Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 3 - 0800 Zulu

Script

179 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

Sansky is nowhere to be seen. The remaining officers look

haggard and exhausted. Gerald is looking at a panel of

scanners.

180 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE - ON SCANNER SCREEN

A deep crater, half in shadow.

GERALD

There. Put her down there!

181. EXT. TIGER CLAW - MOON SURFACE

The big, crippled ship eases into black shadow of the

crate, until only its lights are visible. Then, it

kills its lights, becomes nearly invisible.

A moment later, A LARGE DRONE, first seen from its fiery

exhaust, hovers into view, gets its bearings and streaks

into space. It has several strange antennae and domes on

its hull.

182 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

The bridge is in near darkness, except for the moonglow

and the monitors. Deveraux and Paladin arrive on the

bridge. They look at each other -- where is Sansky?

OBUTU

Decoy away, Commander. She has a bigger

electronic signature than the

Concordia. I think she'll fool them,

sir.

GERALD

I hope you're right. Secure all active

scanners. Passive systems only.

Gerald turns his attention to the bank of visual

scanners. Everyone else also stops what they are doing...

High above them, they can see a series of bright dots in

formation.

OBUTU

There. The Kilrathi battle group.

No one speaks, transfixed by the image on the little

screen. The seconds feel more like years. Then...

RADAR MAN

They've missed us. They're following

the decoy.

There is a moment of wild cheering. But Paladin hears

something.

PALADIN

Quiet!

This startles everyone into silence. Then they hear it...

the steady beep-beeping of a radar detector.

PALADIN (CONT'D)

A destroyer...hunting for us.

The passive radar detector increases in frequency.

RADAR MAN

They've spotted us!

PALADIN

No. We're in a dense radiation belt.

Gamma rays are clouding their screens.

If they don't see us... they won't find

us.

This is cold comfort as the steady beeping of the radar

detector grows more insistent.

183 EXT. ABOVE MOON - KILRATHI DESTROYER

The Destroyer LAUNCHES A MISSILE into a crater. A

mushroom loud rises from the surface of the moon.

184 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

The ship vibrates as a seismic tremor passes under it.

GERALD

They're nuking every crater. Methodical

bastards.

The pinging sounds come closer and closer together.

185 EXT. ABOVE THE CRATER

The Kilrathi destroyer launches another missile. It

streaks into the far side of the crater, the half in

sunlight. The Destroyer moves on, a mushroom cloud rising

behind it.

186 INT. TIGER CLAW - VARIOUS STATIONS - MONTAGE:

The ship is rocked by a POWERFUL SHOCK WAVE.

HANGER BAY: Men and equipment are thrown about. Olivia

and Jones are CRUSHED as a damaged Rapier tears free of

it's moorings! Fire erupts.

SC. 187 MERGED WITH SC. 186

188 INT. TIGER CLAW - TORPEDO ROOM

TORPEDO ROOM: The shock CRACKS OPEN A TUBE, sucking the

atmosphere out of the room. Men are LIFTED INTO THE AIR

and pulled screaming into the fractured tube. Others

try to reach the far hatchway. Spaceman RODRIGUEZ punches

the emergency button. The hatch door slides shut,

trapping Rodriguez and the remaining men inside.

RODRIGUEZ'S face appears in the porthole.

REVERSE ANGLE: On the faces of the crewmen safe on the

other side of the door, as they watch Rodriguez die

horribly inside.

SC. 189 MERGED WITH SC. 188

190 INT. TIGER CLAW - FLIGHT DECK

Blair picks himself off the deck, reacts to a sudden

whistling sound....Then others hear it, look around, fear

evident.

BLAIR

What's that sound?

PETERSON

The doors are falling!

The outer bay doors begin to groan and warp slightly.

Light objects nearby fly up and stick to a crack in the

seal between the doors.

PETERSON (CONT'D)

Grab anything that will seal it! Now!

MANIAC squats at the edge of the flight deck, watches

with a blank expression as pilots and crewmen race into

action.

BLAIR is running for the crack when he sees a composite

wing of a Rapier next to a damaged fighter that was being

repaired.

BLAIR

Someone help me!

The wing is too heavy for Blair alone. Peterson hurries

over to help. It can barely be lifted by both of them.

The whistling grows more ominous.Debris is flying around the flight deck, being sucked

toward the crack in the doors

BLAIR (CONT'D)

Come on. We can do it.

They haul the wing close to the doors. The suction from

the crack is so strong that the only thing keeping Blair

and Peterson anchored to the floor is the weight of t he

wing.

MANIAC sees Blair trip over a piece of debris on the

deck. He stumbles, losing his g rip on the wing.

HE'S sucked towards the crack--a dead man--until he

manages to grab on to a hook bolted to the deck.

The other pilots and crew members hang back, not willing

to risk their lives to save Blair.

MANIAC stands. BLAIR clings to the hook but his grip is

slipping. The crew members watch, frozen in inaction.

HUNTER prominent. He's not going to risk his neck for a

Pilgrim.

MANIAC

You sons of bitches just going to watch

him die?

Maniac grabs a cable that was ripped loose from it's

moorings, wraps it around his waist.

MANIAC (CONT'D)

Secure this.

He tosses the loop of cable over to the other pilots and

starts towards Blair.

THE CRACK splits open even wider and the increased

suction pulls Maniac off his feet. He flies towards the

crack, then the cable PULLS TIGHT. It stops him from

being sucked through, but cinches so tightly around his

waist that it seems to almost cut him in two.

He swallows a scream, clutches the cable with one hand,

and like a rock climber skipping across a cliff face,

makes his way to Blair.

MANIAC (CONT'D)

(choked)

Grab on!

BLAIR releases his grip on the hook and clings to Maniac.

MANIAC (CONT'D)

(screaming at the crew)

Come on!

Crew members pull Maniac and Blair a way from the crack.

Meanwhile Peterson ands several other crew members have

HOISTED THE RAPIER WING UPRIGHT.

Anchoring themselves to the deck, they release it -- the

tremendous force of the vacuum outside SUCKS the heavy

metal wing up against the crack LIKE IT WERE A LEGO TOY.

The shrieking howl becomes a slight tea kettle.

A REPAIR CREW arrives in a cart carrying two large metal

bottles. They blast around t he wing with a thick

viscous containment foam that hardens instantly into a

solid mass, seals the leak.

BLAIR AND MANIAC huddle together for a moment, and BLAIR

helps Maniac un-cinch the cable from around his waist. As

the cable falls away, we see A RING OF BLOOD around

Maniac's waist, w here the cable has cut into him.

MANIAC (CONT'D)

What are you going to do when I'm not

around to watch your ass?

BLAIR

Save your energy.

(screams)

Medic! Medic!

Maniac falls to his knees, nearly passing out. Blair

supports him.

MANIAC

It's my fault -- she would've come back

in, Blair --

BLAIR

She knew what she was doing.

MANIAC

I should have protected her.

BLAIR

Forbes was a fighter pilot in a war

zone. She didn't need any protection

from anybody. She’s dead and that's

that.

MANIAC

How can you be so--

He struggles to lift Maniac who passes out.

BLAIR (Cont'd)

(screams)

Medic!

Blair and Maniac seem tiny on the vast flight deck.

SC. 191 - 196 OMIT

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Novelization

CHAPTER 21

UNITED CONFEDERATION CARRIER TIGER CLAW

ULYSSES CORRIDOR

MARCH 17, 2654 0800 HOURS ZULU TIME

5 HOURS FROM CHARYBOIS QUASAR JUMP POINT

Captain Sansky had sustained a concussion from the blow to his head.

And worse, on his way to sickbay, he had suffered an acute myocardial

infarction that had rendered him unconscious. Commander Gerald now

assumed command of the Tiger Claw. No stranger to the job, Gerald

threw himself wholeheartedly into the challenge. Without Sansky's

interference, he felt certain he could save the carrier from another

onslaught, one that would surely finish her.

During the attack, Sansky had seemed strangely remote and indecisive.

The Jay Sansky Gerald knew would have led them headfirst into the fray

while barking orders and inspiring his officers to find an inner strength

they never knew they possessed.

But the old man had shut down, and Gerald refused to believe that fear

had caused that. In combat, fear could turn a man's mind to water that

would pour out of his ears. No, something else troubled the captain, and

the captain's preoccupation left Gerald uneasy.

As he focused on the images coming in from the Claw's tactical

scanners that were being displayed on the helmsman's console, he cleared

his mind of everything but the task at hand: finding cover from the

Kilrathi battle group headed toward them.

Pictures from the Jovian-like planet's second moon revealed a string of

deep craters, one of them large enough to conceal the carrier. "There,"

Gerald said, pointing at the screen. "Put her down there."

The helmsman touched a key, locked in the course, and the carrier

lurched forward. For a moment, Gerald looked to Falk, Sasaki, and Obutu,

seeking approval in their expressions. All were too busy with their jobs,

performing them admirably despite their exhaustion.

Once the carrier had glided over the crater, the helmsman lowered her

into the shadows of the north wall.

"I think it's time for that power-down, Mr. Obutu," Gerald said.

"No problem, sir. Most of our systems are down anyway."

Gerald spared a smile over that irony. "Is the decoy ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Launch the decoy."

"Launch the decoy. Aye-aye, sir."

After a thump, the decoy blasted away from the carrier. Gerald tracked

its progress on a monitor. Long antennae extended from its circular hull,

while a pair of dishes began rotating. The drone slowed a moment to

compute its bearings, then fired thrusters and aimed for the Jovian-like

planet's ring system.

Gerald turned his head at the approach of Taggart and Deveraux. He

noted a hint of surprise in their expressions as the bridge lights faded,

then winked out.

"Decoy away, Commander," Obutu reported. "Systems nominal. She

has a bigger electronic signature than the Concordia. I think she'll fool

them, sir."

"I hope you're right. Secure all active scanners. Passive systems only."

He dropped into the captain's chair and looked up to a bank of scanners

above the forward viewport.

The first moon hung in the right corner of one display, and as Gerald

studied it, he noticed tiny fluctuations in its glow. Then part of that glow

seemed to burn off and materialize into brilliant dots. One after another

the moon shed those dots, and they spread into a triangular formation.

"There," Obutu said. "The Kilrathi battle group."

Rapt by the image, Gerald felt his mouth falling open. Never had he

been so close to so many Kilrathi ships. They stood at the eye of a sleeping

giant.

"They've missed us," Mr. Falk said anxiously from his radar screen. He

smiled broadly. "They're following the decoy."

The crew cheered. Even Gerald mouthed a "Yes!"

"Quiet!" Taggart shouted, startling everyone back into silence.

From that silence rose a steady beeping from one of Falk's passive radar

detectors.

"I know that signature," Taggart said, charging toward the radar

station. "It's a destroyer… hunting for us."

As if on cue, the beeping increased in pitch and rhythm. Falk's eyes

bugged out. "They've spotted us!"

"No," Taggart said, his gaze shifting from the radar screen to the bank

of scanners behind it. "We're still close enough to the radiation belt.

Gamma rays are clouding their screens. If they don't see us, they won't

find us."

Gerald found cold comfort in Taggart's assurance as the beeping grew

more insistent. Out of habit, he swung his chair toward Mr. Falk, about to

demand the destroyer's position.

However, with the scanners down they were blind. He swung the chair

back, then the deck lifted sharply.

"Did you feel that?" Deveraux asked, shifting to his side.

His chair shook as another vibration passed under the ship. He gritted

his teeth and puffed air. "Shit. They're nuking every crater. Methodical

bastards."

As though they had heard the insult, the Kilrathi released another

bomb, whose shock wave rumbled through the carrier like a thousand

ancient cavalrymen.

"The next one will hit us," Deveraux said.

"Or it won't," he countered. "We're not moving."

Taggart placed his hand on Deveraux's shoulder and gently eased her

back. "Mr. Gerald is right, Commander. We're not moving."

"They've launched again," Falk shouted. "Here it comes."

* * *

Although Boss Raznick's voice continued to blare over the intercom,

Specialist Justin Jones ignored him. He knew his job, had assessed the

situation, and didn't need the old man breathing down his neck. The

Kilrathi were launching nukes nearby and everything in the flight hangar

needed to be secure. Simple math. Rocket science not required.

Jones knew that Olivia felt the same and would back him up, so long as

he didn't vanish on one of his treks to the latrine. But Jones could make no

promises.

He double-checked the moorings on a Rapier with heavily damaged

landing skids, got the signal from Olivia to move on—

Then felt the deck drop away from his boots. He fell onto his side as a

deafening screech resounded from the bulkheads. The dozens of bombers

and fighters surrounding him convulsed as the tremor worked its way

farther into the ship. A few taut cables securing fighters to the deck

popped free and whipped over fuselages. The wire Jones had just checked

snapped, as did the one near Olivia, who shouted something, but a

creaking noise drowned him out.

Jones looked over his shoulder and saw the Rapier coming down on

him. Astonished, he thought, I'm not gonna make it. He raised his hands

in reflex, in a vain effort to stop the fighter, and in surrender to his fate.

* * *

Rodriguez clung to the bulkhead as the temblor paid an unwelcome

visit to his Secondary Ordnance room. It seemed odd that alarms did not

accompany the quake, but nearly all of his systems had been shut down.

Were they online, he would have noticed that tube integrity had been

compromised in station number four. The only notice he received came in

the form of a sudden rush of air that dragged Spaceman Taesha Douglas

across the room, up the bulkhead, and into the tube. She died without

time to scream.

Ashley Galaway rushed toward the hatchway, and Rodriguez pounded

his fist on the emergency hatch control, sealing himself inside the

ordnance room. He could see Ashley's pleading eyes through the hatch's

window. She pounded on the durasteel, pointed at the control, screamed

for him to open the door.

But Rodriguez could no longer hear her. The lack of oxygen made him

grow faint, and his fingers slipped free of the conduit he had been

gripping. He felt his legs being forced into the tube. His vision grew dark

around the edges.

Miguel Rodriguez knew he was going to die, and that was okay. He had

saved the ship from a major breech. But he wished he could bargain for

one more hour to spend with Ashley. He could already hear the melodies

of salsa, carried on the wind.

* * *

After Maniac had fled the hangar, Blair had tried to smooth things over

with Hunter and Polanski. But after being cursed at by a jock who called

himself "Maniac," a jock who had disobeyed orders, and a jock who they

deemed responsible for the death of their unofficial leader, the two had

simply walked away. And Blair had known better than to press the issue.

He had left them to go after Maniac and had returned to the hangar,

where he had, ironically, found Maniac seated in his Rapier. Then the

Kilrathi had begun nuking the moon, and more death had fallen upon the

Tiger Claw.

Now, as Blair picked himself off the deck, a whistling sound had him

eyeing the bulkhead, the overhead, and the fighters that had collapsed or

collided with each other. He shot a look to Maniac, who had left his fighter

to squat near the lift doors and stare blankly at the chaos. Even the sight

of two men being crushed by a Rapier had not drawn a reaction from him.

Blair turned his attention to Deckmaster Peterson, who came sprinting by.

"What's that sound?"

Peterson froze, and his head slowly tilted back as he took in the massive

hangar bay doors. "Oh my God," he mumbled. Then the electricity of the

moment struck him. He whirled around and shouted to his crew. "The

door seal is failing! Boss? Activate the energy curtain!"

"Can't do that," Raznick said over the intercom. "The cats are just

outside. They'll pick up the surge."

"Damn it." Peterson looked very much alone, despite the three techs

who now surrounded him. "All right, all right! Grab anything that will seal

it. Now!"

As the techs scattered, Blair quickly scanned the deck and spotted a

Rapier's detached wing laying amid several toppled tool carts. He bolted

across the deck, rounded one of the hangar's columns, then kicked power

tools off of the wing. Seizing one end, he tried to lift it. "Hey! Over here!

Someone help me."

Peterson answered the call and grabbed the wing's opposite end as the

whistling grew louder and lower in pitch. Styrofoam cups, paper, pens,

and anything else lighter than a kilo or so flew toward the widening breech

in the doors. Peterson lost his grip on the wing, and it dropped to his hip.

He began shaking his head, ready to give up.

"Come on!" Blair urged him. "We can do it!"

With a guttural hiss, Peterson took up the wing once more. They hauled

it closer to the doors, and Blair realized that the only thing keeping them

anchored to the floor now was the wing's weight.

Out of nowhere, something struck his skull, knocking him off the wing.

He fell onto his back and got caught in the gale of escaping atmosphere,

dragged feet-first toward the buckling, yawning doors. He spread his arms

and palmed the deck in a futile effort to slow himself.

Techs shouted, their voices whisked away by the tornado-like roar.

More debris struck the doors with the rat-tat-tat of an automatic

weapon.

Blair's hands stung from the building heat, and rubber burned off his

heels as he dug them in for support.

He came up on a mooring rung that jutted from the deck. He reached

for it. Missed. Another passed before he had time to react. A third rushed

up and he reached for it, extending his arm until the pain brought tears

and fingers touched, slid over, and clutched the metal. Jerked hard by the

sudden stop and feeling as though his arm would rip from the socket, Blair

rolled onto his stomach and gripped the rung with both hands. His cheeks

rippled as the wind lifted him from the deck, and he began flapping like a

flag in a hurricane.

He could see the others now, far ahead, watching in stunned

fascination. Maniac stood. Hunter lingered behind. Peterson kept his grip

on the wing as two techs joined him.

Then Maniac did something surprising. He turned to the others and

shouted, "You sons of bitches just going to watch him die?" He raced to

the bomber behind him, retrieved a broken piece of mooring cable, then

fastened it around his waist. He jabbed the other end in Hunter's hand,

saying, "Secure this."

And if Maniac were afraid, no evidence reached his face. He seemed

angry, enraged even, as he started forward. The doors abruptly parted a

quarter-meter, and the increased suction yanked him off his feet. He flew

headlong at Blair, his crimson flight suit ruffling like fanned flames.

Then he jerked to a halt, dangling just a meter away, the cable cinching

so tightly around his waist that Blair swore it would cut him in two. He

swallowed a scream, turned back and seized the cable with one hand, then

waved to the others for more slack. He rappelled down the deck like a rock

climber until the cable stopped coming. He waved for more. Hunter shook

his head. Maniac turned back, released the cable, then, hanging only by

his waist, thrust out his hands. "Grab on!"

Blair took one hand off the rung and screamed as he tried to reach his

friend. Maniac jerked himself a little closer, crying out as the cable dug

deeper into his waist. He seized Blair's wrist with both hands, then looked

back to Hunter and the others bracing the line. "Come on!"

Something wet spattered in Blair's eye as the cable jerked and he felt

himself moving away from the doors. Another droplet struck his cheek.

Then another. He spotted a dark stain forming around Maniac's waist. He

called his friend's name to no response. He called again. And again.

Meanwhile, Peterson and the other techs hoisted the wing upright, and,

anchoring themselves to the deck, eased it toward the doors. Blair caught

sight of the wing suddenly flying through the air to slap across the gap

with a terrific thud. The timpani roll of rushing air fell off into the soft

simmer of a tea kettle.

And while that comforted him, he and Maniac suddenly found

themselves gunned down and dropping to the deck. Blair belly-flopped and

lost his breath. Maniac struck his shoulder and gave a half-strangled cry.

As Blair sat up, a service vehicle trundled by, a tech standing in its turret

behind a sealant gun with a barrel nearly two meters long. The truck

stopped short at the doors, and the tech sprayed his viscous containment

foam over the wing and the gaps above and below it. The foam quickly

hardened into a solid mass, sealing off the leak.

Blair gazed over at Maniac, who lay inert on his back. He crawled over

and untied the cable from Maniac's waist, exposing torn fabric and bloody

flesh.

Grabbing Blair's arm, Maniac lifted himself up, then rose shakily to his

feet. "What are you going to do when I'm not around to watch your ass?"

"Save your energy."

Maniac's eyes rolled back for a second, and he dropped to his knees.

Blair rushed behind him, and Maniac fell into his lap. Blair's gaze swept

over the hangar. "Medic!"

Then Maniac stirred. "It's my fault. She would've come back in, Blair."

"She knew what she was doing."

"I should have protected her."

"Forbes was a fighter pilot in a war zone," he said in a tone so cold that

it shocked him. "She didn't need any protection from anybody. She's dead.

And that's that."

"How can you be so—" Maniac's eyelids fluttered, and his head fell

slack.

"Medic! Medic!"