Captain Pierce looked up from the latest 'Stars and Stripes' at the
sound of the cheap screen door being pushed open, wincing slightly at the
high-pitched squeak produced by the rusted spring.
"Hey Trapp," he lazily greeted his tent mate, going back to the paper. Trapper shuffled across the tent with a letter in one hand and a bottle in the other. "Whacha got there?"
"Letter," he replied simply, still reading. He propped himself up on the stove in the center of the Swamp, which gave a low metallic groan under his weight. "Listen to this; 'Dear Doctor McIntyre, I cannot begin to express how grateful I am that you have sent my son home alive and well. Ever since his father passed away, he has been all I have and I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't taken care of him. I know it isn't much, but I've sent along a bottle of the best brandy I could find. A tiny fraction of my thanks to you, doctor. Signed Mrs. Nancy Roberts.'"
At the mention of brandy, Hawkeye suddenly became very bored with the paper. The other Captain was inspecting the amber liquid when he noticed Pierce's gaze was also fixed on the bottle.
"No," Trapper gave a firm answer before Hawkeye could even ask the question.
"Aw, c'mon-"
"No way, Hawk. Last time I was mailed booze, you played a drinking game while I was on shift. 'How many things in this tent are green', remember that game?" He backed away from his companion slowly, holding the brandy behind his back.
"I forget that one, I must've been drunk." He stood up, inching closer with one arm outstretched.
"Either way, you're not getting any."
"Trapper," Hawkeye pouted, taking another step forward.
"No!' McIntyre turned around to put the bottle away in his footlocker, so Captain Pierce took the opportunity to attack. With a loud battle cry, he jumped onto Trapper's back, reaching over him at the brandy. The other doctor yelped in surprise and he attempted to struggle free, twisting around and clawing at the man on his back. "Lemme go!"
"Never!" Hawkeye locked his ankles around Trapper's waist, hoping that maybe if he squeezed him hard enough, he might give in. McIntyre growled, attempting to pull at the heavy combat boots of his attacker and keep the bottle out of his reach at the same time.
Outside, a soldier on his way to the latrine suddenly looked up, trying to find the source of a rather loud crash. After noticing that the screams and clatters were coming from the Swamp, he shrugged, and continued on his way.
"Give it!"
"Get off me!" Trapper decided that he needed a more offensive method of fighting back, so when he got close enough, he fell back onto the nearest cot -- Frank's -- and tried to crush Pierce beneath him, dropping the brandy in the process with a heavy thunk as it rolled under the bunk. Hawkeye released his death grip and squirmed out from under his friend, then moved on top of him, sitting on his stomach with each leg swung over opposite sides of McIntyre. Trapper gave a strangled laugh as the full weight of his friend was pressed on him. "It's under the bed," He said, before Hawkeye could resume his assault.
"Aw..." Pierce dropped his shoulders as he sighed and let himself fall forward, his head coming to rest under Trapper's chin.
"You're heavy," McIntyre groaned, shifting underneath Hawkeye to find a comfortable position after noticing that his legs were beginning to fall asleep.
"Hm," was the only reply. There was a moment or two of silence, then "You smell nice."
The very second that the door squeaked again, Hawkeye decided to discontinue that train of thought.
"Sirs..." Radar stepped in, flipped through envelopes in the large canvas bag over his shoulder.
"Brandy!" Hawkeye screamed, and pulled Trapped with him as he rolled off the cot. The pair of Captains landed rather painfully on the fibreboard flooring. It might've been a good cover if anyone but the somewhat- telepathic Radar O'Riley had walked in. A pretending-to-be-confused Corporal looked down at them. He wondered if they even knew yet.
"Mail call, sirs..." He said quietly.
"My... brandy!" Trapper attempted to pull his tent mates reaching arms out from under the bed, finding it to be a great struggle. They kicked and grappled at each other, shouting various threats the whole time. Radar smiled to himself. Dropping the letters on the shelf by the door, he left to continue his work.
"Hey Trapp," he lazily greeted his tent mate, going back to the paper. Trapper shuffled across the tent with a letter in one hand and a bottle in the other. "Whacha got there?"
"Letter," he replied simply, still reading. He propped himself up on the stove in the center of the Swamp, which gave a low metallic groan under his weight. "Listen to this; 'Dear Doctor McIntyre, I cannot begin to express how grateful I am that you have sent my son home alive and well. Ever since his father passed away, he has been all I have and I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't taken care of him. I know it isn't much, but I've sent along a bottle of the best brandy I could find. A tiny fraction of my thanks to you, doctor. Signed Mrs. Nancy Roberts.'"
At the mention of brandy, Hawkeye suddenly became very bored with the paper. The other Captain was inspecting the amber liquid when he noticed Pierce's gaze was also fixed on the bottle.
"No," Trapper gave a firm answer before Hawkeye could even ask the question.
"Aw, c'mon-"
"No way, Hawk. Last time I was mailed booze, you played a drinking game while I was on shift. 'How many things in this tent are green', remember that game?" He backed away from his companion slowly, holding the brandy behind his back.
"I forget that one, I must've been drunk." He stood up, inching closer with one arm outstretched.
"Either way, you're not getting any."
"Trapper," Hawkeye pouted, taking another step forward.
"No!' McIntyre turned around to put the bottle away in his footlocker, so Captain Pierce took the opportunity to attack. With a loud battle cry, he jumped onto Trapper's back, reaching over him at the brandy. The other doctor yelped in surprise and he attempted to struggle free, twisting around and clawing at the man on his back. "Lemme go!"
"Never!" Hawkeye locked his ankles around Trapper's waist, hoping that maybe if he squeezed him hard enough, he might give in. McIntyre growled, attempting to pull at the heavy combat boots of his attacker and keep the bottle out of his reach at the same time.
Outside, a soldier on his way to the latrine suddenly looked up, trying to find the source of a rather loud crash. After noticing that the screams and clatters were coming from the Swamp, he shrugged, and continued on his way.
"Give it!"
"Get off me!" Trapper decided that he needed a more offensive method of fighting back, so when he got close enough, he fell back onto the nearest cot -- Frank's -- and tried to crush Pierce beneath him, dropping the brandy in the process with a heavy thunk as it rolled under the bunk. Hawkeye released his death grip and squirmed out from under his friend, then moved on top of him, sitting on his stomach with each leg swung over opposite sides of McIntyre. Trapper gave a strangled laugh as the full weight of his friend was pressed on him. "It's under the bed," He said, before Hawkeye could resume his assault.
"Aw..." Pierce dropped his shoulders as he sighed and let himself fall forward, his head coming to rest under Trapper's chin.
"You're heavy," McIntyre groaned, shifting underneath Hawkeye to find a comfortable position after noticing that his legs were beginning to fall asleep.
"Hm," was the only reply. There was a moment or two of silence, then "You smell nice."
The very second that the door squeaked again, Hawkeye decided to discontinue that train of thought.
"Sirs..." Radar stepped in, flipped through envelopes in the large canvas bag over his shoulder.
"Brandy!" Hawkeye screamed, and pulled Trapped with him as he rolled off the cot. The pair of Captains landed rather painfully on the fibreboard flooring. It might've been a good cover if anyone but the somewhat- telepathic Radar O'Riley had walked in. A pretending-to-be-confused Corporal looked down at them. He wondered if they even knew yet.
"Mail call, sirs..." He said quietly.
"My... brandy!" Trapper attempted to pull his tent mates reaching arms out from under the bed, finding it to be a great struggle. They kicked and grappled at each other, shouting various threats the whole time. Radar smiled to himself. Dropping the letters on the shelf by the door, he left to continue his work.