>>/ Predator

/ Predator

: / Predator.

/ Predator



The infinite blackness punctuated by a billion stars. As we slowly DESCEND through the varied shades of blue of the Earth's atmosphere, we HEAR the first strains of a haunting, Central American FLUTE, joined by a swelling background of JUNGLE SOUNDS. We descend further, through a lush JUNGLE CANOPY, backlit by a setting sun.



Through a collage of shimmering HEAT-WAVES, a dark, OTHER-WORLDLY OBJECT drops INTO VIEW, backlit by the fiery, ORANGE-RED sphere of a setting tropical SUN, heading slowly towards us, floating, as if suspended by the rising heat of the jungle.

Continuing to approach, the shimmering object resolves into a MILITARY ASSAULT HELICOPTER, its rotors strobing in the fading sunlight. Drawing closer, the SOUND of powerful TURBINES, throbbing in the heavy air, becomes dominant, overpowering.

Guided by COLORED SMOKE and LANDING LIGHTS, the chopper looms hard INTO VIEW, pitching forward and settling to the ground, kicking up a maelstrom of dust and vegetation


Where a MAN wearing a military UNIFORM watches through the large open windows the helicopter as it continues to approach. Before the skids have even touched down he SEES the first of the MEN, dressed in CIVILIAN CLOTHES but carrying full COMBAT GEAR, alight gracefully from the chopper, double-timing in close order to one side, the orders SHOUTED by one man lost in the ROAR of the chopper.

The man turns away from the window, to a FIGURE, hidden * in the shadows.

MAN * He's here.

He turns back, lowering a BAMBOO SHADE, obscuring the * window.



On adjoining PADS, two other HELICOPTERS are VISIBLE; in the b.g. can be SEEN several concrete and THATCHWORK BUILDINGS, a secret command post disguised as a COASTAL FISHING VILLAGE.

The post in a flurry of activity, AMERICAN ADVISORS shouting directions to dozens of LATIN AMERICAN SOLDIERS who stand by to assist the landing helicopter and to load EQUIPMENT into the other choppers.

Inside the chopper, one man remains, stretched out against * the bulkhead, as if asleep. He stirs, sits up, lighting * up a CIGAR. With fatigue showing in his motion, he leans * forward, descending to the ground. *

A JEEP pulls to stop, the man swinging casually into the * front seat, tossing his GEAR into the rear. With a * lurch the jeep heads out towards the command post. *

In the doorway TWO MEN solemnly watch as the jeep approaches. Reaching the command post the man alights from the jeep, heading towards the two men.

Into the pool of light cast by the fixture above the door steps MAJOR ALAN SCHAEFER, the team leader, 38, an intelligent and intense man. He informally salutes, GENERAL H.L. PHILIPS, 55, hardened, close-cropped graying hair, his nameplate and insignia identifying him as a member of an elite commando unit in the U.S. Army. He clasps Schaefer warmly on the shoulder.

PHILIPS (with affection) You're looking well, Dutch.

SCHAEFER It's been a long time, General.

They walk up the stairs, entering the palapa, leaving the other man on guard.


Large, two room concrete floor, thatched walls and roof. Behind a partially drawn curtain in the kitchen, a naked lightbulb hung from the rafters illuminates a bank of compact FIELD RADIO EQUIPMENT, MAPS and AERIAL PHOTOGRAPHS. Otherwise the rooms are primitive and stand out in stark contrast to this high-tech invasion.

Philips and Schaefer enter the room.




PHILIPS (growing serious) We've got a real problem here, something right up your alley.

They cross to the center of the room to a folding table, covered with a large TOPOGRAPHICAL MAP of the Central American highland jungle. Philips leans over the table, circling a set of COORDINATES and a MARK on the open map.

PHILIPS Eighteen hours ago I was informed that one of our choppers, transporting three presidential cabinet members from this charming little country, was shot down... (point to the circled area) ...The pilots radioed from the ground that they were all alive. Their position was fixed by the transponder beacon onboard the chopper. (points) Here.

Schaefer studies the map. He looks up at Philips.

SCHAEFER That's over the border, General.

PHILIPS (dead serious) That's the problem. Apparently they strayed off course. (pause) We're certain they've been captured by the guerrillas.

Schaefer looks up, puffing lightly on the cigar.

SCHAEFER (quietly) What have you got in mind, General.



3 CONTINUED: (2) 3

PHILIPS We figure we've got less than twenty-four hours to catch up with them. After that, there's not much hope. We want a rescue operation mounted tonight. That doesn't give you much time.

Another puff on the cigar.

SCHAEFER What else it new? When do we leave?

Philips looks at his watch.

PHILIPS You lift off in three hours. (pause) There's one other thing.

SCHAEFER What's that, General?

PHILIPS Someone else will be going in with you.

Schaefer stubbs out his cigar in an ashtray.

SCHAEFER You know we don't work with outsiders, General.

VOICE (o.s.) Who said anything about outsiders, Dutch?

Schaefer turns, SEEING the outline of a figure standing in the doorway of the communications room, holding a sheaf of PAPERS.

Wearing pressed fatigues, DILLON, mid-thirties, black, walks into the room.

Although as rugged looking as the others, his bearing and grooming indicate he's been away from the business of soldiering for sometime. His quick intelligent eyes reveal his current profession.



3 CONTINUED: (3) 3

DILLON Last time we danced, it was Lieutenant, Schaefer.

A grin breaks out across Schaefer's face.

SCHAEFER Dillon, you son of a bitch.

The two men step forward and simultaneous swing from the hip as it to land a punch...but their hands SLAP together in a gesture of friendship, their forearms bulging, testing each other's strength.

DILLON (warmly) How you been, Dutch?

They continue the contest, Schaefer has the edge, forcing Dillon's arm slowly downward.

SCHAEFER You've been pushing too many Pencils, Dillon. Had enough?

DILLON (grinning) No way, old buddy.

SCHAEFER You never did know when to quit.

They look into each other's faces, each remembering something from the past. A moment's hesitation and they quit the contest. They laugh, Dillon slapping Schaefer on the shoulder.

DILLON That piece of work you guys pulled off at the Berlin embassy last week was really something. Blew the entry points on three floors and neutralized the opposition in eight seconds flat. Beautiful.

SCHAEFER Like the old days, Dillon.



3 CONTINUED: (4) 3

DILLON Also heard that you passed on that little job in Libya.

Schaefer looks at Dillon, quietly considering him.

SCHAEFER Wasn't my style. We're a rescue unit, not assassins. (smiles) This must be good. Big shot from the CIA, leaves his desk to come back to the bush. What's so important?

DILLON Those cabinet members are very important to our scope of operations in this part of the world. They're about to get squeezed. We can't let that happen. I needed someone who could get the job done, quick and quiet...no screw-ups. I needed the best. The best. So, I pulled a few strings at the State Department...and here we are.


Dillon goes to the map.

DILLON The set-up is simple, Dutch. One day job. We pick up their trail at the chopper, run 'em down, grab the hostages and bounce back across the border before anyone knows we were there. You've done it a hundred times. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Schaefer considers this.




3 CONTINUED: (5) 3

SCHAEFER And nothing we can't handle alone.

Philips breaks in.

PHILIPS I'm afraid those are your orders, Major. Once you reach your objective, Dillon will evaluate the situation and take charge.

Schaefer looks from Philips to Dillon. He still doesn't like it.

DILLON Not to worry, Dutch. I haven't lost my edge. They've got a head start on us in some real tough country, otherwise, believe me, it's a piece of cake.

PHILIPS Gentlemen, we're losing time. (to Schaefer) You'd better get your men ready. (pause) Good luck, Major.


Burst over the top of a ridge. Rising up in silhouette they perform a radical left bank turn and descend rapidly into an adjoining valley, racing over the jungle at treetop level.

As the helicopters perform dizzying, high-speed maneuvers through the winding canyon, the PILOT'S VOICES can be HEARD, coordinating their operations.

PILOT ONE (voice over) Redbird Two, Two. Bearing south, three, five, zero, one o'ckock on the saddle ridge. Over.




PILOT TWO (voice over) Roger, Blue Leader. Three, five, zero, on your move. Over.

The helicopters rise in perfect coordination over another ridge and bank sharply into the next valley, leveling out as they go.


Illuminated by the eerie red glow of NIGHT LIGHTS, are SEVEN MEN, dressed in jungle camouflage, soft hats and camouflage face-makeup. They wear no identity badges or insignias. The man are checking their WEAPONS, making last minute adjustments to their GEAR.

The compartment reverberates with the NOISE of the THUMPING ROTORS and the ROAR of air from the open doors.

BLAIN, weapons and ordinance specialist, a frightening bull of a man, a 240 pound killer, removes from his shirtpocket a think PLUG OF TOBACCO. He looks across at:

MAC, a huge bear of a man, black, holding am M-60 MACHINE GUN. Blain holds out the tobacco to Mac who refuses with a gentle shake of the head, a knowing smile, he knows what's coming.

Holding the plug between his teeth Blain yanks free from his shoulder scabbard a wicked, ten inch COMBAT KNIFE. Placing the razor sharp blade next to his lips he slices through the plug as if it were butter. He chews throughtfully.

Seated by the open doorway is RAMIREZ, a slight, angular man, an East L.A. streetwise Chicano.

Adding a final piece of camouflage TAPE to his pack HARNESS, he looks up and smiles, faking a throw and the bulleting the tape to:

HAWKINS, the radioman and medic, Irish, street-tough, reading a rolled-up magazine, as if he were a rush hour commuter. He snags the tape with an instinctual snap


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/17/86 9 * 5 CONTINUED: 5

of the wrist, continuing to read for a moment before looking up, grinning at Ramirez, his boyish, eager face belying the rugged professional beneath. He turns his gaze to the man next to him:

BILLY, the Kit Carson Scout, an American Indian, proud, stoic, a man of quiet strength and simplicity, carefully replacing the FIRING MECHANISM of his M-203, working its action several times. He looks up with a smile at Hawkins.

HAWKINS (shouting) Hey, Billy, how many marines does it take to eat a squirrel?

Billy looks back, shaking his head, uncomprehending.

HAWKINS Two. One to eat it and one to watch for cars.

Hawkins laughs heartily at his joke.


Clearing another ridge, the helicopters plunge into a steep descent, turning quickly into a DEEP-WALLED CANYON, the force of the turn accentuated by the changing PITCH of the screaming turbines and the biting of rotors into the air.


The men, suspended in RESTRAINING HARNESSES from the bulkheads, lean forward, nearly upside down in response to the radical maneuver, handling the situation with ease.

Blain holds out the tobacco to Ramirez, who swats at the offending object as if it were alive.

RAMIREZ (shouting) Get that stinkin' thing out of my face, Blain!


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/29/86 10


Grinning, Blain proffers the plug to each man, each one refusing; they've done it a thousand times. It's an old gag but they obviously care for the man in a big way.

BLAIN ...bunch of slack-jawed faggots around here... (holds up plug) ...this stuff will put hair guaranteed... (chewing) ...make you a God-damned sexual ty-ran-toe-sore-ass... just like me.

This brings a chorus of HOOTS and SHOUTS from the others.

The helicopter makes another radical turn.

Schaefer and Dillon, seated near the cockpit, communicate through HEADSETS, also linked to the pilot. They consult a TOPOGRAPHICAL MAP by RED PENLIGHTS.

DILLON (pointing to the map) Our rendezvous points and radio freqs. are indicated and fixed. AWACS contact on four hour intervals.

SCHAEFER Who's our back-up on this?

DILLON (grinning) No such thing, old buddy. It's a one way ticket. Once we cross that border, we're on our own.

SCHAEFER This gets better by the minute.



The PILOT and CO-PILOT are surrounded by an array of dimly lit GAUGES and SWITCHES. Before the Co-Pilot is a RADAR SCREEN and an INFRA-RED DISPLAY TERMINAL on which the TWO HELICOPTERS appear as HEAT SOURCES.

PILOT NUMBER ONE ...roger Bird Two, Two. Reconfirm insertion at Tango, Charlie, Delta One, zero, niner on the grid at zero, two, two, mark four by zero. Over.

PILOT NUMBER TWO (voice over) Two, Two, leader. Roger your insert co-ord. Over.

PILOT NUMBER ONE Leader to Bird Two Two. I bear two minutes to Landing Zone.

The Pilot throws a SWITCH on the panel before him


A BLUE LIGHT appears on the forward bulkhead. Schaefer is speaking over a RADIO TELEPHONE. The Co-Pilot turns and hands him a clipboard. Schaefer reads, notes his approval and hands it back.


Flares up into position over the jungle and hovers, as the SUPPORT HELICOPTER holds in a protective position above.


Dillon seems comfortable with the men, showing Ramirez a battered CIGARETTE LIGHTER from a famed commando unit from the past.

But his ingratiating demeanor is not impressing Mac, who regards Dillon with the cold suspicion reserved for an outsider. Mac looks up at Blain, his eyes narrowing.

Blain's massive jaws roll as he masticates the chew. He pauses, eyes moving downward, spotting his target.




He hocks a thick, vile stream of TOBACCO JUICE directly between Dillon's legs and onto the floor, a gelatinous skein lacing across the toe of one boot. Dillon looks up, his face goes cold and menacing.

DILLON (icy) Man, that's a real bad habit you've got.

Dillon turns back to Ramirez, ignoring Mac and Blain, who continues to stare at him. Mac looks across at Blain, wide grins breaking across their huge faces. Cradled in Blain's arms, as if it were a part of his body, is a large, CANVAS-COVERED BUNDLE. Blain looks down at his bundle, almost affectionately.

The PILOT's VOICE breaks in over Schaefer's headset.

PILOT NUMBER ONE (voice over) LZ comin' up in 30 seconds. Stand by the rappel lines.

Looking up, Schaefer gives a hand signal to the nearest man who nods and in return,passes the signal down the line.

Ramirez and Blain pick up heavy, METAL CONICAL DEVICES, attached to canvas bags filled with rope.


From the open doors the RAPPELLING LINES hurtle into space, CRASHING through the double canopy of the trees and to the jungle floor below.


The blue light changes to GREEN. Schaefer nods. RAPPELLING DEVICES SNAP into place. Gloved hands grab onto rope. Combat boots move into position.

DILLON (shouting to Schaefer) You don't know how much I missed this, Dutch!!! Once you get this in your blood, you never get it out!!!




SCHAEFER You never were all that smart...let's go!!!

Schaefer signals. Men leap from the chopper.


The man crash through the trees and are swallowed up by the darkness below. The helicopters depart, THUMPING their way into the night.



A light shower passes through the trees. The sky clears, REVEALING a lush and exotic foliage. Birds are beginning to SING but otherwise, all is SILENT.

The dense growth seems impenetrable, but from a solid wall of undergrowth, a HAND appears and signals in a downward motion.

As if by magic, the assault team materializes, quietly, cautiously. Schaefer makes another gesture and the team moves forward in perfect harmony in POINT-LOCK step, taking their cue from Ramirez, the pointman. Schaefer, highly focused and alert to every sound and movement, follows Ramirez, as if organically connected.


Descending the steep mountain slope, the team encounters an even denser growth of jungle, at times moving by instinct, as they are often visually separated. At one point, Schaefer checks his COMPASS, flashing some hand signals to Ramirez, indicating a new direction. Ramirez nods and moves on, Schaefer signaling to the rest of the men.


Blain, in a defensive position, sweeps the jungle slowly with his MP-5. He steps back and turns, checking, revealing in the b.g. the WRECKAGE OF A U.S. ARMY UH-1H HELICOPTER, hanging upside down, twenty feet above the ground, entangled in vines in the heavy capony, badly damaged, rotors bent, its tail section blown away.


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/21/86 14 * 17 CONTINUED: 17

A GRAPPLING HOOK is hurled from the ground, CLATTERING into the cargo hold, hooking the edge of the airframe.


Ramirez moves cautiously, searching for trip wires, using his knife to check the edges of the seats and door frames. Grimly he glances at the TWO BODIES slumped over the controls and then exits, snapping into and rappelling down the rope to the ground.

He joins Schaefer standing in the f.g. They look up, watching as Dillon moves through the cockpit, searching through pockets and compartments. Schaefer turns his back to the helicopter.

RAMIREZ The pilots have each got one round in the head. And whoever hit it stripped the shit out of it.

Schaefer studies the clearing, eyes always moving, wary. He turns back, looking at the chopper.

SCHAEFER Took 'em out with a heat seeker.

RAMIREZ There's something else, Major...

SCHAEFER Mmmnnn...?

RAMIREZ I don't think that was any ordinary army taxi...

Schaefer looks at him quizically.

RAMIREZ ...looks more like a surveillance bird to me.

Dillon rappells down the line and approaches.

DILLON Have you picked up their trail yet?

Schaefer taps Ramirez on the shoulder and he moves away. Schaefer turns to Dillon:


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/21/86 15 * SCHAEFER Billy's on it. (indicates chopper) Heat seeker. Pretty sophisticated for half-asses mountain boys.

DILLON They're getting better equipped every day.

Bill approaches from the b.g.

BILLY Major, looks like there were ten, maybe twelve guerrillas. Looks like they took some prisoners from the chopper. (points) Then a different set of track, over there.

SCHAEFER (puzzled) What do you mean?

BILLY Six others, U.S. issue jungle boots. They came in from the north, then followed the guerrillas.

Schaefer turns to Dillon.

SCHAEFER Mean anything to you?

DILLON Probably another rebel patrol. They operate in here all the time.

Schaefer is obviously concerned about this. He turns to Billy.

SCHAEFER Get ahead, see what you can find. (to Ramirez) Slow and easy.


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 1/27/86 16

18 CONTINUED: (2) 18

SCHAEFER (Contd.) (to Dillon) We don't want any accidents.

Billy takes up the trail, disappearing in to the jungle. Ramirez signals, the team moves out.


As Billy reconnoiters, Ramirez looks back and gives a * sign...

Schaefer nods and rappels down cliff. *

As he joins Ramirez, there seem to be butterflies * everywhere --

SCHAEFER * What's he got?

RAMIREZ * Same business, guerrillas hauling two guys from the chopper...followed by men with American equipment...

Ramirez seems concerned by this. Schaefer signals him to * move on. Before he follows, Schaefer looks around: there's* something dodgy about this. He goes. *

Over his head is a butterfly on a limb: *


As the assault team passes below, a BUTTERFLY lands on what appears to be the BARK of a TREE. It fans its wings and flies on.

The impression of the butterfly remains in PERFECT RELIEF, as is imprinted on the bark. The image fades, REVEALING for an instant a gridwork of TINY SCALES on the bark.

The bark moves! Changing colors, like a chameleon, REVEALING for an instant the form of something alive as it flows into the leaves, once again becoming indistinguishable from the surrounding foliage.

TWO EYES, faintly flowing yellow, appear in the foliage. They blink, disappearing, and then become VISIBLE again.

REVISED - "HUNTER" - 1/27/87 16-A


SEEN THROUGH HEAT-SEEKING VISION, studying the team's careful, silent movements at they pass by.

The SOUNDS of the FOREST are also ALTERED and ENHANCED with an electric, STATICLIKE quality.

The Observer scans over the men...and then focuses on Schaefer as he crouches down, signaling forward and rear with a circular motion. He refers to an OBJECT in his hand, studying it carefully.



Using a MAP in lining out a course on his COMPASS. The other team members appear, silently, clustering around him. Using hand signals, Schaefer indicates a course change.


Watches closely as Schaefer continues with his hand signals, instructing his team.


25 OUT 25


The hillside of a steep valley, dark and foreboding. Billy passes by and halts, removing his KNIFE. With his other hand he pulls down from overhead a THICK VINE, severing it. A thin stream of WATER emerges which he drinks.

Suddenly he stops, letting the water drip to the ground. He quietly releases the vine and brings his M-203 shotgun to bear, listening intently. Something seems wrong. He brings his eyes upward and stares, hard into the treeline of the opposing hillside.

As his eyes strain to penetrate the dense, intertwined canopy, he is engulfed by the rising SOUNDS of the JUNGLE, a cacophony of BUZZING and CLICKING, amplified in the sweltering heat of the day. Unable to locate a source to account for his anxiety, he relaxes, moving on, resuming the track.


examines the ground as he moves, growing confused and puzzled by what he sees before him. He stops, scrutinizing the jungle, probing the world around him with his keen senses.

HEARING a faint RUSTLING SOUND he looks up, SEEING a curtain of MOSS several feet away. He takes a cautious step forward, extending his weapon. He reaches forward with his free hand, touching the moss.

Behind the curtain a slight shifting of DARK FORMS occurs. He pauses and then with a sudden movement, sweeps the moss aside...

A BLACK EXPLOSION of FLUTTERING WINGS as carrion-eating BIRDS rush past Billy's body.




Billy's face seizes into a mask of horror, his expression descending into a state of complete, primitive shock, his eyes staring transfixed, inches away from the leering death-grin of a HUMAN FACE, upside down, completely stripped of skin.

Reeling, his body numbed by the sight before him, he stumbles backwards and stops.

Vines threaded through their achilles tendons, the BODIES OF THREE MEN, skinned and gutted, hang suspended in the think, suffocating air, BUZZING with insects.

Billy turns away, revulsed as Ramirez moves quietly INTO VIEW, Schaefer directly behind him. Ramirez stares at the bodies, now seen to be in the first stages of deterioration, strips of flesh torn away by the birds and other scavengers. In an almost childlike manner, he crosses himself.

RAMIREZ (hoarse whisper) Holy Mother...

Schaefer moves into the clearing, kneeling beside a bloody pile of CLOTHING and ENTRAILS. He examines the clothing and then rises, holding a DOG TAG on a broken chain. He reads the tag, his face growing hardened and bitter as he stares down at the tag, recognizing the name.

SCHAEFER (to himself) J.S. Davis, Captain, U.S. Army...

Schaefer's eyes move from the bloody dog tag to the bodies.

SCHAEFER (coldly) Mac. Cut them down.

Mac moves forward, withdrawing his COMBAT KNIFE. The blade flashes, cutting the vine as the first body THUDS to the ground. He bends over, picking up other DOG TAGS.

Schaefer turns to Dillon.


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/19/86 19 * 27 CONTINUED: (2) 27

SCHAEFER I knew this man. Green Berets, out of Fort Bragg. What the hell were they doing in here? You got any answers for this, Dillon?

DILLON (stunned) Jesus...this is inhuman. (to Schaefer) Uh...I wasn't told of any operations in this area. They shouldn't have been here.

SCHAEFER (angry) Well somebody sent them.

Schaefer walks off. Mac steps out of the clearing, sheathing his knife with a violent gesture, passing Ramirez.

RAMIREZ (seething) Must have run into the guerrillas ...Fucking animals.

Mac moves alongside Blain.

MAC (spits) Ain't no way for a soldier to die. (looks at Blain) Time to let 'ol 'painless' out of the bag.

Grimly, Blain RIPS apart the velcro closures of the CANVAS BUNDLE slung across his shoulder, REVEALING a truly awesome weapon, a SIX-BARRELED MINI-GUN adapted for field combat.

28 EXT. BILLY - DAY 28

Kneels at the side of the original trail examining the ground. He rises, holding a spent CARTRIDGE. Schaefer approaches, kneeling beside him.

SCHAEFER What happened here, Billy?

Billy looks at him, puzzled.


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/20/86 20 * 28 CONTINUED: 28

BILLY Strange, Major. There was a firefight. Shooting in all directions.

SCHAEFER I can't believe Jim Hopper walked into an ambush.

BILLY I don't believe he did, Sir. I couldn't find a single track. Just doesn't make sense.

SCHAEFER What about the rest of Hopper's men?

Billy shakes his head.

BILLY (uncomfortably) No sign. They never left here Major. (pause) It's like they just disappeared.

Schaefer ponders a moment. Then, to Billy:

SCHAEFER Stick with the guerilla trail. (to team) Let's get it over with. We move. Five meter spread. No sound. Nothing.


28-A EXT. BLAIN - DAY 28-A

Blain feeds the magazine of BELTED-SHELLS into the weapon, cocking it. He looks up at Mac, his eyes cold, his face taut with anger.

BLAIN Payback time.

Blain hefts the Mini-gun to his hip as Mac draws back slightly on the breech bolt of the M-60, letting it snap.

They move on, Billy pausing to look at the jungle before disappearing into the foliage.

REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/20/86 21 * 29 EXT. ALTERED P.O.V. - DAY 29

carefully watching this exchange from high in the treetop canopy. The Observer watches as Schaefer turns and leaves the clearing, cautiously moving into the jungle.


Mac appears suddenly, materializing out of the undergrowth, pausing cautiously, his senses alert, intense, almost nervous. He moves on, his huge body barely making a sound as he weaves through the heavy undergrowth.

Dillon appears. As he moves on, he crosses over a fallen TREE. Stepping down, his foot breaks through a rotten portion, a CHUCK of the log breaking free and rolling down the hill.

Dillon at once goes into a defensive position, listening. The jungle is SILENT. He stands and starts to move forward. Suddenly Mac appears within inches of Dillon's face. Mac's face is menacing, angry.




MAC (hissing; barely audible) You're ghostin' on me, mother fokaaa!...I don't care who you are back in the world... You give away our position again and I'll bleed you quiet and leave your fuckin' ass right here. (hisses; spits) Got it?

Dillon's eyes are wide and fixed, staring back in cold hatred at Mac, controlling his rage...he knows the rules.

Not waiting for a response, Mac turns and vanished into the jungle. Seething with anger Dillon focuses on a still moving LEAF and STEM, indicating Mac's exit point. He moves on.

31 EXT. BLAIN - DAY 31

Crouches under heavy foliage, waiting. He is joined by Mac. They glance briefly at each other, scanning in opposite directions for movement and sounds. They speak in whispers.

BLAIN Say, Bull. What's goin' down? We got movement?

MAC No. Shithead with his trenchcoat and dee-coda-da ring was makin' enough noise to get us all waxed. I don't like that guy. Don't like him at my back. I ain't winding up like those bastards back there.

Mac, sweating heavily, wipes the moisture from his brow with his finger.

Blain pats the mini-gun affectionately.

BLAIN I know what you mean, Bull, but don't sweat it, me and 'ol 'painless' here are watchin' the front door.




MAC As always, bro...

They do a gentle fist dap and smile warmly at each other. Two men who have seen it all, through a dozen no-win situations, and have lived to tell about it.

Mac advances a few meters and signals slowly.

32 EXT. KNOLL 32

The assault team moving up the hill, barely visible in the heavy foliage, the team moves cautiously into defensive positions. Holding. A moment later they continue up the hill, crawling.

On their stomachs, Schaefer and Ramirez clear the edge of the knoll, SEEING below a GUERRILLA VILLAGE, a huge, spreading PALAPA covering implacements dug into a hillside, descending to a winding stream bed below. 30 MEN, dressed in a mixture of jungle fatigues and civilian clothes, armed with AK-47 ASSAULT RIFLES move about the camp. A heavy MACHINE GUN emplacement guards the entrance to the camp. TWO MEN sit in the camouflaged emplacement.


sweeping the camp with BINOCULARS, SEES a GUARD above the camp. One of the man picks up a hand-held ROCKET LAUNCHER, placing it beside a bandolier of ROCKETS and a RADIO SET and CONSULS taken from the U.S. surveillance helicopter as if preparing to take them away.

Schaefer puts down the glasses, looking at Ramirez who nods in acknowledgment. A sudden MUFFLED CRY brings Schaefer's attention to one end of the camp, where a heavily thatched DOOR covers and opening to the PALAPA. A GUARD stands at the door.

The door flies open as a HOSTAGE, shirtless, hands tied behind his back, staggers through the door as if kicked from behind.


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/29/86 24


The man falls to the ground, feebly trying to regain his footing. Although difficult to see from Schaefer's vantage point, the man's battered face and welt-covered back indicate he has been severely tortured.

Emerging from the palapa, a GUERRILLA LEADER, moustached and wearing a SIDEARM, approaches the beaten man, kicking him viciously in the stomach, rolling him to his side.

Kneeling beside the man he withdraws an AUTOMATIC from his holster and cocks the hammer. Grabbing the man by the hair he jams the muzzle into the man's ear and with a violent twist, pulls the trigger.

The guerrilla leader stands and strides quickly back to the palapa, still holding the pistol, closing the door behind him.


grim-faced at having witnesses the murder, lowers him glasses, a look of cold determination on his face. Quickly he and Ramirez ease down the escarpment, joining the other team members.

Schaefer makes a circling motion with his thumb and the team members gather in close, huddle formation.

SCHAEFER (whispering; angry) Just killed one of the * prisoners. No time for * invitations. We take them, now.


Crawl silently through the underbrush. With nearly impreceptible movements, Blain slips out of the cartridge pack, ditching the Mini-gun. He withdraws his COMBAT KNIFE, placing it between his teeth.

They move through the underbrush in tandem, like two bug cats, stalking. Mac freezes, the sweat pouring from his face, holds up his hand as Blain stops.




Using a BLADE OF GRASS, Mac points out a metal TRIP WIRE, following it to a hidden CLAYMORE MINE. Blain grins making a switching GESTURE. Carefully Mac detaches the LEAD WIRES. Directing the mine towards the camp, he reattaches the wires, nodding at Blain.


SEEN THROUGH HEAT-SEEKING VISION, FOCUSED ON Blain and Mac, lying in the grass below, their bodies outlined in LUMONOUS AUREOLES. The Observer SEES the NETWORK of TRIP WIRES guarding the approaches to the machine gun nests. The wires GLOW as if ELECTRIFIED, standing out in hard-edged relief in contrast to the jungle foliage. He moves higher into the forest canopy.

37 EXT. BILLY - DAY 37

On Schaefer's signal rises up, pulling a SENTRY to him, covering his mouth with his hand, jerking him backwards and to the side, knocking him off balance with a sweeping motion of his left leg, killing him with his COMBAT KNIFE.


Belly crawls silently through the tall grass just outside and above the main entrance to the camp. He stops, studying the ancient, rusted skeleton of a TRUCK parked on a level spot above the camp, its engine quietly IDLING. The truck is jacked and blocked up, one rear wheel attached to a belt-drive leading to a PUMP, drawing water from a river nearby. In the open cab of the truck a GUARD is on duty, watching the high ground above the camp.

Schaefer moves out, heading for the guard.


While one Guerrilla attends to his equipment, the OTHER attentively watches the approaches to the camp. He is momentarily distracted by a BUZZING FLY, which he annoyingly swats at with his hand.

He hears something to his side. Turning to investigate, the huge, hamhock fist of Mack smashes into his throat.

Simultaneously, Blain rises up behind the other man, grabs him by the hair, pulling him down, his COMBAT KNIFE driving downward.


40 EXT. TRUCK - DAY 40 *

A SATCHEL CHARGE is looped over the gearshift lever, resting on the floorboard. Schaefer, lying low across the seat of the truck, turns and looks, SEEING the guard, lying in a heap in the foliage.

40-A EXT. RAMIREZ - DAY 40-A *

Moves into position to the side and above the camp. He carefully checks the readiness of his SIX-SHOT GRENADE LAUNCHER, also setting his MP-5 in front of him, ready for action.


Crouched to the side of the truck, watches the camp, SEEING below through the dense undergrowth, Ramirez, barely visible, signaling.

Before him are two FRAGMENTATION GRENADES. He looks at his watch, and then up the hill to:


their weapons ready. Dillon picks up his binoculars, focusing on the machine gun emplacement, seeing a MAN, his face covered by a HAT. The head rises, REVEALING the face of Blain, who looks above the camp and slightly nods. Putting his glasses down, motions to Hawkins.

DILLON (to Hawkins) Ready, kid?

Hawkins grins back. Together they slip through the grass, downward towards the edge of the camp.

42- OUT 42- 43 43


Holds his huge, COMMANDO MACHETE on a diagonal, pushing through the belt, slicing it cleanly. Turning he crawls silently to the rear of the truck, positioning himself behind the rear of the one ton truck.

He squats, and with an enormous, concentrated effort, deadlifts the rear of the truck, its rusted springs and frame beginning to CREAK and GROAN slightly.




With a herculean effort he lifts the truck free of its blocks and then pushes forward. He rolls aside, disappearing into the ground cover as the truck, its tireless rims digging into the earth, lops down the hill, slowly picking up speed.


A Guerrilla, alerted by the SOUND of the approaching truck, looks up at the hillside, SEEING the vehicle still moving down the hill at a moderate roll. He CALLS OUT and several Guerrilla leaves their posts, moving out to prepare to stop the truck.

The truck rolls into the clearing picking up speed, heading towards the main palapa. The men rush forward, surrounding the truck, trying to slow it down, but the truck rolls, SMASHING through the front wall of the palapa. The men gather around truck and then look back up the hill.

46 EXT. ALTERED P.O.V. - DAY 46 *

Watching as Schaefer pulls the pin and launches the GRENADE into the air, the Observer following its arc as it spirals dead-center into the camp, bouncing twice before rolling into the FUEL DUMP...which a moment later, EXPLODES into an incredible FIREBALL.

The expanding FIREBALL released from the explosion is to the Observer like an erupting sun, momentarily blinding him.


The truck is BLOWN up into the air by the explosion... a moment later the satchel charge DETONATES with an ear-splitting EXPLOSION, tearing the truck apart.


Jumps to his feet, FIRING an M-203 round into the camp.

49 EXT. KNOLL - DAY 49

Schaefer races down the hillside, joined by Dillon, leaving Hawkins to cover them. Bullets burst around their feet as they run low, firing short bursts to his left and right.




He FIRES the undermounted GRENADE LAUNCHER, sending a round into a gun position in the trees. Still running he breaks open the breach, slamming in another 40mm ROUND from the cartridge pack at his waist.

Blain and Mac fire the heavy machine guns, laying down a withering curtain of lead, shredding the camp, taking out five Guerrillas at once.


A MAN almost completely ON FIRE is hit by an onslaught of GUNFIRE, ripping him back into the jungle.

Ramirez cuts loose a barrage from the SIX-SHOOTER... seconds later the MACHINE GUN IMPLACEMENT erupts in a series of EXPLOSIONS, blowing two Guerrillas into the air.

At the HILLSIDE HUT, two Guerrillas move into position by the window, drawing down on Schaefer as he appears, racing down the hill.

As they are about to open fire, Dillon appears, YELLING OUT a warning.

DILLON On your nine!!!

Schaefer dives, hitting the ground as Dillon OPENS FIRE taking out the Guerrillas. Schaefer rolls to his feet, spins, firing the 203 grenade launcher, completely destroying the hut.


As the Observer regains its vision an eerie, surreal experience of sight and sound unfolds:

BULLETS streak through the air, leaving blood-red trails of HEAT, like laser blasts. As they impact into the Guerillas, we HEAR the enhanced SLAPPING of BULLETS, SEEING tiny blossoms of HEAT mushroom out of their bodies.

We HEAR the horrific, deformed CRIES and SCREAMS of the dying men.

Another searing, blinding EXPLOSION sends pieces of SHRAPNEL ripping through the air, some of them ROARING past the Observer's position, like tiny meteors.



at the entrance way to the main palapa, a Guerrilla stands in the doorway, giving COVER FIRE to his comrades as they fall back inside.

Jumping from the roof of the adjoining palapa, Billy drops directly in front of the Guerrilla.

From the side, unseen by Billy, another Guerrilla * thrusts out with a knife, Billy ducking backwards, the tip of the knife SLASHING his face. With a lightning move, Billy whips his arm up and around the Guerrilla, locking his elbow, breaking the joint.

Still holding the man he FIRES, blowing the other Guerrilla off his feet with the SHOTGUN portion of his weapon. He looks at the Guerrilla out of the corner of his eye. He suddenly strikes, breaking his neck, dropping him in a heap.

Billy continues on, racing down the stairs, firing the M-203.

Meanwhile, Blain is crouched next to a tree, providing * cover. Behind Blain, at the edge of the camp, circling around from below, TWO GUERRILLAS appear and FIRE a grenade round which EXPLODES behind Blain, fragments ripping into the tree next to which Blain is standing, bark and dirt flying as shrapnel rips into his vest, one piece tearing into his upper shoulder. The hits have no effect on the huge man and with a savage GROWL, he spins, opening fire, raking the two attackers with the Mini-gun.

Nearby, Mac charges from the jungle on a dead run, diving over a fallen tree as machine gun FIRE rakes the ground around him.

Blain, spotting the sniper high in a tree, opens FIRE with the MINI-GUN, shredding the tree, sending the Guerrilla crashing down through the roof of the palapa.


The sniper CRASHES through the roof, landing on the floor near Hawkins and Ramirez who do a quick double take before opening fire on a group of fleeing Guerrillas, taking out two, giving chase to the others.




Schaefer and Dillon appear at the top of the staircase, * Schaefer freezing as he SEES below a Guerrilla raising an AK-47, preparing to fire. Schaefer tackles Dillon, the two men hurling into the air, a moment later BULLETS ripping into the CRATES behind where they were standing.

Dillon rises up, kicking over a crate, shooting the * Guerrilla who is trying to bring the gun around to fire at him.

Schaefer crouches, covering the upper entrances to the * palapa, as Ramirez rushes past, joining Schaefer. From the corner of his eye, Schaefer catches a movement. With a whipping, backhanded throw, he lets fly his COMMANDO MACHETE...

The machete impales the attacking Guerrilla, driving him * backwards, pinning him to a post.

SCHAEFER Stick around.

Schaefer and Ramirez run towards the lower levels, side by side, firing as they go.

They reach a door, Schaefer taking out an ATTACKING Guerrilla. Ramirez grabs the side of the door, shoots a look to Schaefer and throws it open. With Schaefer covering him, Ramirez takes a quick peak inside and then rushes into the room.

53-A INT. ROOM - DAY 53-A

At one end is a STAIRWAY, leading to an escape door. A Guerrilla, seen from the waist up, scrambles down the stairs.

At the base of the stairs, a Guerrilla, holding an AK-47 on his hip, turns and starts to fire.

Schaefer and Ramirez respond with full AUTO BURSTS which rip into the Guerrilla, spinning him around, knocking over a crude WOODEN TABLE, scattering a BRIEFCASE with burning PAPERS, FOOD CANS, and LIQUOR BOTTLES.

As he spins he FIRES the weapon, an arcing line of SLUGS slamming into the tin roof, sending down a shower of rust and dirt. He falls to the ground. Dead.




Ramirez charges through the DUST and thick SMOKE to cover the fallen men; Schaefer following close behind, jerking a new CLIP from his ammo belt.

Suddenly, another Guerrilla erupts from behind some ammunition crates, drawing down on Ramirez with a machine pistol.

SCHAEFER (shouting) Down!!!

As the Guerrilla fires, Schaefer smashes the butt of his empty weapon into the Guerrilla's shoulder, knocking the gun aside, the SLUGS thudding into the wall harmlessly.

He hits the Guerrilla with a vicious glancing blow to the head with the barrel of his weapon. The Guerrilla is hurled backward, crashing into the wooden crates and to the floor.

Ramirez, recovering quickly, descends the stairs with catlike agility, disappearing.

Schaefer crouches and spins, jamming a new clip into the rifle, scanning the palapa for any other movement. He races to the main door of the room, shouting into the palapa.

He SEES Blain charging down the steps. Catching his attention he signals him on, out the back to cover Ramirez.

SCHAEFER (to Hawkins) Hawk, Get Con. Op. on the hook! Position and situation, now!

As Blain runs down the stairs, Hawkins already has the radio off his back, setting up the portable SATELLITE DISH ANTENNA.

HAWKINS You got it, Major!

REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/29/86 32


Ramirez, Blain and Billy race down the back stairs of the palapa, FIRING Mini-gun, automatic and grenade rounds at the escaping GUERRILLAS as they flee the area, splashing, charging across the shallow river.

The guerrillas are history...in no uncertain terms.


For the first time, Schaefer studies the interior of the cavernous palapa, SEEING the enormous stockpile of WEAPONS, EQUIPMENT and SUPPLIES stacked along the walls, obviously a major military stronghold hidden deep within the mountains. Mac hustles up to Schaefer, a look of urgency on his face.

SCHAEFER Any sign of the hostages?

MAC (nods) We found 'em both, dead. And the gear from the chopper. If they're Central American, I'm a fuckin' Chinaman. By * the looks of 'em, I'd say our * cabinet minister and his aide * are CIA. (pause) Another thing, Major, we were lucky...couple of those guys we waxed are Russians, military advisors by the look of it. Something big was about to happen here.

Schaefer looks at Mac a moment, a flush of anger beginning to show.

SCHAEFER Good work, Mac. Clear the area, no traces. Get the men ready to move.

Schaefer goes back into the room, looking down at the unconscious guerrilla, racking a round into the chamber, reloading his weapon.

He kneels, staring into the FACE of a WOMAN, ANNA, dark, late twenties. Despite her blood and dirt-smeared face, she is beautiful.




SCHAEFER (closes eyes) Shit...

He checks her pulse and then slowly he bends to pick up her PISTOL, ejecting the clip. He stands, beginning to shuffle through the PAPERS scattered about the room. Staring at one he looks up, the pieces falling together.


Ramirez, at a crouch, runs through the jungle, following the obvious signs of the Guerrilla's retreat. He emerges from the trees into an opening, leading to a sheer rock cliff, towering fifty feet above the ground. Scanning the wall, he SEES movement and quickly takes cover, as automatic FIRE rips up the ground before him.


Near the center of which a narrow cut, two feet wide, leads to the top of the cliff, giving access to the adjoining ridge.

Two Guerrillas scramble up through the chimney, assisted by a ROPE, which with withdraw as they reach the top. Ramirez takes out one man, the other taking cover, returning fire.


Blain joins Ramirez, behind cover at the foot of the cliff. As they take cover, Ramirez notices the wound on Blain's shoulder.

RAMIREZ You're hit. You're bleedin', man.

Blain looks briefly at the wound.

BLAIN (spits) Ain't got time to bleed.

On a signal, they both clear cover and fire LONG BURSTS from their weapons up the cliff.




The smoke is hardly cleared when they are answered by withering FIRE. They duck down as a grenade EXPLODES nearby. Ramirez quickly replaces the 40MM rounds into the SIX-SHOOTER.

BLAIN Son of a bitch's dug in like a Alabama tick... (spits) ...jack us around all day.

RAMIREZ Hell, dude, we don't have all day.

Ramirez immediately rolls into the line of fire, BLASTING six RAPID-FIRE shots on a HIGH-ARC trajectory towards the rocks. Blain reacts.

BLAIN Shit, Pancho!!!

Blain dives against the protective cover of the rock wall, covering his head. Ramirez casually hops across, squatting next to Blain. They make eye-contact.

RAMIREZ What's your problem, dude?

Before Blain can answer, Ramirez puts his fingers into his ears and grimaces just as...

The entire hillside EXPLODES, blowing the Guerrillas into the air, a torrent of vegetation and earth raining down the cliff, obscuring Blain and Ramirez.


Schaefer is staring out the window, his weapon slack in one arm, still holding the paper. Dillon enters, obviously excited about what he has found. He sees the papers on the floor. He reads through them quickly, growing even more excited.

DILLON This is beautiful! More than we ever thought. We got the bastards!


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/17/86 35 * 55 CONTINUED: 55

Schaefer turns, striding slowly to Dillon, handing him the paper he is holding.

SCHAEFER I think this is the one you want.

Dillon reads it.

DILLON (reacting) Two days...that's all we had. In two days, three hundred of these bastards would have been equipped with all this. After they crossed the border, it would have taken a year to stop them. (looks up) We've averted a major guerrilla invasion, Dutch...

Schaefer moves in close to Dillon, face to face, anger flaring in his eyes.

SCHAEFER (slow; deliberate) It was all bullshit. All of it. From the start...you set us up, got us in here to do your dirty work.

DILLON (angry) That's right, I set you up. You're a veteran at this, Dutch, I had to.


DILLON Because I told you, you're the best. I knew you could do it but I couldn't get you in here without a cover story.

SCHAEFER What story did you give to Davis?


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/29/86 36

55 CONTINUED: (2) 55

DILLON We've been lookin' for this place for months. The chopper must have gotten close when they got shot down. Hopper * was sent in to get my men. He was just doing his job. When he disappeared I had to clean this up, I had to stop there bastards. We were so close, we couldn't quit. We couldn't sleep through this one. I needed you, Dutch, can't you see that?

DILLON To invade a foreign country, illegally? You lied, Dillon. Stacked the odds against us. Set us up. You could have gotten us all killed. (pause; looking at him) You used to be one of us, Dillon, someone I could trust with my life...

DILLON We've been through a lot together Dutch. When we were together, no * one could stop us, the hottest * Goddamned team the army ever saw. * But things changed, I woke up. We're fighting them in a dozen Goddamned countries. It's a fight we can't lose, Dutch. We're all expendable assets, can't you see that?

Schaefer takes the paper from Dillon's hands.

SCHAEFER That's your problem, Dillon. You always did put ambition before the lives of your men. (pause) My men are not expendable. I don't do this kind of work. (crumples up paper in fist) This is your dirty little war, not mine.


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/17/86 37 * 55 CONTINUED: (3) 55

He stuffs the crumpled paper into Dillon's shirt pocket.

Anna, regaining consciousness, GROANS, a heavy flow of blood running down her face from her head wound.

Hawkins appears at the door.


Schaefer turns away from Dillon and steps through the doorway into the palapa as Anna moans again, MUMBLING something in Spanish. Dillon kneels, beside her.

DILLON (quietly; in Spanish) Are you all right?


Schaefer is talking to Hawkins who has the field radio set on a crate just outside the door.

HAWKINS (urgent) Major, we stepped into some real shit here. I got a hook-up with aerial surveillance.

SCHAEFER Movement?


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/29/86 38


HAWKINS (nods) Guerrillas swarming like flies * all over the place. Can't be more * then one, maybe two miles away. * Place is going down, Major.

SCHAEFER How much time?

HAWKINS Half an hour, maybe less. *

Schaefer touches him on the shoulder.

SCHAEFER (urgently) Tell Mac we move in five.

He starts to walk away.

DILLON (o.s.) She goes with us.

Schaefer turns. Dillon is at the doorway, supporting the still groggy Anna.

DILLON She's too valuable. She's got to know their whole network. The whole set up. We take her with us. *

SCHAEFER We take her and she'll give away our position, every chance she gets. No prisoners, Dillon.

Dillon grabs the handset from Hawkin's radio, shoving it at Schaefer.

DILLON You're still under orders, Dutch. You want to make the call, or should I?

Schaefer looks at the handset. Then at Dillon, he knows Dillon's won.



55-A CONTINUED: (2) 55-A

He starts to walk away but stops, turning back, pointing a finger at Dillon.

SCHAEFER I'm getting my men out of this damn jungle, Dillon. She's your baggage. You fall behind, you're on your own.


Schaefer and Billy are kneeling on the ground near the trailhead, studying a MAP. In the b.g., the team, hidden, covers the hillside approaches to the camp, nervous and wary, weapons ready.

SCHAEFER This place is too hot for a pick-up. They won't touch us until we're over the border. We can lift at LZ 49, here. (points to map) Spotter plane says we're cut off. (points to map) Except for this valley.

Billy shakes his head, following the CONTOUR LINES of the rugged terrain.

BILLY Looks bad, Major. It's gonna be a real bitch. (points to map) If we follow above the river and then down, here, at this canyon, we might find a way out.

Schaefer turns to Ramirez, kneeling close by.

SCHAEFER (decisively) Not much choice. Pancho, take the lead. Double time it.

He turns and looks at Dillon, Anna as his side, her forehead bandaged, her hands bound in front of her. He turns back to the others.

SCHAEFER Lock n' load, watch your ass.

Blain moves out, swinging the Mini-gun in front of him as he goes.



Watching as Dillon leads ANNA onward, SEEING her bound hands. Dillon pushes her.

57 EXT. ANNA - DAY 57

Spins, hurling a string of insults to Dillon in SPANISH.

ANNA (in Spanish) You touch me again, pig, and I will cut off your balls!

DILLON (in Spanish) It's a long walk back, make it easy on yourself.

She spits at him, turning forward with a twist of her head.

Dillon picks up his back, shouldering it. As they move on, Mac calls out to him.

MAC (quietly) Hey, Dillon, over here.

Dillon doesn't respond.

MAC (louder) Dillon, over here.

Dillon turns and approaches, warily, holding the girl.

DILLON Yeah, what is it, Sergeant?

MAc unsheathes his knife. He gives Dillon a cold look and turns him by the shoulders. Crawling across the PACK on Dillon's back is a huge SCORPION.

Mac skeweres the scorpion with the tip of his blade, holding it before the wincing Dillon. Anna smirks, nodding to the writhing, stinging insect.

ANNA (in Spanish) When my people catch you, you'll wish you were him.




Dillon looks at Mac.

DILLON Thanks.

MAC (coolly) Anytime.

Mac flings the scorpion to the ground, crushing it with his boot. He looks up at Dillon, walks away. Dillon follows, pulling Anna behind him.

Billy, guarding the rear, glances furtively around the clearing. He moves a step forward and stops, freezing.

Slowly he turns back, his eyes riveted upon the treeline above the camp. His eyes strain, his senses registering a fear he cannot name or see.

Something is out there, in the trees, waiting, watching.

Billy turns and walks into the jungle, pausing one last time to look behind him before he too disappears from sight.

The jungle GROWS SILENT.


LOOKING DOWN from his vantage point TO the treeline below, terraces like stepping stones, FOCUSING ON a TREE, fifty feet away.

The Observer utters a LOW TRILL and springs outward into space, hurtling downward towards his landing point, the canopy of the trees approaching in a staccato rush of green.

The SOUNDS of the FOREST are again altered and enhanced with an electric, STATIC-LIKE quality as the Observer descends fluidly through the trees and to the ground.

He enters the camp, surveying the terrible destruction and carnage. He SEES the dead Guerrillas, the dissipating heat from their bodies leaving them pale and GHOST-LIKE, as if fading light about to extinguish. He sees their weapons, the cold hard steel of the barrels registering ICE BLUE in his vision.



As it appears, pulsing in a pale magenta heat, low to the ground, holding his weapon. He lays down the weapon, picking up the SCORPION, turning it slowly in his fingers, examining it. It looks like an exotic flower, its color fading from sight, turning to BLACK.

A low SOUND is uttered, something vaguely familiar about it: A NEARLY HUMAN VOICE, a distorted imitation of Mac.

HUNTER (o.s.; filtered) Dillon, over here.

Again the phrase is uttered, improving, closer to Mac's inflection and accent.

HUNTER (o.s.) Dillon, over here.

The Hunter lowers the pitch.

HUNTER (o.s.) Dillon, over here.

The last effort is a chilling simulation of Mac's voice.


Drops the scorpion and picks up the weapon which changes instantly back to the Observer's skin tones.


He turns and focuses on the area where the team left camp.

He crouches and springs to the lower branches of a tree, grasping them with his clawed, three-fingered hands, pulling himself up and through the branches with astounding speed and simian-like dexterity; his spurred prehensile feet, grasping and thrusting him to a vantage point, fifty feet above the ground.

As he moves on, the jungle grows suddenly QUIET, as if aware, sensing that the HUNTER is now stalking, no longer observing!!!



The twilight world of a PREHISTORIC FOREST, filled with gigantic plants and towering trees, overgrown with vines and creepers.

The team, with Billy at point, walk alongside a wandering STREAM BED, weirdly illuminated by SHAFTS OF LIGHT, streaming through openings in the trees, as if from spotlights, a hundred feet above.

It is midday, hot and humid, the air BUZZING with the sounds of insects, the CRYING of birds and monkeys. The men are moving fast and quiet, straining to see into the dense jungle, aware of every sound, sweating, quietly slapping at biting insects.


Lies across their path. As the man climb over a rotten section, Mac stops to assist Blain with his Mini-gun.

MAC I've seen some badass bush before, but nothin' like this, man. (pause) Little taste 'o home?

Blain nods and pauses to rest, looking around him as Mac withdraws a small silver POCKET FLASK. He takes a nip, passing the flask to Blain who also takes a sip.

BLAIN I hear you bro, this is some shit. Makes Cambodia look like Kansas. Lose your way in here, man, you be in some kinda hurt.

Blain hands back the flask, Mac replacing it inside his vest. They do their hand dap, looking warily behind them before they move on.


Have fallen behind, Dillon looking worriedly ahead at the them out distancing them. Anna is keeping her pace purposefully slow. She trips on a root falling to the ground. She lies there, motionless. He quickly reaches down to haul her to her feet.


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/29/86 44


DILLON (urgently) Shit. Come on...

Like an uncoiled spring, Anna turns, flinging a handful of DIRT into his face, momentarily blinding him. She lunges for his rifle with her bound hands.

Suddenly the BARREL of an MP-5 is thrust into her face.

Looking up she SEES Ramirez, calmly holding the weapon on her, the look in his eyes indicating he'd hove no trouble shooting her.

RAMIREZ (in Spanish) Don't try it.

She looks back at Dillon, wiping the dirt from his eyes. She moves on. Ramirez gives him a cold look as Dillon hurries past.

RAMIREZ (coolly) You should put her on a leash, Agent Man. If you can't handle her, just say the word.

Dillon moves on, ignoring Ramirez, who turns, scanning the jungle behind him before moving on. Dillon catches up with Anna, turning her sharply by the chin.

DILLON (cold; in Spanish) Try that again. Please. *

She looks at him contemptuously, undaunted. She will try it again. She breaks away from his grasp and moves on, Dillon watching her go, he won't hesitate next time.

63 EXT. HUNTER'S P.O.V. - DAY 63

As he travels, directly overhead, timing his movement with those of the team. He moves lower, closer to the slowly moving humans.


The team moves cautiously through the winding stream bed, now wearing their clothing in various stages of disarray for comfort, sweat dripping from their bodies.


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/17/86 45


Billy, in the lead, picks his way along the riverbank, his concentration rapt, aboriginal. His face a trancelike mask of expectation.

Blain, cradling the heavy Mini-gun as if it were a toy, swings the weapon relentlessly across his field of view. He pauses to adjust the hanging, belted loop of cartridges trailing from the back pack magazine. An INSECT lands on his face and is trapped in the grease paint near his lips. He draws the hapless bug into his mouth with his tongue and quietly spits it out, his concentration unbroken.

Mac follows, holding the M-60 high across his chest.

Schaefer, bent, cautious, his feet moving aside the dry leaves on the ground, heel to toe and on foot edges. He glances around, checking the team's position and progress.

Hawkins follows, his mouth open, breathing deeply, exhausted, the radio a 60 pound demon.

Anna, struggling to climb a section of the stream bank, slips on some loose dirt. Unable to assist herself with her hands tied, she nearly falls. Dillon prods her with his rifle, forcing her to her feet. She scrambles up the bank, Dillon following.


As Billy enters a small clearing, bordered on one side by the towering trees, carpeting the mountainside. High above in the thick, impenetrable treeline, brightly colored birds SQUAWK loudly, chasing each other from branch to branch.

Suddenly Billy stops. Schaefer holds up his hand and the team freezes in position. An eerie SILENCE, like a slowly falling curtain, descends over the jungle until even the BUZZING and CLICKING of insects have CEASED.


Sensing an ambush, move quietly into the foliage. Dillon moves into the undergrowth, dragging Anna with him. He slings his MP-5 over his shoulder, withdrawing his KNIFE. Grasping Anna by her shirt collar and pushing her to the ground he holds the weapon near her throat. Dillon signals to Ramirez * who approaches. Dillon hands Ramirez the knife.


REVISED - "HUNTER" - 4/17/86 46 * 66 CONTINUED: 66

DILLON Watch her.

Before Ramirez can respond, Dillon slips into the undergrowth. Ramirez holds the knife on Anna, cautiously scanning around him for movement.

Unseen by Ramirez, Anna's outstretched hands slowly tighten around a stout ROOT-BURL, lying loose on the ground.


He remains frozen and transfixed, staring into the treeline. Something is moving, fluid, silently and downward, into the forest. Billy remains rooted to the spot, lost in concentration.


sensing something very wrong with Billy, moves alongside Mac.

SCHAEFER What's got Billy so spooked?

MAC Can't say, Major...been squirrely all mornin'... fuckin' weird...sometimes I think that nose of his is too good...smells things that ain't there.

Schaefer signals for Mac to cover him and then moves low and quiet towards Billy. Dillon appears, looking to Mac for an explanation. Mac ignores him, concentrating on the jungle. Dillon looks forward at...

Billy, his eyes riveted to the capony above, as he unconsciously reaches to his throat, grasping a LEATHER POUCH, secured to his neck by a thong. He fingers the MEDICINE BAG talisman.

69 EXT. HUNTER'S P.O.V. - DAY 69

As he slowly descends through the trees, moving towards Billy, who's eyes search the treeline for movement.




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