Chapter Five
The next morning at 5:00 sharp, Frank scuttled into the mess tent and grabbed a tray. Always one who was good about eating his food, he filled it and usually ate every bit of it. Today, though, fear had dissolved his appetite. And with good reason, too. "No sign of Pierce, yet...." He was mumbling absently, when someone spoke from behind him. "You're lucky. Hawkeye's in the Swamp writing a letter. He'll be along to breakfast in about twenty minutes." Frank jumped at the sound of BJ's voice and dropped his tray with a clatter.
After filling another, Frank took his seat away from everybody else, trying to ignore the dirty looks that were constantly thrown his way from all around the tent. By now, everyone in the camp knew what had happened. "It's not my patriotic-American fault some commie pinko kid died... wouldn't have been able to save her anyway..." He said, talking to himself. Once again, there was an answer behind him. "Oh, she could've been saved, Frank. Just a quick diagnosis was all it would've taken." The voice was holding only a small trace of anger. Frank became still, his fork raised in midair, all his muscles tense. "Oh, don't worry, /Major/." Hawkeye said, still perfectly calm and collected. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm just here to take pity on you. It must be hard, being born such a horrible person." Then he turned and walked over to another table, sitting down with Colonel Potter, Margaret, Radar, Klinger, and BJ.
*
Several days later, back in Fort Wayne, Indiana, an angry scream rattled the Burns' house.
The next morning at 5:00 sharp, Frank scuttled into the mess tent and grabbed a tray. Always one who was good about eating his food, he filled it and usually ate every bit of it. Today, though, fear had dissolved his appetite. And with good reason, too. "No sign of Pierce, yet...." He was mumbling absently, when someone spoke from behind him. "You're lucky. Hawkeye's in the Swamp writing a letter. He'll be along to breakfast in about twenty minutes." Frank jumped at the sound of BJ's voice and dropped his tray with a clatter.
After filling another, Frank took his seat away from everybody else, trying to ignore the dirty looks that were constantly thrown his way from all around the tent. By now, everyone in the camp knew what had happened. "It's not my patriotic-American fault some commie pinko kid died... wouldn't have been able to save her anyway..." He said, talking to himself. Once again, there was an answer behind him. "Oh, she could've been saved, Frank. Just a quick diagnosis was all it would've taken." The voice was holding only a small trace of anger. Frank became still, his fork raised in midair, all his muscles tense. "Oh, don't worry, /Major/." Hawkeye said, still perfectly calm and collected. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm just here to take pity on you. It must be hard, being born such a horrible person." Then he turned and walked over to another table, sitting down with Colonel Potter, Margaret, Radar, Klinger, and BJ.
*
Several days later, back in Fort Wayne, Indiana, an angry scream rattled the Burns' house.