DISCLAIMER: DON'T OWN ANY MASH CHARACTERS. ANYONE ELSE BELONGS TO ME. ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO 20TH CENTURY FOX…I'M JUST BORROWING.
A/N: HEY PPLZ, I WAS JUST WATCHING THE SEASON THREE EPISODE, 'BOMBED' YOU KNOW, WHEN HOTLIPS AND TRAPPER GOT STUCK IN THE SUPPLY ROOM, AND I GOT THIS IDEA FOR A FANFIC. HOPE YOU ENJOY IT. REVIEWS APPRECIATED.
WARNINGS: MARGARET/TRAPPER IMPLIED, MAYBE JUST A LITTLE LOVIN', NOTHING TOO EXPLICIT.
SUMMARY: DRIVING BACK FROM A CONFERENCE IN SEOUL, TRAPPER AND MARAGARET HAVE AN ACCIDENT TRYING TO AVIOD SNIPERS. CAN THEY GET BACK TO THE 4077, OR WILL THEY DIE TRYING?
HURT! TRAPPER AND WORRIED! MARGARET.
MASH
Side of a bullet.
CHAPTER ONE: Out of the frying pan…
The medical conference had taken place just outside of Seoul, in the back room of a stingy bar.
It seemed strange, to Major. Margaret Hoolahan, that the meeting was called to order at this particular location, formal and important conferences usually occurred on the top floor of some swank motel in the middle of Tokyo. Still, they must've had their reasons, and Margaret didn't dwell on it for long.
It was war, after all.
The one thing that irked her slightly, was the personal request made by her commanding officer back at the 4077th, Colonel Henry Blake. To be accompanied by none other than Captain John FX McIntire, known by all back at the camp, as Trapper. He was arrogant, insubordinate and rude, but at least she wasn't stuck with Captain Pierce, and for that she was grateful.
For at least half an hour she had begged Henry to let Frank Burns come instead, but he flat out refused, and Margaret left the MASH unit in a foul mood, arms defiantly crossed across her chest as she sat in the passenger seat of the army jeep, sullen and quiet.
Captain McIntire attempted conversation, but backed off after receiving a particularly nasty glare from the Major.
When she was pissed off, she could be quite intimidating.
Now, after three day's in a run down motel, that made the 4077 look like a resort, the two colleagues, having packed and loaded their belongings into the back of the jeep, were just about to leave the god awful place, happy to be on their way back.
John McIntire hadn't been that bad. He never was out of the company of his best friend, and Margaret had to admit, he was kind of cute.
In a rude and pig headed kind of way. The Major thought quickly, as if trying to justify the innocent observation.
"Well that was fun," Trapper commented dryly, sliding into the jeep and turning the key in the ignition.
Did she mention sarcastic?
"I thought it was quite informative," the Major replied, pulling her hair up into a rough ponytail, so it didn't whip about her face.
"You would," he said, looking away from the rat-infested hellhole.
Margaret threw him a threatening glare and he grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling cheekily.
She hated it when he did that. She felt compelled to forgive him.
Him and his damn charm.
"Just drive," she said. Neutral, to the point. No hint of her lingering thoughts could be heard through her voice.
"Righto." He said with a false upper class British accent.
Major Hoolahan grinned inwardly. Boy, did that man have a sense of humor!
She shook her head, again pulling up a façade to hide her amusement.
John gunned the engine, executed a sharp turn and sped through the streets of Seoul, eager to escape the place.
"Slow down Captain," Margaret said as she jostled in her seat. They had been on the rough dirt track for a quarter of an hour at least, and the Major was starting to gain a feeling of dread, like something was coming.
Something bad.
Her voice was laced with panic, and Trapper noticed it.
"What is it Margaret?" he asked.
She didn't correct him as he stopped the jeep. She just peered warily around the countryside with calculating blue eyes.
She saw movement, high above them. A shadow. A rustle of leaves.
"Sniper," she whispered, inaudibly, as if she were speaking to herself.
Her eyes met Trapper's.
"What?" he asked.
She tried to look inconspicuous as her eyes flicked once more to the area where she had spotted the soldier.
She repeated herself, and this time he heard. His eyes widened.
"You sure?" he hissed.
"Yes." She wasn't lying. Her army training had taught her to always trust a gut feeling, and right at that moment, her stomach was in knots.
Slowly and casually, Trapper turned his head, his own observant eyes milking in the surroundings.
In his search he spotted a grand total of three North Korean soldiers, guns at the ready, waiting for them to do something stupid before open firing.
"There are three of them Margaret," her whispered. He could almost smell her fear, and though she was calm on the outside, Trapper knew she was screaming in panic.
He certainly was.
Trapper took a deep breath and started the engine, pressing his foot on the gas.
They knew that their positions had been compromised.
As he drove, he swerved and skidded, trying to avoid the bullets.
They bounced of the car body in a shower of sparks.
God she's loud. Trapper thought, though he could barely think over the sounds of the gunfire and Margaret's screaming.
Suddenly everything seemed as though it was in slow motion.
In the distance, a gun fired once more, aiming for the Major.
He knew it would hit its target if he didn't do something.
Trapper jerked the wheel violently, turning sharply, and the bullet that was meant for Margaret, pierced his shoulder, embedding painfully in flesh and muscle.
He swore colorfully, shocking the Major.
"Get out of the car Margaret," he cried over the maelstrom; trying tho regain the control he had lost in the last ten seconds.
"What? No!" she said, her eyes on his wound, which was bleeding profusely.
"Get the hell out now! I don't want you shot!" he said, reaching over, opening the door and pushing her out.
She tumbled out onto the dirt and rolled into a ditch, where she knew she could curse the Captain safely.
Damn men and their hero complex.
That distraction was all he needed.
If he only had half control before, it was completely gone now.
He hit a rut in the road at full speed, and his stomach dropped as the jeep flipped.
Trapper held on for dear life as he was jerked and bashed painfully over and over as the vehicle rolled.
He could feel warm sticky blood trickling slowly down his cheek, and he knew, as the jeep landed upside down, and he fell with a grunt to the dirt, that he had broken several ribs.
The soldiers had lost interest. Surely the driver was dead. They disappeared into the tree's.
All was quiet.
Margaret couldn't here the jeep or the snipers.
She knew they were gone, but why couldn't she hear the jeep?
Slowly and with caution, she stood, and looking over the rise, she saw why.
The jeep was upside down, with no sign of Trapper.
Oh god no…she thought as bile climbed in her throat. No, no, no, no, no…
"Captain McIntire!" she cried frantically, running awkwardly over to the jeep.
She had twisted her ankle in the fall. "Trapper!"
Margaret heard a pain filled moan. "I'm still here," came his groggy voice.
She skidded to her stomach and peered under the upturned car, coming face to face with a very pale, dazed and bloody captain.
"Oh my god, are you all right?"
Even as he nodded, he could feel the darkness closing in, the pain was just too much.
He looked at her and gave her a weak smile, before succumbing to the black.
"Trapper! John! Captain McIntire! Wake up!"
Margaret could feel tears in her eyes as she tried to rouse him.
She knew there was no point. He was in pain, he passed out. Now there was nothing to do but sit, and hoped to god that he would wake up…
Well, what do you think? Should I continue? Review please, I would really appreciate it!