Title: Thin Red Line
Characters: Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy and Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Rating: M
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Summary: The Red Scare spreads to the 4077th when a no-nonsense colonel is sent to investigate one of their own.
Author's Note: Based on the characters portrayed by Rene Auberjonois and Donald Sutherland from MASH (1970), the original film production.
In response to persimmon's whump challenge. As always, please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them right away. Thanks for reading. –RW
It was a typical autumn day in Korea, insofar as typical days went… There were only a few wounded and no expected causalities. The mess tent was just as crowded as it typically was at lunch, and, as typical, the food was just as lousy.
Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy was lost in his Chaplain's Field Manual as he sat at one of the long tables in the mess tent, trying—as usual—to commit the entirety of it to memory. Next to him sat the camp's enamel surgeon, Captain Walt "The Painless Pole" Waldowski, D.D.S.—a good Catholic man, who saw Mulcahy as a comrade rather than just simply the chaplain. On the other side of the table, the chief anesthesiologist, Captain "Ugly" John Black, and medical captains Tommy Murrhardt and Dennis "Band-Aid" Bandini were engaged in a discussion about a recent poker game.
"Who the hell is this suave son of a bitch?" Painless asked over the lip of his coffee cup, interrupting the discussion and Dago's memorization attempt. The priest glanced up to see a jeep roll to a stop just outside the mess tent. The passenger was sharply dressed in a pressed uniform with large, mirrored aviator glasses and polished birds pinned to his lapels that glinted in the sunlight.
"Looks like some posh colonel to me," Bandini observed.
"Yeah? What's he doin' here, then?" Walt asked as he looked down the table. "Hey, Henry; you expectin' company?"
Lt. Colonel Henry Blake looked over at Painless, then followed everyone's gaze outside to where the new arrival seemed to be looking for someone in charge, his lip curled slightly in disdain. Henry practically scrambled to his feet and was out the door in seconds to greet the full-bird colonel. The company clerk, Walter "Radar" O'Reilly, sidled up next to the group of captains and the chaplain.
"What're they sayin', Radar?" Painless asked.
"That's Colonel Grayson; on special assignment from the CIA," Radar said, somehow always able to hear and sense things others could not—which is how he'd earned the nickname of Radar. Shock registered on Radar's face as he continued, "Gee, he thinks one of us might be a communist!"
"Communist?" Bandini scoffed. "One of us? Come on…"
Radar shushed the Captain as he continued to hone in on the conversation outside the tent. After a minute he looked hesitantly at the chaplain. "He wants to talk to you, Father."
Dago's brow furrowed slightly, but before he could ask Radar for more, Painless nudged him in the side. "Uh oh, Red…guess your nickname finally got back to the CIA."
"Shh…" Radar cut in again. "Here they come."
The chaplain turned his head just in time to see Henry approaching with the other colonel.
"Father Mulcahy, can I see you for a moment?"
Painless patted Mulcahy lightly on the shoulder. "Nice knowin' ya, Red. Write to us from Leavenworth, will ya?"
"Come on, Walt; cut it out." Dago muttered seriously as he stood up, pocketing his book, and backing out over the bench to face his commanding officer. "Henry?"
"This is Colonel Grayson; Colonel, our camp's chaplain, Father Mulcahy."
"Colonel," Dago greeted as he gave a small salute, trying not to focus on his own reflection staring back at him from the colonel's mirrored lenses.
Grayson regarded the priest stoically, ignoring the salute. "Colonel Blake, might I use your office to…speak with the good Father?"
"Oh, sure, of course. Whatever you need, Colonel."
"Padre," Grayson said dryly, waving his hand towards the door of the mess tent. "After you."
Mulcahy felt like an errant child being called out for punishment, or sent to the principal's office. He wondered how he might fit into Grayson's investigation and why the colonel would have asked to speak with him straight away. Part of him feared that it truly was he who was under investigation and he couldn't, for the life of him, think of anything he'd done that might have branded him a traitor or a communist.
As they made it to Henry's office, Grayson ordered all personnel to vacate the immediate vicinity, doing little to help ease Dago's concerns. The chaplain stood, watching Grayson secure the office before the colonel removed his glasses, tucking them into a shirt pocket, then took to pacing the perimeter of the room, his eyes watching Mulcahy carefully.
The silence was unnerving. "May I ask what this is—"
"I will ask the questions here, Padre."
Dago swallowed, afraid to say anything more and further feeling like a scolded child.
Grayson sat on the corner of Henry's desk, still looking at the priest with a calculating expression. "John Patrick Mulcahy; Captain and Catholic Chaplain in this man's army; born March 17, 1911 in San Diego, California to Francis and Mary Mulcahy. Youngest of two sons. Am I right so far?"
"Yes, sir."
"Named after St. Patrick, are you?" Grayson asked. "The Patron Saint of Ireland."
The tone was accusatory and Dago suddenly felt defensive. "I'm of Irish decent. It's common for Irish families to name their children after saints. If that somehow makes me a communist—"
"Slow down, Padre. I'm not accusing you of anything…yet." Grayson let the word hang in the air, obviously not surprised that Dago seemed to know the purpose of his visit. "I'll be straight with you, Padre. There is a traitor here and I intend to find him by any means necessary."
"With all due respect, Colonel, I believe you're mistaken. I can assure you that you will find no traitor at the 4077th. Disgruntled draftees, maybe, but no communists."
"Do you doubt the intelligence of the CIA, Padre?" Now Grayson was challenging the chaplain, rising from the desk and towering over Mulcahy forebodingly.
Dago knew better than to rise to the bait. He didn't need Radar's extrasensory perception to sense that this man was dangerous, and not to be tangled with. He shrank down slightly, but still tried to hold his ground. "Of course not, but I know these people, Colonel. I talk with them each day."
"And you hear confessions, do you not? Confessions that might reveal a dislike for democracy?" Grayson posed, pacing before the chaplain again with a cocky air.
"The confession is a sacred covenant of my profession, Colonel. I will not break my vow of silence under any circumstance. When a person is confessing their sins, they speak through me to God. I am merely a vessel for salvation, my ears merely a channel for absolution."
"All you have to do is tell me whether or not someone might have said something that could be considered…unpatriotic."
"I will do no such thing," Mulcahy said resolutely. "I will tell you nothing I have heard in or out of confession."
Grayson advanced on Mulcahy again. At 5'11'', Dago certainly was not a short man, but he felt dwarfed next to the colonel who stood over him at a lumbering 6'5''. Grayson was a broad-chested, muscle-armed man, which also contrasted to the chaplain's willowy physique. Angry coal-colored eyes bore into the azure irises of John Mulcahy, reminding the chaplain of a cold, infinite darkness…which, Dago thought, was probably a reflection of the man's soul. "Are you protecting the culprit, Padre?"
"I'm protecting people's right to speak their minds without fear of being branded a traitor." Mulcahy said, his voice far steadier than the rest of him, which seemed to be trembling like a leaf in the breeze.
Grayson laughed humorlessly. "Don't cross me, Padre. I have ways of getting you to talk; of making you tell me everything you've ever heard from anyone in this camp. If you don't agree to cooperate…well, I'll just have to make a note in my report that you were an obstruction to this investigation, which could label you an accomplice, a sympathizer…a traitor."
Dago's ire warred with his fear and it took him several seconds to find his voice again. "Is that a threat, Colonel?"
"Oh no…" Grayson said darkly. "It's a promise."
Mulcahy felt his throat close and he swallowed hard as Grayson took a step back and perched himself on the edge of Henry's desk again.
"Think about that for a while, Padre, and get back to me. I've got other fish to fry right now."
The chaplain took the colonel's words as a dismissal and turned for the door, eager to escape.
"Oh…Padre," Grayson called nonchalantly, waiting until Mulcahy looked back at him. "Two things… One: Breathe a word of this to anyone, and you will be sorry. And two…I always get what I want."
Mulcahy felt his stomach drop as the last words with spoken with near blood-lust. Grayson was looking at him carefully, knowing he'd struck gold with that one remark. The ugly grin that marred Grayson's face made Dago's skin crawl, and he fled from the office before the colonel changed his mind.
Painless and Bandini were lurking just outside the building when Mulcahy nearly steamrolled the both of them. The priest barely even noticed anyone had been in his way as he hurried along, keeping his head down and avoiding possible eye contact with anyone passing by. Painless stared after the chaplain, surprised and confused by what could have possibly upset the normally unflappable man so much.
"Gee," Bandini muttered, also surprised by Dago's flight response. "Do you suppose it is him, Painless?"
"Dago Red? A traitor?" Painless queried, trying to affix such a label to such a mild and scrupulous man. "Can't be… Maybe Grayson told him who the traitor is, though."
"Let's go ask him." Bandini offered, keen to know who in camp was a possible turncoat.
Dago was wearing a hole in the floorboards of his tent as he paced back and forth frantically, trying to ascertain what he should do. Mulcahy knew that Grayson was trying to get him to cooperate, to divulge anything and everything he might know about anyone in the camp, but what lengths would the man go to get that information? The chaplain had vowed to protect the others from Grayson's tyranny, and while Mulcahy was still certain that there were no traitors in their midst, he wondered if he would be able to withstand the storm that Grayson would rain down on him.
The knock on the door filled the chaplain with dread, as he considered that the colonel was coming to collect earlier than anticipated, but the door swung open to reveal Painless and Bandini, looking at the priest like he was privy to some great knowledge.
"What'd he say, Red?" Painless asked as he let himself in and took a seat on the chaplain's bunk.
"I—I can't talk about it, Walt."
"Sure you can. It's not like we don't know why he's here. Did he say who the traitor is?"
"I can't talk about it." Dago repeated, his voice strained from anxiety.
The dentist looked at the priest strangely, as if seeing for the first time just how distressed he was. "Jesus, Red…he's really done a number on you, hasn't he? Think you should go to Henry about it?"
"I'm not sure there's anything Henry can do, Walt. I'm not sure what any of us can do."
"Well, look, if you need anything…you just let me know."
"Thanks." Dago sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "If you boys don't mind…I think I'd like to be alone for a while. I don't feel too well."
Painless and Bandini left the chaplain alone and Mulcahy laid on this bunk, pressing his fingers to his eyes as he considered his options carefully. Breaking the seal of confession was out of the question. Grayson could torture him, slander him, have him excommunicated, imprisoned or crucified, but Mulcahy would never tell that man anything he had heard from anyone in this camp. They were in a war zone, most of them against their will. People were angry and outraged by the American government, but that didn't make them traitors and Mulcahy certainly wasn't going to offer anyone up as a sacrifice to appease the colonel.
Mulcahy knew he wouldn't speak, but it didn't stop him from worrying about what Grayson was going to do to try and extract the information. He was tempted to go to Henry and ask for temporary leave until Grayson got tired of harassing people and moved on, but he wasn't going to subject someone else in the camp to the methods of a madman simply because he was feeling cowardly. He would endure Grayson's threats, but he vowed not to give in.
When dinner came, Mulcahy sat in his usual spot next to Painless, but his tray of food remained untouched. Across from him, doctors Hawkeye Pierce, Trapper John McIntyre and Duke Forrest were tucking into their food as they prepared to take on the night shift. Duke seemed to notice the priest's lack of appetite before anyone else.
"What's the matter with you, Dago Red-o?" Duke asked in his southern drawl. "Dinner's pretty good tonight and you ain't even tasted it."
"Still thinking about that Grayson character?" Painless asked.
Mulcahy nodded softly and listened as Painless filled the three doctors in on the events that occurred at lunch. He silently wondered where the conniving colonel was lurking, and hoped he didn't over hear the men talking about him, least he get the impression that Dago spilled the beans.
"Forget about it, Dago. Sounds to me like since there's a lull in the amount of casualties around here, they just want to shake things up a bit. If there is a traitor, that colonel won't need your help to find him. Hell, if it would get me out of here, I'd confess to being a traitor."
Mulcahy looked at Hawkeye as he spoke.
Hawkeye Pierce, the jester of the Double Nature, was a young man—not yet thirty—who seemed wise beyond his years, but also had the maturity level of an adolescent boy. He'd been fresh out of medical school when Uncle Sam had drafted him into the medical corps, forcing him to leave behind his wife and two young sons. Hawkeye was the type of man who either liked you or hated you, and sometimes it was hard to tell which way the pendulum was swinging. In the short time Hawkeye had been with the camp, the captain had always treated the chaplain kindly, even despite the numerous pranks he had played on Mulcahy, but he'd made it clear that Dago should keep his religion to himself. It hadn't offended the chaplain, as he was a practical man of God and understood that not everyone shared his beliefs. Instead it had endeared Hawkeye to him and the two formed a mutual respect and understanding of each other that lended itself to a unique friendship.
"I wish it were that easy."
"It is that easy, babe; you gotta let him think he doesn't know what he's talking about. Don't let him see that it's getting to you. That's how guys like that work." Hawkeye told him.
"Maybe you're right," Mulcahy conceded, trying to let his concerns melt away, but feeling them settle back down in the pit of his stomach again.
"No maybe about it," Hawkeye said, shoveling the last bite of food in his mouth. "Don't let him push you around."
Mulcahy watched the three doctors gather their trays, bidding those at the table a good evening before they headed off to start their shift. Painless looked back at the chaplain after they'd disappeared.
"He's right, you know. You can't give Grayson any ammo to use against you. Even if whatever he said bothers you—like it does—just pretend it doesn't."
Dago nodded. "You're right, of course."
"Besides, if he doesn't lay off, we'll all put a boot in his ass for you."
Mulcahy gave a slight laugh and picked up his fork, trying to eat what he could stomach of the meal before he turned in for the night. The others were right: he had to pretend he wasn't bothered. Grayson hadn't given him any real threat yet, but the sheer intensity of the man was enough to make the chaplain quail. He wondered if Painless and Hawkeye would be singing a different tune if Grayson came after them instead.
He decided not to think about it all together and finished his dinner, showered, then did his nightly prayers before crawling into his bunk and succumbing to sleep.
"Attention: All personnel, incoming wounded in the compound." The loudspeaker crackled to life and Mulcahy jolted upright at the announcement, startled out of his slumber and halfway out of his skin. There was the slightest hint of light outside, which meant that it was still quite early in the morning.
Hurriedly, the chaplain changed out of his pajamas and pocketed the tools of his trade before he headed out into the compound to help wherever he was needed. There were already a line of bodies on stretchers laid out on the ground and both doctors and nurses were rushing around assessing wounds and prioritizing patients.
"Hey Dago," Hawkeye called to the priest, leaning over a boy wrapped in bloodied bandages. Mulcahy approached quickly, kneeling across from the doctor. "I think this one's for you, babe."
"Is he dead?" Mulcahy asked, unable to stop himself from pondering such a stupid question out loud as he looked at the man's dog tag to confirm his religious preference.
Hawkeye looked up at him, but spared him a sharp gibe, simply saying, "Probably for at least half an hour now."
Mulcahy nodded and pulled out his tools from his pocket, draping the stole over his neck as he prepared to administer the last rites to the dead soldier.
"Ah crap…" Hawkeye muttered. Mulcahy looked up to see Hawkeye looking at something over the priest's shoulder. "Here comes the Yankee Doodle Dodo."
Mulcahy looked back to see Colonel Grayson, clean and pressed and eyes shaded behind his aviator sunglasses stalking towards the wounded men. His focus was not on the casualties, however; it seemed to be focused on the personnel of the 4077th, and he was making a beeline straight for the chaplain.
The priest sighed and shook his head, "I guess he hasn't found his traitor yet."
"Well, he better not start asking me a million questions while I'm in surgery or I'm liable to sew his mouth shut. He was poking around the post-op ward half the night until Trapper and I bodily removed him."
The chaplain laughed softly as the surgeon hurried off to the next wounded kid, and tried to ignore Grayson as he pulled out his vial of holy oil and began to mark a cross on the fallen boy's forehead as he prayed.
"Padre," Grayson interrupted, coming to stand where Hawkeye had been just moments before. Mulcahy sighed in annoyance, but glanced up. "Did you get a chance to think about my offer?"
"You didn't exactly make an offer," Dago replied somewhat sharply. "And I'm busy at the moment, in case you didn't notice."
"He's dead; it can wait, can't it?" The colonel said blithely.
"I beg your pardon?" Mulcahy was taken aback by the colonel's apathy for the dead man lying at his feet.
"I'm on a tight schedule, Padre. Don't make me order you."
Mulcahy climbed to his feet, hands curling into fists at his sides. "Order me to do what, exactly? Abandon my duties as chaplain? Abandon these boys in their hour of need? With all due respect, Colonel, my orders come from God and He outranks you. Either make yourself useful or get the hell out of our way."
Dago couldn't see the man's eyes behind the mirrored lenses, but if the thin line of the colonel's mouth was any indication, the chaplain knew that Grayson was probably feeling murderous. He stepped around the body and wandered off the other direction without another word to the priest, and Mulcahy didn't allow himself to think of the ramifications of disobeying the colonel as he went back to completing the ritual.
By 2 o'clock that afternoon the wounded had finally stopped coming in and the last boy had been patched up and put in post-op. Mulcahy had no desire to leave the OR and face Grayson again, knowing that this time would be even less pleasant than his first two encounters, but he knew the longer he put it off, the angrier the colonel would get. He'd already threatened Mulcahy once, this time he might make good on it.
The chaplain trudged out of the OR tiredly. Though he hadn't worked near as long or near as hard as the night shift personnel, surgery was always a grueling trial for him. He wanted to sit and rest, maybe eat and then shower, but Grayson had to be dealt with and he committed himself to getting it over with.
"Padre." The colonel's voice made the chaplain jump and he turned around to see Grayson leaning against the frame of the building, flicking a Zippo lighter on and off while he waited. "If God can spare you now…"
Mulcahy's eyes narrowed but he simply nodded and followed Grayson to Henry's office, where the colonel once again dismissed all other personnel. Grayson paced the perimeter of the room not speaking, prowling like a predatory animal who was on the hunt. Mulcahy felt much too tired for the colonel's intimidation tactics to work at this point, and his irritation with the man was running his fuse shorter than normal, making him more brazen than he should have been.
"You know, if you'd just tell me who you're redbaiting, this would go much faster."
Grayson stopped in his pacing, looking more than a little annoyed but tossed a file across the desk towards the chaplain. Mulcahy picked up the file and flipped it open, nearly laughing at the black and white photo paper clipped to several documents within.
"Hawkeye?" Dago asked, stifling his laughter. "You think Hawkeye is a traitor?"
"Listen here, Padre, I'm not going to play games with you. You're about to land yourself in some very hot water. Captain Pierce is under investigation by the United States of America and I have been authorized by the President to gather intelligence by any means necessary. Now, either you and I start talking or I'll have no choice but to charge you with conspiracy."
Mulcahy wondered if the colonel could do that, but with the Red Scare in Washington, a mark on the priest's record could do irrevocable damage. He closed the file and laid it back on the desk, choosing his opening argument carefully. "With all due respect, Colonel, Hawkeye may be angry about being here, but he's not anti-American."
"There are some in this camp who would disagree," Grayson countered. "There have been numerous reports of insubordination by Pierce, several times it has been recommended that he be court-martialed—once by his own commanding officer who seemed to drop the charge on your advice. Why was that, Padre? Are you a sympathizer?"
"I believe the incident you're referring to is the time when the person in question tried to crucify a chaplain from another unit?"
Grayson simply looked at Mulcahy, waiting for an answer.
"It was a prank, Colonel. A disturbing one, yes, but a prank nonetheless. He never had any intention of harming anyone."
"He tied a man of the cloth to a makeshift cross doused him in gasoline and tossed a match. You're telling me he had no intention of hurting the man?"
"The 'gasoline' used to douse him was water," Mulcahy corrected. "The match blew out before it even touched him. I admit, it was a cruel joke, but no one got hurt."
"But, by your own report, you fully believed the liquid was gasoline."
"Initially, like everyone else, yes." Mulcahy nodded. "But I quickly realized that nothing had happened."
"You also reportedly tried to get Pierce to apologize for the incident, but he refused; is this correct?"
"Yes," Mulcahy knew all of this was public record as he and Henry had both had to file reports based on the fellow chaplain's accusation, but the charges had been dropped…why did this matter now? "I'm sorry, Colonel, but I still fail to see how any of this could brand Hawkeye a traitor or a communist."
"It's not simply communism that we are fighting, Padre. It's everything that goes against the American way of life. Pierce is a loose cannon, an anarchist, a Godless heathen who poses a threat to the security of our nation."
"You can't be serious."
Grayson slammed his hands down on the desk, making Dago jump in response. "This is your last warning, Father! Cooperate with me, or I'm placing both you and Pierce under arrest!"
Dago's heart was racing in his chest as adrenaline fueled him. "Listen, Colonel, I realize Hawkeye isn't a model solider, but he isn't anti-American, either. Unlike you and me, he was drafted. No one wants to be in a warzone, but Hawkeye had no choice!"
Boiling with rage at the priest's resistance to providing him with intel, the colonel rounded the desk and advanced on Dago so fast that the chaplain barely had time to blink before he found the front of his shirt being gripped by two large hands and he was shoved backwards against a metal filing cabinet.
Dazed and in shock by the man's sudden violence, Mulcahy hardly registered that the man was speaking.
"—think I can't touch you, you little maggot!" Grayson was yelling. "I don't give a shit if you're a priest or the goddamn pope, you're a captain in the goddamn Army which means that I outrank you and you'll do whatever I tell you to do? Do you understand me?"
"Threaten me all you want, Colonel," Dago told him bravely. "I will not break my vow of silence on your order."
The colonel snarled angrily, twirling himself around as he still clutched the chaplain's shirt, and throwing the other man across the room. As Dago's feet left the ground, and his body sailed through the air like some weightless object, he could only find himself surprised by the colonel's strength. Then he hit Henry's desk, landing first on his side, then rolling across the top as the momentum carried him—clearing every item from the surface as he fell off the other side and landed in a heap on the concrete floor. Papers fluttered around him and Dago groaned in pain, breathless from the impact, as he tried to push himself to his knees. Grayson rounded the desk again, grabbing Mulcahy again by his shirt and hauling him to his feet. Dago winced, expecting to be throw again, but found himself being slammed down, chest first, on the desk.
"By order of the President of the United States of America, you are under arrest for treason." Grayson said, producing a set of metal handcuffs from somewhere on his person and jerking Dago's arms behind him roughly before affixing a cuff to each wrist. "I warned you, Padre."
Grayson shoved Dago back down to the floor, sneering as the priest cried out in pain, unable to brace himself against the impact on the concrete. Mulcahy breathed heavily, trembling as Grayson stepped over him, and wincing against the pain throbbing in his side.
"Wait here." Grayson snarled as he exited the office.
Panting, Dago laid on the floor, trying to piece together exactly what had just happened, and assess just how badly he was hurt. He was in pain, but nothing felt broken…except for maybe a rib or two. He'd just been placed under arrest for treason and Hawkeye was being accused of being a communist. How the hell where they going to get out of this mess…?
Henry, Dago thought, still breathless as he tried to squirm up into a sitting position. The cuffs were digging into his wrists, indicating that they were too tight, but he tried not to think about that for now. Henry would sort this out. He would call the man out and have the arrest withdrawn.
Dago could hear a commotion in the front office and heard indignant shouting and the sound of a scuffle just before the doors burst open. Hawkeye fell through the door, obviously having been manhandled in the same manner as the priest. Dago saw the doctor go down, but the desk was preventing him from seeing anything else. He pushed to his knees, then onto his feet just as Hawkeye started to verbalized his outrage again.
"You can't arrest me! I'm an American citizen! I'm a captain in the Army, for christssake! I'm here because YOU SENT ME HERE! I'm not a traitor!"
Dago could see that Hawkeye's hands were also bound behind him, limiting the man's movement. Grayson stalked into the room as Hawkeye continued to yell from where he was lying face-down on the floor. Dago could see the shocked faces of most of the personnel in the camp as they were lined up outside the main doors, Henry angrily shooing them all away as he raced towards the office.
Finally… Dago thought with a relieved sigh at the sight of his commanding officer, and knowing Henry wouldn't tolerate this.
"I beg your pardon, Colonel, but what authority do you have coming in here and arresting my men?" Henry bellowed, his face turning an angry shade of purple.
"Get him, Henry! Don't let him get away with this!" Hawkeye was hollering from the floor.
"I have every authority, Colonel," Grayson returned hotly. "If you don't stand down, I'll have no choice but to arrest you as well."
"Uncuff my surgeon and my chaplain," Henry growled. "We will sort this out like civilized men."
"These men are being charged with treason. I have placed them under arrest and I will be taking them to the MP HQ for interrogation. They had the chance to cooperate."
"'They?'" Hawkeye protested, still prone on the floor. "You never gave me a chance to defend myself! And Dago's got nothing to do with this either, you maniac!"
Grayson ignored Hawkeye and continued to glare at Henry. "Call the MP's, Blake."
"So help me God, when I get to the bottom of this and these men are declared innocent, my boot print will be tattooed on your butt." Henry glowered. "Get out of my office. I'll call the MP's from here. These two are staying with me until then."
"Fine." Grayson said darkly, turning on his heel and stalking back through the swinging doors.
"Christ…" Henry swore softly, taking off his hat and running a hand over his black buzzed hair. "You guys okay?"
"No, I'm not okay!" Hawkeye said, trying to push himself upright. "This asshole is accusing me of being a commie! You know what they do to commies don't you, Henry? They ruin your goddamn life! Fuck! I need to call my wife…if they've done anything to her or my kids I'll—"
"Settle down, Pierce!" Henry snapped loudly, pulling a chair over and pushing Hawkeye into. "You're not calling anyone."
Dago watched the scene before him with a sinking feeling as Henry found another chair and pointed the priest to it. "You're not going to let them take us, are you, Henry?"
"I don't have a choice right now, Dago." Henry answered, pacing nervously. "They must have something on your Pierce, but I don't know what. What did he indicate to you, Dago?"
"The Shaking Sammy prank was mentioned. As were the numerous suggestions that Hawkeye be court-martialed."
Hawkeye clicked his tongue. "That was a stupid prank. Tell him that, Henry. Did you tell him that, Dago?"
"I did, but he wouldn't hear it. He expected me to sell you out as a traitor; to tell him anything that might paint you as un-American, and when I told him I would not…well, he literally threw me across the room."
"Guess that explains the mess," Henry said as if seeing the strewn contents of his desk for the first time.
"Are you alright, babe?" Hawkeye asked, sincerely concerned.
"Yeah. Bruised, probably, but nothing's broken so far as I can tell."
"Alright, listen…you know what they tell you in training when you're captured?"
"To not get captured?" Hawkeye said smartly.
"Can it, Pierce; I'm serious."
"Give only your name, rank and number?" Dago answered.
"Right." Henry nodded. "I don't care if these are our MP's or the CIA or whoever. Don't incriminate yourselves. Don't say anything. I'll call Hammond and pull a favor and see what I can do to get you guys cleared. Keep your mouths shut. Got it?"
"Whatever you say, Henry." Hawkeye replied moodily.
"Don't be a smart ass, Pierce. They won't hesitate to beat the snot out of you for it, and frankly for that I wouldn't blame them."
"Gee thanks." Hawkeye snorted.
"Can you at least convince him to uncuff us, Henry?" Dago asked.
"I'll see what I can do. I'll call the military vicar's office, too. Maybe they can do something the General can't do."
"Thanks."
Henry called for Radar, telling him to get the MP's on the horn, then to make the next call to General Hammond. Dago looked over at Hawkeye who was brooding next to him.
"I'm sorry, Hawkeye."
"It's not your fault, Dago. You didn't sell me out. Mostly because there's nothing to sell me out on."
"Still…"
"Don't worry about it. Henry will sort this out."
Dago sighed and nodded, his side still twinging slightly in pain. The two fell silent as they waited for the MP's to arrive, and the chaplain couldn't help but wonder what would happen once they were out of the protection of their commanding officer. Though he didn't want to say as much out loud, Dago was terrified.
TBC