A Private War (2018) Script

Last question.

Fifty years from now, some youngster's gonna pull this disc out of a box and maybe make a judgment about becoming a journalist.

What would you want that youngster to know about Marie Colvin and about being a war correspondent?

Very difficult question.

It's like writing, uh, your own obituary.

I suppose to look back at it and say, you know, I cared enough to go to these places and write, in some way, something that would make someone else care as much about it as I did at the time.

Part of it is you're never gonna get to where you're going if you acknowledge fear.

I think fear comes later, when it's all over.


Are you stuck? Yeah.

Struggling with the end.

The hero always gets the girl.

It's a book about naval warfare, but I will keep that in mind.


We should get married again.

It didn't work so well last time, did it?

We can go sailing.

I was looking at Antigua. It's beautiful.

I wanna try for a baby again.

I don't think that's a good idea.

Why not?

We tried.

You're not 35 anymore.

Zoe? Yeah.

Is Simon in Palestine? No.

Oh, for fuck's sake. The Telegraph are already there.

We're gonna lose the scoop on Arafat.

Who else could go?

Oh, shit.

Blue screen of death.

Let me, um...

You just control, alt and then delete, and then you just hold it down for, like, three or four seconds.

There you go.

Thanks. Are you new?

Yeah, I am. I'm Kate Richardson.

Just started on the foreign desk last week.

Oh, great. Marie Colvin. Yeah, I know who you are.

I'm your biggest fan. I'd love to pick your brain sometime.

Well...

My first word of advice

is don't do anything he tries to get you to do.

Who?

Hey, Marie. I need you in Palestine, not Sri Lanka.

Sean, there is an unreported war there.

Yes, because journalists have been banned for more than six years.

I can't let you go.

Thousands of starving children.

If the government catches you, they'll kill you.

Look, I have an interview with a Tamil rebel leader.

Find someone else.

Sri Lanka.


The government refuses to let UN aid through their siege lines.

Well, the government's denying there's an embargo on the Vanni.

The government lies.

You have a reputation for speaking honestly, Miss Colvin.

People listen to you.

You must let the world know the Tamil Tigers are willing for a political settlement.

We only demand equal rights.

Look, that all goes back to British colonial rule.

I can't fix that. Anyway, that's not why I'm here.

Then what will you write about?

Half of the people living here are starving, and the other half are sick.

Sure, the government is blockading aid, but what little gets through is stolen by your own Tiger army.

There are people dying here and nobody knows it's happening.


In war zones, parents go to bed at night not knowing if their children will see the morning.

That is a measure of fear that I can never feel.

But when you're covering a war, you have to go to places where you could be killed, or where others are being killed...

Go there.

...and put one foot in front of the other, no matter how afraid you are, to make that suffering part of the record.

Is it safe? Is it safe to walk through?

Only this way out. Only this side.

Is this the only way out? This way.

Okay.


Marie, be careful.

Stay down.

I'm not armed!

Journalist! American!

Get your hands off me. I can't see.

Where am I? I can't see.

Get your hands off me. I can't see. Calm down. It's okay.

Where am I? Oh, my God. I can't see.


You must rest, Miss Colvin. I need my notebook.

Conc...

Conciliatory words do not come easy to Thamilselvan, the second in command of the Tamil Tigers.

The walking stick he carries is a legacy of the three times he was shot in battle since the beginning of the bloody war for independence.


David. Door.

I've got it.

He's looking at me with such tenderness and concern and I just can't stand it anymore, and he says, "We can try to save the eye."

And I said, "Not until you turn off that fucking whale music."

Whoa, whoa! Hey, babe, let me.

No, don't help me. Don't you dare fucking help me.

All right, this is our last bottle. Get it right.

The table has had more wine than I have.

Go on. Go on.

Oh. Oh.

Oh, here's one.

"We Tamils are so proud of your brave foreign correspondent, Marie Colvin.

Aw. "We appreciate her visit to the Vanni area

"to bring the news to the outside world, "and we wish her, 'Get well soon."'

Wow. Sting and Trudie wish you well, too, and they said there are lots of famous people who are blind in one eye.

Um, Sammy Davis Jr.

The bloke from Radiohead.

James Joyce. Moshe Dayan.

Moshe Dayan.

Oh! They all wore eye patches.

Eye patch. What an amazing idea.

That is the worst idea I've ever heard.

Babe. I'm not a fucking pirate.

You'd look great.

You would look so sexy.

For me, my darling. This is absolutely happening.


Here's Amy.

You look great, Marie. You look amazing.

So good to see you. You, too. You, too.

Congratulations.

On behalf of the newspaper, a very large thank you.

Hey. Hi.

Can I get you another drink? No. Let me.

I will leave you two to talk shop.

Thank you.

Don't stand there. I can't see you. Oh, sorry.

Is that better? Yeah.

Was that the best you had? Yeah.

People are calling it stupid. The picture?

No, you going in.

Well, I think stupid is writing a column about the dinner party you went to last night.

The paper will do anything you want. You know that, don't you?

Anything?

Yeah, you were our best asset on the foreign desk.

Were?

I'm not hanging up my flak jacket, Sean.

Good. Glad we got that cleared up.

Ladies and gentlemen, our Foreign Correspondent of the Year, known for racking up the largest sat phone bill in Sunday Times history, our very own living legend, Marie Colvin.


Do you ever have nightmares?

What? Nightmares.

From when you were in the field.

Yeah.

Bosnia.

Serb soldiers posing with decapitated heads.

They seemed very pleased with themselves.

Still have it sometimes.

When were you gonna call her?

Who?

The girl.

I'm guessing you got her number.

Thank you. Keep it.

Yeah, yeah, okay, I got her number.

I was gonna call her tomorrow.

Or maybe the day after. Or maybe I wasn't. I don't know.

That's the level of respect you have for me.

Oh, come on, you are constantly leaving me for some faraway place.

Despite that, I've always been here for you.

I never asked you to be. You shouldn't have gone to Sri Lanka.

I told you to stop all this so long ago, and you are like a moth to a bloody flame.

I mean, look at you.

You were so beautiful.

Well, fuck off.

Go on. Fuck off, back to your novels.


Hey, get your hands off me. Hands off.


Miss Mary.

Mourad.

Oh.

You came in the potato truck! I came in the potato truck.

Nice. Nice eye patch. Oh, thank you, Mourad.

And how are you?

Ah, I made it to lunchtime in one piece, so I'm thankful.

Shit. You know, we're gonna be late.

I wanna pick something up in the Green Zone before we go to Fallujah.

Okay. Yalla. Yalla.

So good to see you, Miss Mary.

Am I glad to see you.


While here, you are considered guests of the Coalition Provisional Authority.

Refusal to cooperate with the rules as we've outlined for embedded reporters will result in an immediate revocation of press privileges.

You must remain with that unit for the entire duration of the assignment.

God, we used to go wherever we wanted.

Hey, Norm.

It's like they're drugging the fucking journalists.

Yeah. You will be disembedded.

How you holding up? I still can't measure distances.

Who knew your left eye was so important?

When was the last time you slept? Ah, I don't sleep.

Where you headed?

God, you gotta be more subtle than that.

Oh, come on. After everything I did for you in East Timor?

What have you got? East Timor? Sure, I remember you.

Riding off into the sunset with the UN.

At least I saved you a seat.

You were in East Timor? Yeah.

Back when you were still in college.

Ah. Never went to college.

Oh, God. I'm fucking done after this.

Oh, Norm, you wouldn't know what else to do.

And you couldn't live with the fear of missing out.

All right, let's have television media head this way, print media, back of the hangar.

Well, welcome back. Hey, we missed you.

See you at the Hamra, Norm.

Save me a seat at the bar. You bet.

I'm not getting angry.

You're not letting me do my job.

What's your name?

Paul. I'm Marie.

I know. So, you're freelance?

Always. Any good?

The best.

Come on. What, now?

I need a photographer.

I've never found one I like. Let's see how you do.

Now? Yeah.

You don't think I subscribe to all that bullshit, do you?

Where are we going? Fallujah.

We can't just drive to Fallujah. Why not?

'Cause we'll be targeted. Are you scared?

No. Good.

Feras says he personally drove a truck full of bodies to a desert camp overlooking Lake Habbaniyah.

Now, listen to me. Listen, Marie...

Six hundred people killed by Saddam in 1991, buried in trenches 60 miles west of Baghdad.

We won't get to it if we're behind the American advance.

It's not an option. Well, no.

We're going to Fallujah. It's too dangerous.

Everywhere's too dangerous.

What about the Ramadi story, Saddam's men working with Al-Qaeda?

There's no source on that yet, but trust me on the mass grave.

People have been searching for this for years.

Okay, well, then, I need you to find bodies.

I'll call you when I do.

Fuck.

Miss Mary.

They're not American.

They're either Saddam's police or his militia.

They're not gonna want us here either way.

He wants to know who you are.

Sir, we're aid workers.

We're here to help the doctors in Lake Habbaniyah.

See? I'm a nurse. This says "health."

"Health."

Fuck me.

Was that your gym card?

All right. Here we go.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.


He wants to know where your medical equipment is.

Tell him it's gone ahead.


Turn around. Turn around.

What's he saying?

He said we don't need doctors where we're going.

Yalla.

Shall we go?

Fuck.

Jesus Christ.

Your fucking gym card.

You burned me with your cigarette.

I'm sorry. Fuck me.

What's he saying?

He's just apologizing for being late.

No problem. No problem. Thank you for coming.

I wanna start over there. Is that okay?


What if you don't find anything?


And I want to know the stories of individual people.

I want to tell their stories. Can she tell me about her father?

Don't fucking touch me.

Paul, he wants the camera and wants you to stop.

No.

There are hundreds of people buried here.

Miss Mary, they're going to arrest us if we don't stop.

Ask him whose side he's on.

Tell me in Arabic. I'll tell him.

Have some respect. Have some respect.


Allahu akbar.


...allied forces targeted key locations in Baghdad, the northern Mosul area as well as southern Iraq, near the Iraq-Kuwait border.

US officials have told us that Saddam Hussein and some of his highest-ranking officials are among the targets...

Paul, are you okay? I can't stop thinking about it.

Get another drink.

You want one? Not when I'm working.

Are we selling a phony war?

Paul, what we saw, was it phony?

No.

"War is not so terrible for governments.

"For they are not wounded or killed like ordinary people."

While on patrol today with the Seventh Brigade, we encountered fierce enemy fire from insurgents on the outskirts of Baghdad.

Meanwhile, it seems as though we hit very strategic...

But she's calling US forces "we."

Don't worry about it. Why not?

Because it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter what type of plane just bombed a village.

What is important is the human cost of the act.

People connect with people, so you find their stories, tell their stories, forget about the other stuff.

You mean close your eyes?

She's already got one eye closed. It's not funny.

Thanks.

Look, this is the rough draft of history.

You have to find the truth of it.

If you lose that, you're not helping anybody here.

You're just making yourself feel better.

I'm going to bed.

Right. Night, Kate.

Sleep tight.

Fuck off.

Oh, fuck.

Paul, do you know how to recover a file?

Give it over.

I don't know why I bother.

I should just go back to dictation.

This is weird. What?

I've always looked up to you, and now here I am, saving your work from your own folly.

Have you saved my work?

Wait.

I'm not good under pressure.

Ta-da. You're a bloody genius.

Night, Marie.

Night.


Bones and decomposed robes emerged amid the dirt of the machine's jaws.

A small pelvis that was unearthed appeared to have been that of a young teenager.

Limbs severed, dirt and rock and flesh torn alike.

The knowledge of the fragility of the human body never leaves you once you've seen...

Once you've seen

how easily flesh can be rent by hot bits of metal.

Once you've seen...

Fuck.


Hey. It's Marie. Leave a message if you want.

Although I never actually check this.

It's just as well, to be honest.

I'm up to my neck in politics and we need to report on the recovery of the euro.

Forget it. Go with the mass grave.

Have you actually spoken to her since she got back from Baghdad?

Of course I have.

It's pretty grim for a Sunday front page.

Yeah. Is it provocative? Yes.

Will it make people choke on their cornflakes when they're reading about these poor sods? Yes.

We're onto a bloody winner. Fuck the bloody euro.

Listen, I don't think I can come and see you all this weekend.

Oh, I really want you to see Chloe.

She's almost started walking.

And I just saw that girl again.

Who?

That child's lifeless body. I can't get it out of my head.

I can't get her out of my head, Rita. Which child, Marie? Marie?

The girl who's always on my bed.

Oh, go on, fuck off. Go on, fuck off.

God. Okay.

Just tell Sean to stop fucking calling me.

I wanna be alone. Right, okay.

Done.

Marie, can we talk now, please?

If you hold the sheet steady.

You have been avoiding this conversation for months.

Do you think you might have, you know, post-traumatic stress disorder?

No.

PTSD is what soldiers get.

Come on, we both know you can get it from just witnessing a car accident.

I think you need to talk to someone.

I'm not crazy, Rita. I'm not saying you're crazy.

Sean doesn't have the balls to stand up to you, or he doesn't want to because you're his prize pig, but...

You're not well.

We just want you to get help.

Thanks for letting me come and visit.

If you're not fucking crazy when you come into a place like this, you definitely will be if you get out.

So is this where you grew up?

Huh.

Yeah, that's the north shore of Long Island.

Oyster Bay.

Not the ritzy part.

Who's this? Your boyfriend?

No, that's creepy. That's my dad.

Oh.

Sorry.

Marie, when bad shit happens, your brain goes into shock.

It... It locks the trauma in the same place you process emotions, which isn't where memories are meant to live.

That's why it feels so present.

Is that why you left the army?

No. I was court-martialed.

Planted some hashish in my locker to get out.

How long did it take you to get better?

A long bloody time.

Marie, you've seen more war than most soldiers.

You have to take it seriously.

You want psychobabble?

Right, I'll give it to you. I...

I really looked up to my father.

I was tormented when he died because he never understood the fact that I might have opinions of my own.

I love my mother, but I struggle with her because I can never be the suburban housewife in the safe fucking life.

I diet fiercely because I don't wanna get fat, but I also have seen so many people in the world go hungry, so I... I like to eat.

I, um...

I wanna be a mom, like my sister, but I've had two miscarriages and I have to accept the fact that I might never be that.

I fear growing old.

But then I also fear dying young.

I'm most happy with a vodka martini in my hand, but I can't

stand the fact that the chatter in my head won't go quiet until there's a quart of vodka inside me.

I hate being in a war zone.

But I also feel compelled,

compelled to see it for myself.

Because you're addicted to it.


You're all right.

Hey.

Hey.

You're all right.

Sorry.

It's all right.

It's allowed.

Who did you say my father looked like?

Aww.

What do you think? Suits you.

Yeah, well, black seemed so grim suddenly.

Do you, um... Do you need some more flowers?

Thank you. That's very sweet of you.

Iraq, Afghanistan, Blair, Bush.

Now, we're struggling to cover it all.

Thank you. Thank you for what?

For trying to flatter me.

I didn't come here to flatter you. I came here to see how you're doing.

And to, um...

You can speak freely.

Paul and I became quite close in Iraq.

Can you give us a moment, please, Paul?

Sure.

Are you okay?

Mmm.

We miss you, Marie.

You have a God-given talent to make people stop and care.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years, Sean?

Haven't really thought about it.

Don't be English. Be honest.

Well, in that case, I wanna be the most highly regarded, well-respected, award-winning editor Fleet Street's ever seen.

Then get me back in the field.

I can't do that.

And you're not ready, are you?

Well, then, maybe I just have to find a shrink in here who'll testify to my sanity.

Well, you got Yasser Arafat to give you his life story, so...

Look, I've got a lunch, but...

Don't worry, your position on the foreign team isn't going anywhere.


Doesn't look good. Oh, my God. Oh, no.

What is it? IED?

Yeah, must be.

Is that Norm? Yeah.


Is someone helping this little boy?

Guys, can we get a medic? I'll take care of him.

You'll be okay, all right?

War is the quiet bravery of civilians who will endure far more than I ever will,

of those asked to fight and those who are just trying to survive.

Mothers, fathers, sons and daughters, traumatized families, bereft and inconsolable.

Checkpoint outside Lashkargah's been hit.

Taliban's opened fire on civilians. It seems risky.

That's nowhere near where we're supposed to be going.

What shall we do?

We have to go.

Norm. Hey, Norm.

If I ditch the babysitters, you got room for two?

Sure.

In covering war, can we really make a difference?

The real difficulty is having enough faith in humanity to believe that enough people will care when your story finally reaches them.

Oh, Danny boy The pipes, the pipes are calling From glen to glen and down the mountain side Oh, Danny boy Oh, Danny boy I love you so

Beautiful. Fantastic.

Please pick a sadder song next time.

Fuck.

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank you for braving the cold and joining us for our fourth annual "End-Of-Dry-January" party.

Four Decembers ago, an associate and I, after a very good year, decided to take our best shipping client, uh, for a celebratory dinner in Milan.

After much booze and, um, other substances, I have no fucking idea what happened.

Anyway, I decided that it was best to pump the old brakes in January.

I'm very glad to have you here to celebrate the end of that wretched month and to being alive.

Being alive!

Cheers.

Being alive! Being alive!

Hey, Rita. Rita. Don't go. It's still early.

Darling, it's 2:00 a.m. I have to be up early to make breakfast for Chloe.

Well, stay and then I'll come with you.

Not like that, you won't. What's that supposed to mean?

We're not having vodka for breakfast.

No, I'm fine. Everything's fine.

When did you get so crusty?

When did you become an alcoholic?

Well, I've been drinking since I was 15, so it's been a while.

What do you hear when the music stops?

I don't hear anything at all.

Shit.

My minicab's here.

Look, I'm sorry. I'm tired.

Why don't you skip all this, come back to mine for a cup of tea?

No. You give your little angel a kiss in the morning from Aunt Marie, the pirate.

Take care out there on the high seas, all right?

Bye-bye.

Love you.

Hi. Hi.

Thanks for having us over. My pleasure.

Marie. Tony.

Nice to meet you. Nice to meet you.

Can I bum one of those? Certainly.

Where'd you get that eye patch, Marie?

Uh, Treasure Island.

Really?

I heard...

I heard you got it in Sri Lanka.

You did? Which is hard to say sometimes.

I asked Amy.

And you, uh...

You background-check all of your potential one-night stands?

I don't have one-night stands.

Oh. I don't. No, I don't, I don't.

I have sexual adventures.

One-night stands, no.

I always end up with psychos.

Perfect.


How do you take it?

Black. Mmm-hmm.

Mmm.

You work in the city? Yeah.

Sometimes. But I travel a lot, so...

Your apartment looks like Patrick Bateman's London nightmare.

Thank you.

And you look like a cleric I met in Tehran.

Oh, yeah.

I just had to dry my hair.

That one.

Is that who you were shouting at last night?

What do you mean, shouting about?

I think you were having a nightmare.

I wasn't.

I don't have nightmares. Okay.

Look...

I'm a single father who was a really shitty husband, and when I'm not working hard, I just like to...

Live hard. Yeah.

I had a great time with you last night and I would like to see you again.

As the Arab Spring continues to sweep across the Middle East and North Africa, it is intensifying in Libya, where thousands of Libyans took to the streets to voice their discontent over their leader, Muammar Gaddafi.

According to witnesses, dozens of civilians have been killed in protests that have erupted in multiple cities across the country.

Sean. Yes.

Rebels are mobilizing across Libya. Gaddafi's still not budging.

Okay. Did Kate make it in? I'm checking.

Simon's in, too, and so is Marie, last I heard.

Last you heard?

The officers raped the girls first, even had music playing.

They called me down and they ordered me to rape a girl.

She didn't move much when I raped her.

She said in a low voice, "There is Allah. He is watching you."

I said, "Gaddafi is Allah."

He said, "Gaddafi is Allah"?

Where are you taking us, Abdallah?

To find the other soldiers who raped the girls in Tawergha.

How many girls? I don't know.

I know. Abdallah, come on.

I need to know what we're dealing with here.

I can't be sure. Maybe a thousand. Maybe more.

One thousand?

Gaddafi's punishment for the uprising.

Allahu akbar!


I feel that we've failed if we don't face what war does, if we don't face the human horrors and tell people what really happens when all sides try to obscure the truth.

Stay down.

Go on.

Come on, let's go. No, wait!

Down, down. Come on, come on.

Please listen to me next time.

Fucking listen to me. Listen to me.

I spoke to the rebel leader. He said the rebels are pushing west.

They're pincering Gaddafi's forces. Marie...

No, we're turning up war crimes, Sean.

You fucking sent Kate in here, too?

There's a lot to cover in Libya.

You're worried I can't deliver you a front-page splash?

I'm not having this conversation with you. Did you get my text?

The next thing I know, you'll be putting me in the fucking gardening section.

Don't tempt me. Marie.

Rémi? What happened?

RPG attack. RPG attack?

Did you get my text? Your text? What?


Marie?

Marie?

Marie?

Marie?


Why don't we go back inside, eh?

Paul, it's all gone quiet up here.

It's all gone quiet.

Come on.

Stop fucking around.


Marie?

There. Mmm.

You scared the shit out of me.

I would call you a pussy, but pussies are tough as shit.

In East Timor, Norm made me this T-shirt.

It said, "Don't shoot me. I'm a war reporter."

He was always first in, last out.

He was invincible.

There are old journalists and there are bold journalists.

There are no old and bold journalists.

You said that.

He had a red line and he crossed it.

Norm knew what he was doing.

Mmm, yeah, I guess he did.

Can I have a cigarette, please?

Fucking hell.

I gotta get cleaned up. I gotta go.

Where?

Faruq got me face time with an old acquaintance.

Now? Yeah.

Well, in two hours.

Can I ask you a personal question?

There are no personal questions.

What's with the fancy bra?

You're calling this a bra?

This is not a bra. This is La Perla.

I mean, if anyone's gonna pull my corpse from a trench, I want them to be impressed.

Right. The tough war correspondent.

Jesus Christ.

You okay?


Mary. Colonel.

You remember the first time you came to interview me?

I do. You tried to take my blood.

You were very pale.

I was young and naïve, and you scared the shit out of me.

Today's presidents who say I should leave,

I tell them, "You might finish your time, but you will retire.

"But I will still be leader of the revolution."

What about the Libyan people, persecuted, tortured, murdered?

Al-Qaeda, Al-Qaeda.

They drug the Libyan youth to make them rise up against me.

So you're prepared to sink your country into civil war.

Thousands will be killed.

The superpowers don't consider you strategically important enough to care about you.

All you have is oil.

Al-Qaeda, Al-Qaeda. Not my people.

So you finance bloodshed to be noticed.

You funded the IRA, the Shining Path in Peru, Sword of Islam in the Philippines.

All to gain international recognition... Al-Qaeda, Al-Qaeda.

...that will never come.

The only people who did believe in you wound up at the wrong end of your rockets.

Was it really Al-Qaeda who brainwashed Libyans?

Or was it you?

Of all the women in the world, I like spending time with you most.

More than Condi Rice.

Even though she's a strong woman of African origin.


He called his enemies rats.

He targeted women and children.

Yet it was Colonel Muammar Gaddafi who was cornered in a sewer pipe.

Having never fought a war until now, his cruel dictatorship ended in ignominy and death.

A big-game trophy brought down in the wild.


Marie.


Zoe. Is she in there? Yeah.

Hey. Sorry, sorry. It's been bloody murder today.

Shall we go?

I am starving.

Where do you fancy? Anywhere.

You've been very quiet recently.

What's that supposed to mean?

Your last story was in October.

My knees aren't what they used to be.

Have you fallen in love again?

Tony. We're going sailing in Antigua.

That's wonderful.

But you're up there with bloody Martha Gellhorn.

Everyone's holding their breath for how you're gonna follow up Libya.

Sean, I have nightmares every night.

I can only imagine. I'm running, trying to get to this house.

It used to be a nice house, but it's gone now.

All that's left now is mutilated bodies and rubble.

Marie... Are you completely gutless?

Are you drunk?

No, I'm not drunk.

How does it feel to be the person pushing us all around the world for that piece of tin to put on your fucking shelf?

You can't smoke in here. Fuck off.

You knew I had Libya covered and you still tried to fuck me.

You sent Kate in as insurance, didn't you?

'Cause you didn't trust me to do my fucking job.

What do you want me to say?

That you were wrong and you're sorry.

I was wrong and I'm sorry. Can you put the cigarette out, please?

I'm finished.

Why am I always the fucking bad guy?

I had to cover myself in Libya because you are totally unpredictable.

God knows everybody loves you, Marie, but you are a pain in the fucking arse.

David Blundy. Who?

David Blundy. What about him?

He left for The Telegraph before you joined.

I took his job. What is your point?

And then he was killed two years later in San Salvador.

João Silva lost both legs at the knee in Kandahar while working for the New York Times.

I was with him in Afghanistan.

Safa Abu Seif. Who did he work for?

She was a 12-year-old Palestinian girl killed by a stray bullet that pierced her heart.

I watched her parents hold her as she bled out.

She was wearing pearl earrings.

She probably thought she looked pretty that day.

I see it, so you don't have to.

How about the gardening section, Marie?

Would that make you happy?

One word to Watkins and you're there.

Is that what they all died for?

I don't know what they died for. Yes, you do.

You see it so that we don't have to, yes, but also because you couldn't imagine a world in which you didn't.

No one in their right mind would do what you do, Marie.

But if you lose your conviction, then what hope do the rest of us have?


Maybe I would have liked a more normal life.

Maybe I just don't know how.

Or maybe this is where I feel most comfortable.

Fucking hell.


Paul, what the fuck are they singing?

I think they're celebrating our arrival.

Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!


Allahu Akbar!


Jesus Christ, Marie.

Fuck. Way worse than I thought.

Here.

Wh... Where's Abu Zaida?

Abu Zaida, Marie Colvin, Sunday Times.

One of the FSA fighters told me he'd counted 47 explosions a minute.

Shelling starts at 6:30 every morning.

They start with one location, they sweep the neighborhood with everything they have, mortars, artillery, missiles.

Right. I heard 5,000 troops. Hell.

4th Armored Division led by Assad's brother.

How many civilians? 28,000 trapped.

Mostly women and children. Where?

Where are they? Tell me where they are.

It's too dangerous to go out right now.

The main offensive can start at any moment.

Which is why you have to tell me where they are, so I can go out there before it starts.

For what?

People are seeing us being butchered and they still call us terrorists.

You deserted.

Deserted who? You deserted Assad's army.

Yes. Why?

You wanted to be free.

Let me tell your story.


You'll translate for me? Yes.


I want people to know your story.


Yes, she was under the rubble.

How old was her daughter?

Five years old.


You're connected now.

We have to stay away from the sat phone.

Assad's drones can locate the signal and we become a missile target.

Although who knows if that's even secure.

I don't think it's Israel.

Well, the Israeli embassy was hit by bombers in Georgia and in India.

I was thinking more about the Arab Spring going to shit.

Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt or Syria.

We've got Marie trying to... She made it into Homs.


You know, it's okay, the decor.

It's a shame about the fucking banging.

I told you we should have gone to Aleppo.

I should have fucking listened.

Last time I book a fucking vacation on the Internet.

Fuck me.


Holy shit.

Did she file? I've got it. It's here.

It's printing. Okay, go get it.

Marie's story's a pretty strong rebuttal to Assad's claims that he's bombing terrorists.

What's the plan now?

She needs to get the hell out of there.

There's an assault coming. We need to go now. Now, now, now!

Stop. What are you doing?

I gotta go back. There are 28,000 people there.

We can't abandon them. No, no. Listen to me!

You're brilliant and brave, and, fuck, you've got an amazing nose for a story.

But you don't have a military brain, all right?

Hey, hey, hey. Let me go.

We will fucking die if we go back, okay?

We will fucking die. I gotta go back.

You go. No.

Save me a seat at the bar. No. Which bar?

Where?

Marie!

Fuck!

Come on. Come here.

Sean, she's back.

Can everyone shut up? Shh.

Quiet.

Hey, what are you doing?

I thought of an item for the gardening section.

I'm about to have a stroke here. Can you be serious?

I want to broadcast. All good?

Yeah, okay. You don't have to do this.

You've already given us more than we need.

No. I want to broadcast. It's not safe.

And then I wanna go back to the hospital. I wanna get more video.

Marie, listen to me. You do not have to do this.

Okay, but I...

Fuck!

Fuck.

Signal's gone down. No shit.

The phone. Hey.

I already told you if you use the sat phone, those drones will know where we are.

They'll blow us out of here. We don't have time.

Let me see if I can fix it. We don't have time!

Wait. Let me see...


Channel 4, BBC, CNN, all want to broadcast.

Okay.

Fine, but then you leave at the first opportunity. Agreed?


Hello? Hello?

We're gonna patch you through to CNN.

Putting you on in five, four, three, two...

...Marie Colvin of the Sunday Times of London, who joins us now from Homs.

Why is it important, do you think, to see these images?

Why is it important for you to be there?

Right now you may be one of the only Western journalists in Homs.

Our team has just left.

For an audience for which any conflict is very far away, this is the reality.

There are 28,000 civilians, men, women and children, a city of the cold and hungry, starving, defenseless.

There are no telephones. The electricity has been cut off.

Families are sharing what they have with relatives and neighbors.

I have sat with literally hundreds of women with infant children who are trapped in these cold, brutal conditions, unable to feed their children anything other than sugar and water for weeks on end.

That little boy was one of two children who died today.

It's what happens every day.

The Syrian regime is claiming that they're not hitting civilians, that they're just going after terrorist gangs.

But every civilian house has been hit.

The top floor of the building I'm in has been totally destroyed.

There are no military targets here.

It is a complete and utter lie.

Well, thank you for using the world "lie."

I think a lot of people wanna thank you because it's a word we don't often hear, it's not often used, but it's the truth in this case.

The Syrian regime, their representatives, have continually lied.

They've lied on this program to us directly.

Marie, I mean, you have covered a lot of conflicts over a long time.

How does this compare?

This is the worst conflict I've ever seen.

It's the worst because it was a peaceful uprising that was crushed by violence.

President Assad is sitting in his palace in Damascus in panic, the entire security apparatus his father built crumbling around him, and he is responding in the only way he's been taught how.

When he was a child, he watched his father crush opposition by shelling the city of Hama into ruins and killing 10,000 innocent civilians.

He watched, as we're watching, a dictator killing with impunity.

And the words on everybody's lips here are,

"Why have we been abandoned?"

"Why?"

I don't know why.

Marie Colvin, um, I know it's impossible to stay safe, but please try.

Thank you for talking to us.


Married. Married, we need to get out now.

We have to go back to the clinic. No.

There'll be more casualties. We got the fucking story.

You did it. It's enough. We can get more.

They're bracketing. What is that?

They're trying to find their range.

They've found us.

Marie, come on, let's go.


Paul.

Marie.


Very difficult question.

It's like writing, uh, your own obituary.

I suppose to look back at it and say, you know, I cared enough to go to these places and write, in some way, something that would make someone else care as much about it as I did at the time.

Part of it is you're never gonna get to where you're going if you acknowledge fear.

I think fear comes later, when it's all over.