Exchange of Letters
Hawkeye threw down his pen and paper in frustration.
"This is insane! I've been so bored for so long that for the first time ever, I can't think of anything to put in a letter to my Dad."
"Yep, it's just another typical day in an average hellhole," said BJ towelling his hair dry and looking for a clean shirt.
"What's everyone else doing? I need inspiration."
"The colonel's grooming Sophie, Father Mulcahy's writing Sunday's sermon, and Charles is in post-op checking on our only patient. The nurses have started a competition to find the fifty most novel uses for a bedpan, and some of the guys have started a rival competition to find the fifty most novel uses for a nurse." BJ grinned. "Nothing to write home about, as they say."
"Oh, very droll," said Hawkeye. "My hilarity runneth over."
"Well if you're struggling, how about dropping a line to the high-ups at the peace talks instead? Remind them that the pen is mightier than the mortar; that sort of thing."
"Yeah, well if that were true we'd be wiping inkstains off these kids instead of digging chunks of metal out of their vital organs." Hawkeye began to pace restlessly. "We've been hearing for weeks that the peace talks are coming to an end. If it's so damn easy to start a war, why does it take so long to end one? Why the hell is it taking so long to agree to stop killing each other?"
"The devil's in the detail, I guess. Which side gets to fire the last shot and so on." BJ gave up trying to locate a shirt and put on his bathrobe instead. "Maybe we could get a head start - just sneak off home and hope nobody notices before the ceasefire becomes official."
"Fat chance. You can bet the shooting will go on right up to the final whistle – they'll want to squeeze every last casualty out of the time allowed. This lull is just an oversight on somebody's part." Hawkeye slumped back down onto his cot, eyeing his freshly-washed bunkmate sourly. "Well what are you going to do, now you're all clean and shiny?"
"I guess I'll write to Peg. Maybe my muse is more awake than yours."
Hawkeye's eyes suddenly lit up. "Hey, I know! Let's swap – I'll write to Peg and you can write to my Dad."
"What? Why?" BJ was taken completely by surprise as another of Hawkeye Pierce's Great Ideas appeared out of nowhere.
"Oh, come on, it's a great idea! You won't have to think of anything new to write - you can just re-use stuff you've already told Peg." Hawkeye was all childlike enthusiasm, his anger of a few moments before forgotten.
BJ was more cautious. "I doubt your Dad would appreciate some of the things I put in my letters to Peg," he said. "I'm also not sure it's a good idea to unleash you onto my poor unsuspecting wife, even in writing and from a distance of twelve thousand miles."
"I promise to behave," said Hawkeye, refusing to be insulted. "I shall be gallant and gracious - the epitome of etiquette."
BJ was almost convinced. "Okay then, but I have one condition."
"Name it."
"We write our own envelopes. I don't want Peg seeing handwriting she doesn't recognise and thinking something terrible happened to me."
"Sensible," conceded Hawkeye. "I have a condition too. Neither of us gets to read what the other has written."
There was a gleam in his friend's eye that made BJ wish he hadn't agreed to this. Still, it could be fun……
He gave in. "Okay, but just remember I can tell your Dad a few stories that'll make him choke on his breakfast."
BJ pulled his writing paper out of his footlocker and searched for a pen.
"Hey, what do I call your Dad?" he asked.
"Well, his name's Daniel, so I suggest you start with that. He's never met you Beej, but you can be sure he's heard all about you. In the same spirit, I am starting my letter "Dear voluptuous and soft-bodied Peg….." He ducked as a pillow flew in his direction. "Kidding!"
"I have a feeling I'm really gonna regret this," muttered BJ.
A/N : To be continued – if anyone out there wants to know what's in the letters……