Tenzing sees the interior of a sheet metal and cardboard hut.  FIVE FILTHY EMACIATED CHILDREN with flies buzzing around their heads, look back at him with absolutely no sense
of fear at all.

Tenzing knocks out another board and climbs through the hole.  He helps Densmore out.  They both look at the children.  Tenzing says something in Togolese, but the kids do not respond.  He shrugs, goes to the door and peeks out.

The hut is located in a terribly poor area behind the embassy.  There only seems to be children and.dogs in the street.  Tenzing and Densmore replace the broken boards and slide a piece of sheet metal over the damage.  The kids in the hut never move or make a sound.


Tenzing and Densmore leave the hut and dash through the village back toward the embassy.


They skirt the embassy, which is surrounded by many armed revolutionaries, and stay behind huts and buildings heading toward the center of town.


A firefight is still raging along Koronga Blvd.  The government forces, still holding one side of the street, are greatly outnumbered but still put up a tough fight.  Bursts of automatic weapon fire occur every few seconds.  Hot lead pelts the walls and street.


Tenzing ducks down behind a hut and Densmore follows suit.  They can see the backs of buildings facing the boulevard.  Tenzing points to a three story apartment building.

                                This is the building.

                                It seems to be occupied by the rebels.  What should
                                we do?

Tenzing has assessed the situation.

                                We should get this woman out of there very
                                quickly.  Cover my back, please.

Densmore releases the safety on his weapon.

Tenzing stays in a crouch and dashes to the apartment building across a rutted dirt alley.  Densmore is right behind him.


They get to the back door and push themselves into the doorway.  Tenzing puts his ear against the wooden door.


                                Uh, I suppose.
                                                           (Tenzing looks at him)
                                I mean, yes.


Tenzing opens the door and steps inside.  At the other end of the first floor hallway, TWO REBELS are firing out the shattered windows of the front door.  As they turn to see the two intruders, Tenzing has dropped to one knee, has his carbine leveled and fires two shots in quick succession.

Densmore has himself plastered against the wall.  He tries to see through the cordite smoke, but can't.

                                                           (dashing up the hallway)
                                Come on.

They get to the front stairs and Densmore sees that both rebels are on the floor dead, each with a bullet hole in his head.  Densmore's eyes widen.  Tenzing rushes up the stairs and Densmore follows.


They reach the second floor and pause.  Tenzing nods and goes up the next flight of stairs, Densmore is right behind him.


As they reach the third floor landing, THREE REBELS approach from behind them, coming from the second floor.

Densmore's weapon is trained right on them as they turn the corner.  He pulls the trigger and sprays bullets down the stairway.  All three rebels are hit and tumble back down the stairs.  Densmore keeps firing and Tenzing touches his shoulder lightly.

                                Save ammunition.

Sir Robert stops shooting.  He blinks several times and shakes his head.  The stairwell is full of blue smoke.  He feels like he can't get enough air into his lungs.

Tenzing has his ear against the third floor door.  He turns to Densmore.

                                Please stay.

Densmore nods.  Tenzing opens the door and in one fluid motion rolls into the hallway, lands on his stomach with his weapon aimed in on the window at the end of the hall.  A REBEL stands waiting with his rifle aimed at the door and he fires first.  The bullet is high and hits the door.  Tenzing fires one shot and the rebel drops dead, a bullet in the forehead.

Tenzing is on his feet and motions Densmore to follow.

                                Flat three-ten, correct?

Densmore reaches for the piece of paper, but Tenzing is already moving to apartment 310.  Densmore follows and checks the paper.

                                Yes, three-ten.

                                What is her name?

                                Uh . . . Mrs. Nyerere.

Tenzing stops next to the wall beside the door and puts out his hand for Sir Robert to not go any further.  Tenzing reaches around the doorjam and knocks twice quickly, then pulls his hand away.  Three bullets come ripping through the wooden door and smash into the plaster wall across the hall.

                                Call to her.

                                Mrs. Nyerere!  Don't shoot!  Your husband sent us!

A REBEL steps through the stairway door into the hallway.  Tenzing levels his carbine at the same moment the rebel levels his weapon.  Tenzing fires two shots and the rebel fires one.  The rebel's bullet rips through the arm of Tenzing's shirt, grazing his bicep.  Tenzing's bullets both strike the rebel in the chest, throwing him backward down the steps.  Tenzing never flinches.

An eye is peering into the hallway through a bullet hole in the door of 310.  The door opens a crack and a black woman's face is slightly visible.  She is MRS. NYERERE.

                                                                 MRS. NYERERE
                                Who are you?

                                Friends of your husband.

                                                                 MRS. NYERERE
                                Who exactly?

                                Exactly?  Well, I'm your husband's employer.  I own
                                Commonwealth Mineral.

                                                                 MRS. NYERERE
                                Sir Robert Densmore?

                                Why yes, that's me.

She opens the door and reveals a Colt .45 pistol in her hand.

                                                                 MRS. NYERERE
                                What are you doing here?  I thought you lived
                                in England.

                                I do.  I'll explain later.  Your husband is at the
                                British embassy.  He sent us to get you.

                                                                 MRS. NYERERE
                                Why didn't he come?

                                He's injured.  Now come quickly.  Please.

She turns back inside.

                                                                 MRS. NYERERE
                                Let me get my things.

Densmore grabs her arm and pulls her into the hallway.

                                You've got them.  Let's go.

Tenzing's eyes dart all around.


They all dash for the stairs.

                                                                                                       CUT TO:


Captain Krasker is stripped to the waist and holds a machete.  He tosses the machete at a tree ten feet away and it sticks with a "thwang."

                                Jolly good.

He pulls the machete from the tree and walks back to the jet, which is completely covered with foliage wedged into the camouflage net.  Krasker admires his handiwork.

                                Yep.  Looks just like a jet covered with leaves.

He picks up his AK-47 and his shirt and starts to go up the aluminum ladder into the jet when he hears something.  He scans the distance at the other end of the overgrown landing strip.  Through the heat haze it is hard to see.  And then through the hot wavering air appears a Jeep filled with FIVE GOVERNMENT SOLDIERS and behind that a troop truck.

                                Oh, bloody hell!  No time to even get the engines

He cocks his weapon and throws the safety.  He jumps down from the ladder and crouches behind some leaves.  The Jeep and truck keep coming and coming, growing larger and more distinct.  Krasker grits his teeth, his knuckles whitening around his weapon.

One hundred feet from him and the jet, the Jeep and the truck stop.  FOUR MORE SOLDIERS get out of the back of the truck.

Krasker takes a deep breath.  Then he hears something.  A low rumble.  He looks up and sees a plane approaching, still just a speck in the sky.

                                C-130 cargo plane.

The soldiers are unloading boxes from the back of the truck.

The big military plane touches down at the opposite end of the airstrip.  It's still going pretty fast as it passes the soldiers.  It taxis directly at Krasker.  His eyes widen and he gets ready to bolt as the cockpit and huge swirling props bear down on him.

Fifteen very close feet from Krasker and the jet, the cargo plane begins turning.  Krasker can see the pilot clearly, a BLACK SOLDIER with headphones and sunglasses.  The cockpit of the C-130 swings within five feet of the end of the jet's wing.  The pilot doesn't see a thing.  Krasker rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

The C-130 heads back down the airstrip to the waiting soldiers.  They hastily load the boxes into the plane.  Bits of colorful paper blow out of the boxes and get scattered in the wind.  The soldiers then drive the Jeep up a ramp into the cargo hold of the plane, shut the door and take off.  In a minute the plane is gone.

Krasker gets out of his hiding place, slings the weapon over his shoulder and jogs out to the abandoned truck.  On the way he picks up some of the colorful paper - it's foreign currency. Krasker's eyes widen.


Krasker climbs up and looks into the back of the green canvas-covered troop truck.  It is empty, except for scraps of colored paper coating the floor.  He looks closer and sees that the colored paper is, in fact, money.  He picks up a handful and it is paper money from absolutely everywhere in the world: U.S. Dollars, German Marks, Japanese Yen, Italian Lira, British Pounds, on and on.  It's an inch thick across the whole bottom of the truck.  Krasker's face lights up with a big smile.

                                I've hit the bloody jackpot!

He quickly begins stuffing the bills into his pockets.

                                                                                                       CUT TO:


The airport terminal in Accra is very small.  It's just a single square room.  Everyone from the flight from Milan, which is ten people including Mike, Randall, the tall red headed guy, the man with the bushy eyebrows, and the others, file through a line to get their passports stamped.  Mike and Mr. Eyebrows are still talking.

                                Twenty-three times I beat you.  You should pay
                                more attention.

                                I know, but I never looked at chess this way

The GHANA CUSTOMS MAN takes Mike's passport, stamps it and hands it back.  Mike puts it in his pocket, coughs and keep moving.

Mr. Eyebrows is waiting.  Randall watches from a distance.

                                It was good to meet on you, Mikhail Kelsy.  Here.

He hands him the wooden chess board.


                                Thank you very much, Mr. Rhozdevenska.  It was
                                a pleasure meeting you.

                                You are a very polite young man.  If you get to
                                Zagreb, give me a call on telephone.


Randall Grubb grabs Mike's arm and pulls him out of the terminal.


Accra is blinding white.  It's seriously oppressively hot.  And there is nothing here.  Mike and Randall begin walking quickly toward the end of the street where an old, dusty Mercedes Benz is waiting.

                                                           (while he walks)
                                What were you talking to that guy about?


                                That guy might've been KGB.

                                That's what I thought, but we only talked about

                                Well, why the hell did you tell him your real

                                Oh, man!  I forgot.

                                One more fuck up and you're dead meat, kiddo!
                                Take my word for it.


They get in and there's the tall redhead, MCDOUGALL, from Ireland and LEOPOLD BOURGIUBA, a short black man with glasses, is driving.  He turns to Randall.

                                I am Leopold Bourguiba.  I work for Common-
                                wealth mineral.

                                Jim Randall Grubb.  This is Mac and this is Mike.
                                You can straighten that out for yourself.  Everything
                                all set?

                                Yes, indeed.

                                Everyone else here?

                                Most certainly.

                                Then we're in business.


The Mercedes arrives at a thatch and wood warehouse near the water just as the sun is setting.


They all go inside and find all the other mercenaries waiting for them in full camouflage fatigues, M-16's and black berets.

There are four 18 foot landing crafts with outboard motors and all kinds of supplies.  Mike looks around impressed.

                                Good luck, gentlemen.  I'll be at the Commonwealth
                                Mineral office all night long in case you might need

He leaves.  A guy steps up and hands Randall, Mike and Mac bundled up uniforms, boots, a beret and an M-16 rifle.

                                How's everybody feelin'?

They all mumble "Aw right" and "Okay" in all their various accents.

                                What was that?  Did you guys say somethin'?

                                All right.

                                I said, I can't hear you!

                                All right!

                                That's better!  At last word, Lome is a war zone.
                                There's been a firefight going on for three days.
                                It's not our job to engage either side of this conflict
                                except if they stand in the way of our objective to
                                get our people and evacuate them safely.  Nothing
                                stands in the way of that objective.  Nothing!  Is
                                that clear?

                                Yes, Sir.

                                I can't hear you.

                                Yes, Sir!

                                You're a bunch of faggots!

                                YES, SIR!!

                                All right!  Let's go kick some ass!


The bright moon shimmers on the Atlantic as the mercenaries lower the landing crafts into the water and climb aboard.  Mike struggles with a heavy radio on his back.  He realizes as he climbs into the boat that if he were to fall in the water he'd probably drown.

With three men in each craft, the electric outboard motors move them silently out to sea.


The ocean is rough and bobs them around like corks.  The distance between the boats increases every moment until they can't see one another.  Within an hour, clouds roll in obscuring the moon.


A German man, WERNER, is navigating the craft Mike is in.  He watches the thickening clouds.



However, with the clouds come rougher and rougher seas.  The little boats are tossed higher and higher into the air, crashing down with greater and greater force.  Salt water sprays them with each descent.


Mike's stomach is left up at the top each time as the boat drops further and further down.  Soon, Mike vomits over the edge.  Werner and the other mercenary, a guy from Oklahoma, BUCK, both laugh at him.

Eventually, Mike has his face pressed against the cool rubber side of the craft, no longer sick, but unable to open his eyes.

Suddenly, Werner and Buck hear something and sit up straight.  Mike senses their tension, opens his eyes and sits up, looking at their alert faces.  They squint as they search the vast open sea.  Both of them bring their weapons to their laps.  Mike does the same.

A moment later they come upon an overturned landing craft.

                                                           (to Mike)
                                Grab it.

Mike grabs the rope attached to the bow and he and Buck turn the boat over.  They tie it off and drag it with them.

They then hear splashing and thrashing.  In a second they come upon ten dorsal fins swirling around a bloody red stain.  They can see the sharks fighting over chunks of meat.  A black beret floats nearby.

                                Oh my God!

Then they all hear someone calling for help.  They look in all directions and finally spot someone swimming toward them.  It's the tall red headed Irishman named Mac.

                                Come on, Mac!  You can make it!.

Buck raises his M-16 to fire at the sharks and Werner reaches out and grabs the barrel.

                                No firing!

Mac starts to really kick, breast stroking toward them.  A swarm of dorsal fins race toward him and engulf him.  He lets out a horrifying scream that is abruptly cut off.  The sharks tear him to pieces in a matter of seconds.

Mike retches with nothing left to throw up, only now he won't get near the water and huddles in the bottom of the boat.  He begins to shake terribly, his teeth chattering.  He begins mumbling a prayer to himself over and over again.

                                Please, God, get me out of this boat.  Please, God,
                                get me out of this boat . . .

                                Shut up!  Or you'll be out of this boat faster than
                                you think!

Mike shuts up.


Just before dawn, the twinkling lights of Lome can be seen.  As they navigate toward them, they come upon the other two landing crafts and mercenaries waiting for them.

                                Where've you been?

Werner pulls the empty landing craft around for Randall to see.

                                Towing this slowed us down.

Randall's raises his eyebrows.

                                What happened to them?

                                Capsized.  Sharks got them.

Randall nods stoically.

                                Is everybody ready?

Everyone but Mike nods.  Randall sees this.

                                Whatsa matter, kid?  You want to go home?

                                No, I'm fine.

Randall nods, then lashes out and grabs the front of Mike's shirt.

                                If you fuck me up, kid, I'll shoot you myself!

Mike flushes with anger.

                                I said I'm ready.

                                You better be!

Mike smacks Randall's hand away from him.

                                Fuck you, you redneck asshole!  I kicked your ass
                                once and I'll do it again!

Randall backs off and everyone laughs.

                                Excuse me.  Okay, guys, let's do this thing and
                                let's do it right.

Randall navigates his boat to the shore and the others follow.


They pull the crafts into the foliage and regroup.  Mike is very pleased to be on solid ground and gets in line with the heavy radio on his back.

Randall steps up behind Mike and takes the handset out of the radio and speaks into it.

                                Embassy, this is omega.  Come back.


Cyril Franks, the radio operator, is aroused from sleep.  He keys the microphone.

                                Come in, omega.  This is the embassy.  Over.

                                What's the situation?  Over.

                                Everything has gotten very quiet over the past
                                several hours.  Something's up, but we don't know
                                what.  What's your ETA?

                                One hour.  Be ready for us.  Over.

                                Roger that.  Over and out.

Cyril Franks leaves the radio room.


Franks dashes to the foyer where everyone is assembled: Sir Ian, Lady Anne, Undersecretary Wolfitt, Julius Thornsby, with the canvas bag at his feet, Sekou Nyerere who lies on a couch with his Wife beside him and Sir Robert, his AK-47 on his lap.  The Gurkhas are still guarding the gate.

                                Your men are here, Sir Robert.

A sigh sweeps the room.

                                When will they be here?

                                One hour.  We're to be ready for them.

                                                                 LADY ANNE
                                Thank  God.

                                Yes.  Thank God.

                                                                 SIR IAN
                                God didn't send these men.  Robert here did.  Let's
                                thank him.

Everyone turns to him and he shakes his head.

                                Please withhold your thanks until we're out of
                                the country.  Now, let's go tell the Gurkhas we're
                                expecting company.


Randall and his men arrive at Lome harbor.  Randall holds up his hand and they all stop and crouch behind a beached wooden boat.  Randall peers over the boat and sees two armed men standing on the dock near the entrance to Koronga Blvd.

He turns and waves Werner forward.  Both men unsling high-powered crossbows with scopes from their backs.  They cock back the strings and load in the bolts.

                                Same time.  One, two, three . . .

They both fire.  The bolts swish through the air and accurately find their marks.  Both men on the dock fall back into the water.

Randall slings the crossbow over his shoulder, picks up his M-16 and stands.

                                Let's go!

They all dash around the overturned boat, up the beach to the dock and regroup beside a boathouse.  Mike sees the two men floating in the water and a fearful look crosses his face.

Randall peers around the edge of the boathouse and up Koronga Blvd.  There is a massively large crowd filling the street several blocks up.  They all seem to be quiet and orderly and paying attention to something.

                                Looks like the firefight is over.

This seems to be good news to Mike and he smiles in relief.  Suddenly, there is a volley of gunfire from up the street.  All of the mercenaries crouch lower.

                                Maybe not.  Up the alley one at a time.  Let's


Randall dashes to the alley that runs parallel to Koronga Blvd., behind the buildings.  At one- second intervals, the mercenaries follow.  Mike holds up the rear, the heavy radio slamming into his back and weighing him down terribly.

The mercenaries dash from one building to the next, past thin alleys running up to Koronga Blvd. where the crowd is visible.  They, too, are visible to the people in the street, if they happened to be looking that way, which they are not.

However, at the next alley there are two men with rifles over their shoulders.  Werner and Buck immediately pull their knives, grab the men around the throat and mouth and stab them to death.  They drag the bodies into a doorway and everyone keeps moving.  Mike keeps his eyes averted as he passes the two dead bodies.

They are now five blocks up Koronga Blvd., in the alley behind the building where Sir Robert and Tenzing saved Mrs. Nyerere.  They slide along the wall and Randall peers around the corner to the boulevard.

The massive crowd in the street surrounds a truck.  On the hood stands Koudougou Boroma.  To his right, across the street, are FIVE OFFICERS of the government army, in khaki dress uniforms, their hands are tied and they are lined up against a wall.  Before them stand ten armed men forming a firing squad.  Koudougou lowers his arm and they fire.  The officers all drop to the ground dead.

Werner is right beside Randall.  He points at Boroma.

                                I could drop him right now.

Randall shakes his head.

                                They're not in our way, so far.  Let them keep them-
                                selves amused.

Mike is at the end of the line beside an oriental guy, MIURA, who is paying no attention to him.  Mike can't seem to get the damn radio into a decent position so it's not breaking his back.

A REBEL holding a rifle steps out of the alley an arm's length from Mike.  They look right into each other's surprised eyes, then the rebel takes in the whole line of mercenaries and raises his weapon.  Mike is frozen with fear and indecision - is he supposed to use his M-16?  No one else has.

A butterfly knife flips open beside his face and Miura sticks it into the Rebel's stomach.  Mike is pushed back as the Rebel's body is pulled forward by Miura.  He pulls out the knife, wipes it on the dead body, puts it away and gets back into line.  He never looks at Mike.

Beside Randall and Werner is now a blonde South African man named KAARL.  They are all listening to Koudougou Boroma's wild orations in Togolese as five more officers are lined up
against the wall.

                                He says, after all of the government men are eliminated,
                                the foreign infidels must be eliminated.  Anyone that is
                                not Togolese is an enemy of Togo.

Werner turns to Randall again.

                                Let me drop him, Randall.  It will be doing this country
                                a favor.

                                No, and shut up about it!

Randall turns to the guy behind him.

                                Radio up.

He turns to the man behind him.

                                Radio up.

This goes all the way down the line.  Mike comes forward and Randall takes the handset.

                                Embassy.  We're comin' in.

                                                           (O.S./ softly)

Randall turns to the group.

                                Let's go, low crawl.

They crawl past the alley.  Koudougou is waving his arms above the crowd in the background.

They come up behind a building that is across from the embassy.  The crowd in the street ends just short of the embassy.  Suddenly, the embassy gates open.  The Gurkhas step out and form a line.  Randall turns to his men.

                                That's us, let's do it!


The mercenaries hustle out into the street, their weapons in both hands in front of them and run behind the Gurkhas and through the embassy gate before the crowd has a chance to do anything.  The Gurkhas quickly retreat and shut the gate.

But several people in the crowd do notice this maneuver, including Koudougou Boroma on the truck hood.


Inside the embassy walls the Gurkhas pull the Jeep back in front of the gate and go back on guard.

Sir Robert and everyone else is waiting on the embassy steps.  Grinning, Randall Grubb steps up to Sir Robert and they shake.

                                How ya doin', Bobby?

                                A lot better now.
                                                           (he looks at his
                                Forty-three hours.  Very impressive.

Randall shrugs humbly.  Sir Ian and Donald Wolfitt are aghast.

                                                                 SIR IAN
                                This is all the men that are coming?

                                There were three more, but they got eaten by

                                Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

                                How can nine more men possibly help us?

At which point the sound of a large angry mob can be heard just outside the gate.  Shots are being fired into the air and the crowd is chanting something in unison.

                                                                 SIR IAN
                                What are they saying?

Julius Thornsby, bag in hand, steps forward.

                                Die, foreign devils, messengers of Satan.

Sir Robert turns to Randall.

                                So, Randy, what do you suggest?

                                I say we get our buns outta here and get to this

                                How, pray tell?

Randall looks around.

                                We got any other vehicles besides that Jeep?

                                                                 SIR IAN
                                There's my Rolls Royce.

                                And my Land Rover.

Randall nods.

                                Let's go out the back gate.

Donald Wolfitt rolls his eyes in exasperation.

                                There is no back gate . . .

Randall pulls a grenade off his belt.

                                Not yet, but there's gonna be in just a few minutes.

Suddenly bottles and rocks come sailing over the wall, followed by molotov cocktails.


Into the back of the Rolls Royce piles: Sir Ian, Lady Anne, Wolfitt, Thornsby, Cyril Franks, Mrs. Nyerere and Sekou on a stretcher on the floor.  In the front seat are three mercenaries and Sir Robert at the wheel.


The other six mercenaries, including Mike, pile into the Land Rover - Randall drives.


The Jeep is left for the Gurkhas.

The crowd is beginning to surge against the gates, moving the Jeep.  The Gurkhas all stand in line, carbines aimed forward, waiting.


Randall drives around the embassy building and the Rolls follows right behind.  When they are directly behind the embassy building, Randall and three other mercenaries all lob grenades at the stone wall.

There is a huge explosion and now there's a big hole in the wall.  Randall drives right into the cloud of dust, through the hole and out into the village behind.

Sir Robert guns the Rolls and bumps along behind.


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