Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me, but belong to
M*A*S*H and its related companies. I am borrowing these characters to make
a non-profiting story.
A/N: I apologise now for my typos, but it's been a long day.
Against All Odds: Luck of Three
Part 1
It was a hazy afternoon on the road in South Korea. As a lone jeep rumbled along its path, dust rose up from behind it and slowly settled back on the ground some seconds later.
The driver of the jeep was a doctor, the rank of Captain. The curly-haired man, John McIntyre, was known as Trapper to his friends. He was a member of the 4077th M*A*S*H Unit, situated not far from the front line of the Korean War. As a surgeon, Trapper spent his days putting young soldiers back together. It was an exhausting job, physically and mentally, but in hours when he was not operating, the Still would be on hand to get him through the days.
Trapper was not alone in his job. The other staff at the hospital were there, helping each other through the troubled times. Trapper's greatest friend in Korea was Benjamin Franklin Pierce, also a Captain. He was known as Hawkeye, a nickname given to him by his father. Hawkeye was a brilliant surgeon and a caring human being on one side, and on the other he varied between comical, crazy and nurse chasing. All the time, though, he was down- to-earth, and a good friend.
Trapper had a lot of good friends at the camp. Henry was the CO of the outfit, someone who really had no idea of what was going on in the war, apart from when it came to saving lives. Radar was the young company clerk, giving innocence to the war. Even Klinger, who was not the happiest person in the war, was there if he was needed. And even those who did not show much friendship towards Trapper, Majors Frank Burns and Margaret Houlihan, could have their good points at times.
Father Mulcahy was a good friend to have. He did not wait until people asked for his help before he gave aid. Trapper remembered the time that he had drowned his sorrows after getting a letter from his family. Even though it had little effect, Father Mulcahy never gave up trying.
It stung Trapper to think about his family. That was the reason for him going for R&R. Nothing had felt right since he got that phone call from the States. He had been told that there had been a fire in the McIntyre family home. His wife and children had not survived.
For some days, Trapper had been inconsolable. The same thought kept bouncing off the sides of his mind. "I'm in the most dangerous place in the world, they're safe at home. Why them and not me?"
For the first few days, he would lie lifelessly on his cot. The only other time he would go anywhere was to perform surgery, which was the only time he would talk to anyone.
After a few days, he stopped eating. It was then that Hawkeye took action and called in Sidney Freedman, psychiatrist and poker player. It took two intense days, but Sidney got Trapper back on his feet again.
Henry presented Trapper with a hardship discharge, but to everyone's surprise and disbelief, the Captain refused. "I haven't got a family to go home to," he explained. "Right now, my family are here."
Instead of a discharge, Henry had given Trapper four days of R&R in Tokyo. When the CO explained the situation to the higher authorities, they were reluctant to accept that no sane person would turn down a discharge from a war, but Trapper personally assured them that it was a choice from a person who was as sane as could be in the circumstances.
As Trapper's thoughts drifted back towards the present, they were pierced and shattered by gunshots. He looked around and listened, instantly trying to determine how far away the shots were. More shots were fired, this time closer, and Trapper grabbed his helmet. He kept driving, keeping low, and looked for somewhere safe to stop. Parking in the middle of the open road would have been too dangerous.
Just as he saw a small clearing at the edge of the road, he was shot in the side. Trapper let out a cry of pain and anguish, and slumped forwards onto the steering wheel.
The jeep was sent careering on its own course, and came to an abrupt stop some seconds later, when it struck its front left wheel in a large rut by the side of the road. It hurtled sideways before shuddering to a grinding halt.
It was a couple of minutes before Trapper opened his eyes and tilted his head up. Slowly looking around, he gained focus and took in his surroundings. He had been thrown from the jeep when it crashed, and lay some feet away from it. The vehicle was on its side, with smoke puffing from the engine.
Speaking of sides, blood was pouring from a little above Trapper's hip. As he sat up, he winced and gasped from the pain. All he could do was take off his shirt and wrap it around the bleeding area.
His next task was to crawl a few feet across the ground to the jeep. He had tried to stand, but it was impossible. He thanked his lucky stars that the ever-organised Radar had remembered to equip the jeep with a radio. He was more than thankful that it had only been knocked about in the accident, and was not broken.
"4077th M*A*S*H," he called into it, only receiving crackle in return. He tried again. "Come in, 4077th M*A*S*H!"
"4077th M*A*S*H," came the reply. "Corporal O'Reilly here."
"Radar, get Hawkeye," Trapper commanded.
"Trapper, is that you? How was your trip?"
"Great, but I'm in trouble. Please get Hawkeye."
Realising that all was not well, Radar dropped the radio equipment and sprinted into Post-Op, where he knew he would find Hawkeye on Post-Op duty.
"Hawkeye," he called, running over to him. "Hawk, you gotta come quick."
"What's the problem?" Hawkeye asked, replacing the clipboard on the end of the bed. "A patient?"
"It's Trapper, he says he's in trouble. He's on the radio."
"Probably ran in with the Japanese police," Hawkeye muttered lightly as he followed Radar into his office.
"Trapper?" Radar waited for a reply, and tried again. "Trapper!"
After a groan, Trapper answered. "Yeah? Hawk?"
"I'm here," he assured him. "What's up? Get arrested for drunk driving?"
"Got shot, by a sniper," he explained. "Crashed the jeep."
Hawkeye had to suppress a gasp before answering. "Where are you?"
"About half an hour away, I think," he answered quietly.
"Where were you shot? How bad?" After a moment of silence, Hawkeye tried again. "Trap? Can you hear me?"
Dropped the receiver on the desk, Hawkeye turned to Radar. "Get Hotlips. Get a jeep into the compound. Tell Henry to get ready for surgery. Tell Klinger to stand by the radio in case Trapper calls back. We leave in five minutes."
Radar ran as fast as he could into Margaret's tent, not bothering to knock since he was under a time limit. She was sitting, brushing her hair. "Corporal! Haven't you heard of."
"Emergency," Radar cut in, slightly out of breath. "Captain McIntyre. jeep crash. you're needed."
Margaret was instantly alert, and dropped her brush on the table. "I'll be out in a minute."
Within mere minutes, Radar drove out of the camp with Margaret and Hawkeye in the back. Henry had been informed, and was getting ready for surgery with the knowledge that Trapper had been shot. Klinger was standing by the radio.
A few minutes later, Hawkeye stopped the jeep. "That's it! Come on Radar, faster!"
Trapper heard the rumble of the engine sometime before Hawkeye spotted the upturned jeep. He opened his eyes, but decided to shut them again since the world was unclear to him. He tried again, and felt less dizzy this time. He saw the radio, and remembered that he passed out half way through his conversation.
He looked at his wound, and saw that a lot of his blood had seeped through the shirt. He was beginning to feel nauseous by the time Hawkeye's jeep skidded to a halt.
Hawkeye did not wait for the jeep to stop before jumping out of it. He crouched beside his friend and began to assess the injuries.
"Trap? Can you hear me?" Margaret crouched beside Hawkeye as he spoke to Trapper.
"Hawk?" Trapper tried to sit up.
"Hold it, Trap, relax. I'm here, and you're going to be fine. You're not injured to badly, nothing that I can't fix." Hawkeye called to Radar. "Get a stretcher over here."
Radar was already half way there, and the three staff helped the patient onto the stretcher.
"How will he be?" Margaret asked Hawkeye.
He swallowed. "He'll be fine if I have anything to do with it."
On the way back to the hospital, Hawkeye did his best to keep his friend comfortable, and Margaret gave Trapper support by holding his hand. She was cool on the outside, but on the inside she could only think of the times when she had put Trapper down, and it filled her with regret.
As the jeep swerved into the camp, Hawkeye began to reassure an unconscious Trapper. "You're going to be fine, Trap. I'll even wash my hands before I operate." He watched as the stretcher was carried away, and then headed into the Scrub room.
Inside, Margaret was already preparing for surgery. "You care about him a lot, don't you," she murmured.
Hawkeye sighed. "I could joke about it, and say that I don't know anyone else I can beat at poker. But, seriously, I don't give a monkeys about whether we operate on North, South, East or West Koreans, I don't give two cents how much filth or dirt is on the floor, in my food or in my nudity magazines, I couldn't care less if I woke up here, there or anywhere, but I sure give a damn about my best friend."
Margaret was too stunned to say anything, but had no need to as Henry Blake came in to tell them that the OR was ready. As Margaret went in, she thought about how right Hawkeye's speech was. She was missing something in her life in the war, and that was true friendship. She had Frank in her life, but Frank was not real friendship material. She was just a convenience to him. Margaret realised that she had to do something before she found herself isolated from the rest of the people in the camp.
The atmosphere in the OR was tense and concentrated. There were four members of staff at work, but the silence was such that each member felt that they were in their own solitary world.
Father Mulcahy was present in the OR. He hoped that he would not be needed, but he wanted to be there, in case. He prayed silently, asking the Lord what he should do to help Trapper and his friends.
Henry was concerned for Trapper, but also for all the other staff at the hospital. The news would be heavy for the personnel, and as CO he had to try and hold everyone together, for the sake of the wounded if any should arrive. He also had a feeling that Major Burns and possibly Major Houlihan would stir the problem, adding to his troubles.
Unknown to Henry, Major Houlihan would not be stirring, even if Frank would be. She was as concerned as the others, and deeply regretted the times that she had directed her anger towards Hawkeye and Trapper. She hoped that she would have the opportunity to make amends.
Hawkeye was concentrating so hard that he seemed to be emotionless. At the back of his mind, he remembered when his friend Tommy Gillis died. Hawkeye knew that in his skilled and capable hands, Trapper would be fine, but the thought still lingered.
After the operation, it was almost dusk. The surgeons slowly meandered out of the OR, drained from their word. Margaret and Father Mulcahy retired to their quarters, leaving Henry and Hawkeye in the Scrub room.
Henry was first to speak. "Simple surgery. Two fragments. Couple of bleeders. Nothing that couldn't be handled. Nicked the small intestine. Easy to deal with."
"Yeah," Hawkeye murmured.
"So why do I feel like I just did six hours of surgery?"
"Ten," Hawkeye corrected.
Henry paused. "He had nothing to worry about. He was being cut by the best surgeon in the whole war."
Hawkeye stood up. "I'd better go see how he is." He was about to walk out of the door, but he stopped and turned to Henry.
"What?" The colonel asked.
"It's not over," Hawkeye murmured, anger and frustration tinting his voice. He sat back down again.
"What's not over?"
"This! First, his family are killed. Then he gets shot and crashes his jeep."
"What's makes you think that there's more?"
"Ever heard the saying that bad luck always happened in threes?"
"Sure. But surely, you don't think."
"It's possible," Hawkeye finished.
"But, if it were true, what could we do? We couldn't wrap him up in cotton wool forever."
"We can't do anything. All we can do is to be there, on hand, if and when anything does happen."
"Shouldn't be too hard. We are a hospital," Henry chuckled slightly. "But seriously, do you really believe that something might happen? Surely he's been through enough already." Henry thought of something. "Perhaps his first bit of bad luck was being sent to Korea."
Hawkeye smiled at this. "If that's the case, then we're all due a bit more bad luck." He left the room and headed for Post-Op.
A/N: I apologise now for my typos, but it's been a long day.
Against All Odds: Luck of Three
Part 1
It was a hazy afternoon on the road in South Korea. As a lone jeep rumbled along its path, dust rose up from behind it and slowly settled back on the ground some seconds later.
The driver of the jeep was a doctor, the rank of Captain. The curly-haired man, John McIntyre, was known as Trapper to his friends. He was a member of the 4077th M*A*S*H Unit, situated not far from the front line of the Korean War. As a surgeon, Trapper spent his days putting young soldiers back together. It was an exhausting job, physically and mentally, but in hours when he was not operating, the Still would be on hand to get him through the days.
Trapper was not alone in his job. The other staff at the hospital were there, helping each other through the troubled times. Trapper's greatest friend in Korea was Benjamin Franklin Pierce, also a Captain. He was known as Hawkeye, a nickname given to him by his father. Hawkeye was a brilliant surgeon and a caring human being on one side, and on the other he varied between comical, crazy and nurse chasing. All the time, though, he was down- to-earth, and a good friend.
Trapper had a lot of good friends at the camp. Henry was the CO of the outfit, someone who really had no idea of what was going on in the war, apart from when it came to saving lives. Radar was the young company clerk, giving innocence to the war. Even Klinger, who was not the happiest person in the war, was there if he was needed. And even those who did not show much friendship towards Trapper, Majors Frank Burns and Margaret Houlihan, could have their good points at times.
Father Mulcahy was a good friend to have. He did not wait until people asked for his help before he gave aid. Trapper remembered the time that he had drowned his sorrows after getting a letter from his family. Even though it had little effect, Father Mulcahy never gave up trying.
It stung Trapper to think about his family. That was the reason for him going for R&R. Nothing had felt right since he got that phone call from the States. He had been told that there had been a fire in the McIntyre family home. His wife and children had not survived.
For some days, Trapper had been inconsolable. The same thought kept bouncing off the sides of his mind. "I'm in the most dangerous place in the world, they're safe at home. Why them and not me?"
For the first few days, he would lie lifelessly on his cot. The only other time he would go anywhere was to perform surgery, which was the only time he would talk to anyone.
After a few days, he stopped eating. It was then that Hawkeye took action and called in Sidney Freedman, psychiatrist and poker player. It took two intense days, but Sidney got Trapper back on his feet again.
Henry presented Trapper with a hardship discharge, but to everyone's surprise and disbelief, the Captain refused. "I haven't got a family to go home to," he explained. "Right now, my family are here."
Instead of a discharge, Henry had given Trapper four days of R&R in Tokyo. When the CO explained the situation to the higher authorities, they were reluctant to accept that no sane person would turn down a discharge from a war, but Trapper personally assured them that it was a choice from a person who was as sane as could be in the circumstances.
As Trapper's thoughts drifted back towards the present, they were pierced and shattered by gunshots. He looked around and listened, instantly trying to determine how far away the shots were. More shots were fired, this time closer, and Trapper grabbed his helmet. He kept driving, keeping low, and looked for somewhere safe to stop. Parking in the middle of the open road would have been too dangerous.
Just as he saw a small clearing at the edge of the road, he was shot in the side. Trapper let out a cry of pain and anguish, and slumped forwards onto the steering wheel.
The jeep was sent careering on its own course, and came to an abrupt stop some seconds later, when it struck its front left wheel in a large rut by the side of the road. It hurtled sideways before shuddering to a grinding halt.
It was a couple of minutes before Trapper opened his eyes and tilted his head up. Slowly looking around, he gained focus and took in his surroundings. He had been thrown from the jeep when it crashed, and lay some feet away from it. The vehicle was on its side, with smoke puffing from the engine.
Speaking of sides, blood was pouring from a little above Trapper's hip. As he sat up, he winced and gasped from the pain. All he could do was take off his shirt and wrap it around the bleeding area.
His next task was to crawl a few feet across the ground to the jeep. He had tried to stand, but it was impossible. He thanked his lucky stars that the ever-organised Radar had remembered to equip the jeep with a radio. He was more than thankful that it had only been knocked about in the accident, and was not broken.
"4077th M*A*S*H," he called into it, only receiving crackle in return. He tried again. "Come in, 4077th M*A*S*H!"
"4077th M*A*S*H," came the reply. "Corporal O'Reilly here."
"Radar, get Hawkeye," Trapper commanded.
"Trapper, is that you? How was your trip?"
"Great, but I'm in trouble. Please get Hawkeye."
Realising that all was not well, Radar dropped the radio equipment and sprinted into Post-Op, where he knew he would find Hawkeye on Post-Op duty.
"Hawkeye," he called, running over to him. "Hawk, you gotta come quick."
"What's the problem?" Hawkeye asked, replacing the clipboard on the end of the bed. "A patient?"
"It's Trapper, he says he's in trouble. He's on the radio."
"Probably ran in with the Japanese police," Hawkeye muttered lightly as he followed Radar into his office.
"Trapper?" Radar waited for a reply, and tried again. "Trapper!"
After a groan, Trapper answered. "Yeah? Hawk?"
"I'm here," he assured him. "What's up? Get arrested for drunk driving?"
"Got shot, by a sniper," he explained. "Crashed the jeep."
Hawkeye had to suppress a gasp before answering. "Where are you?"
"About half an hour away, I think," he answered quietly.
"Where were you shot? How bad?" After a moment of silence, Hawkeye tried again. "Trap? Can you hear me?"
Dropped the receiver on the desk, Hawkeye turned to Radar. "Get Hotlips. Get a jeep into the compound. Tell Henry to get ready for surgery. Tell Klinger to stand by the radio in case Trapper calls back. We leave in five minutes."
Radar ran as fast as he could into Margaret's tent, not bothering to knock since he was under a time limit. She was sitting, brushing her hair. "Corporal! Haven't you heard of."
"Emergency," Radar cut in, slightly out of breath. "Captain McIntyre. jeep crash. you're needed."
Margaret was instantly alert, and dropped her brush on the table. "I'll be out in a minute."
Within mere minutes, Radar drove out of the camp with Margaret and Hawkeye in the back. Henry had been informed, and was getting ready for surgery with the knowledge that Trapper had been shot. Klinger was standing by the radio.
A few minutes later, Hawkeye stopped the jeep. "That's it! Come on Radar, faster!"
Trapper heard the rumble of the engine sometime before Hawkeye spotted the upturned jeep. He opened his eyes, but decided to shut them again since the world was unclear to him. He tried again, and felt less dizzy this time. He saw the radio, and remembered that he passed out half way through his conversation.
He looked at his wound, and saw that a lot of his blood had seeped through the shirt. He was beginning to feel nauseous by the time Hawkeye's jeep skidded to a halt.
Hawkeye did not wait for the jeep to stop before jumping out of it. He crouched beside his friend and began to assess the injuries.
"Trap? Can you hear me?" Margaret crouched beside Hawkeye as he spoke to Trapper.
"Hawk?" Trapper tried to sit up.
"Hold it, Trap, relax. I'm here, and you're going to be fine. You're not injured to badly, nothing that I can't fix." Hawkeye called to Radar. "Get a stretcher over here."
Radar was already half way there, and the three staff helped the patient onto the stretcher.
"How will he be?" Margaret asked Hawkeye.
He swallowed. "He'll be fine if I have anything to do with it."
On the way back to the hospital, Hawkeye did his best to keep his friend comfortable, and Margaret gave Trapper support by holding his hand. She was cool on the outside, but on the inside she could only think of the times when she had put Trapper down, and it filled her with regret.
As the jeep swerved into the camp, Hawkeye began to reassure an unconscious Trapper. "You're going to be fine, Trap. I'll even wash my hands before I operate." He watched as the stretcher was carried away, and then headed into the Scrub room.
Inside, Margaret was already preparing for surgery. "You care about him a lot, don't you," she murmured.
Hawkeye sighed. "I could joke about it, and say that I don't know anyone else I can beat at poker. But, seriously, I don't give a monkeys about whether we operate on North, South, East or West Koreans, I don't give two cents how much filth or dirt is on the floor, in my food or in my nudity magazines, I couldn't care less if I woke up here, there or anywhere, but I sure give a damn about my best friend."
Margaret was too stunned to say anything, but had no need to as Henry Blake came in to tell them that the OR was ready. As Margaret went in, she thought about how right Hawkeye's speech was. She was missing something in her life in the war, and that was true friendship. She had Frank in her life, but Frank was not real friendship material. She was just a convenience to him. Margaret realised that she had to do something before she found herself isolated from the rest of the people in the camp.
The atmosphere in the OR was tense and concentrated. There were four members of staff at work, but the silence was such that each member felt that they were in their own solitary world.
Father Mulcahy was present in the OR. He hoped that he would not be needed, but he wanted to be there, in case. He prayed silently, asking the Lord what he should do to help Trapper and his friends.
Henry was concerned for Trapper, but also for all the other staff at the hospital. The news would be heavy for the personnel, and as CO he had to try and hold everyone together, for the sake of the wounded if any should arrive. He also had a feeling that Major Burns and possibly Major Houlihan would stir the problem, adding to his troubles.
Unknown to Henry, Major Houlihan would not be stirring, even if Frank would be. She was as concerned as the others, and deeply regretted the times that she had directed her anger towards Hawkeye and Trapper. She hoped that she would have the opportunity to make amends.
Hawkeye was concentrating so hard that he seemed to be emotionless. At the back of his mind, he remembered when his friend Tommy Gillis died. Hawkeye knew that in his skilled and capable hands, Trapper would be fine, but the thought still lingered.
After the operation, it was almost dusk. The surgeons slowly meandered out of the OR, drained from their word. Margaret and Father Mulcahy retired to their quarters, leaving Henry and Hawkeye in the Scrub room.
Henry was first to speak. "Simple surgery. Two fragments. Couple of bleeders. Nothing that couldn't be handled. Nicked the small intestine. Easy to deal with."
"Yeah," Hawkeye murmured.
"So why do I feel like I just did six hours of surgery?"
"Ten," Hawkeye corrected.
Henry paused. "He had nothing to worry about. He was being cut by the best surgeon in the whole war."
Hawkeye stood up. "I'd better go see how he is." He was about to walk out of the door, but he stopped and turned to Henry.
"What?" The colonel asked.
"It's not over," Hawkeye murmured, anger and frustration tinting his voice. He sat back down again.
"What's not over?"
"This! First, his family are killed. Then he gets shot and crashes his jeep."
"What's makes you think that there's more?"
"Ever heard the saying that bad luck always happened in threes?"
"Sure. But surely, you don't think."
"It's possible," Hawkeye finished.
"But, if it were true, what could we do? We couldn't wrap him up in cotton wool forever."
"We can't do anything. All we can do is to be there, on hand, if and when anything does happen."
"Shouldn't be too hard. We are a hospital," Henry chuckled slightly. "But seriously, do you really believe that something might happen? Surely he's been through enough already." Henry thought of something. "Perhaps his first bit of bad luck was being sent to Korea."
Hawkeye smiled at this. "If that's the case, then we're all due a bit more bad luck." He left the room and headed for Post-Op.