Fool Me Once
"It's an April Fools' Day prank," Hawkeye insisted as Klinger slopped something brown and gooey onto his tray.
"If you say so, Sir."
Klinger, the nut of the outfit, humoring him. That couldn't be good. "I mean, don't you think so?"
"I really wouldn't know, Captain," Klinger said.
Hawkeye was well aware he was holding up the chow line, but he felt that he needed to lay out the facts in support of his theory. "It's really the only explanation, Klinger. Tomorrow's April 1st, ergo… April Fools' joke. And a good one, I might add. I gotta give credit where credit is due. Although I'm not sure yet who I'm crediting… But you and I both know the prime suspect is that demented prankster extraordinaire, B.J. Hunnicutt."
Klinger was just standing there nodding, his ladle dripping brown stuff.
Hawkeye cocked his head to one side. "You don't think it's a prank?" he asked. "You think this is for real?"
To his left, Margaret interrupted, "Pierce, can we move it along? Some of us haven't eaten yet today, thanks to that ungodly long OR shift. Even this slop is looking pretty good right about now."
He absently waved a hand in her direction, his focus still on Klinger. "You know something, don't you, Klinger?"
Klinger shrugged. "All I know, Captain, is that I was there when the orders arrived. They looked official to me. Right down to General Clayton's actual, honest-to-God signature. Trust me, Sir… I've seen it many times, and that was his signature."
Hawkeye had to admit, the orders did look legit. If this was indeed the work of a joker, that person had gone to quite a lot of trouble to make everything look authentic. When he'd read the orders in Potter's office less than a half hour ago, he'd been shaking. At the time, it had certainly seemed real.
Then, of course, he had remembered what day it was. March 31. Only hours away from the biggest practical-joking day of the year.
"Pierce!" The boom of Col. Potter's voice yanked him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Potter heading toward him, gesturing at his tray of goop that was supposedly passing for food. "You don't have time for chow! You should be packing your bags. What part of 'effective immediately' was unclear?"
The chow line had ground to a halt, thanks to him, and now people were staring at him, wondering what the hell was going on. Margaret asked, "Packing to go where? What's going on, Pierce?"
He tried a nonchalant chuckle and it failed, sounding downright pitiful. Truth was, he was scared. The idea that this wasn't a joke was starting to seem very possible. "Oh, it's hardly worth mentioning, really," he explained. "Apparently I'm being transferred—permanently—to the 8063rd. At least, that's what the orders from HQ would have us believe."
Margaret gasped. "You're… leaving?"
"Frankly, I think it's just one colossal practical joke for April Fools—"
Potter cut him off. "I told you, Pierce, it's no joke. Those were real orders, from the real HQ, with a real signature from General Clayton. You know, the General Clayton who tells us what to do? Now get cracking and get packing! You can have dinner when you get to your new camp."
Your new camp. Hawkeye's shoulders drooped and he put down his tray in defeat. He really was being transferred. How on earth was he supposed to survive at a new unit? He didn't exactly love it here, but his friends were here… his family, truth be told. And now he was being forced to pick up and leave them? Oh, he knew some of the folks at the 8063rd… they'd been here for visits, he'd been there. They were all right, but they weren't the quirky, wacky, lovable motley crew of the mighty 4077th. He just couldn't imagine working with anyone else. If he had to be in Korea—and apparently he did—then at least give him the choice of serving here, with these people.
"Colonel, I—" he started to protest, but Potter knew him all too well.
"Son, I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now, very sympathetic. "I hate to see you go, you know that. But I can't disobey orders. And neither can you. Don't make this even harder by turning into Captain Belligerent. Now go on… get moving. I have to make sure you're on your way to the 8063rd by 1900, or both our butts will be in a sling."
He put a paternal arm around Hawkeye's shoulders and walked him out of the mess tent, as Margaret and the others in the chow line made sounds of surprise and dismay.
Potter gently pushed him toward the Swamp with repeated orders to get ready to go, pointing at his wristwatch to drive home his point. Hawkeye stepped in to his tent and narrowed his eyes at B.J., who was sipping gin as he lounged on his cot.
"It's you, isn't it?" was all he said.
B.J. sat up. "Hawk, how many times do I have to tell you? I am not pulling a practical joke on you that gets you transferred to another unit! My plan for tomorrow was a lot less elaborate: I was going to short-sheet your bed while you were in the shower. I know how lame that sounds, but it's the sad truth. I've run out of ammunition… we've already played all our truly good nasty tricks on each other."
Hawkeye slumped onto his cot and stared at the footlocker and duffle bag that he was supposed to be packing up with all his belongings. He glanced at the still and groaned. Insult meet injury: he was going to have to part with his baby.
"God," B.J. said, his voice getting thick with emotion, "I'm going to miss you, Hawk. I can't believe I'm gonna have to do this alone."
Hawkeye gestured in the general direction of the third cot in the room. "You'll still have Winchester."
B.J. only scoffed. No verbal response necessary.
"Potter says we can't fight it. Orders are orders." With a heavy sigh, he began to halfheartedly fold up some clothing and shove it into the duffle. "I don't know, Beej… this doesn't seem real. It's crazy. I'm going to miss this place and these people, and especially you."
"We'll talk on the phone. Often," B.J. promised.
Hawkeye let out a shaky breath. Surely tears were bound to come next—except a P.A. announcement intruded on their moment, blaring through the camp: "Attention all personnel! But not you, Hawkeye—Col. Potter says you're supposed to keep packing. Everyone else: to the OR on the double! We've got wounded."
Hawkeye's mood shifted from sorrow to outrage in an instant. "Shit! Now I don't even get any kind of farewell—you'll all be in the OR when I leave!"
B.J. put down his glass and went to him, pulling him into a hug. "I can't believe this, Hawk," he repeated.
"Yeah, there's a lot of that going around," Hawkeye sniffled. There seemed little else to say—or maybe too much to say, and he found that nothing would actually come out of his mouth. Instead he clapped his friend on the back a few times and then let him go. He watched as B.J. rushed out to the OR.
He was, as ordered, ready to leave by 1900. The jeep was idling outside the Swamp, the driver watching him intently, as if Potter had arranged for an eagle-eyed chaperone ready for anything… and maybe he had. Hawkeye threw his bags and footlocker in the backseat and said, with a weight on his chest, "To the 8063rd, please."
He nearly lost his composure when they drove beneath the sign that read Best Care Anywhere. He furiously wiped at his eyes, not wanting to look like a complete sap in front of the young driver. His thoughts were frantic: If it's an April Fools' prank, they won't let me get out of camp. The jeep will stop in a few more feet… it'll stop here… it'll stop right there past Rosie's… it'll stop… it'll stop.
The jeep never stopped, and they arrived at the 8063rd in record time. Hawkeye couldn't remember being this depressed since the day he'd landed in Korea… except, of course, for the day that Henry Blake died. He was so drained he couldn't even get out of the jeep. He just sat there after they came to a stop… sat there and stared around at his new home.
New home.
He wasn't going to like them… they weren't going to like him… they weren't going to appreciate his sense of humor. It was going to be awkward and uncomfortable. It was going to be hell.
He drew a deep breath and tried to psych himself up for this, when suddenly the company clerk came out of his office and headed toward the jeep at a jog. He had a sheepish expression on his face, and Hawkeye's heart began to drum a little faster. There was something about the kid's body language… something that told Hawkeye this was a practical joke after all. It had to be. He could feel it.
He sat up straight, his leg bouncing up and down out of nervousness, and the kid approached the jeep with a telegram in hand. "Sorry, Sir," he said, that sheepish look never once leaving his face, and he handed the note to Hawkeye.
Elated by what seemed to be the culmination of a harrowing prank, Hawkeye took the note and read: April Fools, Pierce! Did I get you good—huh, did I? Ha ha ha! Signed, Lt. Col. Frank Burns.
About a million different emotions flooded Hawkeye all at once. Sheer delight that it was true—that he was going to be able to head back home to his beloved 4077th… complete shock and disbelief that it'd been ferret-face Frank Burns behind the extravagant practical joke… anger that the Stateside weasel had put him through this torment…
But he shook his head, ridding himself of every thought and feeling except the most important one: this was over. He could go back home and rejoin his family.
Somehow he managed to find his voice, and he told the company clerk, "Thanks, Corporal. This wasn't your fault… I understand. Sorry you had to get dragged into it."
"Safe trip back, Sir," was all the kid said, and he saluted as the driver started up the jeep again.
It took a second, but Hawkeye remembered how to salute in response. Yeah, this place would've been a bad fit for him, that's for sure.
Once he was happily back at the 4077th, safe and sound and Swamp-bound, the first thing he did was pour himself a drink from the still. "Hey baby," he purred to the contraption, "did you miss me?"
A few minutes later, when B.J. returned from surgery, he did a double- and then triple-take when he saw his former—and now current—tentmate lying on his bunk. Hawkeye filled him in on all the details after an exuberant hug-fest, using a wide array of curse words to punctuate his story. Frank's name had never been taken in vain in such creative ways before.
As he unpacked his clothing, tossing it onto the filthy floor in wads, Hawkeye grumbled, "Who the hell pulls an April Fools' prank from 10,000 miles away?"
"Hey, the man never was the sharpest instrument on the tray, you know that. Anyway, at this point, I don't care," B.J. beamed with his blinding smile. "I'm just glad you're back!"
It was about the 50th time he'd said it. Despite the cloud of outrage hovering over his head, Hawkeye couldn't help smiling. "I'm glad to be back, Beej."
Klinger interrupted with a knock on the door. "Hey hey!" he exclaimed as he stepped in, his arms thrust out for a bear hug, and Hawkeye obliged. "You were right… just one big April Fools' Day joke! How could I have doubted you? We're all happy it turned out this way, Captain."
"Nobody's more delighted than I am, Klinger," Hawkeye said in all sincerity.
"Unfortunately…" Klinger began, waving a piece of paper that he held in his hand.
"Uh oh."
Klinger gave it to him with a nod. "Yes, Sir. Another telegram from Col. Burns."
Hawkeye glanced at B.J. and asked, rhetorically, "Doesn't this guy ever give up?" Reluctantly, he read the telegram, which was short and to the point: So, we're all even now, right?
Hawkeye stared at the note until the words blurred. His mind skimmed a catalog of memories, flipping through hundreds of pages. He thought about manipulating Frank into rescinding a transfer request by pretending there was gold in camp. He thought about stealing Frank's blood while the man slept. He recalled sabotaging a romantic evening between Burns and Margaret, with (among other things) a collapsing bed and pudding in the pillow. He remembered eggs in helmets and an appendix in a boot and a toe tag that read "emotionally exhausted and morally bankrupt."
Now, from thousands of miles away, the poor guy wanted to call a truce. Let bygones be bygones. Be mature adults and let it all go… put it in the past.
Were they all even now? Hawkeye felt his mouth curve into a grin.
Oh, hell no.