AT RISE: The sound of an F-16 Jet SCREAMS stage left to stage right, so loud it rumbles the theater. A pretty young woman, LIEUTENANT KIMBLERY CLARK, enters, clutching files and reports. She is thirty, prim, efficient, with black-rimmed glasses and crisp military uniform. She puts the files down on the table and pulls out a clipboard with notes attached. A deep, gruff voice off stage.
GENERAL:
(O/S) I don’t want to be disturbed for the next fifteen minutes, is that clear, sergeant?
Clark looks nervously at the door. It bursts open. A middle aged general storms in – red faced, white haired, stiff as a corpse, and as gruff as his chin is square
GENERAL:
Lieutenant Clark?
CLARK:
(nervously) Yes, General, sir.
GENERAL:
Are you ready?
CLARK:
Yes, sir.
70