Graphic Designer Andrew Cranford of CRANFORD DESIGN  Sydney Australia, designed this 1st draft, he’s done a great job as I did not give him anything, save the title of course. This is what he said when sending to me:

After reading both the intriguing synopsis and foreword that you sent, I did a bit of a search on the web to find some more images of St. Pancras and more info on the storm of 1638… Sounds like a very interesting story that you have worked into your novel!

Anyway, I have taken my inspiration from that initial event and found some appropriate images to use including a foreboding storm cloud sky, the tower of St Pancras, a tombstone and a ghostly horse. Finally, I found an appropriate looking typeface to set the title and your by line and gave the overall cover a great moody colour scheme that communicates the drama of the terrible storm, the isolation of the craggy moor and the twist and turns of the novel’s plot.

Andrew has captured the ‘feel and atmosphere’ of my novel, that ghostly horse graphic is superb.

Thanks Andrew; cannot wait for the spine and rear jacket cover.

I’m so pleased with this; if you are in the market for any graphic design work contact Andrew. I recommend very highly, we have never met except via the net. He has no idea I’ve done this.

cranford@iinet.net.au

FADE IN:

ON SCREEN: MOSCOW 2009

EXT. BACK STREET – NIGHT

FOUR rough looking MEN face each other. One holds a briefcase, he talks to the man holding a suitcase. The other two men watch each holding machine pistols.

The suitcase is opened, it’s filled with heroin wrapped in plastic bags. The man hands over the open briefcase, it’s bulging with US $100 dollar notes.

On Screen: There are between 1.5 to 6 million users in Russia. At least 80 die daily.

EXT. SMALL DILAPIDATED BRICK FARM HOUSE – SUNRISE – 5 A.M.

SOMEWHERE IN AFGHANISTAN

18-year old ABDULLAH hugs his mother RIMA. He turns, gazes at a freshly mounded grave then the sky as the sun rises in the distance cresting the outlined mountains.

He squares his shoulders and sets off toward the mountains at a fast pace. Strapped to his back is an old, bulging leather bag.

INT. BRICK FARM HOUSE – SAME TIME

On the dirt floor Rima pulls covers over two young BOYS, and two young GIRLS.

She sits back on her heels, tears coursing down her face.

EXT. MOUNTAIN RANGE – SUNRISE

Tanned, long-haired, unshaven and dressed like an Afghani SEAN McDONALD crouches concealed in a position 300 yards above the quarter-mile wide ragged geological split in the mountains.

McDonald slowly scans across the 1/4 mile gap, with his scope stopping at a spot 30 feet above the ground. After re-focussing, he notes the distance through the lens. Closes  the telescopes, then slots it in his worn jungle green tunic and zips up the pocket.

He lifts his spotless but well-used M107 sniper-rifle to his right shoulder adjusts the two spiked feet, firms them into a small sandbag resting on a large rock. After peering  through the small rear sight, he squints through the scope sight, adjusts two scope rings, then lowers his weapon, notes the time and relaxes, watch reads – 7.10

EXT. 1ST AFGHAN TRACK – SAME TIME

On a dirt track, dust swirls from a black rag-top 4-wheel drive traveling along a narrow uneven road toward the mountains.

EXT. 2ND AFGHAN TRACK – SAME TIME

The battered army camouflaged Land-Rover hammers along a stony track.

EXT. 3RD AFGHAN TRACK – SAME TIME

Abdullah squints at the sun, now higher in the clear sky. He swigs back water from a goat skin, then chews on a a dough like substance. Wipes his mouth and sets off again at the same fast pace.

EXT. LARGE POPPY FIELD – SAME TIME

Tall poppies blanket a large field. The army camouflaged rag-top stops, FIVE MEN jump out, from the rear each grabs a flame gun which they ignite. Then dash about setting fire to the poppies. Quickly smoke drifts up toward the mountains.

ON SCREEN : Afghanistan produces 6,000 tons of Opium annually. One gram in Kabul costs $3, on the streets of: London, Milan, Moscow it sells for $100.

EXT. MCDONALD’S POSITION -SAME TIME

Seeing the smoke Mac smiles, notes the time – 7.56

EXT. 1ST AFGHAN TRACK – SAME TIME.

The dusty-black rag-top continues toward the mountains.

INT. RAG-TOP VEHICLE – SAME TIME

FOUR AFGHAN’s sway as the vehicle swerves and dips. Behind them are four hand-held machine guns, boxes of ammunition, rockets and launchers.

EXT. MOUNTAIN RANGE – ABDULLAH’S TRACK – SAME TIME

Abdullah stares at the gap in the mountains, glances at the sun, getting higher in the sky, streaked with fading smoke.

He tightens the back-pack straps, and hugging the shadier left rock face and noting anything that can trip him over, he sets off.

EXT. MAC’S POSITION – SAME TIME.

Mac stares at his watch – 8.12

Mac tugs himself into a kneeling position, sees something move in the shadows, It’s Abdullah. Mac lifts his rifle, aims at the spot across the gap. After releasing the safety catch he rests his finger on the trigger. He’s ready.

EXT. ABDULLAH’S POSITION BELOW – SAME TIME.

Abdullah’s making good ground, shielding his eyes he takes in everything up ahead, left and right up and down the opposite rock faces. The sun is either too bright or shadows obscure everything. He moves forward at a steady pace.

From somewhere a shot rings out and echoes through the gap.

Abdullah hits the dirt, laying still, his deep breath lifts the dirt, he’s sweating, but perfectly still – a survival reaction, before he had time to collect any thoughts.

MAC’S POSITION – SAME TIME

Mac can see a reflection where he’s focussed, positive the sound’s from the same spot, he gently squeezes the trigger.

Another shot from above Abdullah echoes down the valley.

Mac releases the trigger his finger resting on it.

A blood-splattered M70 rifle tumbles down to the dirt.

Mac is quickly on his feet, gun over shoulder and sand-bag emptied, he pockets the bag and courses down to Abdullah.

EXT. VALLEY FLOOR – SAME TIME.

Mac calls to Abdullah in Afghan.

MAC It’s okay son. I won’t hurt you. I’m a soldier, here to help.

Mac moves carefully toward Abdullah, there is no blood. Mac turns him over, after cutting his back-pack straps, and kicking it aside.

Abdullah stares at Mac, as he grabs his coat easily lifting him to his feet.

MAC No need to worry son. How much is in the bag?

Mac asks lifting the bag, guessing the weight. Abdullah is scared and silent.

MAC About 20 K’s I guess. How about I give you….

Mac pulls a Hessian-bag from a pocket and unfolds it.

MAC Two-thousand that’s more than the bazaar price.

He counts off the sum hands it to Abdullah, who grabs it furiously then quickly holds one-hundred dollar note to the sun, then rolls it between his fingers.

Mac chuckles.

MAC It’s okay son its real. Here have a drink.

Mac hands Abdullah a bottle of water who quickly swigs it, then hands it back to Mac.

MAC Keep it son. I can find more.

Mac stares around the canyon.

MAC We’d best be on our separate ways son. Dangerous place out here. Keep to the shadows.

Suddenly machine gum fire racks the area. Two more bodies crumple in the dirt.

EXT. DEAD AFGHAN SNIPPER’S POSITION – SAME TIME.

Two Afghans carry the dead sniper toward their truck, two others carry two machine guns.

The dead sniper is laid in the back of the truck with the guns.  The truck drives off.

On Screen: In Europe 90 tons annually is consumed – it’s increasing. The USA and Canada consumes 21 tons.

Logline: His passion is winning a 1st at the Chelsea’s show. As he forks his magnificent rose bed he’s confident with ‘fresher’ fertilizer he can.

INT. GARDEN SHED. DAY.

Tanned and healthy looking, 65 year-old Professor ROBERT HAYNES hangs the tough-combination lock and key on its hook, before he starts tinkering in his large shed-one in constant use for his consuming hobby of Gardening.

To Robert this place is his sanctuary. It’s precise, well kept, clean, tidy and organized. Even the tools are in neat rows, as spotless as the day he bought them. Larger ones hanging in two neat rows, on chrome U shaped supports.

Smaller tools are lined up-ones used regularly, laid out on the clean bench-like a Surgeon’s or Forensic Scientist’s instrument tray.

Two pairs of equally-worn stout leather gloves lay side by side, left glove on the left, right on the right. Next are two sharp pruning Shears.

From a drawer he lifts a Fountain-Pen, Ink-Bottle, small sheet of Blotting Paper. After filling the pen, wipes off surplus ink with tissue-not Blotting paper.

He takes; a black, and red marker-pen, scribbles lines on tissue-ensuring they not dry. Drops tissue in lidded tidy-bin.

After checking the time, Robert switches on an old Brown Bake-light Radio. Slowly a voice crackles.

RADIO ANNOUNCER (FILTERED)) And now Gardeners, here is our host for today, to talk about Roses and answer your questions. So have your questions ready in about fifteen minutes.

ROSE EXPERT (FILTERED) Good morning everyone…….

Robert checks his black, old-style dialing-phone’s working,  lifts receiver, listens. After replacing it, opens note-book, checks his question.

As he listens, he casually glances in the small mirror, just looking at his face. Lifts Tweezers from drawer, leans forward, plucks a hair from the nose-tip, drops it in the tidy-bin.

Then fiddles with a nail-file scrapping under the nails.

Behind, his workshop; where he keeps anything mechanical.

INT. WORKSHOP. DAY.

A domestic Clothes Dryer, a Wood Chipper and a Mulcher-both fearful looking machines. Capable of reducing hardwood trees to wood chips in seconds.

He even hangs a warning notice these, in large Red letters. DANGER. Keep hands away.

INT.  GARDEN SHED. DAY.

Robert’s a meticulous, methodical Virgo male, considered the best Forensic Scientist in Britain. His real passion is growing Roses. His ambition; a first at the Chelsea Flower Show.

Testament to his ability, ten 2nd and 3rd place certificates dangling from nails. After hammering in another, he hangs this much larger, ornate certificate. Checks it’s hanging straight by slotting a spirit level vertically against it.

Flicks off some dust specks, breaths on the hint of fingerprint, rubs it out.

Certificate: ROSE CATEGORY 1st PRIZE 2005. Robert Haynes.

Alongside this and taking pride of place is his Doctorate certificate in beautiful Calligraphy.

But this easy-going dishevelled looking figure’s dressed in his favourite baggy, thinning corduroy trousers. A check shirt with a thread-bear collar. And with rolled-up sleeves, the opposite of his professional image.

When it’s cold, he slides into his aged tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and cuffs. For now its draped over a shaped-wood coat hanger, under a plastic sleeve.

Lifting the sleeve, takes the jacket to the open door, shakes it vigorously, straightens the buttoned holed badge, tugs the plastic down, hangs it back.

Flashback:

INT.  GARDEN SHED. DAY.

On screen Twelve months earlier. Ascot week 2004.

Robert stares in horror out through spotless, curtained window.

His wife RUBY is pale, with sallow complexion, tight, permed hair. Ruby is a very common, 67 year-old obese woman.

Right now she’s charging toward his shed, struggling to walk properly in shoes too high for her bulk, as the heels sink into Roberts neat lawn.

Robert flinches as Ruby bursts through the door, dressed in another new un-flattering, tasteless, tight, white outfit.

Angrily plonking a pile of Robert’s framed memorabilia on his spotless tidy bench so hard, shattering many pieces of glass, and breaking several tasteful frames. Some slide off crash to the floor and snap. Robert glares at Ruby with a blood curdling stare, momentarily knocking her off her stride.

RUBY I’m fed-up with all these damn certificates for only second and third prizes. Then there’s all those.

Ruby shakes her fat fingers at the others hanging on the shed wall.

RUBY They’re embarrassing. My friends are coming for drinks before we go to Ascot. And I’m fed-up listening to their cracks about a second-class Rose expert.

Robert ignores her slur.

ROBERT You’ve been in here again haven’t you?

Robert points to tool racks.

ROBERT See here… and here.

He plucks several tools from clips.

ROBERT This is not the right place for these.

Robert slots them into correct ones.

ROBERT That’s where they belong. You do it to annoy me don’t you?

RUBY Me annoy you? I wouldn’t waste my time.

ROBERT Well, after all these years it does. I won’t tell you again Ruby.

RUBY Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately…..Have you? Those clothes should be dumped.

ROBERT It so happens I like and feel comfortable in them. Gardening is messy work. From now on, this place is out of bounds to you.

RUBY Heard  it all before…Oh yes, in case you forget. There’s a meat pie and chips in the fridge.

ROBERT Did you hear me? This place is out of bounds to you.

Robert’s arm and hand stiffen as he shakes his fingers at her.

RUBY Over my dead body.

As Ruby turns to leave, her flowing dress snags on a hand-fork protruding from the bench, which knocks over-breaking a glass bottle of dark-brown, foul-smelling, sticky fertilizer. It splatters over her dress and new shoes.

RUBY Now look what you’ve done. You bloody fool.

ROBERT That’ll teach you.

RUBY No wonder you’ve never won first prize at anything. Now I’ll have to wear what I wore last year. You’ll never win first prize if I can help it.

Ruby charges away muttering…

RUBY Bloody pain in the Arse.

EXT. THE GARDEN. DAY.

Ruby’s strutting down the path, smelling, trailing drops of fertilizer along the garden path, dripping from her ruined dress.

INT. GARDEN SHED. DAY.

Robert smiles, takes the old Dust-pan and wood brush starts sweeping up the glass. Then stares over his specs, at his un-sightly wife’s huge wobbling fat back-side.

ROBERT If you can squeeze into it?

Shaking his head, he chuckles in disbelief.

ROBERT That wasn’t much of a fertilizer anyway. Maybe that’s why I’m not getting first prize. Got a good reaction from her though at last.

He stares again at Ruby. Lifts a clean folded rag, shakes it open, starts mopping-up the sticky fertilizer. A glass shard slashes a deep cut in his thumb. Undisturbed he stares at blood trickling onto the wood bench.

He licks his finger, pulls an open band-aid packet from a drawer, binds the wound. Stares at the dried blood on the bench and mutters.

ROBERT I wonder? No it won’t work, will it?

NOT in sequence:

INT. HOUSE OFFICE. DAY.

He dials a number without looking it up.

ROBERT It’s me Penelope….Robert.

PENELOPE (FILTERED) Robert.. How nice of you to ring. And to what do I owe the honour?

ROBERT I was thinking of a few days fishing in Cornwall. And knowing of your expertise here. I wondered if you’d mind showing me how it’s done?

PENELOPE (FILTERED) Now that sounds interesting I must say. The best offer I’ve had in ages. How about two weeks time? That’s when the fishing really gets good. Providing you’ll give a talk to our Rose society, and your secret fertilizer ingredient?

ROBERT Nothing to it really. Just some old bag of Blood and Bone you know.

PENELOPE (FILTERED) Oh come off it Bob. You said in your article, It’s been a nice year for Roses.

ROBERT Goodness me, I wonder who on earth that can be?

PENELOPE (FILTERED) It’s me of course…..

ROBERT No, no, hold on a moment Penelope, there’s someone at the door.

Robert places the receiver on his desk.

INT. HOUSE HALLWAY. SAME TIME.

Robert’s humming as he trots to the door, squinting, trying to recognize the visitor. But they’re obscured by the frosted glass. Whistling he opens the door to the broad back of a women admiring his roses. She turns, it’s VIOLET Ruby’s identical twin sister. She is dressed in an awful violet dress.

VIOLET Hello Robert.  You poor dear. I’ll put the kettle on.

PENELOPE (FILTERED) Robert, hello Robert…..

FADE OUT on Robert’s Horrified face….

THE END

Logline: They’re running out of space and they running out of time. Prince and Khan are running for their lives.

EXT. INDIAN JUNGLE – DAWN.

On the parched Indian flood plain, little moves or stirs in the predawn silence.

A young musk deer, DARLENE nibbles at sparse dry grass in a U-shaped thicket.PRINCE lies. His stare fixed onDarlene. Prince’s belly rumbles.

PRINCE Damn I’m hungry and if my stomach keeps up that cacophony I’ll never get lunch.

EXT. JUNGLE AIRSTRIP – DAY.

The speck of an EAGLE rises high above, riding on thermal currents.

Jungle foliage threatens to engulf a Pagoda and its many outbuildings as the air shimmers under the hot sun.  Palm trees, exotic trees and vines, filled with all kinds of invisible but vocal wildlife, mesh as far as the eye can see.

Monkeys screech, hidden by the dense foliage, suddenly replaced by a executive jet circling dirt landing strip. Dust clears revealing letters painted on fuselage.

SUPER Gingold International Enterprises.

Door flies open, 35 year-old BRIDGET GINGOLD appears, hands on hips in an ‘it’s me’ attitude, scans area. Cargo door drops open, disgorging four ex-US Army 4-wheel-drive vehicles. Driven by four Piano-lifter sized GUYS in Army greens.

Gingold adjusts shades, struts down steps. Four more HEAVIES appear, shouldering, heavy bags and follow her down.

BEVY of local INDIANS start unloading more gear. Many high-powered guns, ammunition boxes, telescopic sights. Large satellite dishes, scanners, lap tops which are hurriedly loaded onto vehicles.

Bridget’s a one-woman Army. 30 year-old JUDD personal assistant stands alongside. Judd looks the tough seasoned ex-Army special forces type. Dressed in old worn Army greens.

BRIDGET This is a dump. You sure this is the place?

JUDD This is it. Last seen two miles north.

BRIDGET Let’s get it over and done with.

JUDD We’ll be outta here by Saturday.

BRIDGET Make it Thursday. The taxidermist’s booked for next Monday.

KASHGAR, elderly, grey haired, dignified Indian with a magnificent waxed moustache comes toward them. JOHNSON one of the heavies blocks his path.

KASHGAR Memsahib. Welcome to Uttaranchal, I found the Leopard.

Holds out hand. Waits for his reward.

BRIDGET How much?

KASHGAR We agree two-thousand rupee memsahib.

BRIDGET Thousand now, thousand when I sight it.

Kashgar’s annoyed.

KASHGAR I’m a man of my word. Two-thousand now. That’s what you promised.

Judd moves forward, intervenes. Bridget ignores Kashgar, gets in Humvee. Judd pushes Kashgar to the ground, foots him down. RAWAL ten-year Indian boy, rushes forward, dodges heavies, kicks Judd’s shin hard.

RAWAL Leave my Grandfather alone.

Judd grabs shin, hobbles on one foot, swipes at Rawal, misses, topples over. Rawal darts away.

NOT in sequence:

EXT. JUNGLE DRY RIVER BED – DAWN.

Prince stops pawing sand, hatred in his eyes, looks, listens, growls, sips remaining water, starts off at a steady trot along the dry river-bed.

EXT. JUNGLE – DAWN.

KHAN, a lean mature male Bengal TIGER with attitude. Woken by gun shots, sniffs, gets up, shakes body from head to tail-end, stretches, roars in defiance. Starts walking north.

SUPER: Map of INDIA to SIBERIA, with route along which Prince and Khan are heading.

Off to one side is seen Darlene keeping to the underbrush.

EXT. JUNGLE VILLAGE – DAY.

Kashgar’s picking through his wood chest, sorting/selecting equipment, grabs rope with grapples, slings a leather pouch- over shoulder, his favourite stout wood staff. Lastly, he unrolls a piece of leather.

CLOSE: Tatty map of INDIA.

Satisfied, rolls it up in leather pouch and flings it over his shoulder along with two sleeping rolls. Fills a water-bag, looks around. Lifts pet Peregrine Falcon WANDERER from perch to his shoulder.

KASHGAR Come Wanderer. We go find that cub who kept stealing your food as a youngster. He will recognize you.

Satisfied he sets off towards the enfolding jungle.

From a safe distance Rawal’s been watching and follows, keeping out of sight.

EXT. JUNGLE CLEARING – DAY.

JOHN CARTWRIGHT, eyes glued to monitor. Bridget stands behind.

BRIDGET You’re sure you can get a fix? This programme cost me a packet. You sure know how to charge Cartwright.

CARTWRIGHT It’s accurate. Programmed to detect a seed tumbling from the tallest tree in India. I know ‘cos I wrote this revolutionary tracking software.

BRIDGET I ain’t a botanist. So how accurate is accurate?

CARTWRIGHT Within fifty-yards.

BRIDGET You said fifty-feet.

CARTWRIGHT You didn’t mention India.

BRIDGET What’s that got to do with it?

CARTWRIGHT In case you’ve forgotten. There’s a mountain range north of here. Most of the world’s highest mountains are there.

EXT. JUNGLE – DAY.

Kashgar swings water bottle from shoulder, pulls plug, gulps.

From behind a tree RAWAL watches, tongues dry lips, wipes. He’s thirsty.

Kashgar replaces plug, shoulders skin, scans leaf strewn dirt. Focuses on pad-marks.

KASHGAR Prince, you made it. So where are you taking me my old friend?

Kashgar obliterates pad-mark. Presses different set of clay-imprints into dirt in opposite direction. Smiles begins walking. Kashgar calls.

KASHGAR We’ve a long way to go. You want a drink?

Rawal dashes from cover, jumping, spinning around, catches and hugs Kashgar.

KASHGAR I taught you never to break cover.

RAWAL I didn’t.

KASHGAR I saw you miles back. So will a hungry Leopard or a Tiger.

RAWAL You said all the Tigers are gone.

KASHGAR The Indian species is. Maybe some in Siberia. No-one knows.

RAWAL And your Leopard. Where does he go?

KASHGAR I know him better than anyone. He knows what he’s doing, driving north to the mountains. Going home.

EXT. KASHGARS CAMP – NIGHT.

Kashgar and Rawal are eating fruit.

RAWAL Why did you tell that American you’d found Prince?

KASHGAR I had to know what she knows.

RAWAL What does she know?

KASHGAR Nothing.

RAWAL What’s all that stuff she has?

KASHGAR Satellite tracking equipment.

RAWAL What’s a satellite?

Kashgar points to the STARS.

KASHGAR Up there out of sight in space, things fly around our world spying on us and sending messages back to Earth. They can even see us.

Rawal ducks away under a bush, slowly peers out. Kashgar chuckles, waves him back.

RAWAL They’re trying to find Prince aren’t they?

KASHGAR Yes, they want to kill him.

RAWAL Why?

KASHGAR He’s the last, and the most prized.

RAWAL The last?

KASHGAR That woman killed his friend Princess two years ago.

RAWAL We must stop her Grandfather, we must.

KASHGAR We can try and help, lay false trails, and trust in Prince’s instincts. It’s saved him so far. I don’t know how much longer he has? And I fear for his life.

More follows, I don’t know what to leave out it’s so good

EXT. AFRICAN BUSH – AS DAWN BREAKS.

Over the mist enshrouded jungle as the morning sun dissipates the mist. The sound of boots running becomes the noise of a muted distant explosion.

The specks of a flock of VULTURES high above, circling something below. Vultures POV, a hole – from a mine explosion. Several vultures descend toward it.

Nearby jungle foliage threatens to engulf an isolated small mud-brick, tin roof house.

As the air shimmers under the hot sun.  Palm trees, exotic trees and vines, filled with all kinds of invisible but vocal wildlife, mesh as far as the eye can see.

Monkeys screech, hidden by the dense foliage their voices strident in the otherwise silent landscape.

Suddenly the monkeys’ voices are still replaced by the drone of a Helicopter with ‘The Sole of Africa’ emblem on it.

Lingering shot of: blazing mid-day sun. The air shimmers.

EXT. AFRICA – A DERELICT SOCCER STADIUM – HOT DAY

The stands are in dire need of paint and repair and the silent thin, sparse ‘CROWD’ seems lost in its tiers.

On the field’s, dusty, mainly gravel pitch with patchy grass and the scarce discerned lines, two young boys’ and girls’ TEAMS are huddled around their COACH’S.

The REFEREE MINKA, (MORGAN FREEMAN) lean, dignified, elderly about 70, a lived in but kind smiling face stands off to one side of a goal area, a whistle, pen and paper in hand. His uniform is old and too large for his slight frame, echoes of the derelict site.

Note. The camera is BEHIND Minka; we cannot see his face only the back of his head and torso.

MINKA The white team has missed one shot, the red team two.  Both teams have shot five times.  If the white team makes this shot, the game is over and the white team wins.  Are you ready?

The crowd looks down at the red goalie NYACK, in the middle of his team huddle. His small 12-year old upper body seems frail to be carrying he burden he must. Nyack shakes his head, waves his arm at the crowd and walks over to the goal line where he paces and psyches himself up.

UNIKA captain of the white team addresses an identical looking boy as the goalie. Her name is PANYIN.

UNIKA You can do it Panyin.  Just do it.  Aim for his right, you know it’s his weakest side.

PANYIN But he’ll hurt so badly.

UNIKA And you?  Won’t you hurt if you miss?  What about your dream of playing for your country?  Do it, not just for your teammates who got us this far, but for yourself too.  Go, go!

PANYIN You shouldn’t ask me. Get someone else.

UNIKA You can do it.  You have the best-left foot in the country.  Believe in yourself Panyin.

Panyin slowly advances and places the scuffed ball on the dirt penalty spot and looks at the goalkeeper.

Nyack stares back at her and smirks.

Panyin steadies, steps back, runs at the ball and kicks it.

The crowd CHEER transition to noise of a ‘BRUTAL EXPLOSION’.

EXT. DIRT ROAD. EVENING.

Nyack, Panyin and their father SENTWALI are jogging and passing a soccer ball to each other. Sentwali is in the middle, slightly behind his sons.

Nyack passes a wide ball back to Sentwali, who sprints after it.

Dirt is everywhere. The dirt settles and reveals twins Panyin and Nyack both holding a disjointed bloody hand, both SCREAMING loud– each having lost a leg to either side of the blown apart body of SENTWALI. A deflated soccer ball rocks to-and-fro away from the three bodies. Nyack and Panyin both lie screaming on the bloody ground.

SEGUE to CROWD SCREAMING

Her cheering teammates and Unika surround Panyin.

She is picked up and twirled around by Unika until he loses his balance and they both tumble to the ground.

Through the ‘melee’ Panyin sees her twin lying distraught on the ground in ‘his’ goal.

UNIKA We won the cup Panyin!  You did it!  You did it!

Panyin pushes herself up and walks over to the goal and puts her hand out to help Nyack up.

Nyack brushes the dirt from his sweaty face and smiles.  They shake hands and hug.

NYACK You beat me with a powerful shot, man.  Beckham cannot hit a ball that hard.  Manchester United will be after you.  Dad would have been proud of you.

PANYIN He would have been proud of you too Nyack.

NYACK Dad would have been proud!

PANYIN All those times he took us to soccer practice.  Yeah, he would have, he would have.

Excited fans rush the pitch blowing whistles; one’s blowing a trumpet. They gather up Nyack and Panyin onto their shoulders.

EXT. REAR OF SOCCER STAND – SAME TIME

Minka stands alone, undoing his shirt buttons; behind him is a rough plank bench seat, on it his battered kit bag. Before he tugs off the dusty sweat stained shirt, he taps a medal pinned on the breast pocket.

MINKA The last time old buddy.

SEGUE TO A LARGE SPORTS STADIUM.

A World Cup Final finishes as we hear the Ref’s whistle blow, the games over. Team Captains MOORE and BECKENBAUR run the short distance toward him. Moore carries the soccer ball. They both shake his hand and hug him.

MINKA Hey guys don’t do this. What’s this all about?

MOORE Minka, you’re always the fairest ref. You played the advantage rule and kept the game moving. What’s in store for now, retirement?

Minka chuckles.

MINKA Sounds great, I got to get a little piece of Africa to farm.

BECKENBAUR We want you to have this.

He hands a surprised Minka the game ball.

MINKA I can’t take this. I can’t. It’s worth a fortune.

Minka caresses the ball. On it is the signatures of all the players.

BECKENBAUR This’ll pay for your ten acres and a tractor. Enjoy your retirement. You’ll be missed my friend.

Return to scene:

Minka tugs off his old shirt and lays it on the bench and neatly folds it with the front upward. We see the official FIFA Ref’s badge, alongside the medal he tapped. The medal inscription says: MINKA 1966 WORLD CUP FINAL REFEREE. Smiling he sits down to remove a boot. We follow the boot (maker’s brand) as it flops on the dirt, spewing some dust and dirt around.

As the camera follows his hand back to the other boot still on his foot, he tugs it off and drops it. As the dust and dirt settle we see he has 2 leg prosthesis. He flicks the dirt off his two-prosthesis.

In his mind’s eye he sees the small farm in earlier scene. On the door swings a sign it reads: MINKA. Minka looks determined, smiles and taps his prosthesis.

MINKA Some shooting out there today. Reminds me of a cup final. Yes sir, you could teach those pros how to shoot.

Panyin with an arm behind her back, shows Minka the battered game ball, and coyishly hands it to him. Minka is surprised, his mouth opens, as a tear runs down his cheek. He takes the ball. On it is the player’s signatures. Panyin and Nyack each hang five with Minka, and then dash back to their team.

EXT. AFRICA – A VAST OPEN PLAIN – DAY

Several flocks of Vultures are still circling across a vast plain as far as the eye can see.

Return to Soccer Pitch

Nyack looks at Panyin and points to his leg. They start laughing as each un-straps their prosthesis, they swirl them around and toss them high into the air. Freeze frame.

VOICE OVER a PHALANX of stills: land mine victims, de-miners.

NARRATION: An estimated 110 million active mines are scattered in over 70 countries – in terms of people this translates as one for every 17 children or 52 humans in our world.

A further 178 million have been stockpiled.

2,000 people are involved in land mine accidents every month – That’s one victim every 20 minutes. Around 800 of these will die the rest will be maimed.

One de-miner – the heroic volunteers who clear mines, are killed, and two are injured for every 5,000 mines cleared.

About 100,000 mines are removed each year, but until recently, 2 million more were being planted each year.

At the current rate it would take 1,100 years to rid the world of mines. That’s assuming no new ones are laid. China and Russia make and export more mines than any other nation.

And the cost to buy one is $3-$10. To remove it: $300-$1,000.

These African names mean: Panyin  – Elder of twins.  Minkah -  Justice.   Unika –   Light up.    Nyack  -  Strong hearted one who will never give up.

THE END

Notes:

Shoot 4 different endings.

1.         As the script. Shooter Panyin scores.

2.            Shooter’s shot is saved.

3.         Keeper plays shooter and scores.

4.         Keepers shot is saved.

Perhaps 4 more endings as above, but these two players have 2 prosthesis each. Remaining 20 players have only 1.

No one, and I mean NO-ONE knows which ending is used. Maybe a promo angle?

Suggested alternative dialogue?

CLOSE on: penalty kicker, tear rolls down cheek as he lines up for the kick.

CLOSE on: goalkeeper’s face as ball whizzes by her outstretched arms, she falls, tears flow down her face.

Kicker runs to help her up and they hug.

BOY:  I’m sorry sis, but I had to score.

GIRL:  I know, and Dad would have been so proud.

BOY: But I made you lose…

GIRL: Nobody makes me lose and you won, so I’m the sister of the goal scorer, (SMILES through her tears)

They walk off, hopping along, supporting one another, each swinging their prosthesis.

Or their pals gather them, and then they tug off their prosthesis and fling ‘em into the air.

PRINCE CHARLES quote: wishes me well with this project.

FIFA quote: want to be kept informed of progress on this noble project.

And The Mine Seeker Foundation hasn’t even responded to my phone call and several emails ref its current status.

EXT. AIR BASE – NORFOLK, ENGLAND – DECEMBER 23, 1943 – BLEAK, SNOWY DAY

Converted farm buildings serve an isolated base as its Head Quarters.

Inside a hanger, are 4 MOSQUITO Aircraft.

ON SCREEN: ROYAL AIR FORCE PHOTO-RECONNAISSANCE STATION

INT. COMMANDING OFFICER’S OFFICE

40 year-old WING COMMANDER DOUG KENDALL calls through open door. Base atmosphere is casual. KENDALL Come in James. Everyone’s gone for Christmas I take it?

24 year old Squadron Leader JAMES ELLIOTT strolls in. A Doctor in civvy street. He joined up to fly.

JAMES Place is deserted. Scott’s here with four others. So the lads will have a great time I am sure. What do you want to see me about?

DOUGLAS In photo reconnaissance work, we sit around for days. Then have to blast into action at a minute’s notice.

James senses something’s up but doesn’t want to hear. He tries avoiding any bad news at this late hour.

JAMES Robert’s giving me a lift as far as London. Then I’ll grab the first train I can.

DOUGLAS Christmas Eve affair isn’t it?

JAMES Yes. After three previous cancellations by the RAF we  thought there’s no chance of them  putting a spanner in the works again,… is there? Don’t tell me someone in London has found something that has to done over Christmas?

DOUGLAS The resistance.

James interrupts,very angry. Douglas trails hand across condensation-drenched window peers out at sky.

JAMES No Douglas. For heaven’s sake. They told us that unless we were informed by the twentieth it was off till after Christmas. They cannot do this again. Get someone else. I am out of here in ten minutes with Robert. There is nothing London wants so bloody urgent that it cannot wait. Look, it’s the twenty-third today. We are getting married tomorrow. Allow us at least Boxing Day together. I’ll get back here sometime on the twenty-seventh. That’s only four days for Christ’s sake. The Germans will be celebrating to the hilt. Four days. What if I’d already left?

INT. OFFICERS MESS GERMAN AIR BASE – FRANCE – DUSK

On Screen: German Air Base. France

OFFICERS, WIVES, GIRL FRIENDS are celebrating, eating, drinking. A band plays Jive music. Many dancing others kiss and grope.

INT. AIRCRAFT HANGER – SAME TIME

Five bombers in various stages of maintenance. TECHNICIANS finishing tasks, washing-wiping hands, removing work suits, combing hair. BOMB BAY of a lone Heinkle Bomber is shut. NCO TECHNICIAN shouts across hanger.

NCO Stuff it, they don’t need the plane till after Christmas. We go and get drunk. Find those French girls again.

INT. COCKPIT – SAME TIME

Frustrated NCO technician fiddling with wires, shakes head, looks at watch, rubs cold hands together, decides to leave problem, scrambles out, he calls to another technician.

NCO Franz, That’s it, come on, time to get drunk.

INT. AIRCRAFT HANGER – SAME TIME

FRANZ, last to leave, throws dozen light switches. All shoulder door shut, leave by personnel door.

INT. COMMANDING OFFICER’S OFFICE  – AIR BASE – ENGLAND – DAY

DOUGLAS Sit down James. After this info came through yesterday. I’ve been waiting for a phone call. Minutes ago I spoke to Churchill himself. We have to confirm if the resistance details are correct. If it is? Britain’s in deep trouble.

JAMES Come on Douglas. We knocked the Lufftwaffe out of the skies before.  We’ll do it again. We were both there in fighter command.

Douglas drops several large photos on his desk.

DOUGLAS Not against these. Even with Dowding running the show, I don’t fancy our chances. They’re not good, but it’s all we’ve got. Taken outside a new rocket research location on the Baltic.

James glances at the blurred PHOTOS.

DOUGLAS (cont’d) We’ll not be able to knock these ‘out of the sky’ as you put it.

CLOSE UP: blurred quality photographs, showing angled V1 Rockets on launch pads, ready for take-off. Hundreds of others stacked on ground. Others loaded on flat train carriages.

JAMES A new type of plane?

DOUGLAS Rockets, packed with high-explosives. Our boffins reckon they weigh about five thousand pounds. Range one-hundred-twenty miles. Speed 350 to 400 miles an hour. Accuracy within eight miles. Hundreds being built, hundreds ready to launch.

JAMES So you want me to fly to…..

James squints eyes at name.

JAMES (cont’d) Uznam Island on the Baltic, take some pictures and return?

Douglas walks few paces to window again, bangs his stiff leg in frustration, swings around, thumps it hard on concrete floor.

DOUGLAS James if I were up to it, you would not be here. I’d jump at the chance to go.

JAMES Sorry Douglas. I know you’d look forward to flying again.

DOUGLAS You take-off an hour before dawn tomorrow. Return flying time about 3 hours. Ten minutes over target. You should be back by mid-day.

JAMES So that’s why my plane’s grounded! Fitting extra tanks?

DOUGLAS Latest Cameras. Drop tanks fitted yesterday.

JAMES How long has London known?.

DOUGLAS Months ago.  They knew Von Braun and his team had moved, didn’t know where. Thanks to the Polish underground now we do. We had to keep it under wraps.

JAMES I’ll have to phone Melanie. She’s expecting me sometime tonight.

DOUGLAS No contact.

James looks out of window across deserted field serving as their runway. It’s covered in snow.

JAMES Oh come on Douglas! Surely London doesn’t think we are being spied on in this desolate place?

DOUGLAS If we are compromised, the Germans will find the Polish resistance people. It happened once before remember? No defences have been seen there, so it should be a clean run-in-and-out. Recce has worked out the most direct route. Peter will be here shortly to run over it with you. So the wedding’s still on. Come around for a drink tonight?

JAMES Yes I’d Ike that.

Phalanx of scenes about work on V1’s:

EXT. WOODS – DAY

Stat lettering: PEENEMUNDE, EAST GERMANY

DOUGLAS If it‘s any consolation, they’re producing thousands of them with slave labour. They’ll launch them from bunkers now being built around Calais and mobile ramps on lorries and railway carriages. We got wind something was up from the Polish underground. These men are doing an incredible job. They mention a long range rocket. The next model we believe flies above the atmosphere. On re-entry it’ll be flying at 3,500 miles an hour. Silent and deadly. That’s why your going.

James now calmed down, strolls to window, looks at snow-laden sky.

JAMES What’s the bloody forecast?

DOUGLAS Not good. High winds and snow. One last thing. If this is the prototype, what will the next generation be capable of! Your Code signal’s VBR, Von Braun’s Rockets.

JAMES .How original!.

NOT in Sequence:

EXT. CAMP GATE – DAY

A Sergeant un-clips leather-cover, cocks guns, aims skyward-forward over MG, squeezes trigger.

SERGEANT This’ll do it.

Brilliant smoking flare drops in front of MG, it swerves left, right, skids to stop.

JAMES You’ve done it. Good man.

James points to smoking gun.

JAMES (cont’d) How do you explain that away?

SERGEANT Easy Sir. I have to test fire this contraption once a week. That’s next weeks; or the week after.

James dashes after MG-catches up, slides to stop. Robert props himself up, looks back. James and the sergeant lean on car.

ROBERT What the hell’s that about? I am not coming back. Not even if bloody Churchill asks for me. Tell him I’m dead. What’s this?

James hands him envelope.

JAMES I can’t phone Melanie. She must get this ASAP. If you post it in London today. She’ll get it tomorrow hopefully.

ROBERT And if she doesn’t?

JAMES Disaster.

ROBERT Tenterden’s thirty miles from my parent’s home. I’ll take it.

JAMES In that case, don’t give it to her. Give it to my mother. She can take it to her. Be kinder that way.

ROBERT What a stuff up! Okay James, leave it to me. Don’t worry. Good hunting tomorrow. See you in Church.

Robert clunks 1st gear, for fun foots throttle causing car to spin, swerve, chucking snow over them. MG disappears amid cloud of smoke, flying snow and ice.

James cups hands around mouth.

JAMES (shouting) Don’t forget the ring!

INT. HANGER – DAWN

James climbs into cockpit. Jim Elliott-ground crew Sergeant checks camera and extra tanks supports.

NAVIGATOR shouts up at James.

PETER 30 minutes after leaving the coast, turn left … degrees then south. It’ll bring you right over Manston. From there it’s an hours drive to Tenterden. You may have enough juice to West Malling. That’s nearer.

JAMES Who is going to know?

PETER You and me.

JAMES You’re a genius Pete.

PETER Check your fuel with Jim.

Elliott-overhears, ducks under fuselage, trots over to them.

JAMES Everything okay?

JIM Let’s put it this way Sir. You ain’t got enough reserve to take you to Timbuktu and back, but providing you keep her at a steady two-eighty to three hundred you’ll make it. But too many top-speed bursts and it’s down to luck and a following wind. The Channel’s a bit chilly right now.

PETER So let’s hope there aren’t too many 109′s looking for business.

JAMES It’s that tight Jim?

JIM Back to here is no problem. Going flat out; you’d have a half a tank spare. Manston’s stretching it, another 200 miles. Too strong a head-wind, and you will need all the luck you can find.

JAMES Cheerful bloody bunch especially for Christmas Eve.

PETER James, get back here safely, and we’ll ‘Get you to the Church on time’ Manston’s not a mathematical certainty. It has a rough edge if you get my drift.

DOUGLAS You’ll make it. Churchill’s counting on you.

Douglas joins them, waves, sticks two thumbs up.

MOSQUITO taxis onto runway, turns, engines scream full revs, swirling snow tumbles everywhere.

DOUGLAS (cont’d) He’ll be okay. The best there is.

SEGUE from disappearing Mosquito in snow to:

EXT. ENGLISH VILLAGE STREET – SNOW FALLING – DAY

Village illuminations seen through falling snow as Town clock strikes three.

On Screen: DECEMBER 23RD, 1943 TENTERDEN – KENT

INT. GEORGIAN HOUSE – DAY

Through Christmas lights and decorated tree we see MELANIE KNIGHT, 24 twirling around in a wedding gown.

LIZ, her mother looks at her beautiful daughter, moist eyes, smiles. Melanie’s elder sister PAT, just as beautiful full of joy.

PAT You look stunning, the dress fits perfectly. Better on you than me.

MELANIE It feels fine. Do you think James will like it?

PAT He’ll be bowled over. I just hope I look as beautiful for my wedding next year.

LIZ Then I can sit back, until the grand children arrive. What time is he due?

MELANIE Supposed to be sometime this afternoon. Which means late tonight. Before that, I have to see the Vicar, and check with Julie about the flowers.

INT. MOSQUITO COCKPIT – DAY

Rocket facility is surrounded by dense trees, hardly visible through light snow. James peers down, unable to see anything, pushes stick forward, dives.

JAMES Just my bloody luck.

LONG SHOT of plane flying low and fast, over facility, and CLOSE UP of German SOLDIERS.

Six gun placements. Snow covering greatcoats, collars buttoned high. GUN AIMER rapidly adjusts sights, another SOLDIER shoves shell in breach, another’s ready to fire, another clutches next shell.

1ST GUNNER Where the hell is he?  Can’t see a damned thing!

2ND GUNNER Who gives a monkey’s arse. Fire and hope.

INT. MOSQUITO COCKPIT – DAY

James looks at several misses as he switches on Cameras and heads for deck. Dark smoke from exploding shells shake the Mosquito.

JAMES (curses) So much for no defences. Let’s hope, they’re right about these Rockets.

EXT. GUN BATTERIES. DAY.

Line of guns – soldiers hurriedly loading breaches. Shells rake plane, several near misses-too close for comfort. Plumes of smoke rise, spiral out of sight.

Mosquito flies 3 more passes. Accelerates, climbs away.

INT. MOSQUITO. DAY.

James checks wings, behind for damage. Satisfied there isn’t any.

JAMES Not too bad. Here we come Melanie.

NOT in Sequence:

INT. GERMAN AIRCRAFT HANGER – DUSK

On Screen: CHRISTMAS EVE

Same Battle-weary, dented, dirty BOMBER squats on floor.

INT. COCKPIT – DUSK

FOUR LUFTWAFFE AIRCREW sit relaxed, HEINZ, CARL, LUDWIG and WOLFGANG swigging bottles of beer, looking bored.

OFFICER, in pilot’s seat, HEINZ,  leans forward, turns ignition key, pushes start button. Surprised when two engines cough into life.

CARL  The new starter system works.

HEINZ Let’s go for a spin out over the Channel; be back in time for dinner.

EXT. FRENCH AIRFIELD – DUSK

GERMAN BOMBER taxis from hanger onto deserted runway, turns, manages to accelerates, slews across runway, just takes off and in so doing buckles under carriage as it clips a copse of trees.

EXT. HOUSE – DUSK

Air raid siren slowly begins wailing as they walk.  They speed up glancing at twilight sky. Despite Siren, carols hum throughout Market Town from speakers hung from every lamp post. Elizabeth looks forlornly at sky.

ELIZABETH Not today please.

CHARLES Haven’t the bloody Germans any families?

They hurry to Melanie’s home. CHARLES knocks at front door.. A patrolling policeman calls out.

POLICEMAN Come on folks. Best be inside. Aircraft’s been heard over the coast at Dover.

EXT. MELANIE’S HOUSE – DUSK

Elizabeth bends down, peers through the letter box. Charles raps door knocker.

ELIZABETH They’re not in. Not back from shopping at Tunbridge Wells.

CHARLES We’d better get home and in the Shelter. Come on, we must hurry.

NOT in Sequence:

INT. AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL. MANSTON AIR-BASE. DAY.

Experienced Radio Operator 48-year-old JOHN COLEMAN adjusts several dials, listens intently. Static and crackle break-up reception. Coleman scans list of a dozen coded calls. VBR not listed, checks again, dials a number.

COLEMAN Coleman sir, May-Day call from aircraft code-named VBR repeat VBR. Not on our coded list.

OFFICER (FILTERED) Get a position?

COLEMAN None, too much static. It’ll be wild in the Channel.

OFFICER (FILTERED) We’ll never get a plane up in this lot. What the bloody Hell is he doing up there on a day like this?

COLEMAN I reckon he’s north toward Thames Estuary. I’ll check with West Malling and North Weald, maybe they got a fix, and maybe they’ll know who the hell VBR is?

OFFICER (FILTERED) How long will that take?

COLEMAN Ten-minutes sir.

OFFICER (FILTERED) Make it two Sergeant. Even if we could get a plane up he’ll be dead in minutes in that sea.

NOT in Sequence:

INT. GERMAN BOMBER COCKPIT – NIGHT

Four Drunken OFFICERS crowd cockpit. PILOT looks grim.

HEINZ Where the hell are we Wolfgang?

WOLFGANG God knows. We’re lost.

HEINZ Out of fuel and going down. You three bail out.

CARL I think we’re over the countryside. Good luck.

Everyone except Heinz hurriedly pulls on a parachute, open the door and all three jump.

Minutes later bomber explodes and disintegrates. Huge, flashes of red searing flames, spiral up, as chunks of twisted metal scatter everywhere.

EXT. TENTERDEN STREET – DAY

On Screen: 50 years later. DECEMBER 23rd 1993.

Postman BOB checks number, Pushes several piles of Christmas mail through Letter box. Christmas wreath hangs on the door of Number 56. Bob walks back to the front gate, turns, looks at house next door. Someone’s cut neat path through  deep snow. Shaking head, he begins to walk away when, suddenly the front door opens.

Happy smiling Beautiful WOMAN – Melanie, opens door. Pleading, she holds out both hands.

MELANIE Oh please. Do you have a letter for me?

BOB (Bob’s face drops) Not today I’m afraid. I am sorry Madam.

Melanie’s eyes fill with tears. Bob’s disappointed he has to do ‘something’ so he opens up and goes through his bag.

BOB (cont’d) What name is it?

MELANIE Melanie Phillips. Miss Melanie Phillips. There must be one for me. Just one.

BOB Hold on Melanie, we’ll have another look.

Bob smiles at Melanie as he goes through searching motions. Lifts large sagging empty bag, pokes gloved hand in each corner. Flicks it from side to side. Smiles again encouragingly..

BOB (cont’d) When I get back to the Post Office I’ll check for you. If there is, I’ll be happy to drop it off later. How’s that? Is it from your boyfriend?

MELANIE Yes. James Scott, I call him Jimmy. We are getting married on Christmas Eve. He’s a Squadron Leader in the Air Force. He flies Mosquitos.

BOB Really! That’s great. It’s starting to snow again. Better close the door, before you catch a cold.

Bob feels brighter, glances at snow-laden skies, inhales deeply, pulls coat collar tighter around neck, jumps in the air, clicks heels, starts whistling.

BOB (cont’d) (to himself) A White Christmas. Thank goodness for something.

Bob bursts into song.

BOB ‘God rest ye Merry Gentlemen.’

I’ve skipped to almost the end to whet your appetite of this intriguing tale with great twists.

It’s Melanie and James wedding day after the reception, a car waits to whisk them away.

With one foot in the car, and before Melanie ducks her head. She stops, turns, looks at the man holding the door. She straightens, stares at him. She smiles as the man lifts her hand and kisses it. Melanie holds and squeezes his hand in a comforting manner.

James attention’s drawn to the guests, he doesn’t notice Melanie and the STRANGER. James is about to follow Melanie when he notices the man-saluting him. James straightens, comes to attention, returns his salute. They stare at each other for some time. James extends his hand. The stranger’s about his age. Recognizing the tall man is a pilot like himself. A Lufftwaffe pilot. Melanie and James each blow a kiss, wave. Then they’re gone. Bob looks along the quiet deserted street.

Logline: An ancient Kingdom Legend of a dark force and a deadly combat art.

The Legend

It is told that 3000 years ago, the Mongolian Kingdom of Silla, under the leadership of a group of monks, developed an elaborate new system of hand-foot combat called Soo Bak.  The system centred, not on war, but on a philosophy of non-violence and personal wellbeing based on principles of body, mind and soul.  This dynasty pledged never to wage war on its neighbours and was known for its generosity in times of hardship and famine.

When a young Silla prince approached the Supreme Emperor Chong he suggested a better way to settle differences between neighbouring states the Emperor was impressed.  He commanded every Kingdom send teams of their best Martial Artists to compete in a grand tournament.  Each kingdom would pit their unarmed combat skills against those of neighbouring states and the winning kingdom earn the right to rule the empire for the next 500 years.

More than three thousand, mainly male, competitors took part in the tournament.  And when, after a gruelling seven-day contest, a shy young woman from the Mongolian Kingdom of Silla, emerged as the ultimate victor the crowd fell into shocked silence.  Her skill and style was unique.  None had seen such an exhibition before.  Had the ancient Silla dynasty introduced a new concept in martial arts?

But now that the skills and style of Soo Bak have been publicly displayed at the grand tournament it was important to ensure the pure form did not fall into the wrong hands or be corrupted.

The Mongolian prince who accompanied his martial art’s team to the contest, and who would later marry the victor, again approached the Emperor.

Emperor Chong commissioned his best scribes and artists to set down on parchment the complete history of the martial arts including that of Soo Bak. In an almost hidden labyrinth of caves far from the capital Tungka, the artists drew life-sized murals of people on the large dome cave walls practising all manner of early martial arts.

Over the decades tombs were laid down and the once shy Mongolian victor, and later Queen, was buried there.  It is said the ancient spirits watched over her and all her descendants.

But all was not well.  The Soo family, rulers of the small Soo kingdom, had long plotted to destroy the Silla dynasty and secure the ancient parchments.

They were determined to take possession of the ancient writings and drawings by any means.  Not with intention of keeping them but to corrupt Soo Bak and sell the parchments on the ‘Black Market’ to anyone willing to buy them – a National and International government or museum, an archaeological team or historical society.

It was imperative to get the scribes’ work into trusted hands. The opportunity to do so came once every 500 years when, as the last stroke of midnight ushered in the next century, two chosen cave figures would ‘come to life’ and emerge from the wall.  But as each half millennium passed the power of the figures to materialise in this way diminished.  The year 1999 marked the last chance.

*   *   *   *   *

In order for these chosen ones leave the cave and carry the parchments into safe hands, someone from the outside world must open the external cave.

To date no one has found this cave. If, and when they do, they have to shift a heavy slab covering the entrance. Then, and only then maybe the legend, writings and drawings will be revealed. All now depends on: exactly the right time, the right date and which of the cave figures ‘come to life’.

It has two main objectives

Originally designed by a teacher friend who saw the wood type stuff and asked some students to critique Tae and Kwon. Impressed with both; he suggested a web site to show Ron’s creations. Ron’s interest began during and after 1952 whilst serving a 6-year indentured apprenticeship as a Compositor and Typographer. He has a very extensive collection of these antiques. The site is split between wood type stuff and writing, the largest chunk being the writing.

An Artist

My Artist friend the late Graham Le Page drawings originally brought to ‘life’ my martial art super stars Tae and Kwon. Plus his superb storyboard of my short screenplay, The Penalty. I gave this project to the Mine Seeker Foundation. Their South African office phoned asking for:  permission to shoot it to encourage African mine victims ‘To not give up and try.’It was/is to be screened during the 2010 Soccer World Cup is played in South Africa. They-with my permission handed it to an un-named American production company to shoot. Unfortunately neither of these organisations responded to my requests ref it’s current status. I’d have thought – as the originator and writer I deserved at least this. Mineseekers Founder is Mike Kendrick, patrons include: Sir Richard Branson, Brad Pitt, Queen Noor of Jordan.

Co-Writers

Ron Shears, residing in Australia, and Aimee Lamb, residing in California have not been hampered by distance or never having actually met in person. Together they have completed several WWII era scripts, based both on facts and their imaginations, plus many family oriented scripts. Both, individually, have been writing for many years and enjoy the collaborative format, bringing two perspectives to every script and finally deciding on one brilliant one! Both have had scripts optioned and have just placed in the Semi Finals of the Screenplay Search for their script “A Smuggling We Shall Go.”

The ultimate aim to sell some of it. If a title and selected scenes interests you, please ask for the complete screenplay or story. We are also happy to consider developing and writing a screenplay, or animation project for you.

A great team on your side.

So clink on the appropriate link. By its very creative content and nature this site is constantly evolving.

So add to your favourites.

My Visual Pitches MVP

Well worth 2-minutes are two-superb pitches created by Susan Lockwood and this talented LA based outfit: The Legend and Adventures of Tae and Kwon (original title minus the word ‘Legend’) and Where the Devil says Goodnight.

Google these titles on You Tube.

Over to you, and thanks for your time

About Ron

He was born in 1935 in Kent, England. He lives with his wife In Australia where he trains at Tae Kwon Do he is a 4th Dan Master

They have a daughter, two sons and nine grand children. He enjoys writing and making furniture.

I now need to know if I’m any good at writing? If I don’t succeed; I’ve asked my family to plonk on my wooden-plank cross: BIZZY FOOL. However, if my two sons and daughter find it all, flog it for a fortune, then have a ‘life of Old Reilly on the Old Man’ I’ll return from my Paupers’ grave and haunt ‘em.