THE FOXTROT A German Bf 109 is screaming directly towards the viewer. Closer: Bullets are seen pocking the fuselage and wings. Pieces of metal flying off. The plane is now in extreme close-up, the cockpit filling the panel, seeing bullets rip through the canopy. Now the Bf 109 is past the viewer, we now see the plane firing the bullets, a Spitfire also now coming right at the viewer, guns blazing. Extreme close-up of the cockpit, seeing a very focused/scared face. Extreme close-up of his eyes, wide and afraid. Same extreme close-up of the RAF pilot’s eyes, his name is Royce. Pulls back to see him holding a pint, now he is sitting at a table alone in a RAF officer’s club. The club: Very dimly lit unused small hangar, German souvenirs surround the club, German flag, pieces of wings, helmets, tail fins, pictures of aces past, etc. There is a very warm glow to it, amber and red hues. Round tables are scattered about. A long bar is in the back, a burly badger with long full mustache is swabbing beer mugs with a cloth. A record player sits in the corner playing slow paced British drinking songs. Lamps on the tables light the place, the windows are painted over black. A senior pilot (Alberts) pats Royce on the back, some beer spilling from his mug. “Jolly good show today Royce! Your first kill, eh?” Royce, coming out of his haze. “Uh, yeh, uh, yes sir!” Salutes Alberts. Alberts: “Drop the stiff arm chap, we’re in the OC, none of that rot here!” Alberts sits down at the table setting his pint down in front of him. Enter Higbee, fellow senior pilot: “There’s the man of the hour!” Sits to Royce’s left. “Didja see him today Alberts, he faints to the left, gets on the Jerry’s tail and lays waste to him!” Royce: Thank, Thank You sir, just a lucky shot.” Alberts: “Lucky my bum, that was a textbook maneuver!” Higbee: “I knew this one had the bollocks to give Jerry what for, a real Johnny Bull! Royce lowers his head and stares at his beer, far off look on his muzzle. “Yes, yes I suppose.” Alberts and Higbee meet glances, seeing that they may have laid it on a lil thick, both remembering their first kills. Higbee: “Well, uh, well, have you heard we have a new ground crew?!” Alberts: I heard we were getting some help from across the pond, Yanks?” Higbee: Bloody right! 3 of em, just came in today. Haven’t seen em myself. Club door opens, in walks a fairly tall (has to lean over to enter) mare followed by two others, all of which barely fit in the door. They walk over to a table, seeing it will definitely be too small, they pull over two others, making a small triangle shape and each sit at a table. Focus now goes back to our three chums, all staring openly at the three Shire mares. Alberts: “Well, well, I never! This is an officer’s club, not some grease monkey’s pub! Higbee: “I say, someone should go over there and tell them! What do you say Royce? Royce?” Royce is walking towards the mares. Both Higbee and Alberts give each other double takes! The mares are having a conversation and slowly notice someone is standing near them. Royce, rather shyly: “Uh, uhm, would any of you care for a dance?” The mares stare at him, blankly, then to each other, then all look back at Royce and unanimously agree, “WE’D LOVE TO!!” The first mare gets up and leads/drags him to the phonograph. “First we gotta get something we can cut a rug to!” Tosses the record playing off and flips through the albums until she finds Glenn Miller “Pennsylvania 6-5000” They cut to the dance floor, holding him close to her, his head about her cleavage. She takes hold of each of his hands in hers and does a 360 degree spin. Shot of Higbee and Alberts, shocked and stunned, staring, stone-faced. Mare #1 calls out to Mare #2, “Bomb’s away!” Lets go of Royce, he flies through the air and lands smack dab in her cleavage. Shot of Higbee and Alberts, shocked and stunned, staring, stone-faced. She pries him from her cleavage and does some dancing with him. Mare #3: “May I cut in?” Mare #1 comes in: “Why don’t we share? With rationing and all.” Mare #3: “But of course sister!” Royce is in the middle of a sea of cleavage, as the three mares all push in , their breasts all smooshed up against him. Shot of Higbee and Alberts, shocked and stunned, staring, stone-faced. Mare #1: “OK girls, let’s give it the old college try!” Shot of Royce with eyes wide. Mare #1:”ONE!” Shot is from Royce’s point of view looking up through cleavage. Mare #2:”TWO!” Shot is from Royce’s point of view looking up through cleavage. Mare #3:”THREE!” Shot is from Royce’s point of view looking up through cleavage. Shot of Higbee and Alberts, shocked and stunned, staring, stone-faced. Shot looking up at Royce being flown through the air as he is shot out of the cleavage. Empty chair he was sitting in earlier. Royce landing in chair, completely disheveled, “shit-eating grin” on his face from ear to ear. Royce’s hat falls sloppily onto his head, covering his eyes. Higbee and Alberts are both still speechless and staring towards Royce. Mare #1, leaning on table, full cleavage in view. “Say Royce, would you like to join us for a night cap?” Royce straightens his cap, fixes his tie. He salutes his fellow pilots, they return it rather faintly. He is seen being carried off by the three gals. Higbee and Royce stare as they leave the club. Higbee: “Bloody Yanks! Overpaid, over-sexed and over here!!” Alberts looking rather dejected, raises his shot glass. “Cheers.” Higbee: “Well, no use crying over spilled milk eh? I better be turning in Higbee old boy.” Astor: “Oh, same here, need my beauty sleep. Must look my best for tomorrow’s briefing!” Both men slowly saunter towards the door. Each suddenly give each other a look and make mad dashes for the door, both getting stuck in the door frame! END