The chaplain's heartbeat accelerated as Colonel Korn's sharp voice sliced the air: "Are you and Captain Yossarian up to something?"
The sound of the captain's name caused the chaplain to swirl, his mind going blank. Oh, Yossarian. It was love at first sight. The first time A. T. Tappman saw Yossarian, he fell madly in love with him. His perfectly sculpted face, thick eyebrows, and crooked nose caught the chaplain's attention immediately. The captain's dead-set, determined gaze with those deep chocolate eyes, his dark, slightly-curly hair begging to be tugged, and his slight stubble made the chaplain grin as he imagined how coarse the scruff would feel against his face when they finally pressed their lips together...The mere thought of the handsome, perfect John Yossarian resulted in Tappman's constant stuttering and tremulous hands to become even more slurred and even more quavered.
"Captain!" Colonel Korn barked.
"Yes, sir, yes." the chaplain yapped. His face reverted to the deep shade of the tomato Colonel Cathcart had given him.
"So you ARE up to something then? Spit it out, Padre, what are you hiding?"
"N-no, sir, no! T-that's not—"
"Oh, so now you're lying to your Lieutenant Colonel?
"No, sir, I—"
"Then what are you doing?"
"I-I don't know, sir."
"You don't know much about anything."
"No, sir."
"Scram."
"Y-yes, sir." the nodded. He quickly scurried to the clearing and towards the location of his tent.
The overwhelming feeling of chagrin consumed the chaplain, the tomato color of his face lingering as the fateful conversation with Colonel Korn replayed endlessly in his foggy mind. How could he let his composure slip so shamefully in the presence of Colonel Korn? Yossarian, Yossarian-he still managed to overflow the chaplain's mind with pleasure. Their first, unforgettable encounter was on the day of the Ferrara bombing mission in which Yossarian received his medal without any clothing. The chaplain recollected biting his lip and trying not to stare as the other captain smirked at General Dreedle's utter shock. This event stood out in his mind not only because he saw the entirety of the captain's body, but as being a man who showed little confidence in himself, the dauntless and licentious attitude Yossarian bestowed filled his stomach with butterflies whose wings quavered like his hands. The same feeling washed over him at Snowden's funeral when he glanced over at the big tree to see Yossarian perched on the lowest branch, his arm conveniently covering the area below his waist. Damn.
As he entered his tent, the chaplain was greeted with an ill-tempered, short sigh from Sergeant Whitcomb.
"Look who's here." he muttered.
"Hello, Sergeant." the chaplain whispered with a forced smile, however, this smile soon faded when he glanced at his cot to see his things haphazardly thrown into a pile. "W-what's th-"
"I heard you're going on a rest leave to Rome. I gathered your things. It'll make you leave sooner." Whitcomb simpered with sadistic pleasure.
"A-a rest leave?" he asked with puzzlement.
"A few of the men are going and one of them suggested you go. Gah, I can't remember his name…Yo…Yo something."
"Yossarian?" the beat of his heart hastened.
"Yeah yeah, that's it. Now get outta here already, I want the tent to myself."
"Y-yes!" the chaplain chirped. He quickly rushed to his cot and began folding and packing his spare uniform and extra amenities. He hadn't seen Yossarian in a while and yearned to hear his hoarse voice and gruff laugh once more. Ah, Yossarian, Yossarian...
(More to come soon!)