Trenches Away

Note and Disclaimer: Yep, we all still don't own "M*A*S*H" still. Does anyone know who owns the series now?

It is the New Year 1951 at long last. As soft flurries fly from the skies and the clouds rolled over the camp, I ponder upon what this year will bring us. Will there be a war still going on? Will we all still be there in Korea, away from our loved ones and homes? How many more people will have to die in this country, civilians and soldiers alone? I don't know. Only God knows. And somehow, I don't think he is answering my prayers this past year to end it and put peace back onto this planet.

I walked around the camp again, my only consolation at this time beside the orphans and the silliness. I then hugged my Bible to my chest and then pocketed it into my coat for safety, aware of the spiritual warmth it always gave me, even if this Earthly draft is killing me inside. All of the gloves, scarves, long underwear, boots and coats could never make my Earthly visit any better.

Ah, well. At least, in the end, my soul will never care for it anymore. However, I am a man like all others. These things are not supposed to bother me, but God knows, I am tired of it!

Towards the outside of the camp, Major Burns was having some South Korean soldiers and enlisted personnel from the camp dig trenches at the perimeter. All the way around the camp (and a few lines zigzagging in and out because none have a sense of direction), save for the entrances and exits of the camp, there were trenches about six feet deep. And it hurt me to know that these men were digging in the cold and the ground was as solid as a rock.

Major Burns blew his whistle as Major Houlihan walked up and stood next to him with obvious glee. "Let's get a move-on, men! We don't want those Commies getting at us, do we?"

I stopped and observed my surroundings. Various other personnel were playing a game of football and sliding on ice. Nurses went to and fro, blowing kisses at their lovers. By the entranceway to Post-Op, Colonel Blake and Radar stood, the former signing papers from the Grave Registries and the latter taking the copies. Klinger was on guard duty in heels and a thick, woolen dress. Only Trapper and Hawkeye were missing from this menagerie, probably sipping on their gin in the infamous Swamp.

I wonder what they're up to right now…

Lost in my thoughts as I turned on my heel, I accidentally bumped into Igor on his way someplace and somehow, nowhere near the Mess Tent. He was carrying a large pot of something awful, something that appeared to be pink in color. Some of it tipped over and handed on my shoe. Thankfully, it froze before it hit its target.

"Oops! Sorry, Father," Igor exclaimed as he pulled the pot away from my nose. "I got to get this thing over to the Mess Tent. Food's gotta be hot soon, ya know? For lunch?"

"Surely, Igor, but isn't the Mess Tent in the opposite direction?" I asked him innocently enough, seeing what was wrong in an instant. "And lunch was supposed to be ready half an hour ago, I thought?"

Igor looked panic-stricken, but then he softened his features and quieted his voice, as Majors Burns and Houlihan lingered nearby. "Well, to be honest, Father, Captains Pierce and McIntyre put me up to this. They said that if I took the extra cooked spam and started filling the trenches with it, I would get some money out of it and free drinks in the Swamp. Anyone else who helps gets to split the money and drinks."

I stood there, amazed. It also made me think once more and think quickly. Money, huh? Depending on how much is in the pot, it could be used for something better, like food, clothes and blankets for the orphans. Or, perhaps, I could use it to put the supplies in to patch the roof!

Just as important, I thought, was Igor, Hawkeye and Trapper. If I could also be guilty of the same crimes they are, then perhaps it will soften the punishment with the higher-ranked officers. If a priest, of all people, will play a prank, I think it was all done in fun and games.

I smiled mischievously, ready to take part in something that will, I hope, pave the way for better things for those children in need and those in the camp who need protection from the powers that be. "Just tell me where the rest of the spam is, Igor, and I'll be willing to help," I only replied proudly as I offered to take his pot. "Now, is it in the kitchen or hiding someplace where nobody can see it?"