Sometimes, the Army had a funny way of entertaining us and I am not talking about the movie repeats that show in the Mess Tent either. The Armed Forces Radio would play sporting events months after it happened or tell us news that was so old that the world knew about it before it conspired. The former was usually the case and always a fact we lamented. When this happened though, we would try to make a party each time if the war permitted it.
Even though battles raged outside our perimeters, it was pretty quiet and Post-Op was half full. So, when BJ learned that the Armed Forces Radio was playing the Kentucky Derby from over three months ago, he suggested the idea of dressing up and drinking up and making a day out of it. We were going to make a sort of mint julip, decorate the Mess Tent and even bet on who the winner was going to be. We were all game for it (again, no pun intended), even going about our business (and retaining a wounded man who was a civilian cook) as Colonel Potter once more went to Seoul with General Kent for a meeting and Klinger took on the new role of MP.
Hawkeye dressed as an old southern plantation owner for the occasion. Deeming himself the best for the job since his supposed ancestors passed down the recipe, he began the concoction with BJ's help. Using whatever the still had, supplies elsewhere and some green mint cough syrup, his creation was…a little out there, even for me. BJ and I tested it out several times and coughed out most of it by the globs. However, we considered it a job well done and proceeded to pass it along.
Even so, we had a tougher time with Margaret and the chef. She was all for lime green icing on a chocolate cake made with the best Army ingredients that could be mustered around these parts. He stated that white icing should be on a chocolate cake and that wasn't just because he was being contrary. From there, they argued over everything. Margaret was not pleased. She was worse off when Zale came in with the wreath, made from Kleenex tissues and some rosewater donated from the nursing staff (myself the exception since I never did makeup often). She even yelled at Radar about the party favors and told him what she expected.
All and all, it was a pretty nifty mess and all before Colonel Potter came back from seeing General Kent. I longed to get drunk and forget things while the going was good and headed over to the punch bowl. I was chugging down a few glasses by the time the singing began. Hawkeye hooked an uncomfortable arm around me and began the harmonizing, which was quite off. Margaret jumped in and then I did. By the time everyone had their drink in hand, we (in and out of the Mess Tent) joined in a boisterous rendition of "My Old Kentucky Home, Good-Night!"
Oh, the sun shines bright
On my old Kentucky home.
On my old Kentucky home,
Far away…
It was midafternoon and all was well in Korea for once. A jeep coming into the compound didn't even distract us, which we figured was the typical stuff. Only Klinger and Father Mulcahy took notice and they were the ones being snapped at. From our positions, we only heard that our head grouch had come home and just in time for the entertainment (namely Hawkeye and BJ battling it out on who was louder with their vocals). I hoped that his frustrations remained saved for the two (although I felt sorry for the Padre, not so much for Klinger) and that he would soften for the party. I mean, Colonel Potter always liked joining in on our revelry and usually was keeping up with us younger folks.
It was quite the opposite upon his entry. "I thought this party wasn't supposed to leave the starting gate until one-thirty AM," he observed in a cold tone.
"We figured we'd indulge in a few furlongs now so we'd start with a handicap," Hawkeye replied with a smile. "You're a few lengths behind us. Join the fun!"
"The fun is over," Colonel Potter ordered. "Give you people an inch, you take a mile."
"Tonight, a mile and a quarter," Love responded as he released me.
"Quiet, Pierce!" the CO ordered sharply. He then noticed the chef seated nearby. "What's that patient doing here?"
"Recovering very nicely, thank you," BJ remarked.
"Don't let them fool you, Colonel," Margaret purred as she approached with her drink. Her gaze fell strictly on Hawkeye and BJ. "Those two kept him from rejoining his unit so that he could bake a cake with the wrong icing."
"Is that true?" The colonel did not sound too pleased. His mood darkened.
"Every later of it," Hawkeye admitted and all without breaking down.
I shook in my shoes as the colonel's features turned from angry to outright murder. "If there's one thing that I can't abide, it's two commissioned teenagers who feel they can break regulations anytime the mood hits them."
"Darn tootin'," Margaret said.
"But what's worse is a snitch, someone who can't settle a matter face-to-face."
"I sent that, Colonel!"
"Tough!"
If someone had to come in at the most inappropriate time, it was Radar. He returned to the Mess Tent with the items Margaret requested. "Colonel, I'm glad you're back, Sir. See what I made." He showed the paper shapes. "Party favors. Horses and jockeys."
"Where the hell have you been?" Colonel Potter barked. When Radar did not answer, he raged louder. "Well?!"
"Uh, I had to go to Supply and get the paper and then I had to go cut out the horses. Then, I had to get a picture, to see how long to make the tail when I cut it out."
"Get me a duty roster. I wanna see where all these people belong."
"Yes, Sir." Radar was soon on his way out.
"Uh, we belong in Supply," Zale volunteered, motioning to himself and Corporal Benson.
"Then, get there!" Colonel Potter ordered.
When he left, everyone else took this as a cue to head out as well. The pre-party was over. BJ, Hawkeye, Margaret and I hurdled together with our drinks, shaking our heads. All of us did not have anywhere to do and considered ourselves pretty lucky that we did not need to be under Colonel Potter's thumb. For the time being, we could conspire and to think out what the problem could be. Right now, it had come to a head. He was worse off than he was a few weeks ago.
"See what you animals started?" Margaret snarled.
"What?" BJ was innocent. "We didn't hide this from the colonel."
"And I said to the man, 'Go to the Changri-La'," Hawkeye protested. "Get your back walked on. But does he listen to his doctor? No."
I punched Hawkeye's shoulder. "We still had not figured out who might have gotten on his back. It could be that General Kent told him something that wasn't passed on until now. Where is our suspect list?"
"What suspect list?" The conspiracy in Margaret's eyes shone.
"Never mind." I waved my hand in dismissal. I didn't need Margaret involved. She would have made matters worse, especially with her All-American attitude. "I think we need to pick up our game though."
"Do you need me to talk with him?"
"Not yet, Margaret. I think he needs to cool his head."
"I disagree, Jeanie."
Hawkeye saw the argument and put a hand between me and Margaret. "I think this derby has hit the end," he stated seriously. "We'll handle it later, Margaret."
BJ, Hawkeye and I left the Mess Tent, glasses emptied and hearts heavy. We retreated back to the Swamp for some major thinking. As we settled down and found out inventory from some weeks ago, we tried hashing it out and even allowed Radar the chance to talk it out when he arrived to tell us that the colonel was in no better mood. It was as difficult then as it was when we initially attempted it. We came to nowhere, our thoughts remaining on Charles and how to get into his belongings for proof since we've had no time. After all, he had badgered Colonel Potter about being transferred out as soon as we dispersed earlier, according to Radar. There was no reason to believe otherwise and it made some sense.
I didn't even want to use the skills Flagg taught me. Although The Wind was a master at being paranoid and quite harmful to himself, whatever he fine-tuned into me was an accomplishment I did not want to acknowledge. The logic that Hawkeye and BJ proposed made some sense and I was willing to go along with it for lack of evidence. Charles was the most dissatisfied of us all and made it plain everyday. His pen and voice were also pretty poisonous too.
By evening, all of that was forgotten and it was time for the show. Dressing up and preparing ourselves for the 0130 match on the Armed Forces Radio, we all proceeded to the Mess Tent, pushing any wheelchair-bound wounded and escorting the rest. Finding our places and handing over money to Klinger for the bets, we held our breath as the cake with the white icing came in. My mouth watered to think of the chocolate melting there and how I might throw it all back up later. Rich food was never the Army way, but our Kentucky Derby celebration might make that latrine trip worth it.
Just when Zale called out the last of the bets and that the horses were getting ready for the run, Colonel Potter came in. He ordered the radio to be turned off. All of us moaned softly, recalling earlier in the afternoon and hoping that this was not a repeat. However, when he called for our attention kindly, we froze. This wasn't another temper tantrum. This was the real thing.
"Next Tuesday, there's gonna be a surprise inspection," Colonel Potter announced. When we groaned louder, he continued. "The reason for this inspection is because my butt is on the block. There have been bad reports about this unit floating around Headquarters. That's ok though. Bad reports never bothered me. They never will."
"Right," we all conceded together. "Yeah."
"I don't retreat from a fight," the CO went on. "They want efficiency, I'm gonna show 'em efficiency and pride, everything they said we haven't got."
"That's right!" We were all in unison on this and began talking at once.
"That report's gonna be so clean, you can operate on it."
"Right! You betcha! Yeah!"
"I'm gonna show 'em not only the best damned M*A*S*H unit in the Army, but the best unit period."
We all cheered. This could be a huge reason why Colonel Potter was so cross, especially from his friend General Kent. He was right though. Bad reports shouldn't bother anybody. I mean, when Margaret was with Frank, they wrote reports to Headquarters about the 4077th and Henry all the time. The threat was always over our heads because of how disappointed they were in our heavy drinking, unmilitary behavior and daring beliefs. It always happened in the Army.
"And right after that, I'm going home," Colonel Potter restarted. When we expressed our disbelief, he nodded. "You heard me. I'm leaving. I'm putting in for a transfer. I'm spending my last few months stateside. That's all. Good night."
That killed the joy inside. Even though Zale switched the derby back on, there was no way we were going to enjoy ourselves after that blow. Eventually, after twenty minutes of listening, we all began to feel awkward, lingering as we did with our drinks and cake. After a few rounds, the heavenly food wasn't tasting so great anymore. It was like concrete to me, tough to crew and worse to swallow. Around two-thirty in the morning, we all gave up and packed it in for the night.
The next morning was busy. Other than shifts, Colonel Potter ordered the camp so cleaned that not even the best career man in the Army would complain. So many enlisted personnel worked from dawn onward to make sure we were spotless. I was walking to Colonel Potter's office with Hawkeye and BJ and tripping over so many of them scrubbing, sewing and sweeping that I had to kick a few away when my boots started becoming part of their chores. This time, we decided that we needed answers. Everybody did too and the only people the CO would talk to is us and Margaret.
I began without preamble as we stormed inside to meet him signing paperwork. "Colonel, we're waiting for an explanation."
"Then wait outside," he replied without glancing up. "I still don't want to talk about it."
"There are a lot of people around here with their jaws scrapping on the ground from that bombshell you just dropped last night," Hawkeye added.
"You've got to talk about it," BJ insisted.
Colonel Potter finally met our eyes. "Got to? Get out of here."
"Who do you think you're talking to? Strangers?" BJ was incredulous to be spoken to like we were. "We just want an explanation."
"We're gonna stay until we get one," Hawkeye threatened.
"I can call the MPs," the colonel pointed out.
I wasn't joking when I dropped down my own surprise. "They want an explanation too."
After begging the colonel for a few more minutes, he finally relented. He put his pen down and informed us that the reports had indeed come from inside the camp, which supported our theory that Charles was the one who sent the reports. I could not blame the colonel when he stated that he tried making the place a little more comfortable and was rewarded with a fountain pen to the back. Even before we could express our outrage, he excused himself to write to Mrs. Potter.
This gave us the chance to truly check Charles out. He was in Post-Op with Margaret and too busy to see us rummage through his things now. Hawkeye led us back to the Swamp, where he found the key to the footlocker and proceeded to go through it with BJ. I stood as lookout as planned, cringing as the two (especially Hawkeye) read his letters, drank from the scotch bottle and listed all the items as proof of Charles' crime. All it told me was that he was a normal man without the ordinary principles as we do. In his correspondence, he even used his grandmother as an excuse not to pursue a relationship!
I saw Charles coming and tried whistling to tell BJ and Hawkeye that the coast was not cleared anymore, but the Swamp rat was quicker. He noticed us nearby and rushed inside, pushing me to my end of the tent as he began berating the other two for reading his mail and going through his footlocker. When they explained to Charles that someone was sending reports about Colonel Potter and that "some nut" said it was him, Major Ego was not convinced and quite disgusted that BJ and Hawkeye thought it was him.
There goes that theory.
"I should have known. There are no informers in my family," Charles pronounced loudly. "Winchesters do not spy. We do on occasion hire them."
After punishing himself for calling us jerks (myself included), Charles pointed out that the informer should be mailing the reports and to check the outgoing bag. While I felt pretty silly for not thinking of it earlier (I chalked it up to not being on my best game), I ran out with BJ and Hawkeye to meet up with Radar in his space. While Hawkeye was beating himself up for drinking Charles' hair tonic stored in the scotch bottle, he had to think up ways to persuade Radar to give up the mail. Indeed, he predicted that the company clerk wasn't giving up the booty…and he was right.
"This is US mail," Radar protested vigorously as the three of us tried grabbing the outgoing mail from him. "Only a US mailman can touch it once it goes in this bag. It's sacred!"
"Radar, one of those bad reports on Colonel Potter could be in that sacred bag," BJ pointed out after much arguing.
"Geez, why didn't you say so?" Immediately, Radar crouched under his desk and poured the contents out. We followed suit, kneeling as we sorted through the items until he found one to I-Corp from Joe Benson.
Every light went off that this was it. Radar defended the corpsman, saying that Benson had been here since June and was a regular guy. I vaguely recalled him being transferred here. Every orderly seems the same as the next around here, especially when we all partied and drank. However, a message to I-Corp was pretty suspicious in my book and I demanded it be opened. Radar obliged, reading the lines before screaming that the man was a dirty fink.
"I don't get it," BJ said. "Benson's just as undisciplined as the next guy. What's he got against Potter?"
"Why don't we pin him to the ground, cover him with ants and ask nicely?" Hawkeye asked.
"I'll being the boiling oil," I volunteered.
Our dreams of revenge had to wait though. Radar announced choppers and we were off to work once more. It was a regular OR session, nothing serious, but Hawkeye had the idea of asking Benson to the changing room once we all finished. BJ agreed and added that it was urgent. Unsuspecting Benson agreed, carrying out a wounded man with Klinger before bringing another into the OR.
Two hours later, the three of us were waiting for Benson to arrive. He was ten minutes late, something we brought up with him since he mentioned that we were grossly inefficient and always drunk on the job. While it seemed pretty silly coming from two draftee doctors and a tenured nurse, we added that he put himself on report next time for the same charge. Hawkeye and BJ then took a shoulder each and guided the enlisted man over to Colonel Potter. I remained behind just in case the jackass tried to escape.
"Ah, Colonel, we have a little going-away present for you," I said as we approached him.
"Sorry we didn't have time to gift wrap it," BJ added.
"I'm too pooped for puzzles," the colonel snarled. "What are you getting at?"
Hawkeye and BJ released Benson, the former taking the spotlight. "May I present Corporal Joe Benson, snitch first class."
"His fingerprints are all over that pen in your back," BJ clarified.
"Benson, is this true?" The colonel could not believe it.
"They make it sound worse than it is," Benson began.
"If I could raise my arms, I'd flatten your nose. What'd I ever do to you, Corporal?"
"It's Lieutenant, Sir."
"Ah, a commissioned weasel," Hawkeye mentioned.
Colonel Potter wasn't leaving without answers. "Dammit, answer my question!"
"It was an assignment, Sir," Benson answered truthfully. "I was sent by the inspector general to work undercover."
"Why pick on us? Our record was clean as a whistle 'til you got here."
"Not according to Colonel Frank Webster of the Third Armor. He was a patient here a couple of months ago. Apparently, he wasn't thrilled with the quality of your care."
"I don't remember any Webster," Hawkeye commented.
"Me neither," BJ and I echoed.
"I do," the colonel admitted. "Came through triage with a tiny piece of shrapnel in his tush and a big chip on his shoulder. Got steamed when I told him he'd have to wait 'til the real casualties were treated."
"You can't blame him," Hawkeye retorted as calmly as he could without screaming. "A wound like that could've kept him off a bar stool for several days."
"That still doesn't explain your negative reports." Colonel Potter directed this at Benson.
"Look, Benson sighed, "you gotta admit. From a military standpoint, things are pretty loose around here."
The colonel conceded that point. "Maybe. From a human standpoint, things are pretty tight. I'd trade your shoeshines and snappy salutes for a good surgeon and nurse any day." He sighed himself. "All right, Benson. Pack up your cloak and dagger and get out."
"Whatever you say, colonel." The lieutenant began to leave, but was stopped by Colonel Potter one last time.
"Benson, you tell Webster if he gets in my way again, I'm gonna put that shrapnel back where I sound it."
"Yes, Sir."
And that was the end of that SNAFU. Immediately afterward, Colonel Potter called General Kent and asked that his records be cleaned up because of Webster and that they cancel the inspection on Tuesday. However, when asked if he was staying, the colonel said that he would get back with an answer soon enough. He hung up the phone and looked at all of us. Radar was the one who voiced the question again and it got us to talk about those who we left behind and miss.
Hawkeye summed it up. "Look, Colonel…umm, Sherman…you could give me a million reasons to leave and I can't give you one good reason to stay. Stay anyway."
We repeated the same sentiment one by one, even though we all thought him lucky for the chance to see his wife again. The only answer we received was that he would think about it. By then, Radar had called out for choppers once more and we were off for the races. They sounded pretty loaded from what the company clerk was saying, so we knew it would be a long haul compared to the last. However, we all had one last surprise up our sleeve for Colonel Potter that would be waiting for him when the session was complete.
That was a few days later, when all was quiet and the cake kept moist for the occasion. After fifteen minutes of preparing, all of us – Father Mulcahy, Charles, Radar, Margaret, Klinger, Hawkeye, BJ and I – rolled into Colonel Potter's office and announced that we were having a surprise party. Charles tooted a tune from the harmonica and we all began to sing for him.
For he's a jolly good fellow,
For he's a jolly good fellow,
For he's a jolly good fellow…
Which nobody can deny!
It was half the derby hat cake, but it was better than nothing. Before passing it around (and noting the one candle for his first day back on the job), Colonel Potter apologized for all the weeks he had been surly. He said that we were the best there was and he should have realized it from the beginning. None of us would be tattling on him behind his back without going to the head himself. That much we promised also.
"Why don't you make a wish and blow it out, Sir?" Radar suggested.
"I'll make a wish for all of us," Colonel Potter said before he sliced into the dessert. "Peace."
Material (manipulated and otherwise) came from the season 6 episode "Potter's Retirement". All other songs are traditional.
