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Найден оригинальный сценарий второй части "Рембо". И он гораздо лучше, чем фильм.

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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.

ON THE GUARD

kneeling over Vuoc in the F.G. Behind him there is silent

movement among the gnarled roots and vines in a muddy

embankment.

Blending flawlessly with the mudbank, Rambo's mud-

encrusted figure has been in PLAIN VIEW, YET CONCEALED,

until he opened his eyes and moved. He emerges

noiselessly and moves up behind the guard, looming above

him.

INT./ EXT. MIL MI-24

Palyushin mans the forward cockpit, the WEAPONS BAY.

His hands clutch the handles of a machine gun as he scans

the jungle below. The pilot directs the searchlight as he

flies.

Palyushin touches his nose gingerly. It is clearly

broken, becoming a thickened, purplish mass.

EXT. RAIN FOREST

Realizing they are without their flankers, the two CENTER

GUARDS call out and move toward their last positions.

They stand together at the top of the mudbank, gaping at

the two bodies sprawled below.

ANGLE ON TAY

isolated, calling for his men to sound off. He hears a

distant shout, then a quick burst of gunfire.

TAY

Bui? Phong? Than?

There is no answer.

INT. MIL MI-24

Palyushin points at something on the ground.

The pilot banks, arcing around his searchlight's target.

EXT. RAIN FOREST

Tay moves forward hypnotically, as if transfixed.

The celestial shaft of the searchlight burns down ahead.

He approaches. Like a vision he sees the BODIES OF HIS

MEN sprawled in the quivering disk of light. One has been

stripped of his clothing. He stares around, terrified,

staggers back, lip quivering.

Tay drops his rifle and runs back through the jungle.

EXT. RAIN FOREST - RIDGE

Rambo climbs steadily. The mud, dissolving in sweat, runs

in streaks off his body. He has stopped to slip on the

FATIGUE PANTS he took from one of the guards. The pants

come to mid-calf but the material will protect against

brambles and insects.

He has also acquired an AK-47 with EXTRA MAGAZINES.

His pockets bulge with SOVIET-MADE GRENADES.

Rambo moves on into the mountains.

EXT. RAIN FOREST - DIRT ROAD

Tay stumbles out of the underbrush into a pool of light.

The headlight of a VIET ARMY TROOP TRANSPORT.

A squad of men runs past him into the jungle, fanning out.

Another truck arrives.

The search is on in force.

INT./ EXT. FLIGHT CENTER - NAKON PHANOM AFB - DAWN

An F-4 PHANTOM JET taxis amid MOVING GROUND EQUIPMENT

under the floodlights as the sky slowly lightens.

D-PLUS 53 HRS

NAKON PHANOM, THAILAND

PAN OFF THE FLIGHTLINE onto Trautman gazing out the window

of a small office. He looks haggard. Soul-weary.

With the receiver cradled at his ear he is waiting for a

call to connect.

TRAUTMAN

Bob, hi. Did you get my telex?

(pause)

Yeah, I know what time it is

there... do you know what time it is

here? Look, is there anything you

can do up the line? You owe me one.

I'm calling it in.

(pause)

Yes, this time.

(pause)

I know you're a general and I'm only

a colonel.

(long pause)

So that's it, huh? Back off. Come

home... that's it?

(pause, then frostily)

Thanks, buddy.

He slams the receiver into its cradle, and sits,

pondering. He is about to make a somewhat bizarre

decision for a full colonel.

Trautman opens the door and the young corporal in the

office beyond turns in his chair.

TRAUTMAN

Get me a "Loach," I'm going back out

to Ban Bung Kla.

CORPORAL

Yes, sir.

INT. ISOLATION CELL

BLACK SCREEN. There is a SCRAPING SOUND and light appears

as a CEMENT BLOCK is removed at floor level. De Fravio's

face appears in the rectangular hole.

DE FRAVIO

(whispering)

Hey, Brewer. You okay?

Brewer crawls stiffly to the opening, squinting at the

glare.

BREWER

(hoarsely)

I could use a beer.

EXT. GUARD BARRACKS - CELL

The cement-block wall of the cells adjoins the raised

wooden barracks. De Fravio and Jensen have belly-crawled

beneath the building to the cell, where they have long

used a loosened block to communicate with prisoners in

"the hole."

DE FRAVIO

Your buddy made it out last night.

The place went apeshit.

BREWER

Really? How come he didn't take me?

DE FRAVIO

Maybe because you're shot in the

leg.

BREWER

Oh, yeah. Listen, how long do they

keep you in this disease hole?

JENSEN

Who knows? I was in there for a

month once. De Fravio did three

months.

BREWER

How do you keep from coming unglued?

JENSEN

Concentrate on a problem. Like, I

built my dream house in my head,

brick by brick. Board by board. If

something really takes a day, I

thought about it for a whole day.

Like that.

DE FRAVIO

I built a shopping mall.

JENSEN

(urgently)

Guards. See ya.

They slide the block into place and Brewer sits in front

of it, COUGHING TO HIDE THE SCRAPE as the door is opened

by two guards.

Morning light blasts in, blinding him, as one guard hauls

him roughly to his feet, despite his wounded leg.

BREWER

(menacingly)

Watch it. Don't fuck with me, man!

(jerks a thumb at

himself)

I'm dinky dau!

The guards guffaw and drag him off.

EXT. RAIN FOREST - MORNING

A line of Viet soldiers moves through the shimmering

jungle.

CAMERA BOOMS UP

as they move past, revealing others beyond, and the tops

of parked trucks.

The MOVE ENDS ON RAMBO, watching from the branches of a

tree as they move by only a few meters below. The

choppers search methodically nearby.

INT. INTERROGATION ROOM

Brewer is trussed tightly, his elbows tied together and

drawn up painfully by a cord attached to a ceiling

fixture.

Palyushin looms in front of him, holding the truck-tire

bludgeon.

Podovsk, looking the worse for wear with a bandage

covering half his face, sits on the stool. The gaze of

his exposed eye is malevolent.

PODOVSK

(wearily)

I think you know where he is going.

Is there a rendezvous point? Some

guerrilla contract? A transmitter

perhaps.

BREWER

(earnestly)

No way. If I say anything... that's

three.

The interrogator scowls, briefly perplexed.

PODOVSK

(rising)

I cannot be responsible for the

safety of the prisoners if he is not

captured. This government now

considers the existence of POWs an

embarrassment. An unmarked grave in

the jungle may be their solution. I

am only an advisor.

BREWER

Advise my dick, you Siberian

scumbag.

Palyushin explodes with a brutal blow to Brewer's ribs,

which doubles him over in agony. He struggles to regain

his breath, dragging at the air like a terminal emphysema

patient. Brewer slowly raises his head.

BREWER

(sneering)

Ke-rist. Whattaya trying to do,

man, tickle me?

Palyushin snarls and smashes the truncheon down even

harder.

EXT. RAIN FOREST - DAY

Rambo runs crouching along a shallow gully, trying to duck

around the end of the advancing line of Viet troops.

He emerges from dense foliage onto a DIRT-TRACK SIDEROAD

only to see a FLANKING SQUAD of about ten men jogging

toward him. They shout and hit the deck, opening fire, as

he dives on into the underbrush.

Rambo runs, zig-zagging radically as small-arms fire laces

the woods around him. He crashes through foliage,

abandoning stealth.

LONG LENS WHIP-PANNING with Rambo as he charges down a

long slope, the trees a green blur. He crosses his arms

over his face and batters through the brush with blind

force.

EXT. HOOTCH

Rambo bursts out of the dense tangle, dragging streamers

of vines, and finds himself in an EXPLOSION OF SQUAWKING

CHICKENS.

He is in the muddy door-yard of a rural HOOTCH, part of a

SMALL HAMLET, of about a dozen buildings.

Pigs scatter, grunting their surprise, as Rambo sprints

across the yard. Over a low rail fence. Between the

hootches.

Soldiers charge down the slope behind him.

EXT. HAMLET

Rambo emerges onto the main "street" at a dead run,

tearing a swath through the everyday village activities.

The Viet peasants scatter as the fierce American charges

through their midst. A giant by their standards to begin

with, Rambo is now a mud-caked nightmare, trailing vines

and brambles... his face a mask of dark streaks topped by

encrusted hair.

He crashes into a panic-stricken young man on a bicycle,

spilling them both. Rolls. Comes up running.

Rambo changes course to intersect with an ANCIENT TRUCK

which is accelerating away, headed out of the village.

The truck, rusted and mud-caked into a brownish lump on

wheels, is hauling a load of CHICKENS in a WIRE MESH CAGE

on the flat bed.

Rambo leaps onto the running board of the cab and points

his pistol through the window at the terrified OLD MAN

driving.

RAMBO

(Viet/subtitled)

Keep driving.

EXT. ROAD

Rambo clings tightly as the truck rattles and bounces over

the rutted road, which shortly emerges from a stand of

trees to run along a field of ELEPHANT GRASS.

Rambo sees soldiers converging on the road through the

trees on the other side. Behind him, more emerge from the

village and open fire.

A bullet shatters the filthy windshield and the old driver

loses control. The truck veers into a ditch, slews,

hurling up a sheet of water and flops ignominiously on its

side.

Rambo lands clear. The old man begins to sob helplessly.

The chickens scatter in all directions.

CLOSE ON RAMBO, freeing a RUSTED GAS CAN from the twisted

wreck of the truck bed.

WIDE from behind the soldiers as they pour AK-47 bursts

into the truck 50 meters away. A figure dashes from the

now-burning vehicle into the field of tall grass,

disappearing.

EXT. ROAD - EDGE OF GRASS

Two troop trucks are deploying soldiers as a group of

OFFICERS stands near the chicken truck. Sgt. Tay climbs

down from a six-by cab. Directing operations is Capt.

Vinh. His face is bruised and abraded, and one arm is on

a sling.

Vinh motions Tay impatiently toward where he stands at the

edge of the elephant grass, and Tay wades into it, joining

him. Beyond them the coarse grass becomes an impenetrable

wall almost EIGHT FEET HIGH.

Vinh snorts in disgust at Tay and points at some trampled

stalks. There is a bright smear of blood, and beyond,

another. Vinh cuffs his sergeant.

VINH

(Viet/subtitled)

You see? Not a demon. A man. Now,

we find where he's crawled to die.

Tay indicates that the others should go ahead of him, to

have that honor.

A line of THIRTY REGULARS moves into the grass. Only the

RADIO ANTENNAS of the squad leaders are visible above the

waving stalks. The helicopters arc in from the distant

ridgeline, converging.

EXT. ELEPHANT GRASS

POV, HANDHELD, MOVING SLOWLY THROUGH THE GRASS. The point

man parts the stalks ahead. It is a quiet, eerie world,

with only the SWISH OF THE GRASS and the occasional SOUND-

OFF CALLS of the troopers. There is a clear trail of

blood smeared on the grass, indicating a serious wound.

VARIOUS CLOSEUPS of the regulars as they advance, each man

realizing how utterly isolated he really is, in his own

island of space in the green sea. It is hot. Some of the

soldiers have their fatigues unbuttoned, sleeves rolled

up. Sweat pours off them.

POV, HANDHELD, following the trail of blood. The grass is

parted ahead and a small clearing comes into view.

Slowly moving up on SOMETHING LYING IN THE GRASS.

TWO CHICKENS, THEIR THROATS CUT, are lying beside the gas

can, which is upright with its cap off. A bizarre little

shrine. There is no sign of Rambo.

REVERSE on the squad leader, puzzled, wary.

INSERT - RAMBO'S HAND strikes a match, igniting a wet

trail of SPILLED GAS with a WHOOSH.

The squad leader looks up, seeing the river of fire

snaking toward him through the waving stalks.

He turns, panicked. Crashes into the men behind him.

Shrieks at them to move. They trample over each other to

run as the trail of fire reaches the can.

VOOM!

Tay sees a tremendous fireball erupt ahead. Hears

SCREAMING. He freezes in his tracks as the nightmare

begins again. Shrieking, a man runs toward him, ON FIRE,

charging past.

Vinh shouts futilely into a radio. Firing blindly,

several troopers open up.

EXT. ROAD

From the trucks it is apparent that the grass is burning

on its own, in a long line where the "fuse" was laid out

and in a widening circle around the explosion site.

EXT. IN THE GRASS

Black smoke rolls through the grass, and troopers stumble

about, coughing as the wind carries it toward them.

The choppers have moved in close overhead and their rotor-

wash fans the fire, adding to the confusion.

FAST HANDHELD PRECEDING RAMBO

as he snakes rapidly through the stalks. He stops. Hurls

a grenade. Runs on, navigating by instinct in the dense

smoke.

VINH

is knocked down as a grenade detonates near him.

A trooper helps him up, sees a figure running nearby...

fires. Hitting one of their own.

More grenades. Random firing. The din is incredible, the

pandemonium absolute.

A VIET SOLDIER, reels through the grass. Obviously a

recent conscript, the soldier is probably only 18 years

old, and like all Vietnamese, looks even younger. He is

terrified.

He stumbles over the body of another trooper. As he

rises, a shape slashes through the grass right in front of

him.

He has never seen an American, but it looks as monstrous

as the descriptions.

He raises his AK but Rambo is quicker, kicking it out of

his hands. The kid flops on his butt and finds himself

staring up Rambo's rifle barrel. He closes his eyes and

pops into his mouth his BUDDHIST PRAYER MEDALLION, hanging

from a chain around his neck. He bites down and waits for

oblivion.

When he opens his eyes there is nothing in front of him

but grass.

Nearby, Vinh leads the retreat as his men fall back, dim

shapes rushing blindly through the murk.

He staggers, coughing, out of the stand of grass to see

Tay, sitting dazed nearby. Tay gives him an evil smirk.

Barking orders like a maniac, Vinh calls for MORTARS to be

set up. Five mortars are positioned. Elevation set.

Mortar bombs poised above the launch tubes. The

helicopters clear off.

When the last wounded man is dragged clear, Vinh signals

for a sighting round.

It EXPLODES beyond the wall of flame. The mortars open

fire.

The field explodes seconds later with the first salvo.

Earth and shredded grass are hurled skyward. A second

salvo lands. A third. And on and on, pulverizing the

entire area.

EXT. TREELINE - NEARBY

Rambo watches, fascinated by the tremendous destruction

unleashed on innocent acreage nearby.

He slips slowly into the woods, glancing back frequently

at his trail. He stops occasionally to replace a

disturbed twig or leaf, or to rearrange branches when he

passes through. Total "sterilization."

The mortars thud on distantly as he creeps away.

INT. INTERROGATION ROOM

FULL SHOT as Palyushin delivers a crippling blow to

Brewer's ribs. Brewer cries out hoarsely and slumps.

CLOSE ON BREWER as his head slowly rises to look at the

big Russian.

BREWER

(panting)

This your first day?

Podovsk catches his assistant's hand before he swings.

PODOVSK

You think you can provoke us into

beating you unconscious? We are not

that... unskilled.

BREWER

I've had it with you, ratface.

Don't piss me off!

Podovsk takes the "fan belt" from Palyushin and smashes it

across Brewer's face. Again. Brewer scream hideously.

And again.

CLOSE ON BREWER

We see only the top of his head. We don't want him to

rise up, but he does, agonizingly. Blood streams over the

area where his eye is already swelling shut.

Don't say anything, Brewer.

BREWER

(hoarsely)

Aaargh. God damn that... was...

good!

(shouting)

Do it again, you fuck!

(screaming)

Come on... I love it! You hear

me... I LOVE IT!

Podovsk looms before us, swinging in slow motion, INTO THE

LENS. The scene FADES OUT.

EXT. RAIN FOREST - DAY

Under overcast sky Rambo emerges at a steep-walled ravine.

There is a swaying SUSPENSION BRIDGE of rope and woven

vines crossing to the jungled slope beyond.

Looming at the top of that slope is the ruin of the Wat on

its plateau, wreathed in streamers of blowing mist.

Not far away is the waterfall, pouring itself into the

gorge below.

Rambo stops at the far side of the bridge, examining the

vine-cables.

He starts pulling grenades out of his pockets.

EXT. PRISON CAMP - DAY

Palyushin crosses the compound to the Huey gunship which

has just touched down. The other Huey hovers above the

trees B.G.

The big Russian appreciatively pats the MINIGUN bolted in

the main door as he climbs in.

Palyushin enters the cockpit, motioning for the VIETNAMESE

PILOT to take off as he slips a headset over his black

beret.

The ship rises, and the two Hueys bank across the jungle.

INT. MOTC - THAILAND

D-PLUS 58 HRS

The telecom tech turns as Kirkhill enters.

TECH

(handing him a sheaf

of papers)

More AWACS intercepts. The Russian

takes time to translate.

Kirkhill scans a long PRINTOUT TRANSCRIPT.

KIRKHILL

He's giving them a run for their

money. Says here they've got two

Hueys from Danang. I didn't know

those dinks had Hueys.

TECH

Half their air force is our stuff.

Captured.

KIRKHILL

Typical...

TECH

Sir, there's something else... a

TRANSAT relay. Just came through.

KIRKHILL

What?

He snatches the sheet from the tech.

E.C.U. - PRINTOUT SHEET

It reads:

KIRKHILL/I'M COMING FOR YOU/RAMBO

KIRKHILL

stares at the sheet for a long time.

EXT. RAIN FOREST - NEAR WAT - DAY

Rambo finishes dismantling the TRANSAT unit. He sets the

pieces back into the hole of the CACHE he and Brewer

buried before their run through the jungle.

He begins shoveling earth back into the hole.

A beautiful PURPLE MOTH-ORCHID drops onto the ground by

his hand. He freezes.

VOICE

You not so hard to catch, dinky dau

Rambo.

Rambo looks up along the tumbled stone wall. Sitting near

the top in shadow, perched on a tree limb, is Co, beaming

like a Cheshire cat.

RAMBO

(relaxing)

Christ. How'd you get here?

CO

(climbing down)

Took bus, most of way. I knew you

would come here.

He helps her down the last few feet, and stands looking at

her, marveling.

RAMBO

And how'd you sneak up like that?

CO

Carefully. Don't want to get shot

by you. Bad karma. Anyway, you

need me.

RAMBO

I do?

CO

You think you are... (she uses a

Viet word).

RAMBO

(translating)

Invulnerable.

CO

In-vul-nerabo. But you get ass

kicked without me.

Rambo has to laugh.

RAMBO

Yeah. We're a pretty good team.

Co looks him over carefully. She touches his forehead.

CO

You look like hell. Wounds

infected. Come up to the ruins, I

have medical kit.

Rambo lets her lead him to the path up the hill.

EXT. RUINS OF WAT

The stone Buddhas look on complacently as Co attends to

Rambo's minor wounds. During the ensuing conversation she

cleans, applies salve and bandages the wire-lacerations

and the numerous slashes from brambles and saw-edged

elephant grass.

CO

You try get across Laos? Get to

Thailand?

RAMBO

(nodding)

Yeah. Got some business there.

What are you gonna do?

CO

(shrugs)

Go United States. See Nguyen.

Maybe teach economics. Buy

Cadillac. Watch "Dynasty."

RAMBO

How you going to get there? You

can't trust the spooks to pull you

out. They'll use you up and throw

you away.

CO

I know. I go with you.

RAMBO

I couldn't get you in.

Co stops her work and replies very quietly.

CO

Yes you can.

RAMBO

How?

Co's gaze holds his and her Cheshire grin flickers.

CO

As wife.

Rambo realizes she is serious. The silence drags when he

realizes how good that sounds to him at this moment. And

how small a price that is to repay her.

RAMBO

(with finality)

Okay. Done. You got it.

She seems a bit shocked, then smiles impishly.

CO

You too easy.

Co's hands have been all over him but only now does he

become aware of them on his shoulders.

She draws her face up to his but Rambo pulls back from the

kiss. Co looks puzzled as he slowly disengages from her

contact.

CO

You don't feel love, Rambo?

He leans back against the wall.

RAMBO

Look, Co...

CO

Why you don't feel love? Not

allowed?

(her tone becomes

aggressive)

Dead inside, maybe? You make

yourself dead already so they can't

kill you? In-vulnerabo? Bullshit!

She advances on him until her face is close to his, her

words finding their mark.

CO

(continuing)

Bucu bullshit!

(pause)

I have enough death already.

Husband. Mother. Father.

Brothers. Death everywhere.

She points into the undergrowth nearby, to a ghostly

blossom growing there among the tangled vines.

CO

You see? A flower like that need

good soil to grow. Many time under

earth is bones of animal... or

person. Killed in jungle. Make

soil rich. Grows most beautiful

flower. You call orchid. Many

deaths in jungle. Vietnamese, V.C.,

American. Many beautiful flowers.

Rambo studies her intently. An emotional moment for him.

He takes her flawless face in his hands, draws her closer.

Suddenly his head snaps around. A distant THUDDING of

COPTER ROTORS becomes audible, growing slowly louder.

Rambo leaps up, sprinting to a crumbled parapet.

Below, in the valley, the two Hueys are slowly scanning,

like angry insects.

EXT. SUSPENSION BRIDGE

A COLUMN of VIET SOLDIERS jogs across the swaying bridge.

ANGLE PAST AN OBJECT IN F.G.

as the lead man approaches, almost across the bridge. The

object is a CLUSTER OF GRENADES lashed to a tree to which

one of the main support cables of the bridge is attached.

A FINE WIRE runs down to the bridge walkway.

PING. The wire pulls a pin.

EXT. WAT RUINS

Rambo whips around as an explosion rips through the

jungle.

EXT. BRIDGE

The bridge begins to collapse, dumping half the soldiers

into the ravine as one side drops. The others run back.

The second cable tears away. The bridge swings down,

spilling the remaining men.

EXT. RAIN FOREST - TREETOP LEVEL

The two Hueys bank steeply and ROAR straight TOWARD

CAMERA, passing overhead.

EXT. RAIN FOREST - NEAR WAT

Rambo and Co head into a trail which leads down the

backside of the plateau. Rushing toward them is a PLATOON

of VIET REGULARS.

Rambo opens fire, scattering them off the trail.

He and Co make it back to the Wat as return fire rips

through the jungle.

Rambo throws two grenades down the hill and sprints with

Co deeper into the maze of the ruined monastery.

The soldiers fall back as the grenades detonate ahead of

them.

INT./ EXT. HUEY ONE

Palyushin speaks into his helmet radio.

PALYUSHIN

(Viet/subtitled)

Get your men back. I'm beginning an

attack run.

The Huey THUNDERS toward the ruins, banking in an arc to

aim the "minigun."

EXT. RUINS

Rambo sees the Huey coming in on a high arcing trajectory

and knows he's in trouble. Dragging Co, he dives under a

section of wall which has collapsed like a lean-to.

INT./ EXT. HUEY ONE

Palyushin's thumb depresses the FIRE CONTROL SWITCH.

An AWESOME ROAR fills the sky. A COLUMN OF ORANGE FIRE

blasts from the minigun as its gatling-gun barrels rotate

in a blur.

One of the most ferocious anti-personnel weapons used in

the Vietnam war, the GENERAL ELECTRIC M-134 Minigun fires

six thousand 7.62mm rounds per minute. Since every fifth

round is a tracer, the impression is of a solid shaft of

fire sustained between ship to ground.

The SOUND is not that of a machine gun but rather a SOLID

HELD NOTE OF THUNDER, like a god belching.

One of its nicknames was "Puff the Magic Dragon."

EXT. RUINS

The effect on the ground is unbelievable. Trees are blown

to kindling. The foliage is pulverized, and blown upward

like mist.

The tracers hit the ground like an orange curtain

stripping the stones of growth, blasting up a cloud of

emulsified jungle.

In their crevice, Rambo and Co huddle, covering their

ears.

A fusillade of chips and splinters whips around them.

Suddenly, the thunder cuts off.

Rambo rolls out. Fires well-aimed bursts at the

retreating Huey.

INT. HUEY ONE

Palyushin hears rounds whacking the underside of the ship.

He calmly orders the pilot to turn back.

EXT. RUINS - CREVICE

Rambo crouches in the opening, watching the ship bank.

CO

(terrified)

What was that?

RAMBO

Minigun. Come on. Let's move.

He's coming in on our open side.

They sprint across the courtyard as the minigun ROARS

again. The CURTAIN OF DEVASTATION sweeps toward them as

they run. They make it behind one of the Buddhas, just as

the hail of death passes across it.

The rounds blast a layer of weathered stone off the serene

face.

Behind Rambo the second Huey pops above the trees, firing

with a conventional door gun, an M-60.

Rambo fires back.

Tracers flash around him. He reloads. FIRES.

CO CRIES OUT. She is SLAMMED AGAINST THE WALL.

The second Huey banks away. Rambo crouches beside Co's

crumpled figure.

INT. HUEY ONE

Palyushin turns to the pilot.

PALYUSHIN

(Viet/subtitled)

Return to staging area. We have to

reload.

EXT. RUINS

Rambo cradles Co, whose blouse is drenched with blood.

It runs over his hands as he holds her helplessly.

She is as white as the jungle orchid. Her eyes focus

slowly on Rambo.

CO

(almost inaudible)

Dinky-dau-Rambo.

Rambo is rocking her, willing the life to stay in her, his

expression anguished.

RAMBO

John. My name is John.

CO

(very weak)

It doesn't hurt. Why doesn't it

hurt?

INT. HUEY ONE

Palyushin coordinates the air operation.

PALYUSHIN

(Viet/subtitled)

Air Two, circle in a holding

pattern.

(Russian/subtitled)

Air Three, are you in position?

INT./ EXT. MIL MI-24

In the spacious MAIN COCKPIT which overlooks the lower

WEAPONS BAY blister, PODOVSK is seated with the Russian

pilot.

PILOT

(Russian/subtitled)

Ready, Air Command.

PALYUSHIN (V.O.)

(Russian/subtitled)

Begin your run.

The pilot turns to Podovsk.

PILOT

(Russian/subtitled)

How many are down there?

PODOVSK

(distantly)

One.

The pilot looks at him strangely. The massive assault

helicopter noses down and thunders forward across the

jungle.

EXT. RUINS

VERY CLOSE ON RAMBO, rocking gently.

RAMBO

... you're gonna love it there.

It'll be great. We can do what we

want... you and me... go to the

beach... with Nguyen... watch him

ridin' his surfboard...

Co's eyes are glazed, half-open. She is gone.

Rambo sobs. Somehow this one tragedy renders all the

others pale.

RAMBO

(continuing)

Oh, God...

He kisses her mouth fiercely. Trying to make her live, to

infuse her cooling flesh with some of his vast will.

INT. MIL MI-24

PILOT

(Russian/subtitled)

500 meters. Final approach.

EXT. RUINS

Rambo lays Co with infinite gentleness in the lap of the

stone Buddha. In the lap is one slightly cupped hand,

palm upward, stripped of foliage by the minigun.

Co lies in the palm, barely filling it.

Single sniping rounds WHACK occasionally near Rambo.

He is oblivious.

Rambo removes the tiny BUDDHIST PRAYER MEDALLION from

around her neck and puts it on. Straightens her clothing.

Looks up at the broad stone countenance.

Its expression is, as always, enigmatic.

He turns as the assault chopper approaches, running dead

at him.

TWO LONG METAL CYLINDERS detach from the stub wings and

drop, beginning their characteristic TUMBLING.

RAMBO

(awed)

'Palm.

He spins and runs, leaving his rifle.

EXT. RAIN FOREST

Rambo slashes through the trees like a madman, running

with everything he has.

Behind him the NAPALM CANISTERS hit the ground at the edge

of the ruins.

An ENORMOUS FIREBALL blossoms through the jungle.

The canisters' inertia carries them forward, SPEWING

TWENTY-METER-LONG ARCS OF FLAME. The inferno engulfs the

Buddhas and rolls forward through the trees, silhouetting

the tiny running figure of Rambo.

Just as the firestorm reaches him he dives at a dead run

off an embankment. Into a rushing MOUNTAIN STREAM about

five meters wide.

UNDERWATER SEQUENCE

Rambo dives to the bottom as a sun-bright CANOPY OF FIRE

rushes across the surface with a muffled ROAR.

The stream is only about two meters deep and is swiftly

flowing. The napalm on the surface lights the bottom

orange despite the daylight. He seems suspended in a

fiery maelstrom.

MOVING WITH RAMBO'S figure we dive at giddy speed over the

tortuous streambed like some weird amusement park ride.

Rambo tumbles over and between smooth boulders.

He strains to hold his breath as the fire diminishes

above.

Then it is gone. He is clear.

Suddenly the rocks END, dropping away.

EXT. RAVINE - WATERFALL

Rambo tumbles clear of the falling water as he drops down

the face of the CATARACT seen earlier.

He hits the surface of the pool with a tremendous SPLASH.

ANGLE ON WATER

boiling with turbulence as he surfaces, gasping.

He weakly sculls at the surface as the current carries him

along.

Above, on the escarpment, a FIRE-STORM rages, lighting up

the jungle.

The Buddha is at the heart of the holocaust, reminiscent

of a self-immolating monk. Co's pyre is magnificent.

EXT. BRACKISH ESTUARY

The pool at the base of the cataract empties into

swampland near the Ca River.

Rambo lets the increasingly torpid flow carry him until he

catches sight of a familiar object: The abandoned sampan

of the river bandits, still moored among the huge tree

roots.

EXT. SWAMP - SAMPAN

Rambo clambers aboard and goes into the cabin.

Still in its wooden locker is the RPG-7 ROCKET GRENADE

LAUNCHER and a rack of ROCKETS in a carrying pack.

With rapid movements Rambo dons the pack and picks up the

launcher. Moves to the stern. Pulls hard on the starter

rope of the filthy outboard.

Across the estuary one of the Hueys is moving over the

trees, getting closer. The motor starts on the third

pull.

INT./ EXT. HUEY TWO

The VIET PILOT banks, motioning to his door gunner. Below

them is the sampan, chugging across the estuary.

The pilot descends as the gunner opens fire. The .30

caliber slugs riddle the sampan, sending splinters flying.

It EXPLODES, its incredible hoard of junk hurled flaming

into the swamp.

The Huey lowers farther, rotorwash whipping the water into

churning froth.

The Viets scan the debris, spotting a FLOATING BODY.

ANGLE AT WATER LEVEL

as the corpse rolls slowly over. It is Kinh, the crazy

bandit leader.

EXT. MARSH - NEARBY

WATER LEVEL. The Huey, hovering 40 meters away, begins to

turn toward us.

SOMETHING RISES from the surface scum in CLOSE F.G. among

the gnarled tree roots.

A HULKING FIGURE dripping water and mud and strands of

swamp weed.

Rambo.

The launcher tube across his shoulder.

REVERSE - CLOSE ON RAMBO

as he wipes filthy water out of his eyes and returns to

the SCOPE-SIGHT, blinking, taking his time.

WIDER

The Huey's M-60 opens up, walking a parade of waterspouts

toward him across the water.

Rambo FIRES.

With a tremendous BACKBLAST the rocket leaps out, a fiery

arrow, and strikes the Huey square in the canopy.

FLASH! CRACK! The Huey drops into the swamp, its rotors

twisting up and flying off. The FUEL TANKS EXPLODE.

Rambo pivots, reloading. He takes aim and fires again.

The rocket roars into the rain forest, the blast sending

approaching soldiers scattering.

He reloads. Fires again, flinching away from the rocket

exhaust. His expression is grim, his movements

methodical.

He pivots again. Fires.

Rounds start hitting around him. He holds position.

Reloads.

Fires.

Beyond the trees, off the river road, the troop trucks are

parked. Nearby is a REFUELING TRUCK for the helicopters.

Rambo's rocket makes a direct hit.

A FIREBALL BLASTS UP AND OUT, seeming to fill the jungle.

INT. HUEY ONE

Palyushin sees the smoke rising from the carnage ahead as

he returns with the minigun reloaded.

He motions the pilot to hover over the partially submerged

wreckage of the other Huey.

EXT. SWAMP

WHIP PANNING with Rambo as he sprints along the horizontal

trunk of a fallen tree.

He vaults off the end.

Catches a skid of the hovering Huey with one hand.

Palyushin's door gunner swings his sling-mounted "free 60"

around to bear. Too late.

Rambo's hand shoots up, catches him, pulls him out.

INT. HUEY

The pilot feels the weight shift and looks back, seeing

Rambo on the skid. He "pulls pitch" hard.

The Huey climbs, arcing radically.

EXT. HUEY

Rambo slips, dangles.

He crashes through the upper branches of a tree as the

Huey climbs, banking in a tight arc.

The rain forest rolls beneath his dangling legs.

He heaves himself up.

INT. HUEY

Palyushin lurches out of his seat.

He spins in time to see a filthy, bloody and very intense-

looking Rambo clambering in the gun door.

He rushes Rambo with a kick but Rambo ducks and swings the

M-60 door gun on its mount, blocking the Russian.

The two lock eyes and square off, crouching in the low

compartment.

The pilot turns around and gapes in amazement, allowing

the craft to sideslip.

Palyushin lunges as the Huey pitches wildly.

Rambo blocks in a sweeping SHAO-LIN CHUN ROUNDHOUSE,

ending in a fierce hammer punch to Palyushin's face.

They trade blows and blocks furiously, finally grappling

like wrestlers.

They crash together into the wall by the minigun AMMO

CANISTER. The Huey yaws and recovers. Open space roars

outside as they strain near the doors, trying desperately

to maintain footing on the pitching floor.

Palyushin goes half out the door but clings tenaciously,

surging back inside.

He hammers into Rambo, slamming him mercilessly back.

A vicious kick drops Rambo. The Black Beret grabs his

hair and HURLS HIM TWO-HANDED TOWARD THE DOOR.

Rambo desperately catches the handles of the door gun,

stopping his plunge into space. His weight swings the gun

around in its sling, pointing it into the ship.

Completely outside the helicopter, Rambo hangs from the

handle with one hand. Pulls the bolt with the other.

And drills a long burst into Palyushin at point blank

range, blasting him out the far door in an explosive spray

of blood.

The pilot turns, terrified, as Rambo advances on him.

Rambo eases up beside him, slipping his hand onto the

COLLECTIVE STICK.

Reaching across he opens the pilot's door. And FLINGS HIM

OUT!

EXT. MARSH

A figure tumbles from the low-flying Huey and splashes

into the estuary. The Huey dips and bucks, then rights

itself and flies off as the pilot surfaces, gasping.

CUT TO:

INT. MOTC - THAILAND

Kirkhill looks like he hasn't slept in days as he stirs

his ten thousandth cup of machine coffee.

KIRKHILL

Well, have they got him yet?

The tech rereads the COMINT transcript.

TECH

Um... actually, no. It looks like

he shot down one of their

gunships...

KIRKHILL

Christ almighty.

TECH

... and then he, uh... took the

other one.

KIRKHILL

(exploding)

What?

TECH

He... took it.

Kirkhill sinks slowly into a chair.

EXT. PRISON CAMP - VIETNAM - AFTERNOON

Sgt. Tay is sitting on the steps of the guard barracks,

looking a bit like a lost soul.

The sound of a rotor gets louder.

A shadow falls upon him. He looks up squinting.

A shape, an outline... in the glare of the sun.

Tay has a moment of apprehension.

Then...

EXT. RAMBO'S HUEY

Rambo unleashes the minigun. The left guard tower

VANISHES IN A CLOUD OF FALLING SPLINTERS as thunder rolls

across the valley.

The Huey pivots nimbly. The minigun roars again.

An orange lightning bolt vaporizes the right tower.

VARIOUS ANGLES IN CAMP

as the thunder fades.

Tay starts to run.

The prisoners dive for cover.

Three off-duty guards in the guards barracks go for their

rifles.

They don't make it.

FROM RAMBO'S POV

The guards barracks seems to disintegrate as the minigun

sweeps across it... a SHOCK WAVE OF DESTRUCTION behind

which only flying kindling remains.

He pivots a last time and annihilates the sentry post with

a one-second burst. Three guards have managed to take

cover behind a truck by the main gate. They begin firing.

LOW ANGLE ON THE HUEY, a roaring silhouette in the

metallic mist. The minigun speaks.

The truck is ripped open like aluminum foil, shrapnel

flying. The guards CEASE TO EXIST.

A spray of red mist and tattered scraps of uniforms

settles to the ground.

It is all over in seconds.

The Huey settles to earth in the center of the compound.

Tay, crouching, squints against the rotor blast.

Wild-eyed, Capt. Vinh steps from his partially collapsed

office and raises his side-arm pistol.

Tay snatches it from him with a terrified cry and an

expression which says: ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?

The Sgt. flings the pistol away and turns toward the

Huey.

Out of the boiling, blasting dust and smoke a FIGURE

EMERGES.

To Tay, Rambo is Death incarnate.

He is encrusted with dried mud, dried blood, streaked with

rivulets of sweat. His eyes burn.

Rambo has detached the door gun from its sling and, with

the feed belt over one shoulder, carries it like a rifle.

He motions with the muzzle. Tay and Vinh flop forward,

face to the earth, hands laced behind their heads.

Rambo moves past them, eyeing the wreckage of the camp

warily.

INT. ISOLATION CELL

Darkness.

The door is kicked open and Rambo is there, silhouetted.

Brewer is a sorry mess, but alive. He raises his head,

blinking.

BREWER

Gawd, you look awful.

RAMBO

You comin'?

BREWER

(trying to rise)

Hold your pantyhose. Here, gimme a

hand.

Rambo helps Brewer, who is nearly crippled with pain, to

his feet, and supports him as they exit.

EXT. CAMP COURTYARD

The seven prisoners are helping one another into the

copter as Rambo and Brewer hobble up.

RAMBO

Can you handle the door gun?

BREWER

Duck soup.

Tay and Vinh are still face-down and De Fravio covers them

with an AK-47, found in the rubble.

Smoke swirls in the idling rotor wash as the barracks

begins to burn.

DE FRAVIO

Am I dreaming this? This is not

real, right?

(to guards)

I oughta grease you pricks, but I've

known you too long.

RAMBO

Let's go, De Fravio. Move it!

When De Fravio is aboard, crammed in with the others in

the main bay, Rambo remounts the M-60 and jumps into the

pilot's seat.

He brings up the RPMs.

The TURBINE WHINE INCREASES.

Brewer, crouched behind Rambo, yells forward.

BREWER

We got company. You better pull

some pitch, buddy.

Behind them, diving out of the sun's glare, is Podovsk's

massive assault helicopter.

Rambo pops the Huey off the ground and runs hard at the

treeline.

The MIL MI-24 NOSEGUN begins firing and the ground erupts

behind the Huey, fountains of earth chasing it as it

climbs out.

At full climb the laden Huey barely clears the trees and

Rambo Immediately banks tight to get out of the nosegun's

field of fire.

The Soviet chopper tightens its arc, but swings wide, and

Rambo spirals back.

Brewer swings the door gun and gets off a long burst as

the ground reels dizzyingly below and the horizon tilts.

RAMBO

(shouting)

Brewer! You know what that thing's

packing?

BREWER

It's a Soviet MIL MI-24. Probably

has 12.7mm nose cannon, heat-seeking

rockets and wire guided missiles,

plus...

RAMBO

Forget it.

Rambo noses the Huey down, building speed. Tail high, it

shoots across the treetops, its NOSE RADIO ANTENNA ripping

through the uppermost foliage.

THE SOVIET COPTER

rolls on its side in a tight turn, despite its bulk.

Twice the size and power of the Huey, and faster at the

top end, the high-performance assault ship is a formidable

opponent. But Rambo pits skill against technology, using

the agility of his craft as his primary strategy.

ANGLE BACK

past the dodging Huey as the Soviet ship falls in behind,

steadily gaining.

PAST BREWER

who flinches as trees rush by seemingly inches away at 120

MPH. The POWs are flung against the bulkheads as the Huey

plummets and swerves.

DE FRAVIO

I think I'm gonna be sick.

INT. SOVIET COPTER - COCKPIT AND WEAPONS BAY

The pilot turns to Podovsk.

PILOT

(Russian/subtitled)

They're approaching the border.

Should we notify the Laotian Air

Force?

PODOVSK

(driven)

No. We'll take them ourselves.

Inside the COMPUTERIZED WEAPONS BAY the GUNNER hunches

over his TRACKING SCREEN. Rambo's Huey is a shimmering

blob weaving behind a targeting reticle.

The RANGING RADAR emits a rhythmic PINGING which INCREASES

in frequency.

EXT. SOVIET COPTER

TWO AIR-TO-AIR ROCKETS flash from support pylons on the

stub wings and roar toward the Huey two hundred meters

ahead.

ANGLE ON HUEY

as the rockets skim past, missing only barely, to explode

in the jungle.

OVER RAMBO'S SHOULDER

through the front canopy, as the Huey flies through the

rising fireballs.

Rambo sees what he needs, a narrow river, a tributary of

the Ca, slicing through the rain forest.

The Soviet juggernaut is gaining as Rambo dives his

gunship "onto the deck," tearing down through an opening

in the trees and skimming over the surface of the river.

The Soviet craft can't follow.

The enormous trees form a canyon, the walls of which

overhang the river. Rambo is actually zig-zagging beneath

the jungle canopy in places. They flash in and out of

dense shadows.

The landing skids throw up spurts of muddy water as the

Huey banks. Two more rockets arrow toward them. One

explodes in a tree above. The other flashes past. Hits

the river ahead. They fly through a wall of spray.

Brewer gives his REBEL YELL.

BREWER

Hell. This is just like fucking

Star Wars, man!

DE FRAVIO

(puzzled)

Star Wars?

Brewer grins, realizing. Slaps him on the shoulder.

BREWER

You're gonna love it.

RAMBO

(shouting)

How much we got left in that

minigun?

Brewer opens the enormous ammunition canister.

BREWER

Pretty low. Couple of seconds

worth.

Rambo is plugged into some insane second sight, knowing

the curves before they curve. He flies with absolute

concentration.

INT. SOVIET COCKPIT

The pilot is sweating, trying to stay on Rambo's Huey.

PILOT

We're in Laos, Sir.

PODOVSK

I know that!

(to gunner)

Fire all your rockets. Take him

down!

INT./ EXT. HUEY

As the forest explodes around them. The chopper is

buffeted. The forward canopy is shattered by shrapnel.

Rambo is hit in the shoulder and chest.

His left arm broken above the elbow.

One of the prisoners is moaning, holding his bloody

forehead.

Rambo pulls up on the collective, sending blinding pain

through his arm. The Huey shoots up out of the jungle,

spinning as it pops up.

It slips sideways through the air, seemingly going out of

control.

Then it arcs back, ROARING RIGHT AT THE CAMERA.

INT. SOVIET COCKPIT

Podovsk watches Rambo's turn, realizing he has stood to

fight.

PODOVSK

(Russian/subtitled)

We've got him.

The pilot stares apprehensively as the Huey comes at them.

In the weapons bay, the tone of the ranging-radar rises to

a shriek. The gunner tenses to fire.

EXT. HUEY

Rambo throws the gunship sideways and climbs in one

motion... bringing the minigun to bear.

He is a samurai and the Huey his sword.

TIGHT ON RAMBO

facing the Soviet leviathan, clear-eyed, in the Void Way,

as they say.

It will be a battle of one stroke. He waits. Feeling his

breathing. Feeling the ship like an extension of himself.

ANGLE

The minigun BLAST FORTH ITS STREAM OF FIRE.

ON RAMBO

watching. A shadow passes over him.

WIDE

as the Soviet ship thunders over them and flies on.

ANGLE

The barrels of the minigun continue to rotate, dry-

firing... empty. Clicking like an air-ratchet.

ANGLE ON SOVIET COPTER

showing the riddled, glassless cockpit... the slumped

bodies.

WIDE

as the MIL MI-24 slowly brodies sideways and drops,

gracefully, into the rain forest.

It shears through trees, breaking up, and EXPLODES

GLORIOUSLY.

INT. HUEY

Rambo is tensed, like a thousand volts are flowing through

him. Slowly, he relaxes. He knows they have made it.

BREWER

(exultant)

The thrill of victory, the agony of

defeat!

Rambo banks the Huey, ascending toward the mountain pass

and, beyond, Thailand.

CUT TO:

EXT. STAGING AREA - THAILAND - DAY

Lifer lounges in the gun door of the "Blackhawk" as the

ship sits at ready, turbine idling.

TRAUTMAN (O.S.)

Getting ready to go somewhere?

Lifer turns to see Trautman step around the fuselage of

the chopper.

LIFER

Hey, Colonel. You're not cleared to

be on this base anymore.

CLOSE ON TRAUTMAN

TRAUTMAN

(quietly)

I know.

CUT TO:

EXT. LAOS - NEAR MEKONG RIVER - DUSK

D-PLUS 60 HRS

The battered Huey lumbers and dips over the terrain,

barely in control.

INT./ EXT. HUEY

Rambo seems drained of color, sunken into the seat, flying

on nerve.

Several of the prisoners are asleep. The wounded man's

forehead has been bandaged.

Brewer is holding court.

BREWER

... and there's this guy with a

black helmet and cape, right, and

he's got this sword... except it's

not a sword, it's light...

DE FRAVIO

There's the Mekong.

They look forward as a broad river appears beyond a ridge-

line less than a kilometer ahead. The Thai border. A

cheer goes up. A home run.

ON RAMBO

seeing something as they approach the river.

EXT. MEKONG - TREELINE

The BLACK SIKORSKY rises slowly above the trees directly

ahead.

INT. HUEY

C.U. RAMBO, he blinks, trying to clear his vision which

has become light and shimmery.

The hovering ship looks like the Archangel of Death.

It seems like a vision. He flies straight toward it.

INT. MOTC

Kirkhill has cleared the operations center. He is alone.

KIRKHILL

(to mike)

When the unidentified helicopter has

crossed the river into Thailand,

shoot it down with air-to-air

rockets. Then proceed to the crash

site and fire your remaining rockets

into the wreckage. Is this

understood, Zen Hammer?

DOYLE (V.O.)

(filtered)

Ah, Sir... I'm experiencing a little

hearing problem.

KIRKHILL

What are you talking about? Why?

DOYLE (V.O.)

(filtered)

Well, uh... I've got something in my

ear.

INT./ EXT. SIKORSKY

What Doyle has in his ear is the muzzle of Colonel

Trautman's M-16.

Behind them on the deck of the gun bay Lifer is out cold.

A tarpaulin among a stack of ammo cases where Trautman

had been hidden is thrown back. Doyle knows better than

to mess with him.

Trautman switches off the radio as Kirkhill shouts

incoherently.

INT./ EXT. HUEY

As he approaches the black Sikorsky Rambo sees Trautman

with a rifle to Doyle's head.

He nods as they pass.

INT./ EXT. SIKORSKY

Rambo's Huey passes by them, crossing into Thailand.

TRAUTMAN

Escort them on in.

EXT. MOTC

Rambo's Huey, followed by the Sikorsky, descends toward

the landing field. As the techs and other camp personnel

stand watching, Kirkhill raises a pair of powerful field

glasses.

KIRKHILL'S POV - TELEPHOTO

The image of the Huey seems to waver insubstantially

through the long lens. It looks like a death ship, the

Flying Dutchman with a crew of corpses and a demon at the

helm, coming in out of the dusk sky.

He slowly lowers the glasses.

Face ashen, Kirkhill backs into the command center and

closes the door.

The Huey sheers sideways across the staging area.

Its skids clip the top of the MOTC, shearing off

communications gear.

It hits the ground. Bounces.

Slews around, scraping hideously.

And stops.

The Sikorsky settles behind it.

The two choppers whine-down. Standing beside the cockpit,

Trautman gets on the Sikorsky's loudspeaker.

TRAUTMAN

All base personnel. Prepare medical

facilities to receive American POWs.

A cheer is raised among the ground contingent as they

surge forward.

ON RAMBO

sliding painfully out of the flight seat. Brewer gawks at

the pool of blood collected in the hollow of Rambo's seat.

Rambo goes to the gun door. Takes De Fravio's AK-47.

DOLLYING WITH RAMBO as he limps toward the MOTC with

relentless determination. The well-wishing ground

personnel fall back, letting him pass.

Trautman, B.G., sees him and strides forward to intercept.

OVER RAMBO'S SHOULDER

DOLLYING, as he approaches the command center.

Kirkhill's aide, in dark glasses, moves forward to

restrain him.

Rambo motions him aside with the AK.

Goes to the door. It is locked.

INT. MOTC

The lock is shattered by a LONG BLAST from Rambo's AK.

The door is kicked open. Rambo stands silhouetted.

He looks like what we never saw in "The Monkey's Paw."

He moves into the humming command center, among the

mission control electronics, reeking of the jungle, blood

and death.

LOW ANGLE

as Rambo walks to Kirkhill, looming. Stopping.

Kirkhill quails as Rambo grasps him by the collar and

flings him backward into a chair.

He raises the AK. Muzzle to Kirkhill's forehead.

RAMBO

Mission accomplished.

Pulls the trigger.

The weapon CLICKS, EMPTY.

HOLD ON KIRKHILL, trembling.

EXT. MOTC

Rambo steps unsteadily out into the waning light.

He takes a deep, slow breath. Starts to walk. He salutes

as he passes Trautman but says nothing.

In the B.G. they are carrying the POWs in stretchers or

pushing them in wheelchairs toward the MEDICAL TRAILER.

Rambo watches Brewer posing with his arms around Jensen

and another POW for the grunt we saw earlier. His pocket

Instamatic is clicking away.

BREWER

(expansively)

Cover of Time Magazine, baby!

Rambo walks away... alone.

DE FRAVIO (O.S.)

Hey, Rambo!

Rambo turns. De Fravio, propped up on one elbow on his

stretcher as he is carried past, gives him a broad,

appreciative grin.

DE FRAVIO

You did good, buddy. Real good!

Rambo stands blinking for a second. He raises his hand in

a big "thumbs up" and allows himself to grin.

CUT TO BLACK

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