1 Hawkeye Pierce, BFF
The 4077th had not yet awoken on the spring morning when the Chinese advanced. Not one of the men heard the oncoming steps of the enemy, ever closer to the peaceful MASH unit. Not even Radar could see the coming disaster that was inevitably upon them. Suddenly the whizzing of bullets and report of enemy rifles penetrated the crisp morning air. Screams from the camp's occupants erupted throughout the compound as they rushed from their tents and into the deadly rain of shells.
He stood there, watching. Watching as his beloved friends, beloved lives, were blown away. He was powerless to stop it. His surgical abilities had no influence over the invading Chinese army that steadily marched onward through his dreams. He saw as Margaret Hulihan emerged from Post-Op, running towards him, calling his name. She was shot down before she made it to where he quietly watched.
Colonel Potter's puzzled face looked up a moment from his office door to where he stood. A large Chinese ran him through and moved on to a small, young man. Radar only looked up at him hopefully as the soldier shot him.
He watched as several more of his friends looked at him expectantly then fell at the feet of the enemy. B.J. as well. His best friend only stood there, watching him as though he was supposed to be able to stop the horror, the madness, and make everything better again. Seeing that he did noting, B.J. hung his head and opened his arms wide for the barrel aimed at him, accepting the death that flew at him with the explosion of the gun.
"B.J.!" He cried.
"B.J.!" Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce sat up in his army cot, screaming at the top of his lungs.
"Hawkeye! Hawkeye stop!" A voice commanded from beside him. Only then did Hawkeye realize he was in the Swamp, the lights turned on, and his tent mates were staring at him. "Jeez, Hawk, you sounded like someone was tearing your heart out!" B.J. panted.
"Someone was." Hawkeye wanted to answer, but he kept the terror to himself.
"Yes, Pierce, please learn to have nightmares more quietly. How can we sleep with you screaming for mommy whenever something goes bump in the night?" Charles Winchester grumbled from the cot across the tent.
"Knock it off, Charles, or you will find my socks down your throat." Hawkeye shouted.
"Hey, Hawk, lets keep down the volume of retaliations, shall we? It isn't morning for the rest of the camp." B.J. said. He turned away from Hawkeye and went back to his own cot and pulled out one of his hundreds of letters from his family.
"It isn't morning for me, either!" Charles said. "I was in OR for seven hours past my shift while you two duffle bags were in here drinking yourselves sick! That is probably why your nightmare occurred in the first place!" Charles pulled the thin blanket up over his head and flopped back down on his side.
There was no way Hawkeye was going to try to sleep again that night, so he pulled on his red robe and got out of bed, heading towards the still. He allowed a little of the homemade gin to slowly burn its way down his throat, soothing his nerves.
"Want some of the latest brew?" He asked B.J.
"Well, judging by the hoarseness of your voice, I'd say it is a good one. I'll take a dry martini, bartender."
Hawkeye filled another glass and came to sit on B.J.'s cot. "Dirt dry, good sir."
B.J. took the glass and slowly sipped it, reading the several-paged letter.
"What's happening stateside?" Hawkeye asked.
"Not much. Peg is really good at writing several paragraphs of nothing several times." B.J. looked up at his friend. "You okay?"
"Me? I'm fine, Beej. Must be the new underwear we used to filter the still with."
"Hawk, you didn't drink anything before you fell asleep." B.J. pressed.
"Fumes, then." Hawkeye was obviously trying to avoid the real problem and B.J. thought it futile to pursue his friend's ailment any farther.
"Alright. I'm going back to bed then." He turned off the light and stuffed his letter under his pillow. "We have early duty, Hawk, get some sleep."
Hawkeye rose but only to pick up B.J.'s glass and set the two down beside the still. He then left the Swamp in search of something to keep him occupied.
The dark night seemed to make the shadows less friendly as he walked around the compound. The army tents seemed to loom out at him, ready to pounce. The large hospital building was but a pit of never ending darkness. Hawkeye stood a moment and looked at this building. He did all his work in there. God, how he hated this place. He hated himself for being there, for doing what he did. He valued life so much, which is why had become a surgeon. But then the war had started and he was sent out to save the lives of the wounded, but all he was really doing was fixing weapons that went back out to kill.
Hawkeye froze as he heard a gasp behind him.
"Great Beelzebub, Pierce! Why in the hell are you walking around scaring the shorts off people?" Roared Potter's southern voice.
Hawkeye turned around, grateful that he was at least being yelled at in English. "Sorry, Colonel, but I couldn't help myself. And hello Potter's shadow."
Someone stood next to Potter, half hidden in darkness. "Hello, Hawkeye." Came the dry, rather dull voice of the Army psychiatrist Sydney Freedman.
"You two off to a poker party I wasn't invited to?" Hawkeye asked.
"Without you? Never." Sydney put a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder. "Besides, the Colonel would beat me by pure rank."
"He does smell a little old but there is no need for that." Hawkeye smiled.
"Button your lips, Pierce, before I do it for you." The 4077th's CO ordered. Hawkeye did, not really caring to feel the rough end of Potter's tongue.
"We are just going for a night cap. Would you like to join us?" Sydney offered.
"Sorry, my stomach will no longer take anything that actually tastes like gin." Hawkeye turned away and made his way to Post-Op.
The 4077th had not yet awoken on the spring morning when the Chinese advanced. Not one of the men heard the oncoming steps of the enemy, ever closer to the peaceful MASH unit. Not even Radar could see the coming disaster that was inevitably upon them. Suddenly the whizzing of bullets and report of enemy rifles penetrated the crisp morning air. Screams from the camp's occupants erupted throughout the compound as they rushed from their tents and into the deadly rain of shells.
He stood there, watching. Watching as his beloved friends, beloved lives, were blown away. He was powerless to stop it. His surgical abilities had no influence over the invading Chinese army that steadily marched onward through his dreams. He saw as Margaret Hulihan emerged from Post-Op, running towards him, calling his name. She was shot down before she made it to where he quietly watched.
Colonel Potter's puzzled face looked up a moment from his office door to where he stood. A large Chinese ran him through and moved on to a small, young man. Radar only looked up at him hopefully as the soldier shot him.
He watched as several more of his friends looked at him expectantly then fell at the feet of the enemy. B.J. as well. His best friend only stood there, watching him as though he was supposed to be able to stop the horror, the madness, and make everything better again. Seeing that he did noting, B.J. hung his head and opened his arms wide for the barrel aimed at him, accepting the death that flew at him with the explosion of the gun.
"B.J.!" He cried.
"B.J.!" Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce sat up in his army cot, screaming at the top of his lungs.
"Hawkeye! Hawkeye stop!" A voice commanded from beside him. Only then did Hawkeye realize he was in the Swamp, the lights turned on, and his tent mates were staring at him. "Jeez, Hawk, you sounded like someone was tearing your heart out!" B.J. panted.
"Someone was." Hawkeye wanted to answer, but he kept the terror to himself.
"Yes, Pierce, please learn to have nightmares more quietly. How can we sleep with you screaming for mommy whenever something goes bump in the night?" Charles Winchester grumbled from the cot across the tent.
"Knock it off, Charles, or you will find my socks down your throat." Hawkeye shouted.
"Hey, Hawk, lets keep down the volume of retaliations, shall we? It isn't morning for the rest of the camp." B.J. said. He turned away from Hawkeye and went back to his own cot and pulled out one of his hundreds of letters from his family.
"It isn't morning for me, either!" Charles said. "I was in OR for seven hours past my shift while you two duffle bags were in here drinking yourselves sick! That is probably why your nightmare occurred in the first place!" Charles pulled the thin blanket up over his head and flopped back down on his side.
There was no way Hawkeye was going to try to sleep again that night, so he pulled on his red robe and got out of bed, heading towards the still. He allowed a little of the homemade gin to slowly burn its way down his throat, soothing his nerves.
"Want some of the latest brew?" He asked B.J.
"Well, judging by the hoarseness of your voice, I'd say it is a good one. I'll take a dry martini, bartender."
Hawkeye filled another glass and came to sit on B.J.'s cot. "Dirt dry, good sir."
B.J. took the glass and slowly sipped it, reading the several-paged letter.
"What's happening stateside?" Hawkeye asked.
"Not much. Peg is really good at writing several paragraphs of nothing several times." B.J. looked up at his friend. "You okay?"
"Me? I'm fine, Beej. Must be the new underwear we used to filter the still with."
"Hawk, you didn't drink anything before you fell asleep." B.J. pressed.
"Fumes, then." Hawkeye was obviously trying to avoid the real problem and B.J. thought it futile to pursue his friend's ailment any farther.
"Alright. I'm going back to bed then." He turned off the light and stuffed his letter under his pillow. "We have early duty, Hawk, get some sleep."
Hawkeye rose but only to pick up B.J.'s glass and set the two down beside the still. He then left the Swamp in search of something to keep him occupied.
The dark night seemed to make the shadows less friendly as he walked around the compound. The army tents seemed to loom out at him, ready to pounce. The large hospital building was but a pit of never ending darkness. Hawkeye stood a moment and looked at this building. He did all his work in there. God, how he hated this place. He hated himself for being there, for doing what he did. He valued life so much, which is why had become a surgeon. But then the war had started and he was sent out to save the lives of the wounded, but all he was really doing was fixing weapons that went back out to kill.
Hawkeye froze as he heard a gasp behind him.
"Great Beelzebub, Pierce! Why in the hell are you walking around scaring the shorts off people?" Roared Potter's southern voice.
Hawkeye turned around, grateful that he was at least being yelled at in English. "Sorry, Colonel, but I couldn't help myself. And hello Potter's shadow."
Someone stood next to Potter, half hidden in darkness. "Hello, Hawkeye." Came the dry, rather dull voice of the Army psychiatrist Sydney Freedman.
"You two off to a poker party I wasn't invited to?" Hawkeye asked.
"Without you? Never." Sydney put a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder. "Besides, the Colonel would beat me by pure rank."
"He does smell a little old but there is no need for that." Hawkeye smiled.
"Button your lips, Pierce, before I do it for you." The 4077th's CO ordered. Hawkeye did, not really caring to feel the rough end of Potter's tongue.
"We are just going for a night cap. Would you like to join us?" Sydney offered.
"Sorry, my stomach will no longer take anything that actually tastes like gin." Hawkeye turned away and made his way to Post-Op.