S.E. Hinton owns the outsiders. I own nothing. Really.

Fighting Through The Reflections

Chapter One

Feeling The Fall

XXX

"Down! Everybody take cover!"

"Shit, man! Fuck!"

"Where the hell are they?"

Bullets flew by, the whizzing noise they made more like a swarm of bees. The platoon dropped to the ground, weapons at the ready. A few soldiers peeked at the thicket ten to twenty meters away where the barrage of gunfire came from, returning some bullets into the hailstorm while the rest cursed, prayed, and hunkered down for the firefight.

Sodapop's eyes strained to see where the enemy lay. He'd been in country nearly five months and had been in a few firefights already, always terrified of what was happening around him. Of the six other newbies that came with him, just him and Murktaw were left. The first guy got killed before he really had his duffel bag unpacked, that first night in country. The platoon leader, his sergeant who had a four inch scar over his right cheek from where a bullet had grazed him, just shoved the kid's few belongings back into the duffel and tied it with a red knot, ready to go back along with his body to his unfortunate young wife. Watching those things get packed up again so soon after arriving left Sodapop with a funny feeling in his stomach. The platoon leader, noticing Sodapop watching him, muttered simply, "could'a been you, kid."

Sodapop felt himself pale, knowing that was true. The sergeant shouldered the bag and left the tent. Sodapop followed a few seconds later when his stomach turned and he needed somewhere to puke. He heard some laughter behind him as he heaved his lunch good-bye.

"Hey look! Another newbie's tossing his cookies!" someone laughingly teased. Sodapop didn't turn to see who.

Since then, the newbies watched everything the seasoned grunts did. Sodapop especially. He had too many things back home to get to, things he'd left unfinished when the letter came that Tuesday so many months ago, drafting him into service. As long as he made it, day by day, one day after another, he'd eventually go home again. Home to his brothers. Home to his friends. Home to his new girlfriend, Tina. Home to cars and music and good food and...

"Curtis, damn it boy, get your head -"

T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t. Automatic rifle fire drowned out what the guy was screaming at him. Sodapop tried to duck but something was suddenly blocking his vision. It was red and wet, dripping from his hair onto his face. I guess I got grazed, like Sergeant did, he thought. Gonna be one hell of a tuff scar!

"Curtis! Aww fuck man! Medic!" the guy screamed as a barrage of gunfire as well as a grenade exploded into the thicket. The shooting stopped immediately and a strange, eerie quiet fell over the place.

Then...

"How many?" someone screamed.

"Medic!" came shouts from here and there.

Sodapop felt hands on him, his clothes being tugged on and his helmet being removed. "Christ, he's bleeding bad!" It was a borrowed helmet, his was stolen but Sergeant found him another that would do until a new one arrived.

"Pressure! Put pressure on it!" someone called out.

"I am, God damn it! It ain't helping!" screamed someone else.

"He's losing too much!" the first voice screamed again. "Do something!"

"Curtissssssssss!" yelled another.

Sodapop felt funny, like he was laying in a tub of marshmallow fluff. The dull pain in his head faded along with the voices around him. The hands pulling and tugging on him seemed to fade away. The breeze was warm but comfortable, like an early summer day. Sodapop sighed. All he wanted to do was take off his boots and socks, chuck off his fatigues and go lay in the grass. Not this grass. Nup, he wanted the grass by the lake back home. That grass was soft. Soft and green and smelled clean. Grass that he used to lay on years ago with Sandy, watching the clouds float by. Clouds that looked like cars or planes or even Santa in his sleigh.

He closed his eyes, dreaming of that place. He could almost feel the tickling blades under him as the soft, gentle breeze warmed his skin.

I just want to go home, he thought.

XXX

Calla Lily Rose