FIRST BLOOD II: THE MISSION by James Cameron December 22, 1983 FADE IN: TITLE SEQUENCE EXT. V.A. HOSPITAL - DAY A drab GREEN SEDAN with U.S. ARMY printed on the door stops at the steps of a fortress-like colonial-style building. Iron bars cover the windows. The lawn sprinklers snap mindlessly to themselves. A CRT-style printout appears at the bottom of FRAME: D-MINUS 117 HRS FAYETTEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA ANGLE ON SEDAN as the doors open and TWO POWERFUL MPs, one of whom was driving, emerge. The other opens the rear door for COLONEL SAMUEL TRAUTMAN who stands, eyeing the imposing facade of the hospital. Trautman is in his early fifties and wears the mantle of command sternly but without arrogance. He takes the stairs with purposeful strides, the MPs falling in behind him. HOLD ON THE SIGN above the main door as they go inside: VETERANS ADMINISTRATION HOSPITAL INT. HOSPITAL A gray metal door bearing the sign "NEUROPSYCHIATRIC WING" bangs open and a massive ORDERLY in white passes through. He is followed by the two MPs, Trautman, and a SHORT DOCTOR who hustles to keep up with the others. LOW ANGLE DOLLY PRECEDING the entourage as they stride forward. The MPs are grim-faced and walk in step. Trautman and a doctor SINGLETERRY silently walk through the corridor. They pass the open day-room where somnambulistic patients sit like statuary watching "The Young and the Restless" or watching the wallpaper fade. Bleak light from an overcast day filters through the barred window. The vets seem older than their years and although some show the physical scars of combat, there is no doubt that the greatest trauma for these men is behind the eyes. As they pass the open doors of the rooms of the "chronic ward", haunted eyes turn toward them. As they approach the nurse's station for the "chronic ward" the orderly nods. The HEAD NURSE turns to her console. INSERT - AS NURSE'S HAND hits a button on the console. TIGHT ON SECURITY DOOR as a solenoid-operated bolt snaps back with a loud BUZZ CLACK. The orderly's good hand shoves the door open. INT. "VIOLENT" WARD The entourage enters a long narrow corridor lined with locked doors. POV DOLLYING ALONG CORRIDOR Occasionally faces appear at the safety-glass windows set in the doors. Men whose souls have fled. Their eyes track us as we move past. An emaciated MAN in an untied hospital smock and bare feet stands as if lost in the center of the corridor. REVERSE ON GROUP DOLLYING as they detour around the man, whose clawlike hand catches at Trautman's tunic. A hoarse, demented SHOUTING issues from one of the doors, a desperate WAILING from another. INT. STAIRWELL CLOSE ON DOOR LATCH as keys RATTLE and the door opens. WIDER as the group enters a dark service stairwell. The single fluorescent light flickers stroboscopically, a pulsing twilight. LEWIS Shit. Maintenance never gets down here. They descend two flights to a door of steel bars on a sliding track. The MPs flank Lewis as he unlocks the door. SINGLETERRY So what am I supposed to do? Can't transfer him to Leavenworth. He's civilian. So I put him in an isolation cell that hasn't been used since the Spanish Inquisition. TIGHT ON BARRED DOOR rolling aside on metal tracks. CLANG. INT. CORRIDOR This area of the hospital's basement has been used for little but storage in recent years. Stacks of obsolete equipment gathers dust, leaving only a narrow walkspace. The steel doors of the isolation cells yawn open, except for the last one. TRAUTMAN Maybe you should have tried cutting him some slack. Lewis opens a cabinet near the single locked cell and removes a SMALL RIFLE. He feeds a SYRINGE-LIKE SHELL into the single-shot bolt action. TRAUTMAN (continuing) What's that? SINGLETERRY Tranquilizer syrette gun. Borrowed it from the Animal Control Department. Trautman pushes the barrel aside with a contemptuous snort and steps up to the cell door. TRAUTMAN Gimme a break. (nods toward door) Open it. The two MPs flank the door. One pulls on the latching lever. Bolts slide. The door swings open, revealing blackness. LEWIS (muttering) Thinks he's the fucking Prince of Darkness. One MP tries the switch beside the cell, flicking it several times. Nothing. He glances apprehensively at the other MP and they step into the dark cell. INT. CELL TIGHT ON A HAND, dimly outlined, as it twists a light bulb a half-turn in its socket. In the sudden light the MPs face an imposing figure. JOHN RAMBO, wearing only a pair of filthy jeans, stands "ready" before them. The single light bulb on the low ceiling sends glistening highlights over his taught body. A nasty piece of machinery. Long, matted hair coils onto his shoulders, and an unkempt beard heightens the cheekbones beneath eyes which are deep, reptilian. Intense. His position, though not overtly threatening, suggests a willingness to strike without warning which gives the M.P.'s pause. Trautman steps forward between the MPs. TRAUTMAN At ease, Rambo. MED. ON RAMBO rising from his slight crouch to stand composed, balanced... parade rest. TRAUTMAN (continuing to MPs) Wait outside. He closes the door until it latches. TRAUTMAN Hello, John. RAMBO Colonel. TRAUTMAN Mind if I sit down? Rambo motions to the narrow bunk, dropping into an Oriental squat himself as the Colonel sits. Trautman's manner with Rambo is familiar, somehow paternal. A bit of an ironic grin twitches briefly. TRAUTMAN (continuing) I hear you're not enjoying it here. RAMBO I could take it or leave it. Trautman sighs and leans back. TRAUTMAN Seems like I'm always pulling you out of some goddamn toilet or other, doesn't it? RAMBO Am I out of here? TRAUTMAN That depends on you. (pause) Christ, look at you. I give you this easy duty until I can get you an assignment... all you have to do is eat ice cream and watch soap operas... and you have to make it Rambo's last stand. RAMBO There were treating me like a headcase. TRAUTMAN Hard to believe. You shoot up one little town in Oregon with a fifty caliber machine gun... one little dogpatch town... and everybody figures your wrapper's broken. No sense of humor. (pause) What did you expect? An engraved plague from the chamber of commerce? Rambo looks at his hands. When he finally speaks his voice seems distant, disembodied. RAMBO In 'Nam I flew gunships. Million dollar equipment. Back here nobody trusts me to park cars. I keep thinking it's going to be okay... but I've been out six years and it's not okay. Sometimes I feel like I'm coming right out of my skin. The colonel nods slowly. He notices a battered shoebox on the floor beside the bed. The cell is absolutely devoid of personal articles otherwise. TRAUTMAN This your stuff? RAMBO That's it. My life. TIGHT ON SHOEBOX as Trautman flips through a number of worn snapshots of the men in Rambo's special forces unit. They are horsing around, in and out of uniform. A younger, cleanshaven Rambo is among them. He is grinning broadly in one shot. It seems uncharacteristic of the hardened man we see now. TRAUTMAN Hardcore outfit. The best I ever trained. RAMBO (coldly) Those men are all dead. TRAUTMAN (glancing up) You're not. He fishes something from among the pathetic debris of Rambo's life. TRAUTMAN (continuing) Congressional Medal of Honor. RAMBO (bitterly) Yeah. Big time. TRAUTMAN Plus, what else? Two Silver Stars, four Bronze Stars, two Soldier's Medals, four Vietnamese Crosses of Gallantry and... uh, a handful of Purple Hearts. RAMBO Five. I never wanted that stuff. TRAUTMAN What did you want? RAMBO (haltingly) I just wanted... I don't know... after all that... I just wanted one person, one person, to come up to me and say "you did good, John." And mean it. That's all. (pause) After all that. TRAUTMAN You just picked that wrong war to be a hero in. The colonel studies Rambo a moment, then stands abruptly. TRAUTMAN (continuing) Let's take a walk. CUT TO: EXT. V.A. HOSPITAL - DAY Rambo and Trautman cross the manicured grounds, escorted by the two grim MPs. A number of wheelchair-bound vets enjoy the sunshine B.G. and a desultory game of volleyball is in progress. Still, the impression is of the detritus of war left scattered on a huge lawn like broken toys. As the two approach a conservatively dressed MAN waiting on a bench under a plane-tree, stands. TRAUTMAN Jason Kirkhill... John Rambo. Kirkhill extends his hand in greeting, but Rambo coolly half-turns to reveal his hands, locked in WRIST-CUFFS separated by a steel bar so that they can hang comfortably at his sides. Kirkhill grins affably. Drops his hand. KIRKHILL Good to meet you, Rambo. How are you? Rambo scans Kirkhill's face, noting the cold scrutiny all but concealed in the smile lines. RAMBO (coldly) You a spook? Kirkhill drops the smile. KIRKHILL That's right. CIA Special Operations Division. Rambo turns to Trautman. RAMBO I don't work with spooks. Not after that op in Cambodia. KIRKHILL I'm authorized to get you out of here. I thought that's what you wanted. RAMBO (considering) What's the job? KIRKHILL Classic special forces op... hit fast... in and out. Two men. Two days. RAMBO Why me? KIRKHILL (shrugs non- committally) We like you. (pause) At least the computer at Langley likes you. Pulled your file because of various factors. Service record. Area familiarity. RAMBO Where? KIRKHILL Not yet. RAMBO I'm not jumping blind. Kirkhill's eyes get hard. KIRKHILL It's yes or no. In or out... now. If it's "out," we will not have had this conversation. If you come in, you will not be working for us. No knowledge. No comment. Do you understand? Rambo seems about to turn away. TRAUTMAN (to Kirkhill) Tell him. I'll take responsibility. Kirkhill looks pained, like he has gas. KIRKHILL North Vietnam. What they call the Democratic Republic of Vietnam now. TIGHT ON RAMBO as he takes that in. His eyes seem to see all the way there already. Emotions go through him. Exhilaration mixing with terror of the demon he can't turn away from. He nods slowly. TRAUTMAN We left some people behind there, John... POWs. RAMBO This just occurred to somebody, now? KIRKHILL We don't leave our men, Rambo. Rambo and Trautman lock eyes. Something flows there... Trautman knows his soul. RAMBO You got it. I'm in. He whips one hand around from his side, tossing the manacle bar at a surprised Kirkhill's feet. The wrist-cuffs are still closed. CUT TO: INT. RAMBO'S CELL Rambo stands alone in his cell, the door open behind him. He hefts the shoebox filled with his worldly possessions, the scraps of memory, dead friends, and symbols of valor and violent death. He upends the box, spilling everything into the open toilet. Flushes it. And walks out. CUT TO: EXT. FORT BRAGG - DUSK D-MINUS 84 HRS FORT BRAGG, NORTH CAROLINA TIGHT ON BOOTED FEET clomping in rhythmic lockstep as a platoon of recruits marches past in close order drill. The drill sergeant bellows cadence. SERGEANT (O.S.) Three-fo-your-lef, lef-right-lef... Other lef shithead! Square those pieces away... square 'em away girls! I said... WIDER as the platoon marches past, EXITING FRAME to reveal a sign mounted beside a security checkpoint in a formidable chain-link fence. AIRBORNE SPECIAL FORCES GROUP OPERATIONS CENTER INT. CORRIDOR Kirkhill, accompanied by his basilisk-eyed AIDE, strides past Rambo's two MPs flanking the door, into a small room. INT. BRIEFING ROOM The room is an austere cubicle with the army's typically drab furniture in "early functional." The cold eye of a surveillance camera stares down at a single table with a seated figure... Rambo, looking like he may have been there for centuries. The aide hands Rambo a sealed folder and extends a clipboard and pen for him to sign off. KIRKHILL This is your mission packet... AIDE (quietly overlapping) Sign here, please. And here. KIRKHILL Memorize it here. It doesn't leave this room. Rambo unseals the folder, removing a sheaf of photocopied documents, as Kirkhill perches on the table next to him. KIRKHILL (continuing) The twenty-four hundred American servicemen missing in action in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia are officially listed "Presumed Killed." Certainly most of them are. Rambo is leafing through the contents of his PACKET. He skips a stack of reports and fishes out several grainy 8 X 10 prints. KIRKHILL (continuing) But reports keep filtering in. Sightings by refugees. Nothing verified. Finally, we feel we've got enough to proceed on. Rambo studies the prints. They seem to be high altitude surveillance photos of a small COMPOUND OF BUILDINGS, surrounded by forests. KIRKHILL (continuing) Memo E-7 on top will cover the details. An abandoned Vietnamese Army base in the North-central highlands may have a compound used as an internment camp. As you can see the intelligence is soft. These LANDSAT photos show huts... barracks. It could be anything. RAMBO (flat) What's the plan? KIRKHILL This operation is in two phases. Recon and rescue. You are phase one. Your two-man team will probe the site, confirm the presence of American POWs, if any, make photographic and tactical observations, then proceed to the extraction point without engaging the enemy. RAMBO We don't try to pull out any of our guys if we find them? KIRKHILL Negative. Absolutely not. The phase two assault team will get them out. RAMBO (not pleased) We just take pictures? KIRKHILL Don't look so disappointed. It should be hairy enough... even for you. CUT TO: INT. DON MUANG AIRPORT - LATE AFTERNOON Kirkhill's VOICE continues over the image of: The crowded airport terminal, as Rambo, carrying a cheap flight bag, weaves among jostling Orientals. KIRKHILL (V.O.) Your flight to Bangkok is at 06:30. Commercial carrier. Low profile. Rendezvous with Colonel Trautman at the Indra. Room 618. You'll meet your number two man, Lieutenant Brewer. He doesn't get a packet... you brief him verbally. After a flurry of passport stamping Rambo clears customs and makes his way to the main exit. EXT. TAXI STAND - STREET - LATE AFTERNOON Rambo emerges into the stifling humid heat of Bangkok in May and stands, scanning for a cab. D-MINUS 51 HRS BANGKOK, THAILAND Bangkok is a city of fervid motion and the street is chaotic with traffic. Stepping through throngs of Asians and tourists Rambo reaches for the door of a beat-to-hell Citroen taxi hunkered low at the curb like some metal lungfish. He spins as a hand lightly touches his shoulder. MAN Sorry old buddy, I saw it first. An American in his late twenties, the man speaks with one of those hard-to-dislike Southern accents. Probably North Carolina. He is lanky but muscular, with boyish good looks and hair cut so short it barely qualifies as stubble. Though dressed in a loud Hawaiian shirt and Madras slacks, it is painfully obvious the man is military. His arm is draped around a gorgeous but overly made-up Thai girl. MAN (affable) I kinda got an important date. Rambo's eyes narrow as he turns wordlessly and climbs into the taxi. The American grins cockily and tosses his bag to Rambo. MAN No problem. We'll share it. Get your tail in there, sweet thing. INT./ EXT. TAXI The American and the girl pile into the broad front seat, to the chagrin of the lizard-faced Thai driver. MAN (to driver) Indra Hotel. And don't take the scenic route, Smiley... I know my way around this burg. Comprende? Rambo speaks quietly to the driver in Thai. RAMBO (Thai/subtitled) Same place for me. The girl giggles as the American slips his hand up from her stockinged knee, between her thighs. MAN Ah, you fair flower of the Orient. She giggles, like a chirping bird. MAN (continuing to Rambo) She thinks everything I say is funny. Don't you, Angel-pie? Man, Thai women are the best. Got the kinda legs I like... feet at one end and pussy at the other. He turns to Rambo, who hasn't commented or taken any observable notice of him. MAN (continuing) You don't say a helluva lot, do you, pal? You speak English? RAMBO (coldly) Sometimes. The girl coos to the American in pidgin English. THAI GIRL You got money? I stay you whole week. MAN Sweet thing, there's nothin' I'd like more than to wugga-wugga with you for a week, but tonight's all we got. He lowers his voice conspiratorially, leaning close to her. MAN (continuing) See, I'm on this secret mission, and tomorrow mornin' I head out to... Rambo grabs the man brutally by his collar. RAMBO That's enough, Brewer. The American freezes at the sound of his name. Turns slowly. BREWER (realizing) You're Rambo? (pause) Ke-rist! Rambo speaks sharply to the girl in Thai. RAMBO (Thai/subtitled) Get out. Now! The driver, confused, skids to a stop and the girl gets out into the din of a cluttered shop district. A flash of slit skirt and then only fading curses behind them as the taxi moves on. BREWER (brightening) Jeez, I never would have guessed. You undercover, Lieutenant? Great disguise. CUT TO: INT. INDRA HOTEL ROOM - DUSK Trautman, sipping a gin tonic at the window, spins around as the door flies open. Brewer storms in, followed a few paces back by Rambo, who closes the door. BREWER (to Trautman) He says he's team leader on this show. TRAUTMAN That's correct. BREWER (controlling his fury) Begging the Colonel's pardon but I understood I was up to lead my next mission. TRAUTMAN Not this one. You're on communications and camera. Same image-intensified gear you used in El Salvador last year. RAMBO This clown almost blew mission security on the street. I'm not jumping with him. BREWER (spinning) Clown? Now back up there, buddy... TRAUTMAN (sharply) Listen up. You two are married as of now. Get used to it. RAMBO (to Trautman) I say we tape him to a chair. CUT TO: EXT. OPERATIONS BASE CAMP - DAY D-MINUS 36 HRS BAN BUNG KHLA, THAILAND A small airstrip transects a meadow bounded by rain- forested slopes. Wreathed in low clouds the mountains march into the distance in increasingly subtler shades of gray like a Japanese watercolor. Near a cluster of small buildings the scene is one of manic but efficient activity as the high tech base camp is assembled. An enormous SIKORSKY CH-54 "SKY CRANE" lowers a Winnebago- sized conex container as another roars by. An Army Corps of Engineers work crew, stripped to the waist, scurries through the rotor wash. The blasting air raises curtains of muddy spray and drowns out the yelled commands of the supervisors. A Vietnam era HUEY UH-1D HELICOPTER nimbly touches down nearby. Rambo, in the pilot's seat, slips off his HEADSET and climbs down. Brewer and Trautman, in fatigues, jump out and join him as Kirkhill approaches. DOLLYING WITH THEM as they emerge from the rotor noise and Kirkhill motions them toward the MOBILE TACTICAL OPERATIONS CENTER (MTOC). KIRKHILL I didn't know you were a stick man, Rambo. RAMBO I was crossed-trained in gunships. TRAUTMAN (to Kirkhill) How long have you been setting up? KIRKHILL About 22 hours on site. TRAUTMAN Nice work. They pass a tent-like CAMOUFLAGE CANOPY under which an ALL-BLACK SIKORSKY UH-60 "BLACKHAWK" HELICOPTER squats ominously. It has no markings or insignia. There is another canopy behind it, the contents of which are screened from view. Nearby is a cluster of CONEX AIRLIFT CONTAINERS, two of which are joined together to form a building like a double-wide mobile home. Another unit contains a roaring generator, a fourth is topped by TRACKING GEAR. Cables snake through the mud, connecting the units. Kirkhill notices THREE WORK PARTY "GRUNTS" kibitzing nearby, taking pictures of each other with a pocket Instamatic. He snatches the camera from a surprised young corporal. KIRKHILL This is a covert operation, numbnuts. He opens the camera and drops the film in the mud. The corporal reaches petulantly for the camera. Kirkhill drops it casually in the mud as well. KIRKHILL (to Trautman entourage) Check out the command hut. He opens the door to the large conex unit and follows the others inside. INT. MTOC The "hut" turns out to be a humming electronic womb. In the subdued light banks of VIDEO MONITORS glow, and the status lights of UPRIGHT COMPUTER UNITS line one wall. Workstations for TRACKING, COMMUNICATIONS, AND LONG-RANGE COORDINATION create a claustrophobic jumble of modular equipment racks. BREWER Mission control! They wipe their muddy feet and enter the air-conditioned command center. Rambo gazes around at the jumble of gear. He runs his hand over one console, causing a seated technician to glare at him. RAMBO All this is for us? KIRKHILL That's right. BREWER (to Rambo) They call us the field-unit meat- puppets. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. CAMOUFLAGE CANOPY - DAY Rambo and Brewer walk in under an expanse of net camouflage on poles. Sunlight streams through the foliage cover, creating bright mottles on a black object F.G. CAMERA PULLS BACK and BOOMS UP as Rambo moves forward to reveal the object as an ALL-BLACK JET. It is a modified Gulfstream "Peregrine," a small sleek single-engine executive model, with all insignia and I.D. numbers removed. MED. ON RAMBO AND BREWER as they consider the aircraft. BREWER Ever do this from a jet? RAMBO No. VOICE (O.S.) It's easy... They turn to see a lanky long-haired man in a leather flying jacket duck under the fuselage from the far side and approach them. MAN (grinning) Just have to jump fast. Two other air crewmen jump down from the open rear passenger door of the plane. RAMBO You the pilot? MAN (extending hand) Yeah. Doyle. (he gestures to the two in the door) Lifer and Fuhrman. Doyle is a product of the sixties' school of ultra-cool, his brain a little torched by too many methed-out night- missions. Fuhrman, the co-pilot, grins too much and Lifer's eyes are just plain scary. RAMBO You boys Air Force? DOYLE Marines. 'Ex' though. We're private contractors now. LIFER You ever do a tour 'in-country'? RAMBO Two. 'Eye-corps' mostly. DOYLE (to Brewer) How about you? BREWER (defensive) Vietnam was a little before my time. So was Korea, know what I mean? Rambo and Doyle glance at each other... solidarity before new-meat bozos. EXT. CAMOUFLAGE CANOPY DETAIL ON THE GROUND as the head of a torque-wrench finishes a rough map of local Southeast Asia, scratched hastily in the dirt. DOYLE (O.S.) Thailand. The Mekong. Laos. 'Nam. With each word he plops the torque-wrench onto the appropriate place. ON DOYLE Gesturing as he continues. DOYLE A straight dash across the Laotian panhandle, through the Annamese Mountains... some good dicey bits there... and on to the drop zone. Eighteen minutes each way in communist airspace. RAMBO We go low to stay off radar? DOYLE In the rhubarb, babe. FUHRMAN (grinning) Mowin' the lawn. LIFER Dig it. INT. MOTC - COMMAND HUT Trautman, looking a bit uncomfortable in Kirkhill's electronic lair, paces behind the seated Special Operations Officer. TRAUTMAN How long before you're fully on line? KIRKHILL Couple hours. Let me buy you a coffee. He turns to a vending machine nestled improbably between two racks of electronics. TRAUTMAN You think they'll find any? KIRKHILL (feeding in change) POWs? I don't know. But either way it'll get that subcommittee off our necks. Cream? TRAUTMAN Black. No sugar. KIRKHILL The League of Families leans on Congress. Then they lean on us. Like we don't have enough to worry about in a dozen dirtwater countries. Damnit! He pounds the machine, which refuses to vend. Trautman watches the Special Operations Officer banging ineffectually on the COIN RETURN, amid a million dollars worth of equipment. EXT. FLIGHT TENT A tent next to the camouflage canopy serves as a flight shack for Doyle and his ground crew. Crates serve as tables and stools, and 50-gallon fuel drums are the back wall. Doyle, with Rambo and Brewer, continues the game plan. DOYLE A couple klicks from insertion we go vertical to ten thousand and you punch out. Navigate in free fall like a regular HALO jump. You'll have a good moon. LIFER (to himself) I got your moon right here... BREWER No problem. Duck soup. Doyle notices that Brewer has casually lit up a cigarette. DOYLE Hey, man... we got fuel on the deck. I don't like flying without a plane. Brewer glances at the pool of jet fuel around the pumping area. Rambo plucks the cigarette from Brewer's lips. RAMBO No smoking on this mission. It's not healthy. He looks Brewer in the eye and flicks the lit butt into the pool of gas. Which puts it out. BREWER Son of a bitch! Rambo saunters away. DOYLE (appreciatively) Nice trick. Works nine times out of ten. EXT. BASE CAMP - RUNWAY - DUSK The steel planking of the pre-fabricated runway rings under their feet as Rambo and Brewer run laps. Brewer, between breaths, is chanting a monologue as they draw near. RAMBO Again. BREWER Insertion. Call in to base camp by TRANSAT. Proceed to point Tango November for rendezvous with our ground contact. Indigenous agent. Co Phuong Bao. (in same tone) We've been over this three times. RAMBO You stopped. Brewer rolls his eyes. BREWER Co Phuong Bao. The guide takes us twelve klicks upriver to target at Ban... at Ban... Bo Peep. Shit! RAMBO (flatly) Start over. EXT. BASE CAMP - NIGHT Face-down in the dirt near the flight-line, Rambo and Brewer are banging off pushups under the floodlight. BREWER (mechanically) ... to target at Ban Kia Na. We probe the site... RAMBO (to himself overlapping) Ninety. BREWER ... then proceed downriver to extraction at point Echo Delta. Doyle takes us out by helicopter, we all live happily ever after and that's the last time, Rambo! I swear to Christ. RAMBO One hundred. They both collapse, face-down, breathing heavily. Brewer rises first. BREWER Gettin' old, huh? RAMBO Yeah. (pause) Second set. Let's go. When Rambo rises it is in pushup position, only this time using one arm. He starts. One, two, three... INT./ EXT. EQUIPMENT TENT - DAY D-MINUS 11 HRS Brewer lifts an OLIVE-DRAB BOX onto the table inside the open-tent. It looks like a large field radio with a complex console set in the top. BREWER Transponder-satellite relay. TRANSAT. He taps a small collapsible DISH ANTENNA on a tripod connected to the box by a curly-cord. BREWER (continuing) The signal's coded into infrared pulses, picked up by the spy satellite, bounced to the ground station in Okinawa and relayed to the hut... He points to the MTOC nearby. BREWER (continuing) No radio source. Nothing for the bad guys to triangulate on. RAMBO Show me how it operates. BREWER That's what I'm here for. RAMBO Show me in case you get zapped as soon as we land. BREWER (frustrated) We're leaving tonight, not in a week. He sees Rambo's expression. BREWER Alright. Alright. INT. RAMBO'S TENT - DUSK Rambo sits on his cot hunched over some minute work. DETAIL With surgical precision he hones the trigger mechanism of a FLAT-BLACK CROSSBOW PISTOL. ANGLE Rambo raises the crossbow, cocked but empty. CLICK. It fires smoothly, to his satisfaction. INT. EQUIPMENT CONEX - NIGHT CLOSE ON SHIPPING CRATE as a crossbar pries the lid off. ANGLE ON BREWER as he raises a telescope-like piece of equipment. WIDER revealing Brewer surrounded by shipping crates. He sets the scope on a long empty table and attacks another crate, working under a harsh fluorescent lighting unit. SEVERAL CLOSE ANGLES - JUMP CUTS Brewer pulls electronic test gear out of bubble-pack and sets the units on the table. He hefts an automatic rifle and checks the action. Another electronic gadget joins the growing array on the table. Another, smaller automatic, a MAC-10 MACHINE PISTOL, is lifted out of packing. CLOSE as Brewer's hands thread a silencer onto the barrel of the Mac-10. INT. RAMBO'S TENT TIGHT ON RAMBO'S HAND, holding a special forces LILE- KNIFE. He runs a whet-stone along the blade, methodically. INT. EQUIPMENT CONEX Brewer is calibrating his STARLIGHT-SCOPE image- intensifier using a wave-form oscilloscope. Satisfied, he begins mounting it atop the assault rifle. INT. RAMBO'S TENT VERY TIGHT ON RAMBO, working in almost total darkness, streaking his face with two shades of green camouflage makeup. The effect is unearthly. INT. EQUIPMENT CONEX Brewer, wearing headphones, is running a calibration tone through the audio-processor of his TELESCOPIC MICROPHONE. He clamps it onto the assault rifle. INT. RAMBO'S TENT TIGHT ON RAMBO'S HANDS covered with green greasepaint. Using a candle he expertly darkens the blade of his Lile- knife. INT. EQUIPMENT CONEX Brewer is standing at the end of the long table which is now laid out like a banquet with an incredible assortment of gadgets, weapons, supplies, kits, canteens, rations, etc. Doyle lounges nearby watching the bugs dog-fighting around the fluorescent work light. RAMBO (O.S.) You jumping with all that? They turn to see Rambo watching them from just outside the pool of light. A spectral figure. Brewer glances at the array of stuff. BREWER Yeah. Why not? RAMBO You break your leg, I'll have to shoot you. He turns and vanishes in the dark. DOYLE I think he means it. BREWER Crazy fucker. DOYLE Well, son. You got that right. Anybody ever tell you about that guy? Brewer turns quizzically toward him. BREWER What about him? CUT TO: EXT. RUNWAY - NIGHT D-MINUS 28 MINUTES TIGHT ON TURBOJET INTAKE A black maw. The vanes begin to turn. The RISING WHINE becomes a STEADY ROAR. C.U. FUEL COUPLER as a ground CREWMAN disconnects hoses from the sleek, black fuselage. ON PEREGRINE - WIDER as the blue fire roars in the exhaust throat. The air convulses. WIDER - TRACKING A VAN moving beside the black ship, past the wing to the rear door. TIGHT ON VAN as it comes to a stop, the side door FILLING FRAME. Lifer ENTERS SHOT, reaches for the door latch. INT. VAN Total blackness, until light spills in from the opening door. Rambo sits, statue-like, hands on knees, wearing a BLACK BLINDFOLD. Adjusting his eyes for night vision. He's dressed for the mission: tiger stripe cammies, jump pack, chute pack, hands and face mottled with camouflage greasepaint. Ferocious looking. Demonic. Lifer leads him out. EXT. AIRFIELD DOLLYING BEFORE RAMBO, being led as if to execution. Blue and red TAXI LIGHTS send strobe-flashes of color across his face as he approaches the aircraft. INT. PEREGRINE Rambo is led to the seat next to Brewer's. Trautman helps Lifer strap him in. Plugs in his intercom jack. Brewer eyes him cautiously. He'd move away but all the other seats have been removed. DOYLE (V.O.) (filtered) Ready to roll, Lieutenant. Rambo adjusting his headset. RAMBO Let's do it. TRAUTMAN Keep it clean, Rambo, or I'll nail your hide to the shed. RAMBO You got it, sir. Trautman exits and the steps are rolled away. INT. COCKPIT Doyle is all business now. DOYLE Zen Rollercoaster, requesting clearance. VOICE (filtered) You are cleared, Zen Rollercoaster. EXT. PEREGRINE The wheel jacks are pulled. The jet rolls forward. EXT. AIRSTRIP The aircraft hurtles down the runway, gathering speed. The nose picks up. It clears the end of the runway and then the treeline by a few feet. INT. PASSENGER COMPARTMENT The interior is lit only by a single red light above the door. Brewer watches the forest below through the open doorway. The door itself has been removed. The ROAR OF THE AIRSTREAM is ferocious. EXT. PEREGRINE A sleek silhouette above the moonlit forest, the jet flashes across the rolling terrain just above the treetops. MOVING WITH THE AIRCRAFT as it dips and rises with the land's contour. The rain forest below is a rushing blur. This is known as some serious flying. INT. COCKPIT Doyle is hunched forward, nose inches from the canopy. Eyes wide. Drinking in the jungle. All the lights in the cockpit are turned off. Fuhrman uses a TAPED-OVER PENLIGHT to read the instruments. Doyle is beyond instruments. FUHRMAN Switching communications to burst mode. INT. MTOC Kirkhill and Trautman are hunched at the main console. TECHNICIAN AWACS Two-Five has acquired. They are holding timeline. Trautman watches the glowing dot representing the drop-jet crawling almost imperceptibly across a computer-generated map of Central Laos. EXT. PEREGRINE The sleek jet races toward the towering Annamese range ahead. INT. COCKPIT Fuhrman is grinning. That's bad. DOYLE (into mike) Here comes the sexy part. INT. PASSENGER COMPARTMENT Rambo, sitting impassively, removes his blindfold. The plane begins to pitch and plummet wildly. Brewer lets out a rebel yell. BREWER Whoo-ya! I love it! EXT. PEREGRINE MOVING WITH IT as it slices through a twisting canyon like a knife. It slithers between the mountainous flanks. INT. PASSENGER COMPARTMENT Rambo is methodically checking his pack and harness, seemingly oblivious to the insanity outside. DOYLE (V.O.) (filtered) We just entered Viet airspace, gentlemen. Eight klicks to insertion. RAMBO (to Brewer via headset) Stay tight on me, Brewer. I don't want to have to go looking for you. BREWER Check. INT. MTOC A TECHNICIAN turns from the secondary console. TECHNICIAN AWACS Niner-One via Subic Bay reports them approaching insertion. Five-by-Five. EXT. PEREGRINE D-MINUS TWO MINUTES The mountains fall behind and the tiny jet hurtles down across the foothills, flying nap-of-the-earth. INT. PASSENGER COMPARTMENT Rambo slips his free-fall goggles into place. DOYLE (V.O.) (filtered) Stand by to climb. EXT. TRAIL - VIETNAM A VIETNAMESE FARMER trudges down the road with two heavy buckets on a pole-carry across his shoulders. A distant WHINING becomes an approaching ROAR. Like a thunderbolt the black jet flashes over the top of the hill just ahead, thirty feet off the deck. The farmer is tumbled by the blast of air. He looks up. The jet has gone into a ball-busting vertical climb and is instantly lost among the stars. FARMER (Viet/subtitled) Son of a bitch! INT. PASSENGER COMPARTMENT Doyle's voice is matter-of-fact despite the gees they are pulling. DOYLE Approaching ten thousand. Eleven seconds to insertion. Ten, nine... Slowing to two-thirty... The ready light changes from red to yellow. Rambo unbuckles from his seat. Rises. Brewer follows. Lifer steadies them at the door. DOYLE (continuing) ... three seconds. Two. One. Have a nice day. The ready-light turns GREEN. LIFER Go! Rambo takes a single, powerful running stride from the opposite wall and is out the door. Gone. Brewer is right behind him. EXT. PEREGRINE The jet dwindles and is gone in a moment above the tumbling figures. ON RAMBO stabilizing his fall. He switches on his pack strobe. RAMBO (shouting into mike) You read me, Brewer? BREWER (V.O.) (faint) Read you. RAMBO Home on my strobe. ON BREWER diving skillfully. He sees the distant flash of Rambo's strobe below him and banks toward it like a fighter plane. He comes alongside the Team Leader and they dive together. Rambo cuts the strobe. ANGLE DOWN as a solid layer of cloud rushes up. They plunge through and the landscape below is an awesome vista. An unbroken carpet of dark rain forest with a narrow, meandering river, like a platinum ribbon. Rambo sights on a distant bend in the river, spreads his feet and dives. Brewer follows. They shoot across the uprushing landscape at 135 mph. INSERT - RAMBO'S L.E.D. ALTIMETER Numbers flicking: 1,200 feet. 1,000. 800. Rambo signals. Their canopies deploy with a MUFFLED CRACK, simultaneously. RAMBO'S POV looking down past his swaying feet as the moonlit jungle rushes up... and up... A mahogany tree lunges like a huge hand. The dark maw swallows us in blackness. EXT. RAIN FOREST Moonlight filters down through the foliage of massive trees, showing as shafts in the swirling night mists. This is one of the most primeval forests on the planet, a place of violent growth and death-filled shadows. Massive tree roots grip the earth, entwined with vines that climb swaying into the vaulted canopy above. Water drips constantly. And life is everywhere. Furtive. Timeless. Churning in the shallow pools, under the bark, in the sweating fruit... leaping through the matted foliage above. A FIGURE rises behind a rotting log, like a being from interstellar space. Rambo removes his goggles and headset, then shrugs out of his chute harness. He looks around slowly. Taking it in. RAMBO (to himself) Man, what are you doing back here? Brewer's voice is a reedy chirp from his headset. He raises it to his ear. RAMBO You okay? BREWER (V.O.) Keep it down, man. I got problems. CUT TO: EXT. RAIN FOREST - BARNYARD Brewer is face-to-face with a mangy PIG, which grunts its annoyance. He is stuck up to his knees in the mud of a small fenced yard containing a few pigs and chickens. The yard is adjacent to a large THATCH HUT, and four or five additional HOOTCHES are visible farther downslope, nestled among the trees. Brewer holds a finger to his lips, cautioning the pig to silence. He lays backward in the black slop as a VIETNAMESE MAN in peasant pajamas comes to the door of the nearest hootch, an island of light in the dark forest. Smoking a cigarette he looks around, perhaps scanning for the source of the faint crashing he heard a moment before. Following a dirt road, little more than a trail between the hootches, an OLD WOMAN approaches. She is barefoot, and pushes a rusting bicycle laden with an enormous bundle of firewood. Brewer struggles to free himself, straining in silence as the pigs step disdainfully around him. The man flicks away the cigarette. He laughs raucously at something the old woman says and hurries to help her carry the firewood inside. Brewer looks up, at his chute billowing quietly in the branches overhead. The old woman pauses at the door, spits a shot of betelnut juice into the yard, and goes inside. The door bangs shut. TIGHT ON BREWER sighing with relief. SUDDENLY A DARK OBJECT SHOOTS INTO FRAME, seizing him. Brewer's head snaps around. The object is Rambo's hand, painted camo-green. Rambo drags him with a sucking POP from the mud. The Team Leader glares. RAMBO (a freezing whisper) That's one. Brewer pauses a moment, assimilating the implicit warning. Then reaches for his harness buckles to free himself. CUT TO: EXT. RAIN FOREST - TRAIL With the hootches visible B.G., Rambo moves silently off along the trail. Brewer, lumbering under the enormous pack, CRASHES through foliage to catch up. He curses under his breath. Rambo moves wraith-like through the undergrowth, appearing and vanishing, there... then not there. Brewer stumbles over a root, THUDS to the ground. Rambo stops, looking back. His expression grim. He turns and moves on, disappearing into the foliage. Brewer scrambles up, following. EXT. RAIN FOREST - CLEARING TIGHT ON TRANSAT SCREEN as the last letters of the following message appear: SLM DNK FIELD TM TO SLM DNK CONTROL/REPORT INSERTION COMPLETED/ PROCEEDING TO RENDEZVOUS/END MESSAGE WIDER revealing Brewer hunched over the tiny CRT screen atop the transponder box, typing at a keyboard the size of a pocket calculator. Rambo squats motionless, watching intently. Brewer hits the "SEND" button. CUT TO: INT. COMMAND SHACK The chief telecom tech turns to Kirkhill. TECH It's coming in. Kirkhill watches the message print out on the main screen. Turns to Trautman. KIRKHILL They're in! On the money. A cheer goes up in the command center. The home team just scored. EXT. RAIN FOREST - CLEARING Rambo squats, studying his WATERPROOF TERRAIN MAP. He glances at Brewer who has finished assembling his weapons and gear. REVERSE ON BREWER looking like a Martian stormtrooper with his exotic weapons and surplus equipment. He is sighting through the scope of his assault rifle. Fully assembled it is as big as a Chrysler and looks straight out of Star Wars. RAMBO What do you call that? BREWER (crisply) Modified M-16 A2 and over-under M-79 grenade launcher, with Sionics sound suppressor, Tracor starlight scope and LAC/R-100 Laser sighting system. RAMBO Batteries not included. BREWER (wounded) This is state-of-the-art firepower. Rambo picks up another device, a cylinder like a flashlight with a curly-cord running to a pair of earphones. RAMBO What's this? BREWER AC-System 'Big-Ear' telescopic mike with built-in audio processor. Can pull a whisper out of a loud cocktail party at 50 meters. Rambo gazes around him. RAMBO Cocktail party. Uh huh, right. (pause) Let's saddle up. BREWER Where's your stuff? Rambo flips open his rucksack. BREWER (incredulous) That's it? Some C-4, a map and a knife? RAMBO There's a compass in the handle. Brewer gestures at the Russian-made AK-47 slung over Rambo's shoulder. BREWER And a beat-to-shit AK? Every twelve-year-old in Nam's got one of those. RAMBO Exactly. Brewer hefts the separate rucksack containing the TRANSAT. BREWER Uh... this thing's pretty heavy. You got room for it? Rambo snorts disgustedly. BREWER Just a thought. EXT. RAIN FOREST Using a stream bed to navigate through dense growth, Rambo glides his legs smoothly through knee-deep brackish water. Brewer follows, swatting and batting at clouds of mosquitos. A VIPER glides past them, roiling the surface, and disappears into twisted tree roots. BREWER You wanna know why I stood up for this show? RAMBO (moving off) No. BREWER I was in the brig. They gave me a deal. I blew up this Colonel's golf cart with an M-19. He wasn't in it or anything... it was the symbolic value. Seemed like a good idea at the time. RAMBO That's a real good reason to wind up in 'Nam. BREWER I've seen worse places. RAMBO There are no worse places. EXT. RAIN FOREST - LATER Rambo leads them up a steep trail as a dense NIGHT FOG creeps over the ridgeline above. FOLLOWING RAMBO - HANDHELD as he moves along a narrow game trail. Shapes loom out of the mist, revealed as harmless trunks or vines only at the last second. As they top the rise, the trail opens out onto a plateau- like cleared area. Ahead, an ENORMOUS STONE FACE, wreathed in vines, looms from the mist. WIDER as the two walk into the atrium of a RUINED "WAT", or BUDDHIST TEMPLE. Brewer looks awed. EXT. RUINS OF WAT Serene despite the ravages of centuries, two stone Buddhas thirty feet tall sit flanking the stairs to the ruined temple. Trees and vines all but obscure the cracked and tumbled forms of ornately carved walls. The central courtyard is open to the sky. Spire-like structures are dimly visible in the fog beyond. BREWER (hushed) This place is a trip. RAMBO Buddhist monastery. Fifteenth century. BREWER Damn! Leeches. He has pulled up his pant-leg to reveal THREE SQUIRMING BLACK WORMS attached to his calf, sucking on him. Rambo moves off, scanning, unconcerned. RAMBO Get used to 'em. TIGHT ON BREWER lighting a cigarette, his hands tightly cupped around the glow. Rambo slaps it out of his hand. Stomps it out. BREWER (hissing) You fucking crazy? I need it to burn these things off. RAMBO No cigarettes. BREWER I had it cupped. Rambo takes the pack from Brewer's breast pocket and grinds it into the mud under his boot. BREWER Look, Rambo. I've had enough of your bad-ass Indian-scout bullshit. You're years out of date... I'm makin' a career out of teaching you the hardware. As far as I'm concerned you're just along to back me up. And I heard about you... about how twitchy you really are. Kill any civilians lately? Brewer is hurled against a stone wall and pinned with a knife to his throat so rapidly he's not sure how it happened. Rambo is in his face, speaking very softly. RAMBO Listen real careful, freshmeat. I don't know why they sent you. Maybe they didn't want to waste a good man. But you screw up once more and I'll kill you myself. Rambo whips away, moves quietly off. Shaking with rage, Brewer levels his weapon at Rambo's back. Then he realizes how silly that would be. Frustrated, he jogs to catch up. BREWER Man, are you strict. Moving in the shadows, Rambo walks through the ruins noiselessly. A voice emerges from the mist behind them, an almost childlike lilt. VOICE (O.S.) You are first tourist here in long time. Brewer whips around, centering the AIMING DOT of his sighting laser on a FIGURE sitting on a ledge above them. Sitting cross-legged and unperturbed is a diminutive VIETNAMESE WOMAN of about 28. The dot of Brewer's laser is centered on her forehead like a Hindu prayer mark. She is absolutely beautiful, with wide, calm eyes and strong but sensuous mouth which curves now in a small quirky grin. WOMAN You come here see Buddha... ask for truth? Or just lost? BREWER (whispering) Should I waste her? Rambo pushes his rifle barrel aside and takes a step forward. When he speaks it is in FLUENT VIETNAMESE. RAMBO (Viet/subtitled) I'm not lost. Just looking for someone. WOMAN (Viet/subtitled) Someone called maybe 'Night Orchid'? RAMBO (Viet/subtitled) That's right. WOMAN (Viet/subtitled) I'm Co Phuong Bao. RAMBO (to Brewer) She's our contact. BREWER (grudgingly impressed) I didn't know you spoke Vietnamese. Co slides down from the ledge and stands before them, almost two heads shorter than Rambo. Her lithe figure is not entirely concealed by her loose black "pajamas". She wears her hair in a long single braid and has the delicate hands of a child. RAMBO I'm Rambo. This is Brewer. (to Brewer) Her name is Co. CO It means "virgin." My mother was comedian. BREWER Howdy, Co. He sticks out his hand but Rambo motions "no". She bows slightly. BREWER Uh, you speak pretty good English. Where'd you learn? CO University of Saigon. Have Masters Degree in economics. Not use too much now... Communists in charge. You got time... want to eat? RAMBO Sure. Whattaya got? Co reaches up onto the ledge, her previous perch, and pulls down a small PACK, actually a FOOD TUBE of the sort worn over one shoulder by Viet Cong and other Vietnamese guerrillas. CO (opening it) Nuac mam. She unrolls several rubber tree leaves holding rice with a pungent sauce. Rambo takes the food and the proffered CHOPSTICKS and, squatting, begins shoveling it expertly. RAMBO You really got a Masters Degree? CO Sure. I only sound like forty-year- old in your language. Brewer fumbles with the sticks. Switches to fingers. BREWER What's this stuff on the rice? RAMBO Fermented fish sauce. Brewer's expression is less than enthusiastic. CUT TO: EXT. RAIN FOREST - RIVER TRAIL - NIGHT With Co leading through the maze of aimless game trails the group makes its way parallel to a modest RIVER, THE CA. RAMBO How do we get upriver? CO I have arranged transportation. We meet soon. But I think you to be disappointed. RAMBO Why's that? CO I go up to this camp two months ago. Nobody there. Empty for years. Rambo stops, puzzled. RAMBO Why would they send us to a deserted camp? BREWER Who cares? Let's just do it and get out. Go have a Jacuzzi and get laid in Bangkok. Know what I mean? Rambo moves on, still concerned. something's a bit off. RAMBO We'll check it out. BREWER How come we didn't just drop near the camp... save this hassle? RAMBO Brewer. Does a jet make noise? BREWER Yeah... CO (switching to Viet subtitled) Where did you find this clown? RAMBO (Viet/subtitled) I thought he was with you. CO (Viet/subtitled) Crazy motherfucker. BREWER What's she saying? RAMBO She likes you. Says you're dinky- dau. BREWER What's that? RAMBO Powerful warrior. BREWER Yeah. Dinky-dau, that's me. Hey, Co. You wanna meet Jake the one- eyed snake? Rambo motions suddenly for a "freeze". Co walks on ahead, toward the river, as the Americans melt into the shadows. EXT. RIVER - MARSHY INLET A HOUSE-SAMPAN wallows among the naked tree roots in a brackish inlet off the main river. On deck are TWO MEN, loosely speaking. Possibly two of the most misbegotten specimens the Orient has to offer. They raise their AK-47s as Co approaches. Exchange a few quick syllables and Co turns, motioning Rambo and Brewer forward. As they pass, two more equally unwholesome-looking men emerge from concealment and follow them to the sampan. Everybody grips their weapons tightly. BREWER (under his breath) These guys look like they'd sell their mothers. RAMBO Sometimes they do. They're river pirates. Opium runners. BREWER (hissing) Pirates? No kidding? Before they step across onto the sampan, Co introduces the "captain" in Vietnamese. Wearing all manner of jewelry, including four wristwatches and a pair of filthy western-style jeans a size too large, CAPTAIN TRONG KINH grins and motions them aboard. The grin reveals bare gum where his upper front teeth would be. Obviously broken out in a fight. CAPTAIN TRONG KINH Wa-ky number one. You come number one sampan. RAMBO (Viet/subtitled) Thank you, Captain, for your hospitality. You speak English very well. Grinning wider, Captain Kinh motions them inside the CABIN, a rambling and dilapidated structure of corrugated sheet metal and woven bamboo. Kinh barks orders at his men, who cast off from their moorings and jump aboard. The first light of dawn is breaking through the trees. INT. SAMPAN CABIN A raisin-faced WOMAN in an ao-dai, holding an infant, shuffles aside as Rambo steps down into the dim smoky interior. Brewer, Co and Kinh follow. The two Americans must stoop in the scaled-down structure. Every conceivable space is crammed with scavenged or looted detritus: ammo cases, hubcaps, radios, a TV with no back, books, dead chickens, an ice-cube tray, a Toyota bumper, outboard motors... there is no operant logic to most of it. BREWER Looks like my room in college. CO We sleep here today. Safe here while go up river. RAMBO What about patrol boats? Kinh opens a greasy wooden locker, takes out his pride and joy, a Russian-made RPG-7 ROCKET-GRENADE LAUNCHER. His grin glistens evilly in the gloom. CUT TO: EXT. BASE CAMP - DAWN A beautiful sunrise backs the treeline, stretching long shadows across the quiet camp. INT. KIRKHILL'S TRAILER The interior resembles that of a motor home, complete with bunks, kitchenette and a small bar. Kirkhill is on the phone, pacing... agitated. His reptilian aide lounges on a bunk. KIRKHILL (to phone) No, sir... we're already committed. They're in the jungle right now. I say we play the hand through... if they find something we just bury the report later. It's still airtight. (pause) Yes, sir. He hangs up. Runs a hand through his hair. KIRKHILL (to aide) Goddamn it! Now the goddamn satellite shows the camp occupied... some trucks or something. AIDE (grimly) Oh, boy. It's getting dicey. Their manner becomes guarded when a KNOCK at the door interrupts them. The aide unlocks it and admits Trautman. KIRKHILL What's up? TRAUTMAN Listen, Kirkhill. I'm a bit of a fifth wheel in your setup here... I thought I'd go out with the extraction team tonight. Unless you have an objection. KIRKHILL (not liking it) It's not necessary. TRAUTMAN I know. KIRKHILL That's a pretty hairy ride. Full Colonels are supposed to be above that sort of thing. Trautman is calling him on it with a deadpan response. TRAUTMAN I know... KIRKHILL (shrugs expansively) Have fun. EXT. CA RIVER - DAY Kinh's hideous sampan churns upriver slowly, powered by an ancient outboard motor. It passes other river traffic, small hand-powered sampans manned by figures in broad conical coolie hats. With the exception of a rare powered craft, the scene is that of a Vietnam unchanged by centuries. The ebb and flow of regimes and ideologies has little altered the basics of life here. INT. SAMPAN Rambo watches through a chink in the sheeting of the cabin as the timeless landscape rolls past. RAMBO'S POV A view of the shoreline as brown children splash naked in the shallows where a row of hootches marches up the hill on stilts. The SQUEALS and LAUGHTER come clearly across the water. Rambo turns his gaze to the sampan interior. Two of Kinh's men, Co and Brewer all sleep soundly. Rambo watches Co, her face serene in sleep. Childlike. Beautiful. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. CA RIVER - LATE AFTERNOON The water is coppery, silhouetting the sampan as it churns on. Kinh's wife squats on the foredeck, smoking a long-stemmed clay pipe. DISSOLVE TO: INT./ EXT. SAMPAN - SUNSET The walnut-faced woman hands Rambo two bowls of nuoc mam. He passes one to Brewer. RAMBO Have some armpit sauce. Brewer groans. Opens a C-ration can. RAMBO (to Co) How did you get started working for the spooks? CO Spooks? RAMBO Intelligence work. CO Oh. They talk to me at university before fall of Saigon. Make deal. BREWER Everybody's makin' deals. CO My brother captain in ARVN... need papers to go United States, or North Vietnamese will execute. They make deal... I stay here and do work... my brother and my son can go United States. RAMBO Your son? Co's eyes drop and her whole demeaner deflates slightly. CO Nguyen. He twelve now. Not see him for eight years. RAMBO Where's his father? Co shrugs. CO Dead. Killed in war. Her voice and expression convey the fatalistic acceptance of one who has seen death in all its forms. Expects it as an element of daily life. RAMBO Where's Nguyen now? What city? CO (noting his concern) Huntington Beach, California. RAMBO It's nice there. He's probably digging every minute. Got a surfboard. Breaking girls' hearts. CO (distractedly) Nguyen is good boy. Co gazes at the sunset beyond the door. A tear runs down her cheek. She catches herself. Wipes it away almost brutally. She abruptly goes on deck. BREWER Some hardened guerrilla fighter they gave us. Rambo freezes him out with an evil look. Suddenly there is a commotion on deck. The roar of a powerful ENGINE. Co bursts in a moment later. CO River patrol! A FAST LAUNCH roars toward them, silhouetted by the setting sun. UNIFORMED SOLDIERS on deck bring twin 50- caliber machine guns to bear. Rambo and Brewer dive under filthy bunks. Lock and load their weapons. Co pushes junk in over them. Kinh rips open the cabinet. Slams the shaft of a rocket grenade into the launch tube. Co barks an order at him. He hesitates. Lowers the weapon. Co removes a small packet of North Vietnamese bills from inside her blouse and hands it to Kinh. EXT. SAMPAN The patrol boat pulls up in an arc, almost swamping them. The soldiers on deck wear the uniforms of the North Vietnamese navy. The deck gunner racks the bolt on his R.P.K. MACHINE GUN. The captain shouts RAPID VIETNAMESE on a loud hailer. Kinh's men lounge on the sampan indolently, looking like fishermen on an evening trawl. The scrawny woman feeds an infant at one sagging breast. The PATROL CAPTAIN draws his service pistol and jumps down into the sampan, entering the cabin. Co sits demurely on one bunk as Kinh greets the officer. The officer begins poking through Kinh's possessions. He tugs at the crate under the bunk where Rambo lies concealed. TIGHT ON RAMBO absolutely motionless. The crate beside his head moves. The officer's boot is visible through a widening crack. An ARGUMENT IN VIETNAMESE is heard heating up. BREWER grips the MAC-11 tightly, releases, grips, releases. Sweat runs into his eyes. THE OFFICER looks severe as he contemptuously thumbs through a sheaf of bills. Kinh, gesticulating pathetically adds some more to the stack. After a tense moment the officer kicks the crate next to Rambo and stalks out, tucking the payola in his tunic. He jumps off the sampan and the patrol boat ROARS on. INT. SAMPAN Rambo and Brewer allow themselves to exhale. RAMBO How you doing, Brewer? BREWER (shaken) I need a vacation. EXT. RAIN FOREST - PRISON CAMP - NIGHT With Co leading, Rambo and Brewer move furtively along a tortuous trail. It has rained recently and the forest is alive with glistening reflections, dripping water. The trail winds up a steep embankment. As they reach the top of the rise, CAMERA BOOMS UP over the shoulder of the embankment to reveal a COMPOUND beyond, dark except for moonlight. RAMBO watches from concealment in the foliage. He is invisible with his camo-makeup except for darting eyes. RAMBO'S POV looking between the leaves, scanning the prison camp. Two shabby WOODEN GUARD TOWERS stand at diagonally opposite corners of the compound. There is a simple fence of barbed wire on wooden posts enclosing the area and a main gate with a sentry box. THREE LONG WOODEN BARRACKS form a U, filling most of the compound. The place seems deserted. RAMBO Check the tower with your scope. Brewer raises the rifle, sighting through the massive starlight scope. BREWER'S POV - TELEPHOTO The image is bright, lurid... black and white with a greenish cast. Like contrasty daylight. He pans up the tower. A Russian-made P.K. 7.62mm machine gun sits pointing skyward. The tower seems unoccupied. BREWER Nobody home. Wait a minute! Cigarette. A brief glow of light illuminates the face of a TOWER GUARD hidden in shadows. BREWER What's he here for? Nearby, another GUARD saunters out of the forest dressed in NVA regular private's uniform with the sleeves rolled up casually. His AK-47 is slung over his shoulder. BREWER slips the telescopic microphone out of his rucksack and clamps it to the side of his scope. He slips on a pair of small earphones and pans the rifle- scope-mike over the nearest barracks unit. BREWER (intently) Snoring. Five, six guys. Mumbling... Vietnamese. Somebody talking in his sleep. A toilet flushing. RAMBO Guard barracks. Take some shots. Brewer locks a 35mm SLR camera to an adapter on the starlight scope. He starts clicking off some shots. Brewer then scans the long hut across the compound. BREWER Breathing. Moaning. (suddenly) Shit! He whips off the earphones in pain as a LOW SCREAM echoes across the camp. It fades into a delirious moaning. Stops. RAMBO (nodding grimly) Bad dreams. Prisoner's barracks. Shoot some. Brewer clicks away. A TINY ENGINE WHINING draws their attention to the main gate where a YOUNG WOMAN on a LAMBRETTA SCOOTER pulls up to the sentry shack. Brewer zeros on her as she greets the GATE GUARDS. CO Cyclo-girl whore from village. Business slow there. Rambo takes the earphones, listening to the girl's distant chattering. RAMBO She's making him a pretty good deal. Apparently the guard agrees because he opens the gate and the girl slips inside. RAMBO What's that? By the far tower. Brewer pans to the distant shape. BREWER It's a guy in a cage. RAMBO American? BREWER Can't tell. Pretty tall. He's real scrunched up in that thing. RAMBO Let me see. RAMBO'S POV THROUGH SCOPE The image is of an EMACIATED FIGURE slumped in a bamboo cage. The man's skin is ghostly white. He seems almost a living skeleton, dressed only in ragged shorts. His wrists are clamped in a wooden STOCK and blood runs down his arms from the abraded sores. THE IMAGE ZOOMS CLOSER, MOVES ONTO HIS FACE. TIGHT. Though gaunt and filthy, he is clearly CAUCASIAN. RAMBO Roundeye. BREWER Alright. Home run. RAMBO (angrily) Torture cage. Can't stand... can't sit... for days. Sometimes weeks. BREWER Bastards. Let's get some shots. ON RAMBO MOVING SLOWLY IN as he hands the kluge back to Brewer. RAMBO That guy's not going to make it. BREWER (O.S.) Nothing we can do, man. Rambo decides in that moment. RAMBO I'm getting him out. BREWER What? Are you crazy? We're supposed to take pictures and split. You're gonna blow the whole program. RAMBO You never been in one of those things. BREWER I suppose you have... Rambo holds his wrists up, right under Brewer's nose... showing the chafing scars. BREWER It's orders! You remember... when they tell you to do something and then you do it. John Wayne is dead, man. RAMBO (rising) You take pictures and split. I'm going in. Brewer throws down his rifle. He's apoplectic. He can barely form words. BREWER Fuck it. Fuck it. Aw... ke-rist. Then a slow grin spreads. BREWER How we gonna do it? CUT TO: EXT. CAMP PERIMETER - LATER MOVING WITH BREWER as he belly crawls to the edge of the cleared area, just a few yards from the wire. He is right under one tower, hidden among ferns. BREWER'S POV THROUGH SCOPE as Rambo's silhouette crosses to the wire farther down. EXT. COMPOUND DOLLYING WITH RAMBO at ground level as he crawls under the wire and undulates from shadow to shadow. He reaches the nearest building. Hugs it. Rambo moves on in silence. He is barefoot, the pale skin smeared with mud, and carries only the PISTOL CROSSBOW. Without rifle, pack, harness or grenades to clatter, he moves like a spirit in the material world. Rambo raises one eye slowly over a window ledge. Inside several guards sleep soundly under mosquito netting. Their rifles are stacked against the far wall. ANGLE ON GUARD snoring ludicrously loud. He bats at a mosquito, grunts... turns over. ANGLE UNDER GUARD BARRACKS MOVING with Rambo as he crawls among the support posts. He freezes as a light is snapped on above him. It streams down through cracks between floorboards. Moving very slowly, Rambo squints through a gap. RAMBO'S POV A LOW ANGLE on a UNIFORMED GUARD rummaging in a tiny prehistoric refrigerator, humming to himself. He takes out a can of COKE, recognizable, although the label is in Chinese characters. Rolls it slowly across his sweaty forehead. Pops it. The foam now runs onto the floor, drips into Rambo's eyes. The light snaps off. FOOTSTEPS. Rambo moves on. EXT. PRISONERS' BARRACKS There are two rows of rusted iron bunks set out like a hospital ward. Most of them are empty. Seven aren't. SEVEN AMERICAN PRISONERS OF WAR Like the man in the cage they are gaunt, scabrous. Dressed in ragged peasant clothes too small for them. One man, bathed in sweat, moans and tosses with malarial fever. Another is wrapped so tightly in a fetal position his face is between his knees. They have padded the bare springs of their cots with mattresses of rubber leaves. Rambo stands a few feet from them as if giving a benediction, the crossbow raised in one hand. He moves on, leaving no trace. EXT. GUARD TOWER The GUARD reclines in a folding chair, nodding to the beat of unheard music. A SONY WALKMAN is clipped on his belt and he has the earphones over his GRAY PEAKED CAP. He takes a last drag and tosses a cigarette over the parapet. EXT. PERIMETER - RAIN FOREST TIGHT ON BREWER hugging the ground as the smoldering butt lands five feet from him... in the pool of light from a floodlight. He groans, watching the smoke curl up. Starts creeping his hand toward the butt. EXT. COMPOUND - CAGE The man inside opens his eyes when Rambo touches his broomstick neck, feeling for a pulse. His lips are parched and there is a horrible bruise around one eye. PRISONER (barely audible) Who're you? RAMBO American. Come to get you out. PRISONER Man, you are one scary-looking motherfucker! RAMBO Can you walk? PRISONER I could a couple of days ago. Gonna be... stiff. Rambo quickly picks the lock on the wrist clamps and then slips his LILE KNIFE from its sheath. Starts cutting the lashings on the bamboo cage. RAMBO What's your name? PRISONER De Fravio. Dave De Fravio. Lieutenant... Air Force. The door gives way and Rambo steadies De Fravio as he slumps forward. RAMBO (shakes his hand) Good to meet you, Dave. I'm Rambo. Okay, I'm going to carry you. Don't cough or make any noise. DE FRAVIO Sure thing, Rambo. You gettin' the other guys, too? RAMBO Not this time. We'll be back. Rambo slings De Fravio's gaunt six-foot frame over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and heads off in a crouching run. LONG SHOT ON RAMBO crossing a pool of light B.G. as the sentry lounges in his shack. EXT. PERIMETER - RAIN FOREST Brewer seems to have lost sight of Rambo. He scans the camp to the treeline and back. The filterless cigarette is smoked almost to his lips. WHAM! A BOOTED FOOT SMASHES DOWN on his rifle, pinning one hand. He looks up at... A NORTH VIETNAMESE GUARD who holds an AK-47 in Brewer's face. With his headphones on Brewer hadn't heard the quiet approach from behind. Brewer closes his eyes in profound misery. There is a soft THUNK. Brewer opens his eyes as the AK-47 falls into the grass. Looks up to see... The guard is leaning back against a tree, motionless. The VANED TAIL of a CROSSBOW BOLT protrudes from his neck under the jaw. He is pinned to the tree, quite dead. Rambo appears from the undergrowth, still carrying De Fravio, crossbow in hand. RAMBO (to Brewer) That's two. EXT. RAIN FOREST Brewer and Rambo, carrying the POW, rejoin Co on the ridge, where they had left their gear. Rambo sets De Fravio down and reaches for his boots. The POW looks dazedly at his rescuers. His eyes, in hollow sockets, track from one to the other. DE FRAVIO (weakly) You guys are real... aren't you? BREWER Huh? DE FRAVIO Sorry, I mean... I talk to people all the time... I know a lot of them aren't there. But this is real, isn't it? You're taking me home now? BREWER That's right, buddy. De Fravio sits frozen for a moment, then a dry sob wracks his entire body and he puts his arms around Brewer. He cries with utter abandon, quietly, while Brewer looks at him helplessly. DE FRAVIO Thank God... thank you... Brewer looks at Rambo with a stricken expression. Then puts his arms clumsily around De Fravio, like somebody holding a baby for the first time. Co touches Rambo's hand. Motions "let's go" with a cock of her head. He nods. CUT TO: EXT. RAIN FOREST - NEAR PRISON CAMP - LATER A stocky SERGEANT OF THE GUARD stands over the partially concealed body of the guard Rambo killed. He raises his whistle and sends a SHRILL BLAST across the camp. Lights come on in the guard barracks. CUT TO: EXT. RAIN FOREST - RIVER BANK - NIGHT The sampan waits beyond a screen of trees as Brewer calls in on the TRANSAT. Co is helping De Fravio walk unsteadily down to the boat, B.G. The river bandits eye the tall, death-like figure suspiciously. RAMBO We'd better go for the emergency LZ at point Zulu Sierra. Tell them we've got some heat but don't mention De Fravio. Brewer starts typing. CUT TO: EXT. STAGING AREA - THAILAND Doyle's ground crew is removing the camouflage canopy from the UH-60 "Blackhawk" helicopter. The turbines are warming up with an ASCENDING WHINE. Doyle and Trautman, F.G., turn as the door to the command trailer bursts open and a TECH runs out. TECH You're go for extraction. Mr. Kirkhill says wind 'er up. Here's the hardcopy. Trautman takes the printout. TRAUTMAN (to Doyle) Alternate LZ Zulu Sierra at 0500. It says "May have heat. Don't be late. All our love." DOYLE (scowling at his watch) Let's get that tent down! CUT TO: INT. SAMPAN - CA RIVER - NIGHT De Fravio seems a little more in focus as he sits huddled with the others in the cramped cabin. DE FRAVIO I gotta tell you, it's just luck you guys came when you did. They move us around a lot... We only been at that camp a week. Got a smoke? BREWER (pointedly) No. DE FRAVIO What kind of raggedy-ass rescue you call this? RAMBO Why were you in the box? DE FRAVIO Well, I caught this cobra, see... BREWER You mean the snake? DE FRAVIO Yeah. It's not hard once you get the hang of it. In the wrist. Anyway, I did what I always do when I get one... BREWER What's that? DE FRAVIO (straight-faced) Put it in the guard's barracks. (pause) Man they got pissed. They beat the crap out of me, but... it's kind of a tradition. You oughta see 'em run around. RAMBO (chuckling) You got a bad attitude. De Fravio grins, showing bad teeth as well. DE FRAVIO I know it. De Fravio eyes Co as she hands him a plate of rice and meat. DE FRAVIO Thanks lady. You're pretty cute... doing anything this weekend? CO (smiling) Eat slowly. Don't make yourself sick. She exits with the dirty cooking utensils. EXT. SAMPAN When Co closes the door to the cabin, Kinh sidles up to her and rapidly whispers something in Vietnamese. He seems to be eliciting a response and eyes her warily. Co freezes indecisively, then nods yes. In the stern, B.G., one of Kinh's men is talking quietly on a beat-up military-style FIELD RADIO. His voice is masked by the sound of the outboard motor. Co whispers something and holds out her hand, palm up. Kinh grins, gaptoothed. He pulls a .45 PISTOL from his belt and slips it to her. Runs his finger along the curve of her neck. She quietly pulls the cocking slide, chambering a round. EXT. CA RIVER - INLET The sampan glides into the brackish estuary amid half- submerged trees. It is the original rendezvous point. Everyone assembles on deck, with Rambo helping De Fravio through the cabin door. Brewer checks his watch. BREWER Twenty-five minutes. We'd better roll. Rambo freezes... looks down. An AK-47 muzzle is pressed into his kidney, held by one of Kinh's men. Two more are covering Brewer, who had just handed his rifle to Co, while donning his pack. Kinh steps up, grinning. Takes Rambo's rifle. A fourth guard eases an arm around his neck, a long knife held under his jawline. It has all happened smoothly and with precision planning. KINH Wa-ky number ten. Do-ma. DE FRAVIO Yeah, fuck your mama-san, too. In the... Kinh backhands him to the deck. TIGHT ON RAMBO his eyes cold, looking at Co. She advances on him. Her black almond-shaped eyes glitter, alien as the depths of space. She spits in his face. Kinh snorts a feral laugh. Rambo doesn't react. E.C.U. CO Her eyes dart to the side. RAMBO AND CO something, a microsecond flash of understanding, passes between them. BREWER (enraged beyond belief) You slope bitch! She whirls on him, drawing the .45. It is enormous in her child's hand. Her expression is terrifying. SHE FIRES The renegade behind Brewer ROCKETS BACKWARD, his FACE EXPLODING. Rambo moves, slapping his guard's elbow, driving the knife across and away. His teeth snap shut on the man's forearm. The knife falls. Rambo's hands are simultaneously seizing the other guard's AK-47 just as he fires. Rambo holds his hand on the man's trigger hand, AIMING THE GUN. BULLETS RAKE FROM GROIN TO FACE on the third man standing opposite them. HE SPINS BACK, his rifle BLASTING AWAY harmlessly into the sky. Co places the muzzle of the .45 against Kinh's temple. His grin is long gone. SHE FIRES WITHOUT HESITATION. Rambo drives the butt of the second man's AK-47 into his stomach twice. The bandit lets go. Firing blind over his shoulder, Rambo vaporizes the head of his guard, whose hand he still grips viciously in his teeth. He releases the hand. Almost like spitting out the dead man. Clutching his stomach, the last bandit leaps to the shore. FIFTEEN ROUNDS FROM BREWER'S SILENCED MAC-11 stutter quietly into him. He pitches face-down in the mud. A cloud of blue cordite smoke disappears in silence. The whole thing lasted four seconds. DE FRAVIO (slowly) Wow! BREWER What just happened? Rambo moves over to Co. She seems to sag, depleted. In shock. He takes the .45 from her limp fingers. RAMBO (Viet/subtitled) Are you okay? CO (answering in English) Yes. But I lose many merits in next life. Very bad. RAMBO Why'd they want us? CO They heard about escaped prisoner on radio. Make deal. More than we pay. BREWER They sold us out? Now I'm pissed. CO They were fools. To think there would be reward. And to ask my help. Rambo puts his hands on her shoulders. RAMBO Thanks. CO Rambo. NVA coming. Pig dog Kinh say meet them here. Whole garrison from Con Cuong is out. RAMBO (nodding grimly) Let's go. CUT TO: EXT. RAIN FOREST - LAOS - NIGHT At treetop level the all-black UH-60 ROARS down a forested valley at 180 mph, using no illumination but the moon. MOVING WITH THE HELICOPTER as it rises and drops with the terrain. INT. UH-60 Once again Doyle is night-flying in a blacked-out cockpit, putting the landing skids through the treetops. Trautman stands behind the seats in the main bay. Night air ROARS in the open door and Lifer, on door gun, dangles his legs in the windstream. The rain forest is a dim blur very close below. LIFER (shouting) Back in Indian country. Just like old times. He racks the bolt on his M-60 and grins. Trautman nods politely and looks at his watch. CUT TO: EXT. RAIN FOREST - NEAR WAT - PRE-DAWN Rambo's group circles the ruins as they head for the landing zone. The trail skirts an escarpment which drops over a hundred feet to the Ca River below. Not far from the overgrown spires of the Wat is a stream which breaks over the cliff in a graceful waterfall dropping unimpeded into a lagoon. The vista is quite stunning in the moonlight. Brewer is struggling with both packs plus the heavy Transat, since Rambo has De Fravio and Co has her own pack. Brewer scrambles, slipping back on the steep trail. BREWER Let's ditch this Transat. We don't need it. Rambo considers for a moment, then pulls away some underbrush beside a collapsed wall of the ruin. RAMBO Bury it here. Work fast. Brewer gets out his entrenching tool. A cold pre-dawn light suffuses the rain forest, giving it an expectant quality. Rambo scans the ridgeline with Brewer's scope. RAMBO'S POV - TELEPHOTO Figures of TWENTY OR MORE VIETNAMESE SOLDIERS can be seen threading among the trees. RAMBO (to Co) You better take off. BREWER Ain't you coming with us, sweet thing? CO My orders stay here. She turns to head off along a diverging trail. Rambo touches her shoulder. She turns. RAMBO See you in California. Her grin is ironic. CO Land of big PX. Maybe I take you for a ride in my Cadillac. Rambo watches her go. A tiny, anonymous peasant girl. INT./ EXT. UH-60 - DAWN Trautman watches over Doyle's shoulder as the helicopter roars between the walls of a mountain pass. The ship is buffeted by turbulence, bouncing and dropping violently. FUHRMAN (turning) Three minutes. The steep slopes fall away and Doyle dives the ship across the rolling foothills. We HEAR a faint call, barely audible over static. VOICE (filtered) Zen Hammer this is Slam Dunk One, do you copy? Over. FUHRMAN Roger, Slam Dunk One... what is your position? EXT. RAIN FOREST - NEAR PADDIES - DAWN Rambo is crouched with Brewer and De Fravio in a hollow beside an earth dike. They are taking AUTOMATIC WEAPONS FIRE from the trees nearby. Spurts of earth leap up around them. Rambo is shouting in a controlled articulate voice into a small PRC-90 FIELD RADIO while Brewer lays down SUPPRESSING FIRE with his M-16 A2. RAMBO (yelling) Zen Hammer... the heat's on. We're taking fire. Watch for my smoke. Red and green. Northwest corner of a big paddy. (to Brewer) Let's move. Rambo and Brewer, carrying De Fravio, charge up and over the dike as the ground is ripped around them. Rambo hurls two SMOKE GRENADES down the dike wall. Columns of red and green smoke begin roiling upward. The dike on which they are pinned down forms part of the enclosure for a complex of terraced RICE PADDIES which occupy the few flat acres of this hilly terrain. The flooded fields reflect the pre-dawn sky like plates of burnished metal. Rambo slams in another clip and fires in short, controlled burst. Brewer hands a captured AK-47 to De Fravio. The ex-POW opens up with a vengeance. BREWER Go for it, man. Good therapy. EXT. RAIN FOREST - NEARBY VARIOUS ANGLES as THREE TROOP TRUCKS slide to a halt on a rutted jungle road, disgorging squads of NVA TROOPS. Mortars are set up. Roughly aimed. THEY FIRE with a CHARACTERISTIC WHUMP. ON THE DIKE The Americans duck as a mortar round explodes in the paddy behind them, throwing up a geyser of mud. Brewer picks up the PRC-90 mike. BREWER (on radio) You guys comin' or what? INT. UH-60 Through the front canopy distant wisps of red and green smoke can be seen. The paddies rush by below in a blur. FUHRMAN Roger... we have you on visual. We are coming in. How many are you? BREWER (V.O.) (filtered) Three. We got an American POW with us. TRAUTMAN Relay to command. They have one of ours. INT. COMMAND SHACK - THAILAND Kirkhill is pacing behind the main console. TELECOM TECH Mr. Kirkhill... I have an AWACS relay. Zen Hammer reports the ground team has an American POW with them. Kirkhill's reaction is unexpected. He whips around. KIRKHILL What did you say? TELECOM TECH (grinning) They've got one of ours. TIGHT ON KIRKHILL as a look of frustrated rage is replaced by deadly calm. KIRKHILL (loudly) This station is now on Condition Bravo. Harrison. Meyers. Goodell. Out... now! The puzzled techs drop their headsets and leave. KIRKHILL (continuing to tech) Go to your COMINT priority frequency. Give me the mike... Zen Hammer, this is Coach One. This is an Alpha-Kilo-Victor command priority. FUHRMAN (V.O.) (filtered) Roger, Coach One... go ahead. KIRKHILL I want you to abort the operation immediately. INT. UH-60 Fuhrman can't believe it. FUHRMAN Say again, Coach One? He presses the helmet-headphone tight to his ear, then turns to Trautman, cupping his hand over the mike. FUHRMAN (to Trautman) He wants us to abort before pick-up. TRAUTMAN Confirm it. FUHRMAN It is confirmed. (to mike) Coach One... we have them in sight... (pause) Yes, sir. Doyle looks at both of them and shrugs. DOYLE Turnin' around. FUHRMAN (to Doyle) I thought you liked those guys. DOYLE I do. But they ain't payin' the rent, Jack. TRAUTMAN Stay on your heading, Captain. DOYLE Sorry, Sir. Can't do it. TRAUTMAN That's an order. DOYLE (implacable) Sorry, Sir. Trautman has his hand on the butt of his .45 when he hears the clack of a rifle bolt over the rotor noise and turns. Lifer has an M-16 in his lap, not exactly aimed at the colonel, but not aimed away, either. LIFER (smirking) We ain't Uncle Sam's misguided children no more, Colonel. We're independent contractors. FUHRMAN That's right, Sir. We don't like this, but we are working for Mr. Kirkhill. TRAUTMAN You pathetic scum. DOYLE (looking down) Well, if there weren't POWs before, there are now. EXT. RICE PADDY Rambo half-supports De Fravio with one arm and fires his AK with the other as they slog through the calf-deep water. Mortar rounds explode on all sides. They watch the UH-60 skimming in low across the paddies, blasting up a curtain of spray. Almost to them... It veers in a tight bank and climbs out. Heads away. BREWER Where's he going? (to radio) Hey, Zen Hammer, where are you going? (pause) Do you read, Zen Hammer? Over. Son of a bitch! They're ditching us! The water is shot into spray around them. A mortar shell lands so close it knocks them down, drenching them with slimy black mud. The radio disappears in the water. Rising, Brewer takes a round in the thigh. Drops. Disappears for a second... comes up gasping. Rambo watches the UH-60 diminishing to a black dot. He is so consumed with rage that his expression goes slack... blank... a murderous disconnection from conscience. And yet, in that same moment, a tremendous surge of blind will clears his mind, a determination to survive, to get out at whatever cost... to find whoever did this. It is no longer just a mission. It is a very personal piece of business. He turns and lets his rifle drop into the water. He takes De Fravio's and throws it away. BREWER (through gritted teeth) The fuckers left us, man... they left us. Brewer wallows weakly, his blood streaming out into the muddy water. De Fravio looks stunned, lost... eviscerated. He sags to his knees. DE FRAVIO Oh... God. It gets quiet. In a ragged line, the NVA soldiers advance to the top of the dike. Twenty. Forty. Finally almost eighty, looking down at the Americans. Rambo slowly raises his hands. EXT. RAIN FOREST - HILL NEARBY OVER THE SHOULDER of Co, watching from behind a screen of foliage as the ring of NVA troops converge on the tiny figures of Rambo, Brewer and De Fravio. REVERSE TIGHT ON CO, her expression enigmatic. She turns and darts away, vanishing into the forest. CUT TO: INT. KIRKHILL'S TRAILER Kirkhill is pouring scotch over ice in two glasses as the door behind him bangs open. Trautman's expression could slice a steak. KIRKHILL Have a drink. Kirkhill offers a glass to Trautman who ignores it. TRAUTMAN Why? Kirkhill sets the glass down and sits at the dinette, motioning Trautman to sit as well. KIRKHILL (shrugs) You got five hours? I'll tell you about Secretaries of State, and funding committees and diplomatic relations... Trautman slowly sits opposite him, his demeanor becoming more reasonable. TRAUTMAN Take your time. KIRKHILL Look, Colonel... we're all adults here. This is a war. A very quiet, very intense war. People get sacrificed. TRAUTMAN Not my people. Kirkhill freezes, glancing down. The muzzle of Trautman's service .45 is jammed into his groin. TRAUTMAN (continuing) But you're right... some people do get sacrificed. Now tell me why you pulled the plug. KIRKHILL You think I'm some whacko? I like to hurt people? I'm doing a job here. If I knew what's right or wrong I'd be a goddamned priest, right? So I follow directives... I do what I'm told. It's simple. If your boy had done what he was told, there wouldn't be a problem. TRAUTMAN Don't dance me, Kirkhill. You'll be walking funny. Trautman leans on the .45 a bit and Kirkhill backs into the seat cushion. KIRKHILL Look, it was a screw-up, alright? They weren't supposed to find anything. We thought that camp was empty. TRAUTMAN This mission was a scam from the word go? KIRKHILL Word came down... they wanted an answer. And they knew the answer they wanted: no POWs. But it had to look good. Best effort. The whole dog-and-pony show. Kirkhill takes a healthy pull from his scotch. TRAUTMAN (realizing) Rambo and Brewer were selected as write-offs. KIRKHILL It was clean. Very clean... Rambo was a decorated Vietnam vet, a former POW himself... if he came out and said "No POWs" the sub-committee would buy it. He gets himself caught he's a private citizen, a whacko, acting on his own. If he gets proof, it gets lost somewhere between here and D.C. Airtight. But no... Rambo's gotta be a hero. Thinks he's starring in his own war movie or something. He put me in a corner. No choice. TRAUTMAN "Terminate with extreme prejudice." KIRKHILL That's a crock. We don't say that. Do you have any idea the shitstorm if he'd gotten back with that guy? If it went public? The White House would have to act through channels. We're talking ransom. Four billion bucks in war reparations to Vietnam to get the others back. That's billion, Colonel. With a "B". For a few guys that've had their brains in a blender for ten years? A pain in the ass to everybody? No way. There's no way. The colonel has let the pistol drop, until it is dangling, forgotten. TRAUTMAN So there never was a Phase Two rescue team? KIRKHILL Of course not. You can't get approval to rescue a kitten from a tree after Tehran. After a long silence, Trautman nods. TRAUTMAN I understand. Kirkhill relaxes. It's going to be okay. The colonel is one of the boys. KIRKHILL Here. Drink. Trautman doesn't take the glass. TRAUTMAN (reasonably) I understand your position. (pause) I understand how a maggot like you can just slide out of a jam on a trail of slime. And call it -- expedience. (viciously) Expedience! Kirkhill slams his empty glass down. His tone becomes self-righteous. KIRKHILL You're out of your depth, Trautman. Way out. I'm acting correctly here. Not you. Not your gung-ho jungle ace. (pause) It's over. Walk away. TRAUTMAN It's not over. You made one mistake. KIRKHILL What that? Trautman clicks the safety and reholsters the .45. TRAUTMAN Rambo. EXT. PRISON CAMP - VIETNAM - DAY D-PLUS 36 HRS BAN KIA NA REPUBLIC OF VIETNAM TIGHT ON RAMBO his eyes ablaze, face crusted with dried mud and sweat. WIDER revealing him under guard, arms bound painfully tight behind him, in the back of a troop truck. He is seized by TWO VIET SOLDIERS and dragged forward, off the truck. De Fravio hits the ground behind him, and Brewer, moaning on a stretcher, is unloaded. His fatigues are matted to the skin by dried blood from hip to knee. Camp commander CAPTAIN VO QUOC VINH strides across the compound. He is fairly twitching with suppressed rage at the loss of face brought on by his useless guards. He screams orders as the troops dismount, roughly dragging forward the three captives. A VIET SERGEANT turns the captives over to CHIEF GUARD SERGEANT TRAN VAN TAY with a quick salute. The instant Vinh stops shouting Tay begins, like a relay. The prisoners are prodded forward. Rambo walks beside a wide-eyed Brewer. BREWER Are they going to torture us? RAMBO (distantly) Yes. BREWER What... whattaya do? A GUARD shoves Rambo on ahead as Brewer's carriers stop at the door of an isolation cell. RAMBO (looking back) Hope they kill you by mistake. Rambo's guard slams his rifle butt into the American's belly, half-doubling him over. GUARD No talk! INT. ISOLATION CELL The door to a tiny fetid room is opened and Brewer is dumped off the stretcher and flung inside. He lands on his knees and gasps in pain, clutching his leg. The door clangs shut, leaving stifling gloom. BREWER (groaning) This ain't happening. INT. PRISONERS' BARRACKS De Fravio is helped back to his bunk by one of the other prisoners. There are few moments in human experience as devastating as the return to prison (especially this prison). The absolute abandonment of hope. Several of the POWs sit near him, silently offering their support. It is evident that two of the men, B.G., are as autistic as De Fravio, having succumbed to that withdrawn plane long before. JENSEN, a prisoner with one leg, settles beside De Fravio on his bunk. Puts a spidery hand on his shoulder. JENSEN We were pulling for you, Dave. We hoped you'd make it. De Fravio's eyes focus. The merest spark of the old defiant De Fravio glimmers wanly. DE FRAVIO Next time. CUT TO: INT. INTERROGATION ROOM - DUSK LOW ANGLE on Sgt. Tay, powerful and vicious-looking as a rabid ferret. He raises one fist, holding a LENGTH OF RUBBER STRAP cut from a truck tire, and smashes it down OUT OF FRAME. There is a SICKENING THUD against flesh. TIGHT ON RAMBO grimacing from the blow. There are board red welts over both collarbones, oozing blood in places. WIDER showing Rambo on his knees, at the center of a bare CONCRETE ROOM. A single window admits a shaft of red dusk-light, like a spotlight. Rambo sways in the spotlight, glistening with sweat, stripped to his G.I. shorts. In the four corners of the small room are guards with rifles. Others crowd in the doorway, grinning and jostling to see. WHAM! The truncheon descends against Rambo's face. He sprawls onto the floor face-down, nose streaming blood. Capt. Vinh enters with a strident shout, stopping Tay from another blow. The two officers exit at a run, leaving Rambo on his face before the guards. EXT. CAMP COMPOUND - DUSK An unearthly wind and the THUNDER of several helicopter rotors fills the camp. Two American-made "HUEY" HELICOPTERS descend to lumpy landings near the guard towers. One is a UH-1D "Slick" troop carrier and the other is a UH-1B Gunship outfitted with a pedestal-mounted MINIGUN and M-60 door gun. Captured from the ARVN in 1975, both ships bear the insignia of the Republic of Vietnam. Beyond the guard tower, and dwarfing the two Hueys, an ENORMOUS HELICOPTER ROARS out of the setting sun. RUNNING LIGHTS and STROBES FLASH as the massive silhouette drops into the courtyard raising a blast of dust. It is a SOVIET MIL MI-24 assault helicopter. Its double blister canopies look like huge insect eyes. The STUBWING WEAPONS PODS bristle with rockets and cannons. It is painted with jungle camouflage and bears the red star insignia of the SOVIET NAVAL AIR WING. The Viet officers and guards cringe against the rotor blast as the ship settles. The side door slides open. DOLLY BACK, PRECEDING TWO RUSSIAN OFFICERS who tower above the Vietnamese as they stride across the camp. Vinh points to the concrete blockhouse and the officers stride past him without slowing. He falls in behind them, trying to keep up. INT. PRISONERS' BARRACKS Jensen turns from the window as the MIL MI-24's jet-whine fades. JENSEN It's those Russian interrogators again. Everyone looks grim. INT. INTERROGATION ROOM Vinh sends the gawking guards scurrying with strident yells as he follows the two Russians into the room. The Soviets stand in front of Rambo. The shorter of the two, LIEUTENANT COMMANDER YATI PODOVSK, has the slight build and unremarkable features of a bank clerk, though for a man in his forties he is in superb condition. The other, LIEUTENANT PALYUSHIN, is another story. He is a tall broad slab of combat muscle, his black hair cut short as a scrub brush. Thick and functional as state sculpture, his features cannot fill his broad, flat face. Both wear the khaki field dress and black beret of the Naval Spetznatz Brigada, The "Special Operations Brigada". At Palyushin's feet, Rambo finds himself looking up at his Soviet opposite number, the BLACK BERET. PODOVSK (in Russian) Put him in the chair. Palyushin hauls Rambo onto a wooden stool against the wall. Podovsk sits next to him on a small metal desk. It is almost dark and the only light is from a single bare bulb. PODOVSK (Viet to Vinh) Thank you, Captain Vinh. Leave one guard, please. Vinh exits with Tay and the other three Viets. Podovsk adjusts his wire-rim glasses and considers Rambo. He turns Rambo's bloodied face gently, examining the injuries. PODOVSK These people are so... vulgar in their approach. I am Lieutenant Commander Podovsk. I do not know who you are. Will you tell me? Podovsk's English is lightly accented but clear and articulate. He has a nasal condition, however. Rambo doesn't answer. PODOVSK (continuing) No? Not even your name? (silence) This is a poor beginning for an intimate relationship. By tomorrow or the next day you will tell me things you would not tell a lover. Podovsk notices the long criss-crossed scars on Rambo's chest and back. PODOVSK (continuing) I see you are no stranger to pain. Then of course you must know how senseless it is to resist in the long run. Is it possible you have been among my Vietnamese comrades before? Podovsk catches something as Rambo breaks his gaze, looking away. PODOVSK (continuing) Yes. I think that must be it. Where were you held? Hanoi? Son Tay? I apologize. I'm getting ahead. Sometimes I get too eager. My comrade and I, in our capacity as advisors, have been sent from our center at Cam Ranh Bay to discover from you certain things... for example: whether you are working directly for the American government... Who your contacts were... and on and on. Quite a list. Will you tell me these things now? Rambo gazes at a point in space. PODOVSK (continuing) Of course you won't. But, as a moral man, I felt compelled to ask. He stands with a shrug of finality and gestures to his massive assistant. PODOVSK This is Lieutenant Palyushin. To him you are a piece of meat. (in Russian to Palyushin) Proceed. LOW ANGLE on Palyushin walking forward. EXT. CAMP - MAIN GATE - NIGHT The guard in the sentry box glances up from a newspaper at the SOUND of an approaching MOTORBIKE. A YOUNG WOMAN wearing an ao-dai and coolie hat rides up on a HONDA SCOOTER and stops by the shack. OVER THE GIRL'S SHOULDER as she steps up to the guards box and coos something to the sentry. He grins to see a new face among the whores from the village, and one so pretty... great luck. REVERSE ON GIRL revealing that she is Co, as she dickers price through the sentry box window. He unlatches the gate. INT. INTERROGATION ROOM An IRON BED FRAME has been brought in and leaned vertically against the wall opposite the door. Rambo has been tied to the frame spread-eagle by lengths of COAT HANGER WIRE around his ankles, neck and forearms at the elbows. Palyushin is setting up a box-like PIECE OF EQUIPMENT on the small desk. There are wires running from the bedframe and from a METAL PLATE about the size of a paperback book taped to Rambo's belly. Palyushin clamps the other ends of the cables to terminal posts on the box, which has a large RHEOSTAT knob and several switches and dials. PODOVSK I was sent here because of my command of your language. It will be frustrating if we cannot have a nice chat. Very frustrating. (Russian to Palyushin) Ready? Palyushin nods and douses Rambo with a BUCKET OF WATER. PODOVSK (Russian) Test please. Palyushin, without ceremony, twists the knob. Rambo convulses with an explosive muscle contraction. Slams against the springs. His veins swell as if to burst. EXT. CAMP COURTYARD The lights of the camp dim, flickering, under the current load. INT. INTERROGATION ROOM Rambo slams convulsively against the electric grid formed by the steel bed. His teeth are clenched as if he has tetanus. INT. PRISONERS' BARRACKS The lights come up to normal brightness. De Fravio closes his eyes, sharing a ghost of the pain. INT. INTERROGATION ROOM Rambo hangs from his bonds, heaving and shivering. Podovsk turns to him conversationally, as if he were an acquaintance at work rather than a man being tortured. PODOVSK Oh, yes. Here is something you might be interested in. He draws a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Opens it. PODOVSK A transcript of the conversation between your helicopter pilot and his commander, intercepted and unscrambled by our overworked cryptography staff. (reading) Mmm. "Zen Hammer... Slam Dunk." Colorful names. Here we are: "Ah, Coach One... we have them in sight." And the reply: "Abort immediately. Return to base camp." He graciously shows Rambo the printout. PODOVSK It seems they intentionally abandoned you on direct orders. There are the people you protect with your silence? With your pain? He snaps his fingers and Palyushin cranks the knob. The lights dim. Rambo fights the scream unleashed within him with every fiber of his being. Straining like a demon, every muscle sharply defined and rock hard. PODOVSK (almost kindly) But you must scream. You must. There is no shame. It bursts out, a roar that frays his vocal cords. EXT. CAMP COURTYARD Co, moving stealthily in the shadow of a wall, pauses at the SOUND of the scream. Notes its direction. INT. ISOLATION CELL In the darkness Brewer rages against the inhuman screaming, pounding the wall. BREWER Bastards! INT. INTERROGATION CELL Rambo hangs so limply that he might be dead. Podovsk moves in to check as Rambo's head begins to rise. TIGHT ON RAMBO as he looks up. His eyes seem like diamond drills. There is such determination born of rage in his expression that Podovsk stops. Takes a step back. Snaps his fingers. Rambo convulses and begins to scream. Podovsk nods to his assistant. INSERT - PALYUSHIN'S HAND cuts off the current. But the scream CONTINUES. GETS LOUDER. BACK TO SCENE The Lieutenant looks up, puzzled. Rambo is going berserk. His body is an out-of-control machine, lashing and tearing at the frame. The scream breaks and becomes a FEROCIOUS HOWL. The Viet guard steps forward, alarmed and unnerved. His rifle is raised, warding off evil. Podovsk motions him back and steps closer himself. The bedframe begins to twist, creaking and warping under Rambo's frenzied assault. TIGHT CUTS - RAPID SUCCESSION A weld. Springs pop. Podovsk takes a reflexive step forward. Rambo's hand shoots out, free suddenly, like a grappling hook. Palyushin hits the CURRENT. Rambo jerks Podovsk into a headlock, a death embrace. Podovsk screams. Convulses. PODOVSK (to Palyushin) Nyet! Nyet! The Russian lashes about, convulsing in the current. The lieutenant cuts the power. Rambo snatches Podovsk's MAKAROV PISTOL from his holster. Aims it at his temple before Palyushin can reach for his. The Black Beret eases his hand away from his holster. ON THE GUARD Frozen. A FIGURE slips through the door behind him. Co cuts his throat in one motion with a BUSH KNIFE. She covers Palyushin with the guard's AK-47 as she circles to Rambo who is still enmeshed in metal wreckage. Rambo smashes the Makarov into Podovsk's temple twice, then holds Palyushin transfixed by his pistol sights as Co works quickly at his bonds. There are superficial cuts on his forearms, ankles and neck from the wire. Rambo SCREAMS hideously and with cold premeditation to mask the sound of her work. The effect is bizarre, surreal, maniacal. CO (whispering) We get out. Split up. They not want me. Rambo steps from the wreckage and advances on the hulking Black Beret, pistol ready. Again he screams, almost a war cry now, and smashes his fist into the Russian's face with the force of his entire body behind it. The big man's head ricochets off the wall into a second piledriver punch. Palyushin goes down. Podovsk groans and stirs until Rambo twists the knob. Despite a bad connection, Podovsk jerks spasmodically under the collapsed metal frame, lying in the puddle of water. Before Co can use the knife on Palyushin, Capt. Vinh enters, his expression agape. He turns and bolts. INT. CORRIDOR Vinh dashes out, SHOUTING MANIACALLY. Behind him Rambo hurtles through the door, a blur, and smashes Vinh against the concrete wall. Vaulting over the crumpled camp commander without slowing, Rambo hits the outside door at a full run. Just as Sgt. Tay is opening it from outside. EXT. COURTYARD Tay's AK flies from his hands as he tumbles back. Rambo spins into him with a FLYING ROUNDHOUSE KICK which pitches him onto his back, an inert heap. INT. INTERROGATION ROOM The transformer box shorts out under the continuous load, frying with a bright FLASH. The lights of the camp go out completely. EXT. COURTYARD With Co close behind him, Rambo runs toward the compound fence. A SHOUT FROM NEARBY. A RUNNING GUARD and Co open up with their assault rifles simultaneously. The guard dives for cover. Rambo lifts the wire for Co to wiggle under. She reciprocates for him as the TOWER GUARD spins his long- unused PK MACHINE GUN and opens fire. Co fires from the shoulder. The tower guard flinches at the unexpected return fire. Dives. His shots go wild. Co's AK empties. She drops it. Rambo and Co make it into the forest, running full out. MORE AKs OPEN UP behind them. Both TOWER PKs. EXT. RAIN FOREST HANDHELD PRECEDING RAMBO at a dead run as he crashes through foliage. The forest is an insane blur. TRACERS WHIP BY, ruler-straight lines of red light... deadly fireflies. BARK EXPLODES from tree trunks around them. Leaves are ripped into green confetti. They angle away from the blind firing. Stop at a GAME TRAIL. RAMBO (panting) You are amazing. Co is furious at his dawdling. CO (pointing down trail) Di di mau! Go! Go! She spins and sprints away along the trail, disappearing in a moment. Rambo hesitates an instant, then runs the other way. INT. INTERROGATION ROOM Palyushin, his nose and mouth streaming blood, claws his way up the desk and reels across the dark room to Podovsk. He hurls the metal frame off his superior, who groans feebly. EXT. COURTYARD A guard holds Sgt. Tay's shoulders as he retches. Palyushin strides out of the interrogation blockhouse and jerks the sergeant to his feet by his collar. He points to the forest. PALYUSHIN (Viet/subtitled) Find! Now! He releases the Viet sergeant and briskly walks toward the MIL MI-24. Tay weakly calls orders B.G., rounding up his guards. The RUSSIAN PILOT is waiting dutifully near his machine as Palyushin approaches. The Black Beret makes a circular hand signal... WIND HER UP. EXT. RAIN FOREST Rambo at a dead run zig-zags along the dark game trail. The path steepens and he claws at exposed roots... climbing as much as running. Behind him is the rising sound of rotors. EXT. RAIN FOREST - NEAR CAMP Using HAND LIGHTS to follow his footprints, Tay's SQUAD OF SIX GUARDS jogs into the jungle. Behind them, through the trees, the massive assault helicopter and its escort of Hueys rise into the night. The three choppers switch on their HIGH INTENSITY SEARCHLIGHTS as they thunder overhead. Shafts of light pierce the jungle. Sweeping. Searching. EXT. FOREST Rambo is climbing rapidly, using roots as handholds to ascend the steep trail. The WHUMP-WHUMP of the helicopters approaches, the glare of light flickering behind him. Rambo moves into a densely woven thicket. Freezes, watching. Moves on. EXT. FOREST - NEARBY The guards are ascending the trail like hounds. EXT. FOREST - TRAIL Rambo crashes through foliage as a SEARCHLIGHT SWEEPS TOWARD HIM. It races over him, backlighting him as he dives off the trail. The searchlight flicks past him. Snaps back. TRACERS rip down through the trees. RED SLASHES OF DEATH. Rambo tumbles, rolls, comes up running. He tears through the jungle in a frenzy. The foliage is alive with blasting air. He dives over the edge of a muddy ravine, dropping through tangled vines. Catching, clawing, dropping. He runs on. Totally manic. They can't target him. He hits a solid trail and sprints, really covering ground. The shaft of light scans back and forth behind him. Then farther away. They've lost him. For the moment. ANGLE ABOVE JUNGLE CANOPY as the choppers circle, seemingly dueling with lances of light. EXT. TRAIL - NEARBY Rambo, moving rapidly, but more carefully, glides among the trees. He stops at the BANK OF A TINY STREAM, setting down knife and pistol. Scooping stinking BLACK MUD from the stream bed, he begins to slather it over his pale skin with quick, sure strokes. Arms. Legs. Body... TIGHT ON RAMBO'S FACE eyes closed, as he smears the goo thoroughly over every exposed area. His eyes open. It is a neolithic, feral visage that turns away into the foliage. ON THE GUARDS moving forward cautiously. Unfamiliar with tracking, and little else really except bullying weak prisoners, they crash around clumsily, falling and cursing in the dense thicket. CLOSE ON RAMBO moving in absolute silence nearby. He freezes. Fifteen meters away is a SMALL WILD PIG, asleep under a knot of vines. Rambo fires the makarov, hitting the earth near the pig. It squeals and leaps up. THE GUARDS wave their AKs, looking for the source of the shot. They hear something crashing through the undergrowth to the right. Movement in dense brush. They open fire. The CRASH OF SUSTAINED FIRE is deafening. They blast blindly away, lighting up the forest. Their attention is so focused, the din so loud, they do not notice a dark figure moving up behind them. Rambo snatches the wayward last guard into a thicket, knife buried to the hilt, hand over his mouth. Tay shouts repeatedly to cease firing and the others finally stop. They move away, advancing on their "target." Tay gingerly parts woven branches, revealing the pig, riddled with hundreds of 7.62mm rounds. He turns to the others. TAY (Viet/subtitled) Where's Trang? The other guards look around, puzzled. ON RAMBO A shadow in shadows. He slips the clip from the AK-47 he has liberated, but finds it almost empty. Sets it down quietly. Tay spreads his men out to sweep the area in an arc. The guards advance, stricken with a growing unease. EXT. RAIN FOREST LOW ANGLE through the trees as the Soviet assault helicopter passes overhead, its searchlight sweeping. The canopy of foliage lashes violently as the rotor wash blasts through it. Monkeys SHRIEK and leap about. ON RAMBO - FOREGROUND as the godlike shaft of light moves through the brush behind him. Searching. Passing within a meter of him. He moves quickly off. The disk of hideously bright light passes over two guards, blinding them. One trips and goes down. The other, the outermost man of the sweep, waits for him to rise. And waits. GUARD (Viet/subtitled) Vuoc? You alright? The guard moves cautiously to his friend's last position. Ahead face-down in a shallow stream, is the BODY OF VUOC, his blood running away with the water. Approaching the body warily, the guard plays his flashlight around him in a full circle. Nothing. DETAIL ON MUDBANK Featureless matted vines and mud. Suddenly A PAIR OF EYES SNAP OPEN.