This is the story of a soldier who passed through the 4077. It is not
really a story of his time at the M*A*S*H, but more one of how things
affected him. There is some strong language that is used, so if you are
easily offended do not read this. I own nothing but my ideas.
Cate
********************
What's That Sound?
We were walking down the road. Me and the guys. Joshing. Thinking about anything and everything other than where we were. You can call it absentmindedness if you like. I call it distraction. Distraction from the fucking hell we were in. That was the day none of us were really on the lookout. Miller was thinking about his girl at home I think. He didn't make it that day, so nobody really knows. Neither did Sammy or the Lieutenant. Bloody ambush. That's what got them. I certainly wasn't thinking about anything that would prompt me to run for cover when the mortars hit. Miller dragged me down one minute, and then the next he was there, just staring at me, with a bullet through his head. The mortars came and came. All that day I had been thinking about my little son. Jimmy. Just one exactly, that day. That day was also my first in country.that's right I'd never fucking even met my own goddamn son. I do hold some grudges if you know what I mean.against Uncle Sam and all that. The year was 1952. Anyway. We were walking down the road, and all of a sudden I am pulled down. Only then do I hear the mortars being shot off and landing, and only then did I hear the explosions and see the dirt and bodies flying up in the air. I think there was a cow too.but I cannot be too certain these days. The year is now 1968.my son fucking joined up.the army.just like his pop. It's his seventeenth birthday today. God bless him.protect him.he's off somewhere dangerous.Viet Nam for sure.get those pinkos I would have said twenty years ago.not anymore.now its no war.no fighting.I support my son as a soldier only. I will still go to the anti- war rallies.I plan to be in DC sometime protesting.hopefully. Back to when I was injured. I felt something.and then nothing. I remember random faces over me, and then more nothing. We had been ambushed. I remember waking up in a strange room.post op of some dumpy M*A*S*H unit I think. I had been carried off the battlefield by Johnson and Taylor. I was told half my unit was on the ambulance with me, the rest were dead.a couple of them made it off scott free I think.Pennington and Karlow.damn bastards. The hospital was not much. I had shrapnel all over me.face back arms legs belly.everywhere. A bullet went in my thigh, shattering the bone. I still have a limp all these years later. There were other things too.but not as bad. I have scars. Lots of scars. From this forgotten war. I got the draft notice right after Betty told me she was pregnant. I went off to basics begrudgingly, but I went, not exactly sure what I was fighting for.I just knew it was against those red commies... Those doctors did a damn good job of putting me together though. I have some of the shrapnel they took out of me.the bullet too. There were two docs in particular that stick out to me still today. One fought to repair my leg bone so it could be set.I hated him for the scar he left.but thanked him for saving my leg.his best friend, one who had a daughter around Jimmy's age took extra patients so that I could walk, albeit with a limp. God bless them. You'd think I'd hate the people who injured me.wounded me.whatever. No.because they had no choice. We were on two separate sides of a fight to the death that ended in a fucking stalemate.it was not his fault This doctor who operated on me.his name was Pierce I think.damn good fellow. When I woke up from the escapade.I was unconscious for a long time.he greeted me in a Groucho nose and glasses. It was great. Hunnicutt.the one with the daughter..was real nice about everything too. I hope somehow Jimmy and his daughter hook up. The chow was better than the c-rations we ate daily. I was at the M*A*S*H for two weeks.then it was rehab in Seoul. Then more rehab in Tokyo. I was on crutches until my son's fourth birthday. Those doctors were great at that place. I hope if the communists injure my son he gets doctors like that. I hope they don't take his leg if it comes to that.if they must leave him with a stub so he can get a prosthetic.they have some good ones out these days.look damn near real. You could say I got hardened by my participation in the police action.war as id say.sure I did.but those doctors removed a layer of something.the layer of hatred I had for those who wounded me..which revealed acceptance of the fact and a full embracement of life and the anti war mindset. I hope my son comes back equally scarred and enlightened so that he can realize that war is not the best answer.
Cate
********************
What's That Sound?
We were walking down the road. Me and the guys. Joshing. Thinking about anything and everything other than where we were. You can call it absentmindedness if you like. I call it distraction. Distraction from the fucking hell we were in. That was the day none of us were really on the lookout. Miller was thinking about his girl at home I think. He didn't make it that day, so nobody really knows. Neither did Sammy or the Lieutenant. Bloody ambush. That's what got them. I certainly wasn't thinking about anything that would prompt me to run for cover when the mortars hit. Miller dragged me down one minute, and then the next he was there, just staring at me, with a bullet through his head. The mortars came and came. All that day I had been thinking about my little son. Jimmy. Just one exactly, that day. That day was also my first in country.that's right I'd never fucking even met my own goddamn son. I do hold some grudges if you know what I mean.against Uncle Sam and all that. The year was 1952. Anyway. We were walking down the road, and all of a sudden I am pulled down. Only then do I hear the mortars being shot off and landing, and only then did I hear the explosions and see the dirt and bodies flying up in the air. I think there was a cow too.but I cannot be too certain these days. The year is now 1968.my son fucking joined up.the army.just like his pop. It's his seventeenth birthday today. God bless him.protect him.he's off somewhere dangerous.Viet Nam for sure.get those pinkos I would have said twenty years ago.not anymore.now its no war.no fighting.I support my son as a soldier only. I will still go to the anti- war rallies.I plan to be in DC sometime protesting.hopefully. Back to when I was injured. I felt something.and then nothing. I remember random faces over me, and then more nothing. We had been ambushed. I remember waking up in a strange room.post op of some dumpy M*A*S*H unit I think. I had been carried off the battlefield by Johnson and Taylor. I was told half my unit was on the ambulance with me, the rest were dead.a couple of them made it off scott free I think.Pennington and Karlow.damn bastards. The hospital was not much. I had shrapnel all over me.face back arms legs belly.everywhere. A bullet went in my thigh, shattering the bone. I still have a limp all these years later. There were other things too.but not as bad. I have scars. Lots of scars. From this forgotten war. I got the draft notice right after Betty told me she was pregnant. I went off to basics begrudgingly, but I went, not exactly sure what I was fighting for.I just knew it was against those red commies... Those doctors did a damn good job of putting me together though. I have some of the shrapnel they took out of me.the bullet too. There were two docs in particular that stick out to me still today. One fought to repair my leg bone so it could be set.I hated him for the scar he left.but thanked him for saving my leg.his best friend, one who had a daughter around Jimmy's age took extra patients so that I could walk, albeit with a limp. God bless them. You'd think I'd hate the people who injured me.wounded me.whatever. No.because they had no choice. We were on two separate sides of a fight to the death that ended in a fucking stalemate.it was not his fault This doctor who operated on me.his name was Pierce I think.damn good fellow. When I woke up from the escapade.I was unconscious for a long time.he greeted me in a Groucho nose and glasses. It was great. Hunnicutt.the one with the daughter..was real nice about everything too. I hope somehow Jimmy and his daughter hook up. The chow was better than the c-rations we ate daily. I was at the M*A*S*H for two weeks.then it was rehab in Seoul. Then more rehab in Tokyo. I was on crutches until my son's fourth birthday. Those doctors were great at that place. I hope if the communists injure my son he gets doctors like that. I hope they don't take his leg if it comes to that.if they must leave him with a stub so he can get a prosthetic.they have some good ones out these days.look damn near real. You could say I got hardened by my participation in the police action.war as id say.sure I did.but those doctors removed a layer of something.the layer of hatred I had for those who wounded me..which revealed acceptance of the fact and a full embracement of life and the anti war mindset. I hope my son comes back equally scarred and enlightened so that he can realize that war is not the best answer.