Author's Rambling
I made two insignificant changes to my earlier chapters. The first one is I changed the spelling of B.J.'s last name from H-U-N-I-C-U-T to H-U-N-N-I-C-U-T-T. I've seen his name spelled a variety of ways, and I wasn't sure which way was correct. Since his name is spelled with two t's in "The Interview" and "Our Finest Hour," I decided to switch to that spelling. The other change is in the previous chapter. Originally, I had Hawkeye quarantined in Margaret's tent, but I've moved him to the V.I.P. tent instead. Oh, and Elvis is still dead, eating raw eggs can give you salmonella, the earth is round, and Colonel Potter is threatening to court-martial me if I don't shut my yap and continue with the story.
MASH 4077th
Ouijongbu, Korea
June 6, 1952
Colonel Sherman Potter slammed his fist against the desk. "Alright, boys, I don't want to have to repeat myself. What the hell is going on here?"
Sam glared at the smug major. "Why don't you ask Major Davis?" he challenged.
"Davis?"
"Aw, c'mon, Colonel," the officer protested. "The corporal punched a superior officer."
Al snorted. "If that's a 'superior officer,' then I'm a horse's ass."
"Radar, care to explain yourself?" the colonel asked. Sam nodded. "Good."
"He was going to rape a nurse," Sam told his C.O.
Potter raised his eyebrows. "That's a pretty serious accusation, Corporal."
"I caught him trapping her in one of the stalls." Figuring the colonel would want an explanation for his being in the Nurses' Showers, he tried to conjure one up. "I took a walk because …"
"What in tarnation were you doing near the Nurses' Showers at 1:30 in the morning?"
"… I couldn't sleep," Sam continued. I must be getting some of Radar's "radar," he decided. "I heard noises coming from the showers so I went in to investigate." He hoped that his explanation would suffice.
"What kind of noises?"
"It sure as heck wasn't someone taking a shower," he said. "And if people were, you know, doing something private, somebody sure wasn't happy about it." He realized he was probably blushing. This kid's more of a prude than I ever was.
"Mind telling me what nurse you're referring to?" the elderly colonel pressed.
"Nurse Brighton," Sam responded. "This … I don't think this was the first time." He ignored the daggers the major's eyes were throwing toward him.
"Nurse Brighton is my girlfriend," Davis lied. He glared at the man he assumed was a corporal. "O'Reilly barged in on us and scared her away."
Al repositioned himself until he was eye to eye with the major. "You're a slime ball if I ever saw one," he hissed.
Potter leaned forward. "I want you boys to listen carefully," he instructed. "If there's any more fights …"
"The corporal should be court-martialed for attacking me!" Davis interrupted.
"… You'll both be court-martialed," he finished. "There's enough violence in this god-forsaken war without you adding to it."
"Next time you even think about punching me …" Davis began.
"Stay away from Nurse Brighton and we won't have to worry about that," Sam replied harshly.
"Dismissed!" Potter roared.
* * *
"Rise and shine, kiddies!" the sardonic announcement was broadcast all over the camp. "All teams of surgeons report to Triage. This war doesn't work during normal daylight hours."
Hawkeye struggled to sit up in bed, but found that someone or something was forcing him back down. His foggy mind couldn't ascertain his location. The only thing he could figure out was that he was sick in bed and a human-sized lobster was keeping watch. Part of him wanted to believe that he was home with his parents in Crabapple Cove, Maine. The other part knew that he was stuck in a MASH unit in Korea.
"I think I ate your brother," he confessed to the crustacean. "I'm sorry."
"I don't have any brothers," it answered in a stuffy Bostonian accent. "I only have a sister Honoria."
He took a moment to collect his wits. "It talks?" He whispered.
The lobster looked at him like he had a screw loose. "Of course I talk," it replied indignantly.
"I've never heard of a talking lobster before. I don't think we've met," he said. He extended his hand for the lobster to shake. "Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce, known to the world as 'Hawkeye'."
"Major Charles Emerson Winchester III," the lobster responded.
"Go back to sleep, Pierce," Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake ordered.
"They said 'all teams,' Henry," he reminded the C.O.
Henry shook his head. "You're in no condition to do surgery," he told the captain.
Hawkeye turned to Charles for support. "Could you tell Henry there's nothing wrong with me?" he requested. "He thinks I'm too sick to do surgery. Not that I obey his orders anyways," he added quietly.
"Henry's right," the crustacean explained. "You should get rest, Hawkeye."
"I can't let Trapper and Henry handle the patients by themselves," he argued. "Someone's gotta protect the patients from Ferret Face."
"I'm sure the patients can protect themselves," it said dryly. "You'll be one less cretin to worry about, I'm sure."
"Don't worry about the patients," Henry said simultaneously. "We've got everything under control." Henry and the rest of the tent faded into the Pierces' backyard in Crabapple Cove.
"Hey, wanna go play ball?" Hawk asked the lobster. "My dad says he'll build me a basketball hoop if I get good grades this term."
"Go to sleep, Pierce."
He eventually fell into a restless sleep. When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was an increased itching on his arms and legs. He looked down and saw a horde of scorpions, beetles, and earthworms covering his body. He tried to remove the slimy creatures, but every time he got rid of one, something far worse would suddenly appear.
"Get them off!" he cried. "Get them off of me!" He thrashed around, screaming, until he felt something cool on his forehead.
"Shhh, shhh," a woman cooed.
"Mom?" he asked weakly. "Mom, is that you?"
"Everything's going to be alright," Betty Pierce assured her son. She gently caressed his cheek, oblivious to the worms slithering in and out of her ears, mouth, and nose and the skeleton parading around the room in a fisherman's hat.
Hawkeye recoiled in horror at the image in front of him and the memories that came rushing into his brain. "Mom, you're dead!" he gasped. "You shouldn't be here – you're dead."
"And that' a problem, Pierce?" It took a few minutes to connect Henry Blake's voice with the skeleton that hovered over his bed.
Bits and pieces of Radar's announcement that afternoon surfaced. Plane … shot down over the Sea of Japan … no survivors. He could hear someone screaming, but it sounded too far away to be himself.
* * *
Margaret pressed the compress on Hawkeye's forehead. The Captain tried to squirm away from her, but didn't get too far.
"Get them off me!" the patient cried out. With her free hand, Margaret attempted to pin down the thrashing man. "Calm down, Pierce," she ordered. He ignored the command; that didn't surprise her in the least.
"How is he?" B.J. asked as he entered the quarantined tent. He donned the required surgical mask, as did Margaret. Since they still weren't sure what was wrong with the chief surgeon, the masks were a necessity.
"His fever went up to 104," she answered quietly. She couldn't stand watching the chief surgeon in this state. The sometimes immature, sometimes lewd, always there-when-you-needed-comfort surgeon/ comedian had been transformed into a semi-corpse with pallid skin and weak, stiff limbs. When he wasn't vomiting or in a fit of restless sleep, he was living in a world of hallucinations and deliria.
"We need to bring his temperature down," B.J. stated.
Margaret could almost hear their friend retorting with a snappy wisecrack. Instead, all they got was incoherent mumbling about Henry, his deceased mother, and vermin. "It's been over twelve hours," she yawned. "He's getting worse, not better."
The captain nodded grimly. "I'll take over, Margaret," he told the head nurse. "You look like you could use a break."
She was too weary to argue. Instead, she gave Hawkeye's hand a gentle squeeze and exited the tent.
* * *
Project Quantum Leap
Stallions Gate, New Mexico
February 12, 2002
Lt. Col. Hunnicutt heard the high-pitched giggles before she even turned the corner.
"Oooh, Al," Dr. Tina Martinez-O'Farrell squealed happily as Rear Admiral Calavicci smothered her in kisses.
Erin rolled her eyes and coughed. Calavicci was notorious for being a ladies' man. He had also developed the art of dodging angry husbands. That was one trait that separated Al from Hawkeye Pierce. While Pierce was a ladies' man as well, he had generally kept clear of women with little gold rings on their fingers. As far as Erin knew, the pulse communications technician was a divorcée. Another difference between her father's old friend and her current friend was their take on military attitude. Although Al Calavicci was more comfortable in a blinding yellow suit than in dress whites, he could act the severe Navy admiral when the occasion demanded. Hawkeye Pierce, on the other hand, despised all things military. Her father had mentioned that he'd never seen the captain give a genuine salute even once. She coughed again.
Al broke apart from the redheaded woman. "Can I help you with anything, Colonel?" He rubbed his eyes.
"I was just on my way to check on Radar's vital signs," she answered. She acknowledged Tina with a slight nod. "Morning."
"What time is it?" Tina asked.
Erin glanced at her watch. "Quarter to six." She looked at the Admiral. "We've got a busy day ahead of us," she informed her colleague. "Get some sleep."
"May I remind you that as Project Co-Director, you are under my command – not the other way around," he argued.
"Ah, yes," Erin agreed. "But as Project Chief Surgeon, it is my duty to prevent staff members from wearing themselves sick." She lowered her voice. "Besides, Bena promised to inject you with an anesthetic if you disobey the orders."
Al groaned. "Damn that shrink!"
"Excuse me, Admiral … Colonel," the parallel-hybrid computer interrupted.
"What do you want, Ziggy?" Al snapped.
"I predict an eighty-six percent chance that Major Davis' death and Captain Pierce's slip into critical condition will occur approximately twenty minutes apart," the sultry computer announced.
"He's already in critical condition," the surgeon reminded the humanistic machine.
"Colonel, is it possible for a human being to be physically present in two places at once?" Ziggy inquired. The question wasn't that far-fetched. One of Ziggy's many abilities included carrying on simultaneous conversations at once, in different rooms.
"If it is, we haven't been notified," Al answered.
Tina rested her hand on Al's arm. "Is twenty minutes enough time for Sam to do what he needs to do?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted.
"That's why you need all the rest you can get," Erin emphasized.
Al grinned at his girlfriend. "My place or yours?"
Erin glared at Tina and shook her head. "Separate quarters."