DISCLAIMER: If I owned MASH, I'd be filthy stinkin rich. Since I am not filthy stinkin rich, it can be presumed that I do not own MASH. Really bad circular reasoning, but you get my point, right?
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A friend of mine who is in the Army once told a tale similar to this. Apparently it is a common joke to play on new privates and/or supply clerks, and it seemed like something that would be right up Hawkeye's alley. Also, it was requested recently that I stop writing sad stories.
This takes place before the series, at the very beginning of the war. Written in roughly 45 minutes.
SNIPE HUNT
By Christina TM
"Radar!"
Cpl. Walter O'Reilly, known as "Radar" to his friends, shuffled across the compound. "Yes, sir?"
"Radar, you don't have to 'sir' me," Capt. Hawkeye Pierce, whose real name Radar couldn't quite remember, admonished gently.
"But they said—"
Capt. Pierce waved him off. "Forget what they said. Listen, we're low on gloves. Think you could requisition some for us?"
Radar nodded. "OK, sir." He started off toward the outer office.
"Oh, Radar?"
"Yes, sir—I mean, Capt. Pierce?"
"You'll need an ID-10 Tango form."
Radar's brow furrowed. "Huh?"
"An ID-10 Tango form," Capt. Pierce repeated.
That's weird. I never heard of one of those, Radar thought. But all he said was, "OK, Capt. Pierce."
Several minutes and a few looks through the file later had revealed no trace of the ID-10 Tango form. That's really weird, Radar thought. Well, we must have them around here somewhere. He stood up and nearly ran into Maj. Burns.
"What're you doing here, runt?" The major snarled.
Radar frowned. He didn't know Maj. Burns all that well, but he was already starting to think he didn't like the grumpy officer. "I was just looking for something," he said. "Hey, um, Maj. Burns, do you know what an ID-10 Tango form is?"
Maj. Burns paused a moment. Then he laughed and left the office.
More than a little miffed, Radar resumed his search. Maybe if he looked all the way in the back of the bottom drawer…
"Corporal!"
"Ah!" Radar jumped and banged his head on the top drawer, which he'd left open by accident. "Maj. Houlihan!"
"What are you doing in here?!"
"It's the outer office!" Radar closed the drawer and righted himself. "I work in here!" Gosh, Maj. Houlihan always seemed one step away from a tantrum.
The 4077's head nurse calmed a little. "Have you seen Maj. Burns?"
They always seem to be looking for each other, Radar observed mentally. "He just left, ma'am." He rubbed his head. "Do you know what an ID-10 Tango form is?"
Maj. Houlihan blinked. "ID-10 Tango?"
Radar nodded. "Capt. Pierce told me I needed one to requisition some gloves."
Maj. Houlihan shook her head and left the office.
"Hey, wait!" Radar called after her. Why won't anyone tell me where to find this?
About half an hour later, Radar wandered through the compound in search of Col. Blake. Surely he'd know where to find this…whatever form it was. He was so preoccupied with his walking and thinking that he barely noticed running headlong into someone.
"Oh! Radar, I'm sorry. I didn't see you."
"It's OK, father," Radar told the unit's chaplain, Fr. Mulcahy. "Um, Fr. Mulcahy, sir, do you know what a…um…" he looked at his clipboard. "ID-10 Tango form is?"
The priest smiled sympathetically and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Radar, I don't. Not my department, I'm afraid. Maybe ask Col. Blake?"
"I'm looking for him," Radar mumbled. "Thanks anyway, father."
A few more aimless steps around the compound brought Radar to Capt. McIntyre. "Capt. McIntyre?" The clerk ventured, stepping closer. Why was he turned toward the—
A pair of blue eyes peeked over the doctor's shoulder. "Oh!" Radar reeled backwards. He'd only been here a few days and this was already a common occurrence. Isn't Capt. McIntyre married? "Oh, gosh, Capt. McIntyre, I'm sorry!"
"Hey, it's all right, Radar." The captain sounded as if he'd just been caught having breakfast rather than engaged in questionable activity with Nurse Davenport. "What is it?"
"Do you know where Col. Blake is?" Radar rushed out, desperate to get away from the scene as fast as he could.
"Yeah, he's in post-op." Capt. McIntyre flicked his hand toward the tent in question.
"Thank you, sir!" Radar dashed towards the post-op tent.
"Col. Blake!" Radar panted, opening the door to the post-op tent. He'd run the whole way over. If Capt. Pierce finds out I can't requisition those gloves he'll be hopping mad!
"Radar, what on earth's wrong?" The 4077's commander asked, looking up from a patient.
"Colonel, Capt. Pierce sent me to go requisition some gloves," Radar explained. "He said I needed to use an ID-10 Tango form, but I can't find one anywhere!"
"ID-10 Tango?"
"Yes, colonel."
Col. Blake's eyes narrowed. "Radar, give me that clipboard."
Radar obediently handed over the clipboard. Col. Blake scribbled something turned the clipboard around for Radar to see. "What does that say?"
Radar frowned at the word. ID10T. "ID 10 T."
"Look at it closer."
Radar studied the scrawling. ID 10 T. ID10T.
"What word does that spell?" Col. Blake prodded.
"Idiot," Radar murmured. "Capt. Pierce thinks I'm an idiot?"
Col. Blake chuckled. "Don't be hurt, Radar. He doesn't think you're an idiot. It's one of the oldest tricks in the book. A snipe hunt: give the newcomer an imaginary task to find something that doesn't exist."
"But I'm not more of a newcomer than Capt. Pierce," Radar pointed out. "Where'd he learn that, anyway? He's only been in about as long as I have."
"I don't know, son," Col. Blake said. "But it's a trick."
"So there's no ID-10 Tango form?"
Col. Blake shook his head.
"Oh." Radar looked back at the clipboard. "So what form do I use to requisition gloves?"
"Don't ask me," Col. Blake muttered, handing back the clipboard.
"OK, sir," Radar shuffled out of the tent, feeling a little embarrassed.
"Oh, and Radar?"
Radar turned back.
An amused glint lit Col. Blake's eyes. "When Capt. Pierce asks you about the form, here's what I want you to tell him."
Later that evening Hawkeye casually pushed open the door to the outer office with every intention of having mercy on the little Iowan corporal. "Hey, Radar. You find that ID-10 Tango form yet?"
Radar barely looked up from whatever he was working on. "Uh, yes sir."
Hawkeye felt his eyebrows rise. "Oh, really?"
"Yes." Radar glanced up. "It was in the bottom drawer. Right next to the BA-1100 November forms."
Hawkeye narrowed his eyes. "BA-1100 November, huh?"
Radar nodded. "Mm-hm."
The Northeastern surgeon regarded his unit's clerk for a moment—he'd already discovered Radar's abilities to find just about anything, but even Radar couldn't find a form that didn't exist. Then, without a word, he walked back to the Swamp.
"Hey, Hawk," Trapper greeted. "How'd that trick work?"
"Trap, you ever hear of a BA-1100 November form?" Hawkeye sat on his cot and pulled out a sheet of paper.
"Probably," Trapper said. "I lost track of all those names."
Hawkeye wrote the word out. BA1100N.
"Why you askin'?" Trapper wondered.
Hawkeye looked at the word in front of him Balloon.
"Hawk?"
A wry smile spread across the captain's face. Radar was obviously far better than Hawkeye had given him credit for.