Title: Frank Burns: Chief Procurement Officer
Author: WingedPanther73
Pairing(s)/Characters: Burns, Pierce, Potter, Radar, Hunnicut, Flagg
Rating: M
Summary: Frank Burns gets in trouble with General Clayton shortly after Potter becomes the commanding officer. It seems he has too low a survival rate for his patients. The MASH team comes up with a unique solution to keep Frank out of trouble.
Warnings: If you are easily offended, don't read this. Don't complain if you read it and don't like it.
Disclaimer: MASH is owned by 20th Century Fox Home Entertainment.
Beta Reader: Sybil Rowan
"Frank Burns! I'm catching hell from the General over your poor performance in the O.R.!"
"But Sir, I'm doing the best I can. The pressure in that place is terrible, and the nurses are so difficult to work with."
Colonel Potter looked across his desk and rose to his feet, leaning on his desk. "I don't care about whatever lame excuses you gave Blake! If you don't get your act together, General Clayton is planning to bring charges of malpractice against you! I can't afford to lose you, so get your act together! DISMISSED!"
Frank whimpered away from Potter's office and made his way to the Swamp, fingers flying over each other in agitation. Pierce and Hunnicut were lounging on their bunks, an abandoned set of checkers shots between them. Pierce looked up first. "Problems, Frank?"
"None of your business!"
Hunnicut chimed in, "Is that any way to treat us? We might be able to help if you learned how to share."
"Yeah, what do you think bunkies are for, Frank?"
"The last thing you shared with me was your love of plaster of paris," Frank pouted.
"Well, we thought your toe was broken. Can you blame us for wanting to set your leg to make sure it was secure?"
Hunnicut nodded in agreement, "Exactly. We just had your best interests at heart."
Frank threw himself on his bed. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry so often, but he couldn't in front of the two clowns that made his life hell in and out of the O.R.. Being the worst surgeon was even worse. He couldn't break down in front of lower ranked soldiers however. He suffered in silence, as always.
Two days later, the O.R. was slammed. "Nurse, finish this one up. Bring in the next one, Klinger."
"That's fourteen for you, isn't it, Hawk?"
"And you're only at thirteen, Beej."
"Colonel, I insist that you put a stop to these petty competitions and order them to get to work!"
Hawkeye looked over at Frank, his expression hidden. "You seem a bit nervous, Frank. Have you been keeping score too?"
Frank looked up in anger and irritation... while the scalpel was still next to his patient's heart. Margaret screamed, cutting off his retort. Silence fell on the O.R..
Potter sat behind his desk, with Frank, B.J., and Hawkeye in front of him. Frank looked completely miserable. Potter's head was resting in his hands as he tried to decide whether Frank was truly incompetent or not. "Frank, what the hell happened in there?"
"Well, sir, I was just thinking about what you had told me a couple days ago, and I guess I was a feeling a little nervous."
"Why didn't you call Pierce over to assist?"
"Sir!" he whined, "I was trying to prove myself!"
"Thanks for that, Frank. Now we have to find a way to deal with this mistake!"
B.J. decided that it was time to raise a minor point. "Excuse me, Colonel, but would you care to explain what's going on? I realize a soldier died, but you two are acting like this is a little more serious."
"Because General Clayton wants Burns' hide for losing too many of his soldiers on the operating table. He seems to think Burns is a bigger threat to his soldiers than the North Koreans. That little stunt with Frank and his tell tale heart is pretty much guaranteed to confirm that opinion."
Hawkeye decided to chip in, "Frank, I know you're not the best surgeon..."
"Pierce!" he whined.
"...but despite my jokes, you are not practicing malpractice."
B.J. muttered something about having perfected it.
"Did you have something to add, Hunnicut?"
"No, sir, Colonel Potter!"
"Colonel Potter, if I'm brought up on charges, I'll be forced to protest the unprofessional conditions in the operating room."
Hawkeye turned on Frank, "Why you little..."
"SILENCE!" Everyone turned to Potter. "It seems to me that our problem is a body on a slab, not each other. I haven't filled out any reports yet."
Frank perked up at this, "We could say that the sergeant arrived D.O.A., sir."
Hawkeye had to shoot down this idea, "The autopsy in the states will reveal a scalpel cut through the heart of Sergeant Tony Hopkins, not shrapnel. If we try to cover this up, we'll all be in trouble."
Potter looked disturbed as B.J. added his comments, "Frank, you were nervous all night. Why didn't you take a break?"
"Look, I needed to prove my skill! I can't go slacking off or the general might take that as a sign of incompetence as well!"
"Boys, back in W W one, we had occasion to deal with some pretty unpleasant situations. We've dealt with some worse situations than this, that affected many people. There were a lot of bodies that are simply listed as M.I.A.. Frank, you're a good surgeon, and I'd hate to lose you. However, the only way to prevent that, at this point, is to make sure an independent autopsy is not possible."
Frank looked desperately, pathetically hopeful as B.J. voiced the question, "What do you have in mind Colonel?"
Corporal Walter "Radar" O'Reilly was nervous, jumpy. His stomach had been doing flip-flops all day, making it hard to eat. The disorientation was making his usual efficient movements slower than normal.
"Radar, are you OK? You've been acting strange all day?"
"Yes, Colonel. My stomach's feeling kind of funny."
"Have you been eating? You normally pack it away pretty well."
"No sir, I can't seem to eat at all."
"Radar, I think I know just the thing. Klinger's been telling me about this special Lebanese dish his mother used to make; he's been dying to try it out for me. I think it might be just the thing to restore your appetite."
Radar felt an odd twinge of nervousness that he couldn't identify. All he could hear in his fatigued state was static. The Colonel was his friend, though. "OK, sir."
A little later in the mess tent, Radar sat in front of an odd dish that he couldn't identify. Both Sherman and Max were smiling at him, each with a plate of the same dish. It looked like it had fried bits of some sort of meat. "It's an old Lebanese dish my mom told me about. It's supposed to be very soothing to the stomach, and build up your strength."
Radar's sense of confusion and disorientation was growing. He looked down at his dish, a displaced aversion to it growing as his friends began to eat. He tentatively took a bite, dread in his heart. For a moment, all he tasted was the seasoned batter and as the chewy substance went down his throat. As he was chewing his second bite... the awareness hit him. He was aware of another man's life.
A while later, his awareness returned to his surroundings. His bowl was empty, his stomach was full, and Max and Sherman were smiling at him. "That was the weirdest thing, it was like I was watching a movie of this guy's life! I sort of think I recognized him, but I can't quite place it."
"How are you feeling now, Radar?"
"Oh, terrific, sir!"
"Good to hear it. Now get back to work, and thanks for the special, Klinger."
"It was my pleasure, sir!" The salute looked awkward in the purple chiffon and black pumps. At least the clutch was subdued.
Two weeks later, Potter strolled into his office, only to find it was already being used by a Colonel. "What in the sam hill are you doing here, Flagg?"
"I'm investigating this outfit. I've been hearing funny reports about this unit, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it."
"What, you realized Pierce and Hunnicut have a good sense of humor?"
"Cute, real cute. You're just as lax as Blake was."
"I never met him, but from what I hear he was a good man. Now what are you doing here?"
"Three men have gone M.I.A. while being transported to your unit, Putter."
"Potter."
"That's what I said. Potter. Anyway, reports are that they're going M.I.A. while they aren't strong enough to walk. I'm going to find out who's helping them turn traitor."
"Are you suggesting that one of my men is helping soldiers escape the army?"
"I didn't say it was a man. It could be one of your 'angels of mercy'."
"Flagg, I hope you find the person and get out of my hair."
"Only if it's not you, Potter."
Flagg strode out the door while Potter sagged into his chair. The door popped back open as Radar escorted Pierce, Hunnicut, and Burns into the office. "Thank you, Radar. Gentlemen, we have a problem."
Flagg crept around the outskirts of the MASH unit, loathing for these giggling people in his heart. They had no appreciation for the seriousness of this fight. The commies were trying to take over the world, and he was the last defense against the world being overrun. Having young men willing to give their lives was essential to the war effort, however. Flagg couldn't win the war by himself.
He felt rising nausea as Pierce ran across the compound with one of the nurses. For one of America's finest nurses to sully herself with an unpatriotic slime like Pierce was an affront to his manliness. He had yet to prove Pierce was a traitor, but there was still time.
Suddenly Flagg realized that Burns was standing next to him. "What are you doing here?"
Burns giggled with a stupid expression on his face. He was a true believer, but dumber than the dirt he stood on. "Oh, you know, just trying to learn from you. I've always wanted to receive the kind of admiration you do."
"Burns, you couldn't survive the life I live. You aren't strong enough."
"Couldn't you just teach me a little bit? I always wondered what it would be like to kill a man."
Flagg quickly realized that he would never get rid of this idiot if he didn't show him some bit of fakery. He pulled out his sidearm and pointed it at Burns. "What would you do if someone pointed a gun at you?"
Burns paled. "Umm, I don't know. I, uh, never really... Oh hi Hawkeye!"
"Clever, but that won't work on me."
The sharp pain in his butt made him turn as he started to slump. Hawkeye waved, "Goodnight, sweet prince."
Radar didn't know why he was getting these weird queasy spells lately, but Klinger's special "old Lebanese" dish always did the trick. He wandered over to the mess tent when Klinger had it ready. He didn't question why Klinger would be cooking the dish when he hadn't told Max about his stomach, but he arrived just in time to get an extra large helping. This time, the vision had to do with the US flag and blood. It was very strange, but his stomach felt much better once he was done.
Once finished, he headed back to Potter's office. "Sir?"
"What is it, Radar?"
"I just thought you should know that General Clayton will be arriving tomorrow."
"I didn't hear a call."
"Oh no, sir. He's performing a surprise inspection. Something about some M.I.A. soldiers."
"Thank you, Radar."
"Oh, and the shelling will be light when he's coming in."
"Ah ha! That's very good to know!" Potter positively beamed at the news.
General Clayton was irritated. He had lost Colonel Blake, who was a competent commander and effective surgeon. Now that Potter was in charge, everything was getting crazy. Wounded soldiers do not disappear. The stories that were coming out of the 4077th were disturbing. He didn't care what kind of connections Potter had, the new Colonel of the 4077 would learn that Brigadier General Clayton does not appreciate being screwed with.
About a mile outside of the camp, Clayton stopped as he came up on that idiot Klinger. "Stop! And identify yourself!" Clayton hated it when an nut pointed a gun at him, especially when he was wearing a poorly cut off-the-shoulder red evening gown. No telling how he'd gotten this far out in heels.
"I'm General Clayton, you moron. Now out of my way!"
"What's the password?"
"Password? What are you babbling about, Corporal?"
"The password, sir! I can't let you pass without the password!"
"I'll bust you down to private!"
The rifle shot was almost as shocking as the burning sensation where the bullet tore through him. As his vision faded, he thought he heard Klinger say, "I wonder how a general's brain tastes."
"I have to hand it to you, Frank, having regular steak, liver, and ribs is a nice change."
"Why thank you, Hawkeye. Hey B.J., when are you going to eat up?"
They looked at B.J., who had a plate of Spam. "No thanks, guys. I told you in Potter's office, I've got a weak stomach."
Radar's expression cleared as he finished his fried brain. "Hey guys, did you know that a General has some great perks?"
Fin.