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It was two in the morning. BJ knew that because of the clock that hung on the wall in OR, resolutely ticking by the seconds. To BJ, the sound was like the countdown to a death.
He had stopped trying to stem the flow of the bleeding at his side an hour ago and now sat there, listless, suspended in time only by his determination to get out of this alive. His will not to let his wife get a letter about her dead husband.
A clot had formed over the wound but BJ suspected too much blood had already been spilt. If he didn't get more in five or six hours he'd probably die.
Rice kept glancing at him. BJ didn't think he'd last until dawn. The rain had finally stopped. Did that mean a chopper would come early? Would a chopper come at all? BJ honestly didn't know. Honestly didn't care. Not at the moment. Not when the blackness was so inviting.
He would have preferred death now. Preferred blackness over the pain in his side that brought him agony with every beat of his heart. Preferred it to the terror brought to him every time Rice turned to look at him. Death wanted him. He could feel it hovering nearby, waiting.
More ticks, more seconds going by. He had never noticed seconds before ― like pennies they were trivial until they amounted to something bigger. Now seconds were his marker. He guessed that his life tonight would be marked in seconds.
Rice was fidgeting worse then ever now. His arms twitching, though his grip on the gun was such that it was turning his knuckles white. He was pacing the room, weaving between the cots, looking at BJ more often.
Then he sprung.
He wrenched BJ off the floor with strength past anything he should have been capable of. With a cry of rage he half-dragged, half-carried BJ out the double doors.
BJ was dropped onto wet dirt that was almost ― but not quite ― mud. He turned his head so he could look up into the face of a terrified Klinger just before he started shouting.
"Colonel Potter!"
The call wasn't necessary. The Colonel was already there, along with Hawkeye, Margaret, and Father Mulcahy. Colonel Potter's face was grim as he looked at Rice and BJ. BJ tried to smile, but found he couldn't quite manage it.
"I need a jeep, I can't wait any longer!" Rice's voice was high and anxious. "Get me a jeep, now."
Klinger looked stricken. He murmured something to Colonel Potter, who turned back to Rice with palm out. "Listen son, we'll have a jeep for you in an hour ―"
"Not good enough!" Rice screamed. He kicked BJ in the back, sending him curling into a ball in a spasm of pain. Hawkeye's fists clenched.
"Get me a way out of this camp now." Rice shrieked, "Or he dies."
For the third time that night, BJ had a gun pointed to the back of his head.
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