Chapter Two

Best Friends and Hospital Beds


Words mean nothing but empty providence,
All for a God that doesn't seem to care
Who lives and who dies, these are no choices.
Each like a body broken struck from the face of a man.

How many friends can I loose before it all makes sense?
How many friends can I loose?

Who knows what to say?
When I'm speaking out to a quiet crowd
And at the back of the hall the eyes are silent

(Best Friends and Hospital Beds by Funeral for a Friend)


Steve's feet hurt. The rest of him hurt too but upon further assessment he had decided that his feet hurt the worst. They were throbbing in his boots with every step he took. His platoon had covered a lot of ground over the course of the past week. Normally he would try and distract himself from this pain, but today he focused on it. It was a welcome distraction. Because if he didn't have something to focus on then he would focus on his best friend that he was currently dragging through the jungles of Vietnam.

Soda had been slipping in and out of consciousness over the past couple hours since they found him in that prison camp. His fever had been worsening. They had discarded his jacket and then later his shirt in a small attempt to keep his temperature in check, but there was still sweat covering his body. When he would cough blood would roll down his chin and drip to the ground. His muscles were weakening and he no longer clutched to Steve even when he did regain conscious. Overall it wasn't looking good.

Darkness had fallen. When the sun set in the jungles of Vietnam the darkness was complete. The moon was only half full and kept on disappearing behind some clouds and provided little light to them. They were very dependent on flashlights to be able to pick their way through the jungle. Neither Steve nor Turner could hold their flashlight though since they had one hand on their rifles and the other supporting Soda, which was quickly becoming problematic. The awkward group started to trip over hidden roots and rocks and every time Soda would gasp and moan and pain as he was jerked around. Steve clenched his jaw, wondering grimly if at this point they were doing more harm than good. But what else could they do? So they just kept going.

Finally the group came out into a small clearing and slowed. Steve glanced around, knowing exactly what was happening even before the captain spoke up.

"We're campin' here for the night," Captain Miller announced. There was a sigh of relief that ran around the men in the unit. Everyone was exhausted. Even Steve felt relieved. As much as he knew full well that time was their enemy right now with Soda's condition they couldn't just stumble around in the dark all night. The captain immediately started assigning tasks, sending some men out into the surrounding trees to make sure they really were alone – a task they all took very seriously after several nighttime ambushes by the enemy – while having others set up camp and start on a fire.

Wade appeared near Steve very suddenly. He had hovered around them through most of the journey, checking Soda every now and again as they moved, though he never had good news. After several reports of "he's getting worse" Steve had snapped at him, not too kindly, to stop announcing that because it wasn't helping matters. From then on Wade had been silent when he checked Soda.

"Here, bring him closer to the middle, just in case," Wade advised as he sent an uneasy look at the dark trees around them. They had all learned to be suspicious of what the trees around them might be hiding.

Steven and Turner moved toward the middle of the clearing, pulling Soda with them. They stopped a little ways from where the others were building the fire. Wade laid out a blanket and as carefully as they could they laid Soda on it. Soda gasped and groaned with pain as they lowered him down, making Steve's heart twist. All he wanted to do was take away Soda's pain. But there was nothing they could do for him. And that was maybe the most painful thing that Steve would ever endure. Maybe.

"Easy, Soda," Steve said, kneeling down next to his friend. He pulled Soda's jacket out of his pack and bunched it up under Soda's head, trying to make him a little more comfortable. "We're stoppin' for the night. Just try and get some rest. Okay?"

Soda's eyes moved up toward him and then seemed to slip right passed him, clouded over with fever. Steve sighed heavily as he rubbed his forehead where a headache had been pounding for a few hours now. Wade crouched down on Soda's other side as he went about checking his vitals again. Steve turned away slightly. He didn't want to see the grim look on the medic's face as he found no improvement.

"Randle?" Wade said suddenly.

"What?" Steve said sharply, still not looking at him. He swore to himself that if Wade was about to give him more bad news about Soda's condition he was going to belt him.

"I'm sorry about what I said back at the camp," Wade said slowly. This was enough for Steve to send him a confused look. It wasn't at all what he was expecting to hear. Wade looked at him a bit nervously. He was a small guy with glasses, probably around Steve's age. He certainly was not old enough to be an accomplished doctor or anything like that. Steve suddenly wondered vaguely how much medical training he actually had. "It wasn't that I didn't want to help him. It's just…" His thought trailed off and he sighed heavily before he continued. "They didn't tell us it was gonna be like this. Most of the time on the battlefield there just isn't anythin' you can do except watch people die while tryin' to make their passing hurt just a little less. You know how many people I've actually saved since getting here? Zero. It's a very easy statistic to remember."

Steve could only stare blankly, not sure what to make of this. It wasn't at all the kind of conversation he ever thought he'd be having with Wade.

Wade shifted uncomfortably under Steve's gaze. "I just want you to know that I want him to get through this too. I don't want you to think that I don't."

Steve nodded finally. "Thank you," he said. He looked down at Soda. His eyes were closed and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. "You bought him some time," he pointed out after a minute. "That's gotta count for somethin'." Steve swallowed. Every fiber of his being screamed at him not to ask the next question on his mind, but he did anyway. "He could… he could make it… couldn't he?" His voice came out quiet and almost childlike.

Wade looked at him as if sizing him up for a minute. Steve felt his stomach falling before he even started speaking. "Randle, I'm gonna give you some advice," he said slowly almost gently. "You're not gonna like it… but just hear me out. What you got here… maybe it's a different kind of gift. Not many people get an opportunity like this especially out here. You have a chance to really say goodbye to your friend. You might not want to waste that. Just in case."

Steve closed his eyes as if he were in physical pain. He rested his head in his hands, feeling the exhaustion brought on by the past couple hours finally catching up with him.

"Hey man." Steve opened his eyes to find that Wade had left and now it was Turner that was crouched near him. He was holding a can out toward him. "You need to eat something. Keep your strength up."

Steve had absolutely no appetite whatsoever but he knew that Turner was right. He reached out an accepted his C ration. Normally they would use their C4 explosives to heat their rations since you could light them without them exploding, but they couldn't do that at night. It would attract too much attention. Even the fire that they built was kept low and surrounded by the soldiers' pack to keep it from being able to be seen from a distance. This meant that they would be eating their rations cold. Usually Steve would be bitching along with everyone else about this. But tonight he could barely even taste what he was eating let alone care whether it was hot or cold.

"You holding up okay?" Turner asked after they ate in silence for a few minutes.

Steve stared vacantly down at his can of C rations. "Wade doesn't think he's gonna make it," he mumbled. "He's thought that since the beginning."

"Yeah, I heard you guys talking just now," Turner admitted.

Steve let his eyes stray to Soda who lay unconscious next to him. He was still taking in ragged breaths, the only obvious sign that he was still alive. "What if I'm putting him through all this for nothin'?" he murmured. "What's the point of puttin' him through all this pain and draggin' him all the way back to base if he's not even gonna make it?"

"It's not for nothing," Turner said slowly. "He's still alive right now, which means he's still got a chance. Even if it is unlikely it's still there because of what we did back there. I mean, what were we supposed to do? Just leave him there to slowly bleed out? Put a bullet in his head to put him out of his misery? We don't do that to our own." He paused for a moment. "You know, he was awake when I first found him. He knew we were there. He was calling out for help, though not very loudly. He was even reaching up toward the bars of the cage like he could break out. He passed out again before you got there, but he clearly wanted out of there. You gave him that in any case. I think you did the right thing. He shouldn't have been left behind in that heinous place."

"Thanks man," Steve said. And he did mean that. He had provided a little comfort anyway.

They lapsed into silence and Steve figured the conversation was over. So when Turner did speak again Steve jerked slightly in surprise. "Hope for the best but prepare for the worst," he said quietly. He looked up as Steve sent him a questioning look. Turner flashed him a half smirk. "That's something my dad used to always tell me. I used to just roll my eyes at him. But… I don't think Wade was telling you to give up hope. Just to prepare for the worst." He fidgeted uncomfortably at Steve's silence. "If that makes sense."

Steve nodded vaguely as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. It did make sense. But he knew that no one really understood what was going on here. Soda was more than just a friend from back home, he was Steve's family. How were you supposed to say goodbye to someone like that? Steve looked over at Soda again and tried to imagine going home without him. He couldn't do it. Soda had always been there. A world without Sodapop Curtis seemed too horrific to even imagine.

The night dragged on and as more clouds began to roll in to block out any light from the moon or stars the darkness became more complete. The group quickly fell into their usual nighttime routine. Out of the eighteen that were with them when they left base camp, there were twelve abled bodied soldiers left. After several enemy night raids they had developed a set of flashlight signals in order to silently communicate in the dark. Four soldiers would patrol the perimeter of their camp out in the trees at the four cardinal directions and would send periodic signals back toward the camp to let them know they had not been taken out by any enemy soldiers lurking out in the darkness, a flaw in their previous routine that they had learned the hard way. Two soldiers sat in the camp as secondary lookouts and kept track of the signals of the four beyond the tree line. This left six soldiers to get some rest. They had a quick rotation of switching posts every fifteen minutes, meaning that for every hour and a half you were on duty you got an hour and a half of rest.

Given all of this it was several hours before Steve realized that he had been left out of the rotation that night. He assumed that the Captain had decided that he wasn't in any state to be keeping watch, and Steve was grateful for this because it was very true. He had absolutely no desire to leave Soda's side for any reason. And despite the fact that he was horribly tired he had no desire to go to sleep. Instead he sat up at Soda's side, watching over him like a silent protector. He had found a relatively clean shirt in his pack and had torn it to shreds, using some of his rationed water to wet them and place them on Soda's forehead in a small attempt to control his fever. It didn't seem to be helping much.

Despite his determination to stay awake, Steve was pretty sure he nodded off a few times while sitting up out of sheer exhaustion. So he had no concept of how much time had passed when he opened his eyes and glanced down at Soda to find that he was looking up at him.

"Soda?" Steve said in a low voice. His tone was guarded, well aware that Soda hadn't acknowledged his presence since they left the prison camp.

Soda's eyes slid shut and Steve sighed in disappointment. But then a moment later they opened again and Soda took in a slow, rattling breath as he looked up at Steve. At first he just looked confused, his eyes hazy with fever. At that moment the clouds shifted, shedding a bit more light ino their clearing from the moon. Steve could just see the spark of recognition in Soda's eyes. "Steve?" His voice was weak and raw.

Steve smiled lightly, feeling relief wash over him. "Hey buddy," he said quietly. "How're you feelin'?"

Soda moaned lightly and his eyes fluttered with the pain of just breathing. "Awful." He gaze wandered slightly. "Where are we?" With each word Steve could see what little energy he had fading.

Steve gave a shrug. "Somewhere in the middle of a jungle in Vietnam." He tried to sound casual, but there was tense concern in his voice. He put a light hand on Soda's shoulder to keep him still as he shifted uncomfortably. "Just take it easy, okay? We got a long day of walkin' back to base tomorrow."

Soda let out a choked noise. Steve vaguely wondered if this was his attempt at a laugh. "I don't think…" He tensed and winced. "…I'll be doin' much walkin'." He coughed raggedly. It was clear that he was in an unimaginable amount of pain.

"Don't you worry about that," Steve assured him gently. "I've got your back, buddy. Just like always."

But Soda didn't look comforted by his words. He sucked in a shallow breath, wincing as he did so. "If I don't make it back—"

"No," Steve cut him off quickly. "No, don't talk like that Soda. You're gonna be fine. You have to be fine. I can't go back without you, man."

Soda shot him a pained look at this. "You have to go back, Steve. You have to—" His words were choked off suddenly as a strange and unnatural tremor ran through his body causing him to moan with pain.

"Hey, stop talkin'," Steve said worriedly. "You gotta save your strength."

Soda shook his head slightly and looked up at him blearily. "You gotta go back to Darry and Pony," he rasped weakly. "And Two-Bit. You gotta tell them… I never wanted to leave them. I tried so hard to get back to them…"

Steve took in a shaky breath. He could feel tears building up and he fiercely fought back against them. He did not want to lose his composure here of all places. This was not a conversation he wanted to have. However Steve could not deny him this conversation if this was what Soda needed for comfort. It didn't mean that he had to stop fighting to bring Soda home, he told himself.

"Okay," Steve choked out, fighting for composure. "Okay, I'll tell them. Don't you worry."

Soda blinked slowly and then reached out toward Steve. Steve took his hand and squeezed it lightly. "You need to go home," Soda mumbled.

"You need to go home too, Soda," Steve said, a hint of pleading in his voice. It wasn't fair. What did Steve have to go home to? He didn't have any decent family to go back to. Soda had a family to go back to; he still had his brothers who would be absolutely crushed if he didn't come home. "Don't give up, you can make it through this I know you can."

Soda opened his mouth to respond but only an odd choked noise came out. Steve stared in confusion as Soda's muscles suddenly tensed. His eyes rolled back in his head and Steve thought that he was passing out again. It seemed really strange though because he had seemed so coherent just a second ago. Then suddenly Soda's hand tightened around Steve's in a vice grip. His muscles tensed even more, so much so that his shoulders were lifted off the ground as his head tilted backwards in an unnatural position. Steve could only stare, uncomprehending. Soda's body gave an unnatural jerk and then a few seconds again another one and then another.

As the episode worsened Steve quickly looked around, trying to locate the medic. "Wade!" he hissed, knowing full well that yelling, even given the situation with his friend, would not help matters here in the middle of enemy territory.

Luckily not only was Wade not out on lookout duty but he seemed to be keeping tabs on Soda and Steve, because just a moment later he materialized at Soda's side and immediately began examining Soda as the spasms and convulsions worsened.

"What's happening?" Steve murmured frantically, trying desperately to keep calm.

Wade glanced over at him. "He's having a seizure," he said flatly.

"What can you do?" Steve asked quickly as he watched the painful display. He felt like he could hardly breath. This couldn't be it this couldn't be the end, it just couldn't.

Wade sent him a tense look before he turned and started rummaging in his pack. He came up with a roll of bandages that was looking pretty thin. He tore off a strip and quickly put it into Soda's mouth between his teeth, much like that had done when he had been extracting the bullet from his gut.

"You're supposed to put him on his side," Wade mumbled, still looking down at Soda worriedly as his muscles continued to spasm more violently. "But if we do that we risk causing more damage to the bullet wound."

Steve felt like the world was falling out from under him. He stared on helplessly as the seizure continued. His mind was a whirl of too many thoughts but feeling empty at the same time. Then he did something he had never done before in his entire life. He closed his eyes and he began to pray to anyone who may be listening.

Please… not like this… don't let Soda go out like this…it's not fair he needs to go home his family needs him… please… we need a miracle…

"Randle?"

It was Wade's voice. It had gotten very quiet very quickly. Soda's hand had gone slack. Steve's took a deep breath. Was that it? Was it over? He tried to prepare himself, to somehow brace himself for a world without Sodapop Curtis. But it was like trying to stop a tornado through sheer force of will. Completely impossible. Slowly Steve opened his eyes, fully expecting the worst. He looked down at his best friend. Soda was laying perfectly still, a huge contrast to the unnatural jerking motions that had consumed him moments before. His head had fallen to one side limply and his eyes were closed. Steve felt cold.

"Is he…?" Steve choked out, unable to ask the question that had to be asked.

Wade was checking Soda's pulse. For several seconds everything was completely still. "He's still hanging on," Wade said, honest surprise in his voice. Steve gave a start at this. "Get your flashlight, I need to check his wound."

Steve fumbled around his pack for a minute and pulled out his small flashlight. He was careful as he flicked it on, blocking the light with his body on one side and cupping his hand around the opposite side, keeping the light as small as possible. Wade peeled back the bandages. Steve didn't want to, but he looked anyway. He somehow expected it to look a lot more gruesome than it did. The hole in his gut was red and filled with puss, but it seemed so small. Around the bullet wound Soda's skin was dark with bruises.

"He's bleeding out," Wade with quietly as he observed the bruising on Soda's side. "I'm sorry, Randle. He doesn't have much time left."

Steve stared down, focusing on Soda's face. This statement should have devastated him. But deep down he had known this was coming. And now that it was here he just felt empty and numb. He had failed. He would have to go back to Tulsa, Oaklahoma and sit in the Curtis' living room and explain to Darry and Pony how exactly Soda had died. How was that fair? But then again how was it fair to expect Soda to endure the pain of being dragged through the jungles of Vietnam for another day if was all going to be for nothing?

Steve leaned down closer to Soda, still clutching his hand. "It's okay, Sodapop," he whispered, his voice shaking with tears that would not come. "It's okay. You can let go. I'll make sure that Darry and Pony and Two-Bit knew how hard you fought trying to get back to them."

Steve felt Soda's hand give a small squeeze. Or perhaps he just imagined it. He looked up at the sky, unable to look at his fallen friend any longer. Damn this hurt. He could see the hints of morning, of the sun rising. They would be getting ready to leave soon.

Suddenly Steve sensed that something was wrong. There was no real noise, but there was something shifting through the other soldiers in the camp. The secondary lookouts were tensing and waking those who had been asleep – or as close to asleep as you ever got out here. Steve was very attune to these shifts in the group and he knew what that meant. It meant that someone had found something out there beyond the trees. And it was never anything good.

"Heads up, boys," Captain Miller murmured as he readied his gun. "Something's comin'."

Steve's rifle was already in his hands, the product of a lot of practice with the motion. It felt comfortable and natural in his hands. Wade was fumbling with his own gun. The medic had never been very good with his weapon. Everyone was shifting toward one side of the clearing. Steve started to move with them on instinct but then he froze. He looked down at Soda. His eyes were closed but he was still breathing. Steve couldn't abandon him while he was still alive. He settled back on his haunches next to Soda, prepared to protect him with his life if necessary.

The next few minutes were some of the most tense of Steve's entire life, the weight of the responsibility of protecting Soda from whatever was coming hanging heavily over him. They all waited, listening hard for an approaching threat. There was a rustling in the trees. Steve's trigger finger twitched as a figure approached through the trees. He caught himself just in time. It was one of their own guys. Steve sighed but didn't relax still waiting for the rush of an ambush. But the solider that had just appeared wasn't running and he didn't seem anxious at all. Instead he held up his gun defensively.

"Who's out there, Matthews?" Captain Miller asked.

"It's another American platoon," Matthews reported, sounding relieved by the development.

A murmur of surprise ran through the group as everyone lowered their weapons just a fraction. Trust was something they had all learned to lose the hard way. They didn't trust reports, even from their own guys, they only trusted their own senses. Seeing was believing out here. Which is why when Captain Miller went out into the trees to investigate the report he still held his gun at the ready.

Everyone was absolutely still as they waited. There was a long few minutes where everyone was silent as they waited, all guns still trained on the area where the captain had just disappeared. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, Steve thought dryly to himself, wondering vaguely where Turner was. He didn't let his focus waiver to look for him though.

As footsteps approached everyone tensed up. The captain reemerged and everyone could immediately see his relaxed posture and his gun held at his side instead of at the ready. Everyone immediately lowered their guns as others followed him through the trees, all very clearly American soldiers. As Steve really took them in he saw that they all looked worn and a bit ragged. Steve watched them carefully. Even though they were fellow American soldiers they still did not know them.

"Captain Sullivan's platoon has been out in the field for two weeks longer than planned," Captain Miller announced. "There are several enemy units camped between here and the closest base. They've been working their way around the outskirts of the enemy encampments. We're going to have to do the same thing, taking a less direct route back to base."

Steve felt his heart fall. A less direct route. Soda already wasn't going to make the direct route. Everything was against them. The situation was getting more hopeless by the minute. Steve didn't even know that was possible. But then as he looked around at the soldiers who just arrived something caught his eye. A tint of metal that wasn't from a gun. A radio strapped a young soldier's back.

In the next moment Steve was up on his feet, rushing forward unaware of anything else that was going on. "Cap," he called as he approached.

"Yeah, Randle," Captain Miller said, looking over at him.

"Captain," Steve practically gasped as he pointed to what he had seen. "They have a radio."

Captain Miller just looked at him uncomprehending for a moment and it took everything Steve had to keep from screaming at him. Then his eyes wandered to behind him, where a fallen soldier lay. Steve had to remind himself that the Captain had more things to worry about than just Soda, so the fact that the thought hadn't occurred to him immediately like it had to Steve shouldn't be a fault.

Captain Miller turned to one of the older soldiers from the platoon; assumedly it was Captain Sullivan. "We've got a soldier in critical condition. We pulled him out of an abandoned prison camp yesterday afternoon and he's not going to last much longer."

"He ain't gonna last another hour, let alone a more roundabout trek to base," Steve interjected, hoping to help convey the severity of the situation.

"We lost our radio about a week ago and we haven't been able to contact anyone for help," Captain Miller continued, not going on to explain that the guy in their platoon who had been in charge of the radio had burned to death after being caught too close to an explosion. Steve could still remember how he had screamed. They had pulled the radio off of his body after the fire had burned down, but they hadn't been able to get it working again. "Can you have your guy radio back to base? See if you can get an emergency med evac here?"

"Yes, of course," Captain Sullivan agreed immediately.

Steve felt his heart lift just slightly. Could their luck really be turning around? Could he really trust to hope right now? As Captain Sullivan returned to his soldiers Steve hurried back over to Soda. He was relieved to find that Wade was back at his side so that he hadn't been alone when Steve had rushed away.

"They're callin' back to base," Steve said. He was short of breath. He thought that was a little odd, it wasn't like he had really exerted himself running from one end of the camp to the other. "They're gonna see if they can evac him outta here."

"They better hurry," Wade said gravely. He had two fingers on Soda's neck, feeling for his pulse. "He's circling the drain."

"C'mon, hang in there, Soda," Steve begged quietly. "Hang in there. Just a little longer. We might be able to get you out of here. I know I told you that you could let go, but forget that for a minute. Hang on just a little longer. Please?" Soda made no indication that he had heard him. Steve picked up Soda's hand and squeezed it lightly but got nothing in return. Even his ragged breathing had slowed. His face was colorless and his chest had a strange yellow tint to it where it wasn't already darkly bruised. Soda was dying. That much was painfully obvious. "Please Soda," Steve whispered, not caring that he was being incredibly selfish right now. "Please don't make me go home without you."

"Randle!" Steve looked over to see Captain Miller walking over to him. "Get Curtis prepped. A bird will be here in fifteen to evac him out of here."

Steve felt his heart jump up into his throat. This was really happening. They were getting Soda out of here.

The next fifteen minutes passed agonizingly slowly. Finally they were moving Soda to another nearby clearing. It was a small group, just Steve and Turner supporting him and Wade and Captain Miller accompanying them. They fashioned a sort of stretcher out of a blanket in order to keep Soda as still as they could. Soda never once moaned in pain. This worried Steve even more though.

As they reached the clearing Wade checked his pulse again. "He's getting weaker," he reported. His eyes went to the sky, searching for the helicopter. "They better hurry the hell up!" There was tension in his voice. He wanted Soda to get through this. The fact that Steve wasn't the only one pulling for him right now meant the world to him.

Finally they heard the flurry of the helicopter's blade slicing through the air, buzzing in their direction. At the sound the Captain lit a smoke grenade, purple for medic evac, which he had gotten from the other platoon and tossed it to the middle of the clearing. The helicopter immediately raced toward the signal, low and fast. It landed and immediately several medics raced across the space to where the group was gathered.

"He's having another seizure!" Wade suddenly shouted. Steve looked back down at his friend to find that he was jerking violently, his muscles contracting at unnatural angles. The other medics ran up to them but Wade had already sprung into action. "His airway is blocked, we need to clear it."

As the medics all converged Steve was pushed backwards away from Soda. He felt numb and his eyes were wide as he saw one of the new medics pull a tube from his bag and start to work it down Soda's throat despite the convulsions. No, no this couldn't be happening. They were so close. The medics and the helicopter were here, how could they have come all this way and have so many lucky breaks just now to fail at the last second?

"We need to move him now, we can't be on the ground more than three minutes, base's orders," one of the new medics said quickly. "It's too dangerous out here to linger."

Suddenly they were moving Soda away from him, rushing him to the helicopter. He didn't know what was happening at first when he started moving forward. It took him a minute to figure out that Captain Miller was pushing him toward the helicopter.

"You go with him, Randle," Captain Miller yelled over the noise. "We'll meet up with you at the base in a few days."

Steve was a good solider. He didn't question orders. He did what he was told. The words had barely left the Captain's lips when Steve launched himself forward and up into the helicopter. A split second later it took off, leaving Captain Miller, Wade and Turner behind. Steve found himself looking out the still open door at them as they quickly shrunk and disappeared into the landscape. He hoped that they would all make it to base so that he could thank them for all that they had done. He felt guilty that he hadn't done that before takeoff, but everything had happened so quickly.

Steve was violently brought back to the present by the commotion in the helicopter. The seizure had apparently passed as he lay still again, though he looked far from okay. They had a tube down Soda's throat trying to drain fluid out of his lungs; they had taken his bandages off revealing that his bullet wound had started bleeding significantly again. One medic was quietly taking his pulse. Steve focused on this particular medic. He felt like the stillness of his task was comforting in some way. However the next words that came out of that medic's mouth as the helicopter raced through the sky over the jungles of Vietnam would haunt Steven Randle for years to come.

"No pulse."