Sleepless in South Korea
B.J. strolled past post-op, watching his own shadow moving on the ground as he stepped into the light illuminating the door. It was quiet out here, as well it should be for nearly 2 o'clock in the morning, but in spite of the lack of activity, his mind was spinning. He couldn't get his thoughts to slow down, so much so that he hadn't been able to sleep, and finally he'd given up and headed outside for a walk.
His third night in Korea. The first night he'd actually slept all right, mainly because he'd arrived in camp drunk as a skunk, and booze tended to knock him out. Last night he'd also slept fairly well, after spending hours playing poker with a bunch of the guys. By the end of the long game, the cards had started to all blend together and his brain was muddled. He figured he was halfway to dreamland by the time his head hit the pillow.
But tonight… he'd spent the last two hours in bed (or, to be more accurate, in cot), tossing and turning. And having been raised to be a considerate young man, he started to worry that his restlessness might disturb Hawkeye, who was sleeping three feet away. So he'd gotten out of bed, put on his robe, and started to take a leisurely lap of the camp… his mind still in the "on" position. On and at top volume.
He heard distant footsteps and giggling, and he looked up. Across the way, Corporal Klinger and a young nurse whose name B.J. didn't know surreptitiously looked around and then snuck into the supply room together. B.J. had to smile. It might've only been his third day in Korea, but he knew all about the supply room. It was where couples went to… couple. Good for Klinger, he thought with a smirk, though a minute ago he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the unorthodox corporal was gay. No, wait, that's right… Hawkeye had said he wore women's clothing only for the purpose of getting out of the Army. He'd been at it for quite some time, too. Persistent bugger, Hawkeye had said. But always good for a laugh.
B.J. stopped walking and leaned against the post-op building. Weird cast of characters in this place, he mused. Radar had been the first one he met, out at Kimpo, and he'd thought the young man was a little too jumpy. Anxious all the time. But Hawkeye insisted the company clerk was beyond competent and wily, the glue that held the outfit together.
Hawkeye'd been a breath of fresh air. Terrific sense of humor, and that was something B.J. really needed in a roommate. He could tell from their first exchange that he and Hawkeye were going to be great friends. Anyone who butchered Kipling quotes was all right in his book.
Smiling, he started walking again, making a conscious effort to cast the 4077th from his mind for the moment and concentrate on his family instead. Peg and Erin. The two people he loved most in this world… who were in fact an entire world away now… but he wanted to think about them often, to never lose them from his mind for too long. They were everything to him, and it tore him up inside to have to leave them, especially with Erin only a couple months old. He and Peg had been a good parenting team, inexperienced of course but learning all the time, and developing a system that was efficient and effective. Now Peg was stuck having to do it all herself, though she didn't complain and B.J. had no doubt she was doing a fine job. Still… it wasn't right, that he was taken from them so soon after the baby was born. He was missing out on so much.
He tried to conjure up an image of Erin's sweet little face and he was horrified to realize how hard that was to do. There was too much other stuff in his head… everything he'd been through in the past few days. All the traveling and his disorienting new surroundings (he was in Asia now, for God's sake!) and his crazy new colleagues. Plus the job he was going to be expected to do...
Ah, and that was something else. Well, a big something else. They hadn't had any wounded yet since his arrival in camp, but that was certainly going to change, and probably soon. And then he'd be expected to operate. A lot. On many, many soldiers. None of whom had appendicitis or heart disease or cancer, but who had been shot. It was going to be up to him to save men who had been injured in battle, and he had no idea if his skills were going to be equal to the task.
When he thought about it too long, his hands would start to shake. Not a good look for a surgeon.
He neared Margaret Houlihan's tent now and heard a man's voice coming from inside. Burns. Oh yeah, he nodded to himself. Hawkeye had told him those two were an item. Although they thought they were being discreet, the reality was the entire camp knew about it. He couldn't make out what Frank was saying, his voice was too low, but he certainly heard the head nurse's enthusiastic reply: "Oh, Frank!" B.J. smiled. Monkey business was clearly about to ensue.
He moved along, not wanting to be anywhere nearby to overhear that, and considered going into the mess tent. He could get a cup of coffee, there was always an urn of the stuff available… no, then he'd never get to sleep. He did want to sleep… after all, what if casualties came in tomorrow? He wanted to be well rested in the event that happened.
But he couldn't bring himself to head back to the Swamp (I wonder why it's called that. I'll have to ask Hawkeye sometime). His mind was still too busy and it wouldn't do any good to get back into bed. He knew that sleep would still not come.
He sighed and sat down on an oil drum, feeling utterly alone. It was getting a little cool out here so he went to tie his robe, and he looked down at the olive drab T-shirt and shorts that he was wearing as pajamas. Olive drab. Aptly named. It was such a depressing shade of green. It suddenly occurred to him that he was going to be wearing this color all the time now… constantly… always… and he felt an inexplicable stab of despair. That thought somehow hurt more than his earlier realization that he was having a hard time picturing his daughter's face.
For a few minutes, it took everything he had not to break down and cry out here on this oil drum in the middle of the compound. He shut his eyes and focused on his breathing (inhale, exhale, relax). Not that a cathartic cry would be an altogether bad idea; he just didn't want the reason to be because he felt depressed over his new wardrobe.
But of course, that wasn't the entirety of it. Green clothing was sad, yes. But it was just the tip of the iceberg, as the saying goes. Living in an Army compound in Korea. Far, far away from his wife and daughter. Scared because the war was practically on his doorstep. Worried about getting along OK with his new campmates. Trying to adjust to everything, from the food to the boredom to the living conditions.
It was all so overwhelming, but really, what could he do? He simply had to live with it. This was his new reality.
This was his new life.
A few yards away, the Swamp door suddenly opened and B.J. jerked his head up, startled. He squinted in the dark but of course he knew it had to be Hawkeye coming out; nobody else was in there. He watched as Hawkeye sauntered in his direction, shrugging into his red robe as he walked.
"Hey," Hawkeye said softly as he approached. "You all right?"
B.J. nodded, and Hawkeye took a seat on the oil drum next to his. "Yeah. I just couldn't sleep, that's all. Thought I'd come out here for a while."
Hawkeye seemed to mull this over, as if trying to decide how much more there was to it. He shifted his gaze from B.J.'s face out toward the darkness of the compound, then said, simply, "You scared?"
B.J. paused for just a second. "Only shitless," he admitted, and it was a relief to say that out loud.
"We all are," Hawkeye said, turning his focus back to B.J.'s face. "Trust me, we all are." He reached out and gently placed a hand on B.J.'s shoulder, adding, "But you know what? I may be scared and I may be drunk half the time and I may be the biggest malcontent you'll ever meet. But I'm right here next to you, and I'll help you get through this. I promise you that."
It was exactly the kind of thing B.J. would expect someone to say in this situation, and yet he knew Hawkeye was 100% sincere in saying it. There was a genuineness about this man. He didn't say something unless he meant it. Even though it was dark out, they were close enough that B.J. could see his eyes. They looked compassionate and confident. Looking at them made B.J. feel safe.
His shoulders dropped as tension released its hold on him. This place was foreign and scary, and it would probably still be a long time before he started to feel even remotely comfortable here, but he felt a lot less alone than he had a few minutes ago.
Hawkeye stood and gestured toward their tent. "Shall we go home?" he asked.
B.J. nodded. "Yeah," he said, falling into step with his new friend. As they headed toward the Swamp, his arm brushed lightly against Hawkeye's, and he smiled.
Hawkeye by his side. As long as he had that, everything was going to be all right.