Define Your Meaning of War
Author's Note: Okay! So since so many people liked my one shot Days Slide and the Years Go By I decided to write a prequel. If you haven't read that one yet you shouldn't be missing anything since that takes place after this story. This story is going to be more like a series of one shots, snapshots of things that happened to lead up to that one shot rather than a continuous plot and will be updated a bit sporadically. It probably won't be terribly long either, maybe only five chapters or so, we'll see how it goes. Most of it will be based on real events that I either researched on the internet or saw in a documentary. I do not write this lightly because there are veterans who actually went through this kind of thing. This story will have a lot of angst and parts may be disturbing but there won't be anything too graphic. Anyway I hope you like it! Please don't forget to review!
Chapter One
Tulsa, Oklahoma
Ponyboy Curtis bounded up the front steps ducking out from the rain even though he was already soaked to the bone from having to walk all the way home. He was eager to share the good news he had gotten at school with Darry. Their lives had been pretty dismal for the last few months and Pony was hoping to lift the veil of depression that had been hanging over them, even if it was just for a short while.
"Darry!" he called, grinning as he walked in the door.
"Hey, can you grab the mail?" came Darry's voice from the kitchen.
Pony sighed as he turned and backtracked back out the door. He hastily grabbed the mail from box beside the door before returning inside. He kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket aside before heading into the kitchen, the mail held loosely in his hand. He thoughtlessly tossed the pile on the kitchen table.
"How was school, kiddo?" Darry asked, glancing over at him from where he stood near the stove.
"Great!" Pony said. He swung his backpack off his shoulders and onto the chair in front of him and began digging through it. He quickly pulled out what he was looking for. "Remember that math test that I was crammin' all night for last week?"
"Yeah," Darry answered. He studied Pony. "You should go change kiddo, you're gonna catch a cold in those wet clothes."
"I will," Pony said, not concerned. He held the paper that he had dug out toward Darry. Obviously curious, Darry approached and took the paper, looking at it carefully. He smiled as he saw the big letter A written across the top.
"Congrats, Pony!" he said sincerely, even mustering up a little enthusiasm. "You worked hard for this."
Pony smiled back. "Thanks Darry," he said, feeling proud. The atmosphere around the Curtis house had been so despondent lately it was nice to finally have something to feel happy about, no matter how small the victory.
"Do you got much homework tonight?" Darry asked as he began absent-mindedly flipping through the mail on the table. "Maybe we could…" His voice trailed off mid-sentence. Suddenly he seemed particularly interested in a single letter he had pulled from the pile. He was quiet for several long moments, studying the envelope with a guarded look on his face.
"What is it?" Pony asked curiously, unable to read Darry's expression. "Is it a letter from Soda?"
Sodapop had been drafted about six months before, not long after he turned eighteen. Steve had gotten his draft letter just a few days later. They had left Tulsa together and it was a bit comforting for Darry, Pony and Two-Bit thinking that the two would be together over on the battlefield in order to watch each other's backs. But then they had been placed in separate units at basic training and hadn't seen each other since. After completing their basic training four months ago they had each been shipped out to the jungles of Vietnam. Pony and Darry had received quite a few letters from Soda while he was at basic but since he had been sent overseas they had only gotten a couple letters from him. It was understandable though. He was a bit preoccupied over there after all.
Darry slowly shook his head. Pony watched as he flipped the envelope over and tore it open. As Darry studied the letter Pony picked up the discarded envelope, too curious to wait for an explanation. It was addressed to the family of Sodapop Curtis. The return address referenced the United States Army. Pony felt his stomach drop to somewhere around his feet. He looked back up at Darry, desperate for some kind of sign that this wasn't what he thought it was.
Darry sat down heavily in the nearest chair and Pony followed his lead as he slowly lowered himself into the chair next to him, studying his face carefully. "Darry?" he said carefully. "What's it say? Is… is Soda…?" He couldn't complete his thought. It was too horrifying.
Darry finally looked up at him and Pony could see the pain behind his normally icy eyes. At that moment Pony felt like he might be violently ill as he thought he knew what was coming. But what Darry said next was not what he had been expecting. "It says that two weeks ago he went missing in action," he said grimly.
Pony just stared, not sure how to react to that statement. He had a hard time understanding what that really meant. There were several minutes of absolute silence as Pony tried to get his mind around this new development.
"So… he could still come back?" Pony finally said slowly, grasping at any kind of hope that he could.
Darry sighed heavily and looked at him. "They can't find him, Pony," he said slowly. "If the army can't find him out there… well that's not good."
"Yeah, but it doesn't mean that they won't find him, right?" Pony said, almost desperately. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes at the thought of Soda being alone and hurt somewhere in a jungle on the other side of the world. He didn't belong there. He belonged here with them. With his family.
"Oh Pony," Darry said sympathetically, reaching over and placing his hand on top of Pony's. "I don't want you gettin' your hopes up. It's been two weeks since he was last seen. Realistically…" He voice faded off and he seemed to rethink what he was going to say. He sighed. "I guess we'll have to wait and see."
"He… he just can't be gone," Pony said, tears suddenly streaking down his face. He refused to believe that he would never see Soda again. "He… he just can't!"
Darry moved his chair closer to Pony and wound his arm around him. Pony leaned into him for comfort as he allowed the tears to fall freely down his face. Ever since that draft letter had shown up at their house six months ago they all knew that there was a chance that Soda wouldn't make it back home, even though no one ever dared to mention that fact. Now it looked like it was next to impossible that Soda would make it home again. All they could do was wait and wonder if he would ever be found. That was almost more devastating than receiving a letter with the certainty of their brother's passing. Almost.
They sat quietly for a long time, neither of them saying anything. There wasn't anything to say. Nothing would make either of them feel any better right now.
XxXxX
Vietnam
One Week Earlier
Soda was scared. There weren't many times in his life when he could say that he was really and truly scared. He was scared after his parents passed away, afraid of being taken away from his brothers. He was scared when Ponyboy had disappeared for a week and they didn't know where he was or if he was okay. Right now though he was more scared than both of those times put together. He was terrified. He couldn't even wrap his head around what was really going on. How was this even happening right now?
It had been hard for him to leave his brothers when he had been drafted. He had never even left Oklahoma before let alone the country. Suddenly he was thrown into this war that he didn't even fully understand on the other side of the world. He had hoped that Steve might stay with him since he had also been drafted, but they were immediately separated when they arrived basic training and hadn't seen each other since.
Now he was in Vietnam, fighting for his life. He couldn't care less about whether they won or lost this war. All he wanted was to survive and make it back home in one piece.
It had been about six months since he had left home. It had been four months since he finished his basic training and was shipped overseas. Vietnam was chaos to say the least. Soda felt like he was doing well and holding his own for a while… and then there was the ambush. No one had seen it coming. They had been in the middle of the jungle when suddenly there was shouting and firing and no one was even really sure where the enemy was.
As Soda was still searching for the enemy suddenly there was an explosion. He was knocked off his feet and thrown across the field like a ragdoll. The next thing he knew he was laying on the ground on his back, blinking furiously to try and clear his vision. There was a loud ringing in his ears and he was disoriented. On a newly learned instinct he reached for his gun, but couldn't find it. Then he took inventory of his own injuries. Everything seemed to be intact. He must not have been too close to the explosion. Maybe he was going to be okay.
Suddenly there were men standing over him. As the ringing in his ears died down he was aware that they were yelling at him in a different language. All he could do was stare blankly. They were Vietnamese soldiers, the enemy. Then he was staring down the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his face. He swallowed hard as he kept perfectly still. Was this it? Was this the end? Was he about to die?
There was hesitation. The end did not come. It seemed there was a heated debate going on around him, but he didn't understand a word of it. He just lay there silently as the Vietnamese soldiers discussed his fate.
Eventually two of the soldiers reached down and hauled him to his feet. One of the soldiers was shouting in his face in what he presumed to be Vietnamese. Soda shook his head, unsure what was going on. He looked around. There were bodies littering the ground around him. American soldiers. Men from his unit. Men that he had known. After surveying the scene for a moment it became painfully clear that he was the only American soldier who hadn't either escaped or been killed. He was completely alone.
That was a week ago. Soda gathered that for whatever reason they had decided not to kill him. Not yet anyway. They had patted him down, stripping him of anything useful. Then his hands were tied tightly behind his back and they began walking, though Soda had no idea where they were going. They walked all day long and into the night for days at a time with hardly any stopping.
After two days of this Soda could feel his strength waning. They didn't give him any food and barely any water and he was starting to feel the effects of malnourishment. Not mention the sleep deprivation. He was too frightened to sleep even when they did stop for the night.
With his hands tied and his strength fading he would frequently stumble as they walked along. The first time he tripped and fell one of the soldiers grabbed him and shook him as he shouted. Soda wasn't sure what he had said; he was never sure what anyone said so he just kept his mouth shut. The next time he stumbled a sharp pain struck his back causing him to cry out. He wasn't even sure what they hit him with but he instantly understood that there would be consequences if he stumbled. He was dragged back to his feet and shoved roughly along.
From then on he only focused on his feet as he did his best to keep his balance. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. However, as the days went on his body became weaker and his footing became harder and harder to control. Each time he fell he felt like the beatings got worse. They would whip him with bamboo rods, hit him and kick him repeatedly before dragging him back to his feet.
Around the fifth day it became too much for him. He tripped over a small root and his knees immediately buckled as he went down hard, his face hitting the dirt since he couldn't even try to catch himself with his hands tied behind his back. The familiar kicks and punches fell down on him but he couldn't even bring himself to try and defend himself so he just lay limp on the ground. As they pulled him back to his feet his legs just wouldn't hold him and he slumped over. They yelled at him, hit him some more but he had nothing left.
Finally they shoved him back down to the ground and he could hear them talking above him. He wondered vaguely if they might just kill him now that he couldn't walk. He was having a hard time seeing the downside of that scenario at this point. But then to his surprise the bonds around his wrists were suddenly cut. They had been bound for five days straight and as he went to move his arms from behind his back he found that it was much harder to move them than it should be.
Suddenly there was a bowl next to his face. Soda studied it, lifting his head with an effort and finding that there was a ball of rice in the bowl. He struggled to bring his arms forward and pulled the bowl closer to him. He hesitated for a moment, suddenly considering refusing the food. Maybe they would just leave him here. He couldn't keep going on like this. But then he thought of Ponyboy and Darry. When he left he promised that he'd do everything he could to come back to them. He couldn't just abandon them like that. Forcing his arms to cooperate he shoveled the rice into his mouth, mechanically swallowing.
As he finally finished the small portion of food he felt like his mind was at least a little clearer. He was roughly yanked back to his feet and he was able to stand somewhat steadily. They tied his hands in front of him this time, which made it a little easier for him to keep his balance, and he was able to stumble along with one of the soldiers holding onto his arm painfully tight to help keep him upright.
At the end of one week they arrived at the first prison camp that Soda would encounter. It wasn't much of a prison. At a glance it looked like a jumble of bamboo sticks. They walked through an opening in a makeshift fence and Soda thought he was going to be sick at the sight that he saw within.
There were a few dozen cages scattered around the open area all roughly made out of bamboo sticks that were tied together. The cages were squat and long, barely tall enough to a person to sit upright in but long enough for most to lay down it seemed. There were people in the cages, many of which looked to be in pretty bad shape. It struck Soda as some kind of sick and twisted zoo. The area was eerily quiet except for occasional coughs and moans from some of the captives and the groaning of the bamboo as weight was shifted.
Soda was shoved forward and he stumbled with hardly the energy to keep himself on his feet. They brought him to an empty cage and shoved him down to his knees, pointing to the opening of the cage and shouting. Soda knew there was no use resisting, he didn't have the energy to anyway, so he crawled inside the cage like an animal.
He had not originally noticed the wooden structure at one end of the cage and when his captors pointed at it and yelled something at him in Vietnamese his exhausted mind couldn't even begin to understand what he was supposed to do with it. He just stared blankly up at the soldiers and he could see them getting angrier and angrier at him for not understanding. He knew that there would be consequences for not doing what they wanted but he had no idea what they were saying to him. He felt helpless and lost but more than that he felt frustrated that he couldn't even understand what anyone was saying.
"I don't know what you what me to do!" Soda finally said with as much force as he could muster, which wasn't a lot. His voice was horse and weak from lack of use over the past week.
The soldiers began speaking louder and faster as if they could scare him into understanding a language he had never even heard before. Soda closed his eyes and put his hands that were still tied together over his head, wishing he could just disappear. How would he survive this if he couldn't even understand what anyone was saying to him?
"Your feet."
Soda's eyes shot open as he immediately whipped his head around as his heart jumped up into his throat at the sound of the voice. It was the first time he had heard any English since he had been captured a week ago. It was the man in the cage next to him who had spoken. He was Vietnamese and spoke with a thick accent, but it was still English. The man was pointing down at his own feet and Soda saw what he was trying to tell him. His feet were restrained by the wooden contraption. Soda put his feet through the two holes in the wood and then the soldiers reached in and clamped the top part down over his ankles and locked it in place uncomfortably tightly. Then the door was closed and tied shut and the soldiers turned and left.
Soda lay back on the uncomfortable bamboo grid, wincing as the wounds on his back made contact and took in a shuddering breath. How had this happened to him? What had he done to deserve this? All he wanted to do was go home. Would he even make it home? Or would he die here in this cage like an animal? He was overwhelmed by all these questions and despite his best efforts he felt tears welling up in his eyes, emotion threatening to overwhelm him.
It was hours later and night was beginning to fall. Guards had been regularly walking up and down between the cages since he had arrived and Soda hadn't dared to move an inch, afraid of any consequences. He already had large welts on his back from beatings earlier in the week and he wasn't looking to get any more. It was so difficult figuring out what he was supposed to do when most of the men around him didn't appear to speak any English. It made him feel so isolated and was a constant reminder of how far from home he really was.
Eventually Soda noticed that the guards weren't coming around as often anymore and seemed preoccupied with something happening on the other side of the fenced in area. He allowed himself to relax a fraction.
"You American?" came a whisper with a thick Vietnamese accent.
Soda turned his head so that he could see the Vietnamese man in the cage next to him, the one who had helped him before and he suspected that help had saved him from another beating. As he studied him he saw that the man did not appear to be in great shape. His clothing was torn and dirty, though Soda could still recognize the South Vietnamese military uniform. In the dark Soda could just barely make out the bruises on his face and dried blood on his wrists, which were not retrained and lay limply at his sides. He was lying flat on his back and looked so skinny and malnourished that he had the air of someone who couldn't stand up if his life depended on it.
Soda nodded vaguely. "Yeah, I'm American," he croaked, feeling his voice catch in his throat.
"Child?" the man asked quietly, looking at him critically and appearing to be a bit confused. Soda stared, not quite understanding the question. His mind felt sluggish. "You child?"
"I'm eighteen," Soda told him. He realized with a pang that he would turn nineteen in a month and wondered if he would last until his birthday. Would he stay alive long enough to turn nineteen? He tried to push that thought out of his head. It was a terrifying thought.
The man gave him a pitiful look. "You are child," he said quietly, almost gently like he felt sorry for him. He paused. "My son almost eighteen."
Soda glanced around before focusing back on the man next to him. "Are there other Americans here?" he asked. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he didn't recall seeing any when he had been brought in.
The man slowly shook his head. "I have seen none."
Soda felt even more lost at that moment. How had he ended up in this mess at just eighteen years old? He couldn't even buy beer back home without a fake ID. And yet here he was on the opposite side of the world, a prisoner for something he didn't even want to be a part of. Suddenly he felt like the child the man in the next cage saw him as.
The night was quickly getting colder. He couldn't move at all because of the restrains and his back was throbbing from the beatings he had already endured. He stared up at the sky above him, feeling hopeless. All he wanted to do was go home, crawl into bed next to Ponyboy and go to sleep. And in that moment he suddenly realized that he would probably never see Pony or Darry again. And they would probably never know what had happened to him.
And with that thought he finally let go. He didn't care that the man next to him was still watching him. He didn't care who saw or who heard him. He let go and he began to cry.