TRENCH RAID

Written by
Mck Woo

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EXT. NO MANS LAND - EVENING

Night falls on a entrenched battlefield that smolders with
the chaos of flying bullets, stray artillery and warring men.
Patches of broken forest cling to the landscape.
SUPER: ...Somewhere in France, 1915 ...Its never quiet on
the western front.
GERMAN BARBED WIRE - EVENING
A TANGLED TOMMY struggles in the wire as RAPID FIRE playfully
strafes the DEAD SOLDIERS to his left and right.
DISTANT LAUGHTER. Another burst tears open his chest. He
falls limp on the wire, just another ghastly scarecrow.
NO MANS LAND (THE ONCE A FOREST) - NIGHT
A patch of forest decimated by shell fire. Its treeline stops
a few yards from BRITISH BARBED WIRE ENTANGLEMENTS.
At its edge a nebulous mass of GERMAN RAIDERS, watches as
flashes of light bleed over the parapet.
BRITISH SOLDIER (O.S.)
Are you having a bloody laugh?
ENGLISH FIRE TRENCH - NIGHT
Four British Soldiers struggle to keep a match flame in the
breeze. There is only one MATCH BOX. Each holds CIGARETTES.
BRITISH SOLDIER 1
Id of burned a witch by now Paul.
BRITISH SOLDIER 2
Already late for Sentry duty-Give
me the matches! Jesus Christ!
BRITISH SOLDIER 3
Were bout to get Court Marshalled
because you need to prove a point.
BRITISH SOLDIER 4
Be a bit easier to hold a light if
I didnt have you cunts steaming
down my neck like a whores hot
queef. Tempest of-(off lit match flame)
There! Dont move.

2.
The other three spring into action, leaning in to block the
wind and engulfing the trench in shadow.
BRITISH SOLDIER 4 (CONTD)
Now whos got a fag for me?
BRITISH SOLDIER 2
(light cigarette)
I got one... for me.
BRITISH SOLDIER 3
(lights cig, pats pockets)
Let me check... me last one.
BRITISH SOLDIER 4
Bollocks! After I-- I waste all me
matches and no one can spare a fag?
Youre all bastards.
BRITISH SOLDIER 1
(lights fag)
We can share this one P.
Four silhouettes. In the dappled light of the moon we only
see their faces when they take a drag.
BRITISH SOLDIER 2
You know thats bad luck, using one
match to light three fags.
BRITISH SOLDIER 1
Who says that then?
Dead men.

BRITISH SOLDIER 2

BRITISH SOLDIER 4
Is that so?
BRITISH SOLDIER 3
That it is. Time it takes to light
three fags a sharp-shooter can zero
in on the flame. POW BAM POOF! And
off goes the head.
BRITISH SOLDIER 4
(pointing to the parapet)
Well Ill remember that next time I
light me fags standing up on the
firestep like a bloody idiot you
bloody idiot.
Soldier 4s face disappears into silhouette as he passes it
left to Soldier 1, whose face reveals mustache when he drags.

3.
BRITISH SOLDIER 1
(off glow of the cherry)
Sharp-shooterd see the hot end of
the tip anyway fool.
BRITISH SOLDIER 3
No need to be nasty Jim. Just
telling you what I heard.
Soldier 1 passes it back to 4s silhouette, which is TALLER
than before. The ember glows: A SCARRED GERMAN RAIDERS FACE.
Danke.

SCARRED GERMAN RAIDER

Before Soldier 1 can react a MORNING STAR pounds him down

into the ground like an accordion of crunching joints.
HULKING SHADOWS dispatch the others with equal ruthlessness.
INT. ENGINEERING OFFICERS DUGOUT - NIGHT
NEVEL NIPPERDARLING, a british officer with a PENCIL MUSTACHE
and a FREE MASON PIN, sits with a JUNIOR OFFICER, busy with
paperwork when he hear FOOTSTEPS on the stairs.
NEVEL
(not looking up)
Ah Chuckles! I do hope that kettle
is hot. And please tell me you
brought me my Earl Grey. Last time
I had to drink Irish Breakfast like
some barbarous peasant-Nevel looks up to see three bloody GERMAN RAIDERS, moving
towards him. The Junior officer creeps for a S&W PISTOL.
NEVEL (CONTD)
No Earl Grey I take it? A pity.
A SHARPENED SHOVEL rolls across the room and digs into the
Junior Officers neck. He falls. Nevel is rushed by the
raiders as he lunges for the pistol.
TITLE CREDITS: TRENCH RAID