COLD OPEN

INT. Night, Apartment room

The wind howls outside, chill and bitter as the memories in the colonel's heart.

COLONEL FRANK MITCHELL (60s)sits on the bed, a broken man. Too many wasted opportunities Too many mistakes. Too many disappointments. Too many setbacks. Above all, too many regrets.

He takes a pull from a nearly empty bottle of JACK DANIEL'S and staggers to his feet.

shock cut to

A jumbled montage too fast paced to see. It is eerie in its unrecognizability

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The Colonel looks at himself blearily in the mirror and makes sure everything is just right. His life may have been a mess, but by God, he'll go out as neat as any self respecting officer and gentleman should.

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The montage seen earlier; things have slowed down somewhat, enough for us to make sense of what we are seeing.

We see the Colonel as a young Lieutenant in Vietnam. It is 1963 and he is 20. He screams orders in the midst of a night attack. The flashes from the weapons provide a stroboscopic effect that is terrifyingly beautiful.

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The Colonel picks up his service pistol, a COLT M1911A1, lovingly oiled and cared for these many years. Like him, it is an anachronism in the modern army.

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Rubble everywhere as smoke billows forth and flames bloom upwards like deadly flowers. It is Beirut, 1983. He is older now and wears the oak leaves of a Major. He digs through the wreckage frantically trying to free a soldier whose arm pokes through the debris only to find that it's just the limb...

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The Colonel pulls the slide back, cocking it.

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Bodies being brought in. 19 Dead, 79 wounded. It is 1993. Another decade, another war. He's not a frontliner any more; as a Lt. Colonel he's part of Maj. General Garrison's staff. So many broken bodies; he does what he can to help because the mission was supposed to be a cakewalk and they don't have enough medics to go around...

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The colonel finishes the bottle.

He colonel puts on his service cap and looks at himself critically in the mirror. He's glad he still has it; he never liked the beret. To him unabashedly and unashamedly old school that soft cloth cover should be earned -- not just issued to any Tom, Dick or Harriet. Only bona fide jump jockeys and snake-eaters deserve to wear them.

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A plane crashes into Tower One

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The Colonel looks at himself once again.

Class A Greens, freshly pressed that day.

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A plane crashes in to Tower Two

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Shoes shined to a high gloss.

Ribbons and badges.

Considering the occasion, Dress Blues would be more appropriate; it was what was worn to funerals. But the colonel considers himself a soldier's soldier. He would have preferred going out in BDUs, but he has long since stopped being a combatant and that would have been disrespectful to the men and women who put their lives on the line daily and serve with honor. They are the real backbone of the military, not the generals who've become more politicians than servicemen.

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An empty field, strewn with the wreckage of an airplane

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Satisfied that he is five by five, The Colonel executes a brisk about face and snaps a tight salute.

Col. Frank MITCHELL

Hoorah!

Shock cut to

Smoke rises from the side of a building that has collapsed from an impact by a jetliner. Date: 9/11. Place: Section 3, Wedge 1, E-Ring of the Pentagon. The Colonel looks up at the building knowing that the world has changed forever

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The Colonel drops one arm to his side.

He puts the gun in his mouth. This is the right way to do it. The only way.

He closes his eyes

He pulls the trigger.

fade to black

Opening credits

FIRST COMMERCIAL BREAK

INT. NIGHT, APARTMENT ROOM

ACT ONE

The Colonel comes to very slowly, his head pounding, uniform messy and stained with vomit.

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

(Laughing bitterly, more like a croak.)

Goddammit!! Didn't I even get that right?!

The General (O.S.)

Your sidearm misfired. I took the liberty of clearing it and removing the rounds.

The Colonel sits up groaning, and looks at the intruder.

His eyes widen as they take in two stars and the gold oak leaf bullion cuffs of the Blue Mess Jacket. As fast as his hangover will allow he scrambles to his feet and salutes THE MAJOR GENERAL (60s).

His superior returns the salute and fixes him with a steely glare. The Colonel gets the message and snaps to attention.

The General

You're a mess, Frank.

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

General, yes General!

THE GENERAL

You have five minutes to clean yourself up and change into civilians. You're coming with me.

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

May I ask the General where we are going?

THE GENERAL

(Amused)

You may not.

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

Permission to speak freely, General.

THE GENERAL

Permission denied, Colonel. You have four minutes left.

DISSOLVE to

INT. NIGHT, LIMOUSINE

The Colonel stares moodily out the window; the General watches him with amusement from the opposite end of the limousine's cabin.

The general reaches over to the car bar and pours himself a brandy then general tips the decanter at the Colonel.

THE GENERAL

Frank?

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

No thank you, General. My head is killing me.

THE GENERAL

No surprises there.

( The General takes a leather case from his inner breast pocket, opens and offers it.)

Cigar?

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

Are they Havanas?

THE GENERAL

I'm surprised at you, Colonel! Possession of Cuban cigars is still a felony in the good old U.S of A. No, these are from the Philippines. Don Juan Urquijo. Considered by some to be the most complex in the stogie world. Excellent rating from Cigar Aficionado.

Intrigued, but still frankly disbelieving, the Colonel helps himself to one. Taking the proffered guillotine and lighter from the general he slices a bit off one end and lights it with the mini torch. The General does the same and lets the windows down to air the car.

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

This is pretty good!

THE GENERAL

Isn't it? You've been to Manila a few times haven't you?

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

Yes General, in the 60s and 70s. And Clark, back before we were officially involved in Vietnam, when we were doing Black Ops out of Laos. But you know that.

THE GENERAL

Yes I do indeed...

The two finish their cigars in silence.

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

Not Havanas, but pretty damn good!

THE GENERAL

Amen to that. Some water, Frank?

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

Thank you, General; don't mind if I do.

The Colonel pours himself a glass from the lead crystal carafe and downs it thirstily. He helps himself to another glassful and downs that as well. The General raises the windows and looks at him blandly.

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

Now what, General?

THE GENERAL

Why don't you take a nap, Colonel? We'll be there shortly.

COL. FRANK MITCHELL

Thank you General sir, but I'm not sleepy.

He may not have been, but he slips into unconsciousness by the time he finishes the sentence.