Chapter Two: Stars and Stripes.

Mess Tent

Hawkeye was in the mood for a dusty martini after the O.R. session. The O club was no dice, however. They were still rebuilding it after the prior week's come as your favorite war criminal party. That meant a date with the still. Nothing like burning a hole in one's stomach to relax. However, after five minutes of Charles' records and BJ's constant rereads of Peg's letters detailing the mass, shade, and regularity of Erin's bowel movements he decided a trip to the mess tent for a nice murky of coffee was just what he needed. Besides, a fight would inevitably ensue between all three bunkmates huddled around the heater. Charles would turn the record up to blare out the argument and BJ would demand he retreat to the Colonel's office for the rest of the day as he was the interim commanding officer. The cold and the boredom were getting to everyone. Hawkeye felt their pain, but didn't want to bare it with them. Not for the umpteenth time. So, he bundled up tight and tracked to the mess tent in search of a measure of solitude. He passed by Radar, clipboard clasped in hand, standing by the door, his glasses pushed up on his nose, his brow furrowed and strained.

"Radar, why don't you get inside? You're gonna end up our own personal snowman otherwise."

"Nah, that's okay. I'll just…uh…um…"

"What's the matter, short stuff?"

"Aw, nothing…"

"Come on, Radar," Hawkeye coaxed, "I know when our little muskrat's got something on his mind."

"You promise you won't laugh?"

"Of course."

"Okay, I'll tell—"

"Too cold to smile. If I do my face will chip apart."

"Aw come on, Hawkeye!"

"I promise, I promise!"

"Uh…I want an autograph."

"I have stop coming here. You rabid poachers are all alike! I come around for a good time and you jump on top of me! No respect for the famous! That's what that is! Outrageous!"

"Hawkeye, keep your voice down," Radar whispered loudly, checking to see if anymore inside was taking notice of their conversation. "You ask me what's the matter and all you can do is make things worse!"

"I'm sorry, really. Whose John Hancock are you after? Can't help you if it's Garbo. She doesn't come into town anymore since I started following her around. Course, I wasn't after an autograph."

"You know that guy that came in with the ambulance?"

"You mean Fred C. Dobbs?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. I know who you're talking about. Has the hat and the whip."

"It's Indiana Jones!" Radar's eyes seemed to light up at the mere mention of his name. It spurred fantasies of voyages in distant lands and exotic locales, facing death at every turn whether it was the explosion of an angry pistol or the base of a pit of spikes. If adventure had a name it was Indiana Jones.

"Who?"

"Don't tell me you've never heard of him," Radar blurted out. Out from behind his clipboard he revealed an old copy of Stars and Stripes. Hawkeye took it in his hands and examined it. It was turning yellow with age, but the print was still clear as daylight. The image accompanying pictured a younger (and shaven) Indiana Jones standing aboard the USS Brooklyn. Radar's Uncle Ed collected every article they'd written about Indiana Jones during the war years. During picnics and family socials, Walter "Radar" O'Reilly and a dozen or so of his cousins would get together, break out the papers and read about all the adventures Jones went on, finding bits of treasure and fighting the Axis all the way back to Germany. When Walter got drafted, Uncle Ed let him take a few in the hopes of coming face to face with the intrepid explorer and war hero who would no doubt be fighting the red menace.

"He's only the greatest American hero who ever lived. He took on the whole German army during the war! They said that Hitler killed himself cause he knew Indiana Jones was coming for 'em!"

"I think the rumors of his exploits might be a tad larger than life," Hawkeye scoffed as he examined the broadsheet. The headline read Dr. "Indiana" Jones Victorious in the Mediterranean! The whole article detailed how Jones had whipped the Axis forces during the Allied invasion of Sicily and how bullets seemed to pass through him as if he were a spirit. This guy sounded like a comic book character. Like he could work over Superman and then have time to take out more Nazi's than Captain America on a good day…

…then in the afternoon he'd run for president and go to Korea before General Eisenhower knew where it was on the map.

"Says Doctor. Of what? Knuckle sandwiches?"

"Oh yeah," Radar said, matter of fact. "On top of being a hero and all around good guy, he's an archeologicalist."

Hawkeye held back a frantic laugh. "A what?"

"You heard me. An archeologicalist."

Hawkeye handed his newspaper back, put his arm around him, and began to escort him through the mess tent doors nearly knocking over a couple of nurses on their way out in the process. "Come, young Walter. Let us meet your archeologist with terminal fisty cuffs."

Inside, Jones sat alone at a table, his brown, khaki clothes and graying beard clashing against the faded green fly net. He was cradling a cup of coffee in a naked hand while a pair of thick gloves rested nearby. The table he was seated at was quite a distance away from the heater where a half a dozen or so noncoms and nurses crouched trying to stay warm, no doubt thinking of a life back home and the winter holidays they'd be missing this year because of the stupid war. Police Action.

Hawkeye could feel Radar stiffen as they got closer to him. Despite it being colder than a skirt on a school teacher Hawkeye was certain the nearsighted corporal was going to brake a sweat. Jones was staring off into space as if preoccupied in the midst of something until he noticed them coming. His features softened some. He looked Radar dead in the eyes. He cracked a crooked smile knowing full well the mixture of fear and admiration seeping out of Radar's gaze. He'd seen it a million times, though not in a very long while.

"Wow, he's got his hat and his .455 Webley and everything." Radar was melting into Hawkeye's jacket.

"Don't forget his trusty bullwhip," Hawkeye added.

"Oh boy. 10 feet long. 12-plait thong of kangaroo hide, and a knobbed handle."

"Ladies and gentlemen, Radar: The walking trading card."

It seemed like it took an eternity just to get up to him. By the time they actually stood in front of him, he's hand was extended, ready and waiting for Radar to shake it. Jones could barely remember the last time he'd been treated like a movie star by some kid, but he still knew how to conduct himself.

"Hi," he said warmly.

"Oh…uh…aw…um," Radar stammered as he clumsily snatched Jones' hand and shook it.

Hawkeye took a step back as his grin grew from ear to ear. Radar's pitiful display was awe-inspiring. He was like putty.

"Hello, Colonel Jones, sir" he finally said.

"He's a colonel now too. Pretty soon you're gonna tell me he's king of Korea."

"Hawkeye! He was in OSS! Sorry, sir. He's not familiar with your war record."

"I'm going to need my hand back...uh…"

"Oh, sorry, Colonel, sir" Radar exclaimed as he let go. "It's Radar…Corporal O'Reilly, sir. This is Captain Pierce."

"Call me Indiana or Indy if you like."

"Oh, no, sir, I couldn't do that."

"Care to sit?"

"Oh, no thank you sir. I just wanted—"

"Wait a sec," Hawkeye bellowed half seriously. "Mr. Personality here gets an invitation and I get a buzz off?"

Jones chucked. "Sorry about earlier. I was worried about Mac. Somebody dropped by and said he was going to be okay. Took the edge off, Captain Pierce was it?"

"Call me Hawkeye."

"Would that be George McHale, sir?" Radar's eyes were like two spotlights.

"That's right. Hey, guys, sit down."

It was amazing for Hawkeye to see the two of them. If he didn't know better he'd swear on a bible…well maybe an army manual…that Radar and Jones had grown up together if not known each other as far back as they both could remember. Indiana was incredibly plain spoken for a man of his education, but if anything it made Hawkeye grow fond of his presence and yes, respect this man whom only a few hours prior had been nothing short of obtuse. He was courteous to the young corporal and careful not to dash whatever holy image Radar had in his head, although his aged, grizzled form was enough. He was no longer the young adventurer of yesteryear. He was an old man. His time had come and gone. The world had changed around him and he didn't feel the same jolt at peril's bark that he once had, but whatever his feelings toward his place, his displace rather, in this world, he let Radar keep thinking him the man he was when the simple boy from Iowa was chewing on a pacifier. Truth be told, Radar could see it, but he also saw a dieing spark left within him. Somehow or another Radar knew he would ride again like good times gone. Maybe it was his knack for intuition, that same magic that helped him catch people's thoughts or hear the whirling blades of the choppers bringing causalities. Radar knew Indy would catch up with the times. Heroes like him were for all the ages. All times.

About a half an hour passed in pleasant conversation. Hawkeye occasionally cracked a joke, but he respected the moment. It belonged to Radar and he wasn't crass enough to steal it. Despite his mouth he gave a damn. When the time came, Hawk dug around in his pocket for a pen so Jones could sign the paper. When he felt the time was right so not to step on any toes he finally cut in.

"You're friend is resting comfortably…if you'd like to pay him a visit."

"Hey thanks. Wanna join me, Radar? Meet Mac?"

"Gosh! Thank you, sir." The three men stood and once Indy had replaced his gloves the trio headed for the door.

"I must say you're growing me, Dr. Jones. Seeing you two makes me all gooey inside."

Jones rolled his eyes. "Indy, Pierce."

"Hawk, Indy."

"Good to know ya, Hawk."

"This looks like the start of a beautiful friendship," Hawkeye acknowledged in his best Humphrey Bogart impression as he threw an arm around his two compatriots. Little did he know that before the day ended he'd mean it.

Next Chapter: Fortune and Glory, Hawkeye. Fortune and Glory.