A Structure of Pride

Note and Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own the characters to the show M*A*S*H (CBS and 20th Century Fox do), but if you want to use the main character of this story (which I have created), then please message me with permission first. This is a trilogy about my character, to continue until the end of the war and a little beyond it as well. Enjoy!

August 21, 1950
The 4077th, Korea to Bloomington, Illinois

Dear Mom and Clarence,

So, I have arrived here in South Korea from West Germany, safe and sound (well, it was over two weeks ago), but I'm very frightened about the war. It is just like I thought it was going to be (and just as the draft boards described to everybody else): hot, dusty and lacking the comforts of home…although I swear the natives say it'll turn bitter cold within a few months. The people (the nurses and doctors I work with, of course) are just as equally cold in their reception, not as cheery as the civilians are.

Don't get me wrong though. I can't complain. There are enough soldiers here to comfort, our neighbor as the commanding officer and even a friendly company clerk who knows what Henry wants and needs (oh, yes, that Henry Blake, Lorraine's husband). Oh, can I mention a sane corporal that dresses in…well, dresses, to get a Section Eight? It's a ball here and the jokes are numerous on the military brats…

I stared at the first page of my letter to my mother and stepfather in Bloomington. Damn, I thought then, thinking of all the hard times they had given me before I went to West Germany (when I bothered to visit them in my rare spare time of course) and then here to Korea. Why should I open up my soul to them?

I put down the pen, remembering the hardships of my childhood from those two idiots, and reread what I wrote to them in my first letter to the States from Korea. Somehow though, as I read between the lines, I couldn't concentrate enough on continuing to write a letter to them because of this and the noise in the tent, distracting me from thinking of something else to say. Around me, nurses came in and out, mostly with the doctors of the unit, but none of them could have noticed a petite captain, such as me, sitting on her bunk and writing a letter atop of her footlocker (which, I noticed as the weeks went by, that the nurses constantly pried into).

It's been horrible and hurtful to think of my privacy being invaded, since I was one of the best at what I did and well-respected too. The head nurse of this camp, Major Margaret Houlihan, was not sympathetic when I told her of my suspicions. I even took her to the nurses' tent when the others were busy elsewhere and gave her an inventory list, signed by the head of supplies, and what had been missing and very much damaged. Needless to say, Major Houlihan was not impressed and said so herself.

She only snickered a comment that I could hardly call inspiring. "It'll be a while before you make friends."

Major Houlihan handed me back my list, telling me to write a report about, and walked back to her date with the biggest weasel in the camp, Major Frank Burns. After her flippant attitude, I always guessed that I was new here and it would have taken a while anyhow, even though I was sure that rumors of my times in West Germany preceded me. However, even I noticed that newer people than I were treated better, talking behind their hands when they saw me and laughing at the nurse who used to be a spy since the end of the last war in Europe. There was no time to talk to Henry (who is above even Major Houlihan's head) and others completely ignore me for some unknown reason.

I picked up my pen after thinking of my self-pity, my hands cramping from the effort of writing, and continued. I figured I found the words to finish up the letter.

That's always the way it goes for me as I watch them in their silliness. I'm always kind, less snippy and too modest, so Henry says. I may be happy about leaving West Germany and the troubles there and being here in Korea, but it is kinda cold and strange here, even with the jokesters. Something is bound to happen here and it'll be a while before I can leave Korea. I have a feeling about it. I just don't know what is going to happen yet.

Sighing again, I tried concentrating back on the stupid letter once more. Finding the right words to describe my position as just another nurse at an M*A*S*H unit in Korea was almost next to impossible though, especially in writing how I felt, not leaving Korea for a while. So, I thought harder and managed to pull out some constructive, yet perfectly conservative, words out of my mind to put the finishing touches. I mean, I had to put a little more oomph into it, to make Mom believe that I was really on her side after all of this time and not the whore she thinks I am. Clarence knew the truth anyway, so he would read in-between the lines completely and lie to Mom with his silver tongue, reassuring her of everything.

Hell, half the time, I have to do it, to keep this family relationship alive and not have to cut them off completely, the sucker that I am. I have to make sure that Mom doesn't damn me to high hell like she does to my father when he was around. In the past, she's called me a little hellion, a liberal Communist and worse (and trust me, in our community, it's a bad thing to be called some of those things without being ostracized). Being on her side was a good thing, especially after the episodes with Clarence, that jackass, but at the same time, sometimes I wondered if it was worth it or not.

Regardless, I continued writing. My words to Mom and Clarence weren't exactly the ones that I wanted to talk to, but it had to do for the time being.

Well, I guess that the pranks on others to relieve the tension of war seemed puerile anyhow. I think I was a little too excited about it, like I always am about new places. You both know, as everyone does, my penchant for fresh positions and exhilarating situations, although most people barely call themselves to my attention, even if I am the superior officer (it's an offense in the US Army, as I've told you, and it's punishable, especially with the enlisted men). But I can certainly say that Korea, in the middle of a just war with the Communists, is sure a hard, blood-drenching experience.

I do not intend a pun. I do mean that this is a beautiful place bombed for territory and I sure wish it can be resolved soon. I do miss you both, and Dean as well, although I know that his tour here in Korea will be coming up soon, in about another month after training for his new post as a commanding officer for his new unit. But as you've both said, it is my duty and not a choice to come here and patch up those who fight against the ungodly and unethical Communist Reds.

With much love, Jeanette K. Morrison

I scanned the few paragraphs, making sure that there were no offensive words that suggested my inner liberal and less religious spirit (bordering on atheism and more on sensible and reasonable morals, in my opinion). Although it was such a small letter, I knew that it'll do for the time being for them, since there's not much to say anyway. After rereading it a few times, I was finally satisfied that I mended my words carefully enough (and lied in the process mostly) and sealed the letter in an envelope lying alone at the end of the footlocker.

Three folds, stuff the letter in the envelope, seal the letter and stamp and address it…it had been a part of my life for many years and it hadn't changed much in the ten years since I was in nursing school and working for the military. Come to think about it, I had not meant to choose this as a career in my life, but it was an escape route out of where I stood and it got me away, far away. I almost gleefully ran to the Army (not really following its regulations all the time), where it took me to places that I never dreamed I would go to. There was a fork in the road and my pathway was clear: go out into the world, when the time came, and not deal with the torture that comes with meddlesome family members.

I sat back against my bunk and took in the moment, a moment of relaxation. There was still time to revise that letter if I still wanted to rip it open and then reseal the envelope later. Hell, I didn't even want to bother to bring the letter to the company clerk, Corporal "Radar" O'Reilly, and have him mail it yet, just in case I thought of something more neutral (or more conservative) to say. Even then, I wouldn't like bothering him either.

Closing my eyes, oblivious to the chatter in the tent, I felt around the edges of the envelope, as if there was some surprise inside that I was excited about, and finally sat up and laid it down on the footlocker. However, I had to watch where it went. To my right at three o'clock, I heard finally heard the satisfying giggles from the nurses over some note one had from home, most likely from someone who was engaged. To my left at nine o'clock, I felt a very light (and soon to be cold) breeze from outside, one that satisfied me, if only for a while.

Naturally, I remembered well what my mother had always said to me about those "loose" women, which was what she would have called the nurses in this tent. The shy daughter in me was always ignoring these warnings, always trying to be "one of them", but there were always consequences to this, as I knew well. Growing up so conservative a family (and running free when I could), I knew that I was too serious for many people, as I was taught to be, and to never indulge in the pleasures that give happiness of a human being. However, things always turn out for the worst and one always runs in the opposite direction.

Again, my thoughts moved, musing some more. I shook my head to warn them away, but I couldn't.

I couldn't say that the events, had they been a different person, would have given anybody sheer happiness. It's been a hard, cold life, and one I could not turn my back on. I could hardly switch it with anyone. Oh, I don't think anybody would have been able to handle my life, even in West Germany.

Knocking my boots off finally, I opened my eyes and guarded my unwatched letter, weary of the nosy nurses and flirtiest doctors (Hawkeye Pierce had been in here at least four times by now, Trapper McIntyre six, as if to compete with his equally rambunctious bunkmate). I then curled back to my bottom bunk, bumping into some nurse in the meantime. While the unknown nurse moved out of my bunk immediately, I darted right back in and laid my brunette head on the hard pillow. That pile of long hair, always in my way, made a comfortable cushion between head and pillow and it dared me to dream, to dig deep into my memories and recall a time, so far ago, that made me come to this hellhole called the 4077th M*A*S*H.