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Temporary lulls in the fighting could sometimes be a complicated occurrence for the 4077th.
On one hand, it was a chance to breathe without the impending possibility of wounded hanging over their heads. Sure, there were still things to do and duties to fulfill, but there was now time to pick up old hobbies, gossip about who went into the supply tent with who, and maybe, just maybe, forget for a moment that you’re living in an active war zone.
On the other hand, more extended lulls gave the camp a lot of extra time. Extra time that often gave way to a very insidious enemy: boredom.
Currently losing the fight against this enemy were Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt, as either would be more than happy to tell anyone who would listen. Within the past week the two had:
read and re-read as many old letters as they could find in their footlockers
played about 5 different pranks on various members of the 4077- including a particularly inventive one on Charles involving a sheet, two cans of beer, and an old pillow
Cleaned up said prank on Charles (which took about a day in a half)
Invented a brand new card game that would have kept their attention for longer if Potter hadn’t banned it after they’d ended up in post-op with the 8th goose bite.
So now the two doctors, having exhausted every option they’d had for entertainment, sat in the mess tent, picking out the edible bits of their “food” and listening as Margaret rambled, more at them than to them.
“… and it’ll be a bit closer quarters in the Nurse’s tent. Actually, I plan to talk to you, Colonel Potter, about perhaps getting a larger tent sometime soon, especially if we keep getting new nurses stationed here,” Margaret finished, taking a sip of her coffee. Major Houlihan had been quite effectively battling boredom by preparing for a new nurse being stationed at the 4077. According to Margaret, this new nurse, Captain Burke, was a University of Minnesota graduate, had been stationed at one other MASH before this one, and was arriving today at about 1400 hours, all of which she’d revealed as she discussed the various preparations she and the nurses had made for this new member of the staff.
Colonel Potter nodded at Margaret’s suggestion, “I’ll see if Radar can’t rustle up some requisition forms for a new tent. I’m sure it’ll be a little awkward for Captain Burke, too. Coming into a new place only to be squeezed in tighter than a sardine in a can.”
“If she doesn’t like it, she can always trade places with me,” Hawkeye grinned at Margaret, who shot him an icy glare, “Maybe I ought to organize a little welcome party for her. Y’know, banner, decorations, music, a little Chateau de Swamp-“
“Two hours ago was a very good year,” BJ chipped in as he examined his bread for the least stale area to take a bite out of.
“You will do no such thing,” Margaret shouted.
“I agree with the Major, there’s no need to overwhelm the girl. Let her acclimate to our corner of Korea before throwing her into the deep end,” Potter added, peering at Hawkeye over his glasses.
“Well let me do something!” Hawkeye shouted, waving his arms wildly, “I’m so bored I actually started listening when Charles started talking about his symphonies!”
Margaret rolled her eyes, “Really, Pierce? You’re a grown man and an officer, can you really not find any way to occupy yourself that doesn't involve being a nuisance?”
“Well he’s gone through all the old-sance, so all that’s left is the nuisance,” BJ responded, smiling at his own nonsensical joke.
Potter suddenly snapped his fingers, “I’ve got it. Pierce, Hunnicutt, you two fish, right?” The two men nodded. “There’s a stream a little ways down the road, why don’t you two have Radar find a jeep requisition form and head down, give you two something to do.” BJ and Hawk looked at each other.
“I can’t remember the last time I went fishing. We might just take you up on that, Colonel.”
“Y’know, Colonel? You've said you’re no slouch with the ol’ hook and line. Why don’t you join us, teach us youngsters a thing or two?” Hawkeye asked, his excitement at finally having something to do written all over his face.
“Well-“ Potter started before a horrible grinding squeal erupted from the speakers overhead, causing everyone to flinch and cover their ears. Potter sighed heavily, “That there would be why I’m not joining you two.”
Radar suddenly rushed into the mess tent, “Colonel Potter, sir, I’ve tried everything, I’ve rewired things and cleaned ‘em out, I’ve even kicked stuff a few times and nothin’!” he panted.
“It’s alright, son, I know you’re doing everything you can. You’ll figure it out,” Potter said, giving Radar a sympathetic look. The PA system in Radar’s office had started going on the fritz a few days ago, and despite the best efforts of both him and Colonel Potter, no progress had been made in actually fixing the thing, unless you counted driving everyone crazy with the noise.
“Oh, I know, sir. But I know we’ve gotta fix it soon and before anything happens like wounded or anything,” Radar said as he sank into the seat next to Hawkeye.
“Hey, Radar! Al’s whole set-up is still working fine, right? Maybe you could ask him for help,” Klinger called from the table across from them. Radar’s eyes widened as he shook his head, but it was too late.
“Al?” Potter asked, turning towards Klinger
“Yeah, Corporal Roberts! Y’know, he’s the one that gets on the PA anytime we’ve got wounded. He’s got the only other set up for the PA system.”
“I always figured that was you, Radar,” BJ said.
“Oh, no, sir. I’m usually running around warning everyone already, and it’s hard to run and be on the PA at the same time,” Radar answered sheepishly.
“Roberts… I’m not sure I remember him,” Colonel Potter said, scowling slightly to himself.
Klinger shrugged, “He doesn’t talk to folks much… or at all, really.”
Potter shook his head, seemingly filing away whatever thoughts he was having for later, “Well, if he’s the only other one that knows the PA system, then I think we ought to see what he thinks of our situation. Radar, why don’t you-“
“I’ll head over to his tent and let him know you want to see him in your office after you finish drinking your coffee.”
“-my coffee. This stuff is barely drinkable as-is, I won’t ever finish it if it gets cold.”
“Yes, sir,” Radar answered, looking more than a little miserable.
⚕️⚕️⚕️
“Oh, valet! Be a good man and bring the Porsche out from the garage for our country drive,” Hawkeye called in a voice BJ thought was dangerously close to his Charles impression. The two had managed to rustle up all the supplies they needed for their fishing trip (including a few cans of beer), their excitement building with each item added. Hawkeye was practically skipping on the way to the motor pool, blue Hawaiian shirt and cowboy hat bouncing up and down in BJ’s periphery. The young private in front of them looked up from the hood of a jeep he was working on, dust and oil smeared across a freckled face and blonde hair.
“Well I can’t promise a Porsche, but if you give me another moment you can take out this lovely little army green number I’m working on, Captain,” the private responded, turning out slightly from the jeep to give the two officers a salute.
“You’re new to our little dysentery convention,” Hawkeye said, stating more than questioning.
“Uh, yessir.”
“Then I’ll forgive you for that salute. Just don’t do it again or I’ll be forced to tell you what the cook puts in the gravy here.”
The private chuckled as he took a wrench to something in the hood, “I’ll keep that in mind, sir. Sorry, I only just got here a few days ago. My first commission… I’m still figuring out the lay of the land, y’know?”
“No need to apologize,” B.J. responded warmly as he leaned against the side of the jeep. “Where abouts you from, Private?”
“Franklin County, Missouri, sir,” the private suddenly paused. “Maybe it’s silly to say considering I’ve not been here long, but I miss it more than anything. A few months ago I wouldn’t have said so, I was dying to leave, really. But then I got my draft notice and everything went from ‘there’s no way I’ll make it past physicals’ to basic training to Korea in no time flat.”
“Well, time flies when you’re about to get shot at,” Hawk quipped, before his face softened. It was an expression BJ had seen often, whenever Hawkeye was trying to comfort a kid in post-op who was getting sent back up after getting half his weight in shrapnel removed from his belly, “I wish I could say it’ll get any easier… there’s some good people here at the 4077, so even if it never gets easier you won’t have to be by yourself, y’know…”
“Thank you, sir,” the private answered quietly. He then took a deep breath and clapped his right hand on his thigh definitively. “Well! I’d say she’s good to go! You two sirs enjoy your fishing trip,” he said as he closed the hood of the jeep.
“Much obliged,” BJ grinned, “and no more ‘sir’s, Private. It’s BJ and Hawkeye.”
“Doctors Pierce and Hunnicutt if you’re nasty,” Hawkeye added as he began loading their fishing gear into the back of the jeep.
The private smiled as he bent down to pick up the tool box on his left, “Well, BJ and Hawkeye, I’m Gene McGill. Most folks call me Righty, though.”
“Righty? Where’d you pick up a name like that,” Hawkeye asked, rounding back to BJ’s side.
Righty lifted his toolbox onto the closed hood and faced the two men. For the first time, BJ could get a full look at the young private. His eyes traveled from the top of Righty’s head (the kid was only a little shorter than BJ), down his shoulders, and stopped at the empty air where the private’s left arm should have been.
“Well,” Righty began, shifting awkwardly, “it’s a little obvious, isn’t it?”
⚕️⚕️⚕️
Margaret watched patiently as the jeep containing her new nurse slowly came to a stop in front of Colonel Potter’s office. The young woman seemed a little shaky stepping out, her class-a’s a little more dusty than the Major would expect from a normal ride. Then again, did anyone ever arrive at the 4077th without getting shot at or shelled at least once?
I ought to check with her before we head to the nurses’ tent, Margaret thought as she began to walk over to the jeep. She wasn’t unfeeling (despite what her demeanor would have one believe). It was perfectly natural to be scared if you’d been in the middle or crossfire. It was just something you had to be able to get over. A terrified nurse was no use to anyone.
“Captain Lori Burke? I’m Major Margaret Houlihan, I’m your head nurse,” Margaret explained as salutes were exchanged.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am. I appreciate you being here to welcome me,” Lori answered, giving Margaret a small smile.
“I make it a policy to welcome my new nurses personally,” she responded. “Need any help with your things?”
“Oh, no, thank you, I’ve just got the one bag,” Lori said, lifting up a decently sized suitcase.
Margaret nodded, “In that case, let me show you to the nurse’s tent. Once you’ve settled a little I can take you to meet Colonel Potter and give you a tour of the place.”
“I appreciate that, Major,” the shorter woman answered as the two began to walk. Margaret kept a slow pace, one that she usually used after 36 plus hours of surgery when it felt like her feet might fall off if she moved too fast, but she liked to keep things to a leisurely stroll when meeting a new nurse. It gave her time to get a more thorough first impression. Lori was a little hard to get a bead on so far. She flicked at a stray thread on her suitcase, which Margaret would usually see as a nervous tic, but the woman seemed otherwise unbothered. In fact, Lori seemed more curious than anything, staring at each new sight of the camp.
“Rough ride?” Margaret asked.
“We drove through some shelling on the way over. Closer than I’d care for, but I’m in one piece,” Lori answered, shrugging. “More than most of the boys that come through here can say, I’m sure.”
“We see plenty of those injuries,” Margaret answered, nodding. “You’ll be dealing with bullet wounds, shrapnel wounds, broken bones, phosphorus burns… sometimes with active shelling happening right outside the OR.”
“I’ve had some experience with these things at my previous assignment,” Lori said, her eyes following a pair of enlisted men throwing a football around. “Though granted, I wasn’t nearly as close to the front as we are now.”
Lori suddenly turned her head back to the Major, “Have you ever gotten folks from the 58th battalion here?”
She’s a little distractable, isn’t she? Margaret thought as they approached the door to the nurses’ tent. “We get a lot of men through here, I’d have to check our files to say for certain. Why?”
“That’s my baby brother’s unit,” Lori answered simply as she entered the tent.
The nurses’ tent was full of chatter, as usual. Someone had a record player set up with a Sinatra record, Bigelow was painting Able’s nails as she chatted with Kelley, who was sitting in the bed across from them, half talking, half journaling. The clothes that were strewn across the tent seemed to center around Cutler, who was comparing a dress and a kimono in the mirror. A date, Margaret figured, with that new sergeant. She’d been eyeing him for the better part of three weeks. At one point Margaret would’ve been enraged and thrown the book at Cutler. Now, she simply pretended not to notice. Pierce had joked that she was getting soft, and maybe he was right, but maybe Margaret had just learned not to pick losing battles.
“Attention, everyone. This is Captain Lori Burke, our new nurse. Captain Burke, this is where you’ll be staying during your time here.”
“Welcome, Lori,” Bigelow smiled as she glanced up from Able’s hand. “We set up a bunk for you in the corner. Don’t worry, we already sent the bedbugs an eviction notice.”
“I hope there’s no eggs left,” Lori said, analyzing the cot carefully. The answer earned a chuckle from the nurses.
“Are you kidding?” Cutler chimed in. “Even the bedbugs can’t get busy in this place.”
“Why would bedbugs need to make themselves busy? They’re bugs.”
The nurses laughed a little again. Then all at once they seemed to notice the very confused expression on Lori’s face. She was serious.
“It’s just a joke,” Kelley explained awkwardly.
“Oh! Sorry. I have trouble with that sometimes,” Lori answered shifting back and forth on her feet. For a moment the tent was quiet, with the exception of the dulcet tones of Sinatra and Lori’s fingernails scratching the top of the suitcase whenever she lost track of the loose thread she was playing with.
Margaret cleared her throat, “I’ll be back a little later to take you to Colonel Potter. If you need anything, I’m sure your new tentmates would be more than willing to help.”
“Thank you, Major,” Lori responded, with a final salute as Margaret exited the tent.
Margaret silently shook her head as she walked back to her own tent. The awkwardness, the distractions… she wasn’t too sure how Burke would shake out in the long run.
⚕️⚕️⚕️
Radar did not want Alvin Roberts’s help. He knew needed it. Klinger was right, Al was the only other person who knew anything about the PA system, he might’ve even known more about it than Radar did.
Knowledge wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Alvin hated Radar. Which was just fine with Radar, because he didn’t like Al much neither. The two men had decided, after their first few weeks in Korea were filled with on-sight fighting, that it would be easiest for everyone if they just stayed out of each other’s way as much as possible. They both had dutifully held up their ends of the bargain until today.
Radar squinted at nothing. Al was only a minute or so away now, just passing the latrine.
Maybe it’d be fine. They were both grown men, right? Well, grown enough to be drafted, and that had to count for something. There was a job to be done, and Radar was mature enough to put personal feelings aside to get it done.
He’ll be so much better at being mature than Al could ever dream of being.
Radar looked at the door two seconds before Al actually entered.
Al pushed his sunglasses- stupid looking round ones with purple lens- down his nose to stare over them at Radar, "O'Reilly."
“Roberts,” Radar responded, trying his best to look casual and official-y as he drew spirals on his clipboard.
The next few moments were filled with awkward silence, the two squaring each other up for the first time in a long while. Thankfully, Colonel Potter entered the room before either of them broke.
“Ah, Corporal Roberts, I presume?”
Al saluted, “Yes, sir.”
“At ease, son. I thought I’d managed to shake hands with just about everyone in camp, but I understand I’ve somehow missed yours,” Potter said, extending his hand. “I’m sorry it’s taken this long to rectify that.”
“It’s alright, sir,” Al said, shaking the Colonel’s hand. “I don’t leave my tent too much. Choppers can come at any moment, I like to be prepared.”
“Well, we all certainly appreciate the dedication,” Potter responded. A huffed laugh escaped Radar’s mouth. Potter looked at him, arching an eyebrow, earning a mumbled “Sorry” from Radar.
“Well, I guess we’d better fill you in on our little problem here,” Potter continued, turning back to Al. “It seems that anytime Radar tries to hop on the mic, it decides to throw a fit. Neither of us can make heads or tails of it.”
“Ah, I’ve been hearin’ the racket. Figured O’Reilly must’ve-” Al caught his comment right before it left his mouth. “- must’ve been… doing a lot. With it. With not much luck. Have you checked the cord, Radar?” Al asked, a fake smile plastered on his face.
Of course I have, I actually work, unlike you who sits around on your you-know-what and doesn’t know your you-knows from your I’d-rather not says, Radar wants to say. But he doesn’t. Instead, with an equally fake smile, he responds “Yes, Al.”
“Rewired the circuits?”
“Yes.”
“Kicked it two inches above the corner?”
“Yup.”
Al paused for a moment, “Have you tried turning it off and on again?”
“Oh yeah, Al!” Radar answered, throwing up his hands. “Why didn’t I think of that? It's not like that was the first thing I did.”
Al ran his fingers through his shaggy brown hair. He looked about as confused as Radar, which was at least some comfort, however small. “Have you tried looking at the mic itself? Like opened it up?”
“Ye- wait… no,” Radar said, eyes widening.
“That’s gotta be it,” Al shrugged. “That, or it’s something obscure enough we ain’t gonna have the tools to fix it anyhow.”
“But if it is just the mic, how long do you think it’ll take to fix?” Colonel Potter asked, looking between the two corporals.
“Depending on what the issue is, a couple’a days, accounting for maybe getting new parts and trading and stuff,” Radar answered.
“Then you two get on it, who knows when this lull’l end and we’ll have wounded on our doorstep.”
“You two? Hang on-” Al started, but Radar had beaten him to it.
“Uh sir, now that I know where the problem is maybe I can just do the whole thing myself y’know.”
It was Al’s turn to huff now, “If he wants it to take double the time, maybe! I can get the mic fixed like that!” he said, snapping his fingers.
“You don’t know how to haggle for stuff!”
“I can figure it out, I’m very charming. Besides, if you can do it, it can't be that hard.”
“Right, that tears it-”
“Boys!” Potter suddenly bellowed “I’ve got no clue what’s going on with you two, least of all you, Radar, but there’s one thing I do know: this situation calls for both of your unique skills together.”
Suddenly, Pierce and Hunnicutt burst through the doors of Radar’s office.
“Colonel Potter, we wanna speak to you about-”
“Just a minute, Pierce. You two boys are grown men. Corporals in the United States Army. So I expect you two to take your personal problems and can it!”
“Colonel-”
“Wait your turn, Pierce, I’m on a roll. And I can say with certainty that if you two don’t get your acts together long enough to fix this, you’ll be wishing you were digging the latrines! Comprende?”
Radar and Al responded with a sheepish “Yessir.”
“Good. Pierce, Hunnicutt, my office,” Potter said, motioning for the two doctors to follow him. Al and Radar watched them go.
“He’s right. We can be adults about this,” Radar said, after the moment of silence that always followed a good chewing out.
“I can certainly be adult,” Al responded. “As long as you’re nowhere near any carrots.”
Radar felt his face flush, “Hey, I only did that because you stuck my hat to the top of a pole!”
“And I only did that because you splashed mud on me that week!”
“Well I only-” Radar bit back his response. Let it go, be the bigger person, it’ll make him angrier. “We should really get working.”
Al took a deep breath and nodded, “Right, where are your tools?”
“File cabinet labeled T,” he answered distractedly as his eyes unfocused and refocused. He put down his clipboard and started to walk out the door.
“Hey, where the hell are you going?”
“Colonel Potter needs Private McGill in a minute or two.”
Al bit the inside of his cheek. He may have been a stubborn jerk, but he at least knew better than to question Radar’s radar. “Whatever, just be quick.”
⚕️⚕️⚕️
“Alright, what’s all the hubbub about, I thought I gave you two a prescription for 30 CCs of cool water and fishing line,” Potter asked, sitting at his desk.
“Yeah, well, we ended up encountering a serious case of draftus idocitus,” Hawkeye said, leaning an arm against the desk.
Potter shook his head, “Son, it’s been a long day. I haven’t the patience for guessing games at this hour.”
“Have you met our new engineer, Private McGill?” Hawkeye asked.
“Yes, I welcomed him to camp myself. Nice boy, seems he knows as much about cars as I do about horses.”
“So you saw?” BJ asked from his perch near Potter’s saddle, “And you didn’t do anything?”
“Saw?” Colonel Potter looked confused for a beat before understanding washed over his face. “Ah. I assume you’re talking about the arm issue.”
“He should be home, Colonel!” Hawkeye shouted, abandoning his post at Potter’s desk to pace around the office like a tiger at the zoo. “All these kids should be home. Home, sneaking out late at night to meet their sweethearts and kissing under bleachers. Not here where they’re sitting in foxholes getting shot at by other kids.”
He suddenly spun around to face Potter head-on. “I know we can’t send all of them home, but we can do it for him. We can send Righty home. When kids get amputated over here it’s an automatic ticket back to the states, but the army in its infinite insanity has sent him here.”
“Now hold on, Pierce, I think you’re putting the cart before the horse, here,” Potter said, straightening. “Now, I’m not saying I want him or any of these kids over here, if I had it my way we’d all be home by dinner, but Private McGill is just as capable as you or I. He worked as a mechanic in his father’s shop for years before he was ever over here.”
“It’s not about his ability, Colonel,” BJ explained. “It’s just that if we’ve got this chance to send anyone home from here… shouldn’t we take it?”
Potter gave BJ a thoughtful look, “I see your point, but we’re leaving out one very important perspective. Radar! Get me-“
“-I got Private McGill for you sir, he’s here to talk about potentially getting sent stateside.”
“-stateside. Thank you, Radar,” Potter finished, standing to meet the private. “Sit down, Private. Been hearing the doctors calling you Righty, that right, son?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” Righty answered with an unsure look on his face. “The boys in training started calling me that. Figured it’d take the fun out of it if I owned it.”
Potter gave him a small smile, “Smart lad. Nothing puts the kibosh on that type of talk like making it yours.”
“Exactly, sir,” Righty answered, shifting nervously in his seat. “Sir, not that I’m not enjoying this conversation but… what’s all this about going home?”
Potter took a deep breath, “Well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that you’re not exactly the army’s typical soldier. Truth is, normally a man with your condition would be home faster than he could click his heels.”
“I’m aware, sir,” Righty answered cautiously.
“Well, the Captains here think they might be able to convince the higher-ups that you being over here was a mistake, and they’d like to take a crack at it, send you home.”
The Private’s eyes lit up slightly as he began to straighten himself, “Home?”
“Back to Franklin County,” B.J. added with a smile. “Courtesy of a medical discharge.”
“A medical discharge saying I’m incapable,” Righty said, the quiet part now hanging thickly in the air.
“We don’t think you’re incapable, Righty,” Hawkeye began. He really hoped the kid would understand what he was trying to say. “I mean, we watched you finish fixing that jeep. And you made it through basic training without getting the other arm blown off too, so I’d say you’ve at least got your average general 2-0. The thing is, Righty, it’s the best way to get you out of Korea. Away from the war. We’d do it for every kid that came through here if we could.”
“And ability isn’t part of our argument,” BJ added. “We’re just trying to say that considering amputees either get sent home or denied enlisting period, you should be sent home too, how good you are at your job doesn’t matter.”
“If that’s what you want, son,” Potter added. “If you’d like us to try, I can get on the horn to ICORPS right now, but it’s understandable if you don’t feel comfortable with it. It’s your choice.”
All was quiet for a moment, save for the ambient sounds of the camp coming in faintly through the walls.
“I never wanted to be here,” Righty finally said, his voice soft and head downcast. “I didn’t even know what Korea was until the war started. And as much as I’m not sure I like this idea, it feels like I’m getting out by saying I’m not good enough… but I think I hate the idea of being in a war a helluva lot more.”
Righty finally looked up to meet Colonel Potter’s gaze. “I’ll take whatever ticket home I can get, I think.”
Colonel Potter nodded, “I’ll call ICORPS as soon as possible.”
⚕️⚕️⚕️
“I don’t get it. Y’know, the other day she asked if what I was eating was bacon. I said maybe in a past life, she asked ‘wouldn’t that just be a pig?’”
“I told her the supply tent was good for more than just supply, it took her a minute to understand what I was getting at.”
“I’m just not sure what to think. I mean she’s sweet and all, but I’m not sure how to talk to her!”
Margaret could hear the trio of nurses talking as they left the mess tent. Captain Burke had now been there two days and she wasn’t settling in as quickly as the Major would’ve liked. She was picking up the routines and procedures fine, but fitting in with the other nurses was a different story. The conversation Margaret had just eavesdropped on was not the first she’d heard.
“Earth to Margaret Houlihan,” Pierce’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you receiving me, over?”
“I’m listening, Pierce. Your principal found the mascot head in the tree, what happened next?”
Pierce and Father Mulcahy looked at each other, “That story was ten minutes ago, Margaret.”
“You seem rather distracted, Major,” Father Mulcahy said. “Anything on your mind?”
“It’s nothing,” the two men nodded and began to continue their conversation when Margaret interrupted. “It’s just this new nurse. She’s not getting along with the nurses, and more than that she seems to be completely socially unaware.”
“Socially unaware?”
“She takes things very literally, she’s easily distracted, I even heard one of the nurses say Burke talked her ear off for 20 minutes about some book she was reading and no amount of polite hinting could get her to stop,” Margaret said, shaking her head.
Hawkeye stared at her, “Margaret, she’s only been here two days! If we transferred every nurse who took that long to settle in, we’d need to stick Klinger in his nurse’s dress 24/7 just to keep up.”
“This is more than just settling!” Margaret said, her voice beginning to raise. “If this is how she’s acting with her fellow officers, then how is she going to interact with the wounded?”
“Patience, Major. You haven’t gotten a chance to see her in action yet. She may yet rise to the occasion,” the Father began before gaining a far-off look in his eyes. “Why, I remember one time in seminary… there was a young man entering the priesthood with us, Martin Leery. Nice young man, quiet, knew all the words to Beer Barrel Polka by heart-”
“Sorry, do you mind if I join you?” Captain Burke asked as she walked over from the chow line, interrupting Father Mulcahy before he could continue his story.
“Please, what’s another pretty face?” Pierce answered.
Margaret rolled her eyes, "Captain Burke, this is Captain Pierce, one of our surgeons, and Father Mulcahy, our chaplain.”
“Pleased to meet you, Captain. Always a pleasure to welcome a new face to camp,” Father Mulcahy smiled.
Hawkeye nodded, “I’d shake your hand, but if I don’t brace the tray, the food’ll crawl away.”
Lori eyed the tray warily “It looks more than dead to me, Captain Pierce. UN-dead maybe.”
“Hawkeye. And I’d add another ‘un’ to that. The food’s so bad it died, rose, and died again.” he said, sniffing what could be called by some parties a sausage link.
Lori knit her brows in confusion, “Wouldn’t un-un-dead just be alive? It’s a double negative. It’d need to be un-un-UN-dead to be back to being dead.”
The table went quiet as they counted negatives in their heads. Eventually, Father Mulcahy cleared his throat, seemingly deciding that figuring it out was a futile effort.
“So, how are you settling in, Captain?”
“Just fine, Father, thank you for asking. I think I’m understanding how you all do things here, but it's all definitely…”
“Insane? Ludicrous? Deranged?” Hawkeye supplied.
Lori gave a wry smile, “I was going to say different. Not bad, though. My last assignment was very by-the-books, GI all the way, and… well, I guess I had trouble understanding some of it. So, all things considered, I think I could use something different.”
“Oh, yeah?” Hawkeye said, waggling his eyebrows. “Y’know I could use something different too. New, fresh, dainty, a vision in orange,” he said, eyes drifting up to the orange headband in Lori’s hair.
Margaret was ready to snap at Pierce, or perhaps advise Burke to just ignore his propositioning, but before she could Lori began speaking, brown eyes lighting up, “Oh! Do you like orange too? It’s my favorite color. Y’know I have a kimono that’s a lovely tangerine color with cranes on it. I could lend it to you, I think it might technically be a men’s one anyways. I’m more of a fan of pumpkin orange usually but sometimes-“
Margaret watched as Lori continued on about colors (seemingly completely missing the hidden meaning of Hawkeye’s words). She gave the two men across from her a look, See? This is what I mean. Imagine how it would be with patients. But the two men were focused on Lori, somewhat confused and surprised expressions slowly changing to a polite intentness, and, in Hawkeye’s case, a fascinated amusement.
They saw the issue. But they still didn’t understand her concern. Part of the job of a nurse was picking up on the little details, spotting issues before they occur. If Lori can’t do that in a normal conversation, how could she with lives on the line?
Margaret shook her head. She had work to do, and she needed to clear her head about this whole situation anyways. She stood up suddenly from the table and turned to the door, leaving the table in the middle of Lori’s story.
“Did I say something wrong?” Margaret could hear Lori ask the two men quietly as she left the mess tent.
⚕️⚕️⚕️
“Is it ready yet?”
“Do you have to keep asking me that every two minutes?” Al grumbled, fiddling with the mic on the table. He and Radar had spent the better part of the past day or so wheeling and dealing for replacement parts, and now, hours after the sun had gone down, Alvin was finally putting the finishing touches on his repairs.
“Well if you’d go a little faster I wouldn’t be asking anymore,” Radar said, taking a break from chewing his nails to answer.
“I’m going as fast as I can, O’Reily. This is delicate equipment. It takes finesse,” Al said, shooting Radar a look that filled in the silent Y’know. A little more like me and a little less like you.
Radar frowned, “Well ‘finesse’ is fine and all but I think timeliness and all is important. Especially when it comes to communicating with the whole camp and stuff.” Radar gave Al his own look. At least I talk to people. I have people at camp that like me a whole lot. What about you?
The two men’s time spent together had been thankfully without any further arguments, but it had been tense. Strained politeness and fake smiles only went so far, and both could feel that if they had to spend another minute with the other the dam keeping back all their nasty comments would break.
Finally, after a few moments of silence, Al placed his screwdriver on the table with a flourish “Et voila!”
“How’s that?”
“It means done. Finished. Finito. Your mic should be working perfectly fine now.”
Radar began to smile “Oh! Oh, hey that’s great! I thought we’d still have to test it and everything too.”
Al scratched at his chin idly, “Well, we really should test it. But considering it’s getting late, and I don’t want a bunch of rabid soldiers at our door because we interrupted their beauty sleep for no reason… it can wait til tomorrow morning,” he said, beginning to stand and gather his tools which were scattered across the desk. “Besides, you can do the check by yourself. Gets me out of your hair quicker…. like I know you’d prefer,” Al continued, muttering the last part bitterly.
“Woah, hey! Whaddya mean like I’d prefer?” Radar asked indignantly.
Al arched an eyebrow, “Don’t tell me you somehow forgot our feud already. I think Klinger’s got a bet going with Igor about how much longer we’ll keep it going.”
“No, I mean, well, what are you doing acting like I’m the bad guy here? You didn’t like me from the start, I didn’t even do nothin to you!” Radar said, trying to maintain what he hoped was suitably confrontational eye contact. It was easier to do with Al than most other men, he wasn’t that much taller than Radar all things considered.
“Are you kidding? You hated me from the moment you first saw me. I should be asking what I did to you!”
“Oh yeah?” Radar was almost shouting now. “Well at least I kept things fair! You just go ahead and hit below the belt whenever you feel like it.”
“Fair? Was telling Lieutenant Butler I ‘had fleas like an old terrier’ fair? Face it, O’Reily you’re a massive hypocrite!” Al responded, matching Radar’s volume.
“Hey! It’s not very nice to comment on a fella’s weight like that!”
“It’s hypocrite, not hippopotamus, you complete-“
Radar interrupted Al with a loud “shhhh!” The two stood still for a moment as Radar stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.
“What, getting a psychic message to order Colonel Potter more prune juice or something?” Al chuckled.
“No,” Radar said quietly.
Al’s face suddenly paled, his smile fading, “Choppers?”
Radar’s eyes focused once again as he nodded.
“Damn.”
The two corporals sprang into action immediately, their argument completely forgotten in the face of incoming wounded. Radar ran out of the office shouting, trying to rouse people from their sleep. He knew that behind him, Al had lunged for the newly repaired mic, giving Radar a head start before finally allowing the P.A. system to crackle to life.
“Attention! Attention all personnel. We interrupt your sweet dreams to bring you a fresh batch of wounded. Rise and shine folks!”
⚕️⚕️⚕️
Hawkeye and BJ stumbled out of the OR, feet dragging and eyes blinking in the all-too-bright afternoon sun. Potter and Charles were still finishing the final two operations, and the Colonel had insisted that the Captains went ahead and got a head start on their rest.
“What day is it?” Hawkeye groaned, rubbing at the small of his back.
BJ sighed, “Margaret said we’d been in there 62 hours, so… Thursday, maybe?”
“Think we can put a requisition request in for a Tuesday and a Wednesday?”
“If we did, they wouldn’t get here until next Saturday anyways,” BJ answered. As the two men approached the door to the Swamp, a jeep pulled up and stopped next to them. A stern looking captain in class-a’s peered over at them from the passenger seat.
“You two doctors?”
“No, we’re just getting back from our Dracula impersonation contest,” Hawkeye quipped, motioning at his still-bloodied scrubs.
“You two wouldn’t happen to know where Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt are?”
“That would be us. Or at least it was a few days ago,” BJ gave the man a tired smile.
“My name is Captain Turner, with ICORPS. I’m here to talk about a Private McGill.”
“Ah! We’ve been expecting you. Beej, would you…?”
“I’ll go get McGill,” BJ said, starting to make the long journey to the motor pool.
Hawkeye began to guide Captain Turner to Potter’s office, “Our CO’s office is right over here, he’ll join us when he’s not in the middle of someone.”
“I do apologize for my timing. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“Nah, it’s fine. My cot’ll just have to have a glass of wine and a cigarette while it waits,” Hawkeye answered, as he opened the door to the office.
Apparently, Colonel Potter had finished up in the OR, and was already sitting at his desk finishing the last dregs of paperwork. Introductions were exchanged between the Colonel and Captain as BJ finally entered with Righty in tow.
“Care for a snort, Captain? I know it’s a long journey to get here,” Colonel Potter asked as he walked to his liquor cabinet.
“No, thank you. I’d like to take a look at Private McGill’s file if you don’t mind,” Turner answered as he sat. Potter handed him a manila folder from his desk (Radar must’ve set it out ahead of time, Hawkeye thought) before beginning to pour himself and the doctors three tumblers full of whiskey.
“Hmm. Uh-huh. Ah-huh,” Turner hummed as he thumbed through the file.
“Don’t you hate it when you can only hear one side of the conversation?” Hawkeye said, earning himself one of Potter’s patented ‘button it. Now.’ looks.
Finally, Turner closed the folder, “Well, everything seems to be in order. Private McGill will not be sent home.” A chorus of ‘what?’s and ‘you’re kidding’s came from the men. Turner held up his hands placatingly, “Look, I’ll be the first to acknowledge that this is hardly a usual situation. But from all I can tell, Private McGill is hardly a usual cripple. In fact, he seems to display an extraordinary competency.”
“Extraordinary competency?” Righty asked quietly, an incredulous look on his face.
Turner nodded as he opened the file again, “You are quite proficient with maintaining and repairing cars, to the point where you were one of three mechanics at your father’s auto shop. You can also live on your own and in training you were able to effectively take care of and discharge a standard issue sidearm.”
“Let’s not act like I’m leaping tall buildings in a single bound, here,” Righty said, “I’m not any better than someone with two arms. I mean, I’d like to think I’m a damn good mechanic but that’s because… I like fixing cars, and I have been for years! And that’s the point, I’m just as good. Anyone else like me can be just as good too.”
“I once knew a man in Guam,” Potter spoke up, taking a sip from his glass, “who lost his left hand in an accident. He built houses by trade. I once asked him how he managed to keep up with the other fellows he worked with. He told me ‘care and practice. Give a man enough years and he’ll adjust to anything.’”
Hawkeye nodded, “Exactly. You give anyone enough time to adjust to a lost limb, and they can live pretty normal lives. Y’know, I knew a fisherman back home that wanted to fight in Germany, but he was denied because he’d lost his leg. It was never easy for him, but he didn’t let it slow him down at all. And when kids here lose limbs we don’t just give them 3 weeks to adjust and send them back. Why make this exception for one draftee? Don’t tell me the army suddenly cares about the plight of the handicapped. If that was true we’d stop blowing kids up and then sending them home to pick up the pieces by themselves.”
“I’m sorry but there’s no reason I can see to send Private McGill home. The only way I could discharge him is if I am given evidence that he is, in fact, incompetent and incapable to fulfill his duties,” Captain Turner grit his teeth, which only managed to annoy Hawkeye even more- how dare he act like they’re the ones being unreasonable. “Private McGill can even demonstrate if he wishes. It would certainly make the argument much more convincing if I had first hand knowledge of his inability to-“
“Oh, great,” BJ said, interrupting Turner, “All he has to do to get home is run around playing all Three Stooges for you.”
“You know what I think?” Righty asked, his voice so even it remained Hawkeye of a still pond. “I think I'm convenient. The army looks at me and doesn’t see a person. It sees a tool it can use. Another body for the police action. At the end of the day it’s not about me, it’s about how I can be used.”
The office went silent for what felt like an eternity.
“This decision is final. If there are any other concerns you can contact me at ICORPS. Have a good day, Private McGill. Captains. Colonel.”
⚕️⚕️⚕️
Post-op was blessedly quiet that night. Margaret, of course, was only really thinking that in the back of her mind. Any nurse or doctor knew that truly acknowledging the quiet moments usually caused those moments to collapse like a house of cards, so Margaret, like many others, kept the thought at bay by trying to stay busy. She’d already finished up some paperwork, reorganized the small supply closet they had in post-op, and counted what blankets they had left so she could get Radar to order more. She had just sat down for a quick break to sip her coffee (which had long since gone cold) when she heard soft sniffling coming from one of the beds. She began to walk over to the bed when she noticed Lori beginning to do the same. This was it. A chance to see Lori in action.
“Are you alright, Private Bennett?” Lori asked as she approached the bed of a young-looking soldier with bandages around his foot.
Bennett quickly wiped his eyes, “Just fine, nurse. Really.”
“Those tears say otherwise,” Lori answered as she began examining his IV and blood. “I can get you something for pain if you need it. There's no shame in needing it, the toughest guys do sometimes. I’ve seen rough ol’ majors cry like babies over broken fingers, y’know.”
That got a small chuckle out of the Private, “No, nothing like that. It’s just… nevermind, it’s stupid.”
“Try me.”
“Well… earlier today some of my buddies in the other beds and I got to talking about food. Y’know, what we missed from back home, what we wanted to eat first when we got back… and… one of my favorite things is… was a good tomato. Red and ripe and-“ Private Bennett shook his head, seeming trying to choke something back, though whether it was tears or bile, Margaret couldn’t say.
“Go on,” Lori said softly.
“I just… I can’t think of it without thinking of this guy that was next to me while I was waiting for the medic. Shrapnel tore him to shreds and it was so red and wet and-“ a sob caught in the young man’s throat. “It’s so stupid. It’s just this little thing that doesn’t matter none. I’m not all torn up. I’m fine. Who cares if I can’t ever eat a tomato again?”
Margaret prepared herself once again to get up to help. How was Lori going to even begin to handle this? But instead she stopped and watched as Lori slowly sat down on the chair next to Bennett.
“I really love wine,” she said after a moment’s silence. “I fell in love with the color first. There’s so many, y’know. These gorgeous ambers and salmons. But my favorite was always red wine, both taste and color wise. Just… the most beautiful garnet reds you could think of. One of the biggest things I have looked forward to in my life is getting to have a glass of the same wine my parents had at their wedding at my own. My grandmother has two bottles squirreled away for me and my brother.”
Margaret watched as Lori took a deep breath before continuing, “Well… one time, at my old assignment, one of the girls got ahold of a bottle of red wine and was nice enough to share it with the rest of us nurses. I… I told them I just didn’t handle alcohol well. Got a little teasing for throwing up after half a glass, but that was fine. I didn’t want to acknowledge what it really was. I realized as I was drinking… that color? The deep garnet red? It was the same color as blood. Not the fresh stuff. It’s the color of the darker, congealed stuff. All of a sudden I couldn’t take a sip of the wine without feeling like I could taste blood in the back of my throat.”
Lori turned to meet Bennett’s eyes, “And it’s a little thing. Who cares if I ever drink wine again? But you wanna know something? I care. I care a lot, and it makes me so sad that I might never be able to have that bottle of wine in my grandmother’s closet. War… war takes a lot from people. Big and small. While obviously the big things are maybe more important… I think there has to be space for the small griefs as well. I’ll grieve your tomatoes with you.”
Margaret couldn’t see Bennett’s face, but she could hear a wet sniffle come from him as he responded in a shaky voice: “I’ll grieve your wine with you.”
Margaret felt herself smile as she watched Lori sit with the young man for another moment before finally standing “You should really be getting some rest, private. If you ever need anything else-“
“I’ll ask for the pretty nurse who helped me through the night.”
“Well, that’s not really helpful, there’s at least two other night shifts after me and I think we’re all rather nice looking. Just ask for Nurse Burke,” Lori answered with a warm smile. Margaret watched as she walked over to the supply closet, just across from the Major.
“Can I help you with anything Major? I can feel you staring.”
“Nothing, Captain. Just… that was a good job with that boy. You really reached him.”
Lori shrugged, “It was nothing, really. Just doing what I could to help.”
“It was fine work. You’re a good nurse, Captain Burke. I think you’ll fit in around here just fine. Don’t worry about the other nurses. Once they see how dedicated you are, they’ll come around.”
“Thank you, Major,” Lori answered, a small but hopeful smile forming on her lips. Lori grabbed what she needed from the closet and began to walk away when Margaret called out for her.
“Captain Burke?”
“Yes, Major Houlihan?”
“Do you ever get any goodies from home?”
“My grandmother sends me cookies as often as she can.”
Margaret gave her a wry smile, “If you’d like to speed up the friendship process with your fellow nurses, consider sharing those cookies. Food from the states is the easiest way to get in their good graces.”
Lori suppressed a giggle, “Yes, Major. Thank you.”
⚕️⚕️⚕️
“Door’s unlocked!” Al’s voice called from behind the tent door. Now that Radar’s mic was fixed, Corporal Roberts had hidden himself away from camp once again, something Colonel Potter was finding more concerning the more he sat with it. It was fine if the boy just wasn’t much for people, Potter had certainly met plenty of folks who just plain liked being alone, but even those folks usually had some friends to fall back on when the going got tough. He had the sinking feeling that was not the case for Alvin, and he knew better than to not trust his gut in cases like these.
So, after some mild badgering of a very reluctant Radar, Colonel Potter had found where Al’s tent was, a small little thing a bit aways from camp, in direct view of the helipad.
Potter entered the tent, feeling his face scrunch slightly from the smell of cigarette smoke. He never understood the appeal of cigarettes. Cigars were an experience of taste and smell, something to be savored. Cigarettes on the other hand always seemed dull and unpleasant.
Al looked up from his magazine and almost immediately shot up from his seat, “Colonel Potter?”
“At ease, son. I’m here on a more personal matter,” Potter said. He half wondered why the Corporal seemed so jumpy, but he supposed most folks would be nervous to have their CO drop in on them unannounced. Especially if, like Al, the place is a mess and you’ve got a few pinups hung near the radios.
“What’s this about, sir?” Al asked as he slowly sat back into his desk chair.
“Well,” Potter began as he sat down on the cot across from Al, “I suppose I was hoping that after you fixed the PA I’d be seeing you around camp more.”
“Ah. Hoping I’d come out of my hole, huh?” Al gave a low chuckle. “Sorry to disappoint, Colonel, but I’ve tried buddying up with folks here before, and it ain’t for me.”
“Look, son, I understand if you’re not the social type, but in a place like this a man just can’t carry on on his lonesome. War is very hard to survive without people to lean on.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to talk to people, I-” Al trailed off. Potter kept an even expression. He wanted to get to the heart of the issue, but Roberts was clearly more than a little wary. The only way to get the truth was to let Al get to it himself, without prompting.
“When I first got here, I hung out with some of the other enlisted men. Nothing much, couple drinks at Rosie’s, poker in the mess tent, stuff like that. For the first couple a’ weeks it was just fine, we’d let loose, have some laughs, forget where we are. And then… I dunno,” Al sighed and threw up his hands “They stopped laughing at my jokes. They stopped inviting me to poker. I asked them why, they said ‘we’re just trying our best to take a break from the war, Al’. And y’know, that included me, obviously. Goddamn voice of god on the speakers. Hard to disconnect from everything happening when you can hear the same sound that tells you the war’s back in town right next to you.”
“Is that what happened with Radar?” Potter asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Al laughed, “Nah, that little-” he bit his lip and corrected himself “O’Reily and I have been like this since day one. Honestly even though we hadn’t talked since recently, it’s been the one relationship I could count on. That and Klinger being our go-between, I guess. Which, he’s nice enough, I’m just… I’m just not willing to push my luck, y’know?”
“I’m real sorry to hear that, Corporal. That can’t have been an easy thing to go through,” Potter said softly. Al responded with a shrug and a non-committal ‘yeah, well’ before turning to the radio and fiddling with the dials, clearly trying to busy himself. Potter considered what he’d heard for a moment, before getting to his feet and decisively announcing:
“Let’s have lunch.”
“Sorry, sir?”
“Lunch. It's getting to be about 1300 hours or so, and I could go for some grub. I imagine you could too, Corporal.”
“You and me?” Al asked, peering over his purple sunglasses in surprise.
“Unless you’ve got another Corporal hiding under the bed,” Potter answered, expression softening as he regarded the young man in front of him. “Look, I understand you’ve been hurt before, but I meant what I said. Loneliness can kill you just as much as a bullet or a grenade. Just because those folks left you in the dust doesn’t mean everyone will. It’s a big camp, you’ll find your people. And in the meantime, I can lend you an ear when I can spare it.”
Al sat stunned, opening and closing his mouth like one of Mildred’s guppies before finally stammering out the words “Thank you, Colonel. Really,” as he stood to follow the Colonel out of the tent. “I just hope whatever is in the mess tent is edible today.”
“Edible? Now you might be pushing your luck,” Potter chuckled as the two began to walk side by side.
⚕️⚕️⚕️
“Righty!” BJ greeted as he and Hawkeye lined up behind the private in the chow line. “Hey, listen. We’re sorry again we couldn’t do more to get you home.”
Righty smiled warmly, “It’s alright, sirs, I just appreciate the effort, really. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Hawkeye responded. “Get out of this war in one piece, that’ll be thanks enough”
“I’ll try my best,” he chuckled as the last section of his tray was filled. BJ watched as Righty turned away from the chow line and began staring out at the tables of the mess tent with a lost look in his eyes. He patted the young man on the shoulder, “C’mon. We’ve got a standing reservation.”
The two doctors guided Righty to a table where Colonel Potter, Margaret, and a young man in sunglasses already sat.
“Mind if we join you kids?” Hawkeye asked, even though he and BJ were already sitting down.
“Not at all. Allow me to introduce Corporal Roberts, our PA announcer. Corporal Roberts, this is Captain Pierce, Captain Hunnicutt, and Private McGill.”
“Hawkeye,” Hawk corrected.
“BJ,” he said, shaking the corporal’s hand.
“Righty.”
Al choked on his coffee, “Righty? What, was One-Arm McGill too subtle or something?”
“Was to the other guys in basic training, I guess,” Righty laughed.
“They couldn’t at least think of anything more clever?”
“They weren’t exactly a clever bunch.”
“I could come up with something better,” Roberts asserted for seemingly no particular reason.
Potter gave Roberts a slightly concerned look, “Look, son, that’s maybe not the best-”
“No, no,” Righty answered. “I wanna see where this goes. What nickname would you give me, Corporal Roberts?”
“It’s Al,” he answered with a grin, “And you can’t rush me. A lot goes into a nickname. It needs to speak to you as a person. It needs mystique!”
“Uh-huh. So what’s your nickname, if you’ve got such strong opinions on the subject?”
Al deflated slightly, "That's not important right now. As for you-”
“Wait, hang on! I don’t think it’s very fair to try changing my nickname without telling me yours!”
“Does it really matter, kid? I’m not-”
“Hi!” a short woman with an orange headband cut through the conversation. “Sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting. I was just sharing some pecan cookies with the nurses and was wondering if anyone here would like some.”
Hawkeye’s hands shot out for the tin before anyone had a chance to react, “Finally, real food! Lori, you’re a godsend!”
“Hey, hey! Cool it, Hawk. Share with the class,” BJ said as he tried to pry the tin from his hands.
Margaret rolled her eyes, “Thank you, Captain Burke. Please sit with us. This is Private McGill and Corporal Roberts,” she said, gesturing to the two men.
Lori’s eyes lit up in recognition “Oh! PA Guy, right?”
Al’s face blanched as a grin spread across Righty’s, “PA Guy? Is that your nickname?”
“I don’t think it really counts-“
“I mean talk about bad nicknames. Yours is just your job.”
“Well, plenty of folks have nicknames based on their jobs,” Lori said thoughtfully. “Y’know like ‘Doc’, or ‘Sparky’ or… Superman?”
“What?”
“What do you mean, Superman?”
“Well his job is super hero! And he’s called Superman! How different is that from ‘PA Guy’?”
The trio’s conversation quickly accelerated into a playful argument, voices raising as they laughed and smiled and came up with increasingly silly points to make. And as they talked, the senior officers looked on, small smiles forming on each of their faces.
“Well, would you look at that,” Potter said, voice low so only the Major and two captains would hear, “Everything finds its right place, eventually.”
⚕️⚕️⚕️
“Got any…. 3s?”
“Go fish.”
Righty sighed as he drew yet another card from the deck. Lori and him had set up a friendly game (though it might not stay friendly too much longer with the way she’d been kicking his ass. She couldn’t make herself feel too bad about it.) on Al’s bed while Al found himself engrossed in an old magazine he’d borrowed (read: stolen) from Hawkeye.
“Got any 5s?”
“Go fish.”
Lori frowned, “You’ve got like half the deck in your hand, how do you not have any 5s?”
Righty shrugged, “Not my fault you asked for the one thing I don't have. You can check my hand if you want.”
“Don’t trust it, Lo,” Al said, peering over the magazine. “That freckled face lies! He’s all sweetness and apple pie, all the while he’s hiding cards from you.”
Lori furrowed her brows “Is he putting them in his pocket? Or under the blankets?”
“Nah, he hides them where he hides his arm.”
Lori giggled at the joke as she drew a card, a 6 featuring a young woman in a bikini (not really a cyan, she thought. Closer to electric blue).
Suddenly, the radio crackled to life “MASH 4077, this is Chopper Pilot Lieutenant Miller requesting permission to land, over.”
Al scrambled towards the radio, “Lieutenant Miller, this is MASH 4077, you are cleared to land. How many wounded are you carrying, over?”
“Two. Both nasty chest wounds. There should be at least one other chopper, and the medic at battalion aid mentioned an ambulance, over.”
“Thanks for the heads up, over,” Al said as he quickly grabbed the PA mic, “Attention all personnel: the wounded convention is back in town! All available medical staff report to the helipad on the double!”
“I’d better get out there,” Lori said, springing to her feet.
“Me too,” Righty said. “Sometimes the ambulances need fixes ASAP so they can get back out there.”
“Good luck guys,” Al said as he began reaching for the radio again.
“Hey,” Lori started as she paused in the doorway. She could swear she saw a nervous look cross Al’s face as they began to leave. “Drinks in the O-Club after… well, whenever-the-hell we’re done?”
Al tried and failed to look casual (I mean really, if Lori could tell he was faking he must’ve been doing a terrible job), “Ah, y’know. We’ll see. Depends on who’s paying.”
“Why don’t you and I decide that over go-fish? There’s no sport in playing with Righty.”
“Hey!” Righty said indignantly.
Al’s face broke into a broad grin, “You’re on, Burke.”
And with that the three broke into the chaos of triage at the 4077.
⚕️fin⚕️