Project Quantum Leap
Stallions Gate, New Mexico
February 11, 2002
Corporal Walter Eugene O'Reilly paced the perimeter of the all white room in the futile attempt of finding an exit. The one door he saw had a key appendage missing – a doorknob. A small window at the top of the wall was too high up for someone of his short stature to reach. He didn't recognize this place, nor did he remember how he ended up here. He carefully patted the walls, searching for a way out and trying to retrace his steps.
I was in my office, calling the general for … for …Radar shook his head a few times, but the cobwebs on his memory wouldn't dissipate. Maybe Captain … Captain … why can't I remember their names? For the first time since waking up in this unfamiliar locale, the corporal glanced down at his khaki uniform – and found himself in a tight-fitting white jumpsuit. Where's my uniform? If this is somebody's idea of a practical joke, they've sure picked a hell of a time to pull it.
"Captain Pierce?" Radar shouted. Captain Pierce! Of course – how could I forget Hawkeye? "Captain Hunnicutt? C'mon, guys, this isn't funny anymore!"
A whoosh behind him made Radar turn his attention toward the strange door. "Holy Toledo!" he gasped as the door slid up into the ceiling, revealing a tall and slender black woman in a peach business suit. Must be one of Klinger's outfits, he decided as the woman slowly approached where he stood.
"Hello, my name is Dr. Verbena Beeks," the woman announced cheerfully. "And you are?"
"Y-you're a d-doctor?" Radar stammered. He'd seen black doctors before, and he'd seen female doctors, but he'd never seen both at the same time in the same person.
Dr. Beeks nodded. "Yes, I'm a doctor," she replied. "Actually, I'm a psychiatrist."
"Do you work with Sidney Freedman?" he asked. Dr. Sidney Freedman was a psychiatrist who visited the MASH unit from time to time.
She shook her head. "I haven't had that pleasure yet. Can you tell me your name?" she repeated.
"Corporal Walter Eugene O'Reilly," he answered.
Dr. Beeks pressed a few buttons on a flashing bracelet, then extended her hand to the young man standing before her. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Corporal." She gestured to a glass table in the middle of the stark room. "Would you like to sit down?"
Radar complied and pulled himself up onto the table. "Look here, ma'am," he said as politely as he could. "I'm needed back in my unit. I got work to do, you know."
The woman smiled and nodded. "You'll be back home soon. We just need to do a few tests." She pressed buttons on her bracelet as she spoke. "I need to ask you some questions. Can you tell me where you live?"
"Ottumwa, Iowa, but I'm practically living in Korea now."
"Are you on vacation?" she asked. "Missionary work? Or military duty?"
"I was invited by President Harry Truman," he snapped. Gosh, this lady needs a psychiatrist more than her patients.
"The Korean War?" He could've sworn he saw confusion flicker across the doctor's face before she masked it with indifference. "That's impossible!" she muttered to herself. Dr. Beeks took a deep breath. "This might sound a little odd, but could you tell me what today's date is?"
"June 5, 1952," Radar answered. What's with this insane interrogation? He wondered. He decided to ask a question that should be easy for the woman to answer. "How did I get here?"
The lady hesitated and fiddled with the contraption on her wrist. "Your company walked in on an ambush," she told him. "We need to keep you here for a few days. A week at the most."
"Shelled?" Radar leapt off the table and glared at the psychiatrist. "I work in a MASH unit," he informed her.
"Are you a doctor?" she inquired.
"I'm the company clerk," he replied. "Does Colonel Potter know where I am?"
"Of course he does," Dr. Beeks answered. She gently tapped on the bracelet, causing it to emit an array of flashing colors.
Dr. Beeks asked him more questions, each one as crazy as the first. Where is your unit located? Are you in the middle of any heavy artillery?
"I can't answer that, ma'am," he replied softly. It was partially true – he could only remember Ouij … Ouijong … Drats! Something fishy was going on here, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He studied the doctor's bracelet. That's probably a North Korean spy bracelet, Radar concluded. I'd better keep my mouth shut before I get into any trouble.
Realizing that she was getting nowhere with the interrogation, Dr. Verbena Beeks shook Radar's hand and approached the door. "Thank you, Corporal O'Reilly," she told him. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask." Radar's jaw nearly collapsed off its hinges when the door sliding open immediately followed a press of a button on the bracelet. He wanted to follow her, but the door slid shut before he could get his foot off the ground. He hoisted himself back onto the table, and did the one thing he could do in a situation like this – absolutely nothing.
* * *
Lieutenant Colonel Erin Hunnicutt refolded her father's letter and placed it in the top drawer of her desk. Dr. Beckett had just leaped into a new host, and as Chief Surgeon of Project Quantum Leap, it was her duty to take care of the physical problems of everyone in the complex. That included the person occupying Sam Beckett's aura. Dr. Beeks was conferring with the person, whoever he, she or it was. Sam had landed in everyone and everything, from a pregnant teen to a retarded man to a NASA space chimp. As long as Sam wasn't in any mental or physical danger, the staff could rest easy for a while, and Dr. Hunnicutt could write a letter to her dad.
Erin smiled thinking of the old man. She had been blessed with his quiet demeanor and his looks, from his 6'3 frame to his size thirteen shoes. He had worked as a captain in a MASH unit in Korea, and she had done a stint as a nurse in Vietnam. Sometimes, she wished she could tell her father exactly what she was doing in Alamogordo, but she couldn't go against orders from the top brass. She absentmindedly tapped a pen against the edge of the desk in the attempt of conjuring up a safe anecdote.
Finally, she decided to stick with the antics of Admiral Albert Calavicci. Her father had always enjoyed hearing about the fiery admiral, because he sounded like people he had worked with in Korea. Between his wild clothes, lewd sense of humor, and appreciation of the female gender, the man was a cross between Maxwell Q. Klinger and Hawkeye Pierce. She had met Klinger several times over the years at sporadic MASH 4077th reunion parties. When she was younger, she and the other girls would play dress up with Klinger's gowns. He had painstakingly designed each and every one of them himself in the vain hope the Army would grant him a Section 8. When he wasn't in his dress whites, the admiral sported flashy, blinding suits. From what Erin had heard about Hawkeye Pierce, he and Al Calavicci could have engaged in a Romancing the Nurses contest.
"Colonel Hunnicutt, you may enter the Waiting Room now," a sultry voice announced.
Erin glanced up at the ceiling and addressed the direction of the source. "Thank you, Ziggy," she told the parallel hybrid computer.
As she walked toward the Waiting Room, she saw Al leaving the Imaging Chamber. "How's Sam?" she asked him.
Al took a puff of his cigar. "So far, so good," he answered. "He's in a MASH unit in Korea."
Erin wrinkled her nose. "You know, Al, if the tobacco doesn't kill you, the stench will."
"I've already got Sam and Verbena on my case," he grumbled. "You too?"
"I'm a doctor. It's my job. I'm on my way to talk to our weekly friend. Care to join me?"
The admiral nodded. "I need to change into my dress whites first," he explained. "Sam's host might be more comfortable with us if he knows I'm one of him." He started to walk away, then suddenly remembered something and turned around. "You wouldn't happen to be related to a B.J. Hunnicutt, would you?" he asked. "There's a Captain B.J. Hunnicutt on this Leap, and …"
"Hunnicutt's not a common last name?" Erin suggested. "Yes, B.J.'s my father."
"Did he ever mention a Corporal Walter O'Reilly?"
Colonel Hunnicutt broke out into a grin. "Uncle Radar?" She had always referred to the members of the 4077th as aunt or uncle. "Sam leaped into Radar?" This should be interesting, she thought. She nodded a goodbye to the admiral and stepped into the Waiting Room.
* * *
MASH 4077th
Ouijongbu, Korea
June 5, 1952
"Clamp." … "Scalpel." … "Close this for me." … "Yes, doctor." The O.R. was filled with the sounds of doctors' orders and banter, and with the scraping of equipment.
Sam handed Colonel Potter a clamp and watched the old man remove a piece of shrapnel from a young GI's stomach. It took most of his energy to keep himself from jumping up and helping the surgeons. He peered over the colonel's shoulder and swallowed. "This kid could start a metal factory," he said.
"Let's quit the war and start our own factory," B.J. suggested.
"That's what I've said all along," Hawkeye piped in. Sam didn't have to look up to know that the doctor was leaning against the edge of the gurney.
"Margaret, you can be forewoman," B.J. told the head nurse. "Suction."
Margaret complied with the captain's request. "Thank you, doctor. That's very kind of you."
"You folks can conjure up this factory of yours after we get these boys to Post-Op," Potter broke in.
Hawkeye laughed weakly. "We've already got the equipment," he said. "All we need now is …" He squinted and took a shaky step back. "I need some air," he gasped. He clutched his head, either not remembering or not caring that he was wearing bloodied surgical gloves. He wobbled to the door and got sick on the grass.
"Hawkeye, what's wrong?" Margaret asked when he returned to the O.R. Coming from her, the question seemed more like an order.
Hawkeye managed to plaster a smile on his ashen face. "N-nothing, M-Margaret," he stammered.
"Headache?" Charles asked.
"J-just a little p-pain," Hawkeye admitted. "I'm f-fine."
"Bull crackers!" Colonel Potter bellowed. "You look 'bout ready to pass out." His voice softened. "Why don't you go rest for a bit? We got business here under control."
Sam and Klinger helped the captain change out of his surgical clothes and brought him to a tent called the Swamp. When the trio entered, Sam began to understand how the place got its name. With the piles of dirty clothes spread over the floor, Pigsty would have been just as appropriate.
"How long have you had this headache?" Sam asked for at least the third time since starting the Leap. He pulled the blanket up to Hawkeye's chin.
"On and off since this morning," Hawkeye whispered. "Is it just me or is it really bright in here?" He closed his eyes.
Turn off the lights, Sam mouthed to the cross-dressing corporal. "You probably have a migraine," he told Hawkeye. "Where's the pain located?"
Klinger threw a Why am I doing this look Sam's way, but he complied with the order. "Better, sir?" he asked.
Hawkeye lifted his head and moaned. Sam placed his hands behind the man's head and gently eased the captain back onto the pillow. "Lie still and don't move," he instructed Hawkeye. Still too much light in here, he decided. Even with his Swiss-cheesed mind, he knew how to treat a migraine. Total darkness was a key element. "Draw the shades," he told Klinger. "And get me some damp washcloths." He placed the back of his hand on Hawkeye's forehead. Hot and sweaty … cold hands. "You've got a fever."
" So that's what it is," Hawk mused. "I thought my head was turning into an oven. Go back to the O.R.," he commanded the corporals. "I'll be alright."
Sam ignored him. "Captain, I think you should see a doctor."
"I am a doctor," Hawkeye replied. "I'll just take two aspirins and call myself in the morning."
"That might be too late," a gravelly voice announced mournfully.
What do you mean? Sam mouthed to the holographic observer.
Al fiddled with an unlit cigar. "He's found dead tomorrow morning," he told the leaper. "Meningitis."