"You promised me." I said. However ill-fitting it may have sounded at that
moment, it was completely accurate of the situation.
"I didn't promise you jack, altar boy." He choked.
I felt my face flame up, and before I knew what I was doing, I lifted him to his feet. "Now look here, Sergeant. The very last thing I want to do is to pull rank on you but I will! You are wasting something that God built with a purpose in mind! Don't you DARE waist his work! I hate to be so blunt, but you need to hear this. Your mother did a selfish thing."
"She was in pain!" He cried in shock. With his hands wrapped around mine (the one that happened to be wrapped in his shirt collar) I could feel even more how he trembled.
"I understand. I am in this war with every soldier, living and dead. I don't want you to think for one second that I don't know. I am sure she was a wonderful mother. I know she will be missed dearly, I know... but you need to hold on." I let him to his feet, unaware that he wasn't prepared to stand. His legs tried to give, and so, despite his objection, I helped him to the post-op.
"What happened, Father?" McIntyre asked, genuinely concerned. I helped Nelson onto a cot and walked over to the Captain, whispering the diagnosis as it were. I chose to be respectful and reverent. Nelson deserved that much...
"Llllllladiiiieees and Gentlemennnnn, people of all ages! Step right up to see the fight of the Millenniummmmmm." Okay, so Colonel Blake was kind of overdoing it. Why not let the man have his fun? "In the upper right corner, wearing Army-Issue olive drab boxers and a crucifix 'round his neck; Lieutenant Father Frrrrancis John Patrick 'Holllllyyyy Right Hooookkkk ' Mulcahyyyyyyyy!!!"
I was very pleased to hear thunderous applause on my behalf. While I was being prepared by my ringside coach, Radar, I sat and thought of Sergeant Nelson. His spirit was shattered nearly beyond repair.
"And in the lower left, wearing full standard uniform; Major Frank 'Ferret Face' Burnnnnnnssss!"
"Hey!" He griped. The audience was torn between boos, hisses and laughter at the taboo nickname. I chuckled myself, I won't lie.
"Sorry, I didn't write it." The Colonel replied through his laughter.
"Just ignore them Frank." Margaret cajoled.
Hawkeye was the moderator, Trapper the ring doctor. Hawkeye brought us into the middle of the ring. "Now, this is going to be a fair fight. No hitting below the belt, spitting, head butting or biting. Touch gloves."
"Do I hafta?" Frank whined.
"Just touch gloves, Frank." Hawkeye answered, annoyed.
A pan from the kitchen was used as the starting bell, rung by Igor, of course.
I danced toward Major Burns, his stance as follows: knees locked, hands and arms directly in front of his face, and so as any good boxer would, I made a body shot. One off the left side, one off the right, one directly in the middle. He stumbled backwards a bit, but was generally unfazed.
"Get him, Frank!" Margaret called out. Major Burns moved his hands to flash Margaret a confident smile. I, on the other hand, swung for his nearly non- existent chin. To my surprise, as I was doing so, Klinger came in, escorting Sergeant Nelson to his seat. He smiled at me, and that, friends is when Major Burns took advantage. I couldn't tell you exactly what happened, only that I felt the mat pulling me down, but I fought it. I fought it with all my might, and just as I thought I had lost, I heard a voice from the crowd exclaim: "Don't let one punch take you down for the count father!!!" It was Nelson. Dear Sergeant Nelson.
I pulled myself back up from the mat, seeing red. I had never been so angry at another man, and I decided, that being my one time, to use it to my benefit. I danced toward Major Burns, he ran in the opposite direction, feeling the seething heat radiate from my body.
"I'll give you an open shot, Major." I said, dropping my arms, looking away. He accepted.
Stupid man.
I blocked his punch and gave him a strict combo. Right hook, left hook, uppercut, body shot. He was beginning to feel it, and so I repeated the same combo, but backwards. The Major gives direct attention to detail. I was forced to play with him and scramble things up a bit.
Body shot, uppercut, left hook, right hook... And he's down for the count.
"Five... Four... Three... Two... Annnnd the winner and still Champion by TKO is Lieutenant Father 'Holy Right Hook' Mulcahyyyyyyyy!" The crowd went wild.
Though I wasn't feeling like myself from the surprisingly rock hard blow to the head, I needed to settle things with Sonar.
"Captain McIntyre, I need to go and see someone. Am I alright to get up and walk around?"
"You're ship shape... Frank on the other hand..."
They carried Major Burns away on a stretcher, Major Houlihan trailing close behind. I felt bad that he couldn't walk out of the Mess tent... Maybe not that bad.
I walked toward the Nurses tent and knocked lightly.
"Who is it?" One of the nurses called out.
"It's Father Mulcahy. May I have a word with Sonar please?" The door slowly opened to reveal Sonar. She was still in the state I left her in. Shock. "Should we take a walk?" I asked. She nodded and so I led. "I wanted you to know that Sergeant Nelson is all right."
"Why did he do that to himself?" She asked, her eyes tearing.
"Normally it is against religious precedent to reveal any details of any confession, however considering you walked into what it had to deal with I'll tell you. His mother got word from the Army that Sergeant Nelson had been killed in combat. She decided that she couldn't hang on and so she committed suicide."
"Ohh... poor Nelson."
"He's okay. Maybe not completely okay, but he's going to pull through. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to shower. Boxing is a great exertion."
"Okay." Sonar replied gently. She went her way, I went mine.
I showered, dressed in my fatigues, ate what I could hold down, and went back to my tent. All in all, it had been a full day. Dear Sister,
I am pleased to write you with good news. I have taken care of what ailed me and all is right with the world.
Your Loving Brother, Francis John Patrick "Holy Right Hook" Mulcahy
P.S.: I won the boxing match. Remember when I wrote you about Frank Burns? Enclosed is a picture of the losing party...
"I didn't promise you jack, altar boy." He choked.
I felt my face flame up, and before I knew what I was doing, I lifted him to his feet. "Now look here, Sergeant. The very last thing I want to do is to pull rank on you but I will! You are wasting something that God built with a purpose in mind! Don't you DARE waist his work! I hate to be so blunt, but you need to hear this. Your mother did a selfish thing."
"She was in pain!" He cried in shock. With his hands wrapped around mine (the one that happened to be wrapped in his shirt collar) I could feel even more how he trembled.
"I understand. I am in this war with every soldier, living and dead. I don't want you to think for one second that I don't know. I am sure she was a wonderful mother. I know she will be missed dearly, I know... but you need to hold on." I let him to his feet, unaware that he wasn't prepared to stand. His legs tried to give, and so, despite his objection, I helped him to the post-op.
"What happened, Father?" McIntyre asked, genuinely concerned. I helped Nelson onto a cot and walked over to the Captain, whispering the diagnosis as it were. I chose to be respectful and reverent. Nelson deserved that much...
"Llllllladiiiieees and Gentlemennnnn, people of all ages! Step right up to see the fight of the Millenniummmmmm." Okay, so Colonel Blake was kind of overdoing it. Why not let the man have his fun? "In the upper right corner, wearing Army-Issue olive drab boxers and a crucifix 'round his neck; Lieutenant Father Frrrrancis John Patrick 'Holllllyyyy Right Hooookkkk ' Mulcahyyyyyyyy!!!"
I was very pleased to hear thunderous applause on my behalf. While I was being prepared by my ringside coach, Radar, I sat and thought of Sergeant Nelson. His spirit was shattered nearly beyond repair.
"And in the lower left, wearing full standard uniform; Major Frank 'Ferret Face' Burnnnnnnssss!"
"Hey!" He griped. The audience was torn between boos, hisses and laughter at the taboo nickname. I chuckled myself, I won't lie.
"Sorry, I didn't write it." The Colonel replied through his laughter.
"Just ignore them Frank." Margaret cajoled.
Hawkeye was the moderator, Trapper the ring doctor. Hawkeye brought us into the middle of the ring. "Now, this is going to be a fair fight. No hitting below the belt, spitting, head butting or biting. Touch gloves."
"Do I hafta?" Frank whined.
"Just touch gloves, Frank." Hawkeye answered, annoyed.
A pan from the kitchen was used as the starting bell, rung by Igor, of course.
I danced toward Major Burns, his stance as follows: knees locked, hands and arms directly in front of his face, and so as any good boxer would, I made a body shot. One off the left side, one off the right, one directly in the middle. He stumbled backwards a bit, but was generally unfazed.
"Get him, Frank!" Margaret called out. Major Burns moved his hands to flash Margaret a confident smile. I, on the other hand, swung for his nearly non- existent chin. To my surprise, as I was doing so, Klinger came in, escorting Sergeant Nelson to his seat. He smiled at me, and that, friends is when Major Burns took advantage. I couldn't tell you exactly what happened, only that I felt the mat pulling me down, but I fought it. I fought it with all my might, and just as I thought I had lost, I heard a voice from the crowd exclaim: "Don't let one punch take you down for the count father!!!" It was Nelson. Dear Sergeant Nelson.
I pulled myself back up from the mat, seeing red. I had never been so angry at another man, and I decided, that being my one time, to use it to my benefit. I danced toward Major Burns, he ran in the opposite direction, feeling the seething heat radiate from my body.
"I'll give you an open shot, Major." I said, dropping my arms, looking away. He accepted.
Stupid man.
I blocked his punch and gave him a strict combo. Right hook, left hook, uppercut, body shot. He was beginning to feel it, and so I repeated the same combo, but backwards. The Major gives direct attention to detail. I was forced to play with him and scramble things up a bit.
Body shot, uppercut, left hook, right hook... And he's down for the count.
"Five... Four... Three... Two... Annnnd the winner and still Champion by TKO is Lieutenant Father 'Holy Right Hook' Mulcahyyyyyyyy!" The crowd went wild.
Though I wasn't feeling like myself from the surprisingly rock hard blow to the head, I needed to settle things with Sonar.
"Captain McIntyre, I need to go and see someone. Am I alright to get up and walk around?"
"You're ship shape... Frank on the other hand..."
They carried Major Burns away on a stretcher, Major Houlihan trailing close behind. I felt bad that he couldn't walk out of the Mess tent... Maybe not that bad.
I walked toward the Nurses tent and knocked lightly.
"Who is it?" One of the nurses called out.
"It's Father Mulcahy. May I have a word with Sonar please?" The door slowly opened to reveal Sonar. She was still in the state I left her in. Shock. "Should we take a walk?" I asked. She nodded and so I led. "I wanted you to know that Sergeant Nelson is all right."
"Why did he do that to himself?" She asked, her eyes tearing.
"Normally it is against religious precedent to reveal any details of any confession, however considering you walked into what it had to deal with I'll tell you. His mother got word from the Army that Sergeant Nelson had been killed in combat. She decided that she couldn't hang on and so she committed suicide."
"Ohh... poor Nelson."
"He's okay. Maybe not completely okay, but he's going to pull through. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to shower. Boxing is a great exertion."
"Okay." Sonar replied gently. She went her way, I went mine.
I showered, dressed in my fatigues, ate what I could hold down, and went back to my tent. All in all, it had been a full day. Dear Sister,
I am pleased to write you with good news. I have taken care of what ailed me and all is right with the world.
Your Loving Brother, Francis John Patrick "Holy Right Hook" Mulcahy
P.S.: I won the boxing match. Remember when I wrote you about Frank Burns? Enclosed is a picture of the losing party...