why can't we go directly in . this way --? the captain enjoys not dragging his ass down the highway for every tom, dick and qadhafi to take a whack at. laurent swings his finger on the arc of approach. mines? dammit. he refers to some satellite surveillance maps -- nobody at command said anything about -- sgt. shaw! no response. and we rush toward: a soldier in a lawn chair, face lifted to the heavens, sitting directly between the two armored vehicles. this is sgt. raymond prentiss shaw, late twenties, haunted and aloof. sergeant. rolling in two minutes. everything okay? sergeant? maybe i enjoy your company, sergeant. too late for that, shaw. as a charter member of the lucky sperm club your benefits include unlimited suck-up from high-ranking officers hoping to curry congressional favor for their future career moves. but. if you want to ride in the bradley, hey, i got no objections. no, they don't. but. on the plus side, you don't really like them, either. so. see? it, you know. balances out. camels. you gotta be kidding me. take the wheel, sergeant! shaw! sniper with an rpg! don't stop! oh shit, shaw -- 23 another enemy with a rocket launcher -- slides around an 23 overturned trailer and fires: scared? you don't really have time to be scared. uneasy rustling of an o.s. audience. somebody coughs. an air-conditioner kicks in, rumbling, becoming -- i couldn't hear anything, as i was temporarily deaf from the explosion of the bradley . -- soldiers with gas masks lean out of the open doors of the helicopters and drop gas canisters down on marco's team. i got your back, baker. i got . -- and tries to pull him to safety . knees buckling . he looks up: 29 marco's p.o.v. - the hummer -- is no longer stalled on its 29 side in the ditch, but improbably is righted again, back on four wheels and attacking. a vision of raymond behind the machine gun, firing at the advancing enemy -- with marco -- trying to process this. coughing. fading. -- and with complete disregard for his own life and safety, sgt. shaw single- handedly engaged an entire company of the enemy -- -- of the enemy -- sgt. shaw repeatedly attacked from a mobile position, confounding the enemy -- -- neutralizing his aerial support -- -- and finally dividing and defeating an overwhelmingly superior force. like edmonds in korea, holderman in viet nam, raymond shaw was awarded the congressional medal of honor. i signed the recommendation myself. a hand shoots up. marco nods toward it. i was -- -- injured. i fell, had a, uh, concussion -- lost focus -- sgt. shaw took command -- a disheveled man comes into the back of the room noisily, as: yes. two. two of my people were killed. silence. no more questions. the disheveled man coughs. marco pointedly ignores him. the medal of honor is the highest award to which any soldier can aspire. from the jungles of iwo jima to the desert of kuwait, what these brave men i've talked about today did will never be forgotten. since 1917, only 827 medals have been given to a total of more than 30 million americans in arms. only three have been awarded in the last 40 years. who knows? maybe someday one of you fine boys will earn one yourself in defense of this great nation. a scoutmaster, thin, bearded, stands up: thanks for listening. my family has claimed the army as a trade ever since a young gunnery officer who grew up with hernando de soto left spain for a look at the upper mississippi. my life is in service to my country. excuse me? no, i'm just proud to have been there. he sits down. spattering of polite applause. melvin. jesus -- how are you -- dreams. well, we had a pretty rough time over there, al, it was hairy, and -- it was a long time ago, now. memories shift. everybody has dreams, corporal -- no i don't. melvin's face falls, disappointed. fumbling in his clothes, he finds a spiral notebook, dog-eared, and fat with newspaper clippings -- tries to press it into marco's hands. -- al, you know, maybe you should be going to the va and talking to a doctor, i mean if these dreams are really -- well, that's -- it's over and done. we've got to move on -- -- marco rocks back on his heels as he stares down at a sketchy portrait of an arabic woman whose face is covered with intricate designs -- marco stares curiously, as if he recognizes her -- you need money --? -- here -- marco already digging for a crumpled twenty. melvin waves it off, backing away, suddenly pissed. okay. okay. well, look, al, i gotta -- -- run, yeah. but. it was great seeing you. and good luck to you. melvin just scowls sadly at marco. flash of glass, a door opens and closes, and marco is gone. from the landing. every week it gets longer. i'm worried about you. he takes the romance novels out of his grocery bag and hands them to her. none of these involve slave traders or sheiks, abby. i checked. a smile. she does. yawns -- his eyelids flutter -- he shudders awake, digs in his grocery bag for the no doz and shakes out half a dozen. which he swallows dry. i'll recommend sergeant shaw for the medal of honor, ma'am. he saved our lives, terminated the enemy and led us across the desert to safety. now the dreamscape visuals seem rear-projected on luminous, rippling white fabric . the bedouin people, tomato. brain images, the mystery woman, appear as two-dimensional filmed images, flickering across draperies . there are always casualties, ma'am. . the dream sounds emanate from audio speakers, the sandstorm's wind caused by huge, moveable fans . . impression of an old man shaking a percussive gourd, mesmerizing . . impressions of the squad all rigged up like marco, with tubes and wires . laurent glides behind them -- lab coat, surgical gloves on his hands . sergeant. yes sir. no sir. beat. howard looks up at marco. the meds make me . spongy. i float. i'm not sharp -- when i sleep, i dream. i don't want to dream, sir. dreams like mine. -- i'm not jealous of raymond shaw, sir. i felt . fine. no big deal. yes. glad for him. he deserves it. raymond shaw is probably the kindest, bravest, warmest -- no sir. i wouldn't do that, sir. it sucks, sir. i want to get back to intelligence. yes sir. same time, same station. sir, i'm just here to keep you from getting into fist-fights with the navy guys. the old generals laugh, appreciate this. marco stops -- eureka -- he's found his target: right behind you, sirs. whereupon if you can't behave yourselves, generals, we're gonna spend the rest of the day watching the orioles game back at the hotel. whereupon raymond parades past, with his secret service handlers, oblivious to ben until he calls out. congressman -- sergeant shaw -- raymond turning, but not stopping -- ben marco. -- okay. -- marco frowns, watches raymond weave through the crowd towards jocie, at the entrance. marco follows, passing: sergeant raymond shaw -- raymond turns -- i want to talk to you too. -- i know you're busy -- i just have to ask you -- he starts to move away, but marco grabs his arm -- i saw al melvin the other day -- remember corporal melvin? raymond yanks his arm away -- okay -- sorry -- but -- melvin, he's extremely disturbed about what happened to us, on the recon patrol, back in kuwait -- sorry. raymond's secret service agent, anderson slips himself between him, smiling politely, easing marco away: i don't know, sir. it isn't so much what he said, or didn't say -- but his demeanor, his attitude. sir, i overheard an exchange he -- no, sir, not this road, sir. but i hear what you're saying, and i want to do this through the proper channels. lt. colonel howard -- with respect -- i've had a dozen years of experts telling me i've got gulf war syndrome, or a stress disorder. twelve years being a good soldier, denying what every nerve ending in my body tells me is more real than not. one dream, over and over. not variations on a dream, the same one, night after night after night -- -- no sir. something happened to us, in the desert, ten years ago. not what we thought it was. and it happened on my watch. beat. owens died of cancer in '97. villalobos, a car crash. atkins committed suicide. jamison was at the pentagon, 9-11, body never recovered. wilson i'm still trying to track down. garret and howard trade looks. sir, i know i can't ask you to talk to congressman shaw, not yet, but al melvin, it's a phone call, a quick q&a -- look at his notebooks, hear what he's been dreaming -- and either he will support the credibility of what i'm saying, or he won't. and i'll shut up. if you just talk to melvin -- yes sir. yes sir. beat. marco stands up, to leave, but -- every day, sir. hello, victor? marco. how's it goin'? public affairs sucks, my friend. i miss you guys. listen, favor: guy from my old unit, melvin, alfred r. -- i need an address on him, i think he's here in d.c. . yeah, go ahead. holding, marco studies the image of raymond. yeah, yeah. i'm here . as he starts to write an address -- al? al melvin, it's marco . nothing. he looks at his watch, turns, walks back down the narrow, high-ceilinged corridor -- haunting sounds of radios and televisions and broken conversations -- he disappears down the stairs -- my god. i'm sorry to hear that. when did it . yeah, i know. i know. listen, mrs. wilson -- can you tell me if nathan was ever -- preoccupied -- with his experience in kuwait? did he ever mention dreams or nightmares . about what happened . the firefight, afterward . -- uh-huh. sure. no, i understand. thank you for -- dial tone. he hangs up. exhales. no, mr. villalobos, i'm just -- army's got me running statistics on stress disorders, i'm trying to gather information on my old squad members . yes sir -- al? you in there? still nothing. he checks the hallway, takes an army utility knife from his pocket and forces the lock -- -- topples the chair as he stands up -- and then: this is delaware. what? yeah. no. guy i knew . in the army. he's in politics now. we've kinda lost touch. what's your name? 'scuse me? it's pretty. i guess your friends call you jenny. what do your friends call you? still. when i asked you your name, you said it was eugenie. excuse me. -- and lurching toward the back of the train, nearly losing his balance as he goes through the sliding doors. ow dammit -- it's not you, it's me. i'm not -- my head -- -- nothing's . i wish i smoked. rosie, i'm gonna go in here, wash my face, take my pill, and get myself together. marco ducks into the bathroom and shuts the door. yeah. no. i'm okay, thanks. no. beat. i'll remember. beat. what? marco feels his shirt -- soaked. long beat. she reaches out and feels his forehead. no fever. sizing him up. me, i get quiet. another awkward beat. she stands there. studying him. dreams, i've been having these -- catches himself. that's just how melvin said it. sort of. beat. i could be dreaming you. you'd be the best dream i've had in a long time, rosie. beat. rosie smiles at him. -- loses his grip on the oblong thing before he can even get a good look at it, and it goes into the sink -- shit. oh no no . -- and down the drain -- marco twists the faucet off, and -- gone. shit. marco -- rests his head on the cool tile, eyes far away. defeated. rosie crouches next to him. a little scared. she blots the blood from his back with the towel, and then presses her ice pack against it. tell me you saw that. rosie just stares at him. you didn't. you didn't see it. proof. my sanity. this wasn't a delusion. -- delp. -- delp. it's not gws. delp has known marco too long, and too well, not to take him seriously. the army never put one in me. i looked under mad scientists in the yellow pages -- there was a full page ad. what are you studying here, delp? for the agency? look, delp. my experiences during the war, in kuwait . feel dreamlike to me. and my dreams? about what happened? feel as real as you and me, here, right now. delp just waits. it's like . i feel like somewhere along the line, i've been . brainwashed. or something. you know? all scrambled up. what about my dreams? you're not helping me. do you ever dream about kuwait? heads turning to find marco, folder under his arm -- strange looks -- secret service poised to react, but raymond slows, looks -- sees marco. a cloud passing over his features: i don't keep up with al melvin. he found me. i didn't. i asked you about your dreams. at the fundraiser -- why did you say you needed to talk to me? major. forty minutes of your time. private time. there are these dreams that . some of the men in our unit have been having. it's a question of what actually happened the night our patrol was attacked -- -- yeah, that's how i remember it, too. but i dream something else. the limo pulls to a curb -- yeah. -- you know. raymond steps just outside the entrance to his office. it's more complicated than that. marco reaches into his folder, pulls out one of melvin's notebooks -- people just don't have the same dreams accidentally -- -- melvin made drawings, he wrote down what he dreamed, this is one of his notebooks -- it's all in here. -- and raymond's staring at the notebook without taking it, the way marco once did with melvin. anderson and mirella -- the staffers in the office -- are all staring at marco the same way the boy scouts once stared at melvin. i've been to doctors. . which is exactly what melvin said to him. okay. okay, i'm sorry. marco nods again, numb, makes a vague resigned gesture. i'm not crazy, shaw. he jams the notebook back into his folder, starts to walk away. it's a dream -- -- could mean something else. -- could be i'm just supposed to think you did. maybe you didn't. why did you come back, raymond? what happened? which? who said i was jealous? how can you not remember saving the unit? you said you don't remember doing it. did you ever talk to anybody about this little discrepancy? no. you ask army intelligence. look, we can go together, tomorrow. you tell them what you just told me, everything you do remember, what you don't "exactly" remember, about kuwait, let 'em run some tests on you -- raymond. they put an implant in me. i found it yesterday. maybe they put one in you. great. let's prove it. we can go get an x-ray -- we can check it right now -- marco moves toward him, raymond backs away -- just check your back, raymond -- what are you afraid of? see if there's a bump. -- just check -- somebody was in your head, with big steel- toe boots, a couple of cable cutters and a chainsaw, and they went to town! neurons got wasted, circuits rewired, brain cells obliterated -- knocking at the door: -- you don't even know what they did! you don't -- you can't conceive what they did to you -- and you're worried about some lame-ass reporters!? -- where marco wraps raymond in a headlock, rips raymond's shirt from the shoulder -- if i'm wrong they can put me the fuck away -- -- there -- there's -- something -- insistent knocking at the door. marco claws at the skin on raymond's back -- sinks his teeth in -- -- raymond shakes him off, and marco slams into the wall. the office door bangs open -- anderson and other agents swarm marco -- there's blood smeared on marco's mouth, his jaws are clenched -- al melvin . i went to talk to him. but he wasn't there. across from him are three impatient fbi agents . ramirez has the notebook marco took from melvin's. goldring pushes a tiny digital tape recorder closer to marco: yeah, there are hundreds more of those in his apartment. did your people check out his place --? i wanted to talk to corporal melvin about some unanswered questions involving our reconnaissance mission in kuwait, back in i know this game. will you explain to them that i know this game? yeah. kinda like 'special agent.' listen, you might want to advise your me to check for an implant in corporal melvin's back -- under the skin, just shy of the scapula, left side . if he's not looking for it, he won't find it. implant. the feds just stare at him. like he's nuts. i didn't have anything to do with corporal melvin's death. he said i could. colonel garret shoves marco back into a chair, stays in the middle of the fracas, while -- sir, i know all about dr. zahn. remember? he's that guy who -- sir. yes sir. i'm sorry. yes. i'll owe you one. sits on one of the experimental gurneys, using a pen to write on his arm. -- talk to me about the implant. you said the army implants were for medical emergency data. how do you know all this? what does it do? back-up in case this makes me forget some stuff i want to remember. edge off what? you don't think this is going to work. -- but? who? i don't remember a friend. nothing. eugenie rose. rosie smiles. marco closes his eyes again and -- it's wednesday. central park was monday. i came home friday. how did i get here? el dorado 59970. i remembered. i remember, and i didn't dream. what'd we talk about? i remember that. beat. she smiles. she leans in, kisses him lightly. what else did we talk about? rosie opens her mouth -- you're part of it. -- then he's moving, out the door -- how can you know what i think? he tries to get past her again -- and i think they made me kill someone too. one of my people. kid named bobby baker. rosie puts her arms around him -- noyle. they called him dr. noyle. push in until noyle is just a mass of pixels -- nobody believed watergate. he sits down, opposite jordan. or oklahoma city, or the world trade center. you wouldn't have believed oswald before kennedy got shot. i started with nightmares, sir. rumors and conjecture are a giant leap forward. sir, i don't give a rat's ass about manchurian global! that's not why i'm here! i can't touch them, i get that, i'm not stupid, sir. a cold silence. marco stares at jordan. i just want to try and stop this one thing -- this raymond shaw bomb -- from going off. jordan nods again, slightly. lost in thought. and i'd be lying if i told you i hadn't factored in huge that you've got a vested personal, political, and patriotic interest in how this shakes out. how does the president die? he sits on top of her, pinning her arms down. she struggles to say something. marco shakes his head. when. where. how. he releases her throat, and she gasps for air -- i'm gonna stop this. we'll go to the feds. you and me. and tell them a story. i don't know. i don't care any more. it's all i have. rosie bucks -- gets a hand free -- slugs, marco, and they tumble off the bed in a tangle of blankets and limbs -- raymond shaw murdered senator jordan and his daughter. -- he's a time bomb, ticking -- i am clearer on this than i've ever been. it's rich guys, funding bad science, to put a sleeper in the white house -- i screwed up. jordan was my trump card, and i screwed it up. either help me, or shoot me, rosie. there's no middle ground anymore. he gets up -- rosie's not going to shoot him -- how's your back? i'm sorry. raymond locks the door, turns, takes in the room: tiny chairs and tables, walls covered with kids' drawings, and nearly every object in the room named and labelled with 3x5 cards. that's good. we'll get 'em out. no -- you could have had me locked up -- and you didn't. that's a sign. that they don't control everything. we can fight it. i mean -- i'm still out here because you decided i should be -- which means there's a part they can't get to, deep inside -- the part where the truth is, and they can't touch us there. that's what we need to tap into, raymond, that's the part where, you and me, we're gonna take them out. i know. yeah. beat. i think so, yeah. raymond -- focus -- did they tell you what they want you to do, ray? we gotta know what's gonna happen, we gotta know when's it gonna happen -- you can help me do this -- what? no -- no, man, they've got big plans for you -- i can get the feds, the police. come on, ray -- fight it -- raymond, you gotta work with me here -- raymond takes the ringing phone from his inside pocket, and checks the number of who's calling. raymond, stay focused. the irrefutable fact is that jocie was a mistake, and we're gonna make 'em pay for it. what are you talking about? hang up. yes it is, senator. yeah ? marco's eyes flicker to raymond's eyes -- yes. calmly putting a clip into the handgun from his kit -- starting to raise it -- you don't develop a technology like that and waste it on two guys. he looks to rosie, who stands in an archway. there are soldiers here, with weapons -- could be here to guard marco. could be here to protect him. i remember running. his arm is in a simple sling. he moves like a man who's been shot, and not quite recovered -- moves past rosie, out of the broken-down ruins . i had to get out where the sky was. . rosie motions the soldiers to stay back, follows him by herself . i had to get to the water. pull back as they walk down the beach to the sea. a few tumble-down buildings are all that remains of an ancient seaside town. I thought: if I can just get to the water, everything will be okay. Marco approaches the water's edge, staring out at the uncertain horizon. Nothing but water as far as the eye can see. PULL BACK. And back. And back .