MOUSTACHE: A DOG IN NAPOLEON'S ARMY by Andrew Garrett
Andrew Garrett 1915 Simmons St., Apt. 1173 Las Vegas, NV 89106 (918)402-1457
WHITE TEXT ON BLACK: Through sand and snow, through sea and sky, this hero’s fame will never die. FADE IN: EXT/INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT The cottage has huge holes punched in it-- recent battle damage. The inside is relatively unscathed, save for a few scattered bricks. The door hangs ajar on its exposed frame. Nearby, someone is humming “Auprès de ma Blonde”, an old marching song. Smoke rings puff out a hole in the roof. INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT By the light of a crackling fire, the battle-scarred yet welltrimmed black poodle MOUSTACHE surveys the scene. He’s missing most of one front leg, and all of one ear. Moustache’s mate VIDETTE, a poodle with lighter fur and fewer scars, is nestled against him, dozing contentedly. GRUMBLE and CHASE, two poodle puppies, sniff and chew on anything they can reach. A third puppy, LANCE, lies on his back and bats at a gold medallion on Moustache’s blue-whiteand-red collar, jingling it. MOUSTACHE Go on, find my leg! It’s around here somewhere. VIDETTE (sleepily) Cruel... Pssh.
MOUSTACHE It keeps them busy.
LANCE (growls, keeps batting) La jambe est un mensonge! VIDETTE Most of them, at least. Moustache gives an irritated ‘hmpf’.
2.
MOUSTACHE The leg is not a lie! I lost it fighting those sneaky Austrians. They were after our battle flag! VIDETTE Not all Austrians are bad. about me?
What
Moustache gives her a playful nip on the ear. and rubs it with a paw.
She grumbles
MOUSTACHE Shh! Tais-toi! All poodles are French, they just need convincing. A human soldier-- a French GRENADIER-- is kicked back in a dining room chair with his boots up on the soiled tablecloth. He is the source of the musical humming, and the smoke rings. He pauses to take a puff from his long clay pipe, then holds it out at arm’s length, in mock annoyance. GRENADIER Moustache! What are you grumbling about over there, family man? Moustache snorts at the Grenadier.
He shrugs.
GRENADIER (CONT’D) (clicks tongue) Ah, well, it’s a dog’s life. Back goes the pipe, up starts the humming. A SECOND GRENADIER starts through a hole in the wall, but steps through the door instead, sweeping off his tall plumed cap. He waves off a well-aimed smoke ring. Manners!
GRENADIER (CONT’D) You can knock, at least!
SECOND GRENADIER I’d have to fix the door first. One good knock would bring this place down around our ears. He gives his cap a quick brush with the sleeve of his jacket, and sets it on a counter. Digging into a cabinet, he pulls out a large tin and pries the top off. He whistles in awe. SECOND GRENADIER (CONT’D) Flour! And the worms haven’t got to it yet!
3.
The first Grenadier jabs his pipe at the Second Grenadier. GRENADIER I’ve had your bread. eat this pipe!
I’d rather
The Second Grenadier makes a rude face. eyes with a paw.
Moustache covers his
MOUSTACHE Bread! Everywhere I go, these Frenchmen and their bread. I could tell you stories. The puppies start up, bouncing on their heels, except for Lance, who rolls his eyes. MOST PUPPIES (overlapping) Stories? Oh, please, papa! LANCE Ehh, they’re just a bunch of made up hooey. MOUSTACHE (sighs) There’s one in every crowd. The puppies keep up their pleading, tiny tails wagging. Moustache shushes the puppies, pinning one’s tail with a paw. The puppy bounces back and forth, “tail-wags-dog”. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) All right, all right. Once more won’t hurt. Most of the puppies cheer, settling into an expectant row. Lance turns his back and flops down in front of the fire. Moustache clears his throat-MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) In the beginning, all was dark. Mostly. INT. CHICKEN COOP A scrawny old ROOSTER with patchy feathers, surrounded by snoozing hens on their nests, cracks an eye open and winces at sunlight trickling in through the entrance. He shakes his head and drags himself toward the light.
4.
ROOSTER Enough of this. I should be simmering in wine somewhere by now. EXT. FARM - FALAISE, NORMANDY, FRANCE - MORNING The Rooster slumps out into the farmyard and scrabbles up to the roof of the chicken coop. He flops his head down to peer wearily back inside. ROOSTER Long hours, terrible food... EXT./INT. CHICKEN COOP His eye rests upon a particularly large hen, her nest sagging under her weight. She stretches in her sleep, massive muscles bunching under her feathers with an audible creak. ROOSTER (O.S.) ..the [cough] physical requirements... EXT. FARM - FALAISE, NORMANDY, FRANCE - MORNING ROOSTER (sighs) Ah, well, here I go again. He throws his head back and starts a creaky crow, but is startled off his perch as chaos erupts below. Hens flap and claw their way out of the coop as PUPPY MOUSTACHE, a black ball of bouncy fur, nips at their heels and lets off a barrage of barks. Puppy Moustache blows a feather off his nose-- and the shaggy veil of fur away from his eyes. His grin collapses as a roar sounds from across the farmyard. FARMER (O.S.) HOLD IT RIGHT THERE! [curses in French] The FARMER pops through a nearby gate, shaking a pitchfork. Puppy Moustache backs away but doesn’t have anywhere to go.
5.
EXT. FALAISE, NORMANDY, FRANCE - DIRT ROAD - MORNING A DRIVER slams sacks of flour onto a horse-drawn cart-- then tosses on a wooden crate. Puppy Moustache sticks his little snout from a gap in the crate and howls unhappily. The Driver pulls a coin-purse from his coat-pocket and tosses it, jingling, to the Farmer, who snags it out of the air. The Farmer puts a foot up on the cart, shaking it roughly. FARMER Get this chicken-chasing fluff-ball over to Monsieur Boulanger. (a beat) That fellow is a bit peculiar, non? DRIVER Demi-cuit-- “half-baked”, I’d say. They share a knowing laugh. INT. CRATE Puppy Moustache scratches frantically at his wooden prison. PUPPY MOUSTACHE Ooooo, lemme out, it’s dark! EXT. FALAISE, NORMANDY, FRANCE - DIRT ROAD - MORNING The DRIVER’S HORSE (grey and a bit stringy) pulls out of the village, and the cart rattles down a dusty country road. A wooden sign-post reading “CAEN / 45KM” points their way. The Driver’s Horse swivels an ear back, still hearing Puppy Moustache’s pitiful sounds. He heaves a kindly sigh. DRIVER’S HORSE Just listen to my hooves. They sound a little like the rain. Soft, sleepy rain. All right? INT. CRATE Puppy Moustache, trembling, lays his head down on his paws, shuts his eyes, and whimpers back, “mmm-hmm”.
6.
EXT. CITY STREETS, CAEN, FRANCE - DAY The cart creaks along, the Driver’s Horse clip-clopping down the cobblestones. The Driver ducks a low tree branch. Shops line the road. Their wares are stacked out the doors and onto the sidewalks-- books, medicines, vegetables. The spires of an abbey church rise in the middle distance. bell tolls from a high tower.
A
EXT/INT. BAKERY, CAEN, FRANCE - DAY The Driver hefts heavy sacks of flour from the cart, handing them to the burly, hairy baker, BOULANGER, who stacks them just inside the door. The Driver hands Puppy Moustache’s crate to Boulanger, who pries it open. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) I was delivered into the large, flour-covered hands of Monsieur Boulanger. Boulanger scoops up Puppy Moustache, gasping with delight, and squeezes him a bit too hard. Puppy Moustache puffs out his cheeks in alarm. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Years of kneading dough had given him quite a grip. Boulanger eases up, clicking his tongue. Puppy Moustache sneezes, scattering flour, as Boulanger brushes at him. BOULANGER Looks a little crusty. “Crouton”! That’s the name for you. “Crouton”? Daddy.
GRUMBLE (V.O.) That’s a silly name,
MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Well, Boulanger was a silly man. MONTAGE: 1. Boulanger pulls a piece of crust off a bread pan and tosses it to Puppy Moustache, who barks happily and destroys it in a flurry of crumbs. PUPPY MOUSTACHE Oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy, bread!
7.
2. Later now-- Moustache is about half-grown. Boulanger tears a chunk of bread from a loaf and sets it in front of Moustache on a chipped plate. Moustache takes a polite bite as Boulanger goes back to kneading dough on a breadboard. Ah, bread.
MOUSTACHE Thank you, I suppose.
3. Moustache, fully grown, wagging his tail, takes a bone offered by Boulanger and chomps down on it, cracking it in two. His smile turns to shock, as he rolls the bone in his mouth, then off his tongue onto the ground, eyeing Boulanger. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) A bone made of bread? He's a nice enough fellow, but my insides must have turned to bread by now. END MONTAGE EXT. CITY STREETS, CAEN, FRANCE Boulanger hikes uphill past shops and market stalls, loaves of bread in a sling across his back. Moustache trails glumly behind on a leash, carting baguettes in a sort of saddlebasket. Children point at Moustache, giggling. BOULANGER Heel, boy! Moustache rolls his eyes, but hurries along. The baguettes shift-- one bonks Moustache on the head and he turns to look. MOUSTACHE What was that? Get it off! He turns again, jerking on the leash, rolling and snapping at the baguettes, smashing them against the ground and a wall. Crouton!
BOULANGER None of that!
Moustache is hopelessly tangled in the leash now, basket on his head. He flops around like a landed seal, grumbling. Boulanger sighs, bending to undo him. CUT TO: INT./EXT. BAKERY Moustache looks out the window-- baguettes are propped against it, evenly spaced.
8.
Nearby, the familiar sounds of dough slapping on a breadboard, and Boulanger whistling cheerily. EXT./INT. BAKERY The long bread in the window gives the impression of jail bars. Moustache lays his head on the windowsill, and sighs. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Ah, how I longed for freedom! The open road-- new smells, to get the bread out of my nose. His nose twitches, catching a scent on the wind. MOUSTACHE What’s that now? (sniffs deeply) Gunpowder? Boot polish. horse?
And...
This sets his tail wagging. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) Horses are funny, I should go say hello. He sticks his nose further out the window, as a faint drumbeat begins in the distance, getting closer. Moustache taps a paw against the windowsill in time with the drums. He looks over at his paw, cocking his head. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) That’s-- strangely involuntary. Moustache hops down from his perch, marching in place. He looks over his shoulder at the door, barks, and turns circles. Boulanger slaps flour off his hands and walks over. BOULANGER You like the marching music, hein? That got a rise out of you, any way you slice it. Moustache wearily thumps his head against the door-- still in time with the approaching drums. MOUSTACHE Not one bread pun but a baker’s dozen. He’s on a roll. Oh, curse me, now I’m doing it.
9.
Boulanger unlatches the door and opens it. He crouches, getting down on Moustache’s level and pointing outside. BOULANGER Go on, have a look. Moustache hesitates, turning in the doorway. putting a paw on Boulanger’s shoulder.
He whines,
BOULANGER (CONT’D) ...more than a look? Moustache barks for ‘yes’.
Boulanger winces, realizing--
BOULANGER (CONT’D) Oh! You restless spirit. Off to the war, then? Well, something for the road-Boulanger scoops up a large crust of bread and tucks it under Moustache’s collar. Moustache looks at it doubtfully. BOULANGER (CONT’D) Don't loaf around. I bet you will be the toast of the company. He scratches Moustache’s head.
Moustache grins and barks.
MOUSTACHE (V.O.) The bread jokes were getting stale. LANCE (V.O.) Daddy... Boulanger nods toward the door. Moustache zips outside and into the street, trailing a cloud of flour. He stops to shake off, sneezes, then dashes on. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) All right, all right. I knocked the flour from my fur and went off chasing those drum, drum, drummity, drums. The drums keep a rhythm, getting closer. EXT. CITY STREETS, CAEN, FRANCE Townspeople wave to the marching soldiers, cheering and shouting, waving hats. The French tricolor flag is out in force-- a woman with her hair tied back in a scarf waves a flag on a pole; others use their bare hands.
10.
Moustache, back in the crowd, sees only a wall of legs. He tries to nose his way through to the street, yelping as he gets a casual kick for his trouble. Grumbling, he spies soldiers’ helmet plumes bobbing, above and past the crowd. One Grenadier rides higher than the rest on a heard-butunseen horse (hooves clatter on cobblestones). Moustache sights a nearby cart, unhitched and tilted-- a perfect ramp. He scrabbles up it and vaults onto the heads of two ONLOOKERS, knocking one’s two-cornered hat sideways. ONLOOKER ONE Merde! Where did you come from? ONLOOKER TWO Crazy flea-trap! Onlooker One shakes a fist as Moustache (head low, tail wagging sheepishly) hurries off with the mass of Grenadiers. ONLOOKER TWO (CONT’D) (eyes Onlooker One) Ah, well, he’s fixed your hat. Onlooker One squints up at the hat, grins, and sticks a hand into his jacket, thrusting his jaw forward dramatically. The Grenadiers are an impressive sight-- the white of their cross-belts standing out from their deep blue sleeves, bootheels clicking in time on the street. One of the soldier musicians-- a FIFER-- notices Moustache. He lowers his fife and clicks his tongue for attention. Moustache looks up with a questioning “hrm?” The Fifer changes his music to a sing-song, loping, dog-like tune, swaying along. Moustache barks happily. The Drummer behind the Fifer whacks him in the head with a drumstick. The Fifer fumbles his fife but recovers, rubbing his minor injury-Ow!
FIFER All right, all right--
--and picks up his previous tune, straightening up, back in time with the others. Moustache grumbles, disappointed. A deep voice rumbles. DESTRY (O.S.) Watch where you’re going.
11.
Moustache stumbles and yelps as a high-stepping, proudly oblivious war-horse, DESTRY, grazes his haunch with a hoof. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) It isn’t every day you meet your best friend... and he kicks you... Moustache skitters away but catches up with the marchers and Destry again. He scowls up at Destry, whose eyes are set resolutely ahead. DESTRY’S RIDER pats Destry’s neck. DESTRY’S RIDER Nice and steady. Au pace, Destry. MOUSTACHE (tilts head) “Destry”? That means ‘war horse’, doesn’t it? Destry snorts, bobbing his head once and speaking out the side of his mouth. DESTRY What of it? MOUSTACHE You’re a horse named “horse”! Moustache gives a barking laugh, tongue lolling. drops his head a bit to glare at him.
Destry
DESTRY And you’re obnoxious. DESTRY’S RIDER (clicks tongue) Head up! Destry snaps back to attention. Moustache holds his head high and stiffly trots along, imitating Destry. DESTRY That’s incredibly offensive. MOUSTACHE Just horsing around. DESTRY Two for two. Leave me alone. In a side alley, a Girl, around six years old with ribbons in her hair, rolls a hoop with a stick. It gets away from her and she chases it--
12.
--into the street, nearly colliding with Destry. The Girl shields her face and screams as Destry rears up, neighing, stumbling on his back hooves as he hits a loose cobblestone. The marching soldiers backpedal, bunching up... Moustache dashes in, puts his paws up, and knocks the Girl out of the way, into the arms of a large, grandmotherly Onlooker. The hoop rattles to the ground. Moustache turns as Destry loses his balance, crashing down with his massive shoulder, rider and all. All goes dark. CUT TO: INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT Moustache is belly-up, tongue hanging out, all three legs and gnarled stump splayed out. Most of the puppies gasp, spellbound and horrified. Lance scowls distrustfully. VIDETTE Drama queen... Papa!
No!
MOST PUPPIES What then?
MOUSTACHE That’s the end. Squashed. They came and rolled me up like a rug. The puppies start up, complaining. MOST PUPPIES That’s not right, uh-uh, that isn’t what happened... (etc.) LANCE Told you he was making it up. Moustache scuffs his remaining fore-paw against his chest, holds it out, and regards his nails. MOUSTACHE A very handsome, expensive rug... Vidette gives a dismissive snort. GRUMBLE (howling) Oooo-- I don’t want a flat Daddy!
13.
VIDETTE Now, children, your father’s just having a bit of fun. Aren’t you, dear? She finishes with a pointed growl.
Moustache rolls his eyes.
MOUSTACHE Oh, fine... CUT TO: EXT. FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE - NEAR CAEN Moustache creaks an eye open, on a bed of straw-- he is riding on a cart with a few of the Grenadiers, a large piece of wet, folded cloth tied around his head. He raises his head but flops back to the floorboards. Destry’s Rider, leg splinted, waves a rough wooden crutch as the others march (or ride) off. He cups a hand to his mouth. DESTRY’S RIDER Au revoir, mes amis! Take care of my horse-- I’ll see you in Italy! FIFER Sure, after we’ve done all the fighting! This gets cheers and whistles from the group. Most of the regiment’s band have lowered their instruments, but the Drummer persists, keeping the cadence of the march. At an especially loud drum-beat, Moustache winces. MOUSTACHE Oh, my aching head-He puts a paw to his ear. Destry (pulling the cart) turns his head to glance at Moustache, then looks back ahead. DESTRY It lives. MOUSTACHE It lives but it hurts-DESTRY I tried to fall on you lightly.
14.
Lightly?
MOUSTACHE You’re a horse!
Uhh...
Moustache cringes at the sound of the drum again. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) Does he ever stop doing that? Destry shakes his head and snorts. DESTRY Welcome to the Grande Armée. We’ve got plenty of loud noises for you. The last traces of city fade away as they roll along-- a wall here, a house there-- soon all is countryside: dusty road, vineyards creeping up hills, and trees swaying in the wind. EXT. FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE - LATER It’s darker now.
The soldiers carry torches and lanterns.
CAPTAIN (O.S.) (whistles) Tout la compagne! Arrêtons! out for the night!
Fall
SOLDIER (O.S.) Oui, mon capitaine! SECOND SOLDIER (O.S.) Avec plaisir... The weary soldiers groan with relief, lugging their packs to the side of the path and searching out flat land. Some begin setting up small tents and rolling out bedrolls. MOUSTACHE Are we there yet? Destry gives a half-laugh, whinnying and shaking his head. DESTRY “There” he says. Where, Italy? We haven’t even made it out of France. (looks over shoulder) Oh, thank God. Here they come to remove my accessories, you included. Two bedraggled SOLDIERS approach. One removes the horsecollar from Destry’s neck, leading him to a tree.
15.
Destry shakes briskly, snorting in contentment. The soldier pats him on the neck and lashes his lead-rope to the tree. SOLDIER Ah, Destry! If we were at a stable I would give you a proper rubdown. He yawns and stretches, going around the back of the cart. The SECOND SOLDIER bends and boosts the first one up, then the first one pulls him up after. They flop down to either side of Moustache. One fluffs up a pile of straw. The other carefully pats Moustache’s back. SECOND SOLDIER I hope you don’t mind... MOUSTACHE Mrrf? He fluffs Moustache’s fur and gently lays his head down on him. Moustache rolls his eyes and blows out a puff of air. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) I was beginning to sense my place in this Army. FIRST SOLDIER I hope his moustache tickles you while you sleep. SECOND SOLDIER “Moustache?” Hah! You hear that, Monsieur “Moustache?” He’s just jealous of my nice soft pillow. He pats Moustache groggily and snuggles in closer, smacking his lips and stretching out, half asleep already. GRUMBLE (V.O.) Whew! I thought you were going to be “Crouton” forever... MOUSTACHE (V.O.) “Moustache” is rather more dashing, wouldn’t you agree? MOST PUPPIES (V.O.) Yayyyy! VIDETTE (V.O.) Focus, hero, focus.
16.
MOUSTACHE I’ve had fleas before, but never quite so large. Help me pick them off, Destry? Destry snores, head hanging. own weary eyes.
Moustache sighs, and shuts his
EXT. FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE - MORNING The sun peeks over the hills. On the fence of a nearby farmyard, a ROADSIDE ROOSTER stretches skyward and lets out a mighty crow. He nods, satisfied-ROADSIDE ROOSTER Try beating that. --and cups a wing against his ear. An unseen Bugler starts a rusty wake-up call. The Roadside Rooster shudders. Smaller birds in a nearby tree duck their heads under their wings. A rabbit pops his head out of a burrow, immediately retreats, and seals the entrance with a flurry of dirt. The bugle call mercifully stops. On his cart, Moustache creaks an eye open and lets it plop shut again. MOUSTACHE I think I preferred the rooster. Moustache’s two soldier companions stir and stretch. They roll off the cart (off Moustache first, in one case) and stumble away. The Second Soldier pauses to sniff his shirt. SECOND SOLDIER Phew! I’m going to smell like a dog all day. Moustache grumbles and flips over on his side. MOUSTACHE That’s [yawn] gratitude for you. Did my best to stink you up right. Eyes still closed, Moustache flinches as someone jabs him in the shoulder with a large, floppy object on a pole. It’s shaped like a man, but made of ragged cloth-- its uniform is all white, save for a tall black hat and high-cut boots. It has a zigzag scrawl for a mouth, and looks angry. Moustache squints at the mannequin, curling a lip.
17.
TRAINING SOLDIER (O.S.) Wouaff-wouaff! Come on, up! Wouaff! MOUSTACHE You think I sound like that? “Wouaff”, indeed. The mannequin jabs against him, harder. eyes fully now, growling.
Moustache opens his
MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) Let sleeping dogs lie! The TRAINING SOLDIER flops the mannequin around, making its arms wave aggressively. TRAINING SOLDIER Get that Austrian! Are you going to let him wake you up and steal your food? MOUSTACHE (cocks his head) No I am not! Bad Austrian!
Bad!
Moustache wobbles to his feet, barking in earnest now. TRAINING SOLDIER What are you going to do to that villain? Get up and show me! The Training Soldier stalks away with the mannequin over his shoulder, but makes it pop up and waggle at Moustache. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Rarr! Come and get me, you French fluffball! MOUSTACHE All right, you! It’s a matter of honor now. You may insult my fluffiness, but not my-(thinks about it) --not my Frenchiness! Destry, tail flicking, chomping his way through a pile of oats in a wooden bucket, gives a horse-laugh as Moustache flings himself off the cart and crash-lands. DESTRY Look at you! You’ve bounced back a bit. They’ll put you to work now.
18.
Moustache picks himself up and takes a step after the Training Soldier. MOUSTACHE Work? I’ve got an Austrian to fight. Can’t stay and chat. He hurries on. Destry shakes his head sadly and scoops up another bite of grain. DESTRY They’ve got him, all right. EXT. TRAINING RANGE Ragged mannequins, all made up to look like enemy soldiers, lean on a long fence running along the road. The French soldiers fasten bayonets onto their muskets-- some already jabbing at the mannequins with more or less vicious cries. RANDOM SOLDIER (O.S.) No, no, with feeling! HAH! Like that! The Training Soldier grabs his mannequin by the shoulders and twists its pole into the ground, leaning it against the fence and nodding, satisfied. Moustache approaches cautiously. A few other soldiers point out Moustache and shoulder their muskets or set them aside, watching. The Training Soldier takes a pre-bayoneted musket from another soldier, gives it a quick once-over, and skewers the enemy mannequin, with a twist. Moustache winces. Ah!
TRAINING SOLDIER Moustache! Give it a try?
Moustache looks at him and cocks his head, uncertain. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) No musket, no bayonet... use what you have! The Training Soldier pulls back with his musket, steps aside and makes an “after you” gesture toward the mannequin. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Sic ‘im! Moustache growls, crouches, and springs at the mannequin, knocking it off its pole. He takes the mannequin in his teeth and whips it to pieces, straw flying everywhere.
19.
Moustache looks up hopefully, a scrap of burlap in his teeth. The Training Soldier and others applaud and whistle, pleased. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Bravo, Moustache! Crude, but effective. The Training Soldier stalks over to a tree along the fenceline and whips a hatchet-like knife from a sling around his belt. He hacks a thin, low-hanging branch from the tree, perhaps the length of his arm. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) So much for offense, now for defense-He wheels around to point the branch at Moustache. it, waggling it just out of reach.
He jabs
TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Get the stick! Moustache sits up and snaps playfully at it. The Training Soldier jabs him in the shoulder, and he yelps. Moustache looks from the stick to the Training Soldier, a bit wounded. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Hurts a little, eh? Don’t go for the point. Moustache stands, serious now, and tries to intercept the stick, which jabs him in the other shoulder. Moustache growls now, distrustful. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Never meet it head on! He holds the stick out to the side a bit. Moustache is slow to follow, but light dawns-- he dashes in, grabbing the stick from the side and yanking it away from the Training Soldier. Moustache flings the stick aside with a toss of his head. The Training Soldier claps in approval. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Good boy! He crouches and slaps his knee. Moustache trots over, grinning-- the Training Soldier scratches Moustache’s head. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) No stick, no poke. We’ll work on that one some more.
20.
A montage ensues-- the Training Soldier jabs, Moustache grabs-- sometimes getting whacked on the nose or on his sides, never harder than a little slap, but Moustache looks more and more ragged. Finally the Training Soldier puts the branch up on end and leans on it. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) That’ll do for today. You’re not my only student, after all. He gives Moustache a pat on the head-- Moustache wags back tiredly and stumbles toward a little stream off the road. An OTHER SOLDIER nods to Moustache as he disappears. OTHER SOLDIER You work him like a real soldier. TRAINING SOLDIER He takes this seriously. Tomorrow we’ll see how he feels about guns. The Other Soldier whistles, impressed if a bit wary. EXT. FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE - STREAM-BANK - EARLY EVENING Moustache wobbles down to the water. He laps at it thirstily, then dunks his head. He blows out his nose and shakes off. DESTRY (O.S.) You just had to do that upstream. Destry, several paces away, regards the water with disgust. MOUSTACHE Sorry, were you going to drink that? DESTRY I’ll wait for it to flush a while. (a beat) That should do. Destry bends his neck again and takes a long drink. MOUSTACHE You were right about putting me to work. They jabbed me all over with sticks. (grins hugely) I haven’t had this much fun in ages! Destry snorts and chokes, pulling his head up.
21.
DESTRY You’re a regular mental case. Moustache flops down by the stream, stretching. His stomach rumbles, and it trembles visibly. He pats it with a paw. Hah!
MOUSTACHE Nearly forgot about you.
Moustache sniffs the air. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) When do they eat around here, anyway? Something’s cooking... Destry nods back toward the camp. DESTRY They were dumping carrots into a stew earlier. Waste of nice raw vegetables if you ask me. MOUSTACHE That’s the ticket! All this soldiering makes a fellow hungry. Moustache licks his chops, and hops to his feet. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) See you soon. DESTRY I can wait. Moustache scrabbles up the stream-bank, nose twitching. EXT. FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE - CAMPSITE The beefy CAMP COOK ladles out stew to soldiers clutching mismatched, chipped bowls and plates. Moustache tilts his head at the long line of soldiers, trots up directly to the Camp Cook, and gives a plaintive whine. CAMP COOK What do you want, you drooling mess? Moustache sits up, waggling his paws. ladling stew out of the huge pot.
The Camp Cook keeps
22.
CAMP COOK (CONT’D) Begging won’t work on me. I’ve seen too much of it. Moustache spots a dirty plate resting against a log. He snags it with his teeth and returns, sitting at the ready. The Camp Cook points down the line, jabbing the ladle-CAMP COOK (CONT’D) Wait your turn. Moustache puts the plate down, barks once, picks the plate back up, and trots to the back of the line, to the amusement of his companions. EXT. FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE - CAMPSITE - LATER Moustache drags up to the Camp Cook-- it’s nearly dark. The Camp Cook rattles the ladle around the crusty pot-empty. He shrugs. CAMP COOK Won’t need your plate. Moustache sighs, and lets his plate rattle to the ground. From behind his back, the Camp Cook pulls a soup-bone with thick hunks of meat. Moustache recovers, all wags. The Camp Cook tosses the bone and Moustache snaps it out of the air. CAMP COOK (CONT’D) You’re smarter than you look. I might find a use for you after all. Moustache wags his tail gratefully and trots off with the bone, jawing it as he goes. EXT. FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE - CAMPSITE - EVEN LATER Moustache is settled in on the cart again, hanging off the end, gnawing the clean-picked bone and yawning occasionally. Destry eyes the bone with distaste, shuddering. DESTRY Quite the grisly trophy. Moustache thumps his tail against the cart, at half-speed. Mmm.
MOUSTACHE The gristle was the best.
23.
Destry shudders. DESTRY Carnivores... MOUSTACHE I must say, [yawn] if the pay is this good all the time, a soldier’s life [yawn] isn’t bad. Moustache closes his eyes, flops his head down on the bone, and is snoring within seconds. EXT. FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE - ROADSIDE - MORNING The Roadside Rooster takes a deep breath, raises his beak to the rose-tinged sky, and lets loose with a mighty crow. SOLDIER (O.S.) Ça suffit!!! The rooster ducks as a large tin cooking pot sails over his head, bounces, and lands propped against a tree. He scowls at his unseen assailant. The rooster inspects the pot, plops down in it with his wings over the sides, and kicks up his legs. He shrugs. ROADSIDE ROOSTER Might as well try it on for size. EXT. FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE - MORNING The unseen bugler lets loose. A general moan and cursing is heard across the camp. Destry whinnies, startled awake. Moustache sits up out of a pile of straw, howling in pain. SOLDIER (O.S.) Quel bruit!!! Enough, already! The bugle cuts off with a squawk. Moustache bangs a paw against his head to clear his ear. MOUSTACHE Whose side is he on, anyway? He’s a menace with that damned bugle. The Training Soldier strolls up to the cart, whistling cheerily. He’s got the bugle, held out like a dead fish. Destry eyes the bugle and paws the ground threateningly. Moustache growls at it.
24.
BUGLER (O.S.) Hey, give that back! I was half done! TRAINING SOLDIER (over shoulder) Lucky I caught you, then! (to Moustache) Let’s go learn about guns, eh? First things first-He sets the bugle on a large rock, picks up a smaller rock, and smashes it flat with several blows. Moustache winces at each strike but finally tilts his head, impressed. BUGLER (O.S.) Mon dieu, not again! Moustache wags, his tail thumping against the cart. bobs his head in approval, snorting happily.
Destry
MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Here at last was a man with some sense. TRAINING SOLDIER (over shoulder) It sounded a little flat already! BUGLER (O.S.) Everyone’s a critic! EXT. TRAINING RANGE A sizable crowd has gathered once more. Some soldiers whistle and call out to Moustache-- he wags his tail politely but keeps an eye on the Training Soldier. TRAINING SOLDIER Good boy. Pay attention-- class is in session. Moustache sits patiently.
The Training Soldier loads, aims--
TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Remember-- very, very loud---pulls the trigger-BANG! Birds scatter from the trees. The world is suddenly full of only that sound, and it jerks Moustache’s head back. CUT TO:
25.
INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT The puppies are gathered around Moustache in a circle. He lunges, slapping his forepaw on the floor for good measure. MOUSTACHE BANG! The puppies tumble back, shrieking. Lance nearly rolls right into the roaring fireplace, but Vidette makes a scooping save with her hind-leg, turning to scowl at Moustache. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) Yes, that loud-- louder, even. CUT TO: EXT. TRAINING RANGE All other sound goes muffled as the other soldiers point at Moustache-- some amused, some with actual concern, tapping on their own ears. A ringing noise hangs in the air. Moustache dashes off for a few paces in no particular direction, then another, and hides behind a tree. The Training Soldier is already reloading. OTHER SOLDIER That was my first reaction, too. The Training Soldier whistles. Whistles again, louder. Moustache comes out hesitantly, head held low. TRAINING SOLDIER Well, what do you say? MOUSTACHE Wouaff. TRAINING SOLDIER Wouaff yes or wouaff no? MOUSTACHE (waggles head) Wouaff. TRAINING SOLDIER Sorry, old fellow, you’ll have to get used to it.
26.
Moustache sighs and slinks over, still flopping his ears. He lies down and puts his paws over his head, peeking up at the Training Soldier, who sights in again on the fluttering paper target tacked to the fence. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Whatever helps. BANG! CUT TO: EXT. COUNTRYSIDE NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY - CAMPSITE - EVENING It is raining slow and steady. Moustache is nearby, whining hungrily and shaking drops from his fur. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) On and on we marched, stopping only late at night. As we left France, the weather turned against us-- and so did the locals. The Camp Cook, partly sheltered by a lean-to, is throwing bits of meat and chopping vegetables into a big pot of stew. The fire crackles and hisses with raindrops blowing in. A KP Soldier, wrapped in a heavy greatcloak, is sitting on a tree stump, peeling potatoes. KP SOLDIER Not enough sage last time. running low...
We’re
The Camp Cook stabs a chunk of meat on his knife and points it at Moustache as rain drips from it. CAMP COOK Moustache can sniff some out. himself useful.
Make
He whistles-- Moustache perks up and trots over. The Camp Cook flips the piece of meat to him and he snaps it up. Good, huh?
CAMP COOK (CONT’D) Want some more?
Moustache wags his tail. The Camp Cook holds up a sprig of sage instead. Moustache grumbles as the Camp Cook bends down to tickle his nose with it. CAMP COOK (CONT’D) First, you fetch.
27.
EXT. COUNTRYSIDE NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY Moustache roams the hills, padding through rain-puddles-- he sticks his nose into bushes and clumps of weeds. No... no.
MOUSTACHE Definitely no...
EXT. COUNTRYSIDE NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY - WOODED HILL Keeping low and quiet, scattered soldiers are creeping uphill through the underbrush, though it thins out toward the top. By their uniforms, they are Austrian-- they do resemble the mannequins from target practice. An AUSTRIAN CORPORAL makes a “psst” sound-- his dog, a raggedeared pointer named JAG, freezes and turns to look. AUSTRIAN CORPORAL Low and quiet, Jag. We’ll catch those fancy Frenchmen with their trousers down. He draws a hand across his throat. snarling low in his throat.
Jag gives a toothy grin,
The Austrian Corporal has a satchel on a strap, from which is wafting a brown cloud of smell-- invisible to humans, perhaps, but not to Moustache. EXT. COUNTRYSIDE NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY MOUSTACHE No, not that one. Or that. And-Moustache perks his ears up, hackles raised, sniffing the air and getting a whiff of the brownish “haze” which trickles up from the woods. He bares his teeth and growls. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) Sauerkraut? And... bad cheese. Cheese that is not French! Moustache starts up with a warning bark.
28.
EXT. COUNTRYSIDE NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY - CAMPSITE Moustache’s barking is faint from here, but a few French soldiers wake, struggling out of soggy bedrolls, peeking from tent flaps, reaching for guns. One soldier gestures for others to follow, and they do. EXT. COUNTRYSIDE NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY - OVER HILL The French soldiers, guns at the ready, splash noisily over the hill and give a battle cry. The Camp Cook has a heavy skillet and his cooking knife. The Austrians startle from their hiding places and retreat as fast as they can down the hill, some falling and slipping. Moustache jumps at the Austrian Corporal and bites his arm, clawing the satchel away. The pointer Jag, bigger than Moustache, barrels into Moustache and knocks him down, pinning him in the mud. AUSTRIAN CORPORAL (fleeing) Leave him, Jag! Heel! Jag sneers, snaps his jaws on Moustache’s ear, and yanks. Moustache yelps in pain. JAG Something to remember me by. Jag snorts disdainfully and runs to follow his master. Moustache picks himself up to run after him, but is snagged in the strap of the satchel. He stops and worries it to pieces, scattering sauerkraut, cheese, and papers. He barks after the Austrians as the Camp Cook approaches. CAMP COOK Good job, Moustache! But I sent you out to find sage, not Austrians and their pickled cabbage! Moustache flops down in the mud and sighs, pawing at his ear. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Picky, picky... Far down the hill, the Austrian Corporal limps into the forest, clutching his wounded arm. At the forest’s edge, Jag turns to glare uphill, licking a tooth.
29.
JAG Every dog has his day. yours, “Frenchie”.
You’ll get CUT TO:
EXT. FRENCH CAMPSITE - REVIEW GROUNDS A line of soldiers-- uniform buttons sparkling, boots polished, all in good order-- stand ready for review. Even Destry (a soldier holds his reins) has been curried and combed-- it’s taken years off and added considerable value. The Bugler, with little round spectacles, raises the battered bugle to his lips, and honks out a quick call to attention. Moustache (ear bandaged) is standing stock-still in line by the Training Soldier, a whittled wooden gun propped carefully against one shoulder. It wobbles but he nudges it straight. CAPTAIN (O.S.) So much for Italy-- now to Egypt! It’s a new world we are headed to, gentlemen! New rules, new customs! Eeegypt.
LANCE (V.O.) Sounds made up.
MOUSTACHE (V.O.) It’s real enough. Sand and sun to fry you alive, but that’s not for a while yet. The CAPTAIN of the company strolls down the line, tapping a riding crop idly against his hip and stopping to squint at a suddenly sweating soldier. CAPTAIN You think you’re sweating now, just wait. Keep those canteens full. And water, not brandy! He taps the soldier’s canteen pointedly with the riding crop. Several soldiers grumble. Destry eyes the crop, and snorts. DESTRY (under his breath) Riding crops. I hate those things. MOUSTACHE A man hit me with one once.
30.
Just once?
DESTRY Lucky dog.
Moustache sticks his head slightly out of the line and peeks down it for a better look-TRAINING SOLDIER (O.S.) (quietly) Moustache! Moustache snaps back upright, moving just his eyes to look at the Training Soldier. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Just like we practiced, Moustache. Treat later. Moustache whips his tail happily, slapping against the side of a drum. The Drummer cuts a look at Moustache. The Training Soldier coughs warningly. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Later. The Drummer pulls the drum out of tail’s reach. stops his wagging.
Moustache
The Captain has come down the line, much closer now. He stops and rubs a button on one soldier’s overcoat. With a displeased ‘hmm’, he moves on. He tugs at another soldier’s uniform. CAPTAIN Cinch up your cross belts, Bertrand. That Egyptian sand will blow straight down your trousers. BERTRAND Oui, mon Capitane. Bertrand cinches up his loose ends, in a hurry. The Captain, closer yet, winks at the Training Soldier and stops in front of Moustache, who glances up and gulps. CAPTAIN And who is this? (a beat) Well, speak up. MOUSTACHE Mrrf.
31.
The Training Soldier keeps a straight face-- barely. TRAINING SOLDIER This is Moustache, sir. CAPTAIN What good is he? TRAINING SOLDIER Training as a guard dog, sir. can fetch a few things, too.
He
CAPTAIN And the gun? TRAINING SOLDIER I can show you, sir, if you like. The Captain grumbles with pretend displeasure. CAPTAIN Highly irregular. Proceed. The Training Soldier clicks his heels and salutes. He snags the ‘toy’ musket-- Moustache gets up and starts after him. TRAINING SOLDIER Stay! Moustache freezes mid-step, eyes cutting between the Training Soldier and the Captain. The Training Soldier lays the ‘toy’ musket flat on the ground. Moustache!
TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Present arms!
Moustache approaches cautiously-- all eyes are on him. He wriggles down flat and gets his snout under the barrel of the ‘toy’ musket. Balancing it with the stock against the ground, he tilts it up and against his shoulder as he sits up. He barks once-”all done”-- and looks expectantly at the Training Soldier. The Captain whistles, impressed, but then narrows his eyes. CAPTAIN None of you fool me for a second. I know exactly who this is. The Captain kneels. From his pocket, he pulls a leather collar, its silver medallion stamped with the name MOUSTACHE.
32.
CAPTAIN (CONT’D) Moustache, for your swift and clever warning against the Austrian ambush, I award you the rank and rations of a grenadier in the Grand Armée of France. Wear this as a mark of your courage. He fastens Moustache’s collar, then stands back. Moustache sits taller, sticking his chest out and beaming with pride. The Captain carefully reaches out with his riding crop and turns Moustache’s head from side to side, examining him. CAPTAIN (CONT’D) He’s an absolute mess, though. Have him clipped. Moustache cocks his head. MOUSTACHE Mrrf? CUT TO: EXT. COUNTRYSIDE NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY - DAY The company BARBER brushes and clips away at Moustache’s fur, shaking his head in amusement. Destry, reins lashed to a fence post nearby, gives a horse-laugh. MOUSTACHE Oh, thank god, he meant my fur-DESTRY What did you think they were going to clip? MOUSTACHE Parts that don’t grow back. The Barber snips the shaggy fur hanging into Moustache’s eyes, in one clean motion. Moustache gasps, eyes wide. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) I can see! DESTRY You’re kidding. Moustache looks at Destry and does a double-take. MOUSTACHE You’re a horse!
33.
DESTRY Now I know you’re kidding. CUT TO: EXT. FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE The whole ramshackle regiment is back on the road again, though the terrain is rockier and beginning to descend through narrow passes. Destry pulls his cart, though Moustache is on foot, keeping to a muddy ditch along the road. The soldiers’ boots keep time with the drummer, and so does Moustache-- squish, squish, squishety, squish. Moustache sniffs the air and wags his muddy tail. MOUSTACHE Hm. Must be close to the sea. Smells like fish and wet rope... DESTRY Better than wet dog. Moustache climbs up the side of the ditch onto a rocky outcrop and peers over a large drop ahead. He gives his fur a shake, pelting nearby soldiers with mud, to many curses. EXT. OVERLOOK NEAR TOULON HARBOR The harbor stretches out below, a forest of ships crowding the docks. Long lines of supplies, soldiers, cannons-- all pour down from the hillsides toward the water. Soldiers shuffle across narrow gangplanks onto the decks of the nearest ships; others pile into smaller rowboats and head for ships further out in the harbor. EXT. PORT - TOULON, FRANCE Down in the hustle and bustle, Moustache shelters behind a stack of wooden crates as soldiers and supplies stream by. Destry whinnies uncertainly as a pair of soldiers pat his sides and unhook him from the cart. MOUSTACHE Well, are we getting on? Destry bends his head and nudges Moustache with his muzzle.
34.
DESTRY You go on ahead. I don’t handle this part so well. MOUSTACHE It’ll be all right. It almost always is. Moustache slips into a gap in traffic.
Destry half-smiles.
DESTRY Silly creature. Watch out, you might give someone hope. EXT. PORT - TOULON, FRANCE Moustache tests the wooden gangplank warily with a paw, then pads up it, toward the gently swaying French Ship, soldiers with their packs following close on his heels. He risks a glance over the edge and gulps at the long drop to the swirling waters below. Moustache!
GANGPLANK SOLDIER Get a move on!
Moustache wags apologetically, and moves carefully ahead. EXT. FRENCH SHIP - DECK Moustache runs to the railing, stands up with his paws on it, scans the docks-- and spots Destry. He does a double-take. MOUSTACHE Destry! What are they playing at over there? A couple of soldiers hold Destry’s head steady as he whips around and tries to rear up. One soldier wrangles a thick piece of cloth over Destry’s eyes, tying a blindfold. DESTRY It isn’t natural, putting horses onto ships! The soldiers throw a canvas sling around Destry, and quick as lightning they have a line strung down from the ship’s yardarm with a ‘block and tackle’. One soldier tugs twice on the line-- sailors on deck heave at it, lifting Destry into the air.
35.
MOUSTACHE They’ve gone horse-fishing! him in, fellows!
Reel
Destry moves his feet, trying to run in mid-air, but relaxes and hangs, defeated, as they swing him up and over the deck. DESTRY Very funny. Keep talking, Moustache! All right!
MOUSTACHE Why?
Destry kicks a futile hoof in his direction. DESTRY If I can find you, I can drop a present on you! MOUSTACHE I’m not so sure I want it-Moustache takes a quick sidestep as a nearby soldier grunts in disgust and brushes fresh manure off his jacket. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) --no, didn’t want it. You’d never make it in the artillery! DESTRY Ha.
Ha.
Destry touches down, hooves skittering on the deck as soldiers hold him steady and un-sling him. They leave the blindfold on, though. Someone whistles for attention. Moustache turns and sticks his head over the railing. His tail starts wagging. MOUSTACHE Wouaff! Below, the Training Soldier stands up in a bobbing rowboat and waves his cap, others manning the oars. Moustache! aboard?
TRAINING SOLDIER Permission to come
MOUSTACHE (thinks about it, nods) Wouaff!
36.
A ROWBOAT SOLDIER tosses the tie-lines of the rowboat at the Training Soldier, a bit more forcefully than needed. ROWBOAT SOLDIER You and your trained poodle. You should head back to Paris and put on a show. TRAINING SOLDIER Show? I’m training him to bite! And fight! Give him a growl, Moustache! Moustache grips the railing, bares his teeth, and rumbles ferociously. It is as though a wolf has come over his features. The Rowboat Soldier gulps and waves nervously. Ça suffit!
ROWBOAT SOLDIER Call him off!
TRAINING SOLDIER Make nice, Moustache. Moustache lets his snarl relax, and snorts in disdain. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Now, catch! He throws the tie-lines-- Moustache snaps them from the air. CUT TO: INT. FRENCH SHIP’S HOLD - STABLES From the ceiling comes the rhythmic clicking of Moustache’s nails on the wooden deck. Moustache pokes his head down into the stairwell, then cautiously climbs down. He misses a rung and crashes down on his jaw, but untangles himself and gets to his feet at floor level. Swaying with the bobbing ship, suspended in slings, two horses in their stalls grumble and shake their heads at each other. They eye Moustache-- one eye at a time. OTHER HORSE 1 I don’t know why that dog is always pestering Destry. MOUSTACHE I’m right here, you know. The horses bob their heads, nickering back and forth.
37.
OTHER HORSE 2 He speaks horse! MOUSTACHE Au contraire-- you can speak dog. OTHER HORSE 1 Well, we understand each other. That’s the real problem. MOUSTACHE It’s not so hard to talk with horses, you just puff your lips out and sputter a lot. (does so) Wheeheehee-- I’m a horsh! OTHER HORSE 2 (to Other Horse 1) How long is this trip again? The Training Soldier takes a few steps down the stairs, and peers about, sighting Moustache. TRAINING SOLDIER Moustache! There you are. Stay away from those nags. OTHER HORSE 1 “Nags,” he says. Of all the impertinent-Moustache gets to his feet and staggers deeper into the ship’s hold. He leans against the side of the ship and groans, stomach making an uncomfortable squelching sound. TRAINING SOLDIER Some of them aren’t as well-bred as Destry. Or as friendly. The Other Horses paw the floor, grumbling. A soldier calls out from above, through the stairway hatch-Monsieur!
SOLDIER (O.S.) Aidez-moi!
TRAINING SOLDIER (to Moustache) Find a corner and stay put! He heads back up the stairs.
38.
INT. FRENCH SHIP - DEEPER INTO HOLD In his stall, Destry rests in his sling, swaying slightly, slowly chewing a mouthful of hay. The remainder of the bale litters the floor. Moustache wobbles in, skitters past the stall door, and back again. He looks rather green around the gills. DESTRY Welcome to my grand parlor. the sailing life?
How is
MOUSTACHE Terrible! You know, I went and [urp] looked and there is water on both sides of the ship now? DESTRY Quelle surprise. MOUSTACHE All this rolling-- and bobbing-(retches) --it’s enough to make a fellow-Moustache sticks his head down (thankfully out of sight) and unloads his stomach, noisily. Destry grimaces. DESTRY Right in my breakfast, too. (surprised) Oh, look at that. Hay is rather absorbent, isn’t it? Ugh.
Moustache throws up off screen again. nose and shakes his head.
Destry wrinkles his
DESTRY (CONT’D) Not that absorbent... CUT TO: EXT. FRENCH SHIP - DECK Moustache is draped limply over a couple of packing crates. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) I had never been so empty in my whole life. A PASSING SOLDIER pats him gently on the back. rolls a watery eye at him.
Moustache
39.
PASSING SOLDIER Ah, you’ll get your sea legs in no time. All four of them. He digs in a pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small round object, snapping some off and holding it out for Moustache. PASSING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Have some biscuit. Moustache halfheartedly opens his mouth, and the Soldier gently jams the chunk of biscuit in. MOUSTACHE (around the biscuit) Mrrf. PASSING SOLDIER De rien, you’re welcome. I would let it sit for a while. Moustache gives him exactly two wags and lies still again. EXT. FRENCH SHIP - DECK Moustache, a bit recovered, sniffs along the deck. A few soldiers sit on burlap sacks of dry goods, playing cards with a wooden barrel for a table. One looks up. CARD PLAYER Ah, Moustache! Deal you in? Moustache tilts his head. CARD PLAYER 2 I tried teaching him. He wags his tail when he’s got a good hand. Gives it right away! Moustache snorts at him. CARD PLAYER He did have a run of good luck, though. How does he take his winnings? CARD PLAYER 2 Ship’s biscuit! He digs a piece out of the burlap sack and tosses it out. rattles to a stop and Moustache pushes it around with his tongue, trying to pick it up.
It
40.
CARD PLAYER Now he looks like a shuffleboard player! He scrapes his way down the deck, nibbling at the biscuit. CARD PLAYER (CONT’D) Don’t wear a hole in the deck! Moustache flips the biscuit end-on-end but cannot grip it properly. He grumbles and fumbles along. CARD PLAYER 2 Poor fellow. It’s like trying to eat a doorknob. Moustache pokes his way past soldiers mending sails, moving crates, and tying lines. SAILOR (O.S.) Mind the boom! Moustache stands up with his paws on a crate, swiveling to look. SOLDIER 1 takes a step toward Moustache as SOLDIER 2 stops him with an arm, both drawing in a breath and wincing. Moustache shrugs, then hits the deck just as the long pole of the boom sweeps by overhead. SOLDIER 1 puts a hand on his heart, as SOLDIER 2 fans himself with his hat. SOLDIER 1 “BOOM!” is the sound it makes when it hits you. SOLDIER 2 I always thought it was more like “SPLAT!” Moustache presses the biscuit up against the railing and gets it in his jaws, working at it. He looks up-- he’s nearly at the prow of the ship, as it breaks through the waves. Sea mist sprays over the deck and whips at him. He blows seawater out of his nose, but shuts his eyes and smiles. The ship rises and falls-- Moustache splays his feet out to the sides but keeps his footing. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) It did take a while to get my sea legs, as they say. Once you get them, it’s not all bad.
41.
EXT. FRENCH SHIP - DECK - LATER Crewmen haul at a line (raising a sail, most likely). Moustache leaps in and grabs the end of the line with his teeth, digging his paws in and helping them pull. CREWMAN Good boy! CREWMAN 2 All paws on deck! EXT. FRENCH SHIP - DECK - LATER STILL The red and orange sunset swirls on the horizon. A CREWMAN looks up and whistles. High above, Moustache pokes his head over the edge of the crow’s nest. CREWMAN Moose?! How the blazes did you get up there? ANOTHER CREWMAN elbows him good-naturedly. ANOTHER CREWMAN Better question, how’s he going to get down? CREWMAN Ah, he’ll figure it out when he gets hungry. Moustache ducks back into the crow’s nest and comes up with a piece of ship’s biscuit in his teeth. MOUSTACHE (around the biscuit) Werr-raff! He retreats into his hideout. CREWMAN Or not. EXT. FRENCH SHIP - CROW’S NEST Moustache curls up against the mast supporting the crow’s nest. He has a tidy little pile of ship’s biscuit, which he makes three quick turns on and lies down on to sleep. CUT TO:
42.
EXT. SEA Billowing clouds are pierced by tendrils of lightning, and a sudden KRAK-KOW of thunder. The ship is whipped by wind and waves as crewmen scurry to secure booms and adjust the sails. EXT. FRENCH SHIP - CROW’S NEST Moustache wakes as he and his stash of supplies shake around like pebbles in a cup. He grips the side of the crow’s nest, wincing at lightning, and peers down at the chaos on deck. A few of the crewmen glance up, whistling and waving. Moose!
CREWMAN Get down from there!
There’s a stretch of netting far below. Moustache fumbles all of his legs onto the edge, gulps, and leaps out into space. A massive bolt of lightning sears through the air and splits the top of the crow’s nest, ship’s biscuit and splintered wood spraying everywhere. EXT. FRENCH SHIP - DECK THWACK! Moustache hits the netting, face smashed against it, legs poking through. Ship’s biscuit rains down after him. Dear gods!
CREWMAN That was close!
CREWMAN 2 We’ve caught us a strange fish, fellows! A dogfish! One crewman reaches up and plucks a biscuit out of the net. CREWMAN 3 And chips, looks like. Moustache rolls his eyes. A wave sweeps the ship, soaking everyone and leaving a fish flipping in the net by Moustache. MOUSTACHE (through the rope) Woo-ath. CUT TO:
43.
INT. FRENCH SHIP - GALLEY The storm has subsided, the thunder more distant, though the ship rocks and creaks. The fish, now gutted, sizzles in a pan. Moustache, wrapped in a burlap sack, shivers in front of the open galley stove. CAMP COOK Well, at least you’re not the fish. He gives the pan a flick, flipping the fish over to sear on the other side. He regards Moustache and flips him over too. CAMP COOK (CONT’D) You were nearly fried, mind you! No more clambering around in the rigging. Moustache flops his ears in agreement. CAMP COOK (CONT’D) ‘Bout time we made land anyway. I’m low on supplies and you’re too tough to cook. Moustache snorts.
The cook pats him through the sack. CUT TO:
EXT. PORT OF VALLETTA HARBOR, MALTA It’s a red sunrise. The fleet is spread out along the harbor but keeping their distance from shore. Like scattered popcorn, but much more dangerous and loud, the ships let off a mighty cannonade, battering the walls and towers of the city. Stones fall like child’s blocks. INT. FRENCH SHIP - DEEPER INTO HOLD At the blast of the cannons, dust filters from the ceiling and the ship shakes. Moustache scrambles awake under his burlap sack, kicking and clawing it off, springing to his feet and pacing nervously. Destry is also roused, neighing and bucking in his sling. MOUSTACHE What was that? More lightning?
44.
DESTRY Whew! No, no, they’re shooting at something. Or at nothing. You can never tell. From nearby, there’s a cheery sound of whistling. Training Soldier sticks his head into the room.
The
TRAINING SOLDIER Hello, fellows! Time to get off this tub and stretch our legs. Moustache is all wags.
Destry bobs his head hopefully.
TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Yes, you too, Destry. I’m afraid you’ll have to walk the plank. Destry thinks about it, nostrils flaring warily. CUT TO: EXT. PORT OF VALLETTA HARBOR, MALTA - SHORE Soldiers and sailors mill about, stretching stiff limbs, cleaning guns, washing their uniforms, and shaving. The occasional cannonball sails overhead, usually from the ships. Moustache picks his way down the wobbling ramp ahead of the Training Soldier, who gingerly leads Destry by his reins. Destry skids a bit with his hooves. TRAINING SOLDIER Slow and steady. DESTRY (under his breath) You try it with four legs. MOUSTACHE On stilts. DESTRY Not helping... Reaching the more stable platform of the docks, the trio walk down the boards until they give way to actual dirt. The Training Soldier ties up Destry’s reins in a neat bow, and spreads his hands wide. Destry snorts, looking up and down the shore. There’s maybe a quarter mile of it.
45.
TRAINING SOLDIER Go on-- get it out of your system. Destry trots in place, then thunders away at a gallop. CUT TO: INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT Moustache covers his face with a paw and sighs dramatically. MOUSTACHE Not so much as a glance back. Never saw him again. The puppies “aww” sadly (except Lance, who just squints). VIDETTE Go on, you old fraud. MOUSTACHE Well, not for around thirty seconds. CUT TO: EXT. PORT OF VALLETTA HARBOR, MALTA - SHORE Destry comes back, trotting slower, trailing a tangle of seaweed from one hind leg. The Training Soldier clicks his tongue in mild disapproval and bends to untangle him. DESTRY (to Moustache) Ran out of room. MOUSTACHE And energy? DESTRY I’m saving my strength. Moustache plops down on the ground and rolls onto his back, wiggling and twisting in the dirt. MOUSTACHE I exercise in place! running! Destry watches him for a bit.
Beats
46.
DESTRY You look ridiculous. Destry walks a few paces to find a grassy spot, lies down, and does the exact same thing. The Training Soldier shakes his head, amused, and begins shrugging off his pack. The Passing Soldier nudges him. PASSING SOLDIER Have they caught something? The Training Soldier hands him the pack. TRAINING SOLDIER Yes, and it’s contagious! He lies down in the dust and rolls with the others. Passing Soldier clutches the pack, fumbling it.
The
PASSING SOLDIER He’s gone mad! The Training Soldier springs to his feet and starts beating the dust out of his clothes. TRAINING SOLDIER Mad?! Where’s your spirit of camaraderie? We’re all mad here. The Passing Soldier shrugs. PASSING SOLDIER Touché. CUT TO: EXT. FRENCH SHIP - DECK - EVENING The Training Soldier leads Destry down a ramp into the hold, while Moustache looks back at the walled city and its harbor. Plumes of smoke drift up here and there, but there are plenty of lights on in the high stone windows. MOUSTACHE Did we win? Destry calls back over his shoulder. DESTRY That wasn’t a war! That was a minor disagreement!
47.
MOUSTACHE How can you tell the difference? DESTRY You’ll know it when you see it. He disappears below-decks. CUT TO: EXT. MAP OF MEDITERRANEAN To the tune of “La Marseillaise”, a cartoon version of the French Ship (tricolor flag flying, Moustache on deck, Destry peeking out a hole in the side) sails a simplified sea, with latitude and longitude lines. They zig-zag past scattered islands toward Egypt. Following in their wake, with “Rule Britannia” playing, is a bigger ship-- flying the Union Jack, Admiral NELSON himself scanning the horizon with a spyglass. The British Ship bristles with cannons... The French Ship ducks behind an island, Moustache and Destry dripping little beads of anxious sweat, as the British Ship sails past, unawares. Moustache and Destry sigh with relief, and the French Ship dashes on toward the Egyptian coast... CUT TO: EXT. ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT - HARBOR The French fleet is spread along the harbor, smaller landing craft swarming inland. The whole bottled-up army has been let loose on the shore-- a mass of men, animals and supplies. EXT. ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT - CITY STREETS A call to prayers wafts from a high minaret. The narrow streets are mostly empty except for cautiously advancing French soldiers. Locals peek through weathered shutters in the sun-baked stone buildings, then shut them tight. CUT TO: EXT. FRENCH SHIP - DECK Moustache is at the railing, watching the operations. The Training Soldier leads Destry out from the hold-- Destry winces at the harsh sunlight.
48.
Destry!
MOUSTACHE Are we there yet?
DESTRY This time, yes! Egypt at last. MOUSTACHE At least they aren’t shooting. DESTRY Wait until they know us better. The Training Soldier gives Moustache a quick pat on the back as he approaches, handing Destry off to another soldier. Moustache!
TRAINING SOLDIER I have a job for you. MOUSTACHE
Hrrm? Come on.
TRAINING SOLDIER I’ll show you.
He pats a hip for Moustache to follow. Moustache grumbles, but does. He looks back as Destry bobs a head goodbye. They reach the railing on the other side of the ship. The Training Soldier snaps his fingers and points out at the sea. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) English! You know them, “Les Rosbifs”? Out there! Moustache wrinkles his nose. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) What do we think of those English? Moustache curls his lip and growls out at the ocean. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) That’s right. You see them come, you bark, and you bark loud, right? Moustache barks once, affirmatively. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) One day-- two, tops. Then we’ll meet up and go see the sights! Maybe find ourselves a mummy, what do you say?
49.
MOUSTACHE Wouaff. TRAINING SOLDIER That’s what I thought. Good boy. He gives Moustache a pat on the head, then hurries off down the deck. Moustache watches the sea, growling low. EXT. FRENCH SHIP - DECK - LATER The sun is setting, shadows growing long and horizon orange. The Passing Soldier brings Moustache a dish of water. He laps at it, pushes it away, and goes back to his vigil. A montage: the sun rises, the sun sets. And again. Sailors and soldiers set down food or water now and then, but mostly step over him as he slumps onto the deck. EXT. FRENCH SHIP - DECK - MORNING The Roadside Rooster, in a wooden cage, wakes and crows. Moustache shakes his head and stands, stretching. MOUSTACHE Why aren’t you soup yet? ROADSIDE ROOSTER (shrugs) I’m always on time for work. Far out on the horizon, small dark specks are moving. They grow larger-- Moustache puts his paws up on the railing, bristling and growling. MOUSTACHE Les Rosbifs! INT. FRENCH SHIP - CREW QUARTERS Sailors are startled awake and spring from their bunks at the sound of Moustache’s insistent barking. They climb out of the hold, blinking and stretching, running to look-EXT. FRENCH SHIP - DECK Moustache can still be heard barking, but farther away.
50.
On the shore-facing side of the ship, a pair of BALLOONIST soldiers are coaxing gas out of a huge wooden cask with a hose, into a giant balloon with a woven reed basket. The balloon is moored to the boat by netting and tie-lines. Balloonist 1 nudges the basket with his boot. BALLOONIST 1 You’re not getting me up in that, not without a good stiff drink. Balloonist 2 reaches into the basket and holds up a bottle of wine and a long loaf of bread. He taps the bottle with the loaf of bread, clink, clink-BALLOONIST 2 Unfortunately I’ve got some good stiff bread for you, too. Off-screen, Moustache’s barking becomes more frantic. BALLOONIST 1 He sounds serious. I’ll go check. CUT TO: EXT. BRITISH SHIP - BOW Nelson, looking through his spyglass-NELSON What are they putting up on deck? It’s not a sail-- have a look. His adjutant, MEYERS, snags the spyglass and twists at it. MEYERS French devilry-- I’ve heard tell of those, sir-- a sort of bubbaloon, an air contraption. Nelson snorts. NELSON Well, let’s take the ridiculous thing down before they get up to any mischief. MEYERS Might I recommend heated shot, sir?
51.
Nelson collapses the spyglass pointedly, a grin touching one corner of his mouth. NELSON Meyers, that sounds incredibly dangerous, and against regulations. INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT Lance wrinkles his nose and scowls. LANCE How did you hear them? They were like a mile away! On another ship! Moustache thinks about it. MOUSTACHE I have exceptional hearing. the English are very loud.
And
EXT. OCEAN BOOM! The English cannon kicks back and a hail of red-hot metal streaks through the air. EXT. FRENCH SHIP Sailors cry out and hit the deck as everything is peppered by the metal-- wood and sail catch flame, sailors and soldiers are hit, and timbers fly into splinters. One sailor bats a flame out on another’s uniform, with a burlap sack. INT. FRENCH SHIP - BELOW DECKS A cannonball barrels through the side of the ship, caving it in. Water rushes in through the wreckage. EXT. FRENCH SHIP Though firing return shots, the ship begins to tilt precariously in the direction of its mortal wound. Everything not tacked down starts a stomach-churning slide. FRENCH SEAMAN Sauve qui peut! Every man for himself!
52.
MOUSTACHE Every man? What about dogs? What about dogs?! Moustache scrabbles over to the railing and starts to climb it, but sees a soldier jump, glance off the side of the ship, and tumble away to his doom. Moustache gulps, hesitating. Another Soldier grabs the basket of the nearly-full balloon and puts a foot over, but Balloonist 1 yanks him back. BALLOONIST 1 It won’t take your weight! The Soldier scowls, scanning the deck. SOLDIER It’s taking someone! Moustache is in mid-jump when the Soldier grabs him. He thrashes, but the Soldier heaves him into the balloon basket. SOLDIER (CONT’D) You’ll thank me later. He unsheathes his sabre, slashes the tie-lines, and gives the basket a kick-- the balloon leaps up and away from the ship, flinging off the netting. Moustache gets to his feet and hangs over the basket’s edge, not quite daring to jump. INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT The puppies gasp, except for Lance, who rolls his eyes. LANCE So now we’re supposed to believe you could fly. Moustache tilts a paw, comme ci, comme ça. MOUSTACHE Not very often. And not very well. EXT./ INT. BALLOON BASKET Moustache barks at the disappearing ship and tilts his head. MOUSTACHE What has he gotten me into? really, what is this thing?
No,
53.
The balloon rises uncomfortably high, the battle far below reduced to cotton-puff explosions of cannons, the ships no more than smouldering miniatures... Moustache flops down in the basket, covering his head with his paws. He peeks through and finds the wine and bread. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) (sighs) If I’m flying to the moon, at least I’ve got provisions. He gnaws at the baguette, winces, and lets it drop, wiggling a tooth with his tongue. He holds the bottle down, gets his teeth around the half-inserted cork, and pulls it with a pop, lapping up wine as it spills. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Manners are the first thing to go in a war. His ears perk up and he twists around, sniffing. MOUSTACHE Something smells... burnt. Looking up, he spots it-- in the rigging of the balloon, a glowing ember smoulders. The smoulder turns to a spark, then creeping flame. It envelops the balloon and eats holes, gouts of fire leaping out. The balloon collapses and dives. Moustache scoops up the wine and baguette, then slams against the basket, sand spraying as it smashes into the beach. CUT TO: INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT The fireplace pops and crackles, an ember jumping into Moustache’s fur, glowing. Moustache breathes deeply. MOUSTACHE I can still smell it! The ocean lashing, my fur singeing-VIDETTE You’re on fire. Moustache turns and places a paw on hers momentarily.
54.
MOUSTACHE --you’re too kind. (turns back) My fur singeing-VIDETTE No, not your description. on fire.
You’re
Moustache whips around as the fire spreads in his fur. leaps to his feet and grits his teeth.
Lance
LANCE I was born for this. He turns around (discreetly away from view), lifts a leg, and extinguishes the fire with pinpoint accuracy. Moustache covers his eyes in shame. VIDETTE Hah! Well done, son. They should turn you into a fountain at Versailles. Over in his chair, the human Grenadier wrinkles his nose and looks suspiciously at his pipe. GRENADIER Moustache! Is that you? moldy wig caught fire?
Or has a
Moustache huffs. MOUSTACHE You see? The respect I get for all my heroism. EXT. EGYPTIAN COAST Moustache crawls out of the overturned basket, and flees the wreckage as fire consumes it. Soldiers rush in with buckets of seawater. Glowing embers eat into Moustache’s fur. CAPTAIN Sacre bleu! What a stench! One of the embers flares up, Moustache’s hair crackling and smoking. He yelps, twisting and turning to look. Roll over!
CAPTAIN (CONT’D) That’s an order!
55.
Moustache obeys, wiggling and smothering the sparks. A soldier stalks over and scoops sand onto Moustache, until he’s half-buried. Moustache grumbles, but bears it. CAPTAIN (CONT’D) I don’t want to hear of any of my soldiers setting foot in these flaming deathtraps again! OTHERS Oui, monsieur, Never, never... (etc.) CAPTAIN Especially four-footed ones. Moustache thumps his tail sheepishly, scattering sand. TRAINING SOLDIER (O.S.) See what happens when I leave you alone for a couple of days? Moustache leaps up, shaking off the sand. Master!
MOUSTACHE And Destry, mon ami!
The Training Soldier is riding Destry. They pace along the shore, surveying the wrecks of the French fleet, smouldering out in the waves and beginning to wash up in pieces. Destry grinds out a smoking scrap of balloon with a hoof. DESTRY Well, it’s official. MOUSTACHE What? DESTRY You’re a menace by land, by air, and by sea. MOUSTACHE Nice to see you too. The Training Soldier turns to the Captain, who is staring out at the sea and numbly, quietly counting the ships on fire. CAPTAIN Gods, what a disaster.
56.
TRAINING SOLDIER Mon capitane, is there anything I can do? CAPTAIN I could use some good news. The Training Soldier points inland as Destry paces in place, chomping at the bit. TRAINING SOLDIER That, I can give you. Our fortunes have been better on land. We’re going across the desert. Rolling dunes of stand stretch as far as the eye can see. Destry shakes his mane, sighing. MOUSTACHE And this is good news how, exactly? EXT. ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT - OUTSKIRTS The last scraggly grass gives way to loose sand. A long line of French soldiers, horses, and wagons stretches ahead into the shimmering distance. The Training Soldier whips a battered tin dish out of Destry’s saddle-bag and uncorks his canteen. He pours water into the dish and taps it. Moustache drinks, a bit sloppily. TRAINING SOLDIER Carefully, Moustache. Moustache slows, cocking his head. refills the dish.
The Training Soldier
TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Again. It’s the last you may get for a while. EXT. DUNES The sun beats down on the trailing, winding mass of French Soldiers. Sweat beads on foreheads and pools under arms. A soldier loses his footing and takes a tumble down a duneside-- his pack and bags are scattered. Others drag him out of the sand, but stumble on without the equipment.
57.
Moustache plods on, step by step, tongue hanging out. Destry bobs his head, flinging sweat, as flies circle his eyes-- the Training Soldier bats at them too, slapping one on his neck. One of the flies lands on Moustache’s nose. He dislodges it with a puff of air-- it flies off to land on a nearby rock, where it disappears with a sizzle and short scream. MOUSTACHE Even the flies-- dropping like flies-No talk.
DESTRY Dries you out.
MOUSTACHE Still need to pee. DESTRY What’s-- stopping you? MOUSTACHE Afraid sand will come out. One of the soldiers at the lead, at the top of a dune, points beyond, waving his arms joyously. FOOLED SOLDIER It’s a lake! He drops his pack and musket and scrambles away-TRAINING SOLDIER Stop, you fool! Others rush to follow. Moustache starts off too, but the Training Soldier puts a boot out to stop him. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) This is a strange land. (to the running Soldiers) Soldats! ARRETEZ-VOUS! STOP! He, Destry, and Moustache cautiously crest the dune-- a shimmer is in the air, rapidly fading, but no lake. FOOLED SOLDIER It was here! OTHER SOLDIER I saw it too!
58.
TRAINING SOLDIER (cups hand and calls) Just a vision! Un mirage! The Fooled Soldier falls to his knees and scratches wildly at the sand. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Pick him up, he’s lost his head! (to Moustache) Sorry, old fellow. No lake. He whips out the canteen again. Moustache looks up at him, licking his own dry, crusty lips. The Training Soldier dismounts and pours water into one cupped hand-- holding it up for Destry, who gratefully sucks it down. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Just enough to wet your nose, I’m afraid. The Fooled Soldier shoves away the others as they haul him to his feet. He climbs the dune and wrestles his pack out of the sand, giving it a good shake. He grits his teeth. FOOLED SOLDIER Sorry, sir! The Training Soldier remounts Destry and flicks the reins. TRAINING SOLDIER An honest mistake. Let’s go find the real thing. CUT TO: EXT. NILE RIVERBANK Lush reeds line the river, and irrigation canals stretch deep into the rich black silt along its sides. In those fields run vines, and on those vines grow huge deep-green watermelons. The trickling sound of water is everywhere. Egyptian Workers dig at the canals with hoes and picks, mopping at their foreheads as they work up a sweat. One WORKER, tanned and stripped down, bends to thump a ripe melon. He nods, satisfied. His smile falls as he looks up-A huge mass of French soldiers staggers toward them, tongues hanging out, hands reaching, uniforms half undone.
59.
The other Egyptians scatter, dropping their hoes and picks (and a watermelon or two). The Worker plucks the melon from the vine, backs warily into a nearby mud-brick house, and shuts the rough door with his foot. A moment later, Frenchmen, horses, and at least one dog storm in-- wrenching up watermelons, jumping into the irrigation canals and the river, hooting and hollering and splashing. INT. MUD BRICK HOUSE The Worker, huddled in a corner, rests his head on the melon, as horrible squelching and yelling and whinnying are heard-WORKER (Arabic, with subtitles) Allah save me-- another plague of locusts... EXT. NILE RIVERBANK - LATER Watermelon rinds are scattered about. Moans and groans and curses sound throughout the impromptu encampment, soldiers holding their stomachs or stretched out along the ground. The Training Soldier picks through the muddy mess, mounted on Destry, with Moustache splashing happily in the mud alongside them. The Training Soldier covers his mouth and nose. TRAINING SOLDIER Too much water, too quick! And too many watermelons! The Fooled Soldier, who is now sans pants, cries out. FOOLED SOLDIER Ah, God, I wish that last melon was a mirage! OTHER SOLDIER We’ve all got the runs! Other soldiers are being carted off on makeshift stretchers, writhing in agony. TRAINING SOLDIER Pull yourselves together, men! keep your powder dry-- we’ve sighted the enemy!
And
60.
The men come alive (some drag themselves off the ground), fastening belts, grabbing rifles, and whistling cheerily. Moustache barks, turning circles in different directions. MOUSTACHE At last, a real fight! DESTRY Careful what you wish for. The Training Soldier draws his sabre and points it up-river. TRAINING SOLDIER Allons-y! With a roar, the soldiers, horses, and one dog splash and crash away from the mangled watermelon fields. The Worker creaks the door of the hut open and steps out. Sighing and shaking his head, he retrieves a hoe leaning against the hut, and begins smoothing out the mud. EXT. RIVERSIDE The French Army has formed itself into more orderly lines as they march up-river to the beat of the drums. In the middle of the mass of men, Moustache hurries to keep up with Destry. DESTRY This is more like it. Stretch the legs, cover some ground. MOUSTACHE I don’t like that cloud out there. In the distance, billowing along the ground, is a wide haze of dust, and a low rumbling. DESTRY That’s not a cloud. It’s a welcoming committee. In the cloud, growing closer, glints of metal sparkle. MOUSTACHE (gulps) Why don’t I feel welcome? EXT. DESERT The approaching enemy cavalry, the Mamelukes, wear colorful silks, turbans, and crossed belts with pistols.
61.
They brandish long curved swords, yelling as they rush headlong toward the French Army, battle standards flying. EXT. RIVERSIDE The Training Soldier pulls up short. TRAINING SOLDIER COMPANY HALT! They do. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) FORM UP YOUR SQUARES! BAYONETS! Soldiers rush forward, kneeling and readying their rifles, another row just behind them standing. Lines of soldiers join to create hollow squares, with horses and carts and cannons on the inside (cannons at the inside corners). TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) ARTILLERY! HAVE AT THEM! EXT. DESERT French cannonballs hurtle into the mass of enemy cavalry, taking them out in huge swaths. The Mamelukes bear down on the infantry square, one WILD-EYED RIDER’S HORSE frothing mad and whinnying as his master spurs him on. EXT. RIVERSIDE Destry, behind the French soldiers and their bayonets, whinnies back angrily. The Training Soldier pats his neck. MOUSTACHE Oh, la la-- are you going to let his horse talk to you like that? DESTRY I don’t know the language, but I don’t like his tone! The Training Soldier raises his sabre, holding it ready as the line of soldiers load and take aim...
62.
TRAINING SOLDIER Apprêtez armes-- en joue-(chops the air) --FEU!!! The wave of Mameluke riders is met with a blistering hail of bullets-- some horses drop in their tracks, riders flung off (many shot off, too). MOUSTACHE Way to show them! DESTRY I can’t take much credit! terrible shot!
I’m a
Mameluke riders crowd close but cannot break inside, firing pistols into the infantry square, their horses rearing away from the bristling bayonets. After a murderous volley of musket fire from the second row of French soldiers, there’s a break as they reload-- with mad screams, a few Mamelukes including the Wild-Eyed Rider break into the square. Moustache barks furiously, rushing at the Wild-Eyed Rider-his horse kicks out and catches him in the shoulder. Moustache tumbles away with a yelp, but staggers upright. TRAINING SOLDIER HOLD THE SQUARE! Riders, to me! The musketeers withdraw reluctantly as a few mounted French troops rush in after the Mamelukes. The Mamelukes whirl about, slashing wildly with their swords, horses rearing. The Wild-Eyed Rider levels a pistol at the Training Soldier, who is busy with another Mameluke. Moustache sees, rushes toward the Wild-Eyed Rider, and lunges for his horse’s reins, yanking them brutally with his teeth. The horse twists violently aside, throwing off the Wild-Eyed Rider’s shot. It passes harmlessly through the bearskin helmet plume of a nearby musketeer, as the Wild-Eyed Rider is thrown back into the wall of French defenders, who beat him with their gun-butts in a gruesome flurry. Moustache watches, wincing at the sound of each strike. He turns to see the Training Soldier run the other Mameluke through with his sabre, then send him tumbling off his horse (and off the sword) with a quick kick of a boot.
63.
TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) (to Moustache) Well done! Don’t let any more in! Moustache barks “yes”, and turns back to bark at the enemy. The outside of the infantry squares are littered with dead and dying Mamelukes and their horses. A tattered handful of Mamelukes sound a retreat and gallop away up the river. Victory cries of “Vive L’Empereur! Long live the Emperor!” go up all around. The Wild-Eyed Rider’s horse rears and kicks as soldiers struggle to keep him contained. WILD-EYED RIDER’S HORSE (Arabic, with subtitles) Hands off, infidels! DESTRY He’ll have to learn some French. MOUSTACHE And some manners. He kicked me! DESTRY Hm. Maybe we’ve got something in common after all. Moustache scowls. EXT. HILLSIDE - OVERLOOKING EGYPTIAN TEMPLE Moustache and his companions crest another hill, but below is a marvelous sight-- imposing stone columns and wide paths, towering statues of pharaohs-TRAINING SOLDIER Let’s go see if anyone’s home. He clicks his tongue and flicks Destry’s reins-- off they go. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) There were more battles, of course. But true to his word, he took Destry and I to see all the sights.
64.
EXT. GIZA, EGYPT - MARKET NEARBY PYRAMIDS Camels-- some with packs, some with riders, one digging in its heels and making a GRONNK sound as a soldier tugs on its reins-- tread the dusty paths between the merchants’ stalls overflowing with spices, grilling meat, fabrics, trinkets... Huh.
MOUSTACHE Look at the lumpy horses.
Destry speaks to Moustache out the side of his mouth. DESTRY Camels. (a beat) Same job. No relation. Moustache ‘ohh’s in recognition. EXT. GIZA, EGYPT - SPHINX Moustache perches on the undamaged nose of the Sphinx-- but it crumbles underfoot and he backpedals away, leaving it with its famous snub-nosed profile. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Some of the sights were very old and fragile. A nearby Artist sketching the Sphinx scratches out his nearcomplete sketch, wads it up, and shakes it at Moustache. INT. EGYPTIAN TOMB Soldiers and scientists, lit by torches, crowd around a sarcophagus as it is pried open-- a mummy’s hand drapes over the side, trailing a long strip of wrappings. Moustache snags the cloth, dashing around a corner and unraveling it behind him as the humans pursue him, cursing. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Some of them were old, fragile people. I got into trouble. EXT. TRANSLATOR’S TENT A cart driver pulls up outside with Destry and the Training Soldier. Moustache is riding with a huge, dark, jagged block of stone, the cart creaking under its weight...
65.
MOUSTACHE (V.O.) And some we took along with us as souvenirs... INT. TRANSLATOR’S TENT The TRANSLATOR peers at the writing on the stone through a magnifying glass. He gives a huge blink, eye magnified. TRANSLATOR Why have you brought me this worthless hunk of rock? The Training Soldier runs his finger along the stone. TRAINING SOLDIER There were some interesting markings along the-TRANSLATOR Those Egyptian scribbles? read those! No one can.
I can’t
Absentmindedly, Moustache lifts a leg against the stone. TRANSLATOR (CONT’D) What-- bad dog! Out! Moustache cringes and slinks toward the tent flap as the Translator grabs a tattered rag and swipes the stone dry. TRAINING SOLDIER Monsieur, look! There at the bottom, is that Greek? The Translator leans in, pushing up his glasses and squinting. He beams in recognition. TRANSLATOR Yes, it is! And if it’s a match for the old Egyptian text, then-(a beat, to Moustache) Good dog! Moustache wags his tail, thumping the dusty ground. CUT TO: INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT Vidette gives a dismissive ‘hmpf’.
66.
VIDETTE So that’s the Rosetta you were talking about. I assumed it was another one of your floozies. Moustache sniffs, feelings a little hurt. MOUSTACHE You are the only floozy that matters. Vidette sighs and waves him on. EXT. CAIRO, EGYPT - DOCKS - NIGHT Moustache pads carefully up the gangway to the waiting ship-it’s a frigate, smaller and sleeker than before. He looks back, the city with its mosques and towering minarets, lamplight flickering in windows of the clustered houses. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) There was so much to see. But word came that our France was in danger-so back to the sea we went. INT. SHIP Destry’s in a sling again, upright in a stall. Moustache sways back and forth in a hammock nearby, moaning. DESTRY What happened to those sea legs of yours? MOUSTACHE Urr... I think they ran off. DESTRY Want some hay? MOUSTACHE Gods, no. DESTRY More for me, then. EXT. FRÉJUS, FRANCE - SWAMPS The frigate sits out at sea as smaller boats row toward the shallow, swampy port.
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In one, the Training Soldier helping to man the oars, Moustache is perched on the bow. Destry lies on his side with a blindfold around his head. DESTRY Are we there yet? Moustache looks back from his perch. MOUSTACHE Now who’s impatient? (turns, scans the scene) Not France... Not France... France! We’re here! Destry thrashes a bit. DESTRY Thank God. Get this filthy thing off my head. The Training Soldier pats Destry’s side, calming him. TRAINING SOLDIER Easy, Destry. Have you back on dry land before you know it. I’ll give you an apple. Destry sighs, relieved. DESTRY He always knows just what to say. EXT. FRÉJUS, FRANCE The soldiers and sailors pile out of the rowboats, dragging them up the muddy banks onto firmer soil. Moustache hops out and collapses, hugging the dirt fondly. MOUSTACHE Ah, terra firma! Home once more! No waves, no sand. Several soldiers, and the Training Soldier, carefully lever Destry up onto his knees, then to his wobbly feet. The Training Soldier gingerly peels off the blindfold and Destry blinks in the sunlight, shaking his head and stepping over the side of the boat onto squishy land. DESTRY Don’t know. This terra’s not too firma. And a chill’s coming on.
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Wind whips leaves across the shore.
Destry shudders.
MOUSTACHE Fine by me! I could even do with a little snow. CUT TO: EXT. GREAT ST. BERNARD PASS The army pushes through huge mounds of snow up the frozen mountainside. Moustache struggles through a snow-drift. Destry’s carrying a heavy load-- the Training Soldier walks ahead on foot, leading Destry. MOUSTACHE I said a little snow! DESTRY I blame you for this. MOUSTACHE That’s not fair! DESTRY No, but it’s fun.
Cold, stiff fun.
All of the human soldiers are carrying supplies too-- 60-to70 pound packs with bedrolls, provisions, ammo pouches... CAPTAIN Rossignol! Get off those damn things and pull your weight! On a pair of rough wooden skis, soldier ROSSIGNOL slides along, pushing himself with one long spiked pole. ROSSIGNOL I’ve got my full pack, Captain! CAPTAIN Bah! Suit yourself. But you look like a Norwegian on those damn boards! Rossignol picks one up and wiggles it. ROSSIGNOL Skis! Just watch! In a few years everyone will be wearing them!
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EXT. GREAT ST. BERNARD PASS - LATER Moustache drags his body through the snow, legs and body caked, whiskers turned to little icicles. MOUSTACHE D-do I look as cold as I feel? DESTRY You even sound cold. You make a little tinkly noise when you walk. Destry slows as they pass a MULE-- breathing in frozen puffs, ice hanging from his shaggy muzzle. He’s straining uphill against a yoke, pulling a long, hollowed-out log with a cannon barrel strapped onto it. (to Hang on (to How are
DESTRY (CONT’D) Moustache) a moment. the Mule) you holding up, old fellow?
The Mule nods over his shoulder at the cannon. MULE Dragging... a little... Destry snorts, nodding seriously. DESTRY That’s a heavy load. I couldn’t do it. Plus fort, mon ami. Stay strong! Destry gives the Mule a brief but friendly nuzzle, then moves on with Moustache. The Mule smiles tiredly, pulling harder. MOUSTACHE That was g-good of you. ever talk to them.
You hardly
DESTRY I try not to get attached. be lucky to last the day. Destry’s voice cracks, lip trembling.
He’ll Moustache shudders.
MOUSTACHE All the more reason, then. With a k-kind word, he might pull through. Destry gives him a brief grateful look, but shakes his head.
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MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) What? DESTRY You surprise me sometimes, that’s all. The Training Soldier, hands wrapped in thick rolls of cloth, whistles to Moustache, who waddles over. The Training Soldier bends to give Moustache a hug with one arm. With the other, he gently bats the snow away from Moustache, working him over. He lets go and slaps his hands free of snow. Moustache shakes the last of it from his fur. TRAINING SOLDIER Well, what do you know? There was a dog under there! A Chuckling Soldier pauses, laughing to himself and eyeing Moustache. A Companion Soldier nudges him in the ribs. COMPANION SOLDIER What are you on about now? CHUCKLING SOLDIER Oh, just a trifle. Here we are crossing at St. Bernard Pass, and the only dog in the regiment is no St. Bernard, but rather a caniche-a poodle! He tosses this last word at Moustache like a friendly accusation. Moustache snorts disdainfully, slogging through the snow again. The Training Soldier points off the road. TRAINING SOLDIER There is one of your more famous cousins, Moustache! Up ahead, a brown and white St. Bernard, SNOW ANGEL (larger than Moustache) bounds through the snow, pausing between leaps-- after some small prey in the snow, perhaps. All goes slow-motion as Snow Angel raises her head, sunlight shining through her snow-tipped fur and long eyelashes. Solid, muscular, yet feminine. Moustache does a double-take as time catches up. Cousin?
MOUSTACHE I think not.
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Moustache gives a friendly bark. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) Hello, my snow angel! SNOW ANGEL I am not yours, soldier boy! Moustache lies down and thrashes dramatically in the snow. MOUSTACHE But I need rescuing! rescue dog, yes?
You are a
SNOW ANGEL Some cases are ‘opeless! The Training Soldier whistles. TRAINING SOLDIER (O.S.) Moustache! Heel! Moustache whines and rises from the snow, looking from the soldiers to Snow Angel and wagging his tail wistfully. SNOW ANGEL Bring me the boot of an Austrian next time! MOUSTACHE When I pass this way again, I will melt your cold heart! SNOW ANGEL Oh, go on, big talker. Fight! Fight!
Fight!
The Training Soldier hears this last bit, but just as a friendly “bark! bark! bark!” from Snow Angel. He approaches and gives Moustache a gentle prod with his boot. TRAINING SOLDIER No time for winter games, Moustache. (points) Over the pass before we freeze! Moustache sighs, drudging ahead, glancing back at Snow Angel, who has gone back to her hunt. Moustache winces. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) That luxurious fur! Those shapely but powerful jaws--
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INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT Vidette growls, jealous. She slams her paw down on a nearby dish of water, splashing Moustache and startling the puppies. VIDETTE You needn’t go into detail about your other romantic escapades. Moustache shakes his fur all over, flinging off water. MOUSTACHE Escapade? Hah! A missed opportunity, more like! Moustache rolls over on his back, dog-paddling.
He sneezes.
MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) If she were here, she could save me from drowning. Oh, cruel fate! Vidette wrinkles her nose, flicking water from her paw. VIDETTE “Snow Angel” indeed. tart...
Frozen
EXT. GREAT ST. BERNARD PASS - BELOW MONASTERY - NIGHT The rocky bluffs level out ahead of the winding line of French soldiers, leading up a more gentle slope now, toward a monastery-- the Great St. Bernard Hospice, a glowing refuge in the deepening dark. The snow is up to Moustache’s shoulders, and he’s building up a good collection of it again on his fur. EXT. GREAT ST. BERNARD PASS - MONASTERY COURTYARD The monastery windows glow with candles and lanterns, the line of soldiers passing, in small groups, into a pool of light in the courtyard and moving on. As they pass, black-robed monks hand out loaves of bread and huge wedges of cheese to the soldiers (they tear off hunks with their teeth and shove the rest into each other’s packs). The monks also pour red wine into wooden bowls, quickly slurped down-- one wise soldier holds out his canteen as a monk shrugs and carefully fills it.
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Behind the monks, steam billows out of a doorway. cups his hand to his mouth and yells inside. MONK Frère Boulanger! batch coming? Demi-cuit!
A Monk
How is that next
BOULANGER (O.S.) Half-baked!
INT. GREAT ST. BERNARD HOSPICE - KITCHEN Monks dash around the kitchen, dismembering huge wheels of cheese with double-handled knives on the rough wooden tables; toting jugs of wine and baskets of bread. At the back, Boulanger (in monk’s robes) hefts trays of rounded bread dough into a roaring stone oven, sweat glistening on his massive arms. He glances heavenward. BOULANGER We could use your miracle with the loaves and fishes again, Lord. He begins to whistle a tune, perhaps a hymn. EXT. GREAT ST. BERNARD PASS - MONASTERY COURTYARD Destry and Moustache step into the courtyard, led by the Training Soldier. Destry is thoroughly chilled, but Moustache is a solid waddling ball of snow. A Monk puts a hand on the shoulder of the Training Soldier, and points down an alley, where light glows in rows. MONK Stables! You can warm your horse, and... whatever that thing is. The Training Soldier nods his thanks. Moustache’s ears are plastered to his head and he walks stiffly. Boulanger’s whistling can be heard from the kitchen door-and the slap of dough on a bread-board. One of Moustache’s ears perks up, popping free from the snow. MOUSTACHE Imp-p-possible-Destry nudges him toward the door.
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DESTRY G-go thaw yourself. MOUSTACHE S-same to y-you. Moustache hobbles for the door. Another Monk steps in his way, but the Monk waves him back. MONK Dogs are welcome!
Leave him be!
Another Monk nods and stands aside. Moustache totters inside. INT. GREAT ST. BERNARD HOSPICE - KITCHEN The huge cheeses and flowing wine bustling around him hold no interest for Moustache. He has only eyes for the blazing oven at the far end, and it looks like heaven. He draws as close to the fires as he can, stretching, and begins to thaw out of his frozen shell. Boulanger carefully steps around him, tilting his head curiously, and kicks open a stove grate closer to the floor. Warmth floods out and Moustache relaxes in a puddle of melt. BOULANGER I wouldn’t put a dog out on a night like th-It hits. BOULANGER (CONT’D) Crouton? Moustache wags his half-frozen tail-- slush-slush-slush. Boulanger stoops and wraps him up in a bear-hug. BOULANGER (CONT’D) Oh, my yeast and flour, it is you. Of all the places to meet again-(to the other staff) Quick! Bring a bowl of wine! No, no, make that brandy! Boulanger looks Moustache over and squints at the medallion on his collar (he has to brush snow off that, too). BOULANGER (CONT’D) “Moustache”? Moustache unhinges his cold jaw and ‘wouaff’s for yes.
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BOULANGER (CONT’D) But you have made a name for yourself then. You’re famous! This earns a hopeful “mrf?” from Moustache. his hand, comme ci, comme ça.
Boulanger tilts
BOULANGER (CONT’D) A little. Moustache rolls his eyes. “Mrf.” BOULANGER (CONT’D) The soldiers, they are all saying, “Save a drink for Moustache,” so I was thinking you were a soldier. And I suppose you are. Wag-wag-wag. A Monk hands Boulanger a bowl, and he holds it up for Moustache, who laps at it. His eyes widen and he wrinkles his nose, coughing, but he doesn’t stop. BOULANGER (CONT’D) That will warm you up from the inside. (cups a hand, whispers) I am a little too fond of it myself. MONK (clears throat) You know he’ll have to go, brother baker-- there are no poodles in our pedigrees. The Monk bends and gives him a quick pat anyway. MONK (CONT’D) Good dog. It’s not your fault you’re a poodle. Moustache cocks his head and grumbles a bit at that. BOULANGER Ah, he’s just an old friend come to visit. Places to go, right? A bark for yes again. Moustache gets to his feet, and starts to shake himself dry, but looks around. Boulanger nods his approval, hands on hips. BOULANGER (CONT’D) Well, you remember kitchen rules. No shaking.
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He grabs a spare monk’s robe from a shelf. A nearby monk starts to protest, but waves Boulanger off as he rubs Moustache dry, his head poking through the hood. BOULANGER (CONT’D) Send this soldier off with a good supply of bread for the road. MONK He came in with a fellow and his horse. They can carry it. Boulanger nods, and hands the wet robe to another monk, who holds it out at arm’s length and marches off with it, fuming. BOULANGER A bite for now, and a bite for later, hein? He tousles Moustache’s fur and snags a hunk of cheese. He breaks some off for Moustache, who takes it gently and chews. Boulanger gives a short whistle and an ‘eyes here’ motion-Moustache watches intently as Boulanger makes the sign of the cross, still holding the cheese. BOULANGER (CONT’D) Be a blessing to your companions-a watchful eye in the night, a faithful friend, and a reminder of simple joy. He tucks the cheese under Moustache’s collar. Moustache takes a half-step toward the door, but spots a lone apple that has rolled away from its companions and off a worktable. Moustache paws at the apple and looks up for permission. BOULANGER (CONT’D) That won’t fit under your collar. But why not. Moustache wags happily and snags the apple in his teeth. He gives a bittersweet whine. BOULANGER (CONT’D) I pray our paths cross again. Twice in this life was a miracle. He holds Moustache’s head, kisses him on the forehead, and nods to the door. Moustache wags goodbye, pads to the doorway, shudders at the chill, then trots back outside, breath puffing frozen clouds around the apple.
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EXT. GREAT ST. BERNARD HOSPICE - STABLES The wooden doors along the row of stables are shut tight. Moustache trots up to a side door lit by a lantern, and puts a paw up on it, rattling it. The door cracks open and a CURRIER MONK peers through. Oh!
CURRIER MONK It’s that dog.
Moustache? ice?
TRAINING SOLDIER (O.S.) Is he still a ball of
CURRIER MONK No, just... scruffy. (to Moustache) Get in, get in! Moustache slips inside and the door shuts quickly behind him. INT. GREAT ST. BERNARD HOSPICE - STABLES The Currier Monk and his brethren are busy tending to the horses-- drying them off, laying blankets over them, picking snow and dirt out of their hooves. CURRIER MONK Well! Come for a trim? Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve given a dog a haircut. Moustache sighs, sets down his apple, and climbs up on a rough wooden stool, perched and ready. CURRIER MONK (CONT’D) Will you look at that? I wish the horses were that easy. TRAINING SOLDIER Moustache is sharp. He’s gotten me out of some deep scrapes. The Currier Monk brushes, clips, and combs at Moustache. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) All downhill from here, Moustache! Off this mountain, and then we fight-- Austrians. Moustache growls quietly at this and turns toward him, but snaps back to haircut posture.
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CURRIER MONK Ooh, menacing! A few more like him, and they’ll just surrender. Moustache snorts.
The Training Soldier shakes his head.
TRAINING SOLDIER Holed up in a fort, I hear. We’ve got our work cut out. CURRIER MONK Tangles cut out first. There you go. Sleek and deadly. Moustache nods, pleased and much better groomed. He hops down from the stool and shakes, little hairs drifting onto the stable floor. He picks up his apple and works his way down the line of horses, standing up against the gates and looking into the stalls one by one. TRAINING SOLDIER Looking for Destry? MOUSTACHE (around the apple) Werr-raff. TRAINING SOLDIER Up ahead on the left! Moustache wags and moves on. CURRIER MONK He knows his left from his right? TRAINING SOLDIER He could probably follow street directions. If you kept it simple. By the far wall of the stables, Moustache perks up and climbs onto a wooden barrel to jump a gate. He pauses. MOUSTACHE (around the apple) Hewo, Destwy. DESTRY Moustache! They didn’t bake you into a pie? Moustache jumps down and sets the apple on a pile of hay. Destry looks at the apple, wide-eyed, slack-jawed.
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MOUSTACHE I’m too tough to cook, remember? Brought you something, though. DESTRY An apple. You found-(chokes up) You’re good to think of me. MOUSTACHE Merry Christmas. DESTRY It hasn’t been Christmas for-well, until now. Merry Christmas, Moustache. Moustache wags his tail, turns three circles on the hay, and curls up as Destry retrieves the apple and slowly chews it, eyes rolling with delight. EXT. AOSTA VALLEY, ITALY - MORNING The Training Soldier, on Destry, picks his way down a rugged mountain path, as a long line of French soldiers, supplies, and munitions trail ahead and behind them. Moustache trots alongside. There is snow, but patchier and less deep. Below, there is a massive backup in the flow of French progress, with the army keeping out of cannon range of an impressive stone fort nestled along one wall of the valley. TRAINING SOLDIER Looks like a bit of a roadblock, eh, fellows? Two French cannons let loose below-- one shot falls short and another bounces off the fort, leaving a minor dent. A bigger cannon up in the fort returns fire, landing dangerously close to a French position-- artillery pulls back further, with a frantic creaking of wagons. Destry grumbles and paws the earth; Moustache winces at more cannon-fire. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Well, this won’t do. Better go see if we can help out. EXT. AOSTA VALLEY, ITALY - VALLEY FLOOR An artillery CREW CHIEF looks up from guiding his men, as they heave at a cannon.
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Sergeant!
TRAINING SOLDIER We’re pinned down!
CREW CHIEF Yes, Lieutenant! They’ve got the high ground. We’ve picked at them for days. TRAINING SOLDIER Getting nowhere with the direct approach, then. He dismounts and ties Destry’s reins to a nearby wagon. CREW CHIEF Any better ideas, sir? The Training Soldier shields his eyes and looks at the village houses climbing the hill, alongside the fort. TRAINING SOLDIER One or two. (to Moustache) Moustache! Can you be very, very quiet and sneaky? Moustache lies down and crosses his paws over his muzzle. EXT. AOSTA VALLEY, ITALY - VILLAGE STREETS - NIGHT The Training Soldier and Moustache creep from alley to alley, the fort looming below and to their right. They are close enough to see the occasional sentry peer above the walls . The village itself is on lockdown. The only lights are in high windows behind shutters. No villagers to be seen. TRAINING SOLDIER (whispers to Moustache) Up! As high as we can! MOUSTACHE (quietly) Mrrf. The door of an inn cracks open, sending a slice of light across the cobblestones. The Training Soldier and Moustache shrink back into the shadows. The Innkeeper peers out, ‘hmm’s suspiciously, and clicks the door shut. The Training Soldier and Moustache breathe, and move on.
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They come to the foot of steps leading up to a rough stone church at the highest point of the village. The Training Soldier looks down on the fort-- all of its guns and soldiers are pointed toward the front, toward the French. The stone fortifications are also not as strong from behind. TRAINING SOLDIER They aren’t watching their back. If we were only a little higher-A whining sound, very quiet, and the Training Soldier looks up-- Moustache perches in a high window of the church, wagging. The Training Soldier grins. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) That’ll do. EXT. AOSTA VALLEY, ITALY - BEHIND CHURCH - NIGHT With a pulley (one soldier stands by with an oil-can above), French soldiers pull on ropes and heft a 12-pounder cannon up to a mezzanine in the church. Straw is stuffed in and around the wheels of the cannon’s carriage, to muffle its passage. INT. AOSTA VALLEY, ITALY - CHURCH - NIGHT The cannon creaks to the front window of the church, as the Training Soldier and the Crew Chief sight in on the wall below. The Crew Chief nods at the Training Soldier, who crosses his fingers for good luck. EXT. AOSTA VALLEY, ITALY - VILLAGE STREETS - NIGHT A huge flame and roar-- a cannonball hurtles down and strikes the thinner wall in the rear of the fort. Chaos erupts below as defenders stream toward the breach, but French musketeers stand up from hiding places in the hills to pick them off. TRAINING SOLDIER Found a soft spot! (to the artillery crew) Do it again! BOOM! EXT. AOSTA VALLEY, ITALY - FORT ENTRANCE - MORNING The Austrian flag comes down on a flagpole above the fort, and a white flag goes up. A somber line of Austrian soldiers marches out of the massive front gates.
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As the Austrians file past the watchful French soldiers, their own band of musicians knock out a half-hearted version of “La Marseillaise”. They pile their weapons in front of the French General and his aides. The Training Soldier stands holding Destry’s reins as the Austrians are herded into a barricaded square nearby. TRAINING SOLDIER Easy pickings, Moustache! His smile falls a bit. Too easy.
TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Don’t get used to it.
Moustache looks up at him and gives a worried grumble. EXT. ITALIAN COUNTRYSIDE - FRENCH CAMP - EVENING The camp is settling down for the night. Destry is stretched out on a grassy hill, and Moustache is sitting by a crackling campfire, licking his chops as a stew-pot simmers. An Odd Soldier-- uniform mismatched, and a bit too clean-rides in on a pretty but tired mare, ROSELLE. Destry whinnies, trotting over and giving her a friendly nuzzle. DESTRY Roselle, my horsey flower! It has been too long. ROSELLE Your flower is wilted. Water me with your words some other night. DESTRY So I shall. What keeps you out so late? Roselle rolls her eyes, nodding at her back. ROSELLE I had my humans shot off me twice. And this one has a-She tugs at the reins. ROSELLE (CONT’D) --bad sense of direction.
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Destry clicks his tongue sympathetically. Moustache tilts his head and watches closely as the Odd Soldier dismounts and begins tying up Roselle’s reins to a nearby fence. He fumbles with the knots, looking around nervously. Moustache’s hackles rise and he growls, pacing in a wide arc. He barks once, then again. A SUSPICIOUS SOLDIER looks up from polishing his boots, ‘snapping’ his rag in irritation. Destry taps his hoof impatiently, rolling one ear back. DESTRY You’re going to get in trouble making all that racket... MOUSTACHE Something’s wrong with this one. I know it! And I smell... sauerkraut! Moustache barks again. The Suspicious Soldier wipes his hands clean on a COMPANION’s trouser leg. COMPANION Hey! SUSPICIOUS SOLDIER They were already dirty. Rider! You there! ODD SOLDIER Hm? The Odd Soldier adjusts his hat and nervously eyes Moustache, who keeps up his low-intensity growl and curls his lip. SUSPICIOUS SOLDIER Our dog doesn’t like you. Where are you headed? What’s your regiment and rank? MOUSTACHE (under his breath) Something is certainly rank. ODD SOLDIER If you must know, I am a courier, just on my way through. SUSPICIOUS SOLDIER Where’s your messenger pouch? (a beat) Enough. MES AMIS! AU SECOURS!
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The Companion springs up, holding the boot like a hammer. A FIREBRAND SOLDIER gets up from a campfire, holding a burning log like a club-The Odd Soldier pushes the Suspicious Soldier roughly against a nearby tree, staggering him for a moment. The Odd Soldier pulls a knife from Roselle’s saddle pack and cuts the reins free. He flings one leg up on the saddle as Roselle rears up, but Moustache leaps in and chomps down on his other leg, dragging him off. Other Soldiers drag the Odd Soldier to his feet, calm Roselle, and pull Moustache off, though Moustache strains and barks wildly. The other Soldiers keep a tight grip on the Odd Soldier as the Suspicious Soldier steps in close. SUSPICIOUS SOLDIER (CONT’D) Odd bird we’ve got. Let’s ruffle his feathers and see what we find. He pats the Odd Soldier down roughly and feels something crinkle in his jacket. He reaches in and pulls out a large scrap of paper, squinting as the Firebrand soldier leans his burning log in for light. FIREBRAND SOLDIER Those look an awful lot like... troop movements. The Suspicious Soldier raises the scrap and shows it round. SUSPICIOUS SOLDIER We’ve got ourselves a spy, my friends! He bends and pats Moustache fondly on the head. growl turns to a bark-- a happy one this time.
Moustache’s
SUSPICIOUS SOLDIER (CONT’D) Or should I say, Moustache has got himself a spy! Good job, mon ami! (turns to the Odd Soldier) You’re in for a rough stretch. The Odd Soldier gulps. EXT. ITALIAN COUNTRYSIDE - FRENCH CAMP - TENT - NIGHT The Training Soldier sweeps utensils, books, and bric-a-brac off a cluttered table. Flanked by other soldiers, he spreads the spy’s scribbled map out flat and slams the spy’s dagger down, stabbing a spot by a river. It reads “MARENGO”.
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TRAINING SOLDIER His friends can’t be far off. know we’re coming.
They
Zooming in on the map, it comes alive, a river flowing out from the knife point, with formations of French troops approaching the river and Austrian troops dug in just beyond. EXT. NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY - RIVERSIDE Broken by small swampy islands, the river winds through low hills. On the right bank, waiting solemnly, rows of Austrian soldiers watch the grasslands on the other side. To the sound of the drums, the French army draws near-- out of musket range for now. Near the front of a column of French soldiers, the Training Soldier brings Destry up short, Moustache pacing nervously. MOUSTACHE There are rather a lot of them. DESTRY Remember Egypt? You did all right. MOUSTACHE These Austrians seem-- closer somehow. And quieter. I don’t like it. DESTRY That’s because you’re not a complete idiot. Over on the far bank, nosing through the front rank of Austrians, is an ugly and familiar face-- Jag, the pointer from the Austrian ambush so long ago. He sights Moustache and strikes a menacing pose, snapping his jaws. JAG FRENCHIE! Come out and fight! Moustache bristles, putting a paw to his own tattered ear. FLASHBACK: Jag sneers, snaps his jaws on Moustache’s ear, and yanks. Moustache yelps in pain. JAG (CONT’D) Something to remember me by.
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END FLASHBACK Moustache bolts toward the river, baying like a hellhound. DESTRY I take it back. Complete idiot. Soldiers on both sides nearly start after them. The dogs splash and scramble toward a tiny island in the middle of the river, snuffling and blowing water out as they face each other down. Jag sniffs the air dramatically. JAG Is that perfume? Moustache sniffs the air and sneezes. Yes.
MOUSTACHE I call it French Victory.
JAG Blood is better. They leap at each other, going for the throat, the eyes, the soft underbelly-Jag snaps at Moustache, clamping down on a mouthful of fur. Moustache rips away-- Jag paws fur off his tongue, spitting. JAG (CONT’D) Not much dog to you, is there? MOUSTACHE Plenty where it counts. mother.
Ask your
Jag snarls and lunges. Moustache yelps as the pointer’s jaws find his shoulder, then flash around his throat. On the French side, Destry stares in helpless horror. Training Soldier whistles and beckons to a Corporal.
The
TRAINING SOLDIER Sharpshooter, now! CORPORAL Could hit anything at this range, or nothing-TRAINING SOLDIER Now, or it won’t matter! On their little island, Moustache thrashes in the larger dog’s jaws, but more and more weakly.
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MOUSTACHE (fading out) You’re-- really ugly-- up close-BANG! Jag’s eyes go wide and he unclenches his jaw. Moustache rolls away, wheezing. Jag drops in his tracks, kicks a leg a couple of times, and is still. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) Still ugly. He puts a paw to his head and draws it back bloody. His ear lies like a fallen leaf, cut straight off by the bullet. TRAINING SOLDIER One Austrian dog down! Now for the rest! He points his sword across the river. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) FORWAAAARD!!! Volleys of musket (and cannon) fire erupt from both sides, stray bullets kicking up mud all around Moustache and the dead Jag. The Austrians hold their positions as the French scramble down the riverbank and across the river. MOUSTACHE Well, if we’re going that way... Moustache splashes into the water toward the Austrian line, barking, as French soldiers reach the island. FRENCH SOLDIER Give ‘em hell, Moustache! The Austrian bayonets look like a forest of spikes. More concerned with the French soldiers, the Austrian Corporal does not see Moustache dash in through a gap. The Austrian Corporal fumbles his musket and falls back as Moustache worries his leg and pulls at his boot. The Austrian Corporal retrieves his musket and jabs at Moustache with its bayonet, wounding him in the shoulder. Moustache pulls back to the water’s edge, yelping, but keeps his teeth locked around the boot, pulling it off. The Training Soldier, riding Destry, splashes past Moustache onto the Austrian side of the riverbank, slashing with his sabre. He calls over his shoulder.
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TRAINING SOLDIER Back, Moustache! Moustache drops the boot and barks, limping after them. DESTRY You softened them up for us! TRAINING SOLDIER Good job, now back! Moustache grumbles and backpedals. MOUSTACHE They should have taught me how to shoot. He picks up the boot and slinks back into the water, trailing blood from his shoulder. CUT TO: INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT Vidette narrows her eyes suspiciously. VIDETTE Wait-- you kept the boot? MOUSTACHE Well, of course! She asked me... um, never mind. VIDETTE "She"? FLASHBACK: EXT. GREAT ST. BERNARD PASS Snow Angel, suffused with soft sparkling light and frosted with glittering snowflakes, bats her long eyelashes. SNOW ANGEL Bring me the boot of an Austrian next time!
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INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - NIGHT VIDETTE Oh, I’d give her the boot, all right. MOUSTACHE That was before I met you. You can't hold that against me, can you? VIDETTE I'll do my best. Moustache grins and pushes himself to his (remaining) feet. MOUSTACHE If I’m already in trouble-- watch this! Moustache stumps over to the First Grenadier (maybe sleeping, maybe drunk, or both) and nuzzles his hand. VIDETTE What are you-FIRST GRENADIER Hm? Ah, Moustache, mon ami! I have already fed you two times. Moustache makes a consternated sound. FIRST GRENADIER (CONT’D) Not food? Moustache grabs an ammunition bag with a long strap and pulls it over. FIRST GRENADIER (CONT’D) Oh? That old thing? All right, I’ll get your Austrian chew-toy. The Soldier digs in the sack. He holds up something brown and shriveled-SOLDIER (shudders) Oh, mon dieu, so that’s where your missing leg went-- and ear---but stuffs it back inside, and brings out a lumpy thing wrapped in old cloth, flinging it out onto the floor.
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SOLDIER (CONT’D) Ah, there’s the boot. It’s the Austrian boot, chewed to a fine state of flimsy. MOUSTACHE It goes missing now and then but I always sniff it out. It has a certain “je ne sais quoi”. Vidette wrinkles her nose. VIDETTE The word you’re looking for is “stench”... Moustache snatches it with his teeth and drags it over close to the fire. The puppies all “oooh” in awe, and sink their teeth into it, ripping at the toe, gnawing at the heel. MOUSTACHE You don’t mind, do you? VIDETTE It’s a filthy piece of rotten leather. Of course they can play with it. CUT TO: EXT. NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY - RIVERSIDE Moustache drags himself out of the mud, boot in tow. A few wounded French soldiers prop each other up as they hobble off; one’s propped up against a tree, a bandage around his head. One lies face-down, beyond help. HOBBLING SOLDIER Moustache! They got a piece of you too! Here it is! The Hobbling Soldier pulls a leathery scrap out of his ammo pouch-- Moustache’s ear. SUPPORTING SOLDIER Can we sew it back on? He eyes it against Moustache, who sneezes at it. HOBBLING SOLDIER Doubtful.
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SUPPORTING SOLDIER Come along with us, Moustache! Sawbones will stitch you up. Moustache wobbles his head, flopping his one remaining ear. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) I will admit, Sawbones is not a very reassuring nickname. GRUMBLE (V.O.) Did he really saw your bones? MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Well, legs don’t just come off by themselves. EXT. ITALIAN COUNTRYSIDE - FRENCH CAMP - EVENING Assistants tend to the wounded-- wrapping bandages, helping them drink steaming tin cups of hot broth, pulling a blanket over one casualty’s face. A more fortunate fellow is being wedged into the back of an ambulance carriage on a stretcher. Two CARRIAGE HORSES stand ready. One flips his mane impatiently. CARRIAGE HORSE 1 Race you this time. Good luck. hip.
CARRIAGE HORSE 2 We’re joined at the
Seated on a tree stump, the dark-haired, shaggy-locked regimental surgeon SAWBONES is working on a soldier’s broken arm when Moustache stumbles close, still dragging the boot. SAWBONES (nods toward Moustache) Well! Would you look at that? BROKEN ARM SOLDIER What, over-With the soldier momentarily distracted, Sawbones pulls and twists-- the soldier’s arm leaps back out straight. BROKEN ARM SOLDIER (CONT’D) AGGGH! Sawbones quickly cinches the sling around the soldier’s arm.
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SAWBONES Keep that lined up for a couple of months, and you might even hold a musket again. (turns to Moustache) Now, who’s this fuzzy gentleman who’s come to visit? Sawbones slaps his thigh and Moustache steps closer, uncertainly. He grumbles as Sawbones traces his ear and shoulder wounds in the air, but then scratches him behind his remaining ear. Moustache rolls his eyes happily. SAWBONES (CONT’D) Canine anatomy holds no secrets from me. I can play you like a cheap fiddle. Moustache grumbles and cuts his eyes at him. Apologies.
SAWBONES (CONT’D) Like a fine violin.
Sawbones turns away and flips open a little pouch, holding up a long curved needle and threading it. SAWBONES (CONT’D) Now for that shoulder. This is not going to tickle. Moustache makes a concerned sound. EXT. NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY - RIVERSIDE Moustache’s shoulder is shaved bare and stitched up. hobbles along the riverbank, nose twitching.
He
MOUSTACHE (V.O.) I could not shake a sort of curiosity about my fallen enemy. Floating face-down, the dead Austrian pointer Jag drifts downstream. Moustache sights him and splashes into the water, dragging him halfway onto the bank. TRAINING SOLDIER (O.S.) Moustache! You’ll pop your stitches. Come away. Moustache noses at the body as the Training Soldier hops from Destry’s saddle, crouches and puts a hand on Moustache’s back. Destry eyes Jag, pawing the ground and grumbling.
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TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Leave him be, Moustache. Moustache whines, looking from the Training Soldier to Jag. The Training Soldier scratches his own head. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Well, if you’re tired of looking at him, we can at least give him a proper burial. EXT. NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY - ROADSIDE At one end of a growing ditch, the Training Soldier shovels at the rough, rocky soil; at the other end Moustache digs in a flurry of dirt. DESTRY I’m not much help at digging, I’m afraid. MOUSTACHE We’ve got it. The Training Soldier sets his shovel aside and grabs a piece of rope. He runs it around Jag’s collar and ties it off. He whistles for attention-- Moustache leaves off digging. The Training Soldier tosses the free end of the rope at Moustache-- he catches it with his teeth. TRAINING SOLDIER Go on, Moose. I think this is a tug-of-war you are likely to win. Moustache backs out of the ditch, dragging Jag into it with the rope. Jag rests easy in the ditch; it’s a good fit. EXT. NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY - ROADSIDE - LATER The Training Soldier throws a last shovel of dirt over the now-covered grave, and tamps it down. Moustache gives it a few stomps himself for good measure. TRAINING SOLDIER Better now? Moustache looks at the Training Soldier and grumbles. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) All right, I’ll say something. (clears throat) (MORE)
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TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) God, into your arms we send this fallen soldier. He was set against us, but it was not his fault. May he rest in peace, and may all war and anger fade from this Earth. (to Moustache) Is that better? Moustache barks for “yes” and trots off to the shade of a nearby tree (Destry is tied up nearby). He turns three circles and lies down, licking his wounded shoulder. DESTRY If we did that for everyone, we’d never have time for fighting. MOUSTACHE Sounds like a plan. Moustache leaves off licking, and rests his head on his paws. EXT. NEAR ALESSANDRIA, ITALY - ROADSIDE - MORNING The Roadside Rooster, on a cart overloaded with random supplies, sticks his beak out of his wooden cage. Psst.
ROADSIDE ROOSTER Hey. Dog boy.
Moustache shifts in his sleep. MOUSTACHE Mrrf? The Roadside Rooster takes a dramatic breath, and blasts a cock-a-doodle-doo. Moustache cringes. Complaints start up all over the camp. Moustache wiggles his one ear with a paw. MOUSTACHE(CONT’D) Cock-a-doodle don’t. ROADSIDE ROOSTER You’re on sentry duty. I don’t think you’re supposed to be asleep. Moustache shakes his head, rattling a chain.
A chain?
He stands up and stretches, but finds he’s chained to a newly constructed hut, a kind of sentry post. MOUSTACHE Oh, no-no-no...
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Destry “hmms” and gives him the once-over. DESTRY Well, you slept like the dead. Good morning. Moustache walks out as far as he can, pulling and biting at the chain. MOUSTACHE What’s good about it? I hate it!
I’m stuck!
DESTRY Now, now, let’s have a look. From his own hitching post, Destry takes one end of his reins and pulls-- it comes un-knotted and Destry ambles closer. Destry bends to sniff at the collar, turning his head from side to side for a better look. DESTRY (CONT’D) That’s on solid. You aren’t going anywhere. Watch me. second.
MOUSTACHE I’ll have this off in a
He strains at the very end of the chain, face going puffy. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) ...I was wrong... Kick it! DESTRY Sorry? MOUSTACHE Don’t be dense! The booth thing-kick it! DESTRY If your head comes off, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Destry plants his front legs and kicks at the sentry hut with his back ones, a mighty bash. The hut rocks backward. There’s a sudden SNAP sound and Moustache tumbles off in a pile. Destry rushes over as Moustache lies with his tongue hanging out. Destry pushes at him with his nose.
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Moustache!
DESTRY (CONT’D) Speak to me!
Moustache’s eyes roll back around, but the tongue stays out. MOUSTACHE Woo-ath. DESTRY (breathes, relieved) Smartest thing you’ve said all day. Moustache reels in the tongue and scrapes himself off the ground. MOUSTACHE Give me time. It’s early. He touches his rubbed-raw neck with one paw and suddenly crouches low, sniffing around in the scrub brush. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) Where has it gone? DESTRY Your head’s still on. MOUSTACHE No, my collar! It has my medal-He looks up and winces.
Destry turns to follow his gaze.
The broken collar dangles from a tree branch. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) Hold still. DESTRY What-Moustache backs up and runs at Destry, leaping onto his back. Destry turns circles and bucks as Moustache scrambles. Hey!
DESTRY (CONT’D) Stop it!
MOUSTACHE Easy! Easy! This will only take a second. Destry sighs, but plods reluctantly under the tree branch. Moustache balances on his back paws and snags the collar with his teeth. The Roadside Rooster applauds.
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Bravo!
ROADSIDE ROOSTER What a show!
DESTRY Get off my back before someone else sees us. Moustache hops down. DESTRY (CONT’D) That was humiliating. What now? Moustache sets the collar down. MOUSTACHE I need a change of scenery. DESTRY Hm. You could try the cuirassiers, over east a little from here. MOUSTACHE Cuirwhatsit? That’s a funny word. DESTRY Cuirassiers. They wear big shiny metal pieces. And they could fix that collar. Perfect.
MOUSTACHE Coming along?
Destry looks both ways. Me?
DESTRY I have responsibilities. MOUSTACHE
Chicken. The Roadside Rooster coughs and waves him on. ROADSIDE ROOSTER Leave me out of this. Moustache snorts at him. DESTRY Oh, fine, I’ll tag along, but only for a little while. Moustache picks the collar back up.
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MOUSTACHE (around the collar) You will get ufed to the tafte of freedom! DESTRY I’d rather have the taste of oats. They set off down the road. The Roadside Rooster waves. Tootles!
ROADSIDE ROOSTER Be sure to write! MOUSTACHE
Wrrf? DESTRY He’s been in that cage too long. EXT. ITALIAN COUNTRYSIDE - EASTBOUND ROAD Moustache and Destry trot leisurely along the road. DESTRY The Lieutenant is going to miss you. Moustache growls a bit. MOUSTACHE (around the collar) That’f what he getf for chaining me up. DESTRY It’s in their nature. They always hold onto things too hard. Faint, but growing closer, is the sound of a hammer on metal. DESTRY (CONT’D) We must be getting close. EXT. FRENCH CUIRASSIERS’ CAMP A BLACKSMITH with massively muscled arms holds up a battered piece of armor-- a back plate for a cuirass. He sets it on his anvil and knocks a large dent out with a mallet. Setting that aside, he picks up a front plate and turns it around. He puts a hand through a giant jagged hole over the chest area of the plate and wiggles his fingers.
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BLACKSMITH He won’t be wanting that one back. MOUSTACHE (O.S.) Werr-raff! BLACKSMITH What’s all this, then? Some dog.
CUIRASSIER (O.S.) Brought us a horse!
Moustache prances proudly into the camp, head held high with his collar-- and Destry’s reins-- in his mouth. DESTRY (under his breath) I brought myself, thank you. The Blacksmith lays aside his battered breastplate and cautiously takes both the reins and the collar from Moustache. He pulls the medal from the collar, rubs it clean against his trousers and squints at it. BLACKSMITH “Moustache”, eh? I’ve heard a few tall tales about you. The Cuirassier comes closer and plucks the medal out of the Blacksmith’s hand. CUIRASSIER Looks like silver. Might fetch a fair price. Moustache begins a low growl. The Cuirassier tosses the medal in the air. The Blacksmith snatches it away. BLACKSMITH You’re a disgrace! Would you steal another soldier’s honor, sell it for a bottle of rum? CUIRASSIER It would have to be good rum-BLACKSMITH Bah! You’re worthless! Come along, Moustache. The safest place for this is back around your neck. We’ll set your scruffy horse straight, too.
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DESTRY (under his breath) Whose horse? Excuse me? Moustache wiggles his head, wobbling. MOUSTACHE I’ll have to loan you out. I don’t have the balance for riding. EXT. FRENCH CUIRASSIERS’ CAMP - ARMORY Whistling cheerily, the Blacksmith digs in piles of odds and ends, up to his arms in leather straps and buckles. He pulls out a length of metal-studded leather, lays it on a nearby tree stump and whacks it shorter with a hatchet. Destry, watching proceedings, takes a startled step back. Retrieving Moustache’s medal, the Blacksmith clicks a pair of pliers together twice, bends a link of metal, and slips it around the collar. He cinches it up around Moustache’s neck-- good as new. BLACKSMITH Tell me you like it. Moustache stretches his neck and gives it a shake, jingling the medal-- just the right size. He nods. MOUSTACHE Wouaff. BLACKSMITH Glad you approve. The Blacksmith strokes his chin thoughtfully. BLACKSMITH (CONT’D) But if you are going into battle with us, you will need armor. This will be my greatest challenge. MONTAGE: 1. The Blacksmith grinds at the battle-damaged breastplate with a foot-powered wheel, sparks flying. 2. A forge’s fires, leaping -- a glowing sheet of iron pulled from its glowing depths with a pair of tongs.
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3. The Blacksmith, raising his hammer, bringing mighty blows down upon the metal against the anvil and showering sparks. 4. Straps being tightened around Moustache, as the shell-like armor and a fearsome wolf-like helmet are fixed to his frame. 5. Moustache standing straight and proud, prepped for war like a knight of old. He takes two steps, tilts over topheavy, and rolls onto his back, armored legs flailing. CUIRASSIER (shrugs) Ehh, it was an experiment. BLACKSMITH Shut up and help me take it off. EXT. ITALIAN COUNTRYSIDE - EASTBOUND ROAD The Blacksmith, now mounted on HIS OWN HORSE and strapped into his own huge set of plate armor, flicks the reins and gives a ‘hyah!’ as the company sets off at a gallop. The Blacksmith has Moustache (no armor) slung over a shoulder as they bounce along. His Own Horse groans, glancing back. HIS OWN HORSE He was heavy enough without extras! MOUSTACHE I’m not extras! I’m essentials! Destry, the Cuirassier saddled up on him as they dash alongside, whinnies in amusement. DESTRY Keep telling yourself that! EXT. MAP Moustache, Destry, and the Cuirassiers-- represented by a tricolor French flag-- take a long road from Alessandria, Italy, thundering north-west, a little past Vienna. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) There were a few minor skirmishes here and there, but they were nothing compared to where we were headed. Austerlitz! There were the Austrians--
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The Austrians sweep toward Austerlitz on the map, its doubleheaded eagle flag fluttering and giving a screech-PUPPIES (V.O.) GRRR! MOUSTACHE (V.O.) And the Russians-Likewise, to the sound of Russian marching music, sweeps in a Russian flag with its double-headed eagle-PUPPIES (V.O.) GRRR? MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Correct. Double GRRR. PUPPIES (V.O.) GRRR! (quieter) Grr. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) But, you know, what made it even more confusing was that we had an eagle too. At least ours only had one head like any sensible bird. EXT. AUSTERLITZ, AUSTRIAN EMPIRE - BATTLEFIELD The Training Soldier rides a gray horse, golden-eagle-headed battle standard, its standing out in the gloomy, foggy field, soldiers around and behind him as far as marching with barely a sound.
and carries the bright colors columns of French the eye can see,
MOUSTACHE (V.O.) And as long as that Eagle was moving forward, our men were moving with it. From a breast-pocket, the Training Soldier pulls a scrap of something and rubs it with his thumb-- Moustache’s severed ear, long dried up. TRAINING SOLDIER Ah, Moustache! What would you say about such a sight? “Wouaff,” most likely. He puts the ear away, and his eyes ahead.
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EXT. AUSTERLITZ, AUSTRIAN EMPIRE - HIGH ON HILL Watching and waiting on the high ground, the Austrian Corporal looks down over the field-- the only motion is the swirling fog, as the distant tramp of feet comes closer. AUSTRIAN CORPORAL They’re out there. Why don’t they show themselves? Or cry out? OTHER AUSTRIAN They’re trying to scare us. AUSTRIAN CORPORAL (gulps) It’s working. The reddish sun, rising higher now, begins to cut through the fog. Revealed, as though from under a shroud, waves of French, a rising tide, an ocean. The Austrian Corporal stares, slack-jawed, as drums begin to beat below and the French speed their march. OTHER SOLDIER Jesus, how are there so many? AUSTRIAN CORPORAL HOLD THE LINE! THEY’RE COMING! EXT. AUSTERLITZ, AUSTRIAN EMPIRE - BATTLEFIELD The Training Soldier and his Grenadiers hurl themselves at the hill, front ranks mowed down by Austrian fire but hardly noticing as more come up behind to take their place. Artillery opens up from the heights-- cutting holes in the mass of French which seal up quickly-- the French just get angrier, and quicker. A cannonball plows into the Training Soldier’s column, knocking him off his horse, and both of them into the air. He lies alone with the battle-standard, gripping the top half of the broken pole. A pocket of furious Austrians advances. His fallen horse kicks twice, then lies still. He puts a hand on the horse as he pushes himself up. Sorry.
TRAINING SOLDIER You were a good horse.
He draws his sabre as the Austrians circle and close in.
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TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) Join you in a moment. MOUSTACHE (V.O) So, my friend, my old master-- he had one more thing to teach me. GRUMBLE (V.O.) What was that, Papa? MOUSTACHE (V.O.) He taught me how to lose. EXT. AUSTERLITZ, AUSTRIAN EMPIRE - BATTLEFIELD - NEARBY The flag!
TRAINING SOLDIER (O.S.) Rally to the flag!
Moustache’s ear perks up, though the French soldiers, pushing forward, do not hear, and do not turn. Hold fast!
MOUSTACHE I hear you!
He dashes in the direction of the Training Soldier’s cry. Around the wooded corner, he skids to a halt and curls his lip, barking furiously. Five Austrians surround the Training Soldier. Two lie dead at his feet. He still grasps the broken flagpole, face drained and bloodied. TRAINING SOLDIER Moustache, mon ami! Get help! MOUSTACHE (snarling) I am the help. An Austrian finishes loading his gun, and fires, striking the Training Soldier in the shoulder. He is rocked by the blow, but turns to face the Austrians again-Moustache flies in, a flurry of teeth and lashing paws, hurling himself on the hindmost Austrian’s leg. HINDMOST AUSTRIAN Gott in Himmel! He pounds at Moustache with the butt of his musket, but Moustache has locked on.
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The Training Soldier goes to one knee and drags himself forward. He is struck by another shot. Wobbling, he wraps the flag around himself, loses strength, and falls. The Austrian aims for the kill, but Moustache lets the other enemy go, jumps in from the side and knocks the rifle away as it fires, snarling and snapping. The Austrians scramble back-- the rifleman snatches his weapon off the ground, whipping the bayonet back to point at Moustache, who circles, trying to outflank him. AUSTRIAN This dog has some steel in his backbone! OTHER AUSTRIAN We’ll give him steel all right. BAYONETS! The Austrians ready their bayonets and advance on Moustache and the Training Soldier. Moustache paces, baring his teeth and barking furiously. Behind the looming Austrians, there is a flurry of activity as French soldiers wheel a cannon into place. Moustache bites at the rifles’ bayonets as the Austrians jab at him. The Training Soldier glances beyond the Austrians. AUSTRIAN The banner! Get that banner! TRAINING SOLDIER (fading) Moose-- get down-Moustache looks back with a “hrr?” sound. The French cannon fires, and the air is full of whistling grapeshot. Moustache flings himself to the ground but is hit in the leg-- Crying out, the Austrians fall, scattered. As the cannon smoke clears, Moustache tries to rise but his foreleg cannot take the weight. Broken. He holds it out, and stumbles over to lick the face of the Training Soldier. The Training Soldier creaks an eye open. TRAINING SOLDIER (CONT’D) (weakly) Good to see you.
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MOUSTACHE Wouaff. TRAINING SOLDIER I’m sorry-- chained you up. you didn’t like it.
Know
Moustache curls around him, head on his cheek. MOUSTACHE Quiet, quiet. Not angry. TRAINING SOLDIER Letting you go now. His eyes slide shut for good. MOUSTACHE Master? Get up. Get up! (no reply) Oh, not you too. Why you? Moustache howls with grief. He shoves at the Training Soldier-- no response. Breathing deep, he grabs the regimental flag in his teeth and pulls hard-- the Training Soldier’s hand is clenched too tight to free it. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) (through his teeth) They’re not going to get it. Not theirs! Moustache tears the flag away from the pole. He limps off carrying it in his teeth, toward the French soldiers. EXT. AUSTERLITZ, AUSTRIAN EMPIRE - BATTLEFIELD Moustache drags the muddy flag up to the French, who are loading, firing, and advancing on the now-fleeing Austrians. ONE SOLDIER notices Moustache, who drops the flag and barks. One Soldier elbows ANOTHER SOLDIER, who does a double-take. ANOTHER SOLDIER Our battle flag! But where’s the Lieutenant? One Soldier hands his rifle to Another Soldier and carefully picks up the flag, Moustache watching intently. ONE SOLDIER Worry about Moustache first!
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ANOTHER SOLDIER He’s a dog! One Soldier tucks the flag in his pack, then scoops Moustache up, hefting him over his shoulder and snagging his rifle. ONE SOLDIER As far as I’m concerned, he’s THE dog. This isn’t some dirty napkin he’s brought us! ANOTHER SOLDIER Fair point. Get him back to Sawbones! Moustache shudders, but lays limp on One Soldier’s shoulder. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) A trip to Sawbones was always serious. EXT. AUSTERLITZ, AUSTRIAN EMPIRE - MEDICAL STATION Wounded soldiers are scattered about, in various shape-- from broken legs to head wounds, a catalog of human brutality. Medical staff rush here and there tying tourniquets, holding down struggling patients-Into this horror strides the One Soldier with Moustache. stalks toward Sawbones, who is directing traffic. Sawbones!
He
ONE SOLDIER Sir! Quick job for you!
He sets Moustache down on a nearby, abandoned stretcher. SAWBONES Ah! I know this fellow. Got himself jabbed with some Austrian steel a while back. Sawbones bends over Moustache and pets him, prodding gingerly at the shattered leg. Moustache yelps. SAWBONES (CONT’D) That’s as broken as a peace treaty. Off it comes. Sawbones flips the hinges on a wooden case-- medical tools are strapped inside, sharp and toothy, sparkling.
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One Soldier lays halfway on Moustache and gently holds his head down. Moustache struggles and growls but does not bite. ONE SOLDIER Watch his head. Don’t want to lose a finger. SAWBONES (O.S.) I’ll be careful. So will he. Moustache winces and yelps, rolling his watering eyes. Soldier shushes him.
One
ONE SOLDIER Good boy. SAWBONES (O.S.) Almost done. MOUSTACHE (under his breath) I will not look, I will not look... SAWBONES (O.S.) Let him up. At least it’s nice and clean. The One Soldier lets him go. Moustache unclenches his body and raises up, wobbling like an uneven three-legged stool. MOUSTACHE Where have you taken it? still feel it there--
I can
He hobbles forward but goes down in a heap. clicks his tongue sadly and pats Moustache. weak thump of his tail and a sigh.
The One Soldier He manages a
SAWBONES He’ll work it out. Brave fellow. The One Soldier picks up Moustache, sets him out of the way against a nearby tent, and lays a burlap sack over him. MOUSTACHE That’s it... for today. enough. Lost enough. He shuts his eyes.
I’ve lost
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INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA GRUMBLE Does it still hurt, Papa? MOUSTACHE The leg, or the heart? Grumble puts a paw on Moustache’s chest. GRUMBLE The heart. Moustache sighs. MOUSTACHE It comes in waves. MONTAGE / FLASHBACK: The Training Soldier makes the Austrian ragdoll dummy pop up and growl at Moustache. The Training Soldier rubs Moustache’s head. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) At first, big crashing waves, and you think you’re going to drown. The Training Soldier, Moustache, and Destry roll in the dirt. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Later on, smaller. You think you hear their voice, and you turn to look, before you remember. The Training Soldier swings his sabre at the advancing Austrians in slow motion, face bloody and determined. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Some people stick with you, and you can’t imagine life without them. END MONTAGE MOUSTACHE But how would we know the sweet without the bitter? He scoops up as many puppies as he can with one leg. Lance backs away but Vidette snags him with her teeth and drops him into the pile. Moustache gives them all sloppy kisses.
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MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) Hmm. That’s not sweet. Not bitter, either, most of you... (snorts at Lance) Smoky. Like a campfire. But sweatier. EXT. AUSTERLITZ, AUSTRIAN EMPIRE - MEDICAL STATION Someone shoves at Moustache, who is still asleep. MOUSTACHE Leave me alone. It isn’t even rooster-o-clock yet. A horse nickers, snuffling around in the burlap sack. DESTRY (MOSTLY O.S.) You’ll miss breakfast. MOUSTACHE That’s not playing fair. He shuffles off the sack and creakily gets to all threes. DESTRY (whinnies happily) Moustache! Good to see you. was...
I
Moustache wags his tail, wobbling. MOUSTACHE Worried? Destry clears his throat. Curious.
DESTRY How are you holding up?
MOUSTACHE Don’t know yet. DESTRY Why don’t we go for a walk? could use the practice.
You
Moustache wiggles his stump and looks around. He takes a hesitant step and nearly falls over. Instead, he stumbles off at a mad dash all around the camp-- knocking over packs and rifles, spilling a soldier’s coffee, zipping through a campfire, and coming to rest against a fallen log, panting.
111.
Destry walks up cautiously as soldiers grumble and straighten the mess. DESTRY (CONT’D) I’ve never seen you move so fast! I was hoping for a straight line... MOUSTACHE I don’t want to do it again. DESTRY Hm. If you want to stop, just fall over. MOUSTACHE (wags) I’ll try. EXT. AUSTERLITZ, AUSTRIAN EMPIRE - BATTLEFIELD The French victors are all lined up in parade formation, many wounded and muddy, shouting cheers and hefting their muskets into the air. Moustache is at Sawbones’ side. The Cuirassier stands nearby, holding Destry’s reins. SAWBONES Worse for wear, but still standing, eh, Moustache? Moustache teeters this way and that. He scowls up at Sawbones’ pouch-- Moustache’s missing leg pokes out. MOUSTACHE Wouaff. SAWBONES If you say so. Ah! Here he comes!
Straighten up!
To cries of “Vive L’Empereur!”, flanked by marshals and other officers on horseback, some with battle standards, a singular figure on a white charger rides in-- NAPOLEON himself. The charger flips his mane proudly as Napoleon makes him rear up. DESTRY (under his breath) Show-off. With one hand Napoleon takes off his famous hat and waves to the assembled soldiers; with the other he grips his horse’s reins and a tattered flag without a pole. Sawbones nudges Moustache.
112.
SAWBONES That’s the flag you saved. MOUSTACHE (under his breath) I’d rather I’d saved the man. SAWBONES The flag’s not the important thing, you know. Moustache does a double-take at him and Sawbones winks. SAWBONES (CONT’D) Life. And friends. And freedom. The flag’s just a reminder. Napoleon waves his hat and makes the charger turn in a circle. “Vive L’Empereur” has become a resounding chant in unison. He waves down the crowd, which reluctantly quiets. NAPOLEON Soldiers! I am pleased with you. On the day of Austerlitz, you lived up to all my expectations of your bravery and boldness; you have decked your eagles with a glory that shall never die. He raises the tattered flag as the other standard-bearers heft theirs, with a mighty cry of “Vive La France!” The soldiers whistle and clap, starting their chant again, some “Vive La France!”, others “Vive L’Empereur!” NAPOLEON (CONT’D) But one! The soldiers wind down again. NAPOLEON (CONT’D) One of you has shown yourself to be a true defender of the cause, rescuing this, our glorious banner, from the clutches of our enemies! He trots the charger up and down the line, scanning. NAPOLEON (CONT’D) Where is the grenadier, Moustache? Questions and confusion, and a couple of stifled laughs in the crowd. Another chant now, low but building among the soldiers. “Mou-stache! Mou-stache!”
113.
DESTRY Well, get on out there. He gives Moustache a bit more than a nudge, and Moustache wobbles out in front of Napoleon. The charger and the marshals’ horses bend their heads to snort at him. NAPOLEON Nobody told me he was a dog. From a few rows back, Rossignol pipes up. ROSSIGNOL Shh! Moustache doesn’t know either! A few scattered laughs. The Captain steps forward, sweeping his own hat off and wringing it in his hands. CAPTAIN Mon Empereur, forgive me, but yes, this dog saved our battle flag! Napoleon scratches his head. NAPOLEON Nothing to forgive, my good man! I would get down and shake his, um, paw. Has he been taught to shake? The Captain grins and turns to face Moustache, who gulps. CAPTAIN More than that, mon Empereur. Would you like to see? NAPOLEON Fine, fine. I could use a laugh. (turns) Rostram! My chair! Turbanned, resplendent in his red vest and green sash, the Mameluke valet Rostram bows curtly, and stalks off toward Napoleon’s waiting carriage as Napoleon dismounts. Rostram flips a wood-and-leather folding chair out, pulls a cloth from his pocket and dusts it down. Napoleon plops down in the chair. He makes a dismissive gesture-Ça suffit.
NAPOLEON (CONT’D) As you were, Rostram.
Rostram bows his same near-imperceptible bow and backs off a pace, still standing ramrod-straight. Napoleon glances back.
114.
NAPOLEON (CONT’D) Confound it, man, don’t you ever slouch an inch? ROSTRAM Not built for it, Monsieur. NAPOLEON Ha! If only my Marshals had your commitment. (cups a hand to his mouth) How about this poodle, then? CAPTAIN Oui, mon Empereur. The Captain turns and whistles through his teeth. Moustache looks expectantly at the Captain, who pulls his sword from its scabbard and holds it out flat, nearly at chest height. Oh!
MOUSTACHE I know this one.
NAPOLEON Not so steady, is he? Don’t make the poor devil jump on three legs. CAPTAIN He actually moves a little quicker since he lost one. Moustache eyes the Captain and snorts in disdain. makes a rolling motion with his free hand.
Napoleon
NAPOLEON Very well, proceed. Moustache turns away, takes several paces, wheels about, and thunders unevenly toward the raised sword. He pops up and over the sword as though on springs, skidding to a stop in the gravel. He turns and looks hopefully at Napoleon. Napoleon removes his other hand from inside his greatcoat and applauds, chuckling. He rubs his hands together. NAPOLEON (CONT’D) Bravo! What a jumper! He’s like a giant cricket. What else? The Captain scratches his head. One of the Captain’s subordinates leans in to whisper to him, and he nods.
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CAPTAIN Mon Empereur, simply call out the names of those countries that have dared to oppose you. Napoleon raises his eyebrows, stroking his chin. NAPOLEON That list is long. (clears throat) AUSTRIA! Moustache lifts a hind leg, balancing precariously. Obviously, if Austria were here, Moustache would pee on it. Napoleon nods and chuckles.
Others in the crowd join in.
NAPOLEON (CONT’D) All right, I get it. RUSSIA! Moustache repeats his trick. Napoleon laughs, tries to speak, but is laughing too hard. He recovers enough-NAPOLEON (CONT’D) ENGLAND! Moustache repeats his trick, and pretends to kick dirt over his ‘spot’. Soldiers laugh and point, elbowing each other, cheering, twirling their caps in the air on the tips of their sabers and bayonets. Moustache grins, tongue lolling out, enjoying the attention. Napoleon doubles over, wheezing-- Rostram takes a concerned step toward Napoleon, but he waves him off. NAPOLEON (CONT’D) So-- he’ll do this-- for any country that ever opposed me? CAPTAIN Oui, mon Empereur. NAPOLEON I will give him a bit of a challenge, then. FRANCE! The jovial atmosphere dies down. A soldier gulps. are slowly lowered. All eyes are on Moustache.
The hats
Moustache cocks his head. He sits, and touches his one remaining forepaw to his head in a salute.
116.
CAPTAIN We didn’t teach him that one. Napoleon grips his armrests and pushes himself to his feet. He walks over as Moustache drops back down on “all threes”. Napoleon kneels and scratches Moustache behind the ears. Good dog.
NAPOLEON Best of dogs.
Moustache grins and barks, well pleased. around to face the Captain.
Napoleon twists
NAPOLEON (CONT’D) I was looking for the spirit of my army. What a strange and tattered little shape it took. The Captain brushes his eye-- a speck of dust, no doubt. CAPTAIN Oui, mon Empereur. CUT TO: INT. COTTAGE -- WAGRAM, AUSTRIA - EARLY MORNING MOUSTACHE And that, in the end, is how I met the great Napoleon who started all this fuss in the first place, with his soldiering and what-not. Half the puppies are asleep. The rest are yawning, except Lance. He flops down with his paws over his head. LANCE (howls) Why didn’t you just skip to the last part? VIDETTE Would you skip straight to dessert? MOUSTACHE AND LANCE (in unison) YES! VIDETTE All right, bad example.
117.
LANCE It doesn’t matter, anyway. it really happened.
None of
There’s a knock at the door. A THIRD GRENADIER peers inside the cottage as the first two startle awake in their chairs. THIRD GRENADIER Up and at ‘em, fellows! SECOND GRENADIER (groans) Up and at who? I thought we flushed them all out... THIRD GRENADIER Hell if I know. They just say to round everyone up. Ah! That means you too, Moustache! The First Grenadier gets up, stretches, and snags the ammo pouch. Moustache springs to his feet and lickety-split the First Grenadier has it strapped around him. MOUSTACHE Goodbye, my darlings! (to Vidette) And to you, most magnificent mother of darlings. He touches noses with her tenderly. VIDETTE Do I smell cheese, or is that you? MOUSTACHE Love, yes. Cheese? Probably. (sniffs, nods at Lance) But I do smell horse. You might want to go look outside. Lance frowns, but paces to the door and sticks his head out the hole next to it. EXT./INT. COTTAGE --
WAGRAM, AUSTRIA
Lance looks up-- and up-- at the towering Destry, led by the Third Grenadier. Destry lowers his head to examine Lance. LANCE D-destry?
118.
Moustache!
DESTRY Have you shrunk?
Lance steps through the hole for a better look. LANCE No, I’m Lance. DESTRY (bobs his head) Oh, you. The doubter. Lance thinks about it and nods. LANCE I-- I didn’t believe in you. him.
Or in
DESTRY Try and think better of your father. He might exaggerate a little but most of it is true. Lance nods. Through the door behind him come the First and Second Grenadier, followed by Moustache. Vidette and the other puppies do not cross the threshold. Destry puts one leg forward and makes a showy bow to Vidette. DESTRY (CONT’D) Madame. Vidette blushes a bit as he rises and turns away. MOUSTACHE (to Destry) Show-stealer. You and your four legs. Bye, Papa!
OTHER PUPPIES Get those Austrians!
MOUSTACHE (over his shoulder) Mais oui, mes enfants! They will tremble before us! LANCE Papa? Moustache turns to face him. MOUSTACHE Hrm?
119.
LANCE Come back safe. And with more stories. MOUSTACHE I thought you didn’t like them. LANCE They make me worry for you. Moustache rests his forehead on Lance’s. MOUSTACHE I can take care of myself. And if not, it’ll make a good story. Lance chuckles, teary-eyed, but nods. Moustache, Destry, and the other soldiers head down the street. MOUSTACHE (CONT’D) (fading) First impressions? DESTRY (fading) There’s a good chance you’re the father. CUT TO: EXT. BADAJOZ, SPAIN - BATTLEFIELD English troops dig trenches and heap earthen barriers as they wheel their artillery closer (but not too close) to the high stone wall of a fortified city flying the French flag. At the wall’s base, Moustache and Destry survey the scene. MOUSTACHE How do we always end up in these situations? Destry shakes his head, as close to a shrug as possible. DESTRY Keeps life interesting. The Captain, seated on Destry, points his sabre forward. CAPTAIN Take their cannons first, men! Charge!
120.
He and the other mounted soldiers jump ahead, Moustache and the other foot soldiers roaring and following close behind. A startled English gunnery crew jerk their cannon into position. The Gunner touches the match to his cannon and it erupts in a burst of smoke and flame. In slow motion, the cannonball arcs toward Moustache’s position. He sights it and narrows his eyes. MOUSTACHE (V.O.) Good shot. Do I run forward, like a fool? Or away, like a coward? (a beat) No. I stand my ground. Like me. Moustache plants his paws firmly, bares his teeth, and barks furiously at the soldiers to his left and right. They scatter as the cannonball whistles closer. Moustache grins, alone now, and turns back as the cannonball fills his sight. A blinding flash, and all is dark. FADE IN ON: EXT. BADAJOZ, SPAIN - BATTLEFIELD - GRAVESIDE To the sound of a mournful bugle, a French soldier pats down a last shovel-full of earth. A slow rain patters. A simple tombstone reads, “Ici repose le brave Moustache”-per subtitles, “Here lies the brave Moustache”. Destry stands nearby, reins in the hands of a soldier. Bugler finishes, lowering his instrument.
The
Destry looks down at the mound of earth and shakes his head sadly. Gingerly, he presses his hoof into the soft ground, leaving a hoof-mark. His soldier tugs gently at the reins. SOLDIER (makes a clicking sound) Come along, Destry. Destry doesn’t respond, just hanging his head. rubs Destry’s neck comfortingly.
The soldier
SOLDIER (CONT’D) There, there-- it’s hard to leave a friend behind. But we have to. The soldier pulls again, and Destry lets himself be led. lips tremble, but he finally gets the words out.
His
121.
DESTRY He should-- he should have been a horse-He joins the train of soldiers and wagons headed north. An OTHER HORSE in the line bobs his head and nickers at Destry. OTHER HORSE Sad business, that. DESTRY Worse, if you knew him. OTHER HORSE There wasn’t much left, I hear. Destry flicks one of his ears down (the one closest to the Other Horse) and hangs his head. DESTRY I don’t want the details. OTHER HORSE Not much to tell. They only found a leg and an ear. Destry’s ear swivels back upright. DESTRY Say that again. FLASHBACK: Moustache drags himself out of a muddy hole. His ammunition bag is ripped and caught underneath the cannonball-- it rips off the rest of the way as he strains against it. The leathery old ear and withered leg spill out. OTHER HORSE (V.O.) Leg. Ear. Well, that and his backpack thing, his-- um-DESTRY (V.O.) --ammo pouch? OTHER HORSE (V.O.) Yes, that’s it. MOUSTACHE Tired... of dragging that thing around... anyway.
122.
DESTRY (V.O.) But they never found the rest of him? END FLASHBACK The Other Horse shakes his head. shoulder, and smiles.
Destry looks back over his
DESTRY He never was put together very well. EXT. SPANISH COUNTRYSIDE Olive trees hang over the rugged road. A distant drumbeat plays, and a muddy wreck of a dog hobbles toward it on three legs. He stops and taps one back foot in time with the drums, then sets forward at a march, humming “Auprès de ma Blonde”. FADE TO: WHITE TEXT ON BLACK: “History, right or wrong, records that Moustache was buried on the field of battle with full military honors, befitting his years of brave service.” “Some say that Moustache was so hated by the Spanish that after the war, his body was dug up and burned by the Inquisition.” “So it was that even in death he continued to worry the enemies of Napoleon, and of France.” THE END
