اولین پایگاه جامع فیلمنامه کوتاه شامل بانک فیلمنامه کوتاه و آموزش فیلمنامه نویسی و نقد فیلمنامه.
::: شما می توانید فیلمنامه های کوتاه تان را از طریق ایمیل برای ما ارسال کنید. ::

--------------------------------------------

FADE IN:

CREDITS: White lettering over a back background. The
THUNDEROUS SOUNDS OF A MASSIVE NAVAL BARRAGE are heard. The
power is astonishing. It roars through the body, blows back
the hair and rattles the ears.

FADE IN:

EXT. OMAHA BEACH - NORMANDY - DAWN

The ROAR OF NAVAL GUNS continues but now WE SEE THEM FIRING.
Huge fifteen inch guns.

SWARM OF LANDING CRAFT

Heads directly into a nightmare. MASSIVE EXPLOSIONS from
German artillery shells and mined obstacles tear apart the
beach. Hundreds of German machine guns, loaded with tracers,
pour out a red snowstorm of bullets.

OFFSHORE
SUPERIMPOSITION:

OMAHA BEACH, NORMANDY
June 6, 1944

0600 HOURS
HUNDREDS OF LANDING CRAFT Each holding
thirty men, near the beaches.

THE CLIFFS
At the far end of the beach, a ninety-
foot cliff. Topped by bunkers.
Ringed by fortified machine gun nests.
A clear line-of-fire down the entire
beach.

TEN LANDING CRAFT
Make their way toward the base of
the cliffs. Running a gauntlet of
explosions.

SUPERIMPOSITION:
THE FOLLOWING IS BASED ON A TRUE
STORY THE LEAD LANDING CRAFT Plows
through the waves.

THE CAMERA MOVES PAST THE FACES OF THE MEN

Boys. Most are eighteen or nineteen years old. Tough.
Well-trained. Trying to block out the fury around them.

A DIRECT HIT ON A NEARBY LANDING CRAFT

A huge EXPLOSION of fuel, fire, metal and flesh.

THE LEAD LANDING CRAFT

The Motorman holds his course. Shells EXPLODE around them.
FLAMING OIL BURNS on the water. CANNON FIRE SMASHES into
the bow.

THE MOTORAMAN IS RIPPED TO BITS

BLOOD AND FLESH shower the men behind him. The mate takes
the controls.

A YOUNG SOLDIER
His face covered with the remains of
the motorman. Starts to lose it.
Begins to shudder and weep. His
name is DeLancey.

THE BOYS AROUND HIM

Do their best to stare straight ahead. But the fear infects
them. It starts to spread.

A FIGURE
Pushes through the men. Puts himself
in front of DeLancey.

The figure is CAPTAIN JOHN MILLER. Early thirties. By far
the oldest man on the craft. Relaxed, battle-hardened,
powerful, ignoring the hell around them. He smiles, puts a
cigar in his mouth, strikes a match on the front of DeLancey's
helmet and lights the cigar.

DeLancey tries to look away but Miller grips him by the jaw
and forces him to lock eyes. Miller smiles. DeLancey is
terrified.

Delancey Captain, are we all gonna die?

Miller Hell no, two-thirds, tops.

Delancey Oh, Jesus...

Miller I want every one of you to look at the man on your
left. Now look at the man on your right. Feel sorry for
those to sons-of-bitches, they're going to get it, you're
not going to get a scratch. A few, including DeLancey, manage
thin smiles. Miller releases his grip on DeLancey who moves
his jaw as if to see if it's broken. Miller pats him on the
cheek and moves on to the bow.

MILLER
Looks over the gunwale at THE HELL
IN FRONT OF THEM.

PAN DOWN TO MILLER'S HAND

It quivers in fear. Miller glances around, sees that none
of the men have noticed. He stares at his hand as if it
belongs to someone else. It stops shaking. He turns his
eyes back to the objective.

THE LEAD LANDING CRAFT HITS THE BEACH

The six surviving boats alongside.

EXPLOSIVE PROPELLED GRAPPLING HOOKS FIRE

From the landing crafts. Arc toward the top of the cliffs.

THE LEAD CRAFT RAMP GOES DOWN

A river of MACHINE GUN FIRE pours into the craft. A dozen
men are INSTANTLY KILLED. Among them, DeLancey.

MILLER
Somehow survives. Jumps into the
breakers.

MILLER
MOVE, GODDAMN IT! GO! GO! GO!

EXPLOSIONS EVERYWHERE
THE GERMANS On the edge of the cliff.
Rain down MACHINE GUN FIRE and
GRENADES.

THE AMERICANS
Struggle through the surf. FIRING
up as best they can. Making for the
base of the cliffs.

INCENDIARY GRENADES, HURLED FROM ABOVE,

EXPLODE, SPREADING FIRE

MILLER
Ignores the EXPLOSIONS and BULLETS.
Uses hand signals and curt orders.

MILLER
THERE! THERE! HOOKS THERE! FIRE
SQUAD, THOSE ROCKS!

THE MEN
Obey instantly. Set the grappling
hooks. Take position. Return fire.

THE SOUNDS OF BATTLE

Drown out most voices. Except the SCREAMS OF THE WOUNDED
AND DYING.

THE MEN
Know what they have to do. Start up
the ropes. Into the teeth of the
German defenders.

MILLER
Back-straps his Thompson sub-machine
gun. Starts climbing with the first
group.

THE CLIFF FACE
The Americans swarm up the ropes.
Taking turns firing up at the Germans.

MILLER SEES A STALLED CLIMBER

A soft-faced boy. Grabs him by the back of his collar.
Roughly yanks him up. Nearly choking him. They boy climbs
on.

HALF-WAY
An American private is HIT. FALLS,
taking two others with him. All
three land on the rocks below.
Another way to die.

NEAR THE TOP
Less steep. They leave the ropes.
Free climb, scrambling up the rocks.

MILLER
Joins half-a-dozen pinned down men.
Others bottleneck behind them. Miller
scans the route and the defenders.

Sees an open gap. Deadly. Beyond is a protective overhang.
With a clear line to the top.

MILLER
That's the route.

Miller motions to six men huddled near him.

MILLER
Go!

THE SIX MEN
Take an instant to get ready. Then
SCRAMBLE into the gap.

MILLER AND THE OTHERS

Do their best to cover them. POUR FIRE up at the Germans.
Bad angle. No Germans are hit.

THE SIX MEN
Are CUT TO RIBBONS by MACHINE GUN
FIRE. All KILLED. They fall to the
rocks below.

SARGE, mid-twenties, experienced, Miller's right arm and
best friend, dives into the rocks next to Miller.

Sarge That's a goddamned shooting gallery, Captain.

MILLER
It's the only way.

MILLER
Turns to the next half-dozen men.

MILLER
YOU'RE NEXT!

THE SECOND SIX
Move to the head of the gap. Miller
moves for a better angle against the
machine guns. Calls to JACKSON, a
tall, gangly Southern country boy,
sharp-shooter.

MILLER
JACKSON, PICK OFF A FEW OF THEM,
WILL YOU?

JACKSON
(heavy Southern accent)
You betcha, Captain.

Miller signals others where to direct their cover fire.
Turns to the second six.

MILLER
GO!

THE SECOND SIX
Take deep breaths. Head into the
gap.

MILLER AND OTHERS BLAST SURPRISING FIRE

JACKSON, NAILS a pair of Germans. MILLER CUTS DOWN two more.
SARGE gets one. Not enough.

THE SECOND SIX
Are RAKED BY MACHINE GUNS. All are
KILLED.

MILLER
Turns, looking for the next six.
His eyes fall on Sarge and REIBEN
who is a cynical, sharp, New Yorker.
Reiben smiles.

REIBEN
(heavy Brooklyn accent)
Captain, can I put in for a transfer?

MILLER
Sure, meet me at the top, we'll start
the paperwork.

THE THIRD SIX
Moves into place. Sarge and Miller
exchange a look. They both see the
madness of what they're doing.

MILLER AND THE OTHERS

OPEN UP on the Germans.

MILLER
GO!

SARGE
Rolls his eyes, takes a breath.
Scrambles into the gap. The other
five right behind.

IN THE GAP
BULLETS EVERYWHERE.

Three are HIT. Then another. POTATO MASHER GRENADES bounce
down. EXPLODE below.

THE GERMAN MACHINE GUN swings toward Sarge and Reiben. Miller
sees them about to get it... MILLER STEPS OUT INTO THE OPEN.

A perfect target. Captain's bars glinting. FIRING. TRYING
TO DRAW THE GERMAN FIRE.

THE GERMAN MACHINE GUNNER

SEES MILLER STANDING IN THE OPEN. Too much to pass up. He
swings the machine gun away from Sarge and Reiben, toward
Miller.

A ROW OF GERMAN BULLETS approaches Miller...he's an instant
from death.

SARGE AND REIBEN DIVE

Under the overhang to safety.

MILLER DIVES BACK TO COVER, BARELY MAKES IT, HIS BOOT HEAL
IS BLOWN OFF.

UNDER THE OVERHANG Sarge and Reiben untangle themselves.

REIBEN
I'll be Goddamned! I'm not dead!

Sarge hollers back to Miller.

SARGE
CAPTAIN, IF YOUR MOTHER SAW YOU DO
THAT, SHE'D BE VERY UPSET!

MILLER
I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY MOTHER.

Quick smiles. MILLER AND HIS RANGERS lean out and FIRE.
HIT more Germans.

SARGE AND REIBEN run up the path, under the overhang. Stop
near the top. Pull pins on grenades. Count. Both throw
long, arcing over the crest, perfectly aimed.

THE TWO GRENADES EXPLODE.

Putt out the two worst machine gun nests.

MILLER
Crosses the gap. His men follow.

AT THE CREST
The Americans swarm over the top.
FIRING.

TWO DOZEN GERMANS FIRE BACK as they retreat.

Abandoning the perimeter defense of the bunkers. The Germans
are CUT DOWN.

MILLER motions to WADE, a small, wide-eyed, demolition man
who's struggling under the weight of half-a dozen satchel
charges.

MILLER
Okay, Wade, your turn.

Wade Captain, I love it when you say that.

Miller, Sarge, Reiben and Jackson cover Wade as he races to
the first of three bunkers. Dodging bullets from inside.
Wade tosses a SATCHEL CHARGE into a gun port. A HUGE, MUFFLED
EXPLOSION, rocks the bunker.

MILLER AND SARGE
Survey the field.

SARGE
What the hell were you doing? Drawing
fire!

MILLER
Worked, didn't it?

SARGE
You tryin' to get yourself killed?

MILLER
Don't need to, the Krauts go that
covered.

Sarge shakes his head at Miller, then he looks over the cliff
at the scores of men, their shattered, burning bodies covering
the rocks and the beach below. He's clearly affected.

Miller coldly glances at the dead and wounded. Then he moves
on, leading his surviving men toward the two remaining German
bunkers. The SOUNDS OF BIG GUNS and MACHINE GUNS FIRE
surround him. DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. WAR DEPARTMENT BUILDING - DAY

The SOUND OF CLATTERING MACHINE GUN FIRE SEGUES TO that of
CLATTERING TYPEWRITERS. A huge government building stands
in the heart of Washington, D.C.

SUPERIMPOSITION:
WAR DEPARTMENT WASHINGTON, D.C.

JUNE 8, 1944

INT. COMMUNICATIONS OFFICE - WAR DEPT. - DAY

Very busy. A dozen, somber military clerks work behind desks,
quickly and efficiently. No small talk.

A CLERK
Older than the others, sad-eyed,
adds a sheet of paper to a large
pile in his out-box.

CLOSE SHOT
An outgoing telegram. It reads:
"We regret to inform you...killed in
action...heroic service..." This is
the paperwork of death.

THE CLERK
Pulls out a file. Reads. Finds
something troubling. Quickly shuffles
through some other papers. Finds
what he's looking for. Rises from
his desk and hurries out of the
office.

INT. LIEUTENANT'S OFFICE - WAR DEPT. - DAY

Seen through the glass wall. The clerk speaks to a YOUNG
LIEUTENANT who is visibly shaken by what he is being told.
He motions to the clerk to follow and he strides out of the
office with the clerk on his heels.

INT. CAPTAIN'S OFFICE - WAR DEPT. - DAY

Again, seen through a glass wall. The Young Lieutenant speaks
to a YOUNG CAPTAIN who, like the Lieutenant is clearly
bothered by what he's being told. The Captain takes the
papers from the Young Lieutenant and strides out.

INT. COLONEL'S OFFICE - WAR DEPT. - DAY

A busy office. Aides and secretaries scurry about. The
walls and tables are covered with maps of Normandy and complex
deployment charts. A ONE-ARMED COLONEL with a chest full of
ribbons pours himself another cup of coffee. He clearly
hasn't slept in a long time. The Young Captain, his staff
officer, walks in.

Young captain Colonel, I've got something you should know
about.

One-armed colonel Yes?

Young captain Two brothers died in Normandy. One at Omaha
Beach, the other at Utah. Last week in Guam a third brother
was killed in action. All three telegrams went out this
morning. Their mother in Iowa is getting all three telegrams
this afternoon.

The life drains from the Colonel. Others in the room hear
and freeze.

One-armed colonel Oh, Jesus.

Young captain There's more. There's a fourth brother. The
youngest. He parachuted in with the Hundred-and-First
Airborne the night before the invasion. He's on the front.

One-armed colonel Is he alive?

Young captain We don't know.

The Colonel regains his bearings. Stands and motions curtly
to the Captain. One-armed colonel Come with me.

The Colonel regains his bearings. Stands and motions curtly
to the Captain.

One-armed colonel Come with me.

The Colonel strides from the room with the Captain on his
heels. The aides and secretaries watch them go.

EXT. FARM ROAD - IOWA - DAY

A black car drives along a dirt road, a cloud of dust rising
behind. Passing through an endless expanse of ripening corn.

EXT. RYAN FARM - IOWA - DAY

A whit farmhouse. A barn. A stand of trees. Cornfields as
far as the eye can see.

IN THE YARD
A tire swing. A bushel basket nailed
to the barn over a dirt basketball
court.

A PORCH SWING
Sits empty. Moves slightly.

ON THE GLASS OF THE FRONT DOOR

Four American flag decals. Each one, a man in service.

MARGARET RYAN
Steps out. Around sixty. Her face
shows the lines of a life of hard
work and mother hood. A good woman.

She wipes her hands on her apron and looks out across the
fields. Far in the distance she sees the dust rising behind
the black car.

She watches the car get closer, then sees it turn toward her
house. She starts to grow uneasy.

As the black car approaches, her breath comes hard. She
reaches out and steadies herself on the porch post.

The car pulls up to the house. She sees three men get out,
one wearing a clerical collar. The first of her tears come.

INT. GENERAL MARSHALL'S OFFICE - WAR DEPARTMENT - DAY

Another busy office filled with aides and secretaries.
GENERAL GEORGE MARSHALL, Army Chief of Staff, stands next to
his conference table, reading the Ryan brother' files. Half-
a-dozen subordinates, among them the one-armed Colonel and
the Young Captain, wait. General Marshall puts down the
file.

GENERAL MARSHALL
(softly)
Goddamn it.

One-armed colonel All four of them were in the same company
in the 29th Infantry but we split them up after the Sullivan
brothers died on the Juneau.

GENERAL MARSHALL
Any contact with the fourth brother,
James?

One-armed colonel No, sir. He was dropped about thirty miles
inland, near Ramelle. That's still deep behind German lines.

General Marshall hardens.

GENERAL MARSHALL
Well, if he's alive, we're going to
send someone to get him the hell out
of there. That's just what the
General's staff wanted to hear.

EXT. NORMANDY - CRATER FIELD - DAY

NEAR CONSTANT MORTAR EXPLOSIONS. HEAVY MACHINE GUN FIRE.
Miller's Ranger company is pinned down by a superior force
of German troops. The Americans hug the bottoms of the
craters, FIRING BACK as best they can. BIG GUNS THUNDER in
the distance.

SUPERIMPOSITION:
Normandy 1300 hours June 9

MILLER
Trailed by a RADIOMAN, dashes through
the fire and dives into a sludge-
filled crater. He surfaces, sees
Sarge and Reiben, and reels from a
horrific smell. Their conversation
is repeatedly broken by FIRING And
DUCKING GERMAN FIRE.

MILLER
Jesus Christ! What the hell are we
swimming in?

REIBEN
Shit, sir.

SARGE
Fertilizer, Captain, I think we're
in a cranberry bog.

REIBEN
Out of the frying pan, into the
fucking latrine.

MILLER
Look at the bright side, the Krauts
sure as hell don't want to advance
and hold this cesspool.

Miller barks to his RADIOMAN.

MILLER
Get Fire Control, we need some
artillery...

Radioman Trying, sir.

MORE EXPLOSIONS. They all duck. Reiben's worried.

REIBEN
Sir, what if they send some other
company into Caen ahead of us while
we're pinned down here?

MILLER
Don't worry, we're the only Rangers
this side of the continent, we've
got to be first into Caen.

SARGE
Who cares?

REIBEN
I care. Don't you know what Caen's
famous for, Sarge?

SARGE
Frogs?

REIBEN
Lingerie.

SARGE
Yeah? So?

THE GERMAN FIRE diminishes for an instant. Miller, Sarge
and Reiben immediately rise and POUR FIRE at the German
positions. GERMAN MACHINE GUN FIRE RESPONDS and they duck
down again.

REIBEN
So, you ever heard of employee
discounts? My uncle sells shoes,
gets twenty-five percent off
everything in the line, got a closet
filled with the best looking shoes
you ever seen.

MORE MORTAR EXPLOSIONS.

REIBEN
Just picture some French number been
spending all day, every day, making
cream-colored, shear-body negligees
with gentle-lift silk cups and
gathered empire waists, what the
hell you think she wears at night?

MILLER
Reiben, how the hell do you know so
much about lingerie?

REIBEN
Lingerie is my life, sir. My mother's
got a shop in Brooklyn, I grew up in
it, from the time I could crawl, we
carry Caen lingerie, it's the best
there is, it's all I been thinking
about since the invasion.

Another pause in the German shelling. Reiben rises and BLASTS
HIS B.A.R, then ducks as the GERMANS RETURN FIRE.

MILLER
There's a war on, good chance they're
not still making lingerie in Caen.

REIBEN
Oh, Captain, they'll always make
lingerie, it's one of the three basic
needs of man -- food, shelter, silk
teddies. Miller Dream on, private.

REIBEN
Happy to, sir.

Radioman Captain, I've got Command, they want you back at
H.Q., right away.

MILLER
Maybe the war's over.

A MORTAR SHELL EXPLODES VERY CLOSE. After the debris stops
falling, Sarge and Reiben rise, spitting out sludge. Reiben
looks dubiously at Miller.

REIBEN
I don't think so, Captain.

MILLER
(to Radioman)
Stay at it until you get fire control.
(to Sarge)
Keep 'em down, wait for the navy.

SARGE
Yes, sir.

Miller waits for a pause in the MORTAR BARRAGE, then scrambles
out of the crater and takes off in a crouch-run.

EXT. NORMANDY - FIELD H.Q. - 19TH INFANTRY - DAY

Chaos. Under fire. INTERMITTENT MORTARS, SOME BIG GERMAN
SHELLS and fairly close SMALL ARMS FIRE.

MILLER
Runs over the broken ground and makes
it to the sandbagged H.Q. He stumbles
down the make-shift stairs.

INT. H.Q. SANDBAGGED BUNKER - DAY

Sand and dirt falls with the closest of the EXPLOSIONS which
continue through the scene. Miller salutes a Major.

MILLER
Miller, Company B, Second Rangers.

Major Go on in.

Miller goes deeper into the H.Q. bunker where he finds a
dozen officers with as many aides, runners and radiomen.
Very busy. A field map dominates the center of the small
space.

The men in the room note Miller, a few nod to him
respectfully. He's clearly someone special.

COLONEL SAM ANDERSON is in command, talking on a field-phone.
He's about fifty, firm and steady, the calm at the eye of
the storm. He sees Miller and motions for him to wait.

COLONEL ANDERSON
(into field-phone)
...I understand your problem, but if
we don't get those tanks off-loaded
by 0600, we're going to have an entire
division up at Caen with its ass
hanging out of its pants...

A LIEUTENANT steps up to Miller and hands him a sheet of
paper.

Lieutenant Captain, here's your company address list.

MILLER
My what?

Lieutenant For letters to the families of your killed-in-
action.

Miller hands the list back to the Lieutenant.

MILLER
Find a chaplain.

COLONEL ANDERSON
(into field-phone)
...alright, let me know when.

Anderson hangs up, speaks to an AIDE.

COLONEL ANDERSON
Have the Second and Third Regiments
hold at St. Michel until we get those
tanks. Aide Yes, sir.

Colonel Anderson turns to Miller.

COLONEL ANDERSON
Report.

MILLER
Sector four is secured, we put out
the last three German one-fifty-fives,
found them about two miles in from
Ponte du Hoc.

COLONEL ANDERSON
Resistance?

MILLER
A company, Wehrmacht, no artillery,
we took twenty-three prisoners, turned
them over to intelligence.

COLONEL ANDERSON
Casualties?

MILLER
Fourty-four, twenty one dead.

An instant of SILENCE, all hear, none look.

MILLER
They didn't want to give up those
one-fifty-fives, sir.

COLONEL ANDERSON
It was a hard assignment, that's why
you got it.

MILLER
Yes, sir.

COLONEL ANDERSON
Where are your men now?

MILLER
Pinned down, a mile east of here,
waiting for some help from the navy
guns.

COLONEL ANDERSON
I'm sending Simpson to take over for
you, the division is going to Caen,
you're not coming with us, I have
something else for you.

MILLER
Sir?

COLONEL ANDERSON
There's a Private James Ryan who
parachuted in with the Hundred-and-
First near Ramelle. I want you to
take a squad up there. If he's alive,
bring him back to the beach for
debarkation. Take whoever you need,
you've got your pick of the company.

MILLER
A private, sir?

COLONEL ANDERSON
He's the last of four brothers, the
other three were killed in action.
This is straight from the Chief of
Staff.

MILLER
But, sir...I...I...

COLONEL ANDERSON
Spit it out, Captain.

MILLER HESITATES, THEN:

MILLER
Respectfully, sir, sending men all
the way up to Ramelle to save one
private doesn't make a fucking,
goddamned bit of sense.
(beat)
Sir.

The other officers freeze, listening without turning. Colonel
Anderson glares at Miller.

COLONEL ANDERSON
You think just because you hold the
Congressional Medal of Honor, you
can say any damn thing you please to
your superior officers?

Miller considers the question, then smiles.

MILLER
Yes, sir, more or less.

Colonel Anderson looks as if he's about to bit Miller's head
off, then he smiles, too.

COLONEL ANDERSON
Alright, I'll give you that.
Continue.

MILLER
The numbers don't make sense, sir.
His brothers are dead, that's too
bad, but they're out of the equation.
Sending men up there is bleeding
heart crapola from three thousand
miles away. One private is simply
not worth a squad. Colonel anderson
This one is. He's worth a lot more
than that. Which is why I'm sending
you, you're the best field officer
there is.

Miller Shrugs.

MILLER
Yes and no, sir, what about Morgan?
Fine officer, regular church goer,
writes poetry, he might like a mission
like this.
(beat)
And he's taller than me.

Colonel Anderson listens with amused tolerance, but it's
time to get back to business.

COLONEL ANDERSON
That's enough, Captain, you have
your orders. Major Thomas will fill
you in.

Miller knows when to back off. He salutes.

MILLER
Yes, sir.

Miller and Colonel Anderson exchange a private look.

COLONEL ANDERSON
Good luck, John.

MILLER
Thank you, sir.

Miller joins Major Thomas at one of the smaller map tables.
Colonel Anderson watches Miller for an instant, then notices
the other officers in the tent watching. A glare and they
go back to work.

EXT. BATTLESHIP - DAY

A MASSIVE BARRAGE of fifteen-inch shells BLASTS from the
deck of the enormous ship.

EXT. CRATER FIELD - CRANBERRY BOG - DAY

HUGE EXPLOSIONS. The big naval shells SLAM into the German
position on the far side of the cranberry bog crater field.

IN THE CRATERS
Miller's Ranger company ducks and
covers. The BARRAGE SUBSIDES. The
Rangers rise, FIRING, leap-frogging
from crater to crater, advancing
against the remaining Germans who
return SMALL ARMS FIRE.

MILLER
Crouch-runs and dives into a crater
with Sarge.

MILLER
Put on your traveling shoes, Sarge,
we're heading out.

SARGE
Caen?

MILLER
I wish. You and I are taking a squad
up to Ramelle on a public relations
mission.

SARGE
You? Leading a squad?

MILLER
Some private up there lost three
brothers, got a ticket home.

SARGE
What about the company?

MILLER
Simpson.

SARGE
Simpson? Jesus Christ on a fucking
pogo stick!

MILLER
I want Reiben on B.A.R; Jackson with
his sniper rifle; Beasley, demolition.

SARGE
Beasley's dead.

MILLER
Okay, Wade. Translators?

SARGE
Fresh out.

MILLER
What about Talbot?

SARGE
Twenty minutes ago. Miller Damn,
I'll go see if I can find another
one. You get Reiben, Jackson and
Wade, meet me at transport.

SARGE
Yes, sir.

They wait for a lull in the firing, then scramble out of the
crater and crouch-run in opposite directions.

EXT. TRANSPORT H.Q. - NINETEENTH INFANTRY - DAY

Just in from the beaches. DISTANT ARTILLERY AND EXPLOSIONS.
Nothing close. Dust. Confusion. Vehicles of every sort
moving out. Tanks, half-tracks, troop trucks. In the middle
of the mess, a cigar-chewing SUPPLY SERGEANT works at a make-
shift desk made out of crate. He yells at a PRIVATE.

SUPPLY SERGEANT
GET THOSE GODDAMNED HALF-TRACKS OUT
OF THERE!

Private They're blocked in!

SERGEANT
THEN UNBLOCK 'EM!

SARGE< REIBEN, JACKSON AND WADE

Wait nearby. Reiben is beside himself, pacing, muttering.
The others are relaxed.

MILLER
Strides through the chaos, avoiding
the passing vehicles. He sees his
men and walks toward them. Reiben
hurries up to Miller, pleading.

REIBEN
Please, sir, you can't take me to
Ramelle, I gotta go to Caen, sir,
please, I told you, they make Caen
lingerie there, it's beautiful, it's
the best there is, it's...oh, please,
sir...

MILLER
Sorry, I need a B.A.R. man, you're
the best.

REIBEN
(desperate)
No, I'm not, Kaback is, honest. Or
what about Faulkner? Or that little
guy with the glasses?

MILLER
Trust me, you're the best.

REIBEN
(whimpering)
But, sir...

Miller jerks his head for his men to follow and he strides
off toward the Supply Sergeant's table. Sarge falls in next
to Miller.

SARGE
You get a translator, Captain?

MILLER
I've got a line on one.

TRANSPORT OPERATIONS TABLE
Chaos. Vehicles THUNDERING by. The
Supply Sergeant juggles runners and
paperwork. Miller steps up to him.

MILLER
Sergeant, I need a truck.

SUPPLY SERGEANT
Sorry, sir, fresh out of trucks, how
'bout a '38 Ford Roadster, hard-top,
red with black interior.

MILLER
White-walls?

SUPPLY SERGEANT
No white-walls, sir, there's a war
on.
(to the Private)
NOT THERE, YOU GODDAMNED IDIOT, OVER
THERE!
(to Miller)
I can't help you, sir.

MILLER
A half-track, anything.

SUPPLY SERGEANT
Sorry, sir. Division is using
everything on wheels to get up to
Caen.
(notices Miller's
shoulder patch)
How come you guys aren't going?

Miller ignores the question. He spies a jeep.

MILLER
How about that jeep?

SUPPLY SERGEANT
That's General Gavin's. His lap dog
told me if anyone breathes on it,
I'll get busted and if anyone so
much as touches it with their little
finger, I'll get court marshaled.
If you were to take it, they'd shoot
me.

JACKSON
Cap'n, does that mean we got to walk
all the way up to Ramelle?

SUPPLY SERGEANT
What's at Ramelle beside a lot of
Germans.

MILLER
A paratrooper named Ryan. He's going
home, if he's alive.

SUPPLY SERGEANT
Senator's son?

MILLER
No, three brothers of his were killed
in action. Command wants him out of
there.

The Supply Sergeant grunts as if punched in the belly.

SUPPLY SERGEANT
Damn...I got a couple brothers...

Miller looks at him, noting his reaction coldly. The Supply
Sergeant shifts his eyes toward General Gavin's jeep.

EXT. ROAD LEADING FROM TRANSPORT - DAY

Miller and his men drive off, fast, in General Gavin's jeep.
Sarge is at the wheel, weaving and bouncing through the bedlam
of men and vehicles. Miller rides shotgun. Reiben, Jackson
and Wade are crammed in the back.

The SUPPLY SERGEANT Watches them go. Behind him, GENERAL
GAVIN, pure piss and vinegar, strides up, trailed by his
huge staff. He looks around for his jeep, comes up empty.

GENERAL GAVIN
SERGEANT, WHERE THE HELL IS MY
GODDAMNED JEEP!?

The Supply Sergeant puffs his cigar with a smile and turns
to take his lumps.

EXT. ROAD - DAY

Miller and his men weave through the chaos of the American
staging area.

MILLER
We've got to make one stop.

Miller points the way for Sarge.

EXT. INTELLIGENCE TENT - DAY

Miller and his men skid to a stop in front of a perfectly
white, taut-lined tent. A steady stream of ROARING vehicles
and CHATTERING men move out around them. DISTANT GUNS RUMBLE.
SPORADIC MEDIUM-DISTANCE EXPLOSIONS BOOM. Miller hops out.

MILLER
Wait here.

He strides into the tent.

INT. INTELLIGENCE TENT - DAY

Three bookish corporals hover over map tables like studious
nerds the day before finals. They're breaking down and
gridding field maps and covering them in plasticine. Tedious,
detailed work.

One of them is TIM UPHAM, a thin, twenty-four year old,
patrician with gentle, thoughtful eyes behind his thick
glasses. He nervously jumps at the sound of a VERY DISTANT
EXPLOSION, then he forces himself to concentrate on his work.
Miller strides in. Miller I'm looking for Corporal Upham.

Upham raises his eyes from his map and re-focuses.

Upham Sir, I'm Upham.

MILLER
I understand you speak French and
German.

Upham Yes, sir.

MILLER
Do you have an accent?

Upham A slight one in French. My German is clean. It has a
touch of the Bavarian.

MILLER
Good, you've been re-assigned to me,
we're going to Ramelle.

Upham knows enough geography to know what that means.

Upham Uh, sir, there are Germans up at Ramelle.

MILLER
That's my understanding.

Upham Lots of them.

MILLER
Do you have a problem with that,
Corporal?

Upham Sir, I've never been in combat. I make maps. I
translate.

MILLER
I need a translator, all mine have
been killed.

Upham But, sir, I haven't held a gun since basic training.

MILLER
It'll come back to you. Get your
gear.

Upham hesitates.

Upham Sir, may I bring my typewriter?

Miller looks at him closely, not sure if he's joking.

Upham I'm writing a book and I...

Miller's expression gives him his answer.

Upham Uh, how about a pencil?

MILLER
A small one.

Miller shoos him off.

MILLER
Go, go...

Upham scurries away. Miller sighs.

EXT. ROAD LEADING FROM INTELLIGENCE TENT - DAY

Miller and his men peel out, now with Upham crammed with the
others in the back of the jeep. As they drive off, the CAMERA
CRANES UP to reveal the vast tableau of the biggest invasion
in military history.

The scope of the operation is stunning. The beach is covered
with mountains of supplies. A steady stream of vehicles
winds up the dunes. Hundreds of barrage balloons, anchored
by heavy steel cables, hover over the entire scene. Off-
shore, a massive Mulberry port is under construction, workers
swarming over it like ants. Beyond that, thousands of ships
and boats of every type and description. The smoke of
hundreds of fires rises on the horizon. EXPLOSIONS, some
distant, some close, BOOM and RUMBLE.

It's an awesome, breathtaking sight. Miller and his tiny
band of men, weave their way through the middle of it,
speeding away from the beach, heading inland, leaving the
bulk of the American Army behind. Ext. french road - day
Miller and his men drive fast passing American vehicles and
infantrymen moving forward. The sides of the road are
littered with the debris of burning German vehicles, abandoned
equipment, bodies.

Sarge drives. Miller reads a map. Upham, cradling a pristine
M-1 rifle, is all eyes and ears. Jackson and Wade calmly
take in the view. Reiben checks out the close quarters in
the back of the jeep.

REIBEN
Captain, can I ask you a question?

MILLER
Sure, Reiben.

REIBEN
Where are you planning on putting
Private Ryan, sir?

Miller doesn't raise his eyes from the map.

REIBEN
(continuing)
It's just that it's kind of crowded
back here, I was wondering if you're
expecting to have more room on the
way back?

Miller points out a turn to Sarge.

MILLER
Left.

Sarge makes the turn. Miller folds up the map and pockets
it.

MILLER
Now we've got a straight shot, due
north, to Ramelle, twenty-six miles,
two villages between here and there,
St. Mere, then Bernay. We'll take
the jeep as far as we can, then go
on on foot.

SARGE
We in radio contact with anybody up
there?

MILLER
Somebody put the wrong crystals in
every one of the Hundred-and-First's
radios the night before the drop,
not one of them works. We're going
in blind.

REIBEN
I usually like surprises.

SARGE
What are we likely to run into?

MILLER
A fucking mess, two maybe three Kraut
divisions, no fronts, no lines, the
drops were completely fouled up,
we've got little pockets of
paratroopers all over the place,
trying to hang on. Command says we
hold St. Mere, but north of that,
it's all Krauts. Even if Ryan's
where he's supposed to be, he's more
than likely dead.

SARGE
Hell of a mission.

MILLER
Yep, hell of a mission.

IN THE BACK OF THE JEEP

Upham avidly takes in everything. He notices Reiben staring
at him, grows nervous under his look and offers a hopeful
smile.

Upham Hi. So, uh, you're all Rangers?

Reiben, Jackson and Wade look at Upham as if he were an
insect.

Upham I'm Upham.

(pointing at his corporal's stripes)

Ignore these, please, I know all that breaks down in combat.
Their jaws drop.

REIBEN
(to Wade)
You want to shoot him, or should I?

Wade It's not my turn.

REIBEN
(politely)
Jackson?

JACKSON
Hell, no, last time I shot a corporal,
Cap'n Miller near bit my head off.

Upham reacts to the metion of Miller's name.

Upham Miller?

MILLER
I don't want anybody to shoot him,
that's an order. He speaks French
and his German has a touch of the
Bavarian.

Upham Sir, are you Captain John Miller?

Miller sighs, he knows what's coming.

UPHAM
(continuing)
...who won the Congressional Medal
of Hon...?

Upham's words are frozen in his throat by the warning glances
of Miller's men. Miller himself remains relaxed but stone-
faced.

No one speaks for a few seconds, then the moment passes as
if it had never happened.

REIBEN
Captain, I gotta tell you, the irony
of this mission is fucking killing
me.

ادامه فیلمنامه به زودی در سایت قرار می گیرد.