Thanks for the support and reviews, I hope for this to become a successful fan fiction.
Warning: strong language
Silence. It's a dangerous word, even more dangerous when you're alone. However, when it's hissed into your ear with the ringing that follows, you don't feel so alone. And in the night, when you're surrounded by the darkness and the presence of slumber, it really is up to you whether you take the right actions or not. When your life is before your gawking eyes, grenades evolving into death around you, you begin to question your very existence and reason for being. Remember this now because it will be key later. It would be a lie to say that Sgt. Meserve didn't save my life that night. With half my body in a VC tunnel and the other half exposed to the raining grenades. However, I would pay him back. The price of life is very costly, I will say this and only this about how I repaid the Sergeant.
"We're gettin' too sure for this shit, Meserve." Specialist 4th Class Brown, call signed as Brownie, on account of his name and skin colour, tells the Sergeant.
"We aint sure yet, Brownie." Meserve replies, spitting his tobacco filled saliva to the side.
"Man, we damned the invisible. We're gonna di-di right out of here, man."
"Put me on that freedom bird." Merseve chuckles. More chewing of his tobacco and splutters to the side of the dust road, the liquid curling up in the sand. "Maybe the fucker's gonna crash."
For the first time for the duration of the trip, I see my chance to slip in a word or too.
"Could you imagine that? You escape the 'Nam, but you die in airline fatality." my voice wobbles from exhaustion and lack of hydration. God, I need a shower. Clarke looks to me from the corner of his eyes, not bothering to move his head.
"Never happens, Curtis. You survive the 'Nam, you live forever, man." I chuckle and wipe the sweat from my forehead. The cowlick that used to rest on my brow, a constant reminder of my greased back hair, is no longer there. The pain of departing from it, that's when it all started to animate itself from a simple draft letter to my new reality. A greaser and his hair; there is no stronger bond.
"How long have you been in the country, Curtis?" Brownie calls back to me, lugging his rifle over his broad, dark shoulder. I fumble with my words, trying to get accustomed to being addressed so frequently.
"He's talking to you, James," Clarke mutters, this time gesturing his head towards. I think back to when I'd gotten the letter, only a month ago. How Darry was so surprised, and how Ponyboy had clung to me, pleading that I didn't leave him.
I remember getting my long hair shaven off, the clumps of greasy glory falling to nothing but a small heap at my feet. It wasn't so bad anymore, now that it had grown somewhat with the heat.
I remember the moment I decided to change my name. A swift and panicked decision, I will admit. However, a guy named Sodapop would never survive the 'Nam.
"Curtis, Sodapop?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is this some kind of joke, Private?"
"What joke, sir?"
"Says here that your given name is Sodapop. Is this correct, Private?"
Silence lingers and a decision is born.
"No, sir. My given name is James."
"Three weeks," I finally answer Sergeant Brown.
"Three weeks? Man, you're breakin' my heart."
Brownie and Meserve continue on with their murmured conversation, I only tune in to chuckle a few times at Brownie's smartass remarks.
"Yeah, the 'Nam's a trip. The first thirty days you don't know shit and the last thirty days, you don't give a shit."
"Fuckin' A," Hatcher comments from behind me in agreement.
After horking one last wad of tobacco filled spit, Sgt. Meserve turns to us and begins to belch out his orders. "Hatcher, Clarke, Curtis; spread out here. Try not to get lost, huh? Me and Brownie will bring in the equipment and meet you wherever you are." He turns to the left, towards the base. "Brownie, let's di-di."
"Curtis! Hey, Curtis!"
"Yes, Sir?"
"What the fuck are you doing, Private? Ploughing God knows what with this dubious motherfucker when you should be bringing water to your fellow soldiers. Am I not right?"
I look down at the ancient looking plough, then to the ancient looking Vietnamese man beside me. I peer up at him, squinting through the sun. "Yeah."
"Then get at it, white boy."
I chuckle and begin to walk from the field, past Brownie. He's the first Negro I've ever seen up close. Or, in fact, in person. The way he talks, the way he looks at things and acts, made me question my society's slander.
Smoke trails up from Brownie's pink lips, obtaining a slight brown pigmentation. Taking countless drags, mesmerizing me. God knows how long its been since I've had a cigarette.
"What the hell where you doing there, man? This place is infested with VC. And what about last night, man? Meserve had to go back for you. I heard you had your ass stuck in one of them VC tunnels like motherfuckin' Winnie The Pooh." Brownie teases, his words flouting on his flamboyant laugh. I return his remark with a laugh of the same nature, however also remember last night.
The darkness.
When I realized I would some day pay back the Sergeant whether it be by my will or his.
"Yeah, man."
"Did you piss yourself?"
I feel myself blushing slightly, damn.
"Jeez, Brownie."
"Well? Tell me."
"I am telling you!"
"Nah, man, you're just saying shit."
"Well?"
"Did you piss yourself, motherfucker?"
"Tell you what, Brownie. If the Serg hadn't come back for me, I sure would have."
Satisfied with his answer, Brownie lets one of his ostentatious laughs ring out again.
"Damn."
As I turn to leave, Brownie calls out to me.
"I've been meanin' to ask you, Curtis. You got any kids, man?"
I shake my head. "No."
"A woman?"
My mind drifts to Sandy as I give a definite shake of the head. "Hell no."
"Well what're you leavin' behind if you get blown to bits out here?"
I check behind me, at the rest of my squadron, somewhat embarrassed if they were to be in earshot of my answer. "I got two brothers at home. The youngest one, Pony, he was just a wreck when I had to go."
"Did you say 'Pony'?" Brownie asks, his coloured face growing slightly puzzled.
"T-Tony," I recover quickly. "His name's Tony."
"Well y'know, Curtis, my-"
Brownie's voice cuts out as the sound of a gunshot replaces it. Falling to the ground, grasping his neck, he lets out a foul curse. The others run to us, but drop to the ground, bullets being fired across the field at the unexpected enemies. On our bellies, we release bullets from our rifles, ready to kill. I look to Brownie and Sgt. Meserve is on top of him, holding his hand tightly to the side of his neck. For the first time, I see a colour on Brownie's skin other than brown
The colour is crimson red.
VOCABULARY
VC - Viet Cong
Di-di - to leave or get out
Fucking A - "I agree" "Yes" "That's true" ext.
Serg - short for sergeant, pronounced "Sarge"
'Nam - short for Vietnam