Radar woke up around nine or ten that morning, having slept straight
through since three or four that morning, and having dreamt dreams that
brought a smile creeping across his face as he cuddled down in his cot and
slowly opened his eyes. The world around him glowed bright emerald green
with the shining of the glorious sun, and he felt an indescribable need to
tie somebody's bootlaces together. Grinning, he giggled lowly at the
thought, and leaned back half-out of bed, tying his own laces together for
the pure glee it inspired. The sadnesses of the past night were passed,
washed over by the glow of the world he seemed to see through a new pair of
eyes. He put his hands on the ground and tumbled backward out of bed,
rolling a backward somersault on the floor of the office until he righted
himself. The world which he had left behind in blurred dull darkness was
now sparkling green like the tender shoots of spring, and he patted over
the floor with his bare feet to look out the window.
"Dear Bantelhopp, by troth, I think it worked!" cried Qotenmatch from his perch among the sworls of the shimmering green army blanket.
Radar's brow furrowed a little bit, but only a little. He felt too good this morning to frown too much. He turned around, and, spotting the little dragon perched above his bed, and his teddy bear tilting its head to look at him, was hardly surprised. Now that he saw them, he felt that they were familiar to him, so he simply shuffled back over to his cot and sat back down, "Hi, guys... I'm Walter... but everyone---"
"Calls you Radar," chirruped the bird-headed lizard critter, and it winked.
"We know, Radar. We're your friends."
"I think I knew that, too..." Radar mused to himself as he held out his hand to Bantelhopp, letting the little chimera climb onto his hand and then onto his head.
"Do you understand, then?" Qotenmatch piped quietly from the blankets.
"Yeah," Radar replied casually as he stood again, the world coming into a sharper focus of brilliant hues of green as the chimerical eyeglasses settled into place. He could have sworn that the main color around here used to be olive drab, but he wasn't about to complain about the switch to verdant jades and emeralds. His statement of understanding wasn't a complete lie. He felt that something had happened, and he felt that on some level he understood the nature of the change. Was it his fault if that level wasn't, perhaps, the topmost one? He'd catch on eventually.
Radar peeked into a mirror, and peered oddly at the long, white, ovine ears he'd developed somehow or another. "I could'a sworn these were shorter, yesterday," he murmured. The chimerae giggled in approbation.
With his 'glasses' perched on his head, and his bear carefully tucked under an arm, Radar meandered out into the sunshine, his feet bare, and his body similarly devoid of clothing except for his shorts. It would have been a queer sight, if anyone at all had been around to see him. But the camp was drenched in much-needed sleep, and even the camp mutts seemed drowsy. Radar chased good-naturedly after them a bit, then let them return to their sleep with a scratch behind their ears.
Seeming not to notice the sharp edges of rocks against his bare feet, Radar slipped off of the compound and scampered down the sun-splattered hillside, finally sliding down to his side and lounging in the grass next to the comely Korean creek. He set Qotenmatch down next to his head, and rested Bantelhopp on his chest as it slowly rose and fell.
His head turned to the side as he looked toward the glistening of the running water. He smiled widely. "Henry always liked to take me fishing with him, here," he informed his two companions. Of course, Henry had never really liked to do anything of the sort. If Radar ever came along, it was to hold the net or get the worms ready, and the prospect of killing the worms, much less the fish, had always made him somewhat queasy. But he looked over the pleasant spot and nearly convinced himself that what he had said was true.
The chimerae shared an awkward silence that sparked Radar's curiosity. "What's wrong with Colonel Blake?" he queried, nearly defensively, but still in earnest. "Do you know?" He craned his neck and peered at Bantlehopp.
"My dear ward Walter, there shall never be Aught wrong with Henry Blake that he alone Did not inflict upon himself. Be, then All unafraid, as in of yore, when Blake Dwelt yet among you living folk; but mark, And if he seems to fall from what you know To be Good Order in the Way of Things, Take care to rend your love for him. And more, And most importantly of all, take care That ne'er taste thou henceforward of his blood!"
~
It was the middle of the afternoon before anyone else in the camp began to stir from their various slumbers, with the exceptions of the backup-backup nursing staff on duty and Major Frank Burns, who had insisted on being at lunch on time, and who had yelled at Igor for not having the chow ready by the time he got there. Igor promptly rolled over and went back to sleep.
Frank, fuming slightly, went to the Officer's Club to at least get some pretzels and a Shirley Temple. As he approached the door, his jaw drooped a bit and he lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the cacophany of glittering rainbows created by an artfully crafted arch of empty Grape Nehi bottles. He furrowed up his brow. "What the devil...?" he mused, his voice's pitch rising in confusion.
The door of the officer's club was flung open, and Frank dropped to the ground, squirming away and shielding his head from the pelting of glass shards-- which didn't come. The bartender idly swept a bit of dirt out the front door, and gave Major Burns a funny look. "Good morning, Major," he greeted genially.
Frank looked up, then, trying to preserve his dignity, got to his feet and dusted himself off. "Uhh... uhh... as you were!" he barked, and ran off towards the main office.
The bartender looked up, and, surprised by the arch, let out a few exclamations of said surprise and dropped back into the club, the door swinging shut behind him. A few minutes later, he came around the side from the back entrance to stare at the creation.
Frank scurried into Colonel Potter's office with a panicked look on his face. "Colonel! I just got here from the Officers'--- Club---- And." His voice trailed off as he sniffed the air, which was permeated by a stringent odor of chemical grape.
Frank's eyes grew wide as they settled on Colonel Potter, who sat behind his desk in his bathrobe and a state of shock. He was still dripping, and his white hair had been dyed a faint purple by the blast of grape soda he'd gotten out of the showerhead that afternoon.
"Colonel?" Frank whimpered.
"Frank." Potter replied flatly.
"That-- that little!"
Potter closed his eyes, not really wanting to deal with the court martial case Frank was obviously cooking up. "Go find him, Frank. Don't be a pain in the buns. Just find him and get him in here."
~
"Uh-oh," peeped Bantlehopp into Radar's ear.
"What, Choppers?" Radar asked.
"Nope. The Colonel. The Potter Colonel. He found your game none too amusing. O! He'll call you out, and send the Burns for you! Best go to him, but not by Compound-way, Through which Frank Burns will ravage 'til he's calmed."
"Righty-o," Radar readily agreed, and hopped up from the grass in which he'd been sunbathing. "Come on, Qotenmatch!"
"I come!" cried the bear as he was lifted up from the ground. "Hello, bug." He added, to the little spider which had crawled onto its fur.
Radar ran back to camp at full tilt, and crept up to the back of the Colonel's tent, listening in until Frank had left, at which point he leapt up and entered his room through the front door. He was about to head through into the Colonel's office, but he thought better of it, instead tittering slightly as he put Bantlehopp back on his perch, dusting off Qotenmatch, and slipping back into his deserted bed.
Inside, Colonel Potter changed into a pair of fresh clothes and dried off his purpled hair. Then, looking down to the piles of papers on his desk, he looked around for the daily report to sign. His brow furrowed and he shifted around some of the papers. It wasn't anywhere to be found.
"Hmm." He murmured, and went out to Radar's office to see if they hadn't been left on the desk out there. Imagine his surprise to find Radar, 'asleep' in bed, trying to hide a slew of stifled giggles as he listened to Potter coming into the room, getting a play-by-play from Ban & Qot in iambic pentameter.
"Radar." Potter stated darkly.
"Mmm... mom, 'sat you?" murmured Radar.
Potter's voice grew harsher, "Corporal O'Reilly!"
Radar opened his eyes and reached out to gently place Bantelhopp on his head. "Yes, sir, Colonel, sir?" he feigned a yawn.
Potter rocked back and forth on his heels. "What have you been doing with yourself today, Corporal?"
"Me? Oh, sleeping, sir."
"Then how come I didn't see you in bed when I came in this morning?"
"Maybe you need to get your glasses checked?"
"Corporal..."
"I was having a dream I was playing hide and seek. Maybe that's why you couldn't see me. If you'd just called "All Free," I'd have shown up, I bet."
"Horse hockey!"
"Oh, I don't know that game, Colonel."
"Out of bed, Soldier."
"I can't get out of bed, sir."
"Why in the name of Marco Blessed Polo not?"
"My feet'll get cold. Somebody tied my bootlaces together."
Potter leaned over and looked at the boots.
"And who did that, Radar?"
"I don't know, sir. I was asleep."
"No you weren't, Radar," Potter warned.
"I was hiding?"
Potter shook his head. "And where are the daily reports for me to sign, Corporal?"
"Um. They're hiding?
"Radar!"
"Oh! The daily reports! I had a little problem with them, sir." Radar rolled out of bed in a smooth and agile motion that took Colonel Pooter a bit aback.
"What was that, Radar?"
"Oh, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say about Colonel Blake, that's all. I spent all morning on the phone with Sparky trying to figure it out."
"I thought you were asleep, Corporal. Dreaming of playing hide-and- seek."
"Oh, I must have dreamed it while I was awake, sir."
Potter sighed. "Right. Get on those forms, Posty Hasty."
"Right, sir."
~
"Dear Bantelhopp, by troth, I think it worked!" cried Qotenmatch from his perch among the sworls of the shimmering green army blanket.
Radar's brow furrowed a little bit, but only a little. He felt too good this morning to frown too much. He turned around, and, spotting the little dragon perched above his bed, and his teddy bear tilting its head to look at him, was hardly surprised. Now that he saw them, he felt that they were familiar to him, so he simply shuffled back over to his cot and sat back down, "Hi, guys... I'm Walter... but everyone---"
"Calls you Radar," chirruped the bird-headed lizard critter, and it winked.
"We know, Radar. We're your friends."
"I think I knew that, too..." Radar mused to himself as he held out his hand to Bantelhopp, letting the little chimera climb onto his hand and then onto his head.
"Do you understand, then?" Qotenmatch piped quietly from the blankets.
"Yeah," Radar replied casually as he stood again, the world coming into a sharper focus of brilliant hues of green as the chimerical eyeglasses settled into place. He could have sworn that the main color around here used to be olive drab, but he wasn't about to complain about the switch to verdant jades and emeralds. His statement of understanding wasn't a complete lie. He felt that something had happened, and he felt that on some level he understood the nature of the change. Was it his fault if that level wasn't, perhaps, the topmost one? He'd catch on eventually.
Radar peeked into a mirror, and peered oddly at the long, white, ovine ears he'd developed somehow or another. "I could'a sworn these were shorter, yesterday," he murmured. The chimerae giggled in approbation.
With his 'glasses' perched on his head, and his bear carefully tucked under an arm, Radar meandered out into the sunshine, his feet bare, and his body similarly devoid of clothing except for his shorts. It would have been a queer sight, if anyone at all had been around to see him. But the camp was drenched in much-needed sleep, and even the camp mutts seemed drowsy. Radar chased good-naturedly after them a bit, then let them return to their sleep with a scratch behind their ears.
Seeming not to notice the sharp edges of rocks against his bare feet, Radar slipped off of the compound and scampered down the sun-splattered hillside, finally sliding down to his side and lounging in the grass next to the comely Korean creek. He set Qotenmatch down next to his head, and rested Bantelhopp on his chest as it slowly rose and fell.
His head turned to the side as he looked toward the glistening of the running water. He smiled widely. "Henry always liked to take me fishing with him, here," he informed his two companions. Of course, Henry had never really liked to do anything of the sort. If Radar ever came along, it was to hold the net or get the worms ready, and the prospect of killing the worms, much less the fish, had always made him somewhat queasy. But he looked over the pleasant spot and nearly convinced himself that what he had said was true.
The chimerae shared an awkward silence that sparked Radar's curiosity. "What's wrong with Colonel Blake?" he queried, nearly defensively, but still in earnest. "Do you know?" He craned his neck and peered at Bantlehopp.
"My dear ward Walter, there shall never be Aught wrong with Henry Blake that he alone Did not inflict upon himself. Be, then All unafraid, as in of yore, when Blake Dwelt yet among you living folk; but mark, And if he seems to fall from what you know To be Good Order in the Way of Things, Take care to rend your love for him. And more, And most importantly of all, take care That ne'er taste thou henceforward of his blood!"
~
It was the middle of the afternoon before anyone else in the camp began to stir from their various slumbers, with the exceptions of the backup-backup nursing staff on duty and Major Frank Burns, who had insisted on being at lunch on time, and who had yelled at Igor for not having the chow ready by the time he got there. Igor promptly rolled over and went back to sleep.
Frank, fuming slightly, went to the Officer's Club to at least get some pretzels and a Shirley Temple. As he approached the door, his jaw drooped a bit and he lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the cacophany of glittering rainbows created by an artfully crafted arch of empty Grape Nehi bottles. He furrowed up his brow. "What the devil...?" he mused, his voice's pitch rising in confusion.
The door of the officer's club was flung open, and Frank dropped to the ground, squirming away and shielding his head from the pelting of glass shards-- which didn't come. The bartender idly swept a bit of dirt out the front door, and gave Major Burns a funny look. "Good morning, Major," he greeted genially.
Frank looked up, then, trying to preserve his dignity, got to his feet and dusted himself off. "Uhh... uhh... as you were!" he barked, and ran off towards the main office.
The bartender looked up, and, surprised by the arch, let out a few exclamations of said surprise and dropped back into the club, the door swinging shut behind him. A few minutes later, he came around the side from the back entrance to stare at the creation.
Frank scurried into Colonel Potter's office with a panicked look on his face. "Colonel! I just got here from the Officers'--- Club---- And." His voice trailed off as he sniffed the air, which was permeated by a stringent odor of chemical grape.
Frank's eyes grew wide as they settled on Colonel Potter, who sat behind his desk in his bathrobe and a state of shock. He was still dripping, and his white hair had been dyed a faint purple by the blast of grape soda he'd gotten out of the showerhead that afternoon.
"Colonel?" Frank whimpered.
"Frank." Potter replied flatly.
"That-- that little!"
Potter closed his eyes, not really wanting to deal with the court martial case Frank was obviously cooking up. "Go find him, Frank. Don't be a pain in the buns. Just find him and get him in here."
~
"Uh-oh," peeped Bantlehopp into Radar's ear.
"What, Choppers?" Radar asked.
"Nope. The Colonel. The Potter Colonel. He found your game none too amusing. O! He'll call you out, and send the Burns for you! Best go to him, but not by Compound-way, Through which Frank Burns will ravage 'til he's calmed."
"Righty-o," Radar readily agreed, and hopped up from the grass in which he'd been sunbathing. "Come on, Qotenmatch!"
"I come!" cried the bear as he was lifted up from the ground. "Hello, bug." He added, to the little spider which had crawled onto its fur.
Radar ran back to camp at full tilt, and crept up to the back of the Colonel's tent, listening in until Frank had left, at which point he leapt up and entered his room through the front door. He was about to head through into the Colonel's office, but he thought better of it, instead tittering slightly as he put Bantlehopp back on his perch, dusting off Qotenmatch, and slipping back into his deserted bed.
Inside, Colonel Potter changed into a pair of fresh clothes and dried off his purpled hair. Then, looking down to the piles of papers on his desk, he looked around for the daily report to sign. His brow furrowed and he shifted around some of the papers. It wasn't anywhere to be found.
"Hmm." He murmured, and went out to Radar's office to see if they hadn't been left on the desk out there. Imagine his surprise to find Radar, 'asleep' in bed, trying to hide a slew of stifled giggles as he listened to Potter coming into the room, getting a play-by-play from Ban & Qot in iambic pentameter.
"Radar." Potter stated darkly.
"Mmm... mom, 'sat you?" murmured Radar.
Potter's voice grew harsher, "Corporal O'Reilly!"
Radar opened his eyes and reached out to gently place Bantelhopp on his head. "Yes, sir, Colonel, sir?" he feigned a yawn.
Potter rocked back and forth on his heels. "What have you been doing with yourself today, Corporal?"
"Me? Oh, sleeping, sir."
"Then how come I didn't see you in bed when I came in this morning?"
"Maybe you need to get your glasses checked?"
"Corporal..."
"I was having a dream I was playing hide and seek. Maybe that's why you couldn't see me. If you'd just called "All Free," I'd have shown up, I bet."
"Horse hockey!"
"Oh, I don't know that game, Colonel."
"Out of bed, Soldier."
"I can't get out of bed, sir."
"Why in the name of Marco Blessed Polo not?"
"My feet'll get cold. Somebody tied my bootlaces together."
Potter leaned over and looked at the boots.
"And who did that, Radar?"
"I don't know, sir. I was asleep."
"No you weren't, Radar," Potter warned.
"I was hiding?"
Potter shook his head. "And where are the daily reports for me to sign, Corporal?"
"Um. They're hiding?
"Radar!"
"Oh! The daily reports! I had a little problem with them, sir." Radar rolled out of bed in a smooth and agile motion that took Colonel Pooter a bit aback.
"What was that, Radar?"
"Oh, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say about Colonel Blake, that's all. I spent all morning on the phone with Sparky trying to figure it out."
"I thought you were asleep, Corporal. Dreaming of playing hide-and- seek."
"Oh, I must have dreamed it while I was awake, sir."
Potter sighed. "Right. Get on those forms, Posty Hasty."
"Right, sir."
~