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A man in front of a mirror dons his Marine dress blues. Spit polish shoes laced. Medals clipped to jacket.
The Man puts his hat squarely on his head. Eyes glint. On the man's dresser…. Three Purple Hearts, photos of a woman (his wife), photos of marines in combat locales.
Staring into the photos, we can almost hear PANICKED VOICES, EXPLOSIONS, NOISES OF BRUTAL COMBAT. Through smoke, a desperate MARINE PRIVATE who knows he will never be rescued... TWO MARINES walk up to a farmhouse door; through the screen we see a MOTHER AND DAUGHTER who know what the news will be... A MARINE COLOUR GUARD carries a COFFIN... Now we are the coffin as a FLAG drapes down on us. Placed into a YOUNG WOMAN'S HAND. Now we're in ARLINGTON CEMETERY. Images of the cemetery are reflected in wet puddles, as the SPIT-SHINED SHOES walk past images of the TOMB OF THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER a ROW OF GRAVES comes into focus … Suddenly AN EXPLOSION and we see -A MARINE in a jungle, radioing for help: ,You gotta get us outta here sir, Jesus, they're all over us... ! And an' EXPLOSION ends the communication ...
Arlington Cemetery. Two groundskeepers on "ride 'em" lawn mowers, Bennie and Marlin, smoke Camels and watch the Marine Officer. He's alone, across the cemetery.
"You'll get used to him. Every Sunday morning - rain, snow, holidays nothin, keeps him Away." Bennie says to the newbie, pointing at the soldier.
Brig. Gen. Francis Xavier Saxon stands before a headstone: BARBARA MCLEAN SAXON 1946-1996.
"Hi Barb. The house sold yesterday. I know, I know, the market's depressed. Anyway, I'm leaving the area. Some things I have to do. Things I couldn't do while you were here. Maybe you would have approved. Hell, I know you wouldn't have." He pauses for a beat "I've tried everything and I can't seem to get their attention. But now they'll learn how it feels on the other side. Let's hope it elevates their thinking."
Saxon puts new flowers on the grave. Walks off.
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ACCESS ROAD TO ARMY WEAPONS COMPOUND – NIGHT
Heavy rain. A road next to a heavily guarded bunker facility. A canvas covered Army Truck blows a tire in the road. The driver gets out. Inspects the tire. Inside the truck … four marines in black suits dive through a hole in the truck bed floor into a manholeinthe road.
ARMY WEAPONS COMPOUND - FRONT GATE – NIGHT
Three Army M.P.s at the front Guardhouse. General Saxon pulls up in a Suburban. The M.P.s immediately recognise him and stand more rigidly. "General Saxon, sir. It's an honour. Is the Colonel expecting you, sir?"
"He'd better be. This is a security inspection." Saxon snorts.
"Yes, sir!" The M.P. waves Saxon in, saluting crisply.
GRATED STORM DRAIN IN BUNKER COMPOUND
The four marines from the truck are waiting, readying arms. The leader is looking at his watch. Gives a hand signal to the others, and up they go –
BUNKER COMPOUND
The four marines emerge from the storm drain and move toward covered positions in the compound. Yards away – Two army "MAGAZINE CHECKERS" emerge from a building with clipboards, on routine check. The Army M.P.s escort General Saxon inside. Three army guards spring up from their Surveillance monitors'. Everyone's nervous, in awe, rigid at attention. Colonel Callahan emerges from an adjacent room, sleepy-eyed.
Colonel Callahan tries to look awake as he blurts "General Saxon! This is a surprise!"
"That's the idea, Colonel."
BUNKER COMPOUND - WATCH TOWER
Two marines position themselves outside the door to the bunker compound's elevated watch tower. Below the watch tower, the Army Magazine Checkers approach. Marines 1 and 2 spring out, armed with M-16s with over/under grenade launchers They shoot Bean Bag projectiles at the Army Guards, who collapse, dazed. Marines 3 and 4 burst inside the watch tower. The guards inside spring up. BOOM BOOM, they're hit by bean bag projectiles, propelling them out the windows of the watch tower. They fall 10 feet and lie unconscious.
Marines 1 and 2 outside, now in Magazine Checker's uniforms, move to the Bunker Door. They open the door with the Magazine checker's Coded Cards. Two Army Guards, playing poker, look up at the entering marines. Marines 1 and 2 walk straight up to the Army Guards, holding them at bay with M-16s. Before any words are spoken, one of the marines injects each of the guards with a Vaccine pistol.
BUNKER SECURITY BUILDING
Four more marines led by Sgt. Crisp enter, holding Col. Callahan, General Saxon and the Army Guards at bay. "This is a security exercise, sir. We've fully breached and infiltrated your compound. I'm afraid you and your men are my prisoners, sir."
The marines begin cuffing the Army Guards to the radiator and taping their mouths. SGT. Crisp says "Sorry sir, you realise the importance of these exercises."
Saxon says to Callahan "Ten men who could have been terrorists are out there doing whatever they damn well please to your compound, Colonel. Here you sit with your ass chained to a fucking radiator. This is not a tight ship. I would not want to be in your shoes in the morning."
Sgt. Crisp hits the Front Gate's open buzzer and follows Saxon out of the room.
The gate swings open.
Two Humvees enter the compound.
The marines use a 'rabbit tool, (hydraulic, compact and powerful) to pry open the bunker's steel doors. They rush down a hallway. The marines rush up to another steel door and quickly pry it open. A refrigerated storage room for chemical weapons. Storage tubes are labelled: V.X. POISON GAS. Across the room are rockets labelled: 55 115 MM BOLT ROCKETS.
Using the Track Hook System in the bunker's ceiling, the marines move the V.X. Chem Rounds and Bolt Rocket to the waiting Humvees. It's very fast, like clockwork. Then the last tube drops, everyone freezes and Saxon moves fast, sealing the door as two men are trapped inside, screaming for help. There is nothing anyone can do. Saxon watches impassively as the men been to boil alive… their skin bubbling then splitting as they…well … melt.
The Humvees, followed by Saxon in his Suburban, roar out of the compound.
Saxon on a CB radio: "A textbook exercise, gentlemen. Rendezvous in eleven hours."
No one mentions that…hiccup.
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F.B.I. FIELD OFFICE, FT. DIETRICH …. CHEMICAL/BIOLOGICAL DIVISION
Headquarters for chemical/biological weapons.
A windowed door stencilled "Chemical/Biological Weapons Division." A rubber dart hits the glass and drops into a trash can next to the door. Owen Harper curses in a broad London accent, surprising here in America "Son of a bitch..."
"You owe me five dollars, Owen." Welsh tones laugh at the room as Ianto Jones plays with his friend who got him the gig over this side of the ditch. Across the room – Ianto Jones, 25, and partner Owen Harper, 30, feet up on desks, with toy guns. This is Man's Boredom. A ceiling fan circles. Owen yawns; scratches neck with his gun barrel.
Ianto reloads.
Aims.
Fires.
The Dart hits a cardboard target across the room which activates a Rube Goldberg series of events ending in a Plastic Girl being ignited in a pan of chemicals.
Owen, without even getting up, casually sprays the pan with flame retardant foam.
Ianto then yawns "I was told this was exciting work. I gave up my cushy job doing fucking nothing to come over here and… do nothing?"
"Patience, Ianto. It has its moments."
A klaxon sounds. Owen smiles excitedly.
Ianto follows Owen down a grimy, off-white corridor illuminated by antiseptic light. This is an older building. Hasn't been refurbished and shows it.
CHEMICAL WEAPONS - LABORATORY
A medium-sized laboratory, where 5 F.B.I. Technicians are bent over tables of beakers, test-tubes, Bunsen burners, etc. The room and equipment are old and used; could be 1976 rather than 1996. Along one side of the lab is a plexi-glass wall. Inside the plexi-glass is an airlocked Gas Chamber. F.B.I chemists Lonner and Sato motion to Ianto.
"C'mere, boys." Toshiko Sao smiles and points inside gas chamber "A dog at J.F.K. got a whiff of something postmarked to a Bosnian refugee camp. Could be detergent, could be saran gas."
Inside the gas chamber is a large wooden crate next to a table of Poison Detection Instruments.
"Bosnian refugee camp?" Owen snorts "I don't get it."
"Half a million Serbians reside in the U.S., Owen. Serbians don't like Bosnians. Read a newspaper. It's good for you. Hold out your hand." Ianto demands.
Owen does so. It's shaky. "I'm okay. Really. Let's do it"
Ianto gives him an uncertain look.