In a Fit of Passion
Note and Disclaimer: I will always say that this wonderful series is not mine. Enjoy this new Frank short!
Dear General Barker,
We are writing today to complain about the poor service and the lack of discipline we have witnessed. It is not just from the commanding officer of the unit we serve, MASH 4077, but also from the personnel that are also on this base that Colonel Henry Blake has allowed to run without order. At this point, it merits inspection and action.
As you are well aware, Army discipline, rules and regulations must be followed, especially in a time of war. We have found, on several occasions, that all of the above has not been followed. In pointing this out have we also received the most trouble from Colonel Blake too.
Margaret and I looked over this initial piece of work, me sitting and her standing behind me. It needed some editing, I'd admit, but it was a good start. We reasoned that this was for the good of the base, not for us alone. Once General Barker realized how badly the 4077th required help, then it'll be back in tip-top shape before General MacArthur announces his Christmas truce. I was sure of it!
"Hmmm," Margaret mumbled, reading it over again. "Do you think we should include any names yet?"
"No," I replied confidentially. "I think there are too many to count."
"We can put in how the nurses fraternize with the enlisted men."
"Yes, but that puts you in a bad light, Angel."
"Oh, yes, that's right." She kissed my fingers, blackened with ink. "You're right, Frank. It will. And I want nothing to ruin my record."
"How about those jokes Pierce and McIntyre pull?"
"You can make a small list of them, Frank. General Barker can see the rest."
"And how our company clerk peeks through the hole in the nurses' shower?"
"Frank! Is that true?"
"Oh, yes." I heard the rumors, but wanted something sordid to make the twerp look bad. "Corporal O'Reilly has made a hole by the nurses' shower. Every few days, he has a raffle. He collects money and they make bets on who goes in and what shampoo and soap they use."
Margaret's face turned beet red. "Oh, those animals!"
The phrase made my stomach churn. I wasn't sick really. Just the way Margaret said it made me feel differently, in such a way that passion enveloped me. My sweet angel of mercy was pulling me in with her words of distress. Just thinking of her so disgusted with the rumors I passed on was enough to make me take her into my arms and pull her clothes apart.
"Oh, Margaret," I groaned.
She heard the longing in my voice. She lingered closer. "Do you feel it too, Frank?" she whispered in my ear.
There was no stopping us now. I got up immediately and pushed her, pinning her to the nearby cot. It was easy to rip off her uniform and make her beg for more. And that was even before I took my own clothing off! Oh, what a dream! The passion, the romance, the stars in our eyes! It was wonderful to have this woman in my arms!
Oh, Margaret! We are just meant to be!
Before long, there was a knock on the tent door. Quickly, I was up. I fiddled with my pants and shirt and began gathering Margaret's articles too. Nobody was going to catch us in this fit of passion. N-O-B-O-D-Y!
"Yeah, what is it?" I yelled.
"Major Houlihan, is that you?" It was Radar.
"Yes, it's me." Margaret got up and was dressing at the door. She was annoyed as well. "Major Burns is here with me. We are conducting some…business. What is it?"
"Phone call for you," the corporal replied. "It's from General Hammond."
"General Hammond?" Margaret was puzzled. "Are you sure? This late?"
"Yes, Ma'am," he responded. "Can I come in?"
"No!" I screamed. "We'll be out in a minute."
Margaret winked at me. We were on the same page thankfully and she did not mind me answering for her. With this new confidence on my shoulders, we exited together like we were not fondling the other, even though I never felt so close to her before. I followed Margaret into the building where the telephone was. Radar was already there and asking the other party to bring the call in. When he confirmed that an aide was on the line, he handed it to Margaret and left.
"General Hammond, what a surprise!" Margaret began animated. "What brings you to call us at this time of night?"
I heard General Hammond's muffled voice on the other end. I could not hear the words, but the tone was not happy. I heard the general lecturing Margaret about late hours and interrupting him while he was working. Margaret smiled through it all. She gently explained that she did not mean any harm and did not expect the general to be so kind concerning her call. She did not mention what this supposed late night conversation was supposed to be about and only wished him the best before hanging up.
The look of anger on my angel's face was horrible to see. When she looked at me, I thought I was going to melt into the floor. When I recounted the talk in my head, I suddenly felt the same way. We had been tricked. General Hammond did not contact us. Somebody had instigated it in her name.
"Oh, those weasels!" Margaret yelled, throwing some papers around. "They've gone too far!"
"Above and beyond!" I conceded.
"Oh, we'll get them. We'll show them who the boss is!"
"Oh, Margaret, we will! We will prevail. You'll see."
I soothed her enough to make her realize that a report still laid on the typewriter in her tent. Elated about the prospect, we retreated back there. But it was not without caution. Margaret and I were wary of the time away. We thought that there had been sabotage to the tent. We checked high and low and tested everything outside before going in. Then, I patted down and pulled out everything I could find before Margaret came inside.
The coast was clear! Nothing had been toyed with. But I was still nervous. General Hammond was on the line for us for a specific purpose. I just did not know yet.
Margaret felt the same. "Everything all set?"
"As far as I can tell," I reassured her. "I think the animals were kept in their cages."
She nodded. We resumed our positions. I reread the first two paragraphs again and started correcting a few sentences here and there. Tired of doing it in my head, I took the paper out and took a nearby pencil to edit some of it out. Margaret took over and added a few lines. We repeated the motion until we composed a masterpiece. By then, we thought it was time to type it out before sending it priority mail.
I put a new piece of paper into the machine and began using the keys. They seemed stuck together though. It was very annoying. I didn't think it was jammed enough though, since Margaret and I hardly used it. Irritated, I banged on it. When that didn't work, I took it apart.
That was when we saw that the typewriter had been fixed before I got to it. Inside, somebody had poured in strawberry jam. It was destroyed.