Flight of the Maybug (Script)

ACT 1

MARCEL: And where were you again?

FRITZ: Poland.

MARCEL: Much fighting?

FRITZ: Some.

Fritz sits back down.

FRITZ: Look, it doesn't matter now, we're here, the Captain's still dead and we're all fucked. Wilhelm throw that away, may as well sit down.

Wilhelm sits down next to Fritz.

WILHELM: What's going to happen to us?

FRITZ: I don't know.

Wilhelm fiddles with the telegram.

WILHELM: Max isn't going to take this well.

FRITZ: You are not to tell Max.

WILHELM: He's gonna find out...

FRITZ: Yes, he is. But when he's home, safe, away from loaded bloody firearms.

MARCEL: Who's Max?

WILHELM: Friend.

FRITZ: Same goes for you Monsieur, not a word.

MARCEL: My lips are sealed.

Marcel shuffles over to Wilhelm.

MARCEL: He really dead?

WILHELM: That's what it says.

MARCEL: Marcel.

WILHELM: Wilhelm.

The two shake hands.

MARCEL: You drink?

WILHELM: (Insulted) Yes.

Marcel removes a small, ornate flask from his pocket.

MARCEL: Fritz?

FRITZ: No.

WILHELM: He doesn't drink.

FRITZ: Do you mind?!

MARCEL: Suit yourself.

Marcel begins pouring a generous measurement from his flask into Wilhelm's tin cup.

MARCEL: How old are you Wilhelm?

WILHELM: I'm 19, today.

MARCEL: Oh. Are you having a nice birthday?

WILHELM: I've had better.

MARCEL: I'm sure you have. Sorry about the Captain, did you know him well?

WILHELM: Not really, met him about a week or two ago.

MARCEL: Well I knew him for about an hour, seemed nice.

Marcel raises his flask in toast.

MARCEL: To Hitler's 1000 year Reich.

Wilhelm politely raises his glass in acknowledgement.

MARCEL: Shame he couldn't count.

The two men slam back the hard liquor before immediately coughing it back up.

WILHELM: What the hell is that?!

MARCEL: Wilhem, I wish I could tell you!

WILHELM: Are you trying to poison me?!