"Great Grandma Moses!" cried Potter, "What a waft I just got!" his nose
wrinkled, his surgical mask shifting slightly over his face. "What in the
name of Caesar's Ghost /is/ that?"
"Scalpel," Hawkeye requested, and was duly handed the required equipment, "Either the army decided to send us something viler than our normal daily allotment of yuck, and Igor's trying desperate measures to keep himself from being strung up by an angry mob," he answered, "Or Frank's trying to tell you something, Henry."
Henry looked up briefly from his work, and peered at Frank, whose surgical gown was bundled up around the cloves of garlic he'd draped himself with. At least Margaret had convinced him to remove the cross. "Oh? And what would that be, Frank?"
Frank whimpered softly. Hawkeye shouted, "Speak up, Frank, don't be shy, we're all friends here. We won't judge."
Margaret maneuvered herself to a position of assistance across a table from Colonel Blake. She looked down at his hands as they seemed to fly easily and skillfully through the patient, performing more competent and efficient surgery than she'd ever seen from him before without his seeming to put much more effort into it. She was slightly awed as she watched him close.
Henry leaned over the patient, and caught the scent of garlic emanating from the nearby source of the head nurse. The scent had permeated her down to her undergarments during her cajoling Frank Burns out of his collection of stakes. He glanced up, "Et tu, Margaret?" and grinned a little bit.
Her knees nearly turned to jelly. She didn't reply.
"Alright, he's done," Henry called out to the corpsmen who brabbed up the litter from the table. "Gloves," he added, and the somewhat humbled Major Houlihan rushed to glove him.
"Somebody tell me why Uncle Sam ever decided to let this guy go." Commented B.J., impressed.
"Let me know, too, while you're at it," agreed Potter, "He's running circles around these kids."
"Aw, Colonel," cracked Hawkeye, "give the boys a break. They've had a rough day. This one's been out collecting scrap metal for the cause."
Henry, seeming restless, relieved the nurse across from Hawkeye and started giving him a hand. "I do what I can, Colonel," he replied, unable to help sounding flattered at all the compliments. He was still getting used to walking around the O.R. with an IV drip attached to his arm, but he felt completely at ease, or, at least, as at ease as he'd ever felt in surgery, quite sated and not afraid to experiment a bit with the supernatural speed he'd suddenly found himself with tonight. Soon another patient was brought in and he returned his full attention to his table and the operation. "Hoo-boy. This kid's a wreck." He murmured sadly, and got directly to work.
Henry moved steadily along the boy's body, mending each piece down the line and stitching his insides together into an exemplary model of a human anatomy undisturbed by the nastier effects of war. But there was a lot of damage. He had to rummage a bit to get all the shrapnel out. The comments in the O.R. died down as everyone was absorbed in work. Labor omnia vicit.
Henry's shoulders were hunched, his eyes squinting down into the mess he was slowly putting back into order. In between the low murmurs of directions from doctors to nurses and the patter and clink of instruments hitting surgical gloves, surgical trays, and each other, someone yawned. It was hard to say who, as all mouths were covered by masks.
Henry looked up from the work to stretch his neck from side to side. His eyes locked on the row of plastic tarp windowpanes that lined the wall. Through them he saw the beautiful hills of Korea beginning to be faintly silhouetted in the grey of incipient dawn.
His heart leapt in a pang of instinctual fear. The blood flowed to his extremities; his fingers shook with nerve and began to course through the remaining work with that remarkable speed he'd already demonstrated. He forced himself to look down at the boy below him, and to give the operation his full attention.
"Doctor..?" Margaret murmured quietly, Henry's every motion dazzling to her eyes, and the twitch of his hands and increase in speed not lost on her.
"Yo..." he mumbled hastily.
"Are you alright, sir?"
"Not for a while, now, Major. Mind if we chit-chat another time? This kid's dying for my attention, if you know what I mean."
"Of course, sir." Margaret, subdued, looked back down to Henry's hands and prepared herself to continue to assist.
Time passed. Henry was keenly aware of it, and was aware, despite his not looking, of the ever-steepening shade of grey the horizon was becoming.
"Suction, there..." he uttered lowly, "Metz..." he held out a hand to receive the instrument, and as he did, he caught the first sight of light pink seeping into the cracks between the rocky hills. The scissors fell from his shaking hand and clattered to the floor.
Hawkeye looked up, perhaps with a jibe ready to let loose. Instead he cried out, "Christ, Henry!"
"Come off it, Pierce," Henry's voice quivered slightly, "Margaret, get me another pair of scissors, and be quick about it!"
Margaret looked up to him and let out a shriek of fear. Henry's face was covered in streaks of red blood-sweat that was quickly soaking up into his facemask. Margaret stumbled back, but managed to keep enough of herself about her to find another instrument and get back in place, handing it to him.
Hawkeye's attention turned from the blood-soaked face of the Lieutenant Colonel to the windows, and the now-orangey hue of the air outside. "Henry, get out of here!" he yelled urgently.
"I'm almost done, Pierce! God damn it, let me finish this!" Henry yelled. He leaned down intently into the work, and a few drops of dripping blood from his face, which Margaret nor any other nurse had the wherewithal to mop up, dripped into the open wounds of the prone soldier.
Henry only cursed for a few seconds; that is to say, up until the point where he noticed the young man's wounds beginning to knit of themselves where the blood fell. With this added bit of help, it was mere seconds before the operation was completed in a flurry of motion from Henry and the subsequent draining of the remaining blood from the IV unit.
Henry stood upright from the work just in time to catch the first ray of sunlight peeking over the hills square in the face.
~
"Scalpel," Hawkeye requested, and was duly handed the required equipment, "Either the army decided to send us something viler than our normal daily allotment of yuck, and Igor's trying desperate measures to keep himself from being strung up by an angry mob," he answered, "Or Frank's trying to tell you something, Henry."
Henry looked up briefly from his work, and peered at Frank, whose surgical gown was bundled up around the cloves of garlic he'd draped himself with. At least Margaret had convinced him to remove the cross. "Oh? And what would that be, Frank?"
Frank whimpered softly. Hawkeye shouted, "Speak up, Frank, don't be shy, we're all friends here. We won't judge."
Margaret maneuvered herself to a position of assistance across a table from Colonel Blake. She looked down at his hands as they seemed to fly easily and skillfully through the patient, performing more competent and efficient surgery than she'd ever seen from him before without his seeming to put much more effort into it. She was slightly awed as she watched him close.
Henry leaned over the patient, and caught the scent of garlic emanating from the nearby source of the head nurse. The scent had permeated her down to her undergarments during her cajoling Frank Burns out of his collection of stakes. He glanced up, "Et tu, Margaret?" and grinned a little bit.
Her knees nearly turned to jelly. She didn't reply.
"Alright, he's done," Henry called out to the corpsmen who brabbed up the litter from the table. "Gloves," he added, and the somewhat humbled Major Houlihan rushed to glove him.
"Somebody tell me why Uncle Sam ever decided to let this guy go." Commented B.J., impressed.
"Let me know, too, while you're at it," agreed Potter, "He's running circles around these kids."
"Aw, Colonel," cracked Hawkeye, "give the boys a break. They've had a rough day. This one's been out collecting scrap metal for the cause."
Henry, seeming restless, relieved the nurse across from Hawkeye and started giving him a hand. "I do what I can, Colonel," he replied, unable to help sounding flattered at all the compliments. He was still getting used to walking around the O.R. with an IV drip attached to his arm, but he felt completely at ease, or, at least, as at ease as he'd ever felt in surgery, quite sated and not afraid to experiment a bit with the supernatural speed he'd suddenly found himself with tonight. Soon another patient was brought in and he returned his full attention to his table and the operation. "Hoo-boy. This kid's a wreck." He murmured sadly, and got directly to work.
Henry moved steadily along the boy's body, mending each piece down the line and stitching his insides together into an exemplary model of a human anatomy undisturbed by the nastier effects of war. But there was a lot of damage. He had to rummage a bit to get all the shrapnel out. The comments in the O.R. died down as everyone was absorbed in work. Labor omnia vicit.
Henry's shoulders were hunched, his eyes squinting down into the mess he was slowly putting back into order. In between the low murmurs of directions from doctors to nurses and the patter and clink of instruments hitting surgical gloves, surgical trays, and each other, someone yawned. It was hard to say who, as all mouths were covered by masks.
Henry looked up from the work to stretch his neck from side to side. His eyes locked on the row of plastic tarp windowpanes that lined the wall. Through them he saw the beautiful hills of Korea beginning to be faintly silhouetted in the grey of incipient dawn.
His heart leapt in a pang of instinctual fear. The blood flowed to his extremities; his fingers shook with nerve and began to course through the remaining work with that remarkable speed he'd already demonstrated. He forced himself to look down at the boy below him, and to give the operation his full attention.
"Doctor..?" Margaret murmured quietly, Henry's every motion dazzling to her eyes, and the twitch of his hands and increase in speed not lost on her.
"Yo..." he mumbled hastily.
"Are you alright, sir?"
"Not for a while, now, Major. Mind if we chit-chat another time? This kid's dying for my attention, if you know what I mean."
"Of course, sir." Margaret, subdued, looked back down to Henry's hands and prepared herself to continue to assist.
Time passed. Henry was keenly aware of it, and was aware, despite his not looking, of the ever-steepening shade of grey the horizon was becoming.
"Suction, there..." he uttered lowly, "Metz..." he held out a hand to receive the instrument, and as he did, he caught the first sight of light pink seeping into the cracks between the rocky hills. The scissors fell from his shaking hand and clattered to the floor.
Hawkeye looked up, perhaps with a jibe ready to let loose. Instead he cried out, "Christ, Henry!"
"Come off it, Pierce," Henry's voice quivered slightly, "Margaret, get me another pair of scissors, and be quick about it!"
Margaret looked up to him and let out a shriek of fear. Henry's face was covered in streaks of red blood-sweat that was quickly soaking up into his facemask. Margaret stumbled back, but managed to keep enough of herself about her to find another instrument and get back in place, handing it to him.
Hawkeye's attention turned from the blood-soaked face of the Lieutenant Colonel to the windows, and the now-orangey hue of the air outside. "Henry, get out of here!" he yelled urgently.
"I'm almost done, Pierce! God damn it, let me finish this!" Henry yelled. He leaned down intently into the work, and a few drops of dripping blood from his face, which Margaret nor any other nurse had the wherewithal to mop up, dripped into the open wounds of the prone soldier.
Henry only cursed for a few seconds; that is to say, up until the point where he noticed the young man's wounds beginning to knit of themselves where the blood fell. With this added bit of help, it was mere seconds before the operation was completed in a flurry of motion from Henry and the subsequent draining of the remaining blood from the IV unit.
Henry stood upright from the work just in time to catch the first ray of sunlight peeking over the hills square in the face.
~