I'll Grant You Three Wishes
Note and Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own the storylines and characters of M*A*S*H. I think that's enough said, especially if you've read the summary and know what I've been up to lately.
January 9, 1953, 1830 Hours
So, even with hope fluttering in this Lebanese's heart, I'm still sitting here in this moldy, damp cell. It's still cold in here. I still smell the Army surplus turkey. Not to mention, the guards like to tease me with all the new goodies. On top of that, I'm receiving nothing better in the food department except for some rotted potatoes with the weevils and a little crust of bread.
Hey, it's all my nose can handle. After smelling some good cigars and food (better than the Army's, for sure), I was up for begging on my hands and knees, yelling at the men outside to spare this prisoner something, anything, so that I could be in some comfort. Despite the guards laughing at my pathetic Oscar performance, I still tried in vain, imagining an improved life, before the door opened and the C.O. told me to can it.
Ah, even having Igor serve me the Mess Tent food would be better than this! I am wistfully aching for the 4077th life again!
God, don't I wish I were anyplace but here in this stockade in the Middle of Nowhere, Korea. Don't I wish that I could keep my promises and not escape the camp or even gain that coveted Section Eight. Don't I wish that I could go back to the camp and be the company clerk and –
Hey, that reminds me of something. Speaking of those all wishes, don't I ever have a story from back in the day, when I could grant one wish…
~00~
February 1, 1951, 1025 Hours
My costume was complete (although full of sweat), despite being under this tight Army uniform that itches to high hell. I had hitchhiked a ride to the Front, as was ordered (even as the cold bit me), and am helping out at the aide station. And all around me, the bombs are flying, the bullets are whizzing and the bodies piled up. Blood is everywhere. Men are moaning. The enemy is less than a mile away.
And there I am, dressed as a genie underneath this olive green drab we call a uniform.
Yep, I am a genie this time. I was hoping that when General Clayton came up to inspect and perhaps fight back the enemy (and sure, he's doing that this day, as scheduled), he would see all this glitter and color under this blood-covered uniform and send me that Section Eight I've always wanted. And all I had to do was make sure that everybody, especially Major Houlihan and Captain Pierce, don't see this costume before he sees me.
General Clayton has just got to get me out of Korea! He has to!
After putting my last man down to be helped, I'm told by the person in charge to take a break with Captain Pierce, my partner in crime on these breaks usually (since Captain McIntyre always goes without me and usually had a squeamish Igor as an orderly). Since Major Houlihan is navigating all other traffic and is joining us later, I'll have the chance to run away from that Major She-Devil who's been watching my every move since I've come to this hellhole.
Captain Pierce quickly steps next to me, walking alongside this genie as we went behind some sandbags and jumped down into some trenches. "Mind if I get this lady some can of beans?"
"Huh?" I was confused.
"I said, can I get this lady a can of beans?"
Looking at Captain Pierce's bloody uniform only reminded me of reality, but he also had to keep out of my insane schemes to get out of this. Sure, he's just as crazy as the rest of us, maybe worse than I am, but I'm sure that he can handle this thing called Korea better than I can.
Or, can he?
"Sure," I finally replied, stopping dead in my tracks in the trench and extending my hands to be kissed mockingly. "This lady needs some food and a –"
"Klinger, are you still dancing for that Section Eight?" Captain Pierce asked me neutrally as he kissed my hands, taking my right hand with his into his pockets as he started walking again, me along with him.
How did he know? Does he know the whole plan?
I looked down at my sleeves, finally seeing why Captain Pierce asked me that question.
Dammit! The sleeves are too long! And they're covered in blood!
"Do you think Major Houlihan saw them?" I then asked him as we reached our destination, beans waiting for us in their unopened cans in the supply truck as I tucked the incriminating evidence back into my uniform. "I mean, will she come after me when she's all done?"
"Not if she saw that a certain Lebanese man is wearing something out of uniform." Captain Pierce sat down, groaning with fatigue. "Klinger, Klinger, Klinger…when are you ever going to learn?"
"That Uncle Sam hates creativity?" I sat down with him, knowing that others have said the same thing before.
"Uncle Sam also hates characters," Captain Pierce corrected. "He also doesn't like the ladies that much either, unless they're nude and playing volleyball."
I sighed. I knew that I wasn't going to win this round.
"Klinger," Captain Pierce suddenly said, his hand on my knee with some reassurance, "you know that we all want to get out of here. But, we all go about it different ways. Yours is just as inventive as mine and Trapper's."
"Well, what if I could grant you three wishes?" I put my hand on top of his. "If I had the power, what would you be wishing?"
Captain Pierce thought for a moment before speaking, appearing seriously thoughtful for once. "One would be a woman that I could spend the rest of my life with, even if I like them all. Two would be peace on Earth, especially here in Korea and in that other little Asian country I heard that France is fighting over."
I waited for his third wish, but it never came. I tapped the hand on top of his with impatience. The first two were almost impossible to grant to him, but the third might be something I could handle. After all, I'm supposed to be a genie. The impossible was supposed to happen.
"And what's your third?" Fate was tempting me to act the genie again, but Captain Pierce (and perhaps Major Houlihan, most of all) knew my charade, the latter getting those crazy M.P.'s up my skirt.
"Wait for it…" Captain Pierce took his hand out of its embrace and strained his ears, cupping a hand to it.
"Wait for what? What are we waiting for?"
"Just wait for it, Klinger. You'll hear it in a minute."
I waited for that minute that was asked and even counted sixty seconds after that minute. Nothing happened except for the distant sound of shells and gunfire. Then –
"Pierce! I'm going to kill you!"
"Or let the enemy get me," Captain Pierce replied to that voice, clearly Major Houlihan's, and got up, about to run in the opposite direction. "At least the enemy would appreciate me more."
Before I could say anything, I saw Captain Pierce exit, stage left, and disappear down the trench like a gunshot. Seconds later (and I mean it), Major Houlihan came running by. Her uniform was just as bloody as Captain Pierce's had been, but her hair was also covered in beans. Most of them hit the ground, but I swear, the rest were roasting on top of what we all assumed was blonde hair.
"Pierce, where are you?" Major Houlihan screamed. She then stopped in front of me, looking down with those heated beans on her head. "Klinger, have you seen him?"
"Who?" I inquired innocently enough, trying to hide the colorful clothe underneath my uniform.
"You know who!" Major Houlihan almost stomped her feet, but stopped her temper tantrum in an instant, calming down. "Klinger, you know what happens to corporals who want to dress like genies and try to get a Section Eight?"
I gulped audibly. She knew!
"So, are you going to tell me where Captain Pierce is?" Major Houlihan crossed her arms, tapping her fingers against one arm. "Or, are you going to face the stockade this time?"
I pointed to the left, deciding to tell the truth this time. "He went that way, Ma'am."
Like Captain Pierce before her, Major Houlihan ran in that direction like those gunshots. The intentions on her face, though, were murder. And it wasn't just me that she wanted to kill.
Praying (well, almost) that Captain Pierce came out of that rage ok, I trembled and then stopped, remembering who I was. "And I hope the truck doesn't hit you from behind," I muttered after Major Houlihan, who would never understand the total genius behind me.
~00~
January 9, 1953, 1900 Hours
I came out of memories when I heard a noise before me. My door opens suddenly, without a courtesy knock. When I looked up to see my visitor, though, I saw Colonel Potter before me. And it wasn't a desert mirage!
"So, Klinger, have we learned that there is no such thing as escaping in this Army?" our Chief of Chiefs asked me in a condescending manner, as if I were some child.
I got up quickly from my bed chained to the wall. "Oh, yes, yes, yes, I have learned!" I then threw myself on my knees, bowing down and kissing the Chief's feet. "I'll promise you anything if you would grant me my one wish. Spare me from this miserable cell, oh great commander of mine! Take me from this –"
"Ok, ok, Klinger, your wish has been granted," Colonel Potter interrupted, gently kicking me away. "The papers are ready for my John Hancock, so I'll be waiting outside for you. In the meantime, your John Hancock will be written on the apology note to Uncle Sam. Your monthly pay will be garnished, to compensate for the damages from your last escape, until it's all paid up. Oh, and one more thing, Klinger…"
"Anything!" I was still begging, getting up to my knees as I folded my hands, like I was praying.
"You try escaping again or even thinking about a Section Eight, I'll leave here until 1965!" Colonel Potter's face briefly turned red before returning back to its normal color. "Do you understand?"
I knew that I couldn't keep that promise, but to get out of here, I had to. Why is it always me that gets into these situations? Oh, why me?
I then put my hands behind my back, crossing my fingers without Colonel Potter seeing them. Smiling and thinking of mischief once more, I only said, "I will, Sir. You have my word on it."
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