Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns 'em.

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It was dark, that's all I knew in telling what time of day it was. I had no sense of time anymore, even wondering what time it was outside of morning, noon, or night felt like a damn waste. Everything was a damn waste here. It was a hot hell-hole with Slants in every direction and people dying all the fucking time. A real trip I had out there, I've gotta say.

It was my turn to sleep but I was no way I'd get any; I never did anymore. It didn't have to do with the constant thupthupthup of choppers overhead or mortars expolding in the distance; I could only hear those sounds if I really tried. It was just that I was past tired and past wanting to even sleep because when you sleep you have to be woken up. Anytime you fall asleep out here and you're getting real good into it dreaming about one of the girls in the magazines they sent us or maybe you're not even dreaming at all and instead you're comfortable and floating and sure that you're dead, someone will wake you up. Some ass who just won't give you the fucking pleasure of letting you think you're out of Hell's Own Heat or letting you think that you're not gonna have to go back to people who expect someone else, the person you were before- that one right there was the worse one of all and your damn sergeant won't let you forget it.

"Keep yourselves safe because all you little pricks have girls and some you have guys and families and if I don't bring you home in two pieces at the most it means my ass!" They'll scream. "All of you quit crying in your corners and get out and kill some fucking Slopes! Bet your mommas wouldn't believe that their boys are killers would they? You think you're not killers but you are; blood makes the green grass grow, boys!"

I'm not exaggerating, if anything I might've forgotten a few choice words in there. You all get stories back home in the papers about our Sergeants being heroes and setting examples and it's all shit. Propaganda shit that makes me sick to my stomach. They've been here longer and gotten wilder and more insane that all of us put together. The sight of them would make their wives cry.

There was a nudge at my side.

"Soda, you sleeping, man?" Randle whispered. "I really need a light. I'm gonna take your Zippo. Okay man, that fine?"

Before he had even finished talking he was taking my Zippo out of my pocket. He laughed. He was high already and he'd probably been high all day.

"What's this you've got on the side- live, learn, shoot 'em up?" he laughed again. It was a noise that grated on my brain.

"Steve shut up, goddammit!" Anderson hissed in the dark.

"Aw, Andy, I'm talking to my friend Sodapop here. You know me and Soda are best buddies? Pals." He started off laughing again. I sat up and glared at him.

" Randle, will you shut the fuck up, please?" I said coldly.

"I'm Steve, Sodapop," he said sadly. "You should know that I'm Steve. Randle is only my last name, but I guess it is here on my shirt. I've never heard in awhile anyone call me Randle. But I haven't heard anyone in awhile call you Curtis in awhile either and it's there on your shirt, too.What Pony and Darry would think-"

"Pony and Darry won't ever see me like this," I spat. "I hope to God they won't see you like this either, shit-faced out of your fucking mind! I wish I didn't have to see you like this either, I've changed Steve? Mary Jane is your best friend now, don't even-"

"Shut up you retards and grab your fucking guns, they're out there and you two are bickering like damn old ladies! Just shut up and move out!" Anderson shouted in a shrill whisper.Randle and I did as we were told and crouched out behind of Anderson. I was suddenly pissed over the sleep I'd never get.

"You talk like you wanna die, Soda," Steve whispered to me as Anderson radioed Sergeant Berkley.

"Yeah," I said bitterly, "We can only hope."