“IRON TIGERS”
WRITTEN BY: ORTEGO, AARON A.
ADAPTED FROM “IRON TIGERS” BY MICHAEL FARMER
EXT. MOSCOW, RUSSIA - NIGHT
Fires lit the night sky. Though dozens of Moscow streets were in flames, no emergency sirens could be heard—not above the rumble of armored vehicles and marching boots over cobblestones. Earlier in the evening angry citizens had lined the city’s major thoroughfares. Now soldiers with bayonet-tipped rifles corralled knots of protestors at intersections. Canvas-topped military vehicles circulated though the streets, picking up the now meek and silent citizens. No one knew where the protestors were taken, but within an hour the trucks would return empty, prepared to take on fresh cargo.
The American television correspondent’s face—well known to the viewing public from reports in Kuwait, Bosnia, Afghanistan, and Iraq—conveyed a sense of urgency that was palpable to his global audience. He gestured at the streets behind him as the video camera rolled. “As you can see, it hasn’t taken Vladimir Putin long to crack down on what the government calls ‘subversive elements’ here in Moscow. We’re told that the similar roundups are occurring in St. Petersburg and other major Russian population centers.”
Putin’s photo appeared in the left corner of the network picture—a handsome man, light-haired, early-fifties. Baseball scores crawled across the bottom of the screen. The foreign correspondent’s live feed from Moscow continued on the right side of the picture. “As we all know, after years of economic woes Putin won the recent presidential election in a landslide by campaigning on a platform of military reform and the resurrection of Russia as a world power. The former KGB officer and hard-line member of the Communist Party was expected to tighten down on many of the individual liberties the Russian people have enjoyed since Boris Yeltsin’s ascension to power over a decade ago. It is safe to say, however, that these actions”—the reporter paused to turn and gesture at a T-80 tank as it rumbled past—“have taken the entire world by surprise. Before sunrise this morning, Russian troops conducted a coordinated sweep, rounding up all non-Communist Party officials from the Federation Council, the Russian parliament’s upper house, and the Duma, the parliament’s lower house. Leftists loyal to Putin, many key members of the Politburo under the Soviet regime, replaced these elected officials.
“GERALDO RIVIERA”
“The violence you’re seeing now is the result of citizens taking to the streets in protest of these actions. The speed with which the military swept down to crush the protesters make it clear that the government seized control of all media—television, radio, newspaper, Internet Service Providers—and declared martial law. . . .”
The reporter disappeared from view as the camera-man instinctively turned toward the sound of nearby gunfire. Within seconds he jogged back into view, motioning for the cameraman to follow. Audiences sat riveted as a group of Russian youths, refusing to be led away by the troops, filled their screens. A squad of soldiers separated the group at rifle point. One of the young protesters, a young man in his late teens or early twenties, spit into the face of the soldier nearest him and yelled something in Russian. On the direction of their senior NCO, two soldiers grabbed the protester and threw him against the nearest wall with enough force to knock the breath from him and then stepped quickly away. The news crew’s boom mike picked up a distinct series of pops. The camera tightened on the youngster as his body pirouetted and slid to the sidewalk, eyes already glazing over. The camera panned once more to the newsman. A veteran of global hot spots, he was nonetheless stunned into silence by the display of violence.
The network anchor’s voice cut in from New York. “Geraldo, are you and your crew safe?”
Regaining his composure, the reporter nodded.
“GERALDO RIVIERA”
“I believe we are for the moment, but this is obviously a volatile situation. . . .”
The live feed darkened as a gloved hand appeared and covered the camera. The sound rolled on. A harsh Russian voice addressed the American news team in broken English,
“RUSSIAN SOLDIER”
“You leave immediately. All equipment now belongs to the Russian Government. My men will collect, and then escort you and crew to airport.”
“GERALDO RIVIERA”
Voice rose in anger. “What are you talking about? We have a permit to . . .”
For a brief moment the audience saw a Russian major confronting the American newsman as the cameraman broke away from his captors to continue filming. Simultaneously audiences heard a rapid series of shots. The picture tilted sideways as the camera fell to the ground. After a moment the American newsman’s shoes appeared in the picture as he moved to his cameraman. The reporter’s voice, now verging on hysteria, was clear over the street noise. “Tommy . . . Tommy!” Bright red arterial blood pooled around Italian leather. “You bastards!”
More shots sounded and the feed went back.
“Riyadh (London Times)”
“Postwar tensions between Saudi Arabia and the West reached new heights today. Saudi Arabia, which forced the United States to withdraw its military hardware and personnel form Saudi soil last year before the start of the Second Gulf War, has seen a dramatic decline in demand for its crude oil exports to the U.S. and other Western nations. In retaliation the kingdom is now pressuring fellow OPEC nations to raise crude prices by fifty percent.”
“Kuwait City (Reuters)”
“In a move expected for weeks the emir of Kuwait, Sheikh Jaber al-Ahmad al-Jaber al-Sabah, and Iraqi president Jalal Talabani announced in an early-morning press conference that their nations would sign a joint-protection treaty later today. Both leaders expressed a desire to further Iraq’s role as a democratic leader in the region.”
“Baghdad (Christian Science Monitor)”
“In a stunning development the governments of Iraq and Kuwait, along with the United Arab Emirates, Qatar, and Venezuela, have announced their withdrawal from OPEC and the establishment of a new petroleum cartel, the Arab Oil League, or AOL. The AOL nations will account for forty percent of world of world crude reserves and almost half of former OPEC reserves. Initial reports from Riyadh indicate the Saudi government is surprised and angered by the development. OPEC’s past strength stemmed from its ownership of eighty percent of world oil reserves. The loss of so many of its members and such a large percentage of the world’s production capacity strikes a hard blow the OPEC power base.”
“Moscow (AP)”
“Russian president Vladimir Putin and the Saudi crown prince announced Russia’s entrance as OPEC’s newest member. While the addition of Russia does not fully compensate for the loss of former OPEC nations last month, the union is what on White House official has called “a match made in hell.” Putin has made significant gains over the past six months in retooling the Russian military back to superpower status, but his efforts have slowed recently due to lack of funds. Cash will no longer be an issue as oil revenues begin to flow into Moscow.”
“Riyadh (Reuters)”
“The Saudi military today announced new contracts with Russian arms manufacturers for the immediate purchase of military hardware ranging from rifles and tanks to surface-to-surface and surface-to-air missiles. The West had provided the majority of Saudi arms in the past, but the total collapse of relations between the kingdom and Western nations has made replenishment of spare parts extremely difficult in recent days. It was also announced that a series of joint exercises is planned between Russian and Saudi forces in the near future, likely to coincide with the U.S. exercises in Iraq scheduled for the spring.”
EXT. AN NAJAF, IRAQ – NIGHT 0300 HOURS
2nd Corps Fuel Depot
An Iraqi soldier on guard duty stopped beside a burning barrel and slung his AK-47 assault rifle over his shoulder. Reaching into his pocket, the guard pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. It was three o’clock in the morning and he paid little attention to his mission of guarding the fuel depot—this was a peacetime exercise, after all. Instead he savored his temporary respite from the desert night’s chill. A movement on the perimeter caught his attention. The soldier turned but saw nothing. His break had warmed him but the barrel’s flames had significantly impacted his night vision. Reluctantly, he crushed the cigarette beneath his boot and trudged into the darkness on the off chance that the exercise planners had decided to introduce opposing forces into the scenario. A blur was all he saw as a gloved hand shot across his mouth and a blackened combat knife slammed into his jugular.
Two hours later the sergeant of the guard discovered the soldier was missing. As nothing appeared amiss within the perimeter, it was assumed the guard had found a warm spot and gone to sleep. The next morning, when he’d still not reported in, the missing soldier was reported AWOL. Desert Lion continued per the exercise directive and the Iraqi
EXT. SOUTHERN IRAQ, VICINITY THE SAUDI
BORDER
2ND BRIGADE, 1ST CAVALRY DIVISION HEADQUARTERS
The U.S. Army officer, a full colonel, nodded his head slowly. His eyes were closed as he held the field phone to his ear, a study in patience.
“COLONEL COLTS, MAC”
“Yes, I understand that.”
The colonel nodded again.
“COLONEL COLTS, MAC”
“I understand that as well. Now let me ask you a question,”
Continue in a reasonable tone
“COLONEL COLTS, MAC”
“Do you understand that I’m a goddamned brigade commander looking at Russians—I say again, Russians of all things—creeping along the border, and that I want some air support over this area right fucking now?!”
The lieutenant colonel standing nearby winced.
Mac Colts calmed himself with a visible effort.
“COLONEL COLTS, MAC”
“Look, I really don’t care where the birds come from but I need them ASAP. Ivan’s been playing footsies with us for the past two weeks, but this is different. We’ve got American M1A2-SEP tanks and Russian T-80Us looking at each other across less than five kilometers of desert—and there’s a lot more T-80s than M1s. Am I being clear? If the shit hits the fan, we’re going to need close air support. “
After signing off Colts turned to his XO
“LIEUTENANT COLONEL BOREMAN, ROGER”
“Not a problem, sir.”
“COLONEL COLTS, MAC”
“So have we heard anything else from the boys at the front?”
“LIEUTENANT COLONEL BOREMAN, ROGER”
“No change as of the last situation report”
Colts walked to the map mounted on the tactical operation center (TOC) wall. The confusing combination of blue and red icons arrayed along the Iraq-Saudi border. Turning back to his XO, he pointed at the blue icons representing the 1st Cav’s tank and mechanized infantry forces.
“COLONEL COLTS, MAC”
“Roger, make sure all tracks are topped off ASAP, then move the fuelers back a few kilometers. Tell them to be ready to come forward again when we need them. If the Ruskies are serious, we’re not going to have time to dick around waiting for gas.”
Boreman nods his head.
“LIEUTENANT COLONEL BOREMAN, ROGER”
“Roger, sir. Most of the units are reporting they’ve already topped off. Our tankers are getting kinda dry, but I’m expecting a convoy of fuelers from the depot at Najaf any time now.”
Even as the men turned back to the map the convoy was entering the 2nd Brigade’s lines, dust billowing behind it.
EXT. FORT CARSON, COLORADO – DAY
CHARLIE COMPANY, 2-77 ARMOR HEADQUARTERS
Four new soldiers stood in front of the assembled soldiers and NCOs of their new unit. Most of the troops watching the four new recruits were seasoned veterans. The newbie’s felt trained eyes looking them over from every direction, measuring them. The drill sergeants they’d left behind seemed mild in comparison to their new first sergeant. While not much over five and a half feet tall, the veteran soldier appeared carved from a single piece of thin flexible steel. As First Sergeant John Rider caught his second wind, the four soldiers squinted in self-defense against the close-quarters verbal assault as it continued.
“FIRST SERGEANT RIDER”
“Look around you, shitbirds!”
Waving a hand westward toward the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains. He paused, smiling, and his voice calmed.
“FIRST SERGEANT RIDER”
“Could you have asked to be posted to a more scenic spot?”
Private Boggs cocked his head and examined the looming peaks. Smiled and spoke in a low voice, more to himself than anyone else.
“PRIVATE BOGGS”
“They’re mighty nice, all right.”
Rider was on the young troop in a heartbeat.
“FIRST SERGEANT RIDER”
“What was that, Private? You already talking out of turn in my formation? Don’t need to treat old Top Rider with the respect due him, is that what you think? You think I’m your bitch, Private?”
Boggs snapped to the position of attention and back to reality in the same instant.
“PRIVATE BOGGS”
“Yes . . . uh . . . no. I . . . I . . . I meant, yes, First Sergeant—the mountains are mighty pretty.”
Rider stared at the soldier a moment longer, memorizing every line of his face for future reference.
“FIRST SERGEANT RIDER”
“Well don’t get too used to the
sights, shitbird,” said in a quit voice.
”The bad thing about this company is we don’t seem to hang around home too
much.”
EXT. BACK DOOR OF C CO. TRAINING ROOM – DAY
“CAPTAIN DILLON, PATRICK”
“Top’s on a roll, isn’t he?”
The captain watching the proceedings with a bemused expression.
The lanky lieutenant standing next to the captain nodded.
“LIEUTENANT HANCOCK a.k.a. DOC”
“Yes, sir. He is that.”
The captain rolled a soggy toothpick in his mouth.
“CAPTAIN DILLON, PATRICK”
“Yep, that’s some grade-A shit, all right.”