Characters:
Chaplain Nevhutalu: an all-purpose chaplain; wears a Roman collar, a yarmulke, a Greek cross, and camouflage vestments over saffron robes. Middle aged to elderly. Portly.
Sergeant Sawant: mid 40s, a bit overweight, a bit sloppy, thinks of self as just one of the troops, unaware that by age and position is far removed from those same troops.
Private Zacharias: early 20s, straight arrow, totally dedicated to The Mission and The Military. Looks sharp despite the battlefield setting—fatigues should look like they’ve been freshly pressed.
Private Richards: early 20s, regards military as a bad joke, fatigues stained and rumpled, look like they haven’t been changed in weeks.
Scene: a battlefield, after the battle. It’s the choice of the producing organization whether it’s a desert, a jungle, a shattered urban area, farmland, or mountains. Costumes should be military fatigues, appropriate to the location (i.e., jungle/desert/winter camouflage, etc.). It’d be fine if the costumes were from a range of historical periods. All roles may be played by either male or female performers.
“/” in a speech marks when the next character's dialogue begins, overlapping the remainder of the speech.
AT RISE: Chaplain in full service; ZACHARIAS and RICHARDS sit facing Chaplain, with SAWANT behind them.
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: And so we pray for the eternal repose of Hill, Rodriquez, Chin, Cohen, Abdullah, Washington, Yamamoto, Nkani, and (searches for name), and, and
SERGEANT SAWANT: (hissing in a stage whisper) Nguyen
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: What?
SERGEANT SAWANT: (a little louder) Nguyen!
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: Nooney, and thus
SERGEANT SAWANT: Not Nooney. Nguyen!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: Jesus H. fucking Christ!
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: Shhh!
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: Nguyen? We had a Nguyen?
SERGEANT SAWANT: Yes! Get on with it!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: Stupid fucker doesn’t even know their names--
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: Shhh!
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: Nguyen, and thus we celebrate their service to our country, their devotion to our God, / the God who sees all, knows all, and is omnipresent; the God of our fathers, and also of our mothers, and grandfathers, and grandmothers, not to mention uncles, and, of course, aunts, the God who honors these heroic comrades
/PRIVATE RICHARDS: Shit!
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: Shhh!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: This is bullshit!
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: Quiet!
SERGEANT SAWANT: Button it, soldier!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: For this bullshit about God and sacrifice, blah, blah, blah?
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: and their sacrifice for the causes of truth, decency, justice,/ and our whole way of life against the savagery of our Godless enemies--
/PRIVATE RICHARDS: And stupidity!
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: Shut up!
SERGEANT SAWANT: I said, button it, soldier!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: (standing): And I said, why should I? This is stupid. And wrong.
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: Uh, I’m trying to hold a memorial—/ (continues under the following until “asshole chaplain” which stops the chaplain cold) here for our fallen comrades, who are now in Heaven being fed grapes and figs by angels, archangels, and the many virgins and dancing boys promised them (if they were faithful to their girlfriends or boyfriends as the case may be and didn’t (the chaplain might get increasingly excited during the rest of this) pollute themselves with whores or the shemales that shamelessly follow our noble troops onto battlefields and lure them into unspeakable acts of degradation that I cannot bring myself to speak about plainly, and if you don’t know what I’m talking about you’re in the divine grace, and if you do you’re tempting hellfire
/PRIVATE RICHARDS: And it’s bullshit.
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: Sit down and shut up. Show some respect. They died!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: Zacharias, this “memorial” insults those who got slaughtered here.
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: What the hell do you mean?
PRIVATE RICHARDS: It means this whole thing is a sick joke.
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: A joke? You call a battle half our squad died in a joke?
PRIVATE RICHARDS: It wasn’t a battle. It was an ambush. And we walked into it because our ‘leaders’ weren’t leading.
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: You don’t know what the officers had in mind.
PRIVATE RICHARDS: In mind? Those self-important fuckers? They didn’t have anything in mind. Just marching forward. With no forward reconnaisance!
SERGEANT SAWANT: You’re on thin ice, soldier! You’re close to insubordination!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: Fuck off, Sarge. A meter maid would have had more sense that to order us into this valley with no cover and no escape.
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: Shut up, Richards. Sandy and Mek and Neechi didn’t die for nothing!
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: It pisses me off that they died for nothing. But that’s the truth!
SERGEANT SAWANT: That’s enough! I’ll report you to the Captain.
PRIVATE RICHARDS: You can tell the Captain to fuck off too. He led us here, he watched us get gunned down like targets on a shooting range, and now some asshole chaplain tells us it was God’s will? And those dead troops were heroic?
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: They were heroic, you cocksucker!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: They were victims. They died because these schmucks don’t know what the fuck they’re doing.
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: God’s will is often unknowable. But I know God didn’t let Hill, and Rodriquez and, uh, Nguyen, and, uh, uh, --all the rest-- die in vain.
PRIVATE RICHARDS: You bet your sorry ass they died in vain. They’re dead. And for what? The enemy mowed them down, then took off. Sure as fuck they’ll attack us again, and more of us will die.
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: We got trapped and they died fighting for us, and for God.
PRIVATE RICHARDS: What kind of God wants all this death? Doesn’t the chaplain always say God’s on our side? If God’s on our side, how come we keep dying?
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: God knows all; we can’t.
PRIVATE RICHARDS: I don’t know all, but I sure as hell know that God wasn’t here. God doesn’t give a shit. Or doesn’t exist.
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: God is here. There are no atheists in foxholes! I need God!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: There’s an atheist in this foxhole, and there's no God anywhere. I realized that after our first stupid battle, when Illari got blown up. God’s just a distraction, smoke and mirrors.
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: God is real. God sees all. It’s our weakness that prevents us from comprehending God’s plan.
PRIVATE RICHARDS: There’s no plan, you doofus, either from God or from our leaders.
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: Of course there’s a plan! There’s got to be a plan!
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: And we’ve got to pray for the souls of those God has taken from us in that infinite, unknowable wisdom that we pray to someday understand.
PRIVATE RICHARDS: Will you just shut up, and let us get the fuck out of this deathtrap?
SERGEANT SAWANT: I said to be quiet!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: And I said, shut the fuck up, asshole!
SERGEANT SAWANT: You’re on report, Private! You’re facing a court martial if you keep this up!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: Go ahead and court martial me! You want me to testify about the stupid planning on this mission that wasted all those troops?
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: Richards! Stop it! Shut up!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: No. Silence keeps these assholes in charge. And that means more of us are going to die!
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: Those who die in battle are martyrs. And go straight to Paradise, where …
PRIVATE RICHARDS: Those who die in battle are dead. For nothing. They don’t go straight anywhere. No God, no Paradise, nothing for nothing.
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: God forgives everything, even your blasphemy -- but only if you repent now.
PRIVATE RICHARDS: More pious bullshit. Something that doesn’t exist can’t forgive me. (Starts to exit.) I’m getting out of here. If you’re smart, you’ll join me.
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: We haven’t completed the mission!
PRIVATE RICHARDS: Your funeral. I’ll send your photos to your mother after you’re killed. (Exits to the right)
PRIVATE ZACHARIAS: Sarge?
SERGEANT SAWANT: Chaplain?
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: Sergeant Sawant, form up what’s left of the squad. We need to catch up with the rest of the brigade, and, with God’s help, destroy the insurgents.
SERGEANT SAWANT: With all due respect, sir, we need to return to base to restock our supplies. We’re perilously low on ammo.
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: God will provide, Sergeant. God always does.
SEGEANT SAWANT: But, sir--
CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU: Let’s move it, Sergeant. God leads us!
Raising his staff, CHAPLAIN NEVHUTALU marches off to the left. SERGEANT SAWANT and PRIVATE ZACHARIAS glance at each other, and exit quickly to the right.
End.
