Hawkeye

So there was a good little buzz for a while about the new girl, and I managed to find out her first name—Betsy—and her marital status—single—but nobody seemed to know more than that. Our gas passers here are a quiet little group, which I believe is a side effect of working with thiopental and succinylcholine and other fun inhalants.

I talked BJ into a little walk past the showers at the appropriate hour so I could see our newest resident in something other than olive drab. He was willing to go; Beej is loyal to Peg beyond all human male understanding but he's not adverse to platonic girl-watching on the gentle guise of keeping me out of trouble. I get to comment, he gets to either roll his eyes or grin in reaction, which is pretty much par for us. We paced ourselves and low and behold managed to intersect the parade of pulchritudinous personal hygiene pretties on their way to ablutions I could only fantasize about.

Most of them ignored me and my appreciative nods, including Nurse Miller, AKA the girl to most recently dump me. It was gentle and probably nicer than I deserved but I still felt a pang as she walked by, looking the other way. Ah well, hips in the night, as it were. And then came Sweet Betsy sans Pike, wrapped in a green kimono that set off her curves ever so nicely. She was carrying a little basket and looking at her watch. I gave her a wave. "Good morning Captain oh my Captain!"

She slowed and turned towards us, gliding over and I was impressed with her poise given she was a little underdressed at the moment, rahrrr! When she reached up I introduced BJ, who gave her one of his standard welcoming smiles.

"Pleased to meet you," she told him, and then turned to me. "Tell me, are you busy at the moment, Captain Pierce?"

"Hawkeye," I corrected her, "And actually I have a free slot on my dance card at the moment."

"Lovely, please carry this for me then." And just like that I had the basket in my hands. I wasn't sure I appreciated being made into her beast of burden and was about to say so but she laid a finger on my lips. "I know, it's pushy of me but it's such a nice excuse to bring you along, isn't it?"

And how could I object to that, really? She gave me a wink, waved to BJ who was smirking and off we went. I know I was still a little put out, but when she linked her arm with mine and I got another whiff of that perfume I decided to be magnanimous. "So what's a nice girl like you doing bossing someone like me around?"

"It's a gift," she told me. "I like the way you keep that anger simmering on the back burner, and nobody should have eyes so soulfully, sinfully blue."

"What?" Not my wittiest response but she'd thrown me for a loop. "I'm not angry."

"Sure you are," came her reply. "It's one of your legendary qualities, Ben. And before you get feisty about that, I'm calling you Ben and not Hawkeye because this is between us."

I looked at her again, discomfited. Not a word I use often but this situation was strange and getting stranger. "Well, Betsy, I'm not sure where you're getting your information from but I'm not angry. Now confused would fit, but I think that's understandable given how bizarre this little stroll is getting."

"I'm sorry, was I keeping you from something important?" she asked, leaning closer to me. Frankly it was hard to keep my train of thought when she did that. I'm not sure if it was the combination of glasses and soft voice or whether I was just a sucker for flattery.

"Yes, I've got my three o'clock yodeling lesson followed by a quick nine holes with Truman and his cabinet before settling down to serious liver poisoning from six to nine. So much frivolity, so little time you know."

"Such a whirl of social activity and yet you found time to gallantly carry my delicates," Betsy murmured. "Thank you, Ben. Nobody's done anything that nice for me in a very long time."

"You're welcome," I tried to huff but it didn't come out that way. I looked down in the basket and found myself slightly speechless in the way that only Frederick's of Hollywood can make a man.

I may have actually wheezed a little.

"I'll tell you a secret," she leaned close to me as she took the basket from my nerveless fingers. "Good lingerie is like barbed wire; while it safeguards the property it doesn't obstruct the view." Betsy winked again and sauntered into the showers leaving me to fight with blood rushing to places other than my head. To very specific places not for mentioning in mixed company per se so I did what any male in my situation would do: shoved my fists deep into my pockets and headed for the latrines.

Not my preferred local for erotic relief but I wasn't about to head back to the swamp to pollute myself. Not that it hasn't happened there after dark of course. There's an unwritten rule among men that noises after the lights are out don't get mentioned, unless it's flatulence. Nothing bonds you to your tent mates like trumpet duets in the dark.

In any case I managed some solitude and within several saliva slicked minutes later found myself on the shameless verge of a bountiful tribute to my newest nurse anesthetist's underwear.

Isn't love grand?

Betsy

My evil scheme was working perfectly. I've always wanted to say that, but honestly, Captain Pierce was fast becoming lanky putty in my hands. I pride myself in spotting just the right sort of man to entice; I've learned the hard way about that.

And he was handsome in his own way, I can't deny that. Between the challenge of luring him in and the sorrow deep in those blue eyes, I knew I was going to have my hands full. But that was good. It had been a long time since Phillipe, and he would have wanted me to be happy. I probably would always have his memory in the corner of my heart but it had been nearly three years since his death and time does move on.

Naturally I ended up in the shower stall next to Helene Miller. This wasn't an accident on my part; I wanted to be sure of a few things I'd heard so I made small talk and the conversation drifted around to the doctors, the way it generally does.

"Winchester's a dyed in the wool snob, bleah. And nobody gets anywhere with BJ," Helene told me with a sigh. "Makes him all the more attractive if you ask me."

"I know what you mean," I nodded as I worked my razor along my shin. "Still, he and his buddy watched us go by."

She rolled her eyes so hard at this I was sure she'd peeked at her own brain. "Hawkeye, yeah. He's the Casanova around here and I just cut him loose in fact. Frankly I need more than cocktails and quickies these days."

"Not husband material?" I ventured, moving to the other leg and lathering up.

"Not even boyfriend material," Helene groused. "For him a relationship is just an emotional version of the draft."

"Ohh, too bad," I let myself sigh a little. "I thought he was flirting with me."

"He was," Helene snickered, "and you're welcome to him, even though it won't last. Have fun; Hawkeye's pretty good in the sack, but keep writing to your sweetie back home."

I pretended to look embarrassed and she laughed, this time in a friendlier way. "Oh man he's going to go after you like a fly to honey. Just don't get your heart broken, you hear me?"

I certainly wasn't planning on it, but I ducked my head and looked as shy as I could. Mission accomplished—I had the former girlfriend's support. That would make it easier to keep up my good work.

The next step was to take a look at the other men in camp—at least the ones I was allowed to fraternize with. In my time with the Army I'd learned it was better to figure out the machismo pecking order as quickly as possible and work it to my advantage and clearly the alpha male at the 4077th was Sherman Potter, who hardly had to raise his voice to get people to do things. That was good; when the top dog really WAS the top dog, things ran much more smoothly.

Second in command was a little harder to suss out. I could see Charles Winchester wanted to be and assumed he was because of his rank, but it didn't ring true. If—God forbid- Potter were to drop dead, the entire camp would look to . . . Hawkeye Pierce. Winchester might have the oak leaves but Pierce had the obvious seniority. That was interesting because it was also clear to me that he didn't want it . . . but he wouldn't give to Winchester willingly either. Ben Pierce was a sorely conflicted man that way. It meant he was in a good place to have someone take some of that worry off his lean shoulders.

And that was what I found so damned attractive about him.

In the meantime I poked around the camp to get the layout of the place, making it a point to ask questions and smile. There wasn't a lot to it although the place was spread out, and I could tell where more popular hangouts were, along with a few potentially private places as well. Nobody seemed too surprised when the girl with glasses poked around the library and peeked into the kitchens. Eventually I made my way back to the hospital itself, wondering which doctor I'd be working with first. I didn't want it to be Pierce just yet—I'd rather have a chance to see him in action before I did anything else.

And the anticipation was going to be sweet.