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