The next morning brought a bit of interesting news and some scheming. When breakfast was being served, Greg called. Hawkeye answered and told me to come over. This time, Greg wanted to talk with me. There were some questions he desired answers for and I was the only one who had them.

"I'm too sore," I announced, rolling around an ankle that was much better. Interrogations were not part of breakfast. "I can't cross over."

Hawkeye repeated my words. I heard Greg chuckle and swear under his breath. He said something about feeling better and not wanting to hear about Frank Burns after all. This prompted me to come right over. Any gossip about Ferret Face was worth getting up for.

"Hey, Jeanie, do you remember when General MacArthur arrived?" he asked me when I got to the telephone.

I rolled my eyes. "What? Is that all you have?"

"Well, that is what Burns has been blabbering about a few minutes ago," Greg said. "It's still supposed to be some state secret, since Korea isn't quite supposed to be pubic material."

"Greg, Korea has been all over the news. You can't censor what's already been published."

"The fact that General MacArthur made a visit to the 4077th is not well-known news."

"Stars and Stripes had it published, if I remember correctly."

"We stopped that right after it was put to print. There are no records."

Arguing with Greg was getting me nowhere. Besides that, who cared about some supposed disgraced officer visiting a M*A*S*H unit six years ago? I didn't care much about the MacArthur visit. Trapper, Hawkeye and I were too drunk to even give two shits. It was a blur anyway, since practice had been interrupted by the real visit and His Holiness had only passed through…and saw Klinger in the Statue of Liberty outfit.

I sighed when Greg didn't answer. "Seriously, Greg, what is this about?"

"Well, I found some film and pictures of you and Falk," he informed me stoically.

I found my breath almost taken away. I thought everything had been burned. At least, that was what Flagg told me when Falk was killed. He wanted no evidence that Iréne "Iris" Mountebain and her lover ever existed. To be honest, I don't remember much of what happened until I was shipped over to Korea. I know that Greg took care of me for months. I didn't go anywhere and used my Army pay to make sure the creditors stayed away.

"Your ring was also found," Greg continued, like I was not trying to find my footing with the news. "I know you threw it across the room when you found out he died. I didn't tell you, but I kept it, for all these years. I thought enough time passed and you'd like it back."

Now, I understood part of the reason why Greg wanted to talk with me. "Sure, that sounds crazy. Frank is off his rocker. What else did he say now?"

"I was going to ask you other details about the time you spent with him," Greg said, like Falk was not the topic of our discussion. "Now, do you remember Red's Digest?"

"Frank was a lover of Reader's Digest," I revealed. "I didn't know it was considered Communist these days. Are they pulling people in for reading it?"

"The House of Unamerican Activities Committee is considering it," Greg confessed with a chuckle. "They don't know what was edited if you dropped some letters."

It was so absurd that I snorted. "What other news do you have?"

"Burns is crazy, but he's being considered a candidate for the House of Unamerican Activities Committee. This is why I have to question all of you. Jeanie, you're in front of the line."

"Well, can't you make up some answers? You know all of them."

"I have to have it recorded."

That said it all. Part of the deal for my freedom was the proof that I was a loyal American. If Greg had some inquiries and it involved me, I had to follow through. Not doing so meant that I will lose much more than my reputation. It will mean that I will no longer see or hear from my family and friends ever again. It will be like I am dead.

I took a deep breath. "Ok. What do you need to know?"

"Can you tell me about Blake?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake? Greg, you've gotten be kidding me, right? You're bringing up some gossip on a dead officer?"

The name brought Hawkeye right over in a flash. "What's Henry got to do with this?" he demanded stridently. "He's dead."

I waved him away. "Greg, this is ridiculous. Henry Blake did nothing to undermine the American way, as you know it. He and his family don't have anything to do with Frank Burns."

"Frank Burns is claiming otherwise and the Committee is taking it seriously," Greg said gravely. "He said that Henry Blake had done more for the Communists than Lucille Ball ever did. He claimed that he took care of Commies before our own boys. Burns also claimed that Lorraine Blake wrote him letters about attending the country club, which was full of Commies."

Lorraine would do no such thing. However, Greg had a point. I could not say anything about the country club. While Bloomington was rather conservative in its thinking, there were little pockets of sunshine. The country club Lorraine and Henry used to frequent was one such treasure. Many of its inhabitants admitted their political views leaned a little more left than the normal person.

"We could all say that," I argued. I forgot about the country club in seconds. "You know how triage works."

"Well, you could elaborate some on that. You did take some classes, did you not? Did Charles Winchester lead the nurses through a class on triage?"

"Of course, Charles did lead such a class. He was a wonderful help. Margaret Houlihan was the one who had the idea."

Now, Charles was behind me. "What is that little creep saying now?" he asked.

BJ was curious and joined the crowd, jumping up and down. "Hey, I wasn't forgotten, was I?"

"Go away, all of you!" I yelled. "I can handle this."

But nobody listened. They talked all at once and contradicted each other. I tried covering the mouthpiece, but that was no use. Hawkeye grabbed the telephone from my hands and began speaking gibberish to Greg. I heard Greg try to reason with Hawkeye. For a senseless action such as this, there was no rationalizing with Hawkeye.

Eventually, Greg gave up. He yelled at me that he'll catch me later and hung up. When Hawkeye heard the operator say that the other line had disconnected, he was elated. He threw the telephone in the air and whooped. One of the girls inched from the table and placed it back in the cradle and returned to the table. It was Shannon…and she all thought we were nuts.

"What is this all about now?" BJ asked.

I took another deep breath. "Frank Burns is off the deep end. He named Henry Blake and his family as subversives. We are being used as character witnesses. I was the first." I omitted the part about Falk.

"What kind of character can we give to a man that is dead?" Charles wondered. He rolled his eyes. "I hardly know his widow either."

"Each person is a piece to the puzzle," I explained. "Charles, you should remember well. Flagg was always about connecting people in the smallest possible way. How do you think he got so many kills?"

Hawkeye winced. "I thought we passed the Spanish Inquisition."

"I knew it was coming," I admitted with a shoulder shrug. "This is the first test. They get something out of Frank, analyze his crazy, and ask us all the same things."

"We just need to sing the same song," BJ said.

"And we do," I replied. "Now, the Committee will be combing over the evidence. If they think the testimony is nothing but air, it will be dismissed."

"And if it's not?" Hawkeye loudly commanded.

"Then, Henry Blake is all but condemned. He'll be guilty and this will drag his name in the mud. His wife will have to answer for him. His military record can be changed in an instant."

"Lorraine Blake? What does she supposedly know?"

"Frank named her as a co-conspirator. He claimed that she had contacts at their country club."

"That could be many people."

"And all of those people I knew. They were just as wonderful as the Blakes. Jesus, now I know how Margaret felt."

"We're all caught closer to the noose," BJ observed grimly. "We might not get out of this one."

"Well, we will need a knife then," Charles said.

"Oh, no," Hawkeye exclaimed. "No! You're not being anyone's lawyer!"

"Oh, Pierce, really?" Charles feigned being utterly insulted. "Why would I offer my superb services?"

"Well, it might just get you a tax break," BJ mentioned. "Not to mention, you will be rescuing a damsel in distress."

"Nobody is getting a lawyer or being one," I decided. "I'll talk to Lorraine. She might not know this is coming her way." I pointed to the table. "Why don't we all finish breakfast?"

The suggestion was taken seriously, but nobody was up to finishing their food. The kids gobbled our leftovers and scampered to playing. Resigned, I cleaned up. Hawkeye and BJ followed suit. Charles decided to forgo the cleaning and hide in The Boston Globe. While the children tried to wrestle it out of his hands and make him play, we talked in the kitchen.

"We keep Remington out of this," BJ announced. "He knows nothing about Henry Blake."

"Neither do you," Hawkeye added. To me, he said, "We need to stop this before it gets out of hand. What can you do?"

I was startled. I haven't thought of it. I always had confessing the best form of the truth our getaway car. What Hawkeye was talking about was utterly circumventing the system. It was brilliant and crazy…and I was ready to listen to his plans. I leaned closer.

"Well, I can get some of the 4077th paperwork somehow," I admitted. "Greg might turn a blind eye."

"Wouldn't Potter have them?" BJ inquired.

"He'd sent them for recordkeeping," I explained. "He might have a copy of something somewhere. At this point though, what help will it be?"

"If trusty Trapper John were here, he'd be flying over to Lois Lane faster than a speeding bullet," Hawkeye gallantly said.

"That's right." BJ sounded more depressed. "He'd be on the list to be questioned."

"And that's why he's the right one for the job." Hawkeye was thoughtful for a moment. "Jeanie, can you call him? Maybe have him come up for a weekend?"

"No guarantees," I said. "What do you need him for?"

"He was with us, remember? He can pick through records and make them cleaner than MacArthur's pipe. He helped me with Tuttle's file."

"You think we can make Trapper important enough to get what we need? He can't even act like an officer, Hawkeye! What are you thinking?"

"The Army records are where Camp Grant used to be. I am sure, with some elbow grease, Trappe can get through."

I saw the scheme in Hawkeye's eyes. "He better brush up on his acting then."

"What then, Sherlock?" BJ interjected. "Trapper John has some records. What does he do with them?"

"Alters the facts," Hawkeye suggested. "Nobody is going to notice a few missing numbers."

"They lost records of enemy patients," I recalled excitedly. "Most of them were killed by us or the ROK."

BJ took a deep breath. He knew that Hawkeye was full of grandiose plans. Many of them worked and got us out of trouble. But this was different. It was not the way Henry Blake will be saved that turned BJ off. It was the person Hawkeye chose for the mission.

"How much faith do you have in the man?" BJ asked. "He's broken, Hawkeye. You can't make a broken man work."

Hawkeye was stout. "I trust him, Beej, just like I trust you. Trapper will not fail me."

For the first time since the two were inseparable in Korea, Hawkeye stood by Trapper. This was pretty enormous, even after their fighting. It was also a huge task, I had to admit, but with the right prompting, Trapper can pull it off. I just had to get him to see the light. BJ had a point. Trapper was torn apart. First, it was the war. Then, it was his nagging conscience. Finally, it was the divorce.

"How much time do you think we have?" BJ wring his hands nervously. "We can't be far off from execution."

"I'll work on Trapper and then Lorraine," I promised. "This can't last more than a day."

"Then, we will work the old magic," Hawkeye said. "We can't let Henry rest uneasy."

~00~

I tried calling Trapper three times that same day. The first two times, Kathy told me that he was sleeping off of his drinks. The last time, Becky answered. She was crying as she told me that Trapper was throwing up and could not get up from the bathroom floor. She was about to hang up when I heard Trapper approach and ask Becky for the telephone.

I listened to Trapper tell Becky and Kathy that it was not their fault and to stop crying. Then, he came back and told me how drunk he was and how he craved for a cigarette and he never really liked them before. It was pure nonsense. It was shameful too. Our faith in Trapper was going to be dim indeed.

"How about saving your honor?" I managed to ask before Trapper went on another rampage. "You were a pretty officer."

"Don't you know it!" Trapper exclaimed. "I could sneak in without shorts!"

"Why don't you do that?" I suggested. "Take two aspirin and call me in the morning."

I hung up on him, dejected. But this also gave Trapper something to remember…sort of. His drunken memories are as good as Hawkeye's. There is some fuzzy idea in there and maybe a person or two. He just had to remember three pieces and he'd give a call.

Lorraine was next. She was not home though. Her mother answered and began a story that I almost could not escape, no matter how polite I was. She was staying with Lorraine because the children were very sick. Lorraine had taken Andrew out to the hospital already and this obnoxious woman was telling me all about it, in great detail.

While it made me upset to think of Lorraine so vulnerable and without real help, I had to hang up without saying goodbye. The mission had to be scrapped. Once Lorraine had a moment, she'd give a ring. I just hoped her mother was not over her shoulder. That woman could gossip and would tell everyone what happened, no matter how tall the tale is. Some of it is pure bullshit. Other things, I could go without hearing.

The day passed like any other except for Charles trying to peel the children off of his feet (and that was becoming more of a normal occurrence when he shows up). Finally, it was night and all was quiet on the western front, from people of all ages and sizes. I was readying myself for bed. After brushing my hair, I found myself looking at my reflection in the mirror on the vanity. I had not thought of how I looked in some time. I never cared.

But I leaned in closer. I knew that my hair turned more and more white the longer I stayed in Korea. When I arrived in Maine, it slowed. It was almost stylish to have the dual colors. Now, at nearly thirty-five, I appeared middle-aged. Three pregnancies in five years had put more than a little bit of weight on me. From one to the next, they helped to added worry lines and wrinkles. They never removed the smudges under my eyes either. The grey spheres will forever be bloodshot too.

Behind me, Hawkeye broke the spell. "What's that?" He pointed at some cards tucked between the bottles.

"Huh?" I pulled back and followed his finger.

There was a collection of small prayer cards from the numerous funeral homes that housed my dead relations. I waved Hawkeye closer and pulled them out. Each one was as morbid as the next, reminding me of war, accidents and illness. All of them led to the same thing. They quoted some biblical comfort and told who it sought to protect in the afterlife.

I never bothered with this silliness for Falk because he was Jewish. He taught me a mantra to say and to keep repeating it if he died before I did. It was Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha'olam, dayan ha-emet. It translated to "Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the universe, the Just Judge". I repeated it in my head for months after he was gone.

After, it was a litany of Christianity that plagued on the hypocrisy. Lorraine had saved me the one from Henry's wake. Then, there was Uncle Nathan's, given to me by Aunt Mary in a letter from long ago. Dean's card was hidden in the middle somewhere. Then, there was Jeremy and Tommy.

Hawkeye studied them all. "I didn't know Jeremy died."

"It was best he went the way he did." I tried smiling, but it was utterly ridiculous, considering what we were talking about. "Alcohol poisoning. He had been drinking heavily for most of his life."

"Who's Tommy?" he asked me when he noted the last in line.

"My nephew," I revealed slowly. When Hawkeye's eyes lighted on me, I continued quickly, "He was fourteen. He went to save a friend of his from drowning. He went down too."

Hawkeye said nothing. He handed the useless papers back to me. Then, he paced back and forth, between my and his side of the room, hands behind his red robe. I thought he was becoming mad. He was almost frantic, the way his footsteps echoed from one end to the other.

I got up and stopped him when he faced my vanity. "Hawkeye, don't be guilty. I hardly knew them. We were not close. I never even met my nephew."

"I could have been there," he told me tartly. "If I wasn't such a jackass to you, I could have been there for you."

I knew that tone of voice and backed away. There was no reasoning with him. I sat back down in front of the mirror and put the awful cards away. Hands shaking, I put some curlers in my hair and crawled into bed. When I turned the lamp off and darkness encased the both of us, Hawkeye was still at it. He was not going to stop. I fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, I woke up. I swore that Hawkeye was up to his lunacy again and growled, annoyed with the noise. I took one of his pillows and threw it in the direction he had been in. I waited for the angry response and the soft missile being tossed back at me. When nothing happened, I worried. I turned the lamp on.

I squinted as I checked around the room. Hawkeye had not been in bed. His spot next to me was still unruffled from when I made the bed. I heard some footsteps from the bathroom, but I was not sure whose they were. For all I know, Hawkeye could be there…or anywhere else, for that matter. One thing was certain though: he was not in the bedroom.

There was nobody in here.

I knew that I was not dreaming. I swore someone was in the room with me. They were walking back and forth like Hawkeye had. They were watching me. They were just as real and close as if an actual person was standing there.

I shivered and crawled deeper under the covers. The light remained on. When Hawkeye returned, I was still awake. He was calmer and did not understand why I was terrified. He took many wild guesses, from snipers with peanut butter and jelly bullets to teddy bears that served nothing but watered-down beer.

"What are you so afraid of anyway, Jeanie?" he concluded casually as he joined me under the blankets. "Ghosts and goblins aren't real."

"No, they're not," I conceded as I curled closer to him. "Humans are…and they live, terrified, in your head."

There are too many episodes I referenced in this chapter. Mostly certainly, the most famous one of them is from the Season 3 episode "Big Mac".