I decided that I might try and write a novelization of select Firefly episodes. Of course, I'd be starting with the first one, so here's chapter one. It's suppose to be a bit 'off' I guess...I mean, like, not so emotional and 'readable'. It's meant to sound 'rough'.

I OWN NOTHING!!!! ALL CREDIT TO JOSS WHENDON!!! *Bows at his awesome mind*

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"Fire in the ranks!"

Anther explosion echoed across the valley, lighting up the dark sky for but a moment with it's fury, then sending it black again. Men wearing rugged clothing and dark colored army gear scrambled though their crudely made sand-bag barricades, trying to evade the flying shrapnel and bullets. Others, wearing blue colored and neat looking uniforms, fired into darker one's ranks from behind equally crude barricades— the only actual physical difference between the two groups was that the blues had shinier clothes, and somewhat bigger guns.

Both were hiding, trying their best to stay out of sight while killing the most of the other as possible, wrecking havoc on the once peaceful Serenity Valley. Both side secretly hoped that this would be the last battle in this blood war, a war that had stretched across galaxies and planets, engages scattered from one side of the 'verse to the other.

Both wanted it to end, both wanted to win, and both wanted to stay out of the way of flying bullets and lasers.

That is, with the exception of one man.

As bullets and shrapnel, guns and bodies, flew around in the sand and dirt, a lone man dove out from behind a barricade and into the path of a large armored truck. He was rugged looking; dirty tan pants, heavy looking belt, dark colored boots. His shirt was brown--a dress shirt that had long since been ruined with sweat and dust—he also had on a sandy colored trench coat (An attempt at warming himself, as the night was cold with a chilly wind whipping about); his hands were covered in old black gloves and his fingers grasped a rather large gun. He tripped slightly on the rocky terrain, just barely catching himself.

His medium sized frame turned, looking back at the truck that was going along behind him, his dark blue eyes gazing up and down for a moment before tossing a small grenade, and firing off a few rounds. Then, with hardly another glance, he broke out into a fast jog, and got out of the road as abruptly as he got on it. Landing in a rocky terrain, he hopped around the rocks with agility, just as the truck he was running in front of, blew and burst into many colors of vibrant flame.

He jogged through the rock valley, aiming for a friendly barricade a few yards away; his breathing heavy, face sweaty, hands gripping the gun. His rugged, yet somewhat soft, features turned around once just to make sure he wasn't being....oh, look.

Spinning round, he fell against the side of the sandbags--landing on his left shoulder--and fired off about three rounds at a soldier, who was dressed in the shiny blue, and had foolishly decided to follow him.

After making sure the solder was dead, he climbed around the side of the barricade and inside, where he found the rest of his so-called 'platoon', sitting around and occasionally firing off a couple shots over the walls. Across the sandy ground, boxes and crates were scattered, filled with extra ammo and other items that they had been using over the past 48—or so--hours of this pretty little shindig.

Hunched over, he walked to one of the crates, a slight smile toying in his features; ah, yes, h e did love blowing that up.

He let himself sit down, easing his aching legs for a moment, and leaned forward onto one of them. Exciting gorram stuff was going on, that was for sure. Gorram thrills.

"Sargent!" He looked over to see one of the men come over to him, crunched down to avoid getting killed. The soldier looked dirty and tired, like everyone else; his bald head coated with dirt and shimmering with sweat. The Sargent, our man, straightened his back and looked down at the squatting form, "Command says air support is holding 'till they can asses our status."

"Out status is we need some gorram air support!" He replied, voice loud enough to be heard around, making his annoyance very obvious. Asses their status, his rear end...

More men started gathering around their leader, our man, one in particulate caught The Sergeant's attention; she—yes, indeed she was a she—was slightly on the taller side, dressed in the same dark, ruddy, and dirty attire as everyone else, gun in her gloved hands, with curly black hair tied back in a messy fashion. Her dark brown eyes looked even darker against her chocolate colored skin, and her voice was out of breath and quick, "They're skiffing us, Sir."

Before the Sargent could form a suitable, witty reply, the bald soldier from earlier called over, "They won't move without a lieutenant's authorization code, Sir."

With obvious sore joints, the Sargent got back to his feet, and ran over—hunched, of course—to the body of a dead Lieutenant—their Lieutenant—a few yards away, still in the same position it was in when the poor hwun dan's gut was ripped. Saying a quick prayer to himself, The Sargent ripped off the Lieutenant's insignia, then went back to the bald one, and slammed in the man's hand.

"Here, here's your code," His voice was hinted with sarcasm, "You're Lieutenant Baker. Congratulations on your promotion." He pointed off towards the talkie, "Now get me some gorram air support!" with that, the bald man scurried off, insignia clutched tightly between dirty fingers.

The Sargent took a deep breath, then turned back to the men who still sat watching him, waiting for orders, waiting for direction—his direction.

He knelt down, "Pull back just far enough to wedge 'em in there," with his left hand, he motioned to the ground behind him, over the barricade, "get your squad to high ground--start picken' them off."

"High ground is death with that skiff." The female soldier cut in, breath still trying to catch up to her voice.

Smiling ever so slightly, he replied, "That's our problem, thanks for volunteering." Then he looked over to another soldier, a young pup, not even old enough to shave, with a light skin and two big, wide, blue eyes, looking terribly lost, "Bendis, give us some cover fire, we're going duck hunting--"

He was left unable to finish the thought when an explosion racked against ground, only a few feet away. Shrapnel flew, soldiers recoiled and covered their heads; the flying debris ripped down the poor soul who sat next to Bendis. The kid's eyes widened beyond their natural boundaries, looking like two dots of pure snow on a mound of mud. The rest of the men were obviously shaken.

"J-Just focus!" The Sargent cursed himself for his stutter, how could he get the men to focus if he couldn't control his own gorram voice?, "The Alliance said they were gonna waltz through Serenity Valley, and we choked them with those words." The men started to calm back down a bit; The Sargent tried to keep his voice level, "Just a little while longer, our angels are gonna be soaring overhead, raining fire on those arrogant khangs. So you hold." He looked around the circle of men—the men sitting around him, shivering with fear, the only family that he has left in the whole 'verse, "You hold! Go!"

Unable to think of anything else encouraging to say, he crawled away towards a pile of ammo. The men dispersed, slightly energized, but most of them feeling a sense of 'okay, but we're still gonna die'.

The female followed the Sargent, hunching down next to him as he sat in the dirt, loading his gun, "You really think we can bring her down, Sir?" she also started loading some dope.

"You even need to ask?"

Then he turned away, reaching inside his shirt, and pulling out a old and battered cross necklace. He had been in this war since the beginning, since that first battle, and two things had kept him going: His determination, and God. Neither of 'em had let him down yet, and hell, heaven sounded pretty good right now.

Closing his eyes, he muttered a quick prayer, then kissed the cross; and as quickly as he pulled it out, he stuffed it back in. Turning to his female soldier, he asked, "Ready?"

She was still out of breath, but she smiled a tired, yet encouraging, smile, "Always, Sir."

The two of them started their somewhat stealthy decent away from the barricade, going a couple steps down the slop before they realized that there was only two of them, and the third was back inside, huddling scared.

"Bendis!" The female hissed, trudging back up, The Sargent following a couple steps, "Bendis!" The youth replied with a fearful glance in her direction, but didn't move. She cursed aloud, then got to her feet, firing off a couple rounds of cover fire down into Serenity. The Sargent, catching the drift, scurried back down the barricade and out the side, firing of his loaded—rather large—gun the entire time, and of course claiming a couple corpses as his own personal handy work.

An explosion rocked the ground around him, and he dove for cover behind some large boulders. The female followed, diving down next to him. He granted her a quick glance of recognition, then slowly stuck his head over the boulders top, eyes spying a Alliance—the shiny, blue, large gunned ones—barricade a few yards below, down a small but steep slope. Inside was a lone gun man and a big machine gun.

The Sargent really wanted that gun.

So he stuck his gun over the top of the boulder and fired at the enemy, missing—gorram—and alerting the soldier to him, and his female companion's, previously concealed presence. The blue one looked back, then hastily reached for his gun, but didn't have time to return fire, as The Sargent, with another shot, claimed another soul. With the female in tow, he climbed around the sides of the boulders and slid down the slope to the machine and its no longer breathing owner.

After tossing his gun aside, he grasped the large gun's trigger, and fit his shoulders snugly inside the bands. Without hesitation, he fired off at the Alliance fighters—the shape of them reminded him of a boomerang—hitting one and sending it soaring downward, fire blowing from the right wing.

"Yeah!" He cried out, jumping back away from the gun, and grinning triumphantly over at his companion, "Huh!"

She promptly was looking the other direction, and inherently missed his display of manliness entirely. Slightly annoyed by this, he looked back up at the crashing fighter, only to realize that it had decided to crash—conveniently—right on top of him.

His face fell instantly, and he broke out into a run towards the female, "Zoe!" He tackled her, just in time to feel the heat of a crashed plane against his back, and get pushed further by the force. They both landed on the sand with a hard thud. Both of them felt the intense heat of the flame, even though they were yards away.

The Sargent quickly recovered, looking back at the burning wreckage. After a moment, he laid back against the dirt. He can't help but laugh a victorious, slightly taunting laugh, and smile to himself; this was a good day. The female, who actually is named Zoe, also laid back against the sand, but instead of laughter she rolled her eyes and sighed at her Sergeant's perception of 'fun'.

Minutes later, they climbed back behind the sand-bags base, The Sargent still chuckling to himself, but Zoe taking on the defensive as she looked at Bendis—whose eyes were still unusually wide—and saying sarcastically, "Nice cover fire."

The Sargent was totally oblivious, continuing to smile, "Did you see that!?" For a moment, he looked like a hyper five year old who just got his first hover car, but only for a moment. Once that moment was up, he was back to leader man, "Green, what's our status on--" he was cut short when he saw Green's, the bald headed one's, body, lying up against a crate, deep cuts across it's head. The Sergeant's face went almost blank for a second, but then he looked away, "Zoe."

Zoe climbed over to where Green's body was, looking the soldier over for any signs of life, and finding none. She sighed.

Meanwhile, the Sargent crawled over to where Bendis was sitting, curled up against the wall, looking rather dazed. The Sargent couldn't stand to see one of his men in such disarray—especially Bendis. That kid was so damn sorrowful lookin' when he wanted to be; always was, and most likely always would be.

"Bendis. Hey, Bendis, look at me." Slowly, the kid's wandering and frantic eyes locked with his, "Listen, we're holding this valley, no matter what."

Bendis looked away, "We're gonna die."

The Sargent replied, "We're not gonna die. We can't die Bendis, you know why?" The kid looked back at his leader again, and the leader smiled, sticking more ammo into his gun while he talked, "We are just to pretty....We are just to pretty for God to let us die--" with his left hand, The Sargent grasped Bendis's jaw, giving it a slight shake, trying to encourage, "--Huh? Look at the chiseled jaw, huh?" all he got from the youth was a total blank look, "Come on--!"

Engines roaring. The Sargent never thought he heard a more beautiful sound than that, the sweet thunder of aircraft, the feeling of the wind whipped up against your face, the chills that went down his spine—the thing he heard right then. Looking up to the skies, his smile grew all the wider,

"If you won't listen to me, listen to that. Those are our angels." He gave Bendis a hopeful grin, "They're gonna blow the alliance to the hot place." then called back over to Zoe, "Zoe! Tell the 82nd to--"

"They're not coming."

What?

"Command says it's to hot," Zoe's voice is even and unemotional, she slowly pulled the talkie away from her ear, "they're pulling out," she looked over her shoulder at he Sargent—her leader—helplessly, "we're to lay down arms."

Things seemed to slow. The Sargent looked at Zoe, mouth slightly agape, then back at Bendis, and back again at Zoe— he also looking totally helpless, "But what's--" he stops himself. No, no it can't....it can't...

Slowly, for the fist time in a long time, he stood up straight, his gaze falling over the valley below, and the skies above. It landed upon his greatest horror: Alliance cruisers, firing off beams of deadly lasers into Serenity. The screams of the men, HIS men, the men he served with, echoed across the sands and between the boulders. He was so taken aback and totally blank that he didn't even notice Bendis, who followed his leader in standing, get shot through. He didn't even hear the body fall onto the cold, hard ground.

Time slowed to a near halt, the screams mix in with the gunfire sounds, everything felt numb.

And, for the first time in a very long time, Sargent—Our Sargent—Malcolm Reynolds, had absolutely nothing to say.

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Anywho; love or hate? The reception I get might decided whether to continue, or just leave this as a one shot :) So please, if you read, R&Ring would be wonderful. I reply to all reveiws, PMing the writer—whether it's negative or positive. Thanks!!

~Miss. R.