Like a teenager new to awkwardly lanky limbs, Hawkeye stumbled listlessly from the operating tent before rubbing his eyes. He'd just performed over a dozen major operations and an appendectomy. Trapper walked beside him, only slightly less exhausted, if only for not being the best surgeon in the unit; every time someone in the OR missed or botched something, Pierce was called over to fix it. Hawkeye was always willing to work if there was a patient on the table, but it was in no one's best interest to have him working any more in this state.
In a flash, the relative peace of the morning was shattered. Shots rang out through the camp and bodies dropped. Pierce and Trapper ducked low, looking around for the source. It had to be a sniper from the way that the jarring cracks of the shots ricocheted off of the terrain. More bullets rained down and, one by one, personnel in the road were hit. Since a shift had just been relieved, most of the injured were doctors and nurses; Blake narrowly avoided a bullet when he leaped back into the tent he'd just left. Pierce eyed his friend and with some gesticulation, they silently agreed to each grab one of the injured and bring them to safety, if there was any.
The surgeons bolted up and went to their patients, each taking the nearest one and carrying him to the Post-Op Ward. They made it in safely, but no one could stop Hawkeye before he ran back out. Houlihan and Blake bellowed for him to return to shelter at once, but Radar and Trapper knew that he couldn't stand to be held down by gunfire while a sniper picked them off one by one like last time.
Everyone in the tent watched in petrified astonishment as the seemingly cynical, selfish, and lewd prankster dashed about, dragging everyone he could find to the nearest building. As he ran out for the third time, a bullet grazed his left thigh. He yelled and fell, but after regaining his composure, he ripped off a sleeve and tied it off, staunching the blood flow. He continued his now slowed work. Trapper was itching to get out there and help his best friend, but it was too big of a risk. If their top surgeon went down, he'd be their only hope for major surgery, especially if Blake had to keep things together and the personnel safe.
That's why Hawkeye was out there alone when he was shot for the second time.
The bullet hit like a punch to the gut when it rocketed into his right collarbone. He hit the wall of the mess hall he'd been running past. Pierce fell into it, a hesitant hand coming up to put pressure on the wound as he slowly slid to the ground.
Trapper cursed beneath his breath and shook his head before running out to his friend, wrenching himself from Henry, who had tried to stop him. The ginger bolted to Pierce and knelt in front of him.
"Hawk, you damn fool. Don't you know that your big ego makes you an easier target?"
"Good one. Very nice imagery. Really lightens the mood. You know that I could just kiss you for coming to me in my time of need, my big strong man?" Hawkeye winked and then laughed a bit, stopping when it made him wince and double over in pain. Trapper didn't like that look come across the face of such a carefree man.
What he would like even less, though, was when the shadow of a handgun crossed the injured doctor's now serious face. Trapper held still when he heard a threatening voice utter, "Don't move an inch or pretty boy gets another bullet."
"Pretty? What, me? That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think? I mean, the ladies say th-" Hawkeye was cut off by his own cry as the man above him unflinchingly shot him in the right upper arm. The fast-thinking man was instantly a silent one, swallowing his groans when the shooter menacingly held a finger up to his lips, ordering silence. The shooter's boot caught Trapper on the side of the chest as he kicked the man aside before moving to stand directly in front of his apparent target. Pierce watched warily as the man knelt in front of him with that cold gleam in his eyes.
"Major Benjamin Franklin Pierce. I advise you not to speak but to do precisely as I say. Do you understand me?"
"Well, I- I'm... not exactly sure h-how I'm supposed to... to answer that without s-speaking so, you're not real good at this, buddy, hmm?"
The man pistol-whipped him so hard that Pierce's head was smashed against the wall behind him. The doctor let his head drop and coughed. Perhaps he'd just listen for a bit.
"You're going to get up and go over to that main tent over there, the one where you do your good work, and bring your transmissions officer to me. The one with all of the intel. I believe that's your young Corporal Radar."
Hawkeye lifted his head, steadily bleeding at the temple, to glare up at his attacker. "No way am I handing over the kid. You'd have to kill me first."
The man stuck his gun under the pale doctor's chin and cocked it. "I'm perfectly willing to do just that. Now, either you bring me the kid, or I take you in his place."
Hawkeye shrugged, ignoring the fiery pain it ignited in his torso. "Sounds fun. You and me. Leave the kid out of it."
"Ooh, I got a doctor with a god complex here, huh? Fine by me, you're just as useful as he is. Just thought the infamously narcissistic Hawkeye Pierce would rather reason his way out than whore himself out to the enemy." His sneer grew. "Hey, I like a fighter. I like to break a tough one." Hawkeye's eyes widened as the man grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him up to his feet. He yelped when he was forced to put his weight on the shot leg. The man shoved him against the wall and wrapped his firm hands around the surgeon's neck, strangling him in a bruising grip. Pierce scrambled to pry the hands from choking him, but he was easily overpowered.
The man's mocking smirk melted and he snarled in apparent rage. "If I hear one more sound come from that pretty little mouth of yours, I'll shoot through one of your lungs. See how you yell when you're gurgling blood."
Pierce writhed in pain and panic as his pounding head demanded oxygen. The man tightened his grip and raised his eyebrows when the doctor wheezed beneath the crushing force.
"Shh shh shh," he coached sickeningly, "I want complete silence from you. Shh." He kept his iron grip on Hawkeye's throat as the man struggled to breathe, his eyes pleading now.
"Do you promise to be silent?"
Pierce nodded minutely, as well as he could. After a sadistically drawn-out moment, the grip was slacked and he could breathe again, shallowly. Hawkeye wheezed.
The shots were still going off, but none of them hit near enough to the scene to possibly hit Pierce's attacker. Damn. The sniper was with him. None of the other doctors moved or spoke up, not even Trapper just feet away; The man's gun was still cocked, and he was clearly very happy to shoot the head surgeon for any reason. Hawkeye's eyes fell to his friend on the ground, who met them and swallowed at the fear on his buddy's dirty face. Hawkeye looked back up at the man that still held him by the neck. The man turned and tossed Pierce to the ground. He collapsed in a heap and yelled involuntarily when it jarred his bullet wounds. The man came toward him and he tried to get up, but all he could do was drag himself away a foot or so before his attacker's boot met his ribcage with a crunch. Hawkeye cried out as a rib broke, which earned him another kick. The hits kept coming and at least four of his ribs snapped. He stopped grunting after one of the kicks knocked the wind from his lungs, and the man only added a few more for good measure.
"Silene, Pierce, that includes exclamations. I don't care if I shove a bayonet up your ass, you are not to make a sound."
Hawkeye nodded and tried not to cough up blood. It would definitely make a sound.
The man smiled and patted his head condescendingly. "Good. Get up and walk to the camp's entrance."
Pierce slowly moved to his knees and got up, wincing and biting his cheek so as to remain silent, but the man grew impatient and pulled him up by his left arm. Hawkeye staggered when shoved forward, but he dutifully and silently walked as directed. The man kept one hand tightly keeping a hold on the doctor's shoulder as they left the camp. Hawkeye glanced back toward his friends and gave them a look that said "If you die after all the hits I'm taking for this damn camp, I'll revive you to kill you myself".
Once they pair was out of sight, Trapper got up and glanced around. When he wasn't shot immediately by the sniper, he took a chance and ran over to the tent to the others. No more shots rang out once the man and his captive had cleared the area.
"I can't believe we just let that maniac kidnap one of our men! Someone ought to go after him!" Frank griped.
"Oh yeah, you gonna be da one ta go after 'em?" Trapper ran a hand through his hair.
"Well, no, I can't do that. Who else is going to operate on the wounded if I'm off chasing some trigger-happy loon?"
Henry shook his head in disbelief and gestured toward the door. "There's nothing we can to, we're outgunned and at a disadvantage here. Our top priority is tending to the patients. Hawkeye knows what he's doing." The lieutenant colonel ran a hand down his face. "I hope."
The doctors and nurses that had taken shelter now took to treating those that had been hit by the crack shot. There were many serious wounds, and Trapper, Henry, and Frank were called to a different patient at the turn of a minute. For all they knew, if they tried to leave, they'd be shot, so it was just best to work with what they had.
A hell of a lot of patients and no head surgeon.
A missing friend.
Fear.
When they got to the jeep, Hawkeye was forced into a large footlocker in the back and locked inside. He felt claustrophobic and after over an hour of being jostled in the cramped space, he could barely breathe. He was jammed in so tight that there was no way to move an inch. It was a big chest, but he was a tall guy.
This man, whoever he was, really wanted him to suffer.
The crew worked long hours to patch everyone up, but by the end, they were rewarded with a grand turnout of zero dead. No headshots had been taken.
Henry returned to his office and sat down, unimaginably exhausted after nearly 24 straight hours of surgery. Radar walked in the moment he sat down and a second before he called the corporal, which he ignored.
"Any news on Pierce?"
The young man shook his head solemnly. "No, sir. He hasn't been seen since he was led out of camp."
Blake leaned back and crossed his arms.
"If that man lays a finger on him, he'll be lucky to see the light of day again."
Radar just lowered his head. "I think it's a bit late for that, sir."
Hours passed without anything new. Henry had called everyone that could help with the abduction of his best surgeon, and all that they could do for now was to keep on keepin' on.
Weeks flew by, consisting of phone calls, search parties, and investigations. The OR was in trouble without Pierce working table to table. Stress was high.
Now it had been a little over three months since the camp had been attacked, and there was still a nervous tension. No one really knew how to interact with each other when the camp clown was MIA. Henry was almost always in his office, Radar assisting him in researching every possible reason for the attack. They figured that if they could unearth the party behind the hit, they could track down their missing man.
It wasn't working.
That's why when Trapper ran into the commanding officer's office without warning, he met a very disgruntled lieutenant colonel.
"Macintyre, what do you want?" Blake sighed around his cigar.
Trapper's expression caused him to set the cigar down, along with the papers he'd been reading. "What is it?"
Radar turned around from filing away old reports at his concerned tone to see the most terrible and wonderful expression on the surgeon's face as he answered.
"Hawkeye. The shooter brought him back. They're outside, and the guy wants you to come out."
Blake's eyes widened. "Holy smokes. Okay, uh, alright, let's go." He jumped up once he processed the bizarre news and the three men ran out.
There stood the man, feet from his jeep in the center of the camp, holding up their very own Hawkeye Pierce against his chest. The guy had a knife pressed up against the doctor's throat, his arm across Pierce's chest keeping him in place. Blake, Radar, and Trapper moved toward them to see better, carefully joining the thin crowd that still stood where the jeep had sped in minutes ago. The man holding Pierce watched them and snarled to warn them to hold still when they were close enough.
Blake blanched and Radar thought he might faint at the sight that met them there. Hawkeye was hardly standing with his own strength. He was deathly pale and so thin that he looked like he could snap. Or that he had. There were dark circles under his eyes and he appeared to be barely conscious. His hands were cuffed behind him and his head rested on the shoulder of his captor. The only reason that they could tell that he hadn't yet passed out was because he shivered. His eyes were closed.
Blake stepped forward and refused to stand down when this caused the man to draw a drop of blood from Pierce's neck with the blade. HE put his hands up and shook his head calmly.
"Now, son, I'm willing to let this slide if you just hand him over. There's no need for anyone to get hurt. Just let him go and you're in the wind."
The man smiled darkly and shrugged. "I don't need your advice, Lieutenant Colonel, I have a plan. For it to work, though, I need my boy here to stop being so childish." He shook Pierce and said to him, "Open your eyes, doctor, you're gonna wanna see this."
Pierce jolted to awareness with a flinch and fluttering eyelids. He shifted and realized that he couldn't move. The apparently exhausted man looked up at the people around him and seemed to tense up. His eyes roamed and scrutinized his surroundings for a long moment until they fell on Trapper. His breath hitched and he looked anxious.
"Oh, yes, doc, you're home at last. How's it feel to see your old pals again?"
Hawkeye just looked around at the crowd. The man holding him chuckled.
"He's not very talkative anymore, I'm afraid. My fault, really. I hate chatter."
"Except your own!" Frank stormed forward and yelled. "Hand over that Captain right now, or you'll have to deal with one very ticked-off major!"
Pierce's captor growled and grabbed a fistful of Pierce's hair, pulling his head back so that his neck was taut. The doctor's breathing picked up and he screwed his eyes shut as the man applied more pressure to the knife. There was a large drop of blood along the edge of the blade.
"Stand down or I'll bleed him dry."
Frank retreated to the crowd quickly.
"I don't want entreaties and I don't care for threats. This isn't a hostage situation, there will be no haggling. My boy here has served his purpose, and I'm done with him. I don't need an army on my back, so take the runt. He's yours." The man threw Hawkeye to the ground and leaped into his jeep, speeding away before he'd be shot. Somehow, it didn't look like an escape or a surrender. He had all the presence - and the absence - of a victor.
Hawkeye lay on his back, arms awkwardly trapped beneath him as he panted. He watched his captor speed away and looked back to the crowd, flinching when they rushed to him. Everyone stood above him in concern as Blake, Radar and Trapper kneeled beside him.
"Hell, Hawk, I thought I'd never see you again," Trapper undertoned.
Blake took off his hat in relief. "Pierce, thank heavens you're alright." He placed his hand on Hawkeye's shoulder in support.
Pierce froze and tensed up, breathing faster in panic.
"What's wrong, Hawkeye?" Henry asked with concern, pulling away.
"You shouldn't touch him, sir." Radar said quietly. "I don't think he wants to be touched."
Blake looked from his assistant to the bound man. Pierce looked so weary.
"Yeah, I think you're right." Henry looked Hawkeye in the eyes before addressing his mistake. "I'm sorry, Pierce."
Pierce just nodded slightly.
Trapper ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, we need to move him to the OR, stat. Hawk, can you walk there with some help?"
Pierce looked to the sky and shook his head.
"Is it okay if two a da guys carry you?"
He shook his head and looked up at his friend, nodding at him.
"You want me to carry you?"
Pierce nodded.
"Alright, whatever you want. Are you hurt?"
Hawkeye paused then nodded.
"Can you tell me where?"
He shook his head.
"I'll just be careful. I'm gonna pick ya up now."
Trapper was very careful, but Hawkeye gasped lightly, winced, and tensed enough times before he was situated that Trapper knew that he was hurt bad. He was placed on a table lightly.
"Okay, Hawk, I'm gonna have to take off your clothes to see what's wrong."
Pierce shook his head in slight panic.
"No, it's okay, man, I'm not gonna hurt you. Plus, you know I won't try anything until we're back in bed." He winked at his patient.
Pierce seemed to be caught off guard, but he silently agreed with a slight nod.
Trapper smiled a little and nodded in affirmation. He put on a pair of sterile gloves and got a pair of shears. The doctor carefully cut off his friend's dirty shirt, continuing to his undershirt. When the cloth was removed, he froze, setting down the scissors and staring at the body he'd uncovered.
Wounds, scarred, scabbed, and fresh, littered his chest and arms. There were those two-months-old bullet wounds, along with cuts from knives, burns, and apparent... whip lashes. He was also severely bruised. Now Trapper also noticed the bruising around his neck.
"Aw hell, Hawk, what happened to you?" He watched his friend's face as Pierce looked down, then back to him. Hawkeye just stared at him solemnly.
"Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say."