"You can't be serious!"
"'Fraid I am, son. I have my orders, and you have yours. Not a lot we can do about that," Colonel Potter answered bitterly. "Private Green is due to be sent back to front lines tomorrow morning, no exceptions."
Hawkeye Pierce threw up his hands in desperation, slapping them down on his sides. He sighed heavily, looking down at the young man sleeping in the cot alongside his fellow wounded. The kid was no older than nineteen, his body still a lanky boy's rather than a man's full build.
"He just-," Colonel Potter place a finger to his lips, signaling that Hawkeye quiet down. Gripping fists, the surgeon forced himself to lower his voice. "He just recovered from a broken leg and a fractured skull," Hawkeye whispered fiercely. "We'd be sending him out only to come back to us mutilated worse than a piece of meat they serve us in the mess!"
"My hands are tied and so are yours, Captain," Potter said firmly. He paused and gazed steadily at Hawkeye. "Son, how many times are we going to have this argument? We'll never win. We sow them up and send them out, and if we're lucky, we'll only see them come through here twice. There's nothing more we can do."
"This is a perfect example of the Army's version of morals," Hawkeye said, reverting back to his comfortable sarcasm. "The more wounds to make boys devilishly handsome, the better. Why, imagine the number of woman I would have swarming over me if only I had a couple of bombshells stuck in my scalp!"
"Get some rest, Hawkeye," Potter suggested, shaking his head and turning on his heel. "We've got plenty of nurses on shift for the night. Besides, Hunnicut already headed in."
"Don't want to let him get a glass ahead of me," Hawkeye agreed, and with a last sympathetic look towards the doomed Private, he strode out of Post-Op, his shoulders slumped.
&.&
Hawkeye dug his feet through the MASH unit, the world around him bluring in a mixture of exhaustion and depression. They had lost two boys in one session, putting the entire camps in a quiet, dark mood. He paused in front of the mess tent, considering feeding his complaining stomach. He debated whether his belly was any more hungry than upset, and came to the decision that the rubber meat patties he smelled were more likely to throw his body into a vicious revolt. Sighing, he continued past the loud mess-area, and continued towards the Swamp. He passed Houlihan, and his mood peaked considerably. He placed an overly-happy smile on his lips and placed an arm about her shoulders.
"Good afternoon, sweetheart," he greeted merrily. "Care to catch some bedrest in the swamp with me?" His arm was shrugged off.
"Not on your life, you self-rightious nicompoop," the woman answered sharply.
"Nicompoop? I havn't been called that since the first grade," Hawkeye laughed. "It's immature, unoriginal...I like it!"
"Go back to the Swamp, where you belong!" the Major ordered, stalking off.
"Get back to me on that offer!" Hawkeye called after her before dropping his joking demenor and slumping over again. He just didn't have the energy to keep up the demenor all day. At this point, he wasn't sure he would ever have the energy to be truly happy again