Margaret was sitting in her tent, writing a letter to her mother. She was thinking about everything that had happened to her in the war, but it was hard to concentrate because of the cold. It was Thanksgiving, but it was the coldest day on record. She couldn't remember ever the late autumn ever being this brutal. The winds were coming fast and steady. It was a sign that the winter would not be good. She was finding it hard to find things to be thankful for when things were this brutal. She looked at her hands, chapped pink from the wind. Gloves were hard to come by around here. They were supposed to arrive next week, but according to Radar there had been a mix up in transport and they could arrive sometime in the next two. Sometimes she really hated her job.
What was she thankful for? The senseless death? The nonstop slaughter of innocent men? The orphans that would be brought through their doors, seeking medical attention? The shortage of medical supplies, causing the staff to think on their feet? Margaret was not prone to resentment- she would like to think she wasn't anyways- but it was hard not to be with the nonstop action that she'd seen day after day, night after night. And the pointless suffering- she couldn't do anything about but treat the victims and show them as much compassion as possible. If she could make a difference in someone's life by a smile or a kind word than her work was done. Well it would never be done, thanks to this blessed war. She would remember all that she had seen long after she had gone home- if she would ever go home.
Hawkeye was also tired. He'd seen so much action that he couldn't remember what peace felt like. He dreamed about it, he talked about it, but he couldn't remember it. He lived, breathed, smelled, even dreamed war. The nightmares were the worst. They kept him up at night, though he kept them to himself for the most part. Once in awhile he would talk to Sydney about them, and it was therapeutic he would have to admit, but they would return, always return. And now it was Thanksgiving, another day at the 4077. Another day without his father, Daniel Pierce, the finest man he'd ever known. For all of his jokes and his apparent confidence, Hawkeye knew that he would give anything to be half the man his father was. But then again, he was a pretty happy fellow in his own right, until this blasted war came along and interrupted everything. Never again would he view life as he had before. Life would no longer be black or white. Life was not just about living; sometimes it was about surviving, and no one knew that better than Hawkeye Pierce.
Henry was also miserable now that it was Thanksgiving. Sure he hid behind his jokes and his booze and his tent, but all he wanted was to be home with Lorraine and the girls. But McArthur wasn't doing much to make that possible in his book. The war wasn't ending in the foreseeable future, and as sure as the sun rose and set, he would be here another day, leading the 4077 in treating the men as they came in and out. No one would envy his job, he was sure of that. It was long and tiresome and thankless, and the pay was not great without a doubt. But the hardest part was being without his family. He'd been here Lord knows how long and who knows when he'd be back home. He was a simple man; all he wanted was a private practice and to be able to play golf now and then with the boys and kiss his kids good night. But this blasted war was making sure that none of that was possible. Was it too much to ask for a man to dream? Apparently it was.
That night the cooks had pulled off the impossible: they'd arranged for a turkey dinner complete with mashed potatoes and stuffing. It was not quite the same as what their wives or mothers would have made, but nonetheless it seemed to raise the spirits of the gang quite a bit. For the most part, except for Henry, Hawkeye and Margaret.
"Sir, don't you think you should give a speech?" Radar pointed out as the last of the gang took their seats.
"Ah geez Radar. You know I'm no good at that kind of stuff."
"Come on Henry! You know you have it in you," Trapper laughed. "Give the public what they want."
"All right all right. You sound just like my wife," Henry grumbled.
"And my legs are as shapely as hers as well."
Henry looked at him. "Knock it off will ya?" Then he stood up." All right everyone. I'm no good at this. I really don't know what to say. I know you don't want to be here. I don't want to be here. This war has gone on too long and if I could fix it I would. It's Thanksgiving and we all want to be home with our families. But right now we are with our families- the 4077. We've been through some tough times and we've leaned on each other. We've seen some stuff that no person should have to see. But we've stuck together and we've gotten through it. I won't name everything that we've been through but you know what I mean. We don't always see eye to eye but in the end we all have each other's back. Now that's enough of the mushy stuff. Let's eat shall we?"
"I'd like to say a blessing if that's all right," Father Mulcahy spoke up.
As he began to pray, Hawkeye, Margaret and Henry opened their eyes and looked around. This was the last place that they wanted to be. All they wanted to do was get home to be with their families. It was hard to find anything to be thankful for during this time of year. But Henry was right about one thing: they'd each made friends, some good friends. Some were friends for a moment, some for a lifetime. Some would make it home, some would not. But on this day of days, they had friendships, and they knew that they could count their blessings.
The end