAFOX - OCEAN - DAY

... and vault back aboard, slick as hell.

                         CORTEZ
          Hoo-yah!  Better'n sex in a car
          crash!

But now they're bearing down fast on...


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

Jordan.  She braces as best she can.  As SEAFOX THUNDERS
past, she stabs for the loop...

And snags it with her hand.  But only her hand.

Hanging on grimly, Jordan drags face down in torrential
water.  Her mouth gropes for clean air but can't find it.
If she doesn't let go soon, she'll drown.


EXT.  SEAFOX - OCEAN - DAY

At the stern, the Chief spots Jordan bobbing up in the
boat's wake.

                         THE CHIEF
                  (to pilot)
          Next recovery!  Keep goin', keep
          goin'!


EXT.  OCEAN - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

COUGHING up water, Jordan watches Seafox speed on toward
McCool and Flea.  They make textbook recoveries.  She's
the only one who couldn't cut it.


INT.  WOMEN'S SHOWERS - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Head hung, Jordan showers alone.

                         THE CHIEF (O.S.)
          You know, the Israelis...

Jordan recoils.  Christ, how long has he been there?  Just
standing in the doorway?

                         THE CHIEF
          ... they tried women in the 1967
          War.  Female soldiers.

With forced calm, Jordan squeaks off the water and finds a
towel.

                         JORDAN
          Permission to get dressed, sir?

                         THE CHIEF
          It seems the men couldn't get used
          to the sight of women blown open and
          their viscera hanging from tree
          limbs.  Israeli men would linger
          over wounded females -- often to the
          detriment of the mission, often
          endangering their own lives.  They
          don't use women anymore.

                         JORDAN
                  (moving closer)
          Sir, someone mentioned you received
          the Navy Cross.  May I ask what you
          got it for?

                         THE CHIEF
          For pulling a 210-pound man out of a
          burning barrack in Saudi Arabia.

                         JORDAN
          I see.  So when a man tries to
          rescue another man, he's a hero.
          But when he tries to rescue a woman,
          he's gone soft.

                         THE CHIEF
          Could you have pulled that 210-pound
          man clear, lieutenant?

She can't say yes.  She wants to but can't.

                         THE CHIEF
          Females in combat situations impact
          unit cohesion.  Men fight better
          without women around.  And that is
          an historical fact.

                         JORDAN
          It also seems like a problem with
          the men's attitude, sir.  So maybe
          you should be sniffing around their
          shower room instead.

She shoulders past.  The Chief gives her a few steps
before dropping his bomb:

                         THE CHIEF
          England went out with a stress
          fracture.  That puts you in charge,
          lieutenant.

                         JORDAN
                  (off-balance)
          McCool's that same rank.  We're both
          j.g.'s.

                         THE CHIEF
          You were commissioned one month
          earlier, which makes you the senior
          officer.
                  (passing her on his
                   way out)
          Remember.  There are no bad crews --
          only bad leaders.


INT.  ARTILLERY RANGE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Trainees are getting familiar with M-60 machine guns,
firing SHORT BURST at downfield targets.

                         CORTEZ
                  (pissed)
          No operational experience, and now
          she's callin' the shots?
          Unbelievable.

                         SLUTNIK
          Suppose she'll wanna eat with us
          now...

Jordan overhears them BITCHING.  She steps up to an open
slot -- and proceeds to WAIL AWAY with her M-60, tracer
rounds blazing.  Her target vaporized, she keeps WAILING
madly, taking out Slutnik's target... then Cortez's...
then...

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          O'Neil... O'Neil... O'NEIL!

Finally she stops.

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          One burst, one body, O'Neil!  What
          the fuck you trying to do?  Spell
          your name?
                  (to class)
          You are not infantry!  Your
          firepower is limited!  Excessive
          killing only risks compromise...

Reloading, Jordan tosses a look at Slutnik and Cortez.
Ain't nobody bitchin' now.


EXT.  MESS HALL - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

                         BLONDELL (O.S.)
          S.E.R.E. training coming up.

Eating at a table with other women, Jordan turns to see
Blondell setting down her tray.

                         BLONDELL
          They take you away to San Clemente
          Island.  Half the guys quit when
          they come back.  Supposed to be just
          hell-and-a-half.

                         JORDAN
          That's what I hear.

                         BLONDELL
          Can I ask you somethin', lieutenant?
          How come you're doing this?  I mean,
          we're kinda curious.

                         JORDAN
          Who's "we"?

                         BLONDELL
          Just some of the women.


EXT.  QUARTERDECK - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Walking across the base:

                         JORDAN
          I don't know if there's any single
          reason.  But my father was Navy.
          And he had this old-time recruiting
          poster in his den.  It showed a girl
          trying on a sailor's uniform while
          saying, "Gee, I wish I were a man!
          I'd join the Navy!"  Was maybe 10
          years old when I first saw it, and
          even then it felt wrong.  Made me
          mad.  And I don't think a month has
          gone by that I haven't thought about
          that poster.  "Gee, I wish I were a
          man."

                         BLONDELL
          I've been accused of that wish.

                         JORDAN
          The woman I saw you with...

                         BLONDELL
          Just a friend.  We have friends,
          too, you know.

                         JORDAN
          But are there... I mean, how many...

                         BLONDELL
          More than you'd guess.  It's just
          that we don't hold coffee klatches.
          If more then three of us get
          together at any one time, the guys
          think it's some kind of uprising.

They laugh.

                         BLONDELL
          Sounds funny now, but it's really
          not.  We have to be careful.  The
          Navy still knows how to put on a
          witch-hunt.

Reaching the quarterdeck, they scan a message board.
Jordan finds a half-dozen phone slips for her.

                         JORDAN
          Royce...


INT.  GEORGETOWN APARTMENT - NIGHT

                         ROYCE
                  (into phone)
          I've been trying you for five days.
          Don't they give you messages?

                         JORDAN (V.O.)
          It's hard to find time to sleep,
          Royce.  Much less keep up with my
          phone life.

                         ROYCE
          How hard they making it on you?


EXT.  PHONE KIOSK - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Jordan sighs and slumps against the phone kiosk.  Where to
start?

                         ROYCE (V.O.)
          That bad?

                         JORDAN
          I feel like there's men here,
          there's women here -- then there's
          men.  But hey, what'd I expect?

INTERCUTTING Jordan and Royce:

                         ROYCE
          Well, not this.  I was doing the
          Pentagon scene few nights ago.  Got
          some fresh stuff -- about you.  You
          may be in a hostile camp.  I think
          someone may be taking steps to
          ensure that you crash and burn.

                         JORDAN
          Me?  Why me?

                         ROYCE
          Don't you know?  How they're talking
          about you?

                         JORDAN
          I saw an article...

                         ROYCE
          I can't walk two blocks in
          Washington without hearing about
          "G.I. Jane."  You're all over the
          place, and whether you wanted it or
          not, the feminists are sizing you up
          for that poster.

Jordan's face sours with an errant thought.

                         JORDAN
          So why are you telling me this?

                         ROYCE
          Big symbols make big targets,
          Jordan.  I think someone's gunning
          for you.

                         JORDAN
          You know, Royce, I got enough heat
          on me without you turning up the
          jets, too.

                         ROYCE
          I'm only trying to warn you in
          case --

                         JORDAN
          Well, let me warm you:  I'm going
          though with this.  The more
          everybody fucks with me, fucks with
          my head, the more it just makes me
          want to finish.  So don't expect me
          back crying in your arms any time
          soon, okay?

                         ROYCE
          That's not what I want, Jordan.  I
          mean... it is and it isn't...

                         JORDAN
          Still can't make up your mind, huh?
          Gotta go, Royce.

                         ROYCE
          Jordan.  You watch your ass.

                         JORDAN
          Sure.  I'll join the crowd.


EXT.  AIR STATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

A HELO WARMS UP on its pad.

Crew Six approaches, garbed in black wetsuits, loaded down
with weapons and rucksacks.  Jordan is at the lead.


INT.  HELO - NIGHT

The helo is airborne.  Sitting on rucksacks, trainees
slather their faces with green camouflage paint.  Over the
HOWLING ROTORS:

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Infiltrate... establish your hide-
          site... record any movement of
          troops, vehicles, patrols -- any
          activity inside your scan.  If you
          are compromised, you have two
          options!  Newberry!

Newberry is the new sixth man.  He's young enough to still
have a hyperactive Adam's apple.

                         NEWBERRY
          Evasive maneuvers or radio for
          emergency extraction, sir!

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          If you are extracting, be damn sure
          to follow procedures you have
          learned in your classroom training!
          A helo cannot extract you from a
          wooded area!  You must bring it down
          in a clearing!  What's the minimum
          clearance for an MH-60 Black Hawk,
          McCool?

                         MCCOOL
          32 feet, six inches, sir!

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          You will be penalized for early
          extraction, but you will be
          penalized more for capture -- trust
          me, far more!  Survival!  Evasion!
          Rescue!  Evacuation!  Welcome to
          S.E.R.E.!


EXT.  OCEAN - NIGHT

The helo swoops low over the water, moon silhouetting.
Black figures helo-cast into the ocean.


INT.  HELO - NIGHT

Last out, Jordan is poised to follow when...

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Lieutenant!  Don't back down!

Jordan looks back.  "What the hell does that mean?"
Offering no elaboration, Pyro signals "GO!"  Jordan
springs clear...


EXT.  OCEAN - NIGHT

... and knifes into black water.

The HELO PATTERS away.

An inky stillness overtakes the world.

Jordan activates a red-light beacon, sweeps it around,
revealing her position to...

Her crew.  Five black faces regroup around her.

                         SLUTNIK
          Feel right at home, McCool?

They secure weapons atop their waterproof rucksacks.
Jordan checks a heat-bearing compass.

                         JORDAN
                  (nodding direction)
          South-southeast.  And I don't want
          to hear another word till we're
          underground.

Pushing rucksacks ahead of them, they start swimming
towards...

A moonlit shoreline.  Half-mile ahead.


EXT.  ROCKY SHORELINE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - NIGHT

Jordan's crew reaches shallow water.  They deflate their
vests and rucksacks.  Jordan trades her face mask for
night-vision goggles.

NIGHT-VISION POV:  Sweeping the rocks.  Nothing at first.
Then two "hostiles" appear, patrolling the rocks.

Jordan motions "down."  Six faces sink from sight.

NIGHT-VISION/UNDERWATER POV:  Of the "hostile" patrol
moving on.

They resurface.  On Jordan's cue, the crew sheds flippers
and begins scaling rocks.  They've made landfall.


EXT.  HIDE-SITE MONTAGE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - NIGHT

MONTAGE:  Racing the coming sun, Jordan's crew builds
their hide-site... digging feverishly... filling sand
bags... telescoping open a roof pole, fanning out spars...
laying canvas roof panels into place... camouflaging the
panels... sprinkling sanitizing powder around the
perimeter to ward off animals.  INTERCUT WITH...

A snake slithering across the ground.  As it nears the
hide-site...

A knife whacks its head off.

Slutnik picks up the carcass, kicks dirt over the severed
head.  No trace.


EXT.  SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

CAMERA PANS the island, awash in morning light.  Woodlands
lie distant.  A road is the only man-made feature -- until
in FOREGROUND, we find a spotting scope poking from the
ground.


INT.  HIDE-SITE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

SCOPE POV:  Of the road.  Fast-attack vehicles approach.

                         MCCOOL
                  (peering into scope)
          Got two FAVs moving south.  I
          make... four banditos aboard,
          carrying... H-60 machine guns...

Jordan REPEATS THE INFO into a digital tape-recorder, adds
the time.

                         JORDAN
          Newberry, get a photo.  South?

                         CORTEZ
          Entering my scan now...

                         JORDAN
          West?

                         SLUTNIK
          Clear.

                         JORDAN
          North?

                         FLEA
          Clear.

SCOPE POV:  Of the FAVs disappearing down the road.

                         CORTEZ
          FAVs clear.

Everyone relaxes -- as much as six people can in a hole
five feet-wide.  McCool opens up MREs (Meals Ready to Eat)
Slutnik guts his snake.

                         MCCOOL
          You mind?  I'm trying to eat here.

                         SLUTNIK
          So am I.

Cortez finishes pissing into a tin pot.  He transfers the
waste to a zip-lock baggy, offers the pot.

                         CORTEZ
          Anyone?

He looks at Jordan.  She eyes the pot, tempted and nettled
at the same time.

                         FLEA
          Don't wanna evacuate 'cuz someone
          came down with uric poisoning, el-
          tee.

Abruptly Jordan unzips, drops her pants, sticks the pot
under her.  It raises eyebrows:  It's a far cry from when
she was covering up in cold water.

                         JORDAN
          Didn't even bitch about the seat,
          did I?


EXT.  SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

WIDE VIEW:  As a lone figure appears on foot.


INT.  HIDE-SITE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

                         MCCOOL
          What the... Got an unknown here.
          100 yards north-northeast.

They pile up at McCool's scope.  Jordan bulls her way
through.

SCOPE POV:  It's a women.  Dressed in civilian clothes,
she collects firewood.  And she's coming this way.

                         MCCOOL
          She part of the training?

                         JORDAN
          I don't know...

                         SLUTNIK
          "She?"  There's another one?

McCool takes a second look.

SCOPE POV:  Of the women drawing closer... closer... and
finally looking dead-bang at us.  She does an about-face
and walks away.  Quickly.

                         MCCOOL
          Shit.  Think we're had.

                         CORTEZ
          Smoke her.

                         MCCOOL
          I ain't gonna shoot her.

                         CORTEZ
          Only blanks.  Lemme do it.

                         MCCOOL
                  (pushing him away)
          Hey.  Ain't your call, man.

He looks to Jordan.

                         JORDAN
          Pri One is to protect the mission.
          If she represents a real threat, we
          have to do it.

Pleased, Cortez slips his rifle under a roof panel.

                         JORDAN
                  (to McCool)
          But did she see us?  Do you know for
          a fact that we are compromised?

McCool doesn't.  Not for sure.

                         JORDAN
          If not, firing will only give away
          our position to hostiles in the
          area.  Now how smart is that?

                         MCCOOL
                  (a beat)
          Mighta been civilian.

                         NEWBERRY
          They got regular peeps on this
          island, don't they?


EXT.  ROAD - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

The asphalt road shimmers with midday heat.  Suddenly a
TROOP CARRIER ROARS over a rise.


INT.  HIDE-SITE - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

SCOPE POV:  Of the troop carrier braking hard.  "Hostiles"
spill out the rear -- and fan out all around us.

                         CORTEZ
                  (at scope)
          Banditos on the east perimeter!  150
          yards!  Shit, she was part of it!

                         MCCOOL
          Fuck me.

                         FLEA
          What's the word, el-tee?  We're
          about one minute from a major take-
          down here.

HOLD on Jordan, heart skipping.  Did she really make the
wrong call?

                         JORDAN
          All right, fire-and-evade maneuvers.
          Drop everything but weapons and the
          PRC radio -- we're gonna be high
          speed, low drag all the way to the
          link-up site.  Ready?

                         SLUTNIK
          Sure.  Now she wants to shoot.

                         JORDAN
          MOVE!


EXT.  SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

They come out of the hide-site like atomic locusts,
splintering into three groups and laying down SUPPRESSIVE
FIRE as they blitz for...

The woodlands.

"Hostiles" FIRE and pursue.

Flea is running flat out when the ground vanishes beneath
him.  He goes down like a doped race horse.  Suddenly
exposed, another crew scrambles into daylight:  Flea ran
right over their hide-site.

Slutnik yanks Flea out, gets him back on his feet.


EXT.  WOODS - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

Breathing like asthmatics, Jordan's crew regroups at the
link-up site just inside the woods.  Flea comes in
hobbling.  Badly.

                         SLUTNIK
          This ain't workin' right!

                         MCCOOL
          What's our go-to-shit plan, O'Neil?

                         SLUTNIK
          This ain't even workin' wrong!

A beat as Jordan deliberates.  She doesn't want to go out
like this.

                         FLEA
          Really don't wanna be captured, el-
          tee.  Heard some bad things.

                         JORDAN
          Fuck.
                  (snatching the radio)
          Basher-Basher, this is Ground Crew
          Six requesting emergency extraction.
          Stand by for a PRC fix...


EXT.  SKY - DAY

As a helo pirouettes in midair.


EXT.  WOODS - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

Jordan's crew lopes through the woods, searching for a
place to bring the helo down.  Right on their heels...

ARTILLERY SIMULATORS THUMP-THUMP-THUMP, illumination
GRENADES POP and flare.  This may not be war, but it'll do
until the real thing comes along.


INT.  HELO - DAY

PILOT'S POV:  Buzzing treetops, searching.


EXT.  WOODS - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

On the run:

                         MCCOOL
          32 feet, six inches!

                         JORDAN
          I'm lookin', I'm lookin'!

Finally they break into a clearing.  Is it big enough?

                         JORDAN
          'Cool?

                         MCCOOL
                  (doesn't care)
          Smoke it!

Jordan chucks a smoke grenade.


INT.  HELO - DAY

PILOT'S POV:  Yellow smoke rises from the woods.  We swoop
toward it.


EXT.  CLEARING IN WOODS - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

Whirling smoke, the helo descends.  Jordan's crew breaks
early, trying to get there the instant it touches down.
But before they can...

An FAV crashes through the underbrush, M-60s BARKING in
the helo's direction.  The helo bounds away.

Jordan's crew tries to retreat -- but a second FAV cuts
them off.


INT.  HELO - DAY

PILOT'S POV:  Of the action below, growing smaller and
smaller:  Jordan's crew.  Surrounded.  Laying down
weapons.  Captured.


EXT.  WOODS - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

JORDAN'S POV:  Brush slapping her face.

Crew Six is being hauled through the woods, hands tied
back, boots around their necks, pulled along by...

The captors.  We assume they're instructors in camouflage
paint -- but we're moving so fast it's impossible to be
sure.


EXT.  P.O.W. CAMP - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

A P.O.W. camp, disturbingly authentic.  A dozen trainees
are already here, held in pens of bamboo and barbed-wire.

Flea, McCool, Slutnik, Cortez, Newberry -- all five get
tossed into a pen.  Jordan is pulled away.

                         FLEA
          Where are you... HEY!  Where are you
          taking her?


EXT.  BOXES - P.O.W. CAMP - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

Jordan is thrown to the ground.  Her eyes go wide when she
sees a row of steel boxes nearby.  They're scarcely larger
then coffins.


INT.  BOX - P.O.W. CAMP - DAY

Hands push Jordan inside the box.  She has to curl up
fetally just to fit.

                         JORDAN
          How long?
                  (no answer)
          Please, HOW LONG?

The LID BANGS closed.  A LOCK RATCHETS, FOOTSTEPS RETREAT.
Daylight sheets in through ventilation slats.

When her eyes adjust, Jordan finds markings on the lid and
walls.  Scratchings made with a nail.  The memoirs of
previous tenants.

                         JORDAN
          "Don't know how much I can take"...
          "A little taste of death"... "Save
          the nail"...
                  (then the real kick-
                   in-the-teeth)
          "It's been three days now"...


EXT.  P.O.W. CAMP - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - NIGHT

As "hostiles" pull Flea out of the pen.


INT.  BOX - P.O.W. CAMP - NIGHT

A BANGING wakes Jordan.  Are they coming for her?  But
FOOTSTEPS LEAVE.  A GROAN from the adjacent box.

                         JORDAN
          Who is it?

                         WICKWIRE (O.S.)
                  (a beat)
          You know, I had an apartment about
          this size once.

                         JORDAN
          Wick.  They got your crew, too?

                         WICKWIRE (O.S.)
          Intagliata was out chasing
          breakfast.  They found his tracks.
          Well, shit.

A beat.

                         JORDAN
          You really came back for more?  Of
          this?

                         WICKWIRE (O.S.)
          When I was sittin' behind a desk in
          Washington, it made sense, somehow.
          Blame it on my big brother.  He was
          Spec-Recon.  And the stories he used
          to tell...

                         JORDAN
          If you got a good one, Wick...

Anything to get her mind off this box.  Out of this box.
Now INTERCUT Jordan and Wickwire, lying like fraternal
twins in their wombs of steel:

                         WICKWIRE
          One time he was doing a rekkie of
          the Libyan coastline.  This is,
          like, right before we bombed
          Khadaffi into the past tense.  So
          his crew does a nighttime infil,
          maps all the big artillery
          placements and stuff, then turns
          around to get the hell gone.  But
          between them and the water are five
          Libyan guards, all armed to the
          nuts.

                         JORDAN
          They had to kill 'em?

                         WICKWIRE
          Nah, they were dead-ass asleep.  But
          on every guard's chest,they left one
          Marlboro cigarette.  Just a little
          calling card to say they'd been
          there -- and could come back any
          time they wanted.

                         JORDAN
          That's a good story.

                         WICKWIRE
          So the shit you gotta go through?
          To get from here to there?  Brother
          said it was worth it.  Worth the
          training... worth the divorce...
          worth anything.

                         JORDAN
          He was married?

                         WICKWIRE
          At first.

                         JORDAN
          You got anybody, Wick?

                         WICKWIRE
          Not me.  You?

It hurts to think about it.  The Potomac.  The gunkhole
harbor.  Royce.

                         WICKWIRE
          O'Neil?

                         JORDAN
          How'd you make it last time, Wick?
          How'd you get through this part?

                         WICKWIRE
                  (a beat)
          Last time I didn't.

                         JORDAN
                  (jarred)
          Let's keep talkin', Wick.  Just keep
          talkin' to me...


EXT.  NEWSSTAND - WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY

Royce stops for a newspaper.  As he pays, something else
catches his eye.  He picks up...

A "People" magazine.  The grainy image of "G.I. Jane"
fills the cover.  A photo inset, much clearer, shows a
beaming DeHaven.  "BEHIND EVERY GREAT WOMAN..."

                         ROYCE
                  (shaking head)
          Suitable for framing...


INT.  CORRIDOR - N.I.C. - DAY

                         ROYCE
          Got time for a brain-pick?

Reading as he walks, a former CIA spook looks up to find
Royce in lockstep.  It surprises him:  Not many people
here talk to him -- unless they're in trouble.  THE SPOOK
is physically unremarkable except for a face that would be
right at home on Easter Island:  This is a man who's seen
most of the world's ills -- and forgotten none.

                         THE SPOOK
          Subject?

                         ROYCE
          O'Neil, Jordan.

                         THE SPOOK
          Thought you two were file-closed.

                         ROYCE
          You knew about us?

                         THE SPOOK
          Sorry.  Thought you knew I knew.


INT.  SITUATION ROOM - N.I.C. - DAY

Royce and the Spook enter.  The vault-like door closes
emphatically.  Ensuring their privacy:

                         ROYCE
          Computer -- no transcription, no
          com-link, no data-link.  In fact...
          shut-down sequence 0-Niner-0-8,
          mark.

All around, screens go blank, phone lights extinguish.
They sit at the conference table.  No Computer.  No files.

Just two guys doing headwork.

                         THE SPOOK
          All right.  So who stands to gain if
          Jordan flames out in a big way?

                         ROYCE
          The E-Ringers?  Full integration is
          gonna cost the services billions at
          the worst possible time -- when
          Congress is already swinging the
          axe.

                         THE SPOOK
                  (agreeing)
          Congress cuts, military bleeds.  But
          Pentagon's a big place.  Let's
          narrow the sights.

                         ROYCE
          The Navy?  They've made it clear
          they don't want to pull missiles out
          of subs to make room for women's
          heads.  What's it gonna cost to make
          a fleet of Trident's co-ed?   

                         THE SPOOK
          Sabotage born of economics?
          Wouldn't be a first.  But is Hayes
          really going to start his watch with
          such a public failure?

                         ROYCE
          Possibly.  Just to spite DeHaven.

                         THE SPOOK
          Hmm.  Let's aim higher.

Royce blinks.  "What's higher?"

                         THE SPOOK
          The White House.  If Jordan wins,
          DeHaven wins in spades.  Why?  Well,
          it's been said that the only man the
          President fears -- ain't no man.

                         ROYCE
          The first female President?

                         THE SPOOK
          Don't for a second think she didn't
          leak this story.  "G.I. Jane" gives
          DeHaven a symbol that taps into the
          biggest constituency of them all.

                         ROYCE
          Women.

                         THE SPOOK
          If you were the President, wouldn't
          that put a little piss in your
          shoes?

                         ROYCE
          I don't know.  Seems...

                         THE SPOOK
          This ain't about some little soldier
          girl sloggin' her way through
          commando school.  The implications
          go way beyond.

                         ROYCE
          Christ, I don't want to see her take
          a fall.  She thinks I do, but...

                         THE SPOOK
          I take it this file is still open.

                         ROYCE
                  (shaping his words)
          Even tough I don't talk to her every
          day -- I still talk to her every
          day.  Know what I mean?

                         THE SPOOK
                  (nodding)
          Okay, so now work it from the other
          end.  Think about California -- and
          how things might be handled there.

                         ROYCE
          I don't...
                  (scoffing)
          What, someone on base?  A "mole"?

                         THE SPOOK
          This is what you get for brain-
          picking an old CIA spook.  but if I
          needed to control the outcome of
          this test case, that's how I'd do
          it.  A man-in-place.  Makes
          everything very controllable.


INT.  BOX - P.O.W. CAMP - DAY

JORDAN'S POV:  The box opening.  Daylight assaulting us,
blowing out our eyes.  Disembodied hands pulling us out.


EXT.  P.O.W. CAMP - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

Legs hobbled, uniform soiled, Jordan is led past a row of
huts.  She looks like she got hit by a train -- and got
back up.

JORDAN'S POV:  Vision still blown out.  But inside the
pen, we make out 40 trainees now.  One guy wrings out a
sock and drinks from it.

Jordan moves past huts.  VOLATILE VOICES spill out as
trainees get interrogated.

JORDAN'S POV:  Outside one hut, we see Flea.  At least we
think it's him:  Strapped face-down to a table, sobbing
quietly, he wears a slinky dress and whore's makeup.  They
broke him -- and it's an ugly, ugly sight.


INT.  INTERROGATION HUT - P.O.W. CAMP - DAY

                         THE CHIEF
          What is your father's name?

Jordan seated.  Prowling the hut is her interrogator.  Her
tormentor.  Her chaperon through Hell.

                         THE CHIEF
          Simple question, lieutenant.  No
          reason not to answer.  What is your
          father's name?

                         JORDAN
          "Dad."

                         THE CHIEF
          Any brothers?  Sisters?

                         JORDAN
          Dick, Jane, and Spot.

                         THE CHIEF
          Are you hungry?  What's your
          favorite food?  We'll try to get it
          for you.

                         JORDAN
          Green Eggs and Ham.  You're not
          going to get anywhere.  You might as
          well put me in the cage.

                         THE CHIEF
          You are in the cage, O'Neil.  Right
          here, right now.

                         JORDAN
          Should I be afraid?

                         THE CHIEF
          Right down to your worthless womb,
          and I'll tell you why.  This is my
          island.  My world.  And here I can
          get away with shit that would get me
          arrested anywhere else in the world.
          Take another scan of my little joy-
          boy outside.  If I can do that to a
          Navy Seal, what's gonna happen to
          you?  Huh?

It makes Jordan think -- and yes, it makes her afraid.
Continuing the psychological strip-search:

                         THE CHIEF
          Why didn't you shoot the woman,
          O'Neil?

                         JORDAN
          Wasn't deemed a threat.

                         THE CHIEF
          She led us right to you.  That's no
          threat?

Jordan rubs her head.  So long ago.  How did the call come
down?

                         THE CHIEF
          Would you have shot if it was a man?

                         JORDAN
          No.  Yes.  I mean, depends on --

                         THE CHIEF
          The others already told me, O'Neil.
          They wanted to shoot, but you
          wouldn't let them.  Because you went
          soft on another women --

                         JORDAN
          That's not right.

                         THE CHIEF
          That's what your crew said.  Are
          they lying?  Or are you?

                         JORDAN
          I think you're the liar.

                         THE CHIEF
          I'm not the one who got five good
          men thrown in a bamboo cage.  You
          wear the bars, you made the call,
          and you got your whole crew --

                         JORDAN
          We didn't know we were compromised.
          Firing would only've given away our
          position.

                         THE CHIEF
          You think we should go easy on
          women, O'Neil?

She stares a beat, knowing it's a loaded question.

                         THE CHIEF
          Do you?

                         JORDAN
          No.

                         THE CHIEF
          I'm so glad we agree.

With stunning ferocity, he grabs her by the neck, pushes
her out the door...


EXT.  P.O.W. CAMP - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - DAY

... and throws her onto a table.

In the pens, all faces turn to watch.  Even instructors
stop what they're doing as...

The Chief pushes Jordan's head down and jams up behind
her.

                         THE CHIEF
          Didn't you know you'd be raped if
          you were captured?  Didn't you even
          think about that?

                         JORDAN
          Sure.  Just like your men do.

                         THE CHIEF
          I think we oughtta practice it,
          just so you know what to expect.

He flips her over, rips off her belt, starts tearing open
her pants.

                         JORDAN
          Should I practice bleeding, too,
          sir?  Would that make me a better
          soldier?

He covers her mouth -- her whole face -- with one hand.

                         THE CHIEF
                  (to the men)
          Any of you can stop this!  Just give
          me the location of one more hide-
          site, and it ends right here!

In the pen:

                         SLUTNIK
                  (wide-eyed)
          Someone's trippin' out here...

The Chief jerks Jordan up, whirls her around like a dead
dance partner, slams her face-first into the pen to give
the guys a good look at what's happening to that pretty
face.

                         THE CHIEF
          Three crews are still on this island
          somewhere.  Who knows where?

The men trade itchy looks.  Some do know.

                         JORDAN
          Don't do it, don't do it...

The Chief throws her down like garbage.

                         THE CHIEF
          Who's gonna tell me?  Who's gonna be
          chivalrous and stop this abuse?
          What, you want to see her get
          mauled?  Is that it?

The men shift anxiously.  Should they talk?  Behind the
Chief, Jordan staggers to her feet.

                         JORDAN
          Don't tell him shi --

The Chief whirls, decks her a crescent-kick.  Instructors
lurch forward instinctively.

                         THE CHIEF
                  (waving them back)
          She's fine!
                  (squatting beside)
          When I put you down, O'Neil, take
          the hint and stay down.

She licks her bloody teeth -- and considers kicking his
balls into his brainpan.  Instead she makes a move to get
up.  He grinds her back down with a crowbar forearm.

                         THE CHIEF
                  (for her ears only)
          I am saving your life, O'Neil.  You
          may not know it, but I do.  You're
          an inferior soldier, a bad officer,
          and I don't want you learning that
          inconvenient truth when you're stuck
          in a muddy bomb crater behind enemy
          lines and don't know how the fuck to
          get out.  You get out now, O'Neil.
          Seek life elsewhere.  And if you
          can't do it in front of me, do it
          behind my back.

Pinning her down with just his eyes, he rises -- and
starts away.

Behind him, Jordan struggles to rise.

An ANXIOUS MURMUR races through the men:  They don't want
to see this.  They don't want to see her crucified.

                         MCCOOL
          Down... stay down...

Hearing, the Chief turns back to see...

Jordan wobbling to her feet.

Eye-lock.

                         JORDAN
          Fuck you and the boat you rode in
          on.  Sir.

TIGHT on the faces of her crewmates -- Slutnik, Cortez,
McCool.  In their eyes, a new respect.  The Chief see it.
Instructors see it.  Everyone does.

                         THE CHIEF
                  (to instructors)
          We're done here.

Beaten, he walks right out of camp.

Wordless, instructors open the pens, unlock the boxes.
Wickwire rises like a vampire in daylight.  But this time
he made it.

A medic tries to help Jordan, but she pushes him away,
walking drunkenly for...

Flea.  She begins wiping the makeup from his face.

                         JORDAN
          Make you a deal, Flea.  Never tell
          me how I look -- and I'll never tell
          you.


EXT.  PIERS - SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND - SUNSET

The Chief chucks gear onto a transport boat.  FOOTSTEPS
approach.  He knows it's Pyro.

                         THE CHIEF
          You don't think she'd be raped if
          she were captured?  You don't think
          the threat of rape would be used to
          leverage the men?

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          You broke a dozen training rules
          back there -- before I lost count.

                         THE CHIEF
          I've had it.  Just because they pay
          me like a baby-sitter doesn't mean
          I'm gonna be one.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          She's a trainee, just like the
          others.  Why are you coming down so
          hard?

                         THE CHIEF
          She's an officer.  There's a higher
          standard.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          She's a women, and that's why you're
          ridin' her bareback.

                         THE CHIEF
          Of course it is.  And I'm gonna stay
          on her until everyone realizes this
          is not some bullshit equal-rights
          thing, that real lives are gonna be
          lost.  Maybe mine, maybe yours.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          I oughtta report you.

                         THE CHIEF
          I think you probably would -- if you
          didn't know I was right.


EXT.  STREET - WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY

As a limo moves -- heads for the Capitol building.


INT.  DEHAVEN'S LIMO - DAY

DeHaven snags a BUZZING PHONE.

                         DEHAVEN
          Yes?

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE (V.O.)
                  (anxious)
          Did you hear?

                         DEHAVEN
          She made it through S.E.R.E.
          training.  Got a call this morning
          from --

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE (V.O.)
          Not that.  The White House just
          announced that it was sponsoring
          legislation that would, in one
          stroke, void all remaining elements
          of the 1948 Combat Exclusion Laws.

The phone suddenly weights a ton, DeHaven dumps it on the
seat beside her.  HOLD on her disbelieving face.

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE (V.O.)
          You there?  Senator?


INT.  CORRIDOR - PENTAGON - DAY

Hand-carrying a report, Flag Officer #1 hurries down a
corridor, pushes through a door.  HOLD on the door marker:
"Secretary of the Navy."


INT.  SECNAV OFFICE - PENTAGON - DAY

                         HAYES
          Without telling us they do this?
          With absolutely no lead time?

At his desk, Hayes scans the report with a deepening
frown.

                         FLAG OFFICER #1
                  (to Hayes)
          Mr. Secretary, if this bill
          passes...

                         FLAG OFFICER #2
          Forget our three-year plan.  They're
          rushing the cadence.  We'll be
          forced to reorganize the Navy from
          top to bottom -- overnight.

                         HAYES
          What the hell is the President
          trying to do?  Steal DeHaven's
          thunder?

                         FLAG OFFICER #1
          I think it's more important, sir, to
          decide what we're going to do --
          since it's apparent this issue is
          not going away quietly.

                         HAYES
          "G.I. Jane."  And which one of you
          told me she wouldn't last a week?
          Huh?

The flags squirm.  Shaking his head, Hayes moves to a
window that offers a stunning view of Arlington National
Cemetery.

                         HAYES
          20 years in the Pentagon, I finally
          rate an office with a window -- and
          it looks out over the world's
          largest graveyard.  Think it's a
          sign?


EXT.  GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

The bell.  It reflects the moon.  TILT DOWN to reveal a
new batch of helmets -- the casualties of S.E.R.E.  A
graveyard of its own.


EXT.  THE EXCHANGE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Jordan exits with purchases.  Her face is still bruised
from S.E.R.E.  With a minute to kill, she peruses a
bulletin board casually.  But a RAISED VOICE leads her
eyes to...

Wickwire.  At a phone kiosk, he hangs up emphatically.  He
looks flustered when he spots Jordan.

                         JORDAN
          Sorry, didn't mean to --

                         WICKWIRE
          That's okay.  Just an ex-girlfriend.
          And know I remember why.

                         JORDAN
          First big night of liberty and no
          date?  You're pathetic, Wickwire.

                         WICKWIRE
          Maybe I'll just head over to McP's
          with the others, have a drink or
          four.  Don't wanna come, do you?

                         JORDAN
                  (touching bruises)
          I can't go out.  Not like this.

                         WICKWIRE
          I think you look beautiful.

                         JORDAN
          Thanks for lying.  But you're the
          class officer, Wick, and it'd just
          be weird if we hook up.  Besides...

Catching up, Blondell exits the exchange.

                         BLONDELL
          Sorry.  Forgot I needed oregano
          and...

She sees Wickwire.  An awkward beat for them all.

                         JORDAN
          Do you, uh, know...

                         WICKWIRE
          Sure, sure.

                         JORDAN
          We're going over to her place to
          make salad and pasta.  Just, you
          know, nothing special.

                         WICKWIRE
          Okay.  Well... thought I'd ask.

Jordan and Blondell head for the parking lot.  HOLD on
Wickwire, looking after them.  Thinking it through.


INT.  CLASSROOM - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Charts are being passed around the room.  Every trainee
takes one, including Jordan.

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          ... underwater detonation devices
          employ mechanical timers, and as
          such, they are subject to variances
          due to water temperature.  That's
          why when clearing mines, we always
          use two timers.  The charts now
          being passed out contain
          calculations you must memorize
          before...

A MILITARY COP fills the classroom doorway.  Frowning,
Johns joins the cop for a private discussion.

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          O'Neil?

                         JORDAN
          Sir?

                         INSTRUCTOR JOHNS
          You're wanted at the C.O.'s.


INT.  C.O.'S OUTER OFFICE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Jordan enters.  The yeoman's desk is unattended.  Noticing
the X.O.'s door open, Jordan peers inside to find...

Blondell.  She looks scared out of her mind.  Before she
and Jordan can speak, the yeoman materializes.

                         YEOMAN
          This way, lieutenant.  They're
          expecting you.


INT.  C.O.'S OFFICE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

                         JORDAN
          See me, sir?

The C.O. and X.O. are both here.

                         C.O.
                  (uncomfortable)
          I don't know of any delicate way to
          say this, lieutenant, so I won't
          try.  Claims have been made that you
          have engaged in fraternization -- of
          the same-sex variety.  Specifically,
          that you were...
                  (reading)
          "... seen leaving the apartment of
          another female officer at such a
          time and in such a manner as to
          suggest conduct unbecoming."

                         JORDAN
                  (a beat,laughing in
                   relief)
          Sir, if someone is suggesting that
          I'm a lesbian, they're wrong.

The C.O.'s face remains grim.  He isn't relieved.

                         JORDAN
          They're very wrong.  And I'd like to
          know where you got this information.

On the C.O.'s nod, the X.O. opens an adjoining office.
Wickwire enters.  He's stiff as a groom on a wedding cake.

                         WICKWIRE
          I'm sorry, O'Neil.  But as class
          officer, it's my obligation to
          report all violations.

                         JORDAN
          This is insane.  You've got no
          proof.

                         X.O.
                  (from report)
          You were seen leaving Ensign
          Blondell's apartment at
          approximately 0-200, whereupon
          physical affections were exchanged
          in public.

                         JORDAN
          We hugged.

                         X.O.
          In addition, you have been seen
          frequenting the base exchange, the
          mess hall, the --

                         JORDAN
          Because the men didn't want me
          eating with them.  Jesus Christ,
          let's get this right.

                         C.O.
          That's enough.  Everybody.
                  (to Wickwire)
          Rejoin your class, lieutenant.

                         WICKWIRE
                  (only to Jordan)
          I wish I didn't have to do this,
          Jordan.

                         C.O.
          Dismissed, lieutenant.

Wickwire exits.

                         JORDAN
          Sir, I just want you to know that
          this is either a gross mistake --
          or someone's vindictive bullshit.
          In no way did anything happen
          between Ensign Blondell and myself.
          We're just friends.

                         X.O.
          So you're saying the charges have no
          validity whatsoever?

Jordan opens her mouth to confirm -- and hesitates,
realizing where this might be headed.  What the collateral
damage might be.

                         JORDAN
          I'm saying, we're just friends.

                         C.O.
          I find this as distasteful as you,
          lieutenant.  But if it's on my desk,
          it's on my shoulders.  There's going
          to be an inquiry -- it will not be
          quick and it will definitely not be
          pretty.  You should prepare
          yourself.

                         JORDAN
          Sir, please... if there's any way to
          do this without dragging everyone
          through the mud...

                         C.O.
          I don't see how, O'Neil.  Dismissed.

Jordan moves to the door.  Again she makes eye-contact
with Blondell.  Now we understand why she's so scared:
There's a witch-hunt brewing.

                         JORDAN
                  (turning back)
          Sir.  If tomorrow... I was not under
          your command... would the inquiry
          still go forward?

                         C.O.
          I'm not sure what --

                         JORDAN
          Would you have the discretion to end
          it right then and there?

She's offering her own head on a silver platter -- and the
C.O. actually hesitates before answering.

                         C.O.
          I believe so.


EXT.  GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

McCool and Flea exit a classroom with other trainees.
They spot Jordan approaching.

                         MCCOOL
          So what'd he want?  O'Neil?

She passes them robotically.  Flea realizes where she's
going.

                         FLEA
          Oh, no... no, no, no, no...

They lurch after her, grabbing her, stepping in her way.

                         THE CHIEF
          Stand fast!

McCool and Flea jerk to a stop:  The Chief has emerged
from the instructor's office.  Helpless, they watch as...

Jordan mounts the stairs to the bell... takes up the
baton... and HITS THE BELL like a tyko drummer.

RING ONE:  On the pained faces of her crewmates.

RING TWO:  On the Chief.  Taking no joy in it.  Just
accepting it as inevitable.


EXT.  THE QUARTERDECK - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

RING THREE:  On Wickwire as he walks across the base.  His
regrets are obvious.

                                            FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

EXT.  UPRIVER - THE POTOMAC - DAY

The ice floes are gone.  The river banks are budding
green.  Soon CAMERA FINDS a power boat making its way
upriver.  A lone figure sits on the prow.


EXT.  POWER BOAT - DAY

It's Jordan.  Dressed in civvies, gunnysack between her
legs, she's back in Virginia with nothing more than what
she left with.  Around a river bend appears...

The gunkhole harbor.  Home.


EXT.  GUNKHOLE HARBOR - POTOMAC - DAY

The boat docks.  Jordan springs clear, waves a worn-out
thanks, starts up the dock.  But now she comes to a stop,
seeing...

Royce.  Stepping out of the house.

EXTREMELY WIDE:  River shimmering behind them, they meet
on the dock.  A charged stand-off:  Where do they pick up?
Can they pick up?  Then Jordan drops her gunnysack and
steps into his wide-spread arms.  Royce wraps her up as if
to never let go.

For the first time in this whole ordeal, Jordan begins
crying, sobbing uncontrollably.

                         ROYCE
                  (in her ear)
          I want to kill them... I want to
          kill the guys who made you cry like
          this...


INT.  COVERED PORCH - JORDAN'S HOUSE - SUNSET

An hour later.  Sharing a quiet moment, Jordan and Royce
cradle tea mugs while sitting on the rear porch that
overlooks the Potomac and a fiery sunset.

                         JORDAN
          All I wanted was an honest chance.
          And If I couldn't get it, I couldn't
          stay.

                         ROYCE
          And this class officer...
          "Wickwire."  You think he was just
          trying to get even?  Striking back
          for...

                         JORDAN
          Maybe.  Though it didn't seem like
          he was getting any satisfaction out
          of it.  Almost like...
                  (a beat)
          Did I say he was class officer?

                         ROYCE
          Almost like someone put him up to
          it.  Okay, who?

                         JORDAN
          No shortage of suspects.

                         ROYCE
          The Chief?  Or maybe even
          Turrentine?  Your C.O.?

She looks at him sidelong.

                         JORDAN
          Royce.  Tell me you didn't keep a
          file on me.


INT.  LIVING ROOM - JORDAN'S HOUSE - DAY

CLOSE on multiple files being pulled out of a briefcase.
One contains clippings -- "G.I. Jane" photos, editorials,
political cartoons.  Another holds records of Coronado
personnel -- Jordan's crewmates, instructors, the base
brass.

                         ROYCE
          Somebody was yankin' your stings,
          Jordan -- maybe from 3,000 miles
          away.  I wanted to know who.  I still
          do.

She shakes her head, resisting.

                         ROYCE
          C'mon, Jordan.  Do the headwork with
          me.

                         JORDAN
          It's done with, Royce.  Let it go.

                         ROYCE
          Someone screwed you over like this,
          left unanswered charges hanging over
          your head, and you're not gonna
          fight back?

                         JORDAN
          I'm tired of fighting back.  I just
          wanted to come home and be safe and
          have you here and the river there
          and just forget the rest of the
          world, okay?

                         ROYCE
          Well, before you crawl off to die,
          Jordan, give me five minutes of good
          headwork.

Agitated, she walks away.  B.G., a PHONE RINGS until the
machine picks up.

                         ROYCE
                  (pulling a file)
          "John James Urgayle."  The Chief.

                         JORDAN
          What about him.

                         JORDAN
          Instructors typically pull three
          year assignments.  This guy's in and
          out in one year -- your year.  That
          sound right?

                         JORDAN
          Sounds like an amazing coincidence.

                         ROYCE
          Or like maybe he was baby sitting a
          problem child for the Navy.

                         JORDAN
          I don't know, I don't care.

                         ROYCE
          Well, pardon me if I do.  Now who
          else?  Who could've leveraged a
          class officer like that?  C'mon,
          Jordan, keep your head in the game.

UNDER DIALOG, we hear some of the INCOMING CALL:

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE (V.O.)
          ... just got word today.  The
          Senator wants you to know that she's
          disturbed by the matter, and she'll
          be looking into it carefully to make
          sure you were treated fairly.  If
          you need to reach us, we're here in
          Washington, 202-224-3121.

A HANG-UP.  Something stirs in Jordan's memory.

                         JORDAN
          "In Washington..."

                         ROYCE
          What?

                         JORDAN
          Wickwire said he was dry-docked in
          Washington between stints at
          Coronado...

We can see her mind gathering speed.  Royce switches files
quickly.

                         ROYCE
          "Wickwire, Thomas Dane"... Second
          run at Coronado... and correct, they
          had him stashed in the
          "Appropriation Liaison Office,"
          whatever that is.

                         JORDAN
          You don't crap out of Spec-Recon and
          get another shot without
          dispensation from someone up in flag
          country.
                  (a revelation)
          He's got a Sea Daddy somewhere.

                         ROYCE
          I'd sure like to know who.

                         JORDAN
          Yeah.  Me too.


INT.  ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Answering a PHONE:

                         BLONDELL
          Administration, Ensign Blondell.

                         JORDAN (V.O.)
          Don't say my name.

                         BLONDELL
          Who's...
                  (brightening)
          Lieuten --

                         JORDAN (V.O.)
          Or rank.  But can you do me a favor
          and pull a transfer order?

                         BLONDELL
          Okay, but... You didn't have to do
          what you did.  Not for me.

                         JORDAN (V.O.)
                  (appreciative)
          "Wickwire, Thomas Dane."  See what
          you can find.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

File in hand, Blondell returns to the phone.

                         BLONDELL
          Got it.

                         JORDAN (V.O.)
          Who signed as his "sponsoring
          officer"?

                         BLONDELL
          Uh... don't see it.  There's no
          signature.  But hang on -- there's a
          note to "See Addendum."  Checking...

She finds a crisp sheet of stationary, out of place among
the smeared government forms.

                         BLONDELL
          Wow...

                         JORDAN (V.O.)
          What'd you find, Kathy?

CLOSE on the stationary.  It bears an image of the Capitol
dome.

                                            MATCH CUT TO:

EXT.  CAPITOL BLDG. - WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY

The real Capitol dome.  A flag is being raised over the
Senate Wing.


EXT.  CAPITOL BDLG.  - WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY

A car parks at barricades.  Jordan and Royce emerge, both
in uniforms.

                         D.C. COP
          Don't even dream about leaving that
          vehicle there.

                         ROYCE
          Government car -- tow it if you
          want.  Just point us to DeHaven's
          office first.

Not waiting for directions, Jordan takes the Capitol steps
two at a time.  We've seen this look on her face before --
and last time, she nearly knocked the grinder bell into
orbit.


INT.  CORRIDOR - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

Jordan and Royce move quickly down a corridor, eyes
hunting, passing CAPITOL GUIDES and their tourists.  Soon
they find...

DeHaven's office.  A Navy captain exits with paperwork.
Hasty salutes.

                         ROYCE
          Capt'n.

                         NAVY CAPTAIN
          Commander.

The captain moves on.  Royce holds in the doorway a beat,
memory nagging him.  Again he looks at...

The captain.  He has a distinct bald spot.

                         ROYCE
                  (to Jordan)
          Get started here.  I'll catch up.

Picking up where he left off a few weeks ago, Royce
follows Bald Spot around a corner...


INT.  PRIVATE STAIRCASE - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

... down a private staircase...


INT.  ANOTHER CORRIDOR - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

... and through a door marked "Naval Appropriation Liaison
Office."  It's not 30 seconds from DeHaven's door.


INT.  FOYER - DEHAVEN'S OFFICE - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

                         SECRETARY
          Your name again?

                         JORDAN
          Lieutenant j.g. O'Neil.

In a side office, DeHaven's aide overhears.  He rises
quickly and enters the foyer.

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE
          Ms. O'Neil.  Yes, of course.  I'm
          Douglas Champeau.  Unfortunately,
          the Senator is in chamber right now.
          How can I help you?

                         JORDAN
          What chamber?  Which way is that?

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE
          I mean, she's on the floor of the
          Senate.

                         JORDAN
          Okay, which way?

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE
          She really can't be disturbed.  But
          if you care to wait, I'll find you
          an office with a phone.  It might be
          several hours, but --

A TOURIST pokes in.

                         TOURIST
          'Scuse me, but I'm here to pick up
          gallery tickets?  Are you...

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE
          See the secretary, please.

Over the aide's shoulder, Jordan watches as...

The tourist claims tickets.  HOLD on the bureau near the
secretary's desk where the tickets are stored.


INT.  SENATE CHAMBER - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

On the chamber floor, SENATORS mull about, consulting
aides, polling party mates.  PAGES place microphones and
fill the ceremonial snuff boxes, readying the room for
session.  Among the activity, we find...

DeHaven.  Caucusing with another Democrat.

                         JORDAN (O.S.)
          Senator DeHaven...

DeHaven looks behind her.  Nobody.

                         JORDAN
          DeHaven...

Now she looks up to behold...

Jordan standing in the gallery.  Staring down on DeHaven
as she is, it's hard to read anything into her expression
but open disdain.

Drawn by Jordan's voice, a CAPITOL GUARD hurries down the
gallery steps.  Royce runs interference.

                         JORDAN
          We can talk here or we can talk
          outside, Senator.  You tell me.

On the floor, half the U.S. Senate stops what it's doing
and looks up.

In the gallery, the guard is thrown off-balance by the
naval uniforms:  Do Royce and Jordan belong here or not?
Confused, he looks for guidance from...

DeHaven.  She notes C-SPAN cameras swinging Jordan's way.
Summoning a page:

                         DEHAVEN
          Cloak room.  I'll meet her there.
          Just her.


INT.  CLOAK ROOM - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

Towering doors swing open.  DeHaven appears, face pleasant
but harried.

                         DEHAVEN
          Jordan.  I always hoped we'd get
          together -- though just now I'm
          gearing up for a child-care vote
          that --

                         JORDAN
          Lieutenant Thomas Wickwire.

About to hug Jordan, DeHaven stops awkwardly.

                         JORDAN
          You know him.

                         DEHAVEN
          Sounds familiar.

                         JORDAN
          It should.  You nominated him for
          Spec-Recon just three days after you
          nominated me.

                         DEHAVEN
          Jordan.  Might we do this over lunch
          tomorrow?  I do very much want to
          talk, but now is scarcely --

                         JORDAN
          Did you set me up?  Did you set me
          up just to see me fail?

                         DEHAVEN
          Absolutely not.

DeHaven glances back at the doors to the Senate chamber --
the open doors.  Walking Jordan a few steps away:

                         DEHAVEN
          Wickwire was there to help.  To be
          my eyes on the inside, to make sure
          you were getting a fair shot.  At
          least that was the intent.

                         JORDAN
          What changed?

                         DEHAVEN
          Should probably ask him that.

                         JORDAN
          If I have to ask again, Senator,
          I'll be asking in front of cameras.

It's a threat DeHaven doesn't appreciate.  The Senate
DOORKEEPER appears.

                         DOORKEEPER
          Madam Senator?  Your esteemed
          colleagues are requesting --

                         DEHAVEN
          Two seconds, Walter.
                  (answering Jordan)
          In 1981, the Supreme Court was
          asked to rule on the issue of women
          in combat positions.  The Court
          cited the 1948 Combat Exclusion Laws
          as a legal foundation for keeping
          women ineligible.  That decision
          held for all these years -- until
          the White House, 10 days ago, moved
          to have the Exclusion Laws voided.
          To demolish that legal foundation.

                         JORDAN
          So?  Isn't the President jumping on
          your bandwagon?

                         DEHAVEN
          What he did was light the bandwagon
          on fire.  Because he knows what I
          know -- that American families are
          not prepared to put their daughters
          in harm's way.

                         JORDAN
          You don't know that.

                         DEHAVEN
          In face, I do:  Roper, Harris,
          Gallop -- they all come back the
          same.

                         JORDAN
          What are you saying?  That a women's
          life is more valuable than a man's?
          That a women's death hurts a family
          more?

                         DEHAVEN
          I'm saying it's not going to happen.
          Not when the President is set to
          turn this into a third-rail issue
          should I choose to ever campaign
          against him.  He will fry me six
          ways to Sunday for sending daughters
          and young mothers off to war -- and,
          quite possibly, for bringing them
          back in body bags.

Jordan shakes her head in disbelief.  She has met the
enemy -- and she is us.

                         JORDAN
          You were never going to let women
          serve in combat.  You always had a
          safety net.  Or thought you did.

                         DEHAVEN
          Jordan.  I don't expect you to fully
          understand this -- but sometimes
          there's more to be gained from the
          fight than the victory.

                         JORDAN
          So the rhetoric gets you headlines.
          But the reality gets you in trouble.

                         DEHAVEN
          The reality is this:  We send far
          too many men off to war.  I don't
          need to compound the problem with
          women.
                  (off Jordan's look)
          Can you honestly tell me you wanted
          that life?  Squat-pissing in some
          third-world jungle with --

                         JORDAN
          I wanted the choice.  The chance to
          prove myself, my skills, my work,
          me.  That's how it should've been.

                         DOORKEEPER
          Madam Senator, once again I must --

                         DEHAVEN
          Just hold the goddamn clock, Walter.

Not happy about it, the doorkeeper reaches into an alcove,
grabs a broom he keeps around for just these occasions.
He enters the chamber...


INT.  SENATE CHAMBER - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

... and moves behind the rostrum.  Holding the broom by
the bristles, the doorkeeper stands on tip-toes...

And uses the broom handle to turn back the Senate clock by
three minutes.

Senators GROAN.  It's an old trick played by senior
members -- and they all hate it when it happens to them.


INT.  CLOAK ROOM - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

                         DEHAVEN
          I once promised you a fast ticket,
          Jordan, and I always meant to make
          good on that.  Come work for me.  I
          can always use a hard-charger on my
          team.

                         JORDAN
          You promise Wickwire a fast ticket,
          too?

                         DEHAVEN
          I've had no direct communication
          with him since this whole thing
          began.  And that's quite verifiable.

                         JORDAN
          I'm sure it is.

                         DEHAVEN
          You'll think about my offer?

                         JORDAN
          You know, I wonder what the SecNav
          would think about it.  If I spoke
          with him.

                         DEHAVEN
          Well, I spoke with Mr. Hayes this
          morning myself -- and told him the
          deal was off.  No more test cases.
          He was only too happy to oblige.
                  (dangerously low)
          Don't play politics with me, little
          darlin'.  You'd be up way past your
          bedtime.

                         DOORKEEPER
                  (distraught)
          Madam Senator, please...

                         DEHAVEN
          I'll call you in a few days.

She flashes a winning smile and turns away.  As the
chamber doors start to close behind her:

                         JORDAN
          So I wonder what the President would
          think.

The last image we have of DeHaven is her whirling back,
startled.  The DOORS BOOM CLOSED in her face.


EXT.  C.O.'S HOUSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

Through a window, we see the C.O. with a phone pressed to
his ear.  He stands at attention even though wearing a
bathrobe.  Half-audible through the glass:

                         C.O.
          Yes sir.  No, I'm not saying it
          would be impossible, sir, just...
          Yes sir.  No sir.  Yes sir.  I can
          appreciate that, sir.  Good night,
          sir.


INT.  C.O.'S HOUSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - NIGHT

The C.O. hangs up and looks to Jordan, heretofore unseen.
She waits anxiously.

                         C.O.
          Well, if you had to go over my
          head, lieutenant, that's the way to
          do it.  Christ, nothin' like a 0-200
          call from the Commander and Chief to
          get the bowels movin'.

                         JORDAN
          Sir?  What did he say?

                         C.O.
          Basically -- he asked me if I could
          unring a bell.


EXT.  GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

START on the helmet graveyard.  Hands enter FRAME to
reclaim one helmet in particular.  TILT UP on Jordan,
back in the grinder, back in Navy greens.

The Spec-Recon class is here.  Crewmates gawk like stone
idiots as Jordan takes her old place in the line-up.

                         C.O.
                  (to class)
          One of you here understands better
          than anyone what this is all about.
          Someone who has engaged in conduct
          unbecoming.  Someone who knows, I
          would hope, what he must now do.

CLOSE on Wickwire.  Feeling the heat.  Wondering if they
really know who it is.  Now the C.O. parks himself right
in Wickwire's face.

                         C.O.
          And unless that someone takes the
          honorable way out in the next 10
          seconds -- I will make certain he
          faces action under the Uniform Code
          of Military Justice.

Wickwire breaks rank and heads for the bell.  He slows
when reaching Jordan, considering an apology he knows
would be inadequate.

                         JORDAN
          Just walk away and never stop.

He does.  As Wickwire RINGS OUT:

                         C.O.
          It seems we have an opening for
          class officer.  Any nominations?

Eyes swing to Jordan.  Way ahead of them:

                         C.O.
          All those in favor?

A CHORUS OF AYES.  Jordan puddles up.

                         C.O.
          Chief Urgayle, turning it back over
          to you.

On his way to the front, the Chief stops to check in with
Jordan.

                         THE CHIEF
          Well, I'm trying to figure out if
          you're stupid, unlucky, gluttonous
          -- or some new alloy of all three.

                         JORDAN
          Good to see you again, too, sir.

                         THE CHIEF
          Okay, O'Neil.  So you've impressed
          all the others.  Now try me.


EXT.  CORONADO BRIDGE - DAY

The morning sun is an orange ball balanced on the Coronado
Bridge.  In silhouette, pelicans circle, some dive-bombing
into the bay below.  Suddenly a HELO HOWLS across the sun,
scattering the birds as it heads off-shore.


INT.  HELO - DAY

                         THE CHIEF
                  (setting watch)
          Four... three... two... one... hack!

Flea, McCool, Slutnik, Cortez, Newberry, Jordan.  Inside
the airborne helo, they synchronize their dive watches.

                         THE CHIEF
          Final assignment!  Each crew will be
          dropped 12 miles out!  Between you
          and the shore is a network of mines
          and underwater obstacles!  You will
          clear the obstacles, you will tag
          the mines with your crew number!
          You have until 18-hundred to make
          landfall!


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

As the helo swoops down onto the ocean deck.


INT.  HELO - DAY

The trainees double-check wet gear and survival vests.  On
Jordan's nod, they push an inflatable life boat ("ILB") to
the helo door.  It's rolled up into a rubber log.

                         THE CHIEF
          Remember!  The one thing you can
          count on in any mission is that
          anything mechanical will fail!  If
          you get stuck out here, do not call
          me, for you will no longer be in my
          class!  Try the Coast Guard!

The HELO PILOT slows to five knots.  The Chief gives
Jordan the go-ahead nod.

                         JORDAN
                  (to her crew)
          One-second intervals!  Go!


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

The ILB splashes down into the ocean.  Jordan's crew helo-
casts in after it.

From the door of the circling helo, the Chief watches
as...

Jordan's crew swims to the ILB, bobbing in the swells.
Flea turns a handle on the CO2 tank meant to inflate the
boat.  Nothing happens.

                         FLEA
          C'mon, c'mon...

Cortez tries to help.  The handle spins in his grip.

                         CORTEZ
          This tank's not gonna cut it, el-
          tee.  Handle's stripped.

Jordan looks skyward.  100 feet overhead, the Chief gives
her a parting salute as the helo lifts away.

                         SLUTNIK
          I just wonder how that happened.

                         JORDAN
          Cortez, see if you can dig out the
          tools without losing the rest of out
          gear.  Try a wrench on that thing.


INT.  HELO - DAY

The helo turns into the morning sun.  PILOT and CO-PILOT
drop visors.

PILOT'S POV:  Of dots in the sun.  What the hell are try?

SMACK!  Something hits the windscreen, splattering red and
brown.

                         THE CHIEF
          What happening?!

                         PILOT
          Fucking pelicans!  Hang on!

He starts to bank clear -- but not fast enough.


EXT.  HELO - DAY

More birds pepper-shot the helo:  One SHREDS through the
main rotor, another through the tail rotor.  Another bird
gets sucked right into...

The main turbine.


INT.  HELO - DAY

A SHARP BANG... a WICKED SHIMMY... and now they whole helo
loses power.

                         PILOT
          Holy... LET'S GYRATE!

As the pilot wrestles controls, the co-pilot rigs for
auto-gyration.  But the bank they started is working
against them:  The helo is coming down badly, circling
like a huge steel feather.

Braced, the Chief looks out the side door -- and sees
ocean rushing up at him.  Fast.


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

                         MCCOOL
          What the shit is...

Jordan whirls.  She's just in time to witness...

The helo hitting the water.  In seconds it's gone.

A stunned beat.  We never knew the ocean could be this
quiet.  When the anesthetic of shock wears off:

                         SLUTNIK
          You don't suppose this is just part
          of...

                         JORDAN
          FLEA!  KEEP YOUR EYES ON THAT SPOT!
          Mark it, mark it!  Cortez?  What the
          hell you waiting for?

Cortez torques his wrench hard:  CO2 flows into the ILB,
inflating it.  The crew scrambles aboard.  Jordan digs
like a dog to find a radio.

                         JORDAN
          Base, this is Crew Leader Six.  We
          have a downed helo 12 miles west-
          south west of base with three
          aboard.  Repeat, we have a downed
          helo with three aboard...

Slutnik yanks a starter cord:  Their outboard MOTOR ROARS
to life.  The boat does a donut in the water and blasts
away.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

The ILB powers over swells.  Flea is perched on the bow,
nose to the wind like a hunting dog.

                         FLEA
          CUT IT!  CUT IT HERE!

Slutnik motors down.

                         FLEA
          Close as I can get, el-tee!

                         JORDAN
          Flea, 'Cool, Cortez, Newman -- take
          your minis, hit the water.  Go, GO!

They grab masks and mini-tanks and dive in like dolphins.
Jordan snaps up the radio.

                         JORDAN
          Base, this is Crew Leader Six.  What
          is your E.T.A. on that rescue helo?
          Over.

                         BASE (V.O.)
          Crew Leader, we have a Medevac
          rerouting from Long Beach, but no
          other helos prepped at this time.
          Seafox One and Two are launching
          now.  Over.

A beat.

                         JORDAN
          Base, don't think you copied me.  We
          are 12 miles out.  Seafox tops out
          at 30 knots, which makes it a no-
          show for 18 minutes.  Over.

                         BASE (V.O.)
          You copied right, Crew Leader.
          We're looking for options ourselves.

                         SLUTNIK
          Maybe we should call the Coast
          Guard.

                         JORDAN
          Shut your hole, Slutnik.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

McCool surfaces.

                         MCCOOL
          Visibility drops dead at 40 feet.
          If they're deeper than that...

The others surface and swim in.

                         CORTEZ
          Nobody's comin' outta that crash,
          el-tee.  Nobody.

A grim beat -- and then A CRACKLE on the radio.  With a
voice seemingly from the far side of the moon:

                         THE CHIEF (V.O.)
          Base, this is Basher One.  I've got
          a small problem here.  Do you copy?

Jaws drop.

                         JORDAN
                  (into radio)
          Basher One, this is O'Neil.  We are
          barely reading you.  What is your
          situation?


EXT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

50 feet down, the helo lies canted on a reef shelf.


INT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

Wedged into a tortured maze of hydraulics and equipment,
we find the Chief, operating out of an air-pocket near the
windscreen.  The pilot is dead, impaled on his cyclic
stick, head submerged.  The co-pilot is still alive,
barely.  The Chief struggles to keep the man's head up as
he keys a survival radio.

                         THE CHIEF
          Got one other heartbeat here, looks
          touch and go.  I've got a
          questionable leg.


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

                         THE CHIEF (V.O.)
          Managed to activate the ELB.  If you
          just radio base and let them know,
          they'll fix on that.  Oh, and make
          sure they send a helo with a winch
          -- door's blocked by a reef.  Over.

                         JORDAN
          Chief, sir -- rescue team won't be
          here for 15 minutes.  What's your
          air situation?  Over.

                         THE CHIEF (V.O.)
          Say again?  How many micks?

                         JORDAN
          15, sir.


INT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

The Chief sizes up his air pocket.

                         THE CHIEF
                  (into radio)
          That... may not be adequate.


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

                         FLEA
          If we could just fix on him...

                         MCCOOL
          Beacon's a no-go for us.

                         JORDAN
                  (into radio)
          Chief -- did I see a flare box
          aboard?  And can you get at it?
          Over.


EXT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

The Chief props up the co-pilot's head.  Gulps air.  Ducks
underwater to grope through wreckage.  Only now do we see
that "questionable leg" he was talking about:  It's
snapped at mid-calf, blood rivering out.


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

                         THE CHIEF (V.O.)
          Got it.

                         JORDAN
                  (into radio)
          Show us where you are, Chief.


EXT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

Again the Chief goes below water.  He finds a small breach
in the fuselage... sticks the flare launcher through...
and pulls the trigger.

With a MAGNESIUM FLASH, the flare launches...


EXT.  UNDERWATER - DAY

... streaks toward the surface...


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

... and arcs into daylight 50 yards behind the ILB.

                         FLEA
          Six o'clock!  Marking, marking!

                         JORDAN
          Spotted you, Chief.  Pri One is to
          slip you some air, so we're coming
          down with a tank -- just something
          until the A-team shows.  Over.

An ominous beat.

                         JORDAN
          Chief?

                         CHIEF (V.O.)
          O'Neil... there's no air in your
          main tanks.

                         MCCOOL
          What?

They scramble to check their main dive tanks.  Even
through the gauges show full, they're dead empty.  All of
them.


INT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

                         THE CHIEF
                  (into radio)
          This mission wasn't about tagging
          mines.  It was to see how you coped
          with mechanical failures.  Pretty
          fuckin' ironic, huh?

He laughs.  It's the bleakest laugh imaginable.


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

                         SLUTNIK
          He's circlin' the drain, el-tee.

Jordan surveys the equipment they do have aboard -- the
stuff she can count on.  Mental turbos kicking in:

                         JORDAN
          So we got two full mini-tanks, three
          minutes each.  'Cool?  How much air
          in yours?

                         MCCOOL
          Maybe half.  Not even.

                         JORDAN
          Grab an oar, find a way to weight it
          down, we're gonna need it.  Cortez,
          help him.  Flea?  You take one of the
          two full minis -- and just follow my
          lead.

                         CORTEZ
          What, we're gonna pry 'em out with
          paddles?

                         MCCOOL
                  (grabbing her)
          O'Neil.  Our air's gonna crap out as
          soon as we get down there.  You know
          that, don't you?

                         JORDAN
          So I guess we get one shot at it.


INT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

Swimming in his own blood, the Chief starts to fade away,
losing consciousness.  But then, through the cockpit
windscreen...

A hazy orb of light above him.  The orb grows and grows
until it resolves into a flare carried by his would-be
savior.  Jordan.

                         THE CHIEF
          Why'd it have to be her...


EXT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

Reaching the downed Helo, McCool and Cortez wedge their
oars under the fuselage and leverage hard until...

An opening appears.

Jordan and Flea swim into the breach...


INT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

... and surface inside the wreckage.

                         JORDAN
          Chief, sir... still with me?

                         CHIEF
                  (unbuckling co-pilot)
          Take him first.  Once he's clear,
          come back with --

                         JORDAN
          Sir, let me suggest you stop giving
          orders and start doing exactly what
          I say, because that's the only way
          we're all getting out of here.  Now
          how's your vest check out?  Still
          good?


EXT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

McCool's air craps out.  He abandons his oar and swims for
the surface.  That leaves only...

Cortez, struggling mightily to keep the escape route open.
He knows his mini-tank is running on empty -- and it
scares the bejeezus out of him.


INT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

                         JORDAN
          Flea, take the pilot up slow, feed
          him air.  Chief, sir, you and I are
          gonna take the express elevator
          outta here.  Remember to let your
          air out.  Ready?


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

Twin transports -- Seafox One and Two -- pound across the
water.  Instructors sweep binoculars, trying to spot...

The ILB.  Newberry POPS A FLARE skyward as Slutnik
DOWNLOADS INFO over the radio.


EXT.  CRASHED HELO - UNDERWATER - DAY

Cortez's air goes dead.  He gives it three more seconds,
eyes riveted on the underside of the helo, knowing they
have to come out... right... fucking... absolutely...

NOW:  Jordan appears with the Chief.  Flea is at their
heels with the co-pilot.

Cortez drops his oar as if it were radioactive and swims
for the sky.

The HELO BOOMS back down onto the reef.

Jordan yanks the cord on the Chief's vest.  It inflates
instantly.  One arm raised, Jordan streaks for the
surface...


EXT.  OCEAN - DAY

... and "Supermans" into daylight with the Chief.  They
covered 50 feet in four seconds.

Doing a 360, Jordan spots...

Seafox One coming their way.

Jordan waves like a shipwreck victim.

Not slowing, Seafox lowers a recovery rig into place:
They're wasting no time on the pick-up.

Remembering the last time she tried this, Jordan gets a
death-grip on the Chief's vest.

                         THE CHIEF
                  (growling)
          O'Neil...

                         JORDAN
          Shut up, sir.  I'm concentrating.

The recovery loop comes at her like a big brass ring.

SEAFOX THUNDERS past.  Jordan plunges her free arm through
the loop...

And suddenly they're gone, whisked away by the boat.

Throwing a rooster tail a mile long, Seafox pivots on the
water and heads back to base.

                         MCCOOL
          Hoooooo-yah!

                         NEWBERRY
          Go, go, go, go!

                         SLUTNIK
          Uh-huh!  That's right!  Just like we
          always practice it!

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

EXT.  GUARD HOUSE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Limousine leading, a parade of vehicles reaches the base
entrance.  A man exits the limo to expedite matters with
the BASE GUARD.

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE
          Senator DeHaven is here for the
          graduation ceremonies.

                         BASE GUARD
          What are all these other vehicles?

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE
          Just a small press corps.  Routine.

                         BASE GUARD
          And that pickup truck at the end?

                         DEHAVEN'S AIDE
          That?  That would be the all-woman
          America's Cup team.


EXT.  GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

                         C.O.
                  (into microphone)
          Special Reconnaissance Class 118,
          you may now stand down.

All buffed and polished and wearing their dress whites,
the former trainees erupt with ONE GREAT HOO-YAH.  What
began as a class of 100 now ends with just 40.

Sitting among the families and friends we find Royce,
smiling through his fears.  Not far away sits Blondell.
No one claps louder.

Jordan trades high-fives and fierce hugs with crewmates.
Pyro finally manages to take her aside.

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Lieutenant?  I was asked to give you
          this.

It's a small case.  Jordan opens it to find a medal of
bronze and blue enamel.

                         JORDAN
          The Navy Cross...

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          I believe he earned it for saving a
          man's life in Saudi Arabia.  He
          wanted you to have it.  He was very
          clear on that point.

                         JORDAN
          I was looking for him earlier,
          but...

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          The Chief was granted early
          retirement as of 17-hundred
          yesterday.  By 18-hundred he was
          gone.  Out of the Navy.

                         JORDAN
                  (knowing better)
          Just a coincidence?

                         INSTRUCTOR PYRO
          Maybe it's not my place to speculate
          on his private thoughts.  But I
          think the Chief knew that his way --
          his world -- had come and gone.

Jordan nods, understanding.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

DeHaven.  She's holding a press conference, trying to turn
piss into wine -- and doing a pretty good job:

                         DEHAVEN
          ... of course, we always prefer
          peace to war.  But if we're going to
          war, give women a piece.  Give them
          the choice to defend their country.
          And if the President doesn't like
          that idea -- if he wants to continue
          to deny women their equal rights --
          then I'll be happy to step out back
          with him any time, anywhere...

Jordan approaches.  Spotting her, the PRESS PLEADS for a
photo-op with both women.

                         DEHAVEN
          Jordan?  Jordan, dear...

Letting silence be the ultimate expression of scorn,
Jordan walks right past DeHaven...

And joins Royce.  Together they turn and leave.

                         C.O.
          Senator, perhaps this would be a
          good time for that lunch.  Will the
          America's Cup team be joining us?


EXT.  BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

Jordan and Royce walk hand in hand, strolling the same
beach she trained on.

                         JORDAN
          So here we are again.  Staring three
          years of operational duty in the
          face.

                         ROYCE
          Look.  It's not like you'd be
          completely out of reach.  And maybe
          we could call in a few favors, get
          you stationed at Norfolk instead of
          Coronado.  There are ways of dealing
          with these things -- I mean, if
          people are so inclined.

                         JORDAN
                  (warily)
          Which is guy-speak for...

                         ROYCE
          "Yes, Jordan -- I'll wait for you no
          matter how long."

Finally, the right answer.


EXT.  AIR STATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

START TIGHT on Jordan's face.  Even beneath the camouflage
paint, we can see her exhilaration.  PULL BACK to find her
in a line of commandos boarding an IDLING C-130:  She's
embarking on her first mission.  KEEP PULLING BACK until
we've lost her completely -- until she's just one soldier
among many, indistinguishable from the rest.

                                            FADE OUT.

                         THE END