Short screenplay from the Done Deal Memorial Day contest, June 2007 "Enemy Mine" FADE IN: EXT. FLAT DESERT - DAY Sizzling emptiness, as far as the eye can see. EXT. MILITARY LAND ROVER - DAY Painted in desert camouflage, a British Union Jack on the side, machine guns mounted front and rear. THREE SOLDIERS stand watching a FOURTH SOLDIER who leans over to peer at the exposed engine. SERGEANT HIGGINS Well what about it? PRIVATE HODGE Radiator's blown. PRIVATE RICHARDS Come on Hodgy stop messing about, how long to fix it? Even the sweat on my bollocks is sweating. CORPORAL LANE Can you fix it, Hodgy? PRIVATE HODGE Someone better call the A.A. PRIVATE RICHARDS You are kidding me. SERGEANT HIGGINS Haven't you got spares? PRIVATE HODGE Not for this. The hoses have gone. It's a right bleeding mess. PRIVATE RICHARDS Christ Almighty. Richards shakes his head in disgust and walks away. SERGEANT HIGGINS Better get on the blower then. CORPORAL LANE Hodgy, you're sure? PRIVATE HODGE Not a chance, Corp. Sorry. Private Richards scans their surroundings, they're in the middle of nowhere. Corporal Lane takes a radio handset from the Land Rover, extends the aerial. CORPORAL LANE (INTO RADIO) Mike Seven Piper, receiving, over. (pause) Mike Seven Piper, receiving, over. The SSSSSHHHHHH of radio mush. CORPORAL LANE (INTO RADIO) Mike Seven Piper, receiving, over. He listens. Nothing. He takes out a Global Positioning System device (GPS) and fiddles with it. PRIVATE RICHARDS Does anyone know where the France we are? SERGEANT HIGGINS Shut up, Richards. Hodgy, close her up. Let's get organized. PRIVATE HODGE Organized for what? SERGEANT HIGGINS We can't be more than ten klicks from Jazz Al. CORPORAL LANE G.P.S. puts us seventeen klicks south- east of Ja'zal and ten klicks north of Baker Echo. PRIVATE HODGE What's Baker Echo? CORPORAL LANE Bacon and eggs. Yank supply base. SERGEANT HIGGINS Can you trust that thing? CORPORAL LANE Seven hundred quid's worth of the latest Japanese technology. Wife bought it for my birthday. PRIVATE RICHARDS Thank God for that, if it was Army issue we'd be toast. SERGEANT HIGGINS Shut up, Richards. PRIVATE HODGE Ten klicks. That's a fierce tab in this heat. SERGEANT HIGGINS What's wrong with the blower? CORPORAL LANE Can't get a signal. SERGEANT HIGGINS Christ what I'd give for a sand dune. Elevation, that's what we need. Private Richards calls back over his shoulder-- PRIVATE RICHARDS We've got company. "Company" is an Arab on a camel, a flapping white mirage in the shimmering heat. Hard to tell how far away he is. PRIVATE RICHARDS Lawrence of bloody Arabia. SERGEANT HIGGINS Where the hell is he going? PRIVATE HODGE He's coming right at us. PRIVATE RICHARDS It's a suicide attack. He's got a stick of dynamite up his arse. CORPORAL LANE Maybe he's wondering who we are. SERGEANT HIGGINS Hodgy, you're on Big Bertha. PRIVATE HODGE Maybe he just wants a brew. Fancy one myself. PRIVATE RICHARDS Those camels are dirty bastards, they spit phlegm all over you. SERGEANT HIGGINS Knock it off, the pair of you. Hodgy? Private Hodge mans the Land Rover's 12.7mm heavy machine gun with its auto-feed ammo box. PRIVATE RICHARDS Aim for his bollocks, Hodgy. CORPORAL LANE I don't think he's armed. SERGEANT HIGGINS He could he hiding a pair of harem slave girls under all that mufti. Hodgy, you got his range? PRIVATE HODGE Not sure, Sarge. Maybe two hundred. PRIVATE RICHARDS I reckon one-fifty, just about. SERGEANT HIGGINS Just keep an eye on him, Hodgy. If he does anything stupid, teach the bugger a lesson. (to Corporal Lane) Get on the blower again, see if you can raise someone. CORPORAL LANE Okay but for Christ's sake hold your fire, he's probably a friendly. SERGEANT HIGGINS Don't be stupid. We're just being careful. PRIVATE RICHARDS Everyone in this bloody country hates us. I say we slot the bastard. SERGEANT HIGGINS One more word out of you, Richards-- CORPORAL LANE (INTO RADIO) Mike Seven Piper, receiving, over. (pause) Mike Seven Piper, receiving, over. (pause) Any Coalition unit receiving my signal, I am a British Army ground callsign requesting net to Juliet Alpha Zero. Over. PRIVATE RICHARDS Bet you wish the wife bought you a Jap radio for your birthday. SERGEANT HIGGINS Maybe if you climb onto the roof? CORPORAL LANE Yeah, and maybe if Hodgy stood on my shoulders and waved his knickers around we might pick up Radio Baghdad. PRIVATE RICHARDS The bugger's getting close. The Arab and his camel are solid now, riding steadily. PRIVATE HODGE Range seventy metres! Give me some bloody room! Everyone shifts well out of Hodge's field of fire. CORPORAL LANE Just hold your fire, Hodgy. Private Richards peers through his SA-80 rifle's sight. PRIVATE RICHARDS Jesus, I can't tell which one's uglier, the camel or the rider. SERGEANT HIGGINS Right. I want no mistakes here, Hodgy. Give him a warning burst. Make sure you fire over his head. CORPORAL LANE Hodgy, don't shoot. SERGEANT HIGGINS This isn't a flaming democracy! CORPORAL LANE He's not doing anything. Rules of engagement. We cannot open fire unless directly threatened. PRIVATE HODGE Aw give me a break. Sarge? SERGEANT HIGGINS Corporal bleeding Lane says we have to follow rules of engagement, Hodgy. PRIVATE RICHARDS I bet I could put three rounds through his chest in a six-inch grouping. CORPORAL LANE Put that rifle down, Richards. PRIVATE RICHARDS I'm just saying... SERGEANT HIGGINS Private Richards, lower your rifle. PRIVATE HODGE Christ I could do with a brew, my mouth's dry as an old whore's twat. PRIVATE RICHARDS He's stopped. The Arab has stopped. He moves his arm in a wide sweeping gesture. He speaks, but his words are muffled by distance. SERGEANT HIGGINS What the bleeding hell is he saying? CORPORAL LANE I'm going to talk to him. SERGEANT HIGGINS Hold your position. The Arab points to the ground between them. His finger stabs at specific spots... there, there, and there. CORPORAL LANE He's trying to tell us something. The Arab mimes something unmistakable -- an explosion. He points again, there, there, there. Mimes another explosion. Private Richards slowly lowers his rifle. PRIVATE RICHARDS Oh my sainted aunt. Is he saying-- SERGEANT HIGGINS He'd bloody better not be. Corporal Lane pushes Hodge aside and climbs up onto the Land Rover. He balances on the roof, and looks around. Sure enough, all around them are little "dents" in the sand. Not visible from ground level, but visible from up here. CORPORAL LANE We're in a fucking minefield. SERGEANT HIGGINS Bollocks. There's no minefield on the map. CORPORAL LANE I can see them! God knows who planted them or how long they've been here. SERGEANT HIGGINS Nobody move a muscle. Right. Who's got a bayonet? Private Richards sees the Arab point out what appears to be a path among the land mines. PRIVATE RICHARDS You know what? I think our new pal wants us to follow him. SERGEANT HIGGINS Can we trust him? CORPORAL LANE He's got elevation. He can see where they are. We can't, if we walk out of here. SERGEANT HIGGINS Maybe it's a trick. Corporal Lane, Private Richards and Private Hodge stare at him. Sergeant Higgins realizes what a plonker he is. SERGEANT HIGGINS Yeah all right. Grab your gear and let's follow the nice gentleman. But if his camel so much as farts, slot the bastard. EXT. DESERT - DAY The four British soldiers follow the Arab. The Arab waves to them, and trots off into the desert. The Arab stops, points ahead. Corporal Lane checks his GPS. CORPORAL LANE Bacon and eggs, bearing one seven eight, distance two klicks. The Arab waves to them, and trots off into the desert. PRIVATE RICHARDS You want me to shoot him, Sarge? SERGEANT HIGGINS Shut up, Richards. PRIVATE HODGE You think those Yanks know how to make a brew? I can't stand coffee. FADE OUT. 05/07§