THE PATRIOT

EXT.  COWPENS - PRE-DAWN

Martin sits, sewing.  He finishes the final repair on

Gabriel's flag.  He appraises his handiwork.  Though

stained and tattered, the flag is intact.

Martin stands on the crest of a shallow rise, looking out

at the British lines, barely distinguishable in the faint

light.  Above him, stars are visible, but they're fading

in the light of the pre-dawn glow from the horizon.

Martin scans the disappearing stars, searching out the

NORTH STAR, but in the increasingly harsh light of this

day, he can't find it.  He turns his eyes back to the

battlefield.

EXT.  COWPENS BATTLEFIELD - DAY

The sun has risen but a heavy ground fog limits visibility

to a few dozen yards.  Men move like ghosts.

THE CAMERA finds waiting squadrons of men but in the mist

there is no overview, just separate detachments:

An orderly regiment of CONTINENTAL CAVALRY, mounted,

waiting, steadying their horses.

Two long lines of blue-uniformed CONTINENTAL INFANTRY...

Massed squares of CONTINENTAL INFANTRY RESERVES...

The American Command, including Morgan, Lee and several

other officers, attended by riders and runners...

And, finally, MARTIN AND HIS MEN, who stand in the middle

of a long line of Patriot militia in the center of a long,

valley-line depression.  Martin stands next to DeLancey.

They stand silently, unable to see anything other than

each other and the gently slope of the dew-covered grass

in front of them.

They're all grim.  They know what's coming.

Then, the SOUND OF A SINGLE DRUM, heard but unseen, coming

from over the slope...

Then, MORE DRUMS, more and more, A COMPETITION OF DRUM

BEATS...

Martin's men listen, turning their heads, trying to

imagine what is happening on the other side of the rise in

front of them.

MARTIN turns to DeLancey.

                         MARTIN

          How old were your daughters?

DeLancey looks closely at Martin and realizes, with some

surprise, that he's willing to answer.  He speaks softly.

                         DELANCEY

          I had two daughters... Violette was

          twelve... Paulette was ten.  They

          had green eyes.

                         MARTIN

          You have my sympathy.

                         DELANCEY

          Thank you.

They stand silently next to each other.

EXT.  BRITISH LINES - DAY

Tavington, surrounded by his officers, stands on a low

hill, trying, with the aid of a spyglass to catch the

first view of the battlefield as the morning mist begins

to burn off.  Through the fog, he just makes out the

American lines.

                         TAVINGTON

          Unless I'm dreaming, I think I see

          irregulars at their center.

Tavington smiles.

EXT.  LOW MEADOW - COWPENS - MORNING

Martin and his men wait.

A STRANGE SOUND.  Soft, muted.  The men turn their heads,

listening, their eyes shifting.

They hear the SOUND OF HUNDREDS OF BOOTS ON WET GRASS,

advancing...

THE CAMERA WATCHES THE FACES OF MARTIN AND HIS MEN as they

listen to an unseen army approaching.

THEN, THEY SEE IT... A MASSIVE WALL OF RED appears over

the rise in front of them... hundreds of Redcoats, in

perfect formation, marching in lockstep, straight for

them.

Martin sees the fear on his men's faces, but none of them

move...

The BRITISH DRUMS GROW LOUDER AND LOUDER... it's almost

enough to drive a man to flight... almost.

The CAMERA explores the faces of Martin's men... all are

frightened but all are motionless.

Closer and closer, the British line approaches... The

American's don't move...

Then, the BRITISH LINE STOPS...

At a flurry of commands, the Redcoats ready their muskets,

then aim...

Still, Martin and the Americans don't move... DEAD

SILENCE...

Then, a single, thin voice calls out from the British

lines...

                         BRITISH VOICE (O.S.)

          Fire!

IN A THUNDEROUS, MASSIVE VOLLEY, three thousand British

muskets fire simultaneously... just as the entire line of

AMERICAN MILITIAMEN DIVE TO THE GROUND...

Many Americans are saved by the move but many, many others

are torn apart by the British musketballs...

THE AMOUNT OF SMOKE IS INCREDIBLE... it obscures

everything.  Each musket spits out a billow of think white

smoke a dozen feet in front of it and hundreds of them

just fired.  The massive, opaque white cloud quickly

spreads over the entire battlefield.

The astonished Redcoats instantly reloading...

The AMERICANS RISE, shoulder arms and FIRE A THUNDEROUS

VOLLEY into the British ranks.

Scores of REDCOATS FALL, but the line of well-trained

regulars remains intact as rear ranks fill in the front...

A RACE TO RELOAD... the Redcoats have a slight

headstart... Balls... wadding... tamp... prime the pan...

cock... as fast as they can possibly reload... a REDCOAT

DRUM BEATS "FIRE WHEN READY," a command repeated by the

BRITISH BUGLE...

The Redcoats win the race... RAISES THEIR MUSKETS... FIRE

A ROLLING VOLLEY...

SCORES OF AMERICAN MILITIAMEN FALL... but still the line

holds... second rank men fill the gaps, still loading...

Then, loaded, as one, the AMERICANS RAISES THEIR MUSKETS

AND FIRE A DEVASTATING VOLLEY INTO THE BRITISH RANKS...

decimating the Redcoats...

The Redcoats are staggered but then see the Americans turn

in DISORDERLY PANIC and FLEE... the surprised, grateful

Redcoats rally, some laugh...

ON A RISE BEHIND THE BATTLEFIELD, TAVINGTON, watches

through his spyglass, trying to get a sense of what's

happening through the spreading cloud of musket smoke.  He

barks to his SIGNALMAN...

                         TAVINGTON

          Fix bayonets... dispatch the Green

          Dragoons.

The Signalman raises his semaphore flags and snaps the

message.

MARTIN AND HIS MEN are caught in the middle of the chaotic

retreat...

THE BRITISH LINE advances at a quickstep, bayonets

fixed... from behind them, THE GREEN DRAGOONS appear, at a

full gallop, Tavington at their head...

THE BATTLEFIELD

It's an astonishing sight... total madness... hell... a

painting by Hieronymous Bosch...

The mass of the British infantry charges after the fleeing

Patriot militiamen... the Redcoat infantry grows

disorderly as it runs...

TAVINGTON AND THE BRITISH CAVALRY THUNDERS to the head of

the Redcoats, closing in on the fleeing Patriots.  The

cavalry swords are drawn and raised for a slaughter...

THEN SUDDENLY, stepping into view from behind a low, grass

covered rise, a SOLID LINE OF BLUE APPEARS, rock solid...

It opens up, allowing the fleeing Patriots to pass through

it like water... then it closes again, becoming a solid

blue wall...

MARTIN, HIS MEN AND THE ENTIRE MASS OF FLEEING MILITIA

STOPS DEAD, turns and joins the blue American line...

A flurry of orders, then the BLUE WALL ERUPTS WITH A

VOLLEY of musket fire that stops the disorderly British

advance in its tracks...

Hundreds of Redcoats fall instantly...

Hundreds of Green Dragoons and their horses fall with

them...

The effect of the volley is devastating... the American

timing is perfect...

Again, the amount of SMOKE is astonishing... visibility

drops to less than twenty feet in most places... drifting

smoke opens up glimpses of the battle here and there but

it is primarily a battle of sound... men simply follow the

men in front of them...

The Blue Continentals advance in an orderly manner from

both flanks onto the Redcoats, trapping them...

MARTIN FIRES one of his pistols... draws his tomahawk...

hacks... killing one Redcoat after another...

No remorse, no hesitation, no pity... his tomahawk sinks

into the stock of an upraised British musket and is pulled

from his hands...

Martin quickly kills the Redcoat with his pistol...

THEN, THROUGH THE SMOKE, MARTIN CATCHES A GLIMPSE OF

TAVINGTON...

Martin freezes... his eyes locked on Tavington who is

fighting a pitched battle, making his way toward the

perimeter of the field, trying to escape back to the

British lines...

Seeing nothing but Tavington, Martin hurriedly tears open

his weapons pouch and pulls out one of the bullets made

from Thomas' lead soldiers...

As he loads the pistol, his eyes still trained on

Tavington, DeLancey runs up...

                         DELANCEY

          COLONEL!  OUR LINE!

Martin finishes reloading... distracted he turns to

DeLancey for an instant...

                         DELANCEY

          OUR LINE IS FALTERING...

Martin takes a quick glance at the Continental line,

seeing...

An onslaught of Redcoats and a smaller number of Patriots

who are losing ground, their lines breaking up...

The PATRIOT STANDARD BEARER, a burly sergeant, sees the

Redcoat reinforcements and starts backing up...

MARTIN IS TORN...

He looks to Tavington, seeing him distracted, vulnerable

but too distant a target for the pistol...

DeLancey can't wait, he runs off...

Martin sees the Patriot line... beginning to retreat...

the Patriot Standard Bearer, carrying the Old Glory,

looses his nerve, joins the retreat...

Martin takes a last look at Tavington and turns away,

heading over toward the retreating Patriots...

Moving against the growing tide of retreat, shoving the

men, bumped by others, as more and more Americans join the

retreat...

Then, Martin sees the standard bearing Sergeant passing...

                         MARTIN

          Stop... hold the line!

The Sergeant tries to bull past, but Martin blocks his way

and GRABS THE FLAG from him...

The Sergeant holds on but a FOREARM TO THE HEAD from

Martin dislodges the flag from his grasp...

Martin holds the flag high and races back, against the

tide of retreating Patriots...

                         MARTIN

          HOLD THE LINE!  HOLD THE LINE!

Only Martin moves against the tide, then...

Several Patriots stop... then others...

Martin, single-mindedly tears through them, daring them to

follow, not caring if they do...

One Patriot takes off after Martin, then another...

The retreat slows... then turns...

The Patriot force, led by Martin, SLAMS INTO THE Redcoat

line...

Hand-to-hand... some musket... some swords... many

bayonets and musket stocks...

Martin plants the flag in the dirt... and plants himself

right next to it...

He fires his pistol, killing a Redcoat... grabs a downed

sword... kills two more Redcoats...

The tide turns...

A pair of Redcoats back up from the Patriot vanguard...

then other Redcoats disengage...

Several Redcoats turn... stumbling away... a few run...

those who don't are killed by the men around Martin...

The Redcoats break into a full retreat, which turns into a

rout as another mass of Patriots bursts through the smoke

and joins the line...

The Patriots sees the retreating Redcoats intercepted by

another detachment of Patriots... the tide fully turned...

the battle is won...