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From the original production of Duty Honor Country performed at The Drilling Company Theatre in New York City.
DUTY HONOR COUNTRY A Ten-Minute Play
By Stephen Bittrich
read review of Drilling Company Production
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE
5701 W Slaughter Lane
Suite A130-204
Austin, TX 78749
E-mail: SBittrich@aol.comCopyright © 2004,
by Stephen Bittrich
(Please note that there is a licensing fee due if you want to perform this play.)
"DUTY HONOR COUNTRY"
BY STEPHEN BITTRICH
SETTING:
A trench in Iraq, somewhere on Route 1
between Kuwait and Nasiriyah in the early
days of Operation Iraqi Freedom.
AT RISE:
LABONNE, an African American soldier-
patriotic, even-headed, duty bound--is
standing in the trench to look at ground
level with night vision binoculars.
BOBECK, a white soldier--southern,
cynical, loud, and self-preserving--keeps
his gun trained on an IRAQI PRISONER OF
WAR. There is no love loss between the
two Americans, but they are bound
together in a test of survival. The
Iraqi Prisoner is gaunt and exhausted and
holds a tattered white kerchief in his
hand.
BOBECK
Have you got 'em?
LABONNE
(talking without looking at
Bobeck)
I can't see shit.
BOBECK
Mother fucker!
(beat)
They're probably kickin' ass in Nasiriyah by now.
LABONNE
No. They'll find us. They'll find us...
BOBECK
Yeah, right. Would you like some hand cream while you jerk
yourself off?
LABONNE
You got any?
BOBECK
I ain't got shit.
(BOBECK looks in his pack)
Damn. I really ain't got shit.
(LABONNE sits)
LABONNE
I think it's a new moon or somethin'...cannot see a damn thing.
BOBECK
Yeah, it's black as a nigger's ass.
(LABONNE gives him a shut-the-fuck
up look)
Sorry.
(beat)
Black as a sand nigger's ass.
LABONNE
You know, Bobeck, if I didn't know you had shit for brains--
BOBECK
Hey, let me ask you somethin'. How come all you blacks get to
call each other...the "N" word...but the minute a guy as pale as
me does it, he's a racist asshole?
LABONNE
Cuz you ain't part of the club, son. It's like when you call
your sister a "ho." You can do that because she's part of your
redneck, inbred family, but if somebody else tries to call her a
"ho"--
BOBECK
--I fuckin' slap 'em up side the head.
LABONNE
Damn straight.
BOBECK
Thanks for clearing that up for me, bro.
(back to looking through his pack)
Look at this, a couple of MRE's, five rounds of ammo, a smashed
fucking radio...
LABONNE
How many MRE's?
BOBECK
Six.
LABONNE
What kind? Don't say Scalloped Potatoes.
BOBECK
At least two of them are Scalloped Potatoes.
LABONNE
Make me wanna puke. We'll make Saddam's man eat 'em.
BOBECK
Fuck no! He ain't gettin' shit.
LABONNE
Don't be a dick. We all need to eat.
BOBECK
Well, he then shouldn'ta signed up to be all he could be.
LABONNE
Look at him, Bobeck. Man just wants to go home. He's no
soldier.
BOBECK
Tough shit. I don't care how many pictures of his wife and kids
he pulls out; this is Survival Iraq, and he's getting voted off
the island.
(BOBECK smiles at THE PRISONER and
wags his gun)
Right? You hear me, don't cha, you fuckin' camel jacker.
Saddam is a faggot. Right?
LABONNE
Bobeck!
BOBECK
Yeah?
LABONNE
Cut it, the fuck out! Don't taunt the man.
BOBECK
This ain't no man. Look at him. Look in those two brown spots
passing for eyes. Does he look like he has a soul?
(BOBECK wags the gun again. THE
PRISONER holds up his white
kerchief)
LABONNE
Bobeck!
(LABONNE pulls BOBECK up sharply
by his flak jacket)
BOBECK
You ain't in charge of me, LaBonne.
LABONNE
Come on! Let's stick together, brother, or we fuckin' dead meat
out here. Enough fuckin' around. Let's follow procedure.
(BOBECK shakes loose, pauses,
turns the gun on THE PRISONER
again, though more calmly)
BOBECK
That's right, that's right. I'm watching you. Ready for your
72 virgins yet? I didn't think so.
(BOBECK sits)
Look at this grinnin' Jihad monkey-mother-fucker. Wavin' his
little white flag. Thinks he's going home. This carpet pilot
thinks he's going home before me. Gonna be bowin' down before
Allah in his church--
LABONNE
--mosque--
BOBECK
--smokin' his Arabian tobacky, stickin' it to his veil wearin'
ugly ass old lady before me...and he will be...and he would
be...
(THE PRISONER waves the flag)
That's right, wave your little snot rag. Don't mean shit to me.
LABONNE
(quietly)
Keep it together, Bobeck.
(Long pause)
BOBECK
So what's the plan, genius?
LABONNE
There's no plan. Just stay here until first light. Maybe
they'll find us by then.
BOBECK
Or maybe a horde of Republican Guard will be raining down on our
ass by then.
LABONNE
Well, there's a crispy fried Humvee three klicks from here that
might give our guys a clue come morning.
(beat)
I'm open for suggestions. But I'm tellin' you nobody can see
anything on a night like this.
BOBECK
(after a beat)
Wait for mornin'.
(A camel moans in the night
sending the American soldiers
into high alert rolling on the
ground. The prisoner remains
calm and smiles slightly)
PRISONER
(after a beat, looking for the
English word)
Camel...camel.
BOBECK
I didn't sign up for this shit, that's for sure.
LABONNE
Yeah, I guess none of us did, but we're honor bound to answer.
BOBECK
Yeah right.
(long pause)
When did you sign up for the Guard, LaBonne?
LABONNE
'Bout week before Tropical Storm Allison.
BOBECK
No shit? I was deployed for that storm.
LABONNE
Yeah?
BOBECK
Yeah.
LABONNE
In Texas?
BOBECK
Houston. You're from Louisiana, right?
LABONNE
Yeah, I was in Baton Rouge. They had it bad down there.
BOBECK
No shit. We did some real good for those people, hauling
sandbags, helping EVAC flooded neighborhoods. There was this
crazy old lady with this little rat pooch, Shiatsu or somethin',
and she got caught in her pick up truck in high water. She was
all panicky and wanted us to save her dog. Save her dog!
LABONNE
Did you save the dog?
BOBECK
Damn straight! We knew what the hell we were doing, ya know, on
home turf. Floods we could handle. We didn't train so much for
desert warfare.
LABONNE
No.
(beat)
Well, you're helping that old lady again, Bobeck, just in a
different shit storm.
BOBECK
Oh yeah, she and her pooch are in real immediate danger of
gettin' buggered by Saddam. You're a regular Dudley Doright
Mother Fucker, aren'cha?
LABONNE
You think I'm messin' with you, man? What if one of these
Saddam loyalists sets off a WMD in Houston? Or San Antonio?
You've got about five air force bases in that area.
BOBECK
You gotta be kiddin' me, LaBonne.
LABONNE
No.
BOBECK
Damn, I thought you were smart. There ain't no WMD's out there.
LABONNE
Man, where have you been? President Bush--
BOBECK
Look at this tattered mother fucker sittin' here. This is the
big Iraqi threat to the American Way of life. Uniform in rags,
hasn't eaten a good meal in like a month 'cept rats, probably
inherited his boots off a dead soldier. Operation Iraqi Freedom
is unfinished family business, that's all it is. And George
Bush can kiss my lily white redneck ass.
LABONNE
(in his face)
Soldier! Our commander and chief has called us to sacred duty.
To quell the terrorist threat and keep America safe. To
liberate the people of Iraq. Where's your--?
BOBECK
WHERE'S--MY--WHAT?
(beat, they stare each other down)
Oh, I can't wait to go hold hands with liberated little Iraqi
children. Dancing in the street. Don't you get it, LaBonne?
This is all for nothin'. They don't want us here. They fuckin'
hate us. Because one, we support the religious zealots that
aren't them, the Israelis, and two, they realize this double
talk of freedom is all about Operation Iraqi Oil Freedom. And
our being here will only inflame terrorism. It'll be like a
Goddamn Hydra monster. Two heads growing for every one we cut
off. And even after we kick Saddam's ass--which we will--some
fuckin' Shi'ite mother fucker will step up to take his place.
Damn, man! Wake up!
(beat)
The one salvation I got is that if I don't die tonight, in 150
days my tour of duty will be over, and I'll be sippin' a Lone
Star at Gilly's.
LABONNE
Fuck you.
BOBECK
Hey LaBonne, you know your man Bush--
LABONNE
He's not my man. But he's my Commander.
BOBECK
Okay, okay, your man is Colin Powell. He gave a real perty
speech at the UN, by the way. He's really lookin' after the
brothers. But you know your Commander Bush in his first eight
months in office was on the longest vacation in the last thirty
two years of the Presidency. No shit. When Al Qaeda was
putting the finishing touches on 9/11 GW was playing fetch with
Spot, God rest his little soul. There were fuckin' memos
circulating in the FBI and CIA about Arabs that were taking
flying lessons with no interest in learning how to take off or
land. Memos about terrorists planning to fly planes into
buildings--
LABONNE
Bush couldn't have stopped 9/11!
BOBECK
Right. Because he was on VACATION!
LABONNE
So why the hell you sign up, Bobeck?
BOBECK
Damned if I know. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
Actually, as I recall, it was to avoid jail.
LABONNE
You're a real patriot.
BOBECK
Yeah, that's me.
LABONNE
I refuse to believe that this is for nothing. We're gonna to
free these poor people and bring a democratic way of life to
them.
BOBECK
Oh yeah, we're here to free the people all right. Hey, how come
we never give a shit about freein' people in places like Haiti?
LABONNE
Can't help everybody, Bobeck. But if Haiti needs our help, I'm
sure we will--
(Mortar fire explodes in the
distance)
BOBECK
Holy fuck! What the hell was that?
LABONNE
I don't know.
(LaBonne rises to look with his
binoculars
LABONNE (cont'd)
I still can't see a damn thing. I can see some flames--about 20
klicks off.
BOBECK
Do you think they're coming for us?
LABONNE
No.
BOBECK
Sounded close.
LABONNE
No. They don't know we're here.
BOBECK
Unless Dusty Nuts is leading them to us.
LABONNE
I don't see how that's possible.
BOBECK
Come here, you!
(Bobeck searches the prisoner)
LABONNE
Leave him alone. What are you doing? He's clean.
BOBECK
He's got a bug or something. I know it. What are you hiding,
Muhammad?
(LaBonne stops looking over the
top of the trench and squats down
to grab Bobeck)
LABONNE
They're not coming for us! That fight is 20 klicks from here.
BOBECK
LaBonne, this prisoner is a liabililty.
LABONNE
Be that as it may--
BOBECK
We need to travel light.
LABONNE
Don't fuck around, man.
BOBECK
You know I'm not fucking around. We killed about a hundred of
these Hucka-Lucka's in the past 24 hours. What makes this one
so special? His little white hanky? He's dead fuckin' weight.
LABONNE
Soldier, it is your duty--"you are forbidden to kill or wound an
enemy who, having laid down his arms, or having no longer means
of defence, has surrendered."
BOBECK
You're a joke, LaBonne. We're also forbidden from attacking
undefended targets. How many undefended targets do you think
we've bombed the shit out of in the course of finding some
defended targets? Let's off this dead weight and hump it back
to Kuwait.
LABONNE
That's not happening.
(Bobeck takes his gun off the
prisoner and waves it casually in
LaBonne's direction)
BOBECK
Who's gonna stop me?
LABONNE
Holster your weapon.
BOBECK
I'm on prisoner watch.
LABONNE
Don't wave that fuckin' thing at me, you Muppetfucker.
BOBECK
I thought you had more class that that, LaBonne.
(LaBonne takes out his pistol)
LABONNE
I'm prepared to go all the way--all--the--way--for what I
believe. How far are you prepared to go?
(long pause as they stare each
other down)
BOBECK
I want to live. I just want to live.
(Softly, softly, the Iraqi
prisoner starts to sing. A
plaintive song, native to his
culture, cuts through the haze of
violence. He does not look at
the two American soldiers or even
seem to acknowledge the volatile
situation unfolding, he just
chants with quiet conviction his
humble song. Bobeck holsters his
gun first and slumps down
defeated to the ground. LaBonne
lowers his gun to his side and
watches the prisoner for a
moment, then holsters his gun as
well and sits beside Bobeck. The
prisoner's song fills the still
dark night. Lights fade slowly
to black)
(END OF PLAY)