Author's Note: Alright, here we go. This is just a little spin off novella from one of the other stories that I wrote. Right now I'm thinking it will only be three or four chapters. This story stands on its own so don't worry if you haven't read any of the other stories. But if you do enjoy this story then you should check out my other story Define Your Meaning of War.

A fair warning, I did up the rating on this story for a reason. Due to the nature of the story there is some foul language I couldn't avoid as tactically as S.E. Hinton did and also there are some parts that get a little graphic. Just know that going in if you're squeamish. Also keep in mind this is a separate story from my other ones on this topic, so tread carefully. The outcome may or may not be a happy one. Even I'm not completely sure yet which way this will go!

Okay, with all that out of the way, let us begin…

A Twist of Fate

Chapter One

Wrong Side of Heaven

Arms wide open, I stand alone.

I'm no hero and I'm not made of stone.

Right or wrong, I can hardly tell.

I'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell.

(Wrong Side of Heaven by FFDP)

Steve Randle was a good solider. When he had been drafted to fight in the Vietnam War in the spring of 1969 he hadn't ever considered being a solider. He was a mechanic. He was a great mechanic and he really thought that's all he'd be good for in his life. So he was surprised when he found that the battlefield seemed to fit him so well. He was oddly at ease with war. The chaos and destructiveness of the battlefield suited him in an unexpected way. He wasn't really sure what that said about him. And he was fairly certain he didn't want to know.

It had been almost ten months since Steve and his best friend from home Sodapop Curtis had been drafted and were forced to leave Tulsa, Oklahoma. However the comfort of being drafted with his best friend hadn't lasted long as they were separated as soon as they arrived at boot camp. Steve hadn't seen or heard from Soda since. After being on the battlefield all these months he was starting to think that was for the best though. Being on his own made him harder and tougher; it made him a good fighter. He had watched men twice his age fall apart in the heat of battle. That was where Steve thrived. He understood violence. He understood doing what you had to in order to survive and save your own skin. That was an advantage of growing up on the rough side of town. He could only hope that Soda had found that drive to survive as well, wherever he was.

This had been a particularly rough week for Steve's unit. They had been ambushed three times and had several casualties, including the solider who worked the radio in order to communicate with base. Without any communication to receive orders or radio for help if they needed it, the captain had decided that they should head back to base.

Everyone was tense as they moved through the jungle, spread out enough to not attract too much attention but still within sight of each other. No one was eager to get caught in yet another ambush and they were still deep in enemy territory. It would take them several days to get back to an ally base so that they could reestablish communications.

A silent signal to halt ran along the line of soldiers. Steve gripped his rifle as he held out an open hand to signal the next person in line to stop. His eyes searched the jungle around him, but he couldn't see any threat. That didn't stop his heart from pounding hard in his chest as his every sense strained to detect anything that might be out there. After a few minutes he drifted up next to one of his comrades that was further up in the line.

"What's goin' on?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes still searching the trees around him for a threat.

"They found somethin' up ahead," the guy answered quietly. "Cap sent a few guys to scout it out."

Steve only nodded. He listened to the quiet, waiting to hear gunfire that would signal them to jump into action. But all he heard was the rustling of the wind through the trees. Several minutes passed before the scouts finally returned, signaling the all clear. The rest of the group started forward. After a minute they came out into a clearing.

"What am I lookin' at?" Steve asked curiously as he looked around the area. At a glance it looked like a small village made of bamboo.

"It's a prison camp." The captain – Captain Miller – had come up behind him, surveying the area in front of them grimly. "Looks like it was abandoned recently, there's no guards anywhere." He glanced at the soldiers around him. "Search for survivors."

Steve took another look at the area in front of him, really taking it in this time. The clearing had a bamboo fence that ran around it and inside the fence were small cages. There were people in some of the cages. Steve felt his stomach turn at this realization. But despite this the area was eerily quiet. What kind of sick place was this?

Steve followed everyone else into the camp. He felt disgusted as he moved between the cages. He had never really believed in this war when he was drafted. But after seeing the cruelty of the North Vietnamese soldiers he had a sudden feeling of righteousness that they were over here fighting against them. At this moment in time to Steve it seemed that they were doing the right thing.

He looked down around him as he walked between bamboo cages. The cages weren't even big enough for the prisoners to sit up in. All the prisoners were dirty and clearly malnourished. Most of them seemed to be unnaturally still and quiet. He shuddered as he realized one particular prisoner that he had been looking at was a corpse. He had the sudden unnerving sense that he was walking through a gruesome cemetery that left its occupants out on display rather than burying them in the ground.

Other men in his unit were checking over the men in the cages, calling out names they read off of dog tags to be recorded along with condition. They were all Vietnamese names, most likely South Vietnamese soldiers. So far all of the conditions were deceased. It didn't look like they were going to find any survivors. Steve paused and closed his eyes trying to forget where he was just for a minute. But he couldn't. The smell was awful.

"Curtis, Sodapop P.," someone called out.

Steve's eyes flew open and his whole body went cold. "What?" The word came out choked, unheard by anyone but himself. He looked around wildly for who had spoken, but there were too many people moving around him and suddenly he felt so dizzy he couldn't focus on anyone. "Who's got Curtis?" he called out to no one in particular.

"Over here!" Steve spotted one of the soldiers from his unit waving at him. He recognized him as a guy named Turner. Steve sprinted over to him, his heart pounding. It couldn't be. It was nearly impossible to mistake that name, but Steve still couldn't believe it. Sodapop couldn't be here. He just couldn't.

Steve reached the cage that Turner was kneeling next to. The solider inside was wearing a tattered military uniform. Mud caked his clothing and his skin and he looked like no more than skin and bone. For a moment he was deathly still. Then he turned his head very slowly and looked up at Steve with bleary eyes. There was a large gash on his forehead just above his eyebrow and there was blood staining one side of his face and matting into his hair, which had grown out from the military crew cut. If Steve hadn't been looking closely, he wouldn't have recognized him.

"Steve?" Sodapop wheezed weakly, looking confused.

"Soda," Steve gasped, too shocked to say anything else. For a minute all Steve could do was stare, frozen in place. Then he saw Soda's eyes start to roll as his head fell to one side. This was enough to get Steve to spring into action. He reached forward and started desperately trying to pull apart the ties that held the bamboo cage together. "Hang on, Soda. Hang on, we're gonna get you outta there."

With Turner's help they were able to pull the top off of the cage. Steve wanted to immediately yank Soda out of this inhuman contraption, but his legs were still confined by a wooden structure at the end of the cage. As Turner went about trying to free him from this, Steve leaned over his friend. Gently he tapped Soda's cheek, trying to get him to come back around. "Soda? Soda can you hear me?" Soda let out a low moan as his head shifted and his eyes fluttered slightly. Steve felt relief wash over him. "It's okay, buddy, you're gonna be okay."

"You know him, Randle?" Turner asked as he finally managed to get the restraints off of Soda's legs.

Steve nodded solemnly, unable to take his eyes off of Soda. "Yeah. He's my best friend from home. He's practically family."

"Wow," Turner said, real awe in his voice. "What are the fuckin' odds of that?"

"Yeah, I know," Steve said flatly. Soda coughed weakly and Steve was horrified to see a line of blood suddenly trickle from the corner of his mouth. He felt his heart fall. "Medic!" he called over his shoulder. "I need a medic over here!"

A minute later Wade, their unit's medic, was hurrying over to them looking frazzled. It had to be stressful to be the only medic in a camp full of dying or dead soldiers.

"What do we got?" Wade asked breathless as he fell to his knees beside them and started to look Soda over.

"He's really outta it," Steve said quickly, trying to control his panic. "And he's coughin' up blood."

Wade quickly began checking Soda over, first checking his pulse while Soda barely reacted before looking over the rest of him. He reached down and pulled aside the torn jacket that hung around him and Steve gave a start at what he revealed. The shirt underneath was stained with blood. A lot of blood. It was still wet, so clearly it was fresh. Wade pulled up the shirt to reveal what was unmistakably a bullet wound in Soda's side. Steve gasped.

"I'm sorry, Randle," Wade said. "There ain't much I can do about that." Suddenly someone else called out to Wade and he disappeared.

Steve could only stare down at Soda in shock.

"Sorry, Randle," Turner said sympathetically. "That's rough."

"No," Steve said quietly. Soda coughed weakly again, more blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. Then Steve looked up, his eyes searching desperately for where the medic disappeared to. "Wade! Wade, get your ass back here!" When he didn't immediately return, Steve turned to Turner. "Stay with him. Please. I'll be right back." Waiting only a moment to register Turner's confirming nod Steve jumped to his feet and started hurrying around the camp, looking for Wade. He found him a minute later leaning over another soldier in a cage. "Wade!"

"I'm a little busy here, Randle," Wade murmured. He paused for a minute as he took the soldiers pulse. Then he sighed. "He's gone."

"Hey, my buddy over there is still alive," Steve raged. "So you get your ass back there and help him!"

"Randle, I'm just tryin' to find someone that I actually can help," Wade shot back.

In a burst of rage Steve reached down and roughly yanked Wade to his feet and shook him. "To hell with you, you son of a bitch!" he shouted in his face.

"Hey! What's goin' on here?" Suddenly Steve was being pulled away from Wade. He whipped around; ready to deck the guy who was pulling him away, but luckily stopped himself in time. Captain Miller was towering over him. "Randle, what's gotten into you?"

"That's my friend!" Steve yelled as he pointed back to where Soda lay. "That's my friend over there and Wade won't even try to fuckin' help him! That's his damn job, to help wounded soldiers!"

Captain Miller looked over at Wade for an explanation. "His friend's got a gunshot wound to the gut. There ain't much I can do about that. I was tryin' to find someone I might be able to actually help."

"Randle, we're all at our wit's end here," Captain Miller said turning back to Steve, looking tired. "There's only so much we can do. We can't radio a chopper to get any of these men out of here, we have to deal with this the best we can." He turned back to the medic. "Wade, you tell Randle what he can do for his friend and then go finish makin' the rounds. Then go back and see if there's anythin' at all that you can do for him."

Wade nodded, looking tensed. "Randle, see if you can get your friend to drink any water and put pressure on the bullet wound. Don't move him. I'll be back over as soon as I can."

Steve wanted to argue more, but decided against it. He wanted to be back at Soda's side as soon as he could. He turned and hurried back to where Turner was still crouched.

"How's he doin'?" Steve asked quickly.

"He's really outta it," Turner said grimly. "Randle… I don't think he's gonna make it."

"Shut your trap," Steve growled dangerously. He pulled his canteen off. "Help me. Lift his head." Turner did as he was told, carefully tilting Soda's head up so that Steve could tip water into his mouth. Soda coughed and sputtered. "It's okay, Soda," Steve said gently. "C'mon, drink up."

Soda gulped. "Steve." His voice came out hoarse and as little more than a whisper.

"Yeah, I'm right here," Steve assured him gently.

"How?" Soda rasped.

Steve snorted and gave him a half smile. "I know, crazy coincidence, right?" Soda took in a shuddering breath, wincing as he did so. "Just try and lay still, okay?" He glanced over at Turner. "We gotta put pressure on the bullet wound."

"Yeah, okay," Turner said. He reached over and bunched up the jacket Soda was wearing over the wound and leaned on it slightly. Soda immediately yelped and tensed up, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.

"Hang in there, Soda," Steve pleaded.

Steve continued to speak to Soda, trying to comfort him even though he seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness. Finally Wade returned, quickly pushing Turner aside so that he could get another look at Soda's wound. Steve carefully watched him, feeling tense. He jumped when he suddenly heard a voice behind him, not realizing the captain had come up to watch.

"How does he look, Wade?" Captain Miller asked.

"The wound looks fresh, probably only an hour or two old at most which is why he's still hangin' on," Wade said as he continued to check Soda over. He put a hand to his forehead, careful to avoid the gash on his head. "He's probably got a concussion from that trauma. He's also got a good fever, indicating infection. The blood he's coughin' up isn't from the bullet wound; it's too low to have hit his lungs. Most likely it's from sickness, pneumonia or somethin'. Maybe even dysentery, some of the other prisoners seemed to have died from that. Clearly he's dehydrated and malnourished, so he doesn't have much chance of fightin' it off for long." He lifted Soda slightly to check his back. "I don't see an exit wound. Means the bullet's still in there."

"What are his chances?" Captain Miller asked evenly.

Wade shook his head and sighed. "Not good. He needs immediate medical care, more than what I can do for him out here."

"So we'll take him back with us," Steve said as if the fact were obvious.

"We've got at least a two day march back to base, Randle," Captain Miller pointed out.

"And any movement is gonna cause that bullet in his belly to start migratin' and tearin' up other organs," Wade added. "Probably cause him to start bleedin' out too. The minute you move him the timer starts and he ain't gonna last one day, let alone the two he would need."

Steve went cold, almost forgetting to breath. "I… I can't just leave him here," he stuttered, looking back and forth between Wade and Captain Miller in disbelief. "He's got two brothers back home who are countin' on him to make it back. I won't leave him here, not while he's still alive."

Captain Miller sighed, looking worn. He looked at Wade. "Is there anything that you can do to improve his chances?"

Wade considered this for a moment. "I can dig out the bullet, cut away the dead flesh and bandage him up," he finally said. "That should at least buy him some time."

"Well then, do it," Steve said immediately.

Wade started going through the medical supplies in his pack. "I don't got much morphine left though." He looked at Steve expectantly, clearly looking for some kind of direction with this new development.

At this, Steve hesitated. He looked down at Soda. Was this really his decision to make? He leaned down closer to Soda, placing a hand on his shoulder, shaking it slightly as he tried to get Soda's attention. "Soda? Soda can you hear me?" Soda's eyes wandered in Steve's direction, which Steve took to be a good sign. "Listen, buddy, you got a bullet in your gut. The doc's gotta dig it out before we can move you." Soda stared at Steve vacantly. Steve wasn't even sure if he really comprehended what he was saying, but he continued anyway. "He's outta morphine… so it's gonna hurt. But it's the only way to get you back home to Pony and Darry. Okay?"

Steve could just glimpse a spark behind Soda's eyes as he mentioned his brothers' names. Then, very slowly he moved his head down slightly and then back up in a nodding gesture. It was weak, and it was possible Steve only imagined it, but it would have to do. Steve looked back up at Wade. "Do it. Do whatever you have to so that I can move him." He didn't care if he had to carry Soda all the way back to base on his back, he was going to get Soda to safety if it was the last thing he ever did.

"Alright," Wade said determinedly as he began digging through his pack again. "Take apart the sides of the cage."

Steve immediately jumped into action, yanking the ties that held the sides of the bamboo cage upright as Turner went to the other side and started doing the same thing. Soon enough they had the entire thing disassembled.

"Move him over here," Wade instructed as he laid out a blanket next to where Soda lay. "Be very, very careful."

Steve scrambled up to crouch by Soda's head while Turner moved to his feet. Steve positioned his hands under Soda's shoulders and then moved his eyes to meet Turner's gaze. "Ready?" Turner asked. Steve nodded tersely. "One… two… three." On the count they both lifted Soda up just enough so that they could shift Soda over to the blanket. Just this small motion caused Soda to moan with pain. Steve felt his stomach twist. That did not bode well. This was not going to be pretty.

"Okay, you gotta hold him very, very still," Wade said seriously as he pulled up Soda's shirt. "If he moves at all this could turn really bad really fast and there won't be anything I can do about it. Get it?"

"Got it," Steve said firmly, though he was feeling less and less sure about this course of action. What if he made the wrong decision? What if he was about to put Soda through unimaginable pain for no reason? But he just had to do something. He couldn't just sit by and watch Soda die. Turner moved to hold Soda's legs down while Steve moved to hold his arms.

"Here," Wade said, holding out a wad of gauze to Steve. "Put this in his mouth to keep him from bitin' his tongue off when he's screamin'."

Steve did as he was told with a steely resolve. There was no time for second-guessing. This had to be done. "Open up Soda," Steve said as he pinched Soda's mouth open and placed the gauze between his teeth. Then he leaned over and placed his forearms over Soda's upper body to hold him down in case he started struggling.

"Ready?" Wade asked.

Steve glanced over at him. He was poised, ready to start digging around Soda's bullet wound with a long metal instrument. Steve felt his stomach turn.

"Ready," Steve said as firmly as he could.

"Ready," Turner agreed.

Steve turned back to Soda, not wanting to watch what was about to happen. "Just hang on, okay Soda?" he said quietly. "It'll be over in a minute."

For a minute it looked like Soda wasn't going to react at all. Then all of a sudden all his muscles tensed up and the let out a raw scream of agony that was muffled only slightly by the gauze in his mouth. Steve felt him strain up against him and he leaned on him heavily in order to hold him down.

"Soda!" Steve practically had to yell to be heard over the sounds of Soda's screams. "Soda, look at me!" When he got no coherent response he reached over with one hand while keep his other arm planted firmly across Soda's chest and grabbed Soda's chin, forcing him to look up at him. "Soda, it's gonna be okay. Just breathe. I know it hurts but we gotta get that bullet outta you. Okay?" Soda made some sort of mumbled noise like he was trying to speak, but Steve didn't dare take the gauze out of his mouth. Soda's features were contracting in immense pain and every few seconds he'd let out a yelp or a cry.

"Almost got it," Wade spoke up after several minutes of this painful display.

Steve glanced back at Wade as he spoke and then immediately wished he hadn't. The sight of Wade trying to fish a bullet out of Soda's gut was beyond gruesome. Blood pooled and spilled out of the wound, running down Soda's side. Steve forcefully swallowed back the bile that was making its way up his throat as he quickly turned away again. He focused back on Soda. His face was covered in sweat and he was gasping for breath, his eyes clouded over with pain. His cries grew weaker as all the energy seemed to drain out of him.

"He's almost got it, Soda," Steve said softly. He could hear the way his voice shook. "Just hang in there another minute." Soda's eyes shifted to look at him. The depth of the pain in his eyes was beyond disturbing. "It's almost over. Then I'm gonna get you back home to Darry and Pony. You're gonna be okay, I swear."

"Got it!"

At the same time that Wade made his announcement Soda tensed up and cried out horribly again. Despite his weakened state Steve still had to use all his strength to hold him down. It was amazing what the human body could do when it was in excruciating pain. A moment later he relaxed and Steve let out a sigh of relief as he sat up. He closed his eyes, willing himself to not get sick.

"How's he lookin', Wade?" came the captain's voice.

Steve opened his eyes and looked down at Soda. He was pale as a sheet and gasping for breath but he was still conscious, if only barely. Then he looked down at his own hands. They were shaking.

Wade sighed tiredly. "Well, he's alive," he said flatly. He looked up at Captain Miller, his features serious. He spoke with a grim resignation "Honestly, he's not gonna last a two days march back to base though. It's some kind of miracle that his organs are still working but there's a lot of damage. He'll likely bleed out or be taken by infection in a matter of hours."

Steve reached down and placed a hand on Soda's shoulder protectively. "I ain't leavin' him here." There wasn't much force behind his voice, he suddenly felt exhausted. But there was no question in his tone. He refused to abandon Soda out here in the jungles on Vietnam. One way or another, Soda was going home. He was going to make damn sure of it.

"Patch 'em up as best you can," Captain Miller told Wade. He looked over at Steve. "You're gonna need someone to help you carry him. We're still in enemy territory; I won't have both your hands occupied. You need to have one free for your gun."

"I'll do it," Turner volunteered almost immediately.

Steve gave a start at this. He wasn't particularly close with Turner, or anyone else in their unit for that matter. He pretty much kept to himself. He would never be able to put into words how thankful he was for this though.

Captain Miller nodded, looking satisfied. "Alright. As soon as Wade finishes up we are movin' out. We're losin' daylight."

Steve nodded as the captain turned and walked away, gathering the rest of the unit together. Wade went right to work piling bandages onto Soda's wound. Soda moaned weakly. Steve turned back to him, pulling the gauze from his mouth and casting it aside. Soda was gasping for breath and his eyes rolled in his head, not focusing on anything. Steve swallowed. It wasn't looking good. But he'd be damned if he was going to abandon his best friend out here.

"We need to lift him so I can wrap the bandages," Wade said, bringing Steve back to the present.

Steve took a deep breath in a small attempt to steady his nerves. It didn't help though. He felt completely overwhelmed and helpless in this situation. He wanted to scream and yell and punch somebody. But he couldn't do any of that. He could only grit his teeth and endure. Carefully Steve and Turner worked together to lift Soda's midsection so that Wade could wind the bandages tightly around him. Soda gasped and cried out again at the movement. Steve clenched his jaw. He felt like he couldn't comfort Soda. There was nothing he could say to take this pain away.

Once Wade had finally finished, Steve and Turned placed Soda back down and then went to gather their gear, getting ready to head out. As Steve went back to where Soda lay he paused, looking down at him. His head had fallen to one side and his eyes were closed as he lay perfectly still.

Steve swallowed nervously as his body went cold at the sight. He was too still and too pale. "Soda?" There was no response. Steve dropped to his knees and shook Soda's shoulder. "Soda!" His voice was louder and more frantic. To his relief Soda moaned lightly and his head shifted. Steve sighed. "Just hang in there Soda. We're gettin' you outta here."

At this Soda's eyes fluttered weakly. Steve wasn't sure why, but his eyes looked more aware than they had earlier. His gaze searched the area around him before finally coming to a rest on Steve himself. He roughly inhaled, making a bit of a wheezing sound when he did so. "Hey." His voice came out small and hoarse.

A burst of laughter escaped from Steve, though oddly there was no humor in the sound. "Hey, buddy. How's it goin'?"

Soda winced as he took in a ragged breath. "Hurts a bit."

"Yeah, well, that's a little more than a mosquito bite you got yourself there," Steve said, straining to keep his tone light. The last thing he needed to do was cause Soda to start panicking. He needed to stay calm even though he felt anything but.

"Randle." Steve turned to see the captain making his way over to them. "You guys about ready to go? I'm getting antsy hanging around here."

"Yes sir, we are," Steve said, pulling his pack more securely onto his back. He was anxious to get Soda as far away from this horrible place as possible.

"Well good," Captain Miller said with satisfaction. "Let's get going."

It took all three of them – Steve along with Wade and Turner – to get Soda onto his feet. He groaned and cried out, though it seemed that he had lost any energy to have more of a reaction. Steve ducked under one of Soda's arms while Turner ducked under the other, supporting him. Soda fell limp between them. For a moment Steve thought he had passed out again. But then he felt Soda's hand gripping the back of his jacket like a lifeline. As much as Soda was probably trying to comfort himself by clinging to his best friend Steve felt comforted by it as well. Soda was a fighter. He wasn't going down without a damn good fight.

Steve took a deep breath. With one last look around the inhuman camp that Soda had been held in, he turned and working with Turner they began carrying Soda out into the jungle along with the rest of the unit. After a quick survey of the group that was leaving Steve suddenly realized that Soda was the only surviving prisoner from this camp. This realization hit him hard. He looked over at Soda who was barely conscious. Was this war really worth it? Was it really worth getting involved in a conflict on the other side of the world considering the lives that were being lost?

If Sodapop died and never made it home to his brothers would it really be worth it?

"You're makin' it through this, buddy," Steve murmured determinedly under his breath, unwilling and unable to believe anything else despite the horrific circumstances. "You're goin' to survive. I promise."