Title: Tentationem

Characters: Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy/Captain Jack Peterson (OC)

Rating: MA

Summary: The chaplain befriends the newest surgeon at the 4077th, but quickly finds himself at odds with his feelings when the unexpected occurs.

Author's Note: Based on the character portrayed by Rene Auberjonois from MASH (1970), the original film production. Captain Jack Peterson bears no resemblance to either Captain Jack Sparrow or Captain Jack Harkness, unfortunately. The title is Latin for "Temptation".

I intentionally made some of what Hawkeye says reflect the Mainer-speak. I'll try to keep it to a mimimum so that you can actually understand what he's saying. As always, please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them right away. Thanks for reading. –RW


Captain Jack Peterson of New Harmony, Indiana stepped out of the jeep into the middle of chaos. Adjusting the revolver-black frame of his rectangular glasses, he surveyed the scene around him. Uniformed men and women were running about tending to wounded casualties who must have arrived mere moments before the captain himself. Nurses were shouting instructions at the orderlies, corpsmen and stretcher bearers were running to and fro, carrying people in through a door marked PRE-OP. Jack was briefly taken aback by the madness of it all and number of bodies covering the ground. Barely two months ago, Dr. Jack Peterson—a resident at an Indiana hospital—had been drafted by the U.S. Army and given his orders to report to a MASH unit in Uijeongbu, Korea. Captain Jack Peterson had landed in Korea less than 24 hours ago, and this was the first sign of the war that he had seen.

Before Jack could think to move forward and assist the wounded soldiers, a man ran up to him, saluting. "You must be Captain Peterson, sir. I'm Staff Sergeant Vollmer. As you can see, we've just had casualties arrive. Colonel Blake is already in the OR, sir. I'm afraid we'll need you to start work immediately. I'll take your things to the surgeon's tent; it's the one labeled 'Swamp.'"

Jack opened his mouth to thank the staff sergeant, but Vollmer had already run off again. He moved towards the raging sea of people, not sure where to start.

"Doctor!" He heard a nurse calling out. He looked over to see a fountain of blood squirting up from a deep wound in a soldier's neck, indicating that the carotid artery was cut and exposed. The nurse was holding a piece of gauze against the wound in an attempt to stop the spray of blood. Whatever doctor she had been calling for didn't answer, so Jack quickly made his way over.

"What have you got, nurse?"

The woman looked at him curiously for a moment before giving him a brief rundown of the man's condition.

"Keep holding pressure to the neck wound and get him into the OR, stat. Get an arterial clamp on there to stop the blood flow. I'll be there as soon as I'm gowned and gloved."

"Yes, Doctor."

Jack wandered off towards the pre-op area, hoping he was headed in the right direction and collided with another man who was rushing out the door at the same time.

"Oh!" The other man exclaimed, reaching out to grasp Jack's arm in an attempt to keep them both from being knocked over. "I'm terribly sorry."

Jack noticed the purple cloth draped around the man's neck and immediately realized that he must be the camp's chaplain. "No harm, Father. Say though, would you mind to point me towards the wash basin? It's my first day here and I'm a bit lost."

"You must be the new talent," the priest said with a pleasant smile. "Come with me, I'll give you a quick tour."

"I'd appreciate it." Jack smiled back, following the other man as he turned back through the door.

"This is the pre-op ward—as you can see, we're pretty full up in here on patients waiting for surgery. The ones that can't wait go straight in, but the others are brought in here…as many as we can fit, anyways."

"Is it always this busy?"

"No, thank God. Fighting has picked up in the last day or so, so we're getting hit pretty hard with wounded." The priest motioned Jack on to an adjoining room. "Here's the scrub room. Clean scrubs are folded on the racks and arranged by size. Dirty scrubs go in this barrel. They'll gown and glove you in the OR, which is through that door."

Jack watched as the priest indicated the various points of interest, and nodded in understanding. "Thanks, I appreciate your help."

"That's what I'm here for," the priest smiled, then extended his hand. "Dago Red."

"Dago Red?" Jack asked with an intrigued laugh. "You'll have to tell me about that one. Captain Jack Peterson. "

"Nice to meet you, Jack. I'm sorry you have to start the minute you get to camp. If you need anything, just holler."

Jack watched the other man leave in as much of a flurry as he'd been in when the two had collided, then turned toward the large sink and quickly scrubbed up. Jack was no stranger to the OR, but he suddenly had the nerves of a first year med student. This was a mobile hospital, not a state-of-the-art facility, and he was the new kid in town. He had no idea what to expect once he crossed the threshold into the operating theater.

Taking a deep breath, Jack steadied his nerves and headed in to face his first round of wartime casualties.

If pre-op had been chaos, the OR was the doorstep to Hell. The floor was littered with bloody sponges, gauze and other materials, and the small room was jammed with people and archaic looking equipment. He took a quick look around, noting that every table but one seemed to have a surgeon already working, so he hurried over to the boy he'd seen outside. A nurse quickly gowned and gloved him as he looked down at the boy on the table, assessing what needed to be tended to after the neck wound.

"I don't think we've met, stranger," a voice carried over from the next table. "I'm Hawkeye Pierce."

"Jack Peterson. I just rolled in about five minutes ago."

"Ah, Captain Peterson!" Another voice came from behind him. "I'm Colonel Blake. I'm glad you found your way to the OR, we sure need an extra set of hands in here."

"Ever done meatball surgery before?" Hawkeye asked.

"Meatball surgery?"

"Yeah, that's what they call this… No time for fancy fixes; just get in, get out and get the next guy on the table."

"I guess this will be a first for me."

"Don't worry; you'll get used to it." Hawkeye promised, then continued the conversation as Jack set out to work on the kid. "Where are you bunking?"

"The Swamp?"

"Ah, good. I think you'll find our tent quite accommodating. Are you drinking man, sir? Do you like martinis?"

"I could do with a good martini now and again."

"Well, once we're clear of the OR, I'll introduce you to our still."

As Jack and the others worked through the never-ending parade of bodies, the conversation between the doctors carried on. Jack noted that Hawkeye seemed quite at ease in the OR, often tossing out quips and off-color jokes to the others. After several hours, Jack was beginning to wonder if there would ever be an end to the bodies rolling through. His fingers were cramped and his feet were aching. He could almost feel blisters forming from standing in one place for so long.

"How are you doing, Jack?" A soft voice asked from the head of the table and Jack glanced up into semi-familiar blue eyes peeking above a white surgical mask. The purple stole around the man's neck was the only indicator of who the man was.

"There is an end to this, right? I'm not going to be standing here the entire war, am I?"

Dago Red's eyes crinkled and Jack could tell the other man was smiling behind the mask. "I certainly hope not. We've just finished debriding the minor wounds in pre-op and prepping the others. I think there were about 3 waiting for surgery. Hopefully, unless another wave comes in, you'll get a break very soon."

"Thank God."

"Already have," Dago quipped with a small laugh. "Is there anything else I can do for you? I'm not very good with the instruments, but if you need an extra hand, I'll be glad to lend one of mine."

"Thanks, Father. I think I'm okay for the moment. You just gave me hope."

The priest smiled again, then wondered off and Jack refocused on his patient.

When the end finally came, Jack felt ready to collapse and wondered just how long he'd been in surgery. He'd lost count of how many patients he'd seen, and now knew exactly what Hawkeye Pierce had meant by 'meatball surgery.'

Changing out of his scrubs with the other doctors, Jack was reintroduced to Hawkeye and Colonel Blake, able to see their full faces now that none of them were hidden behind surgical masks. Hawkeye was tall and lean with blonde hair, much like Jack's, and steel blue eyes that were obscured by the tinted lenses of his glasses. To his left, another man roughly the same height and build, was pulling a scrub top off over his head. He had unruly black hair that matched his thick Fu Manchu and long sideburns.

"John McIntrye," the man said, chomping a piece of gum. "Call me Trapper."

"Howdy," another voice drawled as a hand appeared in front of him. "I'm Duke Forrest."

The southern boy was shorter than Jack and the other two doctors, but seemed to be clean-cut compared to his counterparts.

"How y'all likin' Korea?"

"I haven't seen too much of it," Jack answered. "But so far I'm not too impressed."

The others laughed and Hawkeye clapped him on the shoulder. "I believe I promised you a drink, sir. Would you care to imbibe with us?"

"That would be nice, thank you."

"Y'all talk real nice," Duke said as he, Jack, Hawkeye and Trapper headed outside. Night had fallen around the camp, and now Jack really did wonder how long they'd been in surgery. "Where y'all from?"

"Indiana. Little place called New Harmony."

"Another Yankee," Duke shook his head. "Figures. Trapper, Hawkeye and me comes from the east coast, but I'm the only one on the right side of the Mason-Dixon line."

"That's a matter of opinion," Trapper said. "I'm from Boston. Hawkeye's from Crapapple Cove in Maine."

"Crabapple, you Masshole." Hawkeye corrected, as he opened the door to the Swamp. Duke entered first, followed by Trapper, then Jack. "You can take Frank Burns' old bunk there. Hopefully it's been eradicated of whatever made him crack up over here. Shame you never met him; he was a jo-jeezly son of a howah."

"I'm sorry…a what?"

"A Howah." Hawkeye repeated. "You know…a loose lady."

"Oh!" Jack exclaimed, translating the thick Mainer accent to understand what Hawkeye had said. Between Trapper's Boston accent, Duke's southern drawl and Hawkeye's Mainer slang, Jack wasn't sure that he was going to be able to keep up in the conversations.

Picking up his bags, which had been placed on top of the bunk, Jack sat down on the old mattress. A set of sheets and blanket were folded at the end of the bed, but he didn't have the stamina at that moment to make up his bed. "I see now why you called it meatball surgery."

"It's a bit jarring the first few times," Hawkeye nodded, pouring out four martinis. "You picked up it well enough, though. Usually takes most guys a week to figure out this isn't the operating theater we're all useta. The army doesn't want you wasting time to fix a femoral artery, if it can't be fixed in five minutes, cut the leg."

"Yeah…" Duke drawled. "That's what gets me. You know you can save an arm or a leg, but when you got bodies waitin', you ain't got the time."

"We make some exceptions, though." Trapper added. "It's a judgment call sometimes, but don't push it. Henry'll be easy on you and let you get away with going slow, but you gotta keep up."

"Plus, we know where you sleep now, and if we have to cover your slack…" Hawkeye let the idle threat trail off as he handed a martini to Jack. "Here you are, sir. Finestkind."

"So, what'd you do in Indiana?" Duke asked, taking a large gulp of his own drink.

"I was in my last year of residency when they drafted me."

"Sounds 'bout right." Duke nodded.

"How long have the three of you been over here?" Jack asked.

"Five months." Trapper said, raising his hand half way in the air.

"Duke and I got here about a month and a half before Trapper. We're counting down the days to February when we get our orders to get out of this hellhole."

"You rats." Trapper commented.

"You've got Jack now," Hawkeye said, as if that was a consolation prize.

"You married? Kids?" Duke continued with the questioning. "Me, I got a wife and two girls. Plus a few girls over here, if you catch my drift."

The grin on Duke's face left no room for misinterpretation. Jack shook his head, "I'm not married; no kids either."

"Ah, you're a lucky man, friend." Hawkeye said, raising his glass. "Guilt-free fornication, no worries of your wife finding out about your overseas exploits."

"I take it you're married?" Jack asked.

"Ah-yuh, and two ankle biteahs to complete the ball-and-chain package."

"Same here," Trapper said, indicating a row of framed photos on the shelf above his bed. "Also with two brats."

Jack glanced up at the portraits of Trapper's wife and daughters and offered a smile. "Very nice."

There was a swift knock on the door before it swung open to admit Colonel Blake and the camp's chaplain, now only recognizable by the crosses on his lapels. The priest's eyes immediately went to Jack's and he gave a warm smile as Henry spoke. "I thought I'd come by and make sure you were getting settled in alright. This is our Catholic chaplain, Father Mulcahy, whose tent is just right across the way from here on the end if you need matters of a spiritual nature. My tent is next to the main office, you can't miss it. You'll be taking over Major Burns' shift from 7am to 7pm, but when we've got days like this…well, let's just say you'll have more work than you can ask for."

"Or want." Trapper added.

"Care for a drink, Henry?" Hawkeye asked.

"Oh, no, I've got…work to do."

"Mmhm." Duke muttered knowingly behind the rim of his glass. Henry cast a quick glare in his direction.

"Anyhow, if you've got any questions, feel free to ask. You've met Vollmer, of course. Radar O'Reilly is my company clerk, you'll get to know him quick enough."

"Where is Radar?" Hawkeye asked, having just realized he hadn't seen the boy all day.

"I sent him up to Seoul to pick up a package from HQ. I didn't want to take a chance of it getting lost in a supply raid."

"But you'll take the chance of it getting kifed off one lone kid in a jeep in the middle of a warzone. Good thinking, Henry."

"Can it, Pierce. " Blake grouched. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my tent."

The chaplain stepped aside to let the colonel out and Hawkeye turned his attention on him. "Hows about you, Dago? Care to join us?"

"Oh, sure. But, just a taste, please. I'm praying later."

The three other men laughed gently as if the chaplain had been kidding and Jack watched the man sit on the edge of Hawkeye's bunk next to the surgeon, who poured him a drink and passed it over. Dago Red, Jacked noted, was shorter than himself, probably standing somewhere around 5'10, maybe 5'11, and in the neighborhood of 175 pounds. He had thick reddish brown hair that seemed to naturally part just shy of his right temple and toppled over just above his brow. He was a mildly handsome man, Jack thought, and had a gentle, approachable air about him. His olive drab fatigues seemed a size too large on his frame, and Jack noticed that the priest had either intentionally or unintentionally trapped a section of the fine-link chain bearing his cross behind one his shirt buttons.

"I'm glad to see you survived your first day," the chaplain was saying, drawing Jack's gaze up from the middle of the man's torso. "I don't think anyone ever appreciates the phrase 'thrown to the wolves' until they've had a run in the OR here."

"Amen." Duke said from his bunk, lifting his glass towards the priest.

"I'm just glad you said this isn't an everyday thing," Jack said with a soft smile.

"Nah," Duke chimed in again. "If it was, we'd all be buckin' for a Section 8."

"So, Father—"

"Call him Dago," Hawkeye interrupted. "The rest of us do. I think he prefers it."

"I don't prefer it," Dago argued evenly, looking at Hawkeye. "I'm just used to it; and it's fewer syllables."

Hawkeye grinned at him.

"Where did you come up with the nickname?" Jack asked.

"Oh," Mulcahy laughed, then indicated his head in the direction of the three other doctors. "These guys christened me 'Dago Red' in appreciation for my attempt to befriend them."

"How's that?"

"Dago was here before any of us," Trapper supplied. "Anytime someone new comes alone, he makes it his business to get to know them."

"Yah, so watch out. He's actually got an ulterior motive for sitting here with us now." Hawkeye warned.

"That's not entirely true," Dago argued again. "I enjoy your company as well."

Hawkeye waved him off as he continued Trapper's tale. "When Duke and I first got here, we kind of snubbed Dago a bit because I'm not religious in any sense of the word and Duke's not a fan of…"

"Bead jigglers." Duke supplied as Hawkeye struggled for a polite description of Catholics.

"Ah-yuh…well, long story short, the three of us never really had much need to speak since he knew where we stood religiously—"

"You intimidated me." Dago admitted, looking down at his drink as Hawkeye told the tale. "I thought at the very least we could be friendly, but you two were just plain cruel at times."

"Which we've since apologized for," Hawkeye pointed out in a tone that suggested they'd had this conversation before. Jack found himself wondering how the doctors had been cruel to the priest, but continued to listen as Dago picked up the story.

"It wasn't until shortly after Trapper's arrival that Hawkeye lost his first patient. We'd lost boys before, but he'd never been the one working on them. The loss really hit him hard, and that's when I decided that I had to do everything in my power as chaplain to offer some sort of comfort to him."

"I remember when you came in here asking if there was anything you could do; Hawkeye took one look at you and told you that unless you had a bottle of whiskey, to get the hell out and don't let the door hit you in the ass." Trapper reflected, laughing. "We didn't think you'd actually come back."

"Yes, well, never underestimate a priest on a mission." Dago replied. "I didn't have any whiskey, but I did have some cognac that had been given to me, so I got it from my tent and brought it back over for a peace offering. I guess Hawkeye was impressed, or just placated, but he let me stay so long as I kept conversation away from religiosity."

"And on the condition that you continued drinking with us." Trapper added.

Hawkeye took back over. "We drank the whole bottle of cognac, the contents of the still, and some of Duke's Georgia moonshine. I wasn't done yet, but there wasn't a drop of alcohol left in the tent, so Dago went back to his tent and brought us a bottle of the wine he uses for mass—Dago Red wine. Before we polished off that bottle, Dago completely passed out."

"It's a miracle I didn't die from alcohol poisoning," Dago quipped.

"You could have stopped at any time," Hawkeye pointed out. "It's not my fault you didn't know when to quit. Besides, Trap and I made sure you were still breathing."

"Was that before or after you mummified me to the bunk with gauze?"

The three doctors erupted into laughter, practically falling over in hysterics as Jack watched the exchange, trying to imagine the scene in his mind.

"You should have seen it," Hawkeye said, wiping tears of mirth from his face. "We hung a sign out front that said 'See a Pickled Priest, 5¢.'"

"Henry was so mad at you three."

"And I wasn't even there!" Duke asserted.

"That's how I got my name, though. From then on, every time they saw me, they called me Dago Red. The rest of the camp caught onto it pretty quickly and now the only people who call me by any other name are Colonel Blake, Radar, and Vollmer."

"What would you prefer I call you?" Jack asked sincerely.

The chaplain smiled softly and shrugged. "Dago is fine. Like I said, I'm used to it."

Jack felt an immediate affinity for the chaplain and watched him take a drink of the dry martini as Duke started to talk about which nurses were open to a casual fling and which ones were strictly off limits. The priest quickly drained the rest of his glass and held it out to Hawkeye.

"That's my cue." He announced as he stood up. "Behave yourselves, boys. Jack, in case it hasn't been said, welcome to the Double Natural."

"See ya, Dago." Hawkeye gave a small wave, setting the used glass aside.

Duke continued on in his tutelage of nurse chasing, but Jack was only half-listening. He wished the priest had stayed longer, but didn't blame him for cutting bait. Jack had known subjects like women and marriage and sex would probably come up, but he hadn't expected it to be one of the first major conversations he'd had with his new tent-mates. He feigned a yawn, even though he was actually quite tired, and Hawkeye seemed to catch on to the discreet message and interrupted his friend.

"Let's save the art of skirt chasing for another day. Jack's looking a little low on moxie."

Though not quite sure what 'moxie' was, Jack nodded in agreement. "Yes, I'm sorry. It's been quite the day."

"We've all been there." Hawkeye told him. "The shower tent is at the edge of the camp, the officer's latrine is just right over there. If the sign on the shower says 'ladies only' feel free to ignore it. We do."

Jack laughed softly as Hawkeye grinned at him, then rifled through his bag for his shower kit and robe. As he left the tent, he could hear the others quietly assessing him.

"He seems like a good shat," Hawkeye said.

"Don't think he's going to be ornery, do ya?" Duke posed.

"Nah, he's just new." Trapper answered.

Jack laughed quietly at their idiosyncratic vernacular and headed for the showers. Peeling off the dress uniform that he'd been wearing when he'd arrived, he neatly folding it on the bench before he stepped under one of the spigots and washed away the long day. He brought to mind the various faces of the people he'd met, trying to recall their names and what information he knew about them. He laughed softly as he thought about Dago Red, the camp's Catholic priest. The man was really quite sweet, and obviously went out of his way to make people feel welcome. It was a shame that Hawkeye and the others had made it such an uphill battle for him to earn their respect and friendship, but there seemed to be no animosity on his part.

He was pleased to see that while this was a military establishment, regulations seemed to be pretty lax. Colonel Blake had been a strange character himself, having traded in his surgical scrubs for a bucket hat with fishing lures stuck through it. So far the only person who had been truly military had been the staff sergeant that had greeted him first upon his arrival.

Then there was Hawkeye Pierce, Trapper McIntyre, and Duke Forrest. Jack still wasn't sure how he felt about those three. They were friendly enough, but other than medicine, Jack wasn't entirely sure they would have much in common. That and the fact that he could only just understand what they were saying made him wonder how well they would all get along.

Finishing his shower, Jack toweled himself off and wrapped up in his terry-cloth robe before sliding his feet back into his boots. He supposed for his first real day in Korea that things had gone well, considering. He'd been nervous about working so close to the front lines, but the life of the camp seemed to be thriving without the fear of a stray bomb or bullets or Chinese invasion. Jack supposed that his own nervousness would subside after some time, but he drew comfort in knowing he'd made a few decent allies already.

As he headed out of the showers, Jack—again—collided with a solid body, and—again—a hand grasped his arm.

"Oh!" The familiar cry of surprise almost made Jack laugh out loud, and he couldn't help but grin at the chaplain.

"We have to stop meeting like this."

"I should learn to watch where I'm going," Dago chuckled, releasing Jack's arm and taking a step back. "I see you found the shower tent. That's definitely an important landmark you wouldn't want to miss."

This time Jack did laugh. "I have a feeling someone would eventually help me find it."

"You're probably right." The chaplain chuckled, then added. "If you're hungry, there's probably still some warm food in the mess tent right over there. I can't imagine you've had much to eat all day."

"Thank you, I think I'll put on some proper attire and see what's on the menu."

"Don't get your hopes up." Dago advised. "The army's idea of 'gourmet' leaves a lot to be desired."

"Well, if you'd like to join me in bidding my appetite goodbye, I wouldn't oppose the company."

Dago laughed heartily. "I'd be more than happy to give your stomach the last rites."

Jack laughed with him and stepped aside so that the priest could enter the shower tent. "Shall I get us a table for two?"

"I'll be there." Dago nodded.

Jack went back to the Swamp, taking his time to change into everyday fatigues and make up his bed, knowing he had a little time before the priest would be done showering.

"Gotta date?" Hawkeye asked as he observed Jack from his bunk. Trapper was snoring beneath his blanket, and Duke looked to be on the verge of sleep as well.

Jack contained the smile pulling at his lips. "If you call having dinner with the chaplain a date, then yes, I suppose I do. Care to join us? Apparently he's going to give my stomach last rites."

Hawkeye snorted a laugh. "Naw, I gave up eating a long time ago. Though, once you become useta the smell, it becomes almost passable as food."

Jack finished making his bed and stowed his suitcase under the bunk after transferring his belongings to his footlocker, then decided to head out to meet the chaplain.

The mess tent was just what it sounded like—a tent with a lot of mess loosely called food. The heavy canvas ceiling was supported by three poles that ran the length of the tent and draped down so low in spots that Jack could feel it graze the top of his head. There was a long line of tables set up with trays and utensils, and a buffet-style banquet with servers ready to dish up whatever you wanted. Jack made his way down the line, picking and choosing between the items he could readily identify and opting against those he couldn't. There were only a handful of people sitting down to eat, so Jack chose a table in the middle of the tent, not wanting to appear anti-social, but not wishing to encroach on their conversations without being invited either.

Barely more than a minute after he'd sat down, he saw the chaplain enter the tent and discreetly watched the other man get a meager helping of food and pour himself some coffee before he came and sat across from Jack.

"Not brave enough to try the meat?" Dago asked with a slight smirk.

"Not without knowing what animal it came from."

That gained another hearty laugh.

"Sometimes it's better not to ask," the chaplain teased with a wink before bowing his head and crossing himself to quietly pray over his food. Jack watched him, admiring how devote he seemed to be in his faith.

"What made you decide to become an army chaplain?" Jack asked when the priest had raised his head again and picked up his utensils. "I assume you weren't drafted like the rest of us."

"I volunteered myself. I had spent a fair amount of time doing missionary work in China before the communists took it over and declared the People's Republic of China. With all of the civil wars and fighting, it became exceptionally dangerous for us to remain, but I refused to leave, believing that if there was ever a time when people needed to hear the word of God, the time of war was it."

"That's brave of you." Jack told him, listening with rapt interest.

"Well, brave or foolish…I haven't decided which yet." Dago admitted ruefully. "The Chinese government told us to leave or they would remove us by force. When I still refused, a general of the Chinese army threatened to skin me alive and nail my hide to the church. I figured that I would be more use to God alive than dead, so I ultimately left. By this time things were heating up between North and South Korea—the North Koreans being supported by Communist China, of course. I still had the same belief that the time of war was a good opportunity to spread the word of God, so I joined the army as a Chaplain. I didn't know I'd be sent to a MASH unit, but God has His reasons for bringing me here. It's been a challenge, but I've enjoyed it."

"I'm sure."

"Forgive me for being forward but…would you mind if I asked about your own faith?"

"Would you like an honest answer?"

"Of course."

Jack pushed his tray away enough to fold his arms on the tabletop as he looked at Dago thoughtfully. "I find organized religion on the whole to be a bit… narrow. I believe in God—or a higher power anyways—but with so many religions out there all claiming to be the right one, how can I be sure which one is actually right?"

Dago, no stranger to this type of question, nodded gently. "That's a fair question."

When the priest didn't elaborate, Jack raised his eyebrows and gave a slight laugh. "Aren't you going to answer it?"

Dago thought for a moment, then smiled softly. "No."

"No?"

"Faith is a personal journey for every man. I can't tell you what to believe in."

Jack gave him an amused look. "I thought you were the spiritual leader of the camp?"

"Of course I am, but I'm also a practical man of God and don't believe in pushing off my beliefs on a person I've only just met." He paused for a second as he sprinkled salt on his food. "Besides, faith and religion are not necessarily interconnected."

"Oh? Care to enlighten me?" Jack asked with genuine interest.

"I studied world religions in seminary. Religion, by definition, is simply a fundamental set of beliefs and practices that are agreed upon by a number of people and are generally supported by societal norms and values; morals, if you will."

"Go on," Jack encouraged when the priest paused again.

"Well, by that definition, religions are all fundamentally the same in that the doctrines attempt to explain why we are here and provide a moral and ethical framework. Most, but not all, religious texts support the existence of God—or Gods as the case may be—and establish rituals and guiding principles meant to help you connect to God and live a meaningful life."

"So, if they're all fundamentally the same, how can one claim to be the true path to God and the others false?"

"You have to understand that religion is a man-made concept, and it is never static. It changes and evolves and grows and splits and merges as more and more people try to understand and interpret the word of God. Look at this way; let's say I were to write down the letter A. Everyone who understands the English language and knows the alphabet can agree that it is the letter A. However, some people may say that I haven't written it down correctly, and they may write it another way—like serif and san serif fonts. A group of people who believe that that letter A is the right way would get together and form their own beliefs about the way the letter A should be written. The same is applied to religion. The words of the Bible have never changed, but the way it has been interpreted has. I may see a passage and glean a completely different meaning from it than you would. The conflict, however, comes in when I believe that I am right and you believe that you are right and neither of us are willing to accept the other as a possible alternative, or simply let the other person believe what they want to believe. It is that immovability in our beliefs that cause wars, or separation of churches, or mass genocide—and I'm only talking about the Christian religion!"

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure."

"If you believe that all religions are fundamentally the same, why did you choose to follow Catholicism?"

"I was raised Catholic, for one. But, not only that, I have always believed that Jesus is the son of God and died for our sins, even after studying other religions. The term 'Catholic' comes from the Late Latin word catholicus, which is derived from the Greek adjective katholikos, which means universal. It was first used in the 2nd century to emphasize the scope of Christianity. It wasn't until later in the Cathechetical Discourses of St. Cyril of Jerusalem, that the 'Catholic Church' emerged as a way of identifying the church from other Christian sects. In 1054, there was a division of the church known as the East-West Schism in which the churches that remained in communion with the Pope referred to themselves as Catholic, while Eastern churches that rejected the Pope as the primal authority of the Church called themselves Orthodox, or Eastern Orthodox. The term Catholic is still in use to distinguish between the Church and the Protestant denominations that split off during the Reformation." Dago, seeming to realize he was rambling, stopped and gave a nervous laugh. "Sorry… Religion itself is a topic that truly fascinates me. I could go on about it forever."

Jack smiled reassuringly. "Don't apologize. I was interested in what you were saying."

Dago beamed in response, pleased that he hadn't put off the new surgeon with his ramblings, then speared several peas onto the tines of his fork. "So, tell me about yourself, Jack."

"Oh, there's not that much to tell, really. I was born and raised in New Harmony, Indiana. Attended Indiana University where I got my M.D. I was nearly at the end of my residency when I was drafted to come here."

"Yes," Dago said with sympathy. "That's the story of many of the boys here. It's a shame they had to enact the draft for this war, but it's a good thing people like you, Hawkeye and Trapper are here. Without you doctors, those boys in the OR wouldn't stand a chance. Colonel Blake and Captain Bandini are the only two surgeons who are regular army. Everyone else is a draftee. There was Major Burns, of course, but…well, obviously he's not with us anymore or you wouldn't be here."

"What happened to him anyways? Hawkeye mentioned him back in the Swamp. Said he went nuts over here."

"Unfortunately, Hawkeye is right. As for what exactly happened…well, I'm not sure any of us truly knows." Dago took a sip of his coffee.

"Was he the first one to lose it?"

"From this outfit, yes. There's certainly no shortage of people intentionally or unintentionally trying to get a dishonorable discharge, though. Honestly, for the longest time, I considered recommending Hawkeye Pierce for a Section 8."

"What'd they do to you? You mentioned earlier that they'd been quite cruel."

"Oh," Dago flushed slightly. "Just some things here and there. Probably the worst was when they kidnapped the chaplain from one of the neighboring units. Shaking Sammy is what they call him because he likes to shake people's hands and will just about shake your arm out of socket if you're not careful. He'd been visiting here and had gone through post-op to speak to some boys of his faith. There was one boy who was pretty bad off, but Sammy decided to write a letter home for the boy saying that he would be home soon and not to worry. The boy died the next day. Hawkeye was boiling mad and told Sammy if he ever came back here again that he'd make sure he didn't walk out of here. After that, the boys had a real vendetta against Sammy. When they kidnapped him, they brought him back here bound and gagged, stripped him down to his undershorts, and tied him to a cross they had made and erected in front of my tent. The next morning, when I went outside, the first thing I see is Sammy on the cross and Hawkeye, Duke and Trapper laid out on old mattresses underneath him. They were all just drunk as a skunk and when I asked what the hell they thought they were doing, they said that it was their gift to me. Apparently I had done a little Cross Action—that's what they call it when I come in and pray for a kid during surgery—and the kid pulled through, so they figured they owed me. When I told them to cut Sammy down, Hawkeye became damn near belligerent and started yelling about how Sammy was a menace and did more harm than good, and how he should be taught a lesson. Before I could argue, they doused Sammy in—what I thought—was gasoline, then threw a Molotov cocktail at him. I was certain the poor guy was about to be immolated, so I threw myself on the flaming bottle, only to find out that it was filled with water…same as the 'accelerant' they'd thrown all over him. The three of them thought it was an absolute riot, but Sammy was in hysterics. I've never seen Colonel Blake as angry as he was that day. The only reason he didn't send them all to Leavenworth was because I asked him not to."

"Why? After such a horrible prank, why would you spare them punishment?"

"Call me a sucker, but…well, I could kind of see where they were coming from. We were all upset with Sammy, even though his intentions were good. Whatever Hawkeye, Trapper and Duke may be…they're damn good doctors and we'd be truly lost without them."

"You seem to get along with them fairly well now." Jack observed.

"Believe me, it took a lot of effort and the worst hangover of my life to get this far with them."

They both laughed before Jack switched the topic. "So, Father Mulcahy…do you have a first name?"

Dago laughed softly. "I do; it's John."

"Ah ha. You know, I think I like that better than Dago Red. Not that Dago isn't an interesting moniker. Would you mind if I called you John…or is there some rule against calling a priest by his given name?"

Laughing again, the priest nodded. "I think that would be acceptable."

The two finished their dinner and Jack found himself yawning nearly uncontrollably. "Forgive me; I can't seem to stop yawning."

"I have that effect on people," Mulcahy teased.

"Oh, no. Not at all. I've enjoyed chatting with you."

"So have I. Everyone is friendly around here, but I think most people are afraid to talk to me."

"Well, judging by the conversations I've already been engaged in, I daresay that it wouldn't be your cup of tea anyways."

"Yes, you're right there."

"I suppose I ought to turn in." Jack said with another yawn. "Can I walk you home?"

"It should be the other way around. You're the one who's been here less than a day."

"Well, if you insist." Jack winked.

Dago smiled and stood, grabbing both of their trays and carrying them over to the stack of dirty untensils waiting to be washed. He thanked the servers who were still waiting around for any other latecomers, then followed Jack out into the night. Jack looked up at the stars and put his hands in his pockets.

"It's a nice night. I'm almost sorry to be going to bed so early."

"It's not that early," Dago murmured. "It's nearly 2300 hours."

"Gee…was I really in surgery that long?"

Dago nodded as the two walked towards the Swamp. "Time tends to measure itself in bodies rather than passing hours around here. There have been days when we go into the OR in the early morning and don't come back out until the next morning. Were it not for exhaustion and aching feet, you'd swear time had stopped during surgery."

"That sounds disturbing."

"It is; but what's more disturbing is how normal that becomes after a while. The best advice I can offer you is to sleep when you can because you never know when there will be wounded. But, on the same token, find a hobby. Hours can seem like days if you find yourself with nothing to do."

"Sage advice." Jack smiled, stopping outside the door of the Swamp. "I guess this is me."

"Another word of advice," Dago said after a moment of consideration. "Sleep with one eye open. I wouldn't put it past Hawkeye and Trapper to 'initiate' you in some way."

Jack laughed and shook the priest's hand. "Thanks for the tip, John."

"Sleep well, Jack."

"You too." Jack watched the priest continue on to his tent, then quietly made his way inside the Swamp. His three tent-mates were all sacked out, so he stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and crawled under the blanket in his bunk.

As he closed his eyes and started drifting off to sleep, Jack reflected over this conversation with the priest. Mulcahy seemed like one of the few people he'd met thus far that he might actually get along while he was here. He was intelligent and witty and not obsessed with women and drinking like Pierce and the others. While Jack liked a good drink on occasion, he'd never been one for getting completely plastered; and women…well, they weren't exactly a priority either.

Jack sighed tiredly and turned on his side, smiling to himself. He always tried to find the silver lining in dismal situations. Apparently his silver lining in Korea was going to be a chaplain. How ironic. Jack thought with a rueful shake of his head before he succumb to slumber.


TBC