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“Sleeping,” Hawkeye muttered, shifting to make himself comfortable in his cot. That was a hard order. Army cots were only comfortable if you were dead on your feet already; that was just because your body expected the cold ungiving embrace of dirt. “Just like a little angel.”
Radar seemed to be having an easier time of it, though. Maybe it was the view. Frank would be none too happy to hear that his bed had been given away to the first drunk eighteen-year-old to come across it, when he wasn’t even around to see.
Trapper’s voice wafted from the other side of the Swamp. “I can hear the heavenly trumpets, too.”
Poor kid. “Usually you have to get a punch in the nose to snore like that.”
“Not used to gin.”
Wasn’t a bad night, Hawkeye thought to himself. Not a bad night at all, and a slow day to boot. What more could you ask for, at the gates of war?
Except, you know, if things weren’t enough to rip your still-beating heart out of its chest, they were enough to make you do the same out of sheer god-damn boredom. Him and Trapper had taken to harassing Radar around lunchtime, whereabouts it came up that their most tender-footed evil mastermind had never drank.
I have too, sirs! Radar had protested. I’ve had sips of my uncle’s beer and wine at church, I’ve drank before.
Couldn’t your heart just melt?
A couple of good decisions had led to a great decision. Not only had Radar’s liver been thoroughly desecrated, they’d gotten him behind the wheel of a Jeep and all. Kid wasn’t a bad driver. According to him, he’d mostly had experience with tractors on the farm. Hawkeye had told him that if you squinted a bit, corn looked a little like people. Got caught in your teeth, too.
After their little drunken joyride around the outskirts of the beautiful 4077, they’d gotten back with all limbs attached. The nightlife around Korea really had something to beg for; with lack of anything else to do, they’d all piled back in the Swamp to get some shut-eye.
(Besides, as Radar had been hit with every other bit of bad luck in existence, Hawkeye figured that Radar would also be celebrating his first hangover in tomorrow. Poor kid. Constitution of an eighty-year-old. Sex appeal, too.)
Still.
Not that he’d ever say much out loud, not to lose that pleasantly charming exterior he’d so lovingly crafted, but. It was nice, seeing the kid do something normal. Wasn’t lost on Hawkeye that Radar was one of the youngest people in the camp with the most boring, but important, responsibilities. Was because of Radar that he had supplies, meager as the bounty was, and was because of Radar that the camp kept spinning another day.
Aw, hell, he should’ve told Radar that before he fell asleep.
Too late, now. The only way that this night could’ve gone better was finding a nurse, but then again, they’d tried to talk about girls with the kid and Radar had fogged up his glasses in 0 seconds flat. Maybe later.
“Hawkeye?” A quiet voice asked from the cot. “Trapper?”
“Have a nightmare, schnookums?”
“No. I just have a question.”
Oh, boy. Hawkeye could only wonder. “What would a young blossom such as yourself want to know from two wizened old-timers?”
“Hey, speak for yourself, Hawk.”
“It’s about …” A slow pause. When Radar spoke again, it was tinged with uncertainty, like he’d seen the word printed but never spoken it aloud. “Girls. Uh! Women, I mean.”
He smiled. “You’ve unlocked my expertise.”
Should’ve figured. Radar was probably the only man in this camp, excepting maybe Klinger, who hadn’t gotten laid since the war started. Wasn’t for lack of opportunity with Klinger, either. Guy just had a worry that if he did get a nurse in his bed, the army might take that as final confirmation of his sanity.
“When you, uh …”
Man, Hawkeye had a brief twinge of genuine fear. That hadn’t happened since he’d opened up a pastrami on his surgery table. Like, sure, he could teach Radar all about the birds and the bees, but he was hoping that was a common enough lesson on the farm around springtime. “Careful, now. There’s a gentleman present.”
“Why do you do it so much? Go after ‘em. I don’t get it.”
“Go …” Trapper was as lost as Hawkeye felt. “Go after ‘em? Because they’re women, Radar.”
“We have sex with them,” Hawkeye added on. “In case that wasn’t abundantly clear. We’re not playing chess in our bunks.”
“I know that. It’s just, I don’t know. There’s other things to do if you’re bored, and … and it’s not like anyone’s going to think women don’t want you, or something. Awh,” Radar sighed, “I’m not explaining myself well. Forget it.”
“No, no, let’s get to the bottom of this.” Hawkeye spoke directly to the ceiling, his fingers folded on his chest. He had to say, his interest was piqued. It would’ve been one thing if Radar got turned down again and again, but the guy barely seemed to even try. There were only a few people that Radar dared look in the eyes – Hawkeye was proud to say that he’d got that privilege week two. “First of all, is there anything else to do when you’re bored around here? Because if you’re hiding something else from us, I’m going to be mighty angry.”
“Get drunk.”
“He’s got us there,” Trapper murmured.
“And there’s always things needed done around camp –”
“Radar, you’re awfully mistaken if you think I’m going to become a charitable figure.”
“And, I don’t know,” Radar finished, frustration cutting through his gin-thickened voice. “It just seems like so much effort. Like another job. First you have to find the lady, then you have to woo the lady, then you have to -”
“Have you been wooing?” Hawkeye asked in Trapper’s direction. “I think I’ve been slacking in my wooing.”
“It’s not really work when you like the lady, Radar. Look, why don’t you tell us anyone you’ve got your eye on? We’ll give you some pointers. Cut down on the work.”
“We’ll give you pointers over the belt. It is every young man’s god-given right to royally embarrass themselves their first time.”
Radar’s voice was faint, each syllable dying a couple of times in his throat. “Uh … uhm.”
Huh. Hawkeye thought about throwing out names, maybe jog his memory. Give out his own ranking. Hang on, maybe that was why Radar was so hesitant. Didn’t want to list anyone Hawkeye or Trapper had their eyes on. Awh, poor guy. Hawkeye didn’t own anyone in the camp, but he wasn’t about to confuse a poor drunk kid.
“Alright, you tell us about anyone at home that you had your eyes on. When you get back from the war – well, you won’t need our help, you’ll be the Radar O’Reilly.”
Another long pause. This time, Radar didn’t even bother for an answer. If he wasn’t holding his breath, Hawkeye would’ve thought he’d fallen asleep again.
“Nobody at home, Radar?” Trapper probed, gently.
“Not … really.”
“Nobody ever?” Hawkeye insisted.
“Well …” Radar trailed off again. Then, to his surprise –
Huh. Kid was laughing. Kid had a good laugh; Hawkeye didn’t hear it often enough. Only people laughing in this entire damn camp was him and Trapper sometimes; unfortunately, it was rarely ever infectious.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “Just, I was real close with this kid back home. He was on the neighboring farm, he … real close, real close.”
Hawkeye could’ve sworn he heard Radar squeeze his teddy-bear a little tighter. He wished he had a teddy-bear to squeeze, because something cold started to settle in his gut. “Yeah?”
“A-and. I don’t know, it. Don’t you think it’s silly sometimes? Like, why’ve I got to find a girl that I want to go steady with?”
Go steady. Jesus. He tilted his head back on the pillow and stared at the underside of their tent. As it always did, the wind blew outside, hitting him hard through the gaps.
“You don’t have to. Look at the Father, he doesn’t.”
“I guess. I guess so, I just. I don’t know. I know what they say, I guess, but what’s really so bad about wanting to spend the rest of your life with a guy instead? I mean, I’m not a – y’know, but I don’t know what’s so wrong about it. It doesn’t feel – not like I know, obviously, but – u-uhm –”
All at once, Radar stood up from his cot. He circled around a few times, trying to get his bearings, just like a little … well, radar. “Do you hear someone phoning the commander’s tent? It’s late, could be a ceasefire, I should go –”
“Sit down, sit down. As much as I’d love to be sent home in the middle of the night, I don’t think the coffeeshop at New York Central opens until ten.”
Radar didn’t sit down. Instead, Radar just stood. Probably would’ve been imposing, if Radar could even reach the tippy-top of their still.
Oh, god damn it. They were going to have to talk about it, wouldn’t they? Kid wouldn’t come to their tent with his leg falling off, if not. Besides, even with the cool bracing night air and the general anxiety Hawkeye couldn’t ever wring from his spine, Radar was drunk enough to sway on his feet.
“Sit down, kid.”
“D-don’t tell anyone what I said,” Radar insisted. “I just mis-spoke, is all, and you don’t need to mention it to anybody, because nothing’s going on, and I want to make love to girls, honest, and –”
With every step, Radar got a little closer to his cot. He held his teddy bear against his chest like a shield.
This kid was gonna break his heart. He swore to god.
Thing was, he got where Radar was coming from. Rumors had been started for less. Hawkeye had started rumors on less, though mostly the kind that involved Frank having weird boils on his ass. He could see it now. Stuttering, quiet Radar who only ever seemed to want to talk to the men, usually the commanding officers.
Hell, it might not even come close to an official investigation, certainly not a discharge. Would be enough to make Radar’s life hell, though.
Radar, Radar, Radar.
He let his head fall to the side, exposing his cheek to the cold. “Lay down, Radar,” Hawkeye promised. Even with the lack of light, he stared right into Radar’s shiny eyes. “We’re not gonna tell anybody. Are we, Trap?”
“Cross our heart and swear to die.”
“They made me take that oath at my draft board, too.”
Radar still didn’t seem convinced. He stood there, fingers pressed so hard into his teddy bear’s neck that its head cocked to the side. The poor guy was torturing his teddy bear. Dislocating the vertebrae until the spine snapped.
Hawkeye returned his gaze to the underside of the tent. “You know what’ll get you right to bed, Radar? A bedtime story.”
“Hawkeye …” Agitated. He thought Radar might start squirming in place.
“I promise, it’s a good one. It’ll put you right to bed, swear. Go on, back to your cot.”
Took a moment, where Hawkeye half-wondered whether Radar was going to try to kill him and hide the evidence. After a minute, Radar slumped back onto his cot. It creaked under his weight.
Jesus, Hawkeye didn’t like this. Maybe that was why his voice went quiet, maybe that was why his usual quips didn’t rise to his lips. All of this made him feel so twisted up inside. Sometimes he felt the same way, late at night, when he remembered how alone they were out here. How he was on the other side of the world with none of the familiar comforts of home. How all it’d take was one Korean Frank Burns, dedicated and stupid, and he’d probably never get home.
Hell, sometimes Hawkeye wondered whether all of him would get home anyway.
Good mood to start, he guessed.
“Back when I was a domestic doc,” Hawkeye started. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how nice it was. “This beautiful little August day. Back when the world could be warm, y’know. Before the war had started, even! Anyhow. Had this kid come in. Maybe your age, Radar. Alright, Trapper, you get three guesses and the first two don’t count. Reporting in with days of abdominal pain centralized to one side, high fever, can’t keep anything down, shooting pain down the legs –”
“Oh,” Trapper winced. “Awful case of appendicitis.”
“Ding-ding-ding. Beautiful prize for the lucky lady. Except, I didn’t even have to perform a diagnosis. The guy he brought in with him, well, you woulda thought it was his first name.”
Not a word from Radar. He went on.
“The guy with the timebomb appendix, well. He was in a lot of pain. Crying, snotting, the whole nine yards. And this guy he has with him, he’s the most patient son of a bitch I’ve ever seen. Holding his hand, wiping his eyes, telling him it’s all gonna be okay, practically on this man’s lap trying to make sure he knows he’s there.”
“Did you bring him into surgery?”
“I sure did. And you know what I found inside?”
“What did you find, sir?”
“Nothing. I mean, a bad appendix, but you’ll find that in people of every make and model. Otherwise, exact same stuff you’d find in anyone else. No rot. No corruption. Beating heart and a growling stomach.”
Radar had gone silent again. Penny for your thoughts? Hawkeye considered, but refrained. Maybe the guy didn’t want to be nudged.
“Afterwards, you’ve never seen anyone more attentive than the guy he had with him. He knew what his friend needed before the nurses did. Actually,” Hawkeye offered with a smile, “Kinda reminded me of you, in that way.”
“Oh.”
Just that. A little oh.
“Point is, Radar. Just like anybody else. Nothing wrong with it. Just because some bigwigs in Washington decide to make it an offense with discharging from an organization they’re so desperate to fill, well. That just doesn’t make an ounce of sense to me. To you, Trapper?”
“Sounds Section 8-worthy, myself.”
“And for what it’s worth, Radar? You’ll go and see your friend again. When you do, you bring wine, okay? You’ll be given the luxury of choice in the ol’ U-S-of-A. You don’t bring beer. And when you see him again, you tell him that you thought about him every night. I don’t give a rat’s ass whether that’s not true. He’ll look up at you with big blue eyes – well, maybe it won’t be up and maybe they won’t be blue – and say every night? And you nod and say believe me, I didn’t have a say in the matter.”
Trapper piped up. “Bring him something from the life. Your hat.”
“My hat?” Radar sounded unsure. “I don’t wanna give him my hat.”
“That’s why you get two hats, Radar.”
“If you say so.’
Hawkeye heard that smile in Radar’s voice, though. He turned his head to the side and cracked his eyes open, just enough to see him, and … there it was.
“Get some sleep, knucklehead.”
“Yes, sir,” Radar returned gratefully. He shifted in his cot. Poor kid had to sleep in whatever remained of Frank’s cologne – and probably Margaret’s perfume. Fate worse than death, in Hawkeye’s opinion, except that it took a little less than a couple of minutes before he heard Radar’s whistling snore from across the tent.
“I wish I could do that.”
“Youth is wasted on the young. Night, Hawk.”
“Speak for yourself. Night, Trapper.”
*
“Hey, Hawkeye.”
“Trapper. My mouth is full of foam.”
“And you look as gorgeous as the day I married you. You know, I was curious about something from last night.”
Last night still lingered in the back of Hawkeye’s mind, too. Eh, he’d done more stupid things than take a Jeep for a joyride around the abandoned countryside, even with the unit’s most valuable member in tow. He didn’t even have a hangover. And nobody got hurt. What more could anyone ask from a wartime surgeon, really?
Radar had shuffled away earlier than they’d awoken. Probably heard something. For Hawkeye’s part, unless it was a helicopter or an earthquake … strike that, he’d probably sleep through an earthquake, too. Might be an excuse to get a few extra Z’s.
Trapper appeared over his shoulder in the mirror as he spat the rest of the foam into the sink. “’s about Radar last night. When we were talking.”
“Yeah. Who would’ve picked Radar as an oversharing drunk?” Next came was the shaving cream. God, he’d gotten a fresh can last week and he was still riding the high. “We’ll have to water down his booze now that he’s gotten a taste for the stuff.”
“Why didn’t you tell him about that guy you had back in Vermont?”
If it had been a few months ago, maybe Hawkeye would’ve jolted. As it was, this was Trapper. The guy might’ve been a real dunce sometimes, but only when it was funny. “I don’t think a thirty-two year old orthodontist and Radar would have a lot in common. Besides, isn’t he from one of those square states? One hell of a bus trip.”
“C’mon. You know what I mean. Common ground.”
“I thought that appendix story went over swell.”
“Yeah, it did, but – y’know. Didn’t you want Radar to know he wasn’t alone, here?” Trapper’s hands raised in front of his chest. Here as in ‘The Happiest Place on Earth’, evidently. “You two had that in common?”
Oh, god bless Trapper. Hawkeye snorted at him from the mirror, drawing the razor down the side of his cheek.
He’d told Trapper a few months into their cohabitation. Had it been a risk? Sure. He hadn’t sat him down and had a formal how-do-you-do about it, but yeah, maybe he’d been a little maudlin at the time. Sue him. By that time, Hawkeye figured he’d had his hands in a few dozen guts and Trapper could stand to hear about a happier time he’d done something similar.
(Or maybe he’d just been so fucking sick of it. Sure, Trapper. Discharge me because I fucked a guy in ‘48. Send me home in disgrace. I don’t want to be here anymore.)
And Trapper hadn’t cared. At least, he hadn’t cared for longer than a few weeks. Point is, they were shoved into close spaces on a regular basis. If Hawkeye was one of those homosexuals (a frankly inaccurate term, but popular amongst the officers), then he would’ve made a pass a long time ago.
Besides, it was just as he said. Trapper wasn’t exactly his type.
Couldn’t have been a more supportive guy, though. When it was just the two of them, Trapper would chirp that Hawkeye might find a nice lady or gentleman when he got home. Hawkeye was more focused on the home part, but the sentiment was appreciated.
“What, now that I know Radar’s the sort to shoot from the hip when he’s drunk? Absolutely not.” He flicked his razor into the sink. “Besides, just because we shop at the same supermarket doesn’t mean we can chat about it at the mess hall, if you know what I mean.”
Trapper seemed unconvinced, but that was alright. Hawkeye wouldn’t expect Trapper to understand on that front. Just wasn’t worth the risk.
But, he was happy he’d been able to cheer Radar up. Just a little. Poor kid had enough knocking around his skull, including the war, to worry about Hawkeye’s rumors.
(He might spread one that Radar was a speed fiend from hell behind the wheel of a Jeep, though. Kid needed some respect around here.)
“Do wanna hear more about Radar’s friend,” Hawkeye remarked curiously. “Don’t know much about farm life. Is it a Montague and Capulet situation? One raises cows, the other grows corn? Both alike in dignity, in fair Iowa where we make our scene?”
“Sounds like a match made in heaven to me,” Trapper said, shooting him a thousand watt smile. Hawkeye shot a knocking one in return and reached for the towel to watch his face.
“Well, he just has to make sure they don’t meet in heaven, first. Toss me my robe, will ya? Think it’s time for a coffee.”