10. Small World

An unexpected hum drifted through the canyon. Hawkeye tipped his head, listening. It was a high-pitched whine, getting closer. Another jeep was coming up the road. From the sound of the engine, whoever was at the wheel was driving it pretty full out.

Hawkeye's heart began to race. Salvation might be at hand, if he could only keep High from shooting him in the next two minutes. Hawkeye angled his head, trying to hear better. With any luck it would be a whole convoy coming to his rescue. But Hawkeye couldn't make out anything but what sounded like a single engine.

The noise dimmed slightly. The jeep must be on the straightaway on the far side of the mountain, heading for that last tight curve. Keeping his rifle pointed in front of him, Hawkeye rose to his feet. Cautiously, he peeked over the rim.

High was across the road from him, crouched on the hillside right at the bend in the road, about forty feet away. He must have climbed past the burning jeep as Hawkeye had suspected he would, but before he could approach the cliff, the sound of the other jeep had distracted him. High had taken position behind a boulder facing the road, with his rifle aimed toward the oncoming jeep. Obviously he meant to take out the driver. Or perhaps he intended to shoot out a tire, with the resultant blowout sending the entire jeep careening over the edge in another contrived accident.

Okay, crisis of conscience time. Long before he'd taken the Hippocratic Oath, Hawkeye had sworn never to harm another human being. But if he didn't act now, more innocent people would die at this maniac's hands. Hawkeye took a breath, then lifted the rifle, aiming at High's unprotected back. It seemed cruel, to shoot a man who was unaware of his danger. Hawkeye reminded himself of all the people this man had killed, about all the other people who were likely to die. He swallowed, and strengthened his resolve. Slowly he breathed out, steadying the rifle against his arm, and squeezed the trigger.

He hadn't expected the kick. The old rifle jammed into his shoulder so smartly, he nearly tumbled backwards off the rock. He flailed for balance, his two-handed grip on the gun making him doubt for a moment whether that was possible. Then he was steady again on his feet. He leaned against the side of the cliff for safety and for cover, and looked anxiously toward the hillside where he expected to see High's sprawled body. At that instant a bullet struck the ground just inches from his head.

Dirt sprayed into his face, temporarily blinding him. Hawkeye dropped to his knees, throwing an arm across his burning eyes. The rifle clattered to the stone ledge, but Hawkeye couldn't look for it. He sucked in breath as his eyes watered. Obviously his carefully aimed shot had missed. High was alive and shooting at him, and Hawkeye couldn't even see to shoot back.

Dimly he heard the screech of brakes; the exchange of gunfire must have tipped off the driver. At least his miserable marksmanship had done that much good. The motor roared as the jeep rounded the corner, geared down and slowing.

Still blind, Hawkeye stood up and hollered, "Hey, watch out! That guy's a killer!"

The jeep jerked back into gear. Drawing a jacket sleeve across his face, Hawkeye blotted his eyes enough to see.

It was Klinger. Even with his weepy eyes, there was no mistaking that black-and-white checked outfit, the vivid scarf an absurd contrast to the jeep's humorless olive green. The watery image of High aimed his rifle at the windshield, but Klinger hit the gas and drove right for him. The jeep bounced wildly as it clambered over the rocks at the base of the hill, eating away the few yards between them. High dropped his rifle and dove toward the uphill side, his boots barely missing the jeep's oncoming grill. For the moment, he was down and unarmed.

Without stopping to think, Hawkeye clambered up the side of the cliff and sprinted across the road. He had to reach High before the man retrieved his rifle. He had started to scramble up the rocky slope behind the jeep when a new sound set his heart in his throat: a woman's scream. He looked up and found himself chilled.

Klinger's initial rush had turned against him. The jeep had reached the limit of its climbing ability; it had stalled just beyond the place where High had fallen. High was now dragging someone in helmet and fatigues out of the passenger side of the jeep. Hawkeye hadn't noticed her before; she must have been crouching down in her seat, a fine idea considering the amount of lead that was flying around. But High must have spotted her when the jeep went by, then grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her out. Klinger, fighting with the controls, was unable to help. The woman struggled, but High was too big for her. He spun her around and slapped her to his chest. As he did so, her helmet went flying, and her blond hair cascaded down.

Hawkeye scrambled up the slope at his top speed. "Margaret!" He was almost to the edge of the jeep. He would make it.

High grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of Margaret's neck, then jerked her head back so it was resting hard against his chest. With his right hand he whipped out a knife and held it to Margaret's throat. He glared at Hawkeye with menace in his eyes. "Back off!"

Hawkeye windmilled his arms to arrest his forward momentum. He was only five feet away, but it might as well be five miles.

Klinger set the brake to keep the jeep from tumbling back down the hill, then hopped out of the driver's seat. He snatched up his rifle from where it rested in the back seat, cocking it with practiced efficiency.

"Raise that weapon," High bellowed, "and she dies."

Klinger froze with the gun halfway to his shoulder. "You can't win, Stranges," he growled. "Let her go."

For a moment Hawkeye didn't understand the comment, then the light dawned. "Strangers" was a word play on "Stranges," obviously High's real name. The man was vile in every way, but he did love his word games.

"No way," Stranges-alias-High replied. "Back off, both of you."

The gleaming edge of the knife was actually resting against Margaret's throat. Hawkeye could see her pulse fluttering just beneath it, beating double-quick in her otherwise frozen body. Her eyes moved toward him but he could read nothing in her expression -- no plea, no accusation, nothing -- only fear.

"I can't do that, Stranges," Klinger answered. He stood squarely with his saddle shoes braced against the tricky slope, hands ready to jerk the rifle to his shoulder at a moment's notice. Hawkeye felt that he had tumbled directly into the surreal; here was a man wearing a baby doll dress and earrings, facing down a soldier with a knife, both of them looking as grim as death.

"What you're gonna do," said Stranges, "is let me get to my jeep."

"Over your dead body," said Klinger.

Stranges pressed the knife against Margaret's skin. "I'll kill her."

"What kind of threat is that?" said Klinger. "You're gonna kill her anyway."

"Now, why would I kill somebody who was so helpful to me?" said Stranges.

Klinger's eyes flickered in confusion.

"What do you mean?" Hawkeye demanded.

"Major, huh?" Stranges had obviously noticed Margaret's rank insignia. "I bet this is the little lady who tipped me off that you were coming."

Hawkeye exchanged a startled look with Klinger, but the checkered soldier appeared just as bewildered as Hawkeye.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Stranges continued. "How you can be walking around minding your own business, but somebody in another room says your name, and all of a sudden you're listening." He tightened his grip on Margaret's hair. "I heard everything Keotunian said over the radio. I thought I could get by with taking you out, Doc. But it seems that it's in my best interest now to just disappear." He pulled back on Margaret's head, further exposing her throat. "This little lady is gonna be my safe conduct out of here."

Even while maintaining his grip, Stranges moved one of his fingers at the back of Margaret's neck. The movement was almost a caress, as if he was stroking her hair. Stranges looked over her head at Hawkeye, and smirked. Hawkeye's heart began pounding with a painful intensity.

Suddenly the crack of a rifle sounded to Hawkeye's left, and a patch of dust kicked up on the slope just beyond Stranges' right shoulder. Reflexively Hawkeye looked toward the noise.

Unnoticed, Radar had climbed up the side of the cliff where he and Hawkeye had been hiding. Despite his woozy condition, he'd had the presence of mind to bring the rifle. He had advanced a couple of feet into the road, to the left of the still-burning jeep. Seeing the situation, he'd taken aim, and fired.

But Radar discovered what Hawkeye had found out earlier; those old rifles kick. Even as Hawkeye turned his head, he saw Radar's body jerk from the impact. The clerk dropped the rifle and stumbled backwards, until he was at the very brink of the precipice. He stood there swaying, as if fighting the urge to pass out.

A grunt and shuffle recalled Hawkeye to his immediate situation. Margaret had not let herself be distracted by Radar's appearance. When Stranges/High looked toward the road with everybody else, he must have eased his grip on her momentarily. Margaret took the opportunity to drive her elbow into his solar plexus. His grunt as he bent forward was what had drawn Hawkeye's attention. Even as he watched, Margaret drove her elbow into Stranges' belly again. He didn't drop the knife, but he did loosen his grip on her hair, so she wriggled partway free.

Before Stranges could grab her again, Hawkeye launched himself at him. His body slam wasn't strong, mostly because Hawkeye was tackling him uphill, but also because he was trying not to crush Margaret, who was busy trying to slip out of the way. Stranges fell backward under Hawkeye's charge, but his outraged expression showed that he'd by no means given up. He thrust at Hawkeye with the knife, but Hawkeye caught his wrist with his left hand and held it away, inches from his head. Stranges was frighteningly strong; it took all of Hawkeye's energy to match him. The loose scree shifted under them, so they started to roll downhill. Hawkeye fetched up against the jeep's rear tire with Stranges on top of him, the knife quivering in the air about eight inches from his neck.

Suddenly the barrel of a gun poked into the side of Stranges' head. Hawkeye felt his opponent grow still.

Klinger said in a deadly voice, "Drop it."

Stranges opened his grip, the wiry sinews of his wrist rippling against Hawkeye's palm. The knife clinked to the ground next to Hawkeye's ear.

"Now," Klinger ordered, "get off the captain."

Hawkeye let go his grip as Stranges began to comply. Slowly the big man got to his feet. Klinger backed up a step, keeping the rifle aimed at his head.

Suddenly Stranges grabbed the rifle barrel, yanking it in an attempt to rip it out of Klinger's grasp. The gun discharged harmlessly over Stranges' shoulder. His attack pulled Klinger right off his feet, but Klinger refused to let go, even though Stranges tossed him around like a hairy duffel bag. For the first time Hawkeye caught a glimpse of Stranges' back. His shirt was torn in a ragged crease, with a line of red bleeding into the fabric. Apparently Hawkeye's shot had come closer to putting Stranges out of commission than he had thought. With the loss of blood, Stranges would be getting weaker, perhaps as quickly as a matter of seconds with all this fighting. It wouldn't take much for them to master him. Stranges must know that too, and it showed in his desperation.

Hawkeye scrambled to his knees, but before he could come to Klinger's aid, a rock smacked Stranges in the chin. The big man blinked, then dragged Klinger around some more. Hawkeye glanced over his shoulder in time to see Margaret sling another rock. The major had some arm on her. Her second stone hit the side of Stranges' head hard enough to snap it to the side.

The tactic was enough. Klinger found his feet at last, those ridiculous saddle shoes scrabbling for a purchase. He yanked the rifle free of Stranges' grasp while the taller man was staggered. Unable to aim in the close quarters, he immediately swung the butt end toward Stranges' head, cracking him in the skull.

Stranges stumbled backward along the side of the jeep. Klinger stood his ground, once again raising the rifle to his shoulder. Hawkeye pushed himself to his feet, bracing against the jeep. Before he could move, Stranges scrambled around the front end of the jeep and slithered down the slope. In a half dozen strides he had reached the road, all while Klinger was cocking and aiming his weapon. "Stranges, freeze!" Klinger bellowed.

Hawkeye's stomach fluttered. From his position beside Klinger, he could see all too well where Stranges was headed: straight towards Radar. Whether Stranges intended to use him as a hostage or simply throw him over the edge was something Hawkeye couldn't afford to find out. He launched himself down the slope in pursuit.

Behind him, Klinger yelled, "Radar, move!"

Stranges had almost reached Radar; no doubt the corporal was in Klinger's line of fire. Radar himself seemed unaware of his danger. He stood blinking and swaying at the edge of the cliff, the proceedings probably no more than a confusing blur to him without his glasses, never mind the mind-numbing effects of his concussion. Then Hawkeye spotted something else that Stranges may have seen: half a yard in front of Radar lay the rifle that he'd dropped. Stranges might be making for that. He was almost on top of Radar, running fast.

Hawkeye shouted, "Radar, get the gun!"

Radar dropped, reaching out his hand. Hawkeye was never quite sure what happened immediately afterwards. Stranges' body, stooping toward Radar and the rifle, blocked his view. Perhaps Radar's suddenly hunched body had tripped him. Perhaps Stranges had merely stumbled, and bounced off Radar's shoulder. In any case, Stranges tumbled over Radar's hunkered form. He actually flipped with the force of his momentum, head down and backwards towards the cliff. For an instant he seemed to hang there, limbs splayed, against the empty air. The next moment he vanished without a sound.

Hawkeye skidded to a stop next to Radar. The first thing he did was pull the dazed clerk a little farther from the edge. Crouching, he leaned out to look over the rim of the cliff.

It wasn't sheer, but it had been steep enough. Stranges' aerial launch had denied him the opportunity to grab at any handholds. Who knew how far down the slope he actually hit? His body was still rolling, but the bones in those flapping limbs were no longer in any sort of contiguous pieces. Stranges eventually came to rest against a large boulder near the base of the canyon. A shower of dirt and rocks rolled down after him, partly obscuring the uphill side of his body. Hawkeye felt that this was one time when he wouldn't need to check for a pulse. Nobody's head could be at that angle and have the person still be alive. Hawkeye reflected that, ironically, Stranges must have died of traumatic spondylolysis not too far removed from a hangman's fracture.

Radar said weakly beside him, "Here you go, Hawk."

Hawkeye looked back to find the woozy corporal pushing the rifle into his hands. In his impaired condition, Radar was doing his best to comply with Hawkeye's most recent order, in this case, to "get the gun." Hawkeye smiled and took it from him. "Thank you, Corporal."

Radar merely nodded, blinking in a vain attempt to clear his vision. The blood had mostly dried on his face, but a new line of crimson had broken out across the bridge of his nose.

Hawkeye asked Radar quietly, "Are you all right?"

Radar rubbed his shoulder as Margaret and Klinger came running up. "Somebody kicked me."

"I'm sorry about that. We'll take care of it soon."

Klinger halted a foot short of the edge and peered out. "Whe-ew! Looks like we don't have to worry about this guy anymore."

Margaret knelt beside Radar and Hawkeye. "Are you all right?" she asked anxiously.

"The corporal here has a concussion," Hawkeye said. "I'm fine."

Margaret unslung a medical bag from her shoulder; she must have fetched it from the jeep before following Klinger down the hill. Hastily she dug around inside. Hawkeye approved. Now that they had a moment, it was about time that they cleaned up Radar's face.

Klinger turned towards Hawkeye with a look of satisfaction. From his position on the ground, Hawkeye could see up the dress past the corporal's hairy knees -- an intimate view that he could have done without. Klinger slung his rifle back over his shoulder. "Captain, what do you want us to do about this guy?"

"We'll notify his unit about what happened. Radar said they're not far from here. Let them come and get him."

Klinger indicated the smoldering jeep. "We'll have to get past this thing."

Hawkeye glanced over his shoulder. The fire had consumed all the flammables on the interior of the jeep; black smoke rose from the ashes and the charred skin. "It didn't explode."

Klinger shrugged his shoulders. "Naw, gas tanks hardly ever explode, except in the movies. Back home in Toledo, me and my cousin Rabih used to --" He hesitated as Margaret, armed with a cloth she'd just soaked with alcohol, gave him a narrow look. "Never mind."

Hawkeye said, "Find something we can use as a tow line, and we'll use the other jeep to pull this one out of the way. And let's try to push some of those boulders over the edge, too. We don't want anyone to hit the same barricade that almost did Radar and me in."

Klinger saluted. "No sooner heard than done, sir!" He marched off smartly, skirt swaying on his narrow hips.

Hawkeye turned back just in time for Margaret to press the cold, wet cloth against the side of his face. His skin burned at the contact. "Ow!" He jerked his head away. "What are you doing?"

"You're bleeding, Doctor."

"I am?" Hawkeye noticed that the moist cloth in her hand had developed red smears. "How did that happen?"

"It looks like you've got some gravel in there," said Margaret. "Here, hold still." She reached around the back of his head to steady him, and happened to put her hand on the place where he'd hit the ground when the jeep overturned. Pain sliced through his skull.

"Youch!" He batted her hand away, scooting backward. He held up his hands. "Just ... don't touch anything."

Margaret said with concern, "Did Stranges do that?"

"Do what?"

"You've got a lump back there the size of a lemon."

"Better to feel like one than to be one." Hawkeye prodded at the lump on his head gingerly. "I fell out of the jeep -- on my head, fortunately."

"Are you okay?" Margaret asked quickly.

"I'm fine." Hawkeye met her eyes. "Are you okay?"

Margaret hesitated, then looked away. "I'm fine, too." She was struggling for that unconcerned look that she adopted all too frequently, but this time the mask was wearing a little thin.

Hawkeye kept his eyes on her. "You're sure?"

Margaret seemed caught in a battle between ego and honesty. To her credit, honesty won out. "I'm ... all right, now. I wasn't hurt, just ... terrified."

Hawkeye said softly, "I think we all were."

"You didn't show it." Margaret met his eyes. "Thank you for coming to my rescue." Her soft smile looked genuine.

Hawkeye felt suddenly uncomfortable. Attempting to lighten the mood, he slapped Radar on the shoulder, who jumped and seemed to wake up at the contact. "It wasn't me you should thank, but the Redoubtable Radar O'Reilly and his amazing Astigmatic Attack."

Radar hung his head. "Aw, c'mon, Hawkeye. Don't make fun."

"Make fun?" Hawkeye raised his brows. "Far from it. It was your shot that startled Stranges, allowing Major Houlihan to get free."

Radar peered up at him. "Startled who?"

"Stranges. You know, Sergeant High."

"Yeah, I saw that blond guy threatening you."

"Not to mention holding Major Houlihan hostage."

Radar squinted. "Major Houlihan was there?"

Hawkeye paused. "I know you're concussed, Radar, but you have to remember Major Houlihan being there. You shot at Stranges to distract him."

Radar's eyes widened. "This Stranges guy was holding Major Houlihan?"

Hawkeye said, "Who did you think he was holding?"

"Well, nobody. Honest, Hawkeye. I just saw some guy with blond hair yelling at you and Klinger. I couldn't hear because my ears were ringing, but I thought that he had a gun on you because you guys were so still. I thought you were in danger, so I ... tried to shoot him."

Margaret's eyes were huge. "You mean, you shot at Stranges trying to hit him?" Her jaw dropped. "You lunatic, you could have hit me!"

"It wasn't my fault, Major, honest!" Radar looked close to tears. "I lost my glasses in the crash. I couldn't see nothing but a blur that far away, just blond hair and black hair and that's all, no kidding!"

Hawkeye ducked his head. True, the situation would have been appalling had Radar hit his target. Now that the crisis was over, however, his inclination was to laugh.

Of course, Margaret picked up on his struggle to hide his mirth. She slapped his arm. "This isn't funny, Captain!"

Hawkeye couldn't overcome his chuckle. "Major, relax. Radar didn't hit you, and he did give us our chance to jump Stranges."

Margaret thrust her medical kit at him. "Here, you clean him up. I don't trust myself to do it right now."

Hawkeye took the bag, then noticed Klinger climbing back towards them around the end of the burnt jeep. He slid down the loose stone toward the road, regained his balance, then sauntered toward them with a huge coil of rope over his shoulder. Hawkeye smiled. "Where'd you find that?"

"Stranges' jeep." Klinger jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "It's parked a little way up the road." Klinger slid the rope off his shoulder. "What do you think of this? It feels a lot stronger than the usual stuff we see around camp. It should make a great tow line."

Hawkeye took the rope. Its strands were woven in a complicated interlocking weave. The texture and thickness exactly matched a piece of rope that he'd seen only one time before. He looked up to meet Margaret's startled eyes.

Klinger was pleased with himself. "Some fancy rope, huh? What is that, a rappelling rope?"

Hawkeye turned the coil around until he found the ends. One end was neatly sealed. The other had been cut off; the strands blossomed out in a frayed tassel.

Klinger said, "I bet the units in this area use it for climbing."

"Among other things," said Hawkeye.

Margaret covered her eyes.