Chapter 4
"Hey Klinger, I'm here to relieve you," BJ informed him, walking over to his post.
"You, sir? This is a joke, right?"
"No, Klinger, this is the result of a joke. Three jokes, in fact."
"Oh," Klinger realised. "It was you who pulled off those jokes! Who knows?"
"You, Radar, and Frank," BJ replied. "The secret it out, and I'm paying for it."
"Hey, Captain, let me advise you get another coat before you start your duty. It can get pretty cold out here."
"All right, give me two seconds." True to his word, he had gone and returned in a flash, now with an extra sweater. "What else do I need to know?"
"Tonight's password, which is 'Grapefruit.' The rest is easy. Don't fall asleep on the job. Here, take this," Klinger said, handing BJ his rifle.
"I hope I won't have to use this," BJ murmured, eyeing the gun with suspicion.
"I never have so far," Klinger told him. "It's lucky, really. I don't really know how. Good night, Captain."
BJ stood, alone, armed with his rifle. It was cold, dark, and solitary. How much worse could things get? He had to ask, he thought to himself as rain began to pitter-patter upon him.
It was going to be a long night.
~~~
Clad in army-print clothes, foliage attached to his helmet netting, and war paint smeared on his face, Frank prowled across the camp. Ducking behind one tent, diving in front of another, his destination held the sign, "Knock Before Entering," on the front of it.
He looked at his watch. Five to nine. Rats, he thought to himself. In a few minutes he had four hours of Post-Op duty ahead of him. Oh well, he thought, I'm the boss; I can excuse myself for being late.
As he crawled quickly away from the latrines, he spied BJ relieving Klinger for guard duty. Frank sneered. By the third night, Hunnicutt would be begging for forgiveness. Then, he would hold him as putty in the palm of his hand, to mould as he wished.
Frank continued on his bizarre journey across the compound.
~~~
"Don't you have a card lower than the King of Spades?" Trapper asked Radar.
"Yeah, I've got the Seven," Radar replied.
"Radar, the idea is NOT to get the Queen of Spades," Margaret explained for what felt like the hundredth time.
"I thought you weren't meant to get the Hearts," Radar protested.
"You avoid the Hearts AND the Queen of Spades," Trapper told him.
"Why?"
"Because that's the rules!" Hawkeye snapped. He immediately felt bad and regretted this action when he saw the hurt look on Radar's face. "Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. I think it's just."
"Burns," all three finished, knowing they were right.
"Yeah, him," Hawkeye confirmed anyway.
~~~
Frank heard everything as he snuck around the tents. They hated him. Well, obviously nothing had changed. Pierce and McIntyre had never liked him. But now, it seemed that everyone hated him. Even Hunnicutt, the practical joker, hated him too. And O'Reilly, the mere enlisted Company Clerk, and even Margaret. No one could stand, endure, or tolerate him.
Still, who needs friends when you have power, Frank consoled. The power he held could even generate the friends he lacked, he decided. He chuckled. He would order them to be friends with him.
He considered, with that thought in mind, that he could even make Margaret love him again. Yes, he could see it now. It would be pulling rank for a needless reason, but then again, he needed Margaret. He would go simply mad without her!
~~~
BJ was beginning to tire now. He looked at his watch for what seemed to be the billionth time. Ten minutes past three. Only another hour and fifty minutes, he thought to himself, and then he could go into the Swamp for some much-deserved rest.
BJ decided that guard duty had to be the most mind-numbing job in the whole war. Of course, it was still preferable to fighting at the Front, but still, it made him restless.
He had carried out several hundred verses of 'Ten Green Bottles Sitting on the Wall' to try and release the boredom, and to more importantly keep himself awake. The storm had done a good job before it had passed, but he needed something new to keep him going.
He had marched up and down the compound a few times. He had performed a dance or three, and had even taken a bow at the end of each. He had even hoped for an enemy soldier to stroll through the compound. Anything to keep him awake and to cease his eyelids from drooping over his pupils.
~~~
"Since when does BJ's Post-Op duty shift last the whole night?" Hawkeye wondered. Margaret and Radar had long since retired to their tents, and the two Captains had gone to bed. Hawkeye had woken up three hours later, looked at his watch, and glanced to see and question why BJ's cot in it's still empty state at five to five in the morning.
"Post-Op shift?" Trapper mumbled, waking up fully. And then he suddenly realised. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but since we have two patients, Frank was meant to do the first half of the night and then leave two nurses to the other half of the night."
"That's what I thought, but where else could he be?"
Trapper was now concerned. "Perhaps we should go and look for him."
"Too cold," Hawkeye mumbled, burrowing deeper under the covers.
"All the more reason," Trapper pointed out.
As Hawkeye was about to suggest they give it another two minutes before commencing a search, the door barged open and a ghost of a figure stumbled in and collapsed onto the cot nearest the door. The figure shook, shivering.
"We found him," Hawkeye called. He got up, wrapping his blanket around him, and walked over to BJ's exhausted form.
"Which nurse wore you out, Beej? Point her in my direction." As he neared the cot, he could see that BJ was cold, damp, and shaking.
"Hey, BJ," he called, anxiety in his voice. "Beej?"
A grunt erupted from the Captain.
"BJ, you have to get out of those wet clothes," Hawkeye urged. Trapper was up and alert on hearing this statement.
"BJ, where have you been? Why so cold and wet?"
The Captain replied something incoherent, and still refused to move.
"I'll get him out of his clothes, you find some blankets," Hawkeye organised, leaping into doctor-mode.
Trapper ran to the Supply Tent and was back sometime later with armfuls of blankets and a mug of warm water. "No coffee," he warned. "It tastes like mud, and has the same texture."
BJ, by this time, was more alert and had warmed up. He took the drink gratefully and sipped it.
"Beej," Hawkeye began, some minutes later. "What happened?"
BJ smirked just slightly, remembering the source of the problem. "Burns put me on night watch," he told them. "Man, I really can't figure how those guys can stand it!"
The jaws of both Hawkeye and Trapper had lowered several inches. "He did WHAT?"
"Guard duty," BJ repeated.
"What the hell did he do that?" Hawkeye yelled angrily.
"Because someone recently sewed his cuffs together, nailed him to his cot and put itching powder on his chair. That same person got caught and punished for it," BJ explained, almost proud to admit that he was the prankster.
"You? You pulled off those pranks?"
"Well, I pulled two off," BJ corrected.
"No wonder he saw red," Trapper muttered. "I think you got off lucky. Given his current Hitler-like state, you could have easily been hung."
"BJ, what the hell were you playing at?!" Hawkeye demanded to know.
"I knew the risk I was running, and I took my chances," BJ replied coolly. "You said he deserved everything he could get, so I thought I'd give him some."
"You shouldn't have, not when the stakes are that high," Hawkeye told him.
"Well, at least you did your night of guard duty," Trapper interjected, trying to avoid an argument breaking out before dawn. "It's over now."
"Who said anything about it being about just one night?" BJ asked rhetorically. "I'm doing every night, period, until further notice. If you'll excuse me, I've got several hours of sleep to catch up on." With that, BJ turned over awkwardly in his numerous blankets and began this process.
Hawkeye just stared. "Every night?"
Scornfully, Trapper grumbled, "And there's not a thing we can do to stop it."
"Hey Klinger, I'm here to relieve you," BJ informed him, walking over to his post.
"You, sir? This is a joke, right?"
"No, Klinger, this is the result of a joke. Three jokes, in fact."
"Oh," Klinger realised. "It was you who pulled off those jokes! Who knows?"
"You, Radar, and Frank," BJ replied. "The secret it out, and I'm paying for it."
"Hey, Captain, let me advise you get another coat before you start your duty. It can get pretty cold out here."
"All right, give me two seconds." True to his word, he had gone and returned in a flash, now with an extra sweater. "What else do I need to know?"
"Tonight's password, which is 'Grapefruit.' The rest is easy. Don't fall asleep on the job. Here, take this," Klinger said, handing BJ his rifle.
"I hope I won't have to use this," BJ murmured, eyeing the gun with suspicion.
"I never have so far," Klinger told him. "It's lucky, really. I don't really know how. Good night, Captain."
BJ stood, alone, armed with his rifle. It was cold, dark, and solitary. How much worse could things get? He had to ask, he thought to himself as rain began to pitter-patter upon him.
It was going to be a long night.
~~~
Clad in army-print clothes, foliage attached to his helmet netting, and war paint smeared on his face, Frank prowled across the camp. Ducking behind one tent, diving in front of another, his destination held the sign, "Knock Before Entering," on the front of it.
He looked at his watch. Five to nine. Rats, he thought to himself. In a few minutes he had four hours of Post-Op duty ahead of him. Oh well, he thought, I'm the boss; I can excuse myself for being late.
As he crawled quickly away from the latrines, he spied BJ relieving Klinger for guard duty. Frank sneered. By the third night, Hunnicutt would be begging for forgiveness. Then, he would hold him as putty in the palm of his hand, to mould as he wished.
Frank continued on his bizarre journey across the compound.
~~~
"Don't you have a card lower than the King of Spades?" Trapper asked Radar.
"Yeah, I've got the Seven," Radar replied.
"Radar, the idea is NOT to get the Queen of Spades," Margaret explained for what felt like the hundredth time.
"I thought you weren't meant to get the Hearts," Radar protested.
"You avoid the Hearts AND the Queen of Spades," Trapper told him.
"Why?"
"Because that's the rules!" Hawkeye snapped. He immediately felt bad and regretted this action when he saw the hurt look on Radar's face. "Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. I think it's just."
"Burns," all three finished, knowing they were right.
"Yeah, him," Hawkeye confirmed anyway.
~~~
Frank heard everything as he snuck around the tents. They hated him. Well, obviously nothing had changed. Pierce and McIntyre had never liked him. But now, it seemed that everyone hated him. Even Hunnicutt, the practical joker, hated him too. And O'Reilly, the mere enlisted Company Clerk, and even Margaret. No one could stand, endure, or tolerate him.
Still, who needs friends when you have power, Frank consoled. The power he held could even generate the friends he lacked, he decided. He chuckled. He would order them to be friends with him.
He considered, with that thought in mind, that he could even make Margaret love him again. Yes, he could see it now. It would be pulling rank for a needless reason, but then again, he needed Margaret. He would go simply mad without her!
~~~
BJ was beginning to tire now. He looked at his watch for what seemed to be the billionth time. Ten minutes past three. Only another hour and fifty minutes, he thought to himself, and then he could go into the Swamp for some much-deserved rest.
BJ decided that guard duty had to be the most mind-numbing job in the whole war. Of course, it was still preferable to fighting at the Front, but still, it made him restless.
He had carried out several hundred verses of 'Ten Green Bottles Sitting on the Wall' to try and release the boredom, and to more importantly keep himself awake. The storm had done a good job before it had passed, but he needed something new to keep him going.
He had marched up and down the compound a few times. He had performed a dance or three, and had even taken a bow at the end of each. He had even hoped for an enemy soldier to stroll through the compound. Anything to keep him awake and to cease his eyelids from drooping over his pupils.
~~~
"Since when does BJ's Post-Op duty shift last the whole night?" Hawkeye wondered. Margaret and Radar had long since retired to their tents, and the two Captains had gone to bed. Hawkeye had woken up three hours later, looked at his watch, and glanced to see and question why BJ's cot in it's still empty state at five to five in the morning.
"Post-Op shift?" Trapper mumbled, waking up fully. And then he suddenly realised. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but since we have two patients, Frank was meant to do the first half of the night and then leave two nurses to the other half of the night."
"That's what I thought, but where else could he be?"
Trapper was now concerned. "Perhaps we should go and look for him."
"Too cold," Hawkeye mumbled, burrowing deeper under the covers.
"All the more reason," Trapper pointed out.
As Hawkeye was about to suggest they give it another two minutes before commencing a search, the door barged open and a ghost of a figure stumbled in and collapsed onto the cot nearest the door. The figure shook, shivering.
"We found him," Hawkeye called. He got up, wrapping his blanket around him, and walked over to BJ's exhausted form.
"Which nurse wore you out, Beej? Point her in my direction." As he neared the cot, he could see that BJ was cold, damp, and shaking.
"Hey, BJ," he called, anxiety in his voice. "Beej?"
A grunt erupted from the Captain.
"BJ, you have to get out of those wet clothes," Hawkeye urged. Trapper was up and alert on hearing this statement.
"BJ, where have you been? Why so cold and wet?"
The Captain replied something incoherent, and still refused to move.
"I'll get him out of his clothes, you find some blankets," Hawkeye organised, leaping into doctor-mode.
Trapper ran to the Supply Tent and was back sometime later with armfuls of blankets and a mug of warm water. "No coffee," he warned. "It tastes like mud, and has the same texture."
BJ, by this time, was more alert and had warmed up. He took the drink gratefully and sipped it.
"Beej," Hawkeye began, some minutes later. "What happened?"
BJ smirked just slightly, remembering the source of the problem. "Burns put me on night watch," he told them. "Man, I really can't figure how those guys can stand it!"
The jaws of both Hawkeye and Trapper had lowered several inches. "He did WHAT?"
"Guard duty," BJ repeated.
"What the hell did he do that?" Hawkeye yelled angrily.
"Because someone recently sewed his cuffs together, nailed him to his cot and put itching powder on his chair. That same person got caught and punished for it," BJ explained, almost proud to admit that he was the prankster.
"You? You pulled off those pranks?"
"Well, I pulled two off," BJ corrected.
"No wonder he saw red," Trapper muttered. "I think you got off lucky. Given his current Hitler-like state, you could have easily been hung."
"BJ, what the hell were you playing at?!" Hawkeye demanded to know.
"I knew the risk I was running, and I took my chances," BJ replied coolly. "You said he deserved everything he could get, so I thought I'd give him some."
"You shouldn't have, not when the stakes are that high," Hawkeye told him.
"Well, at least you did your night of guard duty," Trapper interjected, trying to avoid an argument breaking out before dawn. "It's over now."
"Who said anything about it being about just one night?" BJ asked rhetorically. "I'm doing every night, period, until further notice. If you'll excuse me, I've got several hours of sleep to catch up on." With that, BJ turned over awkwardly in his numerous blankets and began this process.
Hawkeye just stared. "Every night?"
Scornfully, Trapper grumbled, "And there's not a thing we can do to stop it."