"He was found in the middle of a minefield," Margaret says, as the Sergeant is carried in and laid down on the table, "The rest of his unit blown to bits around him. His leg was mixed in with the limbs of the others and couldn't be recovered."

BJ nods, looking him over. "He's lost a lot of blood. Set up a unit." He slips his arms into the waiting robe held by a nurse. "What the hell was an entire unit doing in the middle of a minefield?"

Margaret frowns behind her mask. Nimble fingers glide over the surgical instruments, readying all that needs to be in order. "They ran into a platoon of Chinese and were pushed back into a nearby field. Neither side knew it was full of mines. Think it caught them both off-guard."

"It's a miracle the boy lived." Colonel Potter mutters, as Father Mulcahy crosses himself in prayer.

"His hand --" BJ leans in, peering at the man's chest. "Looks pretty bad. Blood everywhere, I can hardly pick out a thumb."

Hawkeye gently massages his neck, calling for the next patient. "Can you save it?"

BJ's brow creases in deep thought. "I'm not sure. I could use some help if --"

"Say no more, Hunnicut." Charles calls loudly over the snap snap of his surgical gloves. "I'll be glad to offer my expertise assistance. I'll take over here, " He adds, sliding in behind the leg, "So you can concentrate on that hand there."

"I --" BJ bites the inside of his cheek, straining to hold back whatever retort he has on the tip of his tongue. "Why thank you, Charles."

A mere nod is his only response.

"Well, Doc," Hawkeye lifts up his scalpel, glancing up at the blonde doctor across the room, "What's the verdict? Is it any good?"

"I'm not -- it's a mess, I'll tell you that." Cocking his head at the nearest nurse, BJ adds, "Norton, can you get me some sponges or something? I can hardly see under all this blood, it's just --"

"I'll handle it," Margaret smoothly moves in near his elbow, sponges in hand. "Norton, have a corpsman take those cultures into the lab."

"Yes, Major."

The steady clinking sounds of surgery gradually replaces the chatter, the only noise in the room outside of Hawkeye's rendition of "Ave Maria" that includes lyrics BJ can swear no priest has ever sung before. Father Mulcahy quickly nods out an exit, looking positively shameful.

"Pierce," Colonel Potter warns, even stitches appearing beneath his fingers at record speed, "That's the seventh time this --"

A sudden gasp erupts from Margaret, halting the Colonel mid-sentence.

There is silence as she stares, wide-eyed, at the lucky soldier's hands. BJ swallows, months of combat surgery leaving him with no preparation for the sight before him. Beside him, Charles cocks his head to the side, leaning over the man's leg to get a better look. Immediately, he snaps back into place, having seen enough.

A beat passes, the OR frozen in silence. "Well?" Hawkeye manages to venture.

BJ coughs, clearing his throat of the lump threatening to form. "Klinger, hand me that bag over there, the one for the amputated -- that's the one."

A shadow casts over Colonel Potter's eyes as he sadly waves for the next patient. "Too much damage to the hand? Third amputation today, I --"

Again he is cut off. "There's no need to amputate."

"Then why the bag --" Hawkeye stops himself, content to watch the scene before his eyes.

Calmly, BJ lifts the limb from the soldier's chest, dropping it with ease into the bag Klinger holds. "It's not his." He motions the Lebanese Corporal away. "A souvenir of a buddy's, I'd say."

The room lapses into silence again, "Ave Maria" strangely absent this time around.