Chapter III: For Want of a Jeep...
After several false starts, Mulcahy gave up on trying to string together a prayer out of his chaotic thoughts. Though the aspirin had sanded away the roughest edges of pain, his headache persisted, as did a vague feeling of physical dislocation. Narrowly avoiding being blown to bits had done nothing to settle his nerves, either.
He wondered how his companion was managing to stay so calm. Perhaps it was Houlihan's ingrained sense of military discipline that had, for her, so quickly negated the trauma of waking up in someone else's body. Whatever it was, she seemed to be handling the transition with far greater equanimity than he could muster. Mulcahy could admit to a touch of enviousness on that score, but on another level he was also grateful that she had retained enough self-possession to take charge of the situation.
In any case, they both had more pressing concerns at the moment. A growing cloud of dust heralded the arrival of the convoy on which their immediate future depended, so Mulcahy concentrated on making use of the major's excellent vision. The dusty haze made identification difficult, but by the time the first trucks had pulled up in the compound he was positive -- these were American troops! When he glanced over at Houlihan, her widening grin and thumbs-up gesture confirmed his conclusion.
He joined the major at her lookout post, and to his astonishment she caught him up in a swift embrace of such joy and relief that he couldn't help but return it. Naturally, he shared her joy, but the tingling jolt -- like a mild electrical charge -- that shot through him while in close contact with his former self left him shaken. He couldn't tell (and thought it inappropriate to ask) whether Houlihan had felt something similar, so distracted was she by the prospect of rescue.
Having permitted herself that momentary lapse in decorum, Houlihan settled back down to business. "Okay, we'll have to be careful. Go out there nice and slow, hands in full view until we get the chance to identify ourselves." A thoughtful pause. "And for now we'd better play this straight -- if you're me and I'm you, maybe we can avoid getting packed off somewhere for God knows how many weeks of 'debriefing.'"
He nodded in agreement, having no desire to wind up his military career as some army lab tech's research project, and together they walked out into the open. Men had already been deployed throughout the compound, ensuring that first contact was almost immediate, and when they identified themselves to the nearest sergeant, he brought them straight to the officer in charge.
Surprisingly, the jovial Captain Dickinson already knew who they were. "Well, if it ain't the AWOL nurse and the runaway chaplain we've heard so much about! Judging by the fuss your Colonel Blake has kicked up these last few days, y'all have been sorely missed."
"Days?" Mulcahy echoed. Had it been days since their capture?
"Yes, ma'am," affirmed Dickinson politely. "Today's Thursday, ya know, and the colonel started making calls Monday night. Every unit for miles around has been on the lookout for you two -- what the blazes are you doing all the way out here?"
Houlihan, true to form, was eager to cut to the chase. "We were taken prisoner, but the North Koreans bugged out. As you can see" -- she waved in the direction of the still-smoking crater -- "they expected us to be dead by now. How soon can we get back to our MASH unit?"
"Slow down there, Padre," grinned the captain. "The 4077th ain't just around the bend, ya know. I'll have to check and see if I can spare a Jeep and driver for...."
Uneasy about having to impersonate the major for the duration of a road trip, Mulcahy broke in with atypical abruptness. "Oh, we won't need a driver, if you could just let us have a Jeep...."
He grew even more uneasy under the appreciative once-over with which Dickinson now favored him, and a blush warmed his face. When he caught sight of Houlihan's sidelong glare, he wondered how she -- or any other woman, for that matter -- would normally handle that kind of attention.
"Well now, Major, I can see you're a take-charge kind of gal," Dickinson drawled. "Meaning no disrespect. But your C.O. would have my head on a platter if I sent you off without an armed escort. Ain't that how you got into this mess in the first place?"
By the set of Houlihan's jaw, Mulcahy could tell she was within a shallow breath of telling the man right where he could stick his escort. But being trapped in the body of a lieutenant chaplain and deprived of her rightful rank, she didn't have the option of ordering him to hand over a vehicle. And though that put the ball in Mulcahy's court, he was hesitant to start issuing orders as a major when, technically, he was still a lieutenant. There had to be some other way....
He took a step closer to Dickinson, essaying what he hoped was a pleasant smile. "But we're really very anxious to get home, you see, and the work you're doing out here must be much too important to waste any of your men on escort duty. Couldn't we...work something out?"
Before Dickinson could respond, Houlihan hastily interposed herself between him and Mulcahy. "Ah...excuse me, Captain, but may I have a word in private with Major Houlihan?"
The captain, looking puzzled, waved them over to one of the smaller outbuildings that had already been searched, and as the door swung shut behind Mulcahy, Houlihan rounded on him, her nose scant inches from his. "What the hell was that? Were you trying to flirt with him?"
The sight of his erstwhile features contorted with her anger was unnerving for Mulcahy on a number of levels, but her accusation was an outright shock. "Of course not! I just thought a more friendly attitude might help persuade him to see things our way."
Houlihan stepped back a pace, visibly calming herself. "Father, to a man like Dickinson, 'friendly' coming from a priest and 'friendly' coming from a woman are two very different things, understand? Didn't you see the way he was looking at you? What were you planning to do if he offered you the Jeep in exchange for a romp in the back seat?"
As his miscalculation became clear, a fresh wave of heat spread across Mulcahy's face. Not having had much experience with flirtation, from either perspective, he hadn't foreseen that his innocent offer to "work something out" might be interpreted in quite that way. "I apologize, Major. I never intended..."
"I know." Her voice held a reassuring glimmer of amusement. "But, please -- try to go a little easier on the charm, okay?"
--o00o--
Though Margaret Houlihan had, once or twice in the past, entertained the idle fantasy of what life might be like if she were a man, she was finding that the reality of the thing carried something of a double edge.
On the one hand, she had certainly never pictured herself as a priest. Or, even worse, as an officer of lower rank. She'd worked damn hard to earn those gold oak leaves, and it galled her to have to accept a demotion, no matter how unofficial.
From a strictly physical standpoint, on the other hand, Houlihan was almost enjoying herself. As a woman, she'd been no slouch in the strength and fitness department. But when she and Mulcahy were recruited into helping Davidson's men pack and heave onto the trucks all the confiscatable material found at the compound, she was amazed to discover how easily she could lift some of the heavier crates that Mulcahy, in her former body, had trouble getting off the ground. Apparently she had long been underestimating the chaplain -- his frame was stronger than it looked.
As she watched him struggle with a box full of equipment, his face flushed and damp, Houlihan felt a pang of sympathy. There was no question that, of the two of them, he was having the harder time of it, and the migraine probably wasn't helping things. She hoped Dickinson would let them leave soon, escort or no, so they could start trying to figure out what the hell happened and how to fix it.
In the meantime, she resolved to keep a close eye on Mulcahy. Though she was regretting her earlier display of temper at his expense, Houlihan now understood just how much trouble he could get into as a socially naive "woman." She tried not to dwell on the colorful worst-case scenarios that her imagination was plotting out for her.
Having handed off her last crate to a soldier stationed on the appropriate truck, she turned to see Dickinson approaching, a dazed Mulcahy on his arm. Damn, how had the captain slipped past her? Supervising a MASH nursing staff ought to have honed her chaperoning skills better than that.
"Hello, Father!" said Dickinson. "I just wanted to thank you and the major here for helping us out. Hard workers, the both of ya."
Houlihan managed a smile, making a game attempt to act priestly. "You're quite welcome, Captain. Happy to be of service."
"And I have good news," he announced, beaming. "Your carriage awaits!"
Her gaze tracked along the captain's theatrical arm gesture and came to rest on a Jeep, its engine idling. The man sitting behind the wheel waved to them.
"Now I know you'd rather not fuss with a driver, but Corporal Travers over there will be going with you, and that's that. I'll feel better about it, Colonel Blake will feel better about it, and this way we'll be sure to get our Jeep back." He chortled, evidently pleased with his own idea of wit.
She locked eyes with Mulcahy. The flush of exertion on his face had faded to an ashen hue, and he looked about one step away from fainting. Whatever objections he may have had about the escort, he didn't seem inclined to renew them now, so she went ahead and made the command decision. "That'll be fine, Captain, thank you. We appreciate all you've done for us."
Five minutes and a round of hearty handshakes later, they were on their way home.