Radar ran into the swamp and dragged Hawkeye's folding lawn chair out into
the compound, nearly tripping over it seven different ways in his rush to
have it set up and pointed in the correct direction before Hawkeye caught
up to him.
"Your seat, sir, aisle, as you requested," Radar bowed and gestured grandly to the lawn chair.
"What?" Hawkeye asked, settling himself stiffly on the edge of the lawn chair, "Aisle?"
"Just sit back and relax, sir. The show'll start, soon, and you wouldn't want to have to get up to fluff the pillows midway through."
"Pillows? What pillows?" Hawkeye squinted in thorough confusion, "What /show/?"
"Your theater companion for the evening, sir," Radar grinned, settling Qotenmatch on Hawkeye's lap as he laid back in the lawn chair. Hawkeye picked up the teddy bear and shook his head at it.
"It's a-- it's not-- it's an inanimate object." He protested mildly as Radar ran into the swamp, emerging a few moments later with a martini from the still.
"Refreshment, sir? What show, you asked? It's a Broadway production, in town this one night only: for your pleasure and amusement, I give you..." he spread his arm out, gesturing to the compound that lay out before them, "M*A*S*H: a tragic comedy of love, betrayal, and mistaken identity. A juggling act of epic proportions, never to be seen again, until the next bug-out."
Hawkeye, at this point, gave up protesting that Radar wasn't making any sense, and, Martini in one hand and Chimera in the other, he leaned back to watch.
Radar stepped back a bit, pleased at the effect the shadows made of making the little alcove between the swamp and the signpost a negligible area for anybody walking through the compound. He stepped forward again, back into the shadows.
"I'll be playing the role of narrator in this little production, as well as bringing you, by way of Radar Radio, the bits of the comedy that occur offstage, for your listening convenience."
Hawkeye opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say.
Radar lifted a finger: "Ah-ah! Wait for it! The lights are dimming, the curtain is rising, the show's just ready to start! SSsshhshhhsshh--!!!"
Hawekeye shut his mouth again.
"Our play begins with the tragic hero, Major Frank Marion Burns. You may have heard that all tragic heroes have to have a tragic flaw. Well, our tragic hero IS a tragic flaw."
Hawkeye tilted his head to one side and drank from the martini, not so much as cracking a smile. Radar continued, unphased. This was going to take some work, and some time, and results weren't going to be found at once.
"Through divine agency, our hero has just been informed that his life is in danger from a night-prowling, fly-fishing monster."
On cue, Frank burst from the office doors, screaming "MARGARET! SAVE ME!" pitifully as he ran with a ghostly pallor and a frantic look in his eye across the compound and dove into the head Nurse's tent.
"There goes our hero, selflessly seeking out his lady-love to make sure she's safe from the threat."
Father Mulcahy next peeked his head out of the office doors, then slipped out, heading across the compound toward the Officer's Club, uncertainly, acting out orders he didn't fully understand. He walked as if counting the steps, and stopped just as he became obscured in the shadows of the O.C.
"Oh, and there goes Divine Agency." Radar chuckled.
Mulcahy turned and peered toward the swamp, and the supply tent beyond it.
"And here comes our faithful and dogged Corpsman, Max Klinger, relentlessly pursuing the life-and-death assignment given unto him by the M*A*S*H 4077th's supreme commander, Colonel Sherman Potter." Radar waved his hand out into the light as a signal to the Father, who ran into the compound just as Klinger burst onto the scene, the two running at odd angles on a collision course with one another, Mulcahy aware of Klinger, but not the other way around.
Radar removed his woolen cap, pressing it to his chest and spinning around clockwise as he sang out, "White sheep, white sheep, have you any wool? No ma'am, no ma'am, not at all!" Stopping the spin on a dime, and hissing in a whisper, "Two lies, two wise!" as the chaplain and the corporal collided in the center of the compound.
"Sorry, no, that's okay," they hollered at the same time, picking themselves up and running on their various courses without looking back.
Except that, now, Klinger was heading toward the supply tent, and Mulcahy was running full tilt back to the office.
Radar grinned, and pulled his cap back over the tops of his long ovine ears.
"Or was it the dearly beloved camp Chaplain that the Colonel sent to get the maps of the mine field from his office? Who could tell? For the two were put under the power of a spell from a kindly but fun-loving narrator-- err-- spirit-- who is most definitely /not/ me."
Radar looked up as "Klinger" ran by, putting his finger to his mouth in a 'shh' gesture to Hawkeye, and winking.
"So Divine Agency incarnate in a Section Eight enters the Supply tent, where local surgeon and all around good guy B.J. Hunnicutt and visiting cobweb-sweeper Sidney Freedman are girding themselves for the rescue mission in the minefield.
'Captains? Are you in here?' Divine Agency calls. Of course they are. How could Divine Agency be mistaken?
'Yeah. Did you find the maps?' the doctor replies. Uh-oh!
'Maps?' D.A. asks, not seeing THAT one coming. What'll he do, folks?
'No!' he chooses, the safe answer, always. A safe man, our chaplain. Though hardly any fun sometimes. /I/ woulda said yes. But anyhow, he gets down to the matter at hand:
'Have you seen Colonel Blake?'
'We thought he was with Colonel Potter,' the shrink offers.
'Oh. Um, he is!' Ooh, looks bad for our D.A. 'I mean, he was, but he isn't anymore. He's gone... batty!'
The other two can't be sure how to take that, on a night like this, on a subject like Henry Blake. 'Literally?' they ask.
'No,' Sigh, didn't I say that he was too dull, sometimes? 'I think he went into a kind of rage, like he was talking about with Hawkeye. Colonel Potter told me to tell you guys to get some units of blood over to the Officer's Club, and try to herd him in that direction.'
'What about the lanterns?' The lanterns? What lanterns?
'I'll take care of them,' the D.A. offers up, slipping seamlessly out of a sticky situation. Well done, Padre."
Radar applauded briefly, and Hawkeye, dazed, made a hazy attempt at doing the same, spilling little sloshes of gin on his pants and on Qotenmatch. Neither of which seemed to mind, too much.
Radar hopped briskly to the other side of Hawkeye, leaning over his shoulder and aiming an index finger toward the nurse's tent.
"In this corner, Major Hot Lips Houlihan, the fair maiden, the dedicated nurse, the angel of mercy, all unaware of her fearless leader's foray into the wilds of the minefields to the rescue of three men under his command, carries on business as normal with the nurses she's been selected due to her high rank and sex to lead."
Major Houlihan burst out of the Nurse's tent, "Good! And if I catch you swapping shifts again after /this,/ you'll all be wearing my bootprints!" She turned and looked around.
"She seemed to have heard her beloved Major Burns calling her lovely name to the winds." Radar whispered, "But she doesn't see him, oop!"
Radar shrank back away from the light as Margaret squinted over in their direction. "Or anyone else, I hope!" he hissed. "Shh-shh!" he hushed himself.
Margaret looked wary, but headed over to the office.
"She goes, ever tireless in her devotion to her camp, to deliver documents of utmost importance to her Commanding Officer!"
Margaret pushed open one side of the double doors, and her face grew warm and hopeful as she disappeared inside.
"There," continued Radar, "ruffling through the file cabinets, is our faithful Corpsman, unaware of the mystical spell compounded on him by the spirit-who-is-not-me. She steps toward him.
'I've been looking for you,' she says, not quite wanting to speak. Could it be our Major Houlihan has a confession on her mind?
Father-Mulcahy-Who-Is-Really-Klinger only looks up from his digging for a secand. 'Me, Major? Not under m...'
'I need someone to talk to-- is-- is Colonel Potter in?'
'No, he--'
'Good! I mean, I need to /talk/ to you, you know?'
'No, not really, Major, but go ahead... not under f...'
'It's about Henry--'
'You bet it is--'
'I think I'm in love with him.'
'You WHAT?'
'Oh, I know it's wrong... but I can't help it-- it's like I'm drawn to him, and I just can't help it-- what's that you've got there?'
'Under b?' For 'Boom,' silly. 'These are the maps of the minefield, Major. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but it seems the love of your life, or, well, whatever, just went off in there. But don't worry, Colonel Potter's doing everything possible to find him.'
Ah, Hot Lips sits, in shock, at this news! It seems that the love of our hero has been abandoned, and replaced by--" Radar himself looked surprised at what Bantelhopp related to him, his jaw dropping as he turned to face Hawkeye, "A love spell! A vampire love spell! Do you believe it? I sure don't. But it sure makes for good drama, huh?
'Well, what can I do?' she asks desperately.
'Um. Well, gee, Major, I guess you can take these maps to the Colonel, and I'll go help Captains Hunnicutt and Freedman.'
'No sooner said then done!'"
Margaret was out the door of the office, arms laden with maps, in a split second, and hustled through and out of the camp, Klinger-as-Mulcahy coming out not far behind her.
Radar turned back to watch 'Mulcahy' cross the compound. "Well, I guess if there's another spell out there, we don't really need this one," he snapped his fingers with dramatic flair, and Klinger resumed his own appearance. He turned as 'Klinger' came out of the supply tent, laden with lanterns, "Or this one." Again, a snap of the fingers, and Mulcahy was himself again.
Mulcahy slipped into the shadows where Radar and Hawkeye were hiding.
"What am I supposed to do with these?" he whispered in desperation, watching Margaret hurry by with the maps.
Radar grabbed Father Mulcahy by the shoulders, pulling him close, out of the earshot of his 'audience', and whispered some last-minute improvisations into the Priest's ear before shoving him out into the light towards Klinger, who was exiting the office in a daze, having left the new roster on Colonel Potter's desk.
"Aahg!" Mulcahy shouted in surprise, but hastened toward the Corporal, trying not to look panicked.
Klinger's eyes lit up as he saw the Priest, "Father! It's you!" He ran forward, "What are you doing here?"
Mulcahy got over a momentary hesitation, and answered, "What does it look like? I'm bringing these lanterns for Colonel Potter!"
"But you--" Klinger protested, "Here, give those to me, you go on ahead to the Officer's Club and have a drink-- on me!"
The corpsman stole the lanterns off the priest without him having to do much more than shift a shoulder, "Well, thank you, my son--" he spoke slowly and baffledly. Klinger shot off, and Mulcahy turned and gave an impressed look off into the shadows, hoping Radar would catch it, then he started towards the officers club, stopping a moment to stare at the arch of Nehi bottles that stood erected over the entryway, smiling a bit despite himself, and stepping inside.
"See that?" Radar pointed out to Hawkeye. "I put a lot into making that thing-- though Qot and Ban helped, too, didn't you, guys? And people can really tell... everybody stops to look at it... everybody likes it... except, maybe for our tragic hero..." He giggled.
"But anyhow, now, over Radar Radio, we join our fearless leader on the very edge of the wide plain of death that spreads from camp's edge to the mountainside. It's a dark and bleary night, here in Korea, folks, and the old Colonel's face is set with determination to get his men back alive from the sad fate that could await them among the mines! Oh, look: he hears someone coming behind him, a crunching of gravel, a rustling of paper.
'It's high time you found those maps, corporal--' Oops. 'Major Houlihan, what are you doing here?' He /tries/ to put on his just-out-for-a-walk face, but it's no use!
'I know, Colonel. I brought the maps.'
'Damn. I told those jokers not to tell anybody, too.'
'Don't worry, I think I'm the only one they told. And, frankly, I'm glad they told me,' our winsome starlet admits, all doe-eyed for the safe return of her beau!
'Well, I'm not tickled. If the whole camp finds out we've got three men missing, we'll have a swarm over here so loud I won't be able to think straight.'
'Three? There are three now?'
'Yeah,' the weary Colonel rubs his eyes up under his glasses, taking one of the maps from Margaret. 'Colonel Blake went out there, too.'
'Yes, I know, but who else?'
'Mulcahy and O'Reilley, as far as I can figure.'
'Wait a second. I saw Radar sneaking around the swamp just now, and---' she looks down at the maps in her hand, gotten from John P. Mulcahy himself.
'I hope you don't mind, sir, I gave Major Houlihan the maps so that I could help bring up lanterns,' Why, look who it is! Klinger!
'/You/ gave me the maps--?" Margaret sputters, unsure.
Klinger's lanterns clatter to the ground and he starts setting them up to light them.
'Well, good news, Corporal,' the Colonel announces, 'Looks like our search is down to two.'
'I know, sir, isn't it great?' Klinger looks up with a big smile. 'I saw Father Mulcahy over in the compound, bringing these lamps up here for ya, and so I-- sir?" Klinger stops in the middle of his story, noticing the confusion in his leader's face.
'Make that one...' Our Colonel's voice is heavy with annoyance at being so out of the loop, and he turns on Margaret, 'Major Houlihan, go back to the supply tent and see what's taking Hunnicutt and Freedman so blessed long! Klinger, get on those lamps!'
'Getting, sir,' our dogged corpsman obeys, as Margaret-- well, wait for it!"
Hawkeye turned his head to look where he expected Major Houlihan to come back to camp.
"Good guess, Hawkeye, but not quite! Over--" he ran behind him again, taking the captain's head in his hands and turning it toward the edge of the swamp, beyond which, pre-op was just visible, as well as a little bit of op.
B.J. and Sidney walked slowly out into the compound, wheeling a cart between them that held four units of blood.
"Why do I keep getting the feeling," Sidney asked, looking around at the darkness of the compound, "That we're in some kind of old corny horror film?"
B.J. opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Major Houlihan's heated arrival.
"What are you two idiots doing?" she hollered softly, gritting her teeth and swinging her arm around with the force of an Olympic discus thrower to point in the direction of the minefield, "Colonel Potter's waiting for you, out there!"
The two men stopped the cart, Hunnicutt braking it slowly to a halt, giving the cart a surgeon's dose of leeway so as not to jostle the cargo.
"Colonel Potter?" he asked of the fuming nurse, "But Klinger--"
"Klinger! Don't you dare try to pin this one on him! He's up there /right now/ working his tail off, while you two are down here--" she sputtered, gesturing at the cart that usually stayed within the confines of the operating ward, "What the heck are you two DOING, anyway?"
"Klinger said--"
"Klinger said! Well, you've got an answer for everything, haven't you? I just /left/ Corporal Klinger, and he didn't have ANY idea where you two were! Now, Hunnicutt, I know you haven't known him long, but YOU, Sidney! I expected that our poor Colonel Blake might have meant something to YOU, at least."
Sidney tried next, "But Klinger said that Colonel Blake--"
Margaret pushed her hands forcefully onto her hips, giving B.J. her most reproachful look, "Yes! Colonel Blake is out there, somewhere, and here you two are, fooling around with goodness-knows-what!"
B.J. lifted his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling as he took in this new piece of information. "Out there-- you mean--"
"You imbecile! Of course!" Margaret ranted, "Now put that tray away and get up there!"
The captains, duly intimidated, lifted their hands in surrender, then went to cart the blood back to its storage. Sidney looked across to B.J., "Back to the lantern business, then, hm?"
B.J. nodded helplessly as they wheeled out of the compound.
Margaret threw her hands up into the air in frustration, and then pressed them down to her sides, backing up as she looked out worriedly into the hills, taking a moment to herself.
Radar leaned over Hawkeye's chair, watching the bewitched Major and then impatiently leaning further to peer at Hawkeye's watch. "Come on, Father," he urged under his breath, "Now's the time, the show must go on!"
"It's not bad." Hawkeye spoke, his first words in a while, his voice tainted with a hint of the familiar lilt the loss of which had been so great a torture to the penitent Pooka. Radar turned and grinned, catching a wink from Qotenmatch. "You ain't seen nothing yet!" he promised slyly: "Act two!" He gestured with the grandeur of a parting red velvet curtain to the sparkling arch over the door of the Officer's Club. Strange. The lights of the campsite hadn't changed in number or intensity, that is, if you discounted the lanterns being currently lit on the edge of the minefield, yet, you might swear that the Nehi-Bottle Arch was sparkling more intensely than it was half an hour ago.
The door swung open, missing the edge of the closest bottle by a matter of inches. The Arch remained intact and glittering as Father Mulcahy stepped out, his eyes quickly scanning for-- Ah!
"Divine Agency finds her, he has a message! A message of new hope, hope of love... love... slaked, even in the cold Korean night!" Radar narrated enthusiastically as he crouched down next to the supine Hawkeye.
"Major Houlihan?" Father Mulcahy came quietly behind her, tapping her on the shoulder and causing her to spin around and nearly snap to attention, embarrassed at having been caught in such a daydream-- nightdream-- whatever.
"Oh, it's you, father," she relaxed. "Relaxed?" questioned Radar, with a low chuckle, "Or just remembered that she doesn't have to salute a Lieutenant?"
"Yes, well, Margaret, I've got to talk to you about something." He stated, determinedly, though his voice wavered slightly in the tone he normally took when about to address something quite serious.
"Stagefright," Radar nudged Hawkeye in the ribs playfully.
"It's about Colonel Blake." Mulcahy finally spit out, looking as awkward as a bear in a bow tie, reaching out an arm and gently leading Margaret out of the center of the compound.
Margaret fidgeted, following suit with the Father's nervous attitude. "Yes, Father?"
"The starlet waits for the moral reprimand she knows she deserves for giving into her affection toward a creature of the night!" Radar dramatized wildly, sneaking around in front of Hawkeye again, and pantomiming the conversation with great exaggeration as it went on in the background.
"I just now saw him---"
"Saw him? He's back?"
"Back?"
Margaret stared at him worriedly, "You told me he--"
"Oh! Yes, back. Pardon me, Major, if I'm not quite all here. It's been a- - stressful night."
"For all of us, Father," Margaret agreed, "But Henr--- err, Colonel Blake! You saw him! Is he all right?"
"Not quite right, I'd say... quite... distraught, in fact! He wants to talk with you."
Margaret bristled with timidity, lost under a wave of pride at the Father's news. She brushed a strand of hair up behind her ear, "Well, I suppose it's only natural... a human being... a man... in such a dire situation! Can you imagine it?"
Father Mulcahy leaned back and lifted his right hand to scratch his upper left arm, made slightly uncomfortable by the earthy womanly essences the Major was oozing. "I think not." He coughed.
Major Houlihan straightened her back, remembering to whom she was speaking in time to sputter, "Oh, um, well, yes... tell him I'll be waiting for him in my tent, when he wants to come talk."
Mulcahy paused, staring into the shadows toward the Changeling he knew was hiding there, hoping there was some good reason that he was attempting to arrange an assignation between the smitten nurse and the bloodthirsty fiend.
"Corporal Fool, Corporal Jester, what is this quest? Worry not, Father, it's all for the best," Radar rhymed in a whisper. "All right, Major," the chaplain reluctantly nodded, "I'll let him know."
Margaret turned and shied away toward her tent, fingering the seam of her pants leg antsily, "Well, I'd better-- Oh! Colonel Potter! I'll be back in a few moments, I'd better let him know about this. I mean, that everything's all right, of course, not-- well-- good night, Father!"
"Good night, Major." Mulcahy shook his head as he watched Margaret bolt off, leaning up against the wall of the Officer's club for a brief second, before spotting B.J. and Sidney. The two were emerging into the compound again, now burdened down with lanterns, and headed across in the wake of the head nurse. The chaplain stepped in to intercept them.
"Captains? What are you doing?"
The pair stopped short, and, after a brief glance to one another, B.J. answered, "Well, looking for you, among other things."
"What for? Did you find Colonel Blake?"
"The question on everybody's lips. No, we figured we'd find him when we found you. But we figured you were out in the middle of nowhere, Minesville."
"No... is that what the lamps are for? Did you get the blood over to the Officer's Club?" he continued, eagerly.
"No," Sidney replied, in amused frustration, "Were you in on that plan, too? Major Houlihan told us to give it the boot, and head out to the Western Front for operation spotlight."
"Oh, well... the Major hasn't been quite herself tonight, she's going to be resting in her quarters for a while to try to wait it out."
"I'm beginning to wish I could wait out the entire night," B.J. smiled, "If I wasn't so curious to see how it ends. I think you were off a little, earlier, Sidney, this is no horror flick... I've seen 'em all. This is a flat-out, knock-down comedy. The finest kind."
"So, we're back to the old hemoglobin, boss?" Sidney did a poor but amusing enough impression of his favorite of the three stooges, and B.J. responded in kind: "Of course, you knucklehead!"
They started to lug the lanterns back to the supply tent, and Father Mulcahy only paused a second to wonder at the arch before ducking back into the O.C.
The compound was empty a moment, causing Radar to leap up from the seat he'd briefly taken to watch the chaos unfold.
"An interlude! Complete with singing, dancing, and--- oop, nevermind, back to your seats, folks, the show goes on!"
On cue, Margaret ran back into the compound, a gruff-looking Colonel Potter in tow.
"Calvin Coolidge keel over if this place won't be the end of me!" he ranted, "Not to say I'm not glad that everyone's back alright, but--" he cut off, staring momentarily at the beacon of glittering Nehi bottles that stood over the O.C. doors. "I could use a drink-- Margaret? Major? You all right? You look like you've got ants in the old attic!"
He'd noticed, of course, the Major looking around in nervous expectation.
"What's keeping him, anyway?" Radar commented, not, of course, to Hawkeye, but to the chimerae. Hawkeye turned his head in wonder from the show as Radar talked to himself: "Oh. Ohhhh.... Oh! Well, no, I didn't know that either."
Radar turned to the anticipating look Hawkeye was giving him, and, leaning closer, whispered, "My sources back in Washington tell me that small doses of Fae blood can cause--" he giggled, "some rather /odd/ effects on the Corpses," he frowned slightly, turning aside and murmuring, "Geez, Ban, can't you think of anything /nicer/ to call Henry?"
"Oh, me, sir?" Margaret spurted, "Oh, I'm just /fine/ sir, I was just..." she craned her neck to look around, "Eager for you to look over the new roster I made up, why don't you go look it over now?"
"Now, Margaret? It's--" Colonel Potter sighed, "Well, I suppose a C.O.'s work is never done. I'll go look at it. Good evening, Major Houlihan," he nodded politely and mosied toward his office.
Margaret waited until the Colonel was out of sight before running this way and that in the compound, wringing her hands anxiously.
"A motion catches her attention. Is it he?" Radar whispered, as Margaret's head, indeed, snapped up and to one side.
She let out a little exasperated grunt and tried to make herself look busy as she found it was, in fact, Hunnicutt and Freedman, wheeling around the same medical cart as earlier.
She ran back and forth like a frantic dog on too short a leash, not wanting to leave her front door, but desperately trying to look like she's not--
"Waiting for someone, Margaret?" Sidney smiled, recognizing the quirkily stifled expectation of a lusty encounter he'd seen displayed on at least several occasions prior to tonight.
"If you're going to tell us to go fetch your lamps again," B.J. warned, "I may just have to quit this war."
"No!" Margaret yelled. Too quickly. "No, Captain," she started again, composing herself. "That won't be necessary."
"Give Frank my regards," Sidney nodded politely, tipping his cap with a playful touch as they wheeled past.
"I'm NOT waiting for -- Frank-- I'm just going to visit the ladies' latrine, thank you very much." Margaret protested, in her agitated state fully expecting them to have accused her of waiting for Henry Blake. She lifted her head haughtily and stormed off in the indicated direction.
The two shook their heads and continued their course, wheeling the cart into the shadows behind the Officer's Club, preferring to use the back loading door. Margaret ran back to the proximity of her door and smirked.
"Our heroine shines with pride. She thinks on how she's got all her campmates fooled. They think they're so smart, they think they understand how she works, but she's got a secret known only to herself and the priest she's entrusted it to-- And does she have any room left in her womanly affections for our tragic hero? She turns to her tent, and wavers on the threshold. Of course, she's still fond of him, she thinks, as she shuts the door and reaches for the light. But when there's a shuffle in the darkness, a frightful sound, whose name jumps to mind? Well, certainly not that of Frank Marion Burns.
'Hello? I'm here--' she calls.
A further step sounds in the tent's shadows. She thinks it sounds weak, uncertain, indirect, and reaches out with her arms.
'Oh, no, now, it'll be okay, I'm here, now."
She comes upon a figure, and wraps him up in her arms-- but-- what's this! Shorter than she thought, warmer than she expected, and--
'Margaret,' the dark figure speaks!"
"Frank!" Margaret's voice could be heard faintly even from where Hawkeye and Radar were sitting.
"'Frank!' she says! 'What are you doing here?'" The Pooka narrator continued.
"'Who'd you /think/ it was, Margaret?'
'Well, of course /you/, Frank, but what's the matter?' Now she asks in a hurry. She's got a date tonight, after all.
'He's out to get me! Colonel Blake!'
'Frank, that's ridiculous.'
'It's not!' Our hero cries.
'Frank, get out of here. Go to the officer's club. Father Mulcahy is there. Have a drink with him-- you'll feel safe with him, won't you?'
'Margaret! Let me stay here! Please?'" At this point, Hawkeye snorted as he watched Radar try to do an impression of Frank Burns, sucking in his upper lip and making his chin quiver in a particularly Burnsian manner.
"'Frank... it'll be /much/ safer with the Father, wouldn't it? I would go, but I've got so much... paperwork to catch up on! You wouldn't believe it. The war must go on, Frank. But you-- you're a surgeon! What would the war do without you?'
'I am kind of indispensable, I guess...'
'Of course you are. Go where you'll be safe, then. We wouldn't want to see you be hurt.' She knows her lover well, and all the right buttons to push to get him out of her hair, too!" Radar giggled, then brought his face to a humorous mockery of Frank's straight and somber expression.
'Right! For the good of the outfit, and for the welfare of the United States Army!'"
Frank's beady little eyes appeared in a crack as the door opened, and, looking around and not finding anyone to see his cowardly retreat, he sped out the door and snuck toward the officer's club. He hesitated in front of the glass arch, seeming uncomfortable with its presence there, then, leaning to one side, Radar and Hawkeye could clearly see the whites of his eyes gleaming in the shimmering light of the construction as he widened his eyes in fear.
"Someone's coming!" Radar hissed.
Frank, for his part having independently come to this conclusion, jumped back from the entryway to the O.C. and hid around the corner.
Sidney pushed the door open and waited for B.J. to stroll out before following. "So, now to--" he paused as he shook his head and smiled at wonder at the arch as he passed underneath to join the surgeon, who was in a similar state.
"Uh, to find Henry, right." He finished up.
Hunnicutt nodded, "And to get him back here. We don't need him going-- uh-- crazy in the middle of the festivities tonight, after all."
"It seems kind of strange, doesn't it? Setting this all up, I mean?"
"It's been a strange-- day and a half? Is that all? Funny how you get used to things. One night you find out there are such things as vampires, the next night you're organizing a midnight snack fit for a count."
"So, will Colonel Potter approve of all this?"
"I'm not sure, but I saw him heading to his office, earlier, if we can hurry this process along, he might not have to find out at all."
"And Margaret?"
"You heard the excuse she gave the Father... she'll be 'sick in bed' until long after it's over."
"Well, you know how high up in the air Frank'll flip if HE finds out."
B.J. lifted a hand in a calming gesture, "Margaret will take care of Frank. He won't know what's going on until it's too late-- and then, what can he do?"
"I guess you're right." Sidney paused. "And you're sure no one's going to miss 'em?"
B.J. shook his head, "Nah, nobody likes that type, anyway."
Sidney chuckled. "Right. So, to round up Colonel Blake?"
"Yep. I guess first we should make sure he's not around the post-op. Last thing we need is for him to go crazy on one of the boys in there, they've all lost enough blood as it is."
"Not to mention he'd ruin his appetite," Sidney quipped as they headed out of the compound.
"Uh, oh..." Radar whispered, intent on the action.
Frank leapt out from the shadows in which he'd lately hidden himself, his face white as a ghost. "Those... those... ghouls!" he squeaked faintly, and then, looking plaintively toward Margaret's tent, he whimpered and bolted in the opposite direction, headed full-tilt for Colonel Potter's office.
"The plot, it's discovered by our tragic hero, Frank Burns." Radar intoned with a deep seriousness. "But what plot? An egregious use of medical supplies to lend aid and comfort to mankind's longtime enemy? No. His eyes have been veiled by magics, the plan he sees laid out ahead, far different from that of anybody else, seems far more sinister and terrifying.
Our fearless leader, all unaware of the forces running rampant in his camp, looks over our dedicated head nurse's paperwork, and doesn't stop when Frank comes in in a tizzy. After all, Frank Burns' normal state is somewhere between tizzy and huff.
'Colonel Potter!' he cries, 'Woe is me! My lady-love doth lie in wait with butcher Hunnicutt and headshrink Freedman, and plots my downfall to the vampire! In case I do not die tonight, drained of my life-blood as they all plan for me, I'll never again betray my sweet Louise, who waits her husband's triumphant return from war, with no idea what horrific dangers he faces, and who, if she but knew, would wail long into the night for her Frank Burns, so nearly lost!'
'Dear lad,' our brave commander replies, 'Thy brains are addled. Return you to thy swamp and let the wiles of Morpheus bear away these evil omens.'
'Alas! I am abandoned!'
'Good night, Frank.'"
The last line was delivered in such a deliberate, direct, and Colonel- Potter-Esque tone, cutting through the flowery prose that the Pooka had previously been putting into the unbearably banal mouth of Frank Burns, that Hawkeye was forced to writhe with the force of a snort of laughter that bubbled up from within him.
Radar squirmed slightly as he watched the painful looking attempt, but bit his lip down and looked over to the Great Arch of Nehi, confident that, if he did his part, it would do its. It sparkled at him in approbation, and Bantelhopp sneezed. It was good.
"To review:" Radar took a deep breath, "the doctor and the psy-chi-atrist think the vampire's about to go crazy, the head nurse thinks that the vampire's already crazy-- about her, she thought she told the father that she was crazy about /him/, but she really told the corpsman who's trying to get folks to think HE's crazy. The commanding officer thinks the whole CAMP is crazy, and Frank Burns is in fear for his life. In other words, it's just your typical night at the M*A*S*H 4077th. In addition, the whole rest of the team is brewing up a night of festivities and celebrations for the return of their lately late but just returned Colonel Blake, who, by the way, hasn't returned yet, but will, in just a few minutes."
On cue, Henry stumbled into the compound, face flushed (for a corpse) and looking contentedly confused about the world.
"Or, you know, now," Radar commented, and Henry wandered toward them. Radar ducked, seeming to think himself and Hawkeye finally discovered, until the Colonel finally paused at the signpost and peered at it.
"Psst," Radar whispered to Hawkeye, and nudging him gently, he pointed in the opposite direction, where they could now see Frank shuffling across the compound, his eyes shifting maniacally back and forth as he tried with visible effort to keep his cool.
"Excuse ME, sir," Henry addressed the signpost, his speech patterns weighted differently than normal, "Have you SEEN the v-I--p tent?"
On the other side of the swamp, Frank uttered a shriek generally characteristic of small female children, and dove through the door of the surgeon's tent, "Not likely to stop until he reaches the safety of the dark spot under his cot." Radar whispered cheerfully.
Henry, for his part, lifted an arm in surprise at the sign-post's reply. "Well, I know it's no four-STAR hotel, but, geez, it's NOT that BAD. That is, if it hasn't, hadn't, doesn't, didn't, um, one of those, have to seem to have run off, somewhere. Too bad, I could use a place to-- to lay down a second, someplace that wasn't spinning around so fast."
Henry paused a second and blinked at the signpost. "Yes, sir, of course, General, and may I SAY that's a very lovely kitten you've got there."
"Colonel Blake? Hey, you are back! I thought I heard your voice." Klinger had come around from putting away lanterns and changing into a floor-length party gown for the evening's festivities.
Henry hustled over and began wandering around Klinger in a circle. "Oh, yes, um, young lady, and thank you, I was beginning to think I WAS the only one hearing it." He looked over pensively into the mountains, "And would YOU mind slowing down a bit, I'm having trouble keeping up."
Klinger's face scrunched up as he watched the obviously impaired Brujah babble. "I'm not going anywhere, Colonel," he reminded him. "You don't /smell/ like you've gotten into your liquor cabinet, already." He mused.
"Oh, yeah," Henry stopped his wandering, flailing his arms as if to keep from falling over, "Don't you remember what they taught me, first day of med school? Always read the label before taking anything. Whew!" he shook his head. "Do you KNOW where the v-Ip tent went to? I could lie down for a year."
Klinger looked concerned, and pointed over to the row of four tents lining the side of the compound, "Third from the left," he reminded Henry, then whistling gently, "You really are bombed, aren't you, sir?"
Henry peered over at the line of tents, murmuring, "No, no, I don't THINK the bombs liked me much. Not that I'm COMPLAINING." He shook his head. "Third... thanks, honey."
Klinger squinted at the affectionate term, and lifting his skirts up out of the dust, shook his head and headed toward the Officer's club. His concerns faded a bit as he smiled broadly up at the arch he passed underneath to enter.
Henry, meantime, regarded the line of tents coolly. "Alright... one two, five six, eight, twelve... Come on, guys, no fair switching places." His face contorted in an overly thoughtful gesture, and he finally picked out 'the third tent from the left', which happened, after all, to be the third from the right. He approached on a jagged path, mumbling with muddled ire about whoever planted the cactus garden out here. "Guards, guards, there were supposed to be guards?" He asked, rather than stated. "Oh. There you are," he leaned down and spoke to a rock near the doorpost. "I'm GOING in NOW." He nodded, "Thank you."
As he was conversing with the rock, the door to Major Margaret Houlihan's door opened, and she looked out into the compound, whispering, "Colonel Blake?"
Henry stood up again, popping into view all of a sudden and looking around for whoever called him, "Yo?" he asked.
Margaret nearly melted, once she got over the surprise of his sudden appearance. "Oh, poor thing, you've been under so much stress... you look terrible. Come inside."
"Oh, good," Henry mumbled, taking a few tries to get through the doorway, "It's not just MY imagination..."
The tent's door had no sooner shut than Klinger re-emerged from the Officer's Club, calling back inside. "It all looks great! I'll go get the banner!"
The door swung shut behind him, just missing the edge of the bottled arch, but not causing the least tremor in the structure. He was headed over toward the swamp, when B.J. and Sidney, having sported him, ran out from the operating theater.
"Hey, Klinger!" Sidney shouted.
"Klinger, wait up," B.J. added, as the three came to a halt in the center of the compound, "You seen Henry around?"
Klinger's large eyebrows lifted impressively. "Yeah, looks like he started the party without us, though, he was really smashed!"
The other two looked at one another. "Klinger..." B.J. started.
"Yeah?"
"Remember that kind of-- fury-- that the Colonel's been subject to recently?"
"Remember?!" Klinger asked incredulously, remembering very well being flung halfway across O.R. It was only after his indignation was subdued that the implications of what was being said sunk in.
"Oh, god." He mumbled.
"Yes. We're hopefully going to find him and get him some blood before he decides he needs to take some on his own."
"Well, when I saw him he was looking for the VIP tent. Said he needed to lie down a while."
B.J. let out a breath of relief. "Then we're fine! Let's go get him." And without further ado, they headed for the VIP tent.
Meantime, a murmur was rising in the camp's atmosphere. "Revellers!" Radar whispered, nudging Hawkeye to pull the lawn chair closer to the edge of the swamp, further into the shadows as nurses and enlisted men started to wander, first singly, then in clusters, toward the gleaming beacon in front of the O.C.
"What do you mean? There are more than two of us here!" B.J. insisted, "Let us in."
The guards at the VIP tent door looked at one another, "Um, we were told two, sir, no more, no less. Orders are orders, sir." One of them cringed.
Frank's head poked out of the Swamp, and he clutched two crosses close to himself
"Hey! It's Major Burns!" the cry arose from the slightly inebriated crowd, "Come on, Major, let's party!"
"Alright, fine," B.J. flattened a hand into the air, and turned with a sticky-sweet paternal tone, "Klinger, wait outside for us, we TWO are going inside." He turned back to the guards, "Better?"
As the two ducked in, with approval of the guards, of course, Henry came stumbling out of Major Houlihan's tent, "Pardon me, Miss, I think the bellboy gave me the wrong room." He tried to straighten his shirt and put himself back together, but he was suddenly caught up in a whirling horde of people, which, as Radar pointed out to Hawkeye, probably didn't help his changeling-blood-induced hallucinations any. In fact, he began to look thoroughly ill as the crowd helped him along toward the O.C. "Somebody drop the anchor on this thing!" he called weakly, to the delight and amusement of the crowd. The sea of blood that rushed around him also did wonders for reminding him how hungry he was. What he wouldn't give for a nectarine cobbler.
"He's not here!" B.J. hollered, coming out of the tent, his voice loud to be heard over the increased crowd in the compound, "You could have told us he wasn't here," he admonished the guards.
"You didn't ask, sir." One of them reminded him.
"Alright, fine, I'm asking now. Do you know where he is?"
The two guards pointed in the direction of Major Houlihan's tent.
Frank spotted Henry across the compound, and tried to resist against the troupe of half-drunk privates who were trying to drag him toward the large glass arch. "You can't do this to an officer of the United States Army!" he cried.
"Major Houlihan!" Klinger, B.J. and Sidney all shouted out at once, the same thought occurring to all of them, namely, that their head nurse was at this very moment in the process of becoming deceased.
Margaret peeked out of her tent, pulling her slinky silk nightgown tighter around herself as she saw the crowd that had accumulated and attempted to appear sheveled after Henry's abrupt disappearance.
Frank strained against the arms that carried him along, reaching toward the other Major. "Margaret! How could you?"
"Nothing happened, Frank, I swear!"
"How could you let me die like this, all the way over here in Korea?!"
"What do you mean, let you die?"
"What do YOU mean, nothing happened?"
The swamp rat, the shrink and the section eight couldn't hold in smiles at the lovers' conversation.
"Oh, look!" Klinger noted, "There he goes!" Pointing, of course, to the dazed and befuddled Henry Blake, pushed along at the head of the group, followed by a chorus of "For He's A Jolly Good Vampire."
B.J. nodded, "He looks on the edge... we'd better go around back and get those drinks ready for him when he gets there."
The three ran around to the back of the building, and Margaret and Frank were swept up into the front door via the current of party-goers.
Colonel Potter, clipboard under his arm, watched the last of the people head into the club, shaking his head and smiling widely. "Good to see everybody getting along so well." He mused to himself, and made his own entrance, making the party and the performance complete.
"Down curtain!" Radar announced, parading into the center ring of the compound as if it were his own personal circus, which, of course, it was.
"Please, ladies and gentlemen, hold your applause until the very end," he proclaimed to the as yet still and silent Captain Pierce. "The Cast of Characters!"
~
"Your seat, sir, aisle, as you requested," Radar bowed and gestured grandly to the lawn chair.
"What?" Hawkeye asked, settling himself stiffly on the edge of the lawn chair, "Aisle?"
"Just sit back and relax, sir. The show'll start, soon, and you wouldn't want to have to get up to fluff the pillows midway through."
"Pillows? What pillows?" Hawkeye squinted in thorough confusion, "What /show/?"
"Your theater companion for the evening, sir," Radar grinned, settling Qotenmatch on Hawkeye's lap as he laid back in the lawn chair. Hawkeye picked up the teddy bear and shook his head at it.
"It's a-- it's not-- it's an inanimate object." He protested mildly as Radar ran into the swamp, emerging a few moments later with a martini from the still.
"Refreshment, sir? What show, you asked? It's a Broadway production, in town this one night only: for your pleasure and amusement, I give you..." he spread his arm out, gesturing to the compound that lay out before them, "M*A*S*H: a tragic comedy of love, betrayal, and mistaken identity. A juggling act of epic proportions, never to be seen again, until the next bug-out."
Hawkeye, at this point, gave up protesting that Radar wasn't making any sense, and, Martini in one hand and Chimera in the other, he leaned back to watch.
Radar stepped back a bit, pleased at the effect the shadows made of making the little alcove between the swamp and the signpost a negligible area for anybody walking through the compound. He stepped forward again, back into the shadows.
"I'll be playing the role of narrator in this little production, as well as bringing you, by way of Radar Radio, the bits of the comedy that occur offstage, for your listening convenience."
Hawkeye opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say.
Radar lifted a finger: "Ah-ah! Wait for it! The lights are dimming, the curtain is rising, the show's just ready to start! SSsshhshhhsshh--!!!"
Hawekeye shut his mouth again.
"Our play begins with the tragic hero, Major Frank Marion Burns. You may have heard that all tragic heroes have to have a tragic flaw. Well, our tragic hero IS a tragic flaw."
Hawkeye tilted his head to one side and drank from the martini, not so much as cracking a smile. Radar continued, unphased. This was going to take some work, and some time, and results weren't going to be found at once.
"Through divine agency, our hero has just been informed that his life is in danger from a night-prowling, fly-fishing monster."
On cue, Frank burst from the office doors, screaming "MARGARET! SAVE ME!" pitifully as he ran with a ghostly pallor and a frantic look in his eye across the compound and dove into the head Nurse's tent.
"There goes our hero, selflessly seeking out his lady-love to make sure she's safe from the threat."
Father Mulcahy next peeked his head out of the office doors, then slipped out, heading across the compound toward the Officer's Club, uncertainly, acting out orders he didn't fully understand. He walked as if counting the steps, and stopped just as he became obscured in the shadows of the O.C.
"Oh, and there goes Divine Agency." Radar chuckled.
Mulcahy turned and peered toward the swamp, and the supply tent beyond it.
"And here comes our faithful and dogged Corpsman, Max Klinger, relentlessly pursuing the life-and-death assignment given unto him by the M*A*S*H 4077th's supreme commander, Colonel Sherman Potter." Radar waved his hand out into the light as a signal to the Father, who ran into the compound just as Klinger burst onto the scene, the two running at odd angles on a collision course with one another, Mulcahy aware of Klinger, but not the other way around.
Radar removed his woolen cap, pressing it to his chest and spinning around clockwise as he sang out, "White sheep, white sheep, have you any wool? No ma'am, no ma'am, not at all!" Stopping the spin on a dime, and hissing in a whisper, "Two lies, two wise!" as the chaplain and the corporal collided in the center of the compound.
"Sorry, no, that's okay," they hollered at the same time, picking themselves up and running on their various courses without looking back.
Except that, now, Klinger was heading toward the supply tent, and Mulcahy was running full tilt back to the office.
Radar grinned, and pulled his cap back over the tops of his long ovine ears.
"Or was it the dearly beloved camp Chaplain that the Colonel sent to get the maps of the mine field from his office? Who could tell? For the two were put under the power of a spell from a kindly but fun-loving narrator-- err-- spirit-- who is most definitely /not/ me."
Radar looked up as "Klinger" ran by, putting his finger to his mouth in a 'shh' gesture to Hawkeye, and winking.
"So Divine Agency incarnate in a Section Eight enters the Supply tent, where local surgeon and all around good guy B.J. Hunnicutt and visiting cobweb-sweeper Sidney Freedman are girding themselves for the rescue mission in the minefield.
'Captains? Are you in here?' Divine Agency calls. Of course they are. How could Divine Agency be mistaken?
'Yeah. Did you find the maps?' the doctor replies. Uh-oh!
'Maps?' D.A. asks, not seeing THAT one coming. What'll he do, folks?
'No!' he chooses, the safe answer, always. A safe man, our chaplain. Though hardly any fun sometimes. /I/ woulda said yes. But anyhow, he gets down to the matter at hand:
'Have you seen Colonel Blake?'
'We thought he was with Colonel Potter,' the shrink offers.
'Oh. Um, he is!' Ooh, looks bad for our D.A. 'I mean, he was, but he isn't anymore. He's gone... batty!'
The other two can't be sure how to take that, on a night like this, on a subject like Henry Blake. 'Literally?' they ask.
'No,' Sigh, didn't I say that he was too dull, sometimes? 'I think he went into a kind of rage, like he was talking about with Hawkeye. Colonel Potter told me to tell you guys to get some units of blood over to the Officer's Club, and try to herd him in that direction.'
'What about the lanterns?' The lanterns? What lanterns?
'I'll take care of them,' the D.A. offers up, slipping seamlessly out of a sticky situation. Well done, Padre."
Radar applauded briefly, and Hawkeye, dazed, made a hazy attempt at doing the same, spilling little sloshes of gin on his pants and on Qotenmatch. Neither of which seemed to mind, too much.
Radar hopped briskly to the other side of Hawkeye, leaning over his shoulder and aiming an index finger toward the nurse's tent.
"In this corner, Major Hot Lips Houlihan, the fair maiden, the dedicated nurse, the angel of mercy, all unaware of her fearless leader's foray into the wilds of the minefields to the rescue of three men under his command, carries on business as normal with the nurses she's been selected due to her high rank and sex to lead."
Major Houlihan burst out of the Nurse's tent, "Good! And if I catch you swapping shifts again after /this,/ you'll all be wearing my bootprints!" She turned and looked around.
"She seemed to have heard her beloved Major Burns calling her lovely name to the winds." Radar whispered, "But she doesn't see him, oop!"
Radar shrank back away from the light as Margaret squinted over in their direction. "Or anyone else, I hope!" he hissed. "Shh-shh!" he hushed himself.
Margaret looked wary, but headed over to the office.
"She goes, ever tireless in her devotion to her camp, to deliver documents of utmost importance to her Commanding Officer!"
Margaret pushed open one side of the double doors, and her face grew warm and hopeful as she disappeared inside.
"There," continued Radar, "ruffling through the file cabinets, is our faithful Corpsman, unaware of the mystical spell compounded on him by the spirit-who-is-not-me. She steps toward him.
'I've been looking for you,' she says, not quite wanting to speak. Could it be our Major Houlihan has a confession on her mind?
Father-Mulcahy-Who-Is-Really-Klinger only looks up from his digging for a secand. 'Me, Major? Not under m...'
'I need someone to talk to-- is-- is Colonel Potter in?'
'No, he--'
'Good! I mean, I need to /talk/ to you, you know?'
'No, not really, Major, but go ahead... not under f...'
'It's about Henry--'
'You bet it is--'
'I think I'm in love with him.'
'You WHAT?'
'Oh, I know it's wrong... but I can't help it-- it's like I'm drawn to him, and I just can't help it-- what's that you've got there?'
'Under b?' For 'Boom,' silly. 'These are the maps of the minefield, Major. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but it seems the love of your life, or, well, whatever, just went off in there. But don't worry, Colonel Potter's doing everything possible to find him.'
Ah, Hot Lips sits, in shock, at this news! It seems that the love of our hero has been abandoned, and replaced by--" Radar himself looked surprised at what Bantelhopp related to him, his jaw dropping as he turned to face Hawkeye, "A love spell! A vampire love spell! Do you believe it? I sure don't. But it sure makes for good drama, huh?
'Well, what can I do?' she asks desperately.
'Um. Well, gee, Major, I guess you can take these maps to the Colonel, and I'll go help Captains Hunnicutt and Freedman.'
'No sooner said then done!'"
Margaret was out the door of the office, arms laden with maps, in a split second, and hustled through and out of the camp, Klinger-as-Mulcahy coming out not far behind her.
Radar turned back to watch 'Mulcahy' cross the compound. "Well, I guess if there's another spell out there, we don't really need this one," he snapped his fingers with dramatic flair, and Klinger resumed his own appearance. He turned as 'Klinger' came out of the supply tent, laden with lanterns, "Or this one." Again, a snap of the fingers, and Mulcahy was himself again.
Mulcahy slipped into the shadows where Radar and Hawkeye were hiding.
"What am I supposed to do with these?" he whispered in desperation, watching Margaret hurry by with the maps.
Radar grabbed Father Mulcahy by the shoulders, pulling him close, out of the earshot of his 'audience', and whispered some last-minute improvisations into the Priest's ear before shoving him out into the light towards Klinger, who was exiting the office in a daze, having left the new roster on Colonel Potter's desk.
"Aahg!" Mulcahy shouted in surprise, but hastened toward the Corporal, trying not to look panicked.
Klinger's eyes lit up as he saw the Priest, "Father! It's you!" He ran forward, "What are you doing here?"
Mulcahy got over a momentary hesitation, and answered, "What does it look like? I'm bringing these lanterns for Colonel Potter!"
"But you--" Klinger protested, "Here, give those to me, you go on ahead to the Officer's Club and have a drink-- on me!"
The corpsman stole the lanterns off the priest without him having to do much more than shift a shoulder, "Well, thank you, my son--" he spoke slowly and baffledly. Klinger shot off, and Mulcahy turned and gave an impressed look off into the shadows, hoping Radar would catch it, then he started towards the officers club, stopping a moment to stare at the arch of Nehi bottles that stood erected over the entryway, smiling a bit despite himself, and stepping inside.
"See that?" Radar pointed out to Hawkeye. "I put a lot into making that thing-- though Qot and Ban helped, too, didn't you, guys? And people can really tell... everybody stops to look at it... everybody likes it... except, maybe for our tragic hero..." He giggled.
"But anyhow, now, over Radar Radio, we join our fearless leader on the very edge of the wide plain of death that spreads from camp's edge to the mountainside. It's a dark and bleary night, here in Korea, folks, and the old Colonel's face is set with determination to get his men back alive from the sad fate that could await them among the mines! Oh, look: he hears someone coming behind him, a crunching of gravel, a rustling of paper.
'It's high time you found those maps, corporal--' Oops. 'Major Houlihan, what are you doing here?' He /tries/ to put on his just-out-for-a-walk face, but it's no use!
'I know, Colonel. I brought the maps.'
'Damn. I told those jokers not to tell anybody, too.'
'Don't worry, I think I'm the only one they told. And, frankly, I'm glad they told me,' our winsome starlet admits, all doe-eyed for the safe return of her beau!
'Well, I'm not tickled. If the whole camp finds out we've got three men missing, we'll have a swarm over here so loud I won't be able to think straight.'
'Three? There are three now?'
'Yeah,' the weary Colonel rubs his eyes up under his glasses, taking one of the maps from Margaret. 'Colonel Blake went out there, too.'
'Yes, I know, but who else?'
'Mulcahy and O'Reilley, as far as I can figure.'
'Wait a second. I saw Radar sneaking around the swamp just now, and---' she looks down at the maps in her hand, gotten from John P. Mulcahy himself.
'I hope you don't mind, sir, I gave Major Houlihan the maps so that I could help bring up lanterns,' Why, look who it is! Klinger!
'/You/ gave me the maps--?" Margaret sputters, unsure.
Klinger's lanterns clatter to the ground and he starts setting them up to light them.
'Well, good news, Corporal,' the Colonel announces, 'Looks like our search is down to two.'
'I know, sir, isn't it great?' Klinger looks up with a big smile. 'I saw Father Mulcahy over in the compound, bringing these lamps up here for ya, and so I-- sir?" Klinger stops in the middle of his story, noticing the confusion in his leader's face.
'Make that one...' Our Colonel's voice is heavy with annoyance at being so out of the loop, and he turns on Margaret, 'Major Houlihan, go back to the supply tent and see what's taking Hunnicutt and Freedman so blessed long! Klinger, get on those lamps!'
'Getting, sir,' our dogged corpsman obeys, as Margaret-- well, wait for it!"
Hawkeye turned his head to look where he expected Major Houlihan to come back to camp.
"Good guess, Hawkeye, but not quite! Over--" he ran behind him again, taking the captain's head in his hands and turning it toward the edge of the swamp, beyond which, pre-op was just visible, as well as a little bit of op.
B.J. and Sidney walked slowly out into the compound, wheeling a cart between them that held four units of blood.
"Why do I keep getting the feeling," Sidney asked, looking around at the darkness of the compound, "That we're in some kind of old corny horror film?"
B.J. opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Major Houlihan's heated arrival.
"What are you two idiots doing?" she hollered softly, gritting her teeth and swinging her arm around with the force of an Olympic discus thrower to point in the direction of the minefield, "Colonel Potter's waiting for you, out there!"
The two men stopped the cart, Hunnicutt braking it slowly to a halt, giving the cart a surgeon's dose of leeway so as not to jostle the cargo.
"Colonel Potter?" he asked of the fuming nurse, "But Klinger--"
"Klinger! Don't you dare try to pin this one on him! He's up there /right now/ working his tail off, while you two are down here--" she sputtered, gesturing at the cart that usually stayed within the confines of the operating ward, "What the heck are you two DOING, anyway?"
"Klinger said--"
"Klinger said! Well, you've got an answer for everything, haven't you? I just /left/ Corporal Klinger, and he didn't have ANY idea where you two were! Now, Hunnicutt, I know you haven't known him long, but YOU, Sidney! I expected that our poor Colonel Blake might have meant something to YOU, at least."
Sidney tried next, "But Klinger said that Colonel Blake--"
Margaret pushed her hands forcefully onto her hips, giving B.J. her most reproachful look, "Yes! Colonel Blake is out there, somewhere, and here you two are, fooling around with goodness-knows-what!"
B.J. lifted his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling as he took in this new piece of information. "Out there-- you mean--"
"You imbecile! Of course!" Margaret ranted, "Now put that tray away and get up there!"
The captains, duly intimidated, lifted their hands in surrender, then went to cart the blood back to its storage. Sidney looked across to B.J., "Back to the lantern business, then, hm?"
B.J. nodded helplessly as they wheeled out of the compound.
Margaret threw her hands up into the air in frustration, and then pressed them down to her sides, backing up as she looked out worriedly into the hills, taking a moment to herself.
Radar leaned over Hawkeye's chair, watching the bewitched Major and then impatiently leaning further to peer at Hawkeye's watch. "Come on, Father," he urged under his breath, "Now's the time, the show must go on!"
"It's not bad." Hawkeye spoke, his first words in a while, his voice tainted with a hint of the familiar lilt the loss of which had been so great a torture to the penitent Pooka. Radar turned and grinned, catching a wink from Qotenmatch. "You ain't seen nothing yet!" he promised slyly: "Act two!" He gestured with the grandeur of a parting red velvet curtain to the sparkling arch over the door of the Officer's Club. Strange. The lights of the campsite hadn't changed in number or intensity, that is, if you discounted the lanterns being currently lit on the edge of the minefield, yet, you might swear that the Nehi-Bottle Arch was sparkling more intensely than it was half an hour ago.
The door swung open, missing the edge of the closest bottle by a matter of inches. The Arch remained intact and glittering as Father Mulcahy stepped out, his eyes quickly scanning for-- Ah!
"Divine Agency finds her, he has a message! A message of new hope, hope of love... love... slaked, even in the cold Korean night!" Radar narrated enthusiastically as he crouched down next to the supine Hawkeye.
"Major Houlihan?" Father Mulcahy came quietly behind her, tapping her on the shoulder and causing her to spin around and nearly snap to attention, embarrassed at having been caught in such a daydream-- nightdream-- whatever.
"Oh, it's you, father," she relaxed. "Relaxed?" questioned Radar, with a low chuckle, "Or just remembered that she doesn't have to salute a Lieutenant?"
"Yes, well, Margaret, I've got to talk to you about something." He stated, determinedly, though his voice wavered slightly in the tone he normally took when about to address something quite serious.
"Stagefright," Radar nudged Hawkeye in the ribs playfully.
"It's about Colonel Blake." Mulcahy finally spit out, looking as awkward as a bear in a bow tie, reaching out an arm and gently leading Margaret out of the center of the compound.
Margaret fidgeted, following suit with the Father's nervous attitude. "Yes, Father?"
"The starlet waits for the moral reprimand she knows she deserves for giving into her affection toward a creature of the night!" Radar dramatized wildly, sneaking around in front of Hawkeye again, and pantomiming the conversation with great exaggeration as it went on in the background.
"I just now saw him---"
"Saw him? He's back?"
"Back?"
Margaret stared at him worriedly, "You told me he--"
"Oh! Yes, back. Pardon me, Major, if I'm not quite all here. It's been a- - stressful night."
"For all of us, Father," Margaret agreed, "But Henr--- err, Colonel Blake! You saw him! Is he all right?"
"Not quite right, I'd say... quite... distraught, in fact! He wants to talk with you."
Margaret bristled with timidity, lost under a wave of pride at the Father's news. She brushed a strand of hair up behind her ear, "Well, I suppose it's only natural... a human being... a man... in such a dire situation! Can you imagine it?"
Father Mulcahy leaned back and lifted his right hand to scratch his upper left arm, made slightly uncomfortable by the earthy womanly essences the Major was oozing. "I think not." He coughed.
Major Houlihan straightened her back, remembering to whom she was speaking in time to sputter, "Oh, um, well, yes... tell him I'll be waiting for him in my tent, when he wants to come talk."
Mulcahy paused, staring into the shadows toward the Changeling he knew was hiding there, hoping there was some good reason that he was attempting to arrange an assignation between the smitten nurse and the bloodthirsty fiend.
"Corporal Fool, Corporal Jester, what is this quest? Worry not, Father, it's all for the best," Radar rhymed in a whisper. "All right, Major," the chaplain reluctantly nodded, "I'll let him know."
Margaret turned and shied away toward her tent, fingering the seam of her pants leg antsily, "Well, I'd better-- Oh! Colonel Potter! I'll be back in a few moments, I'd better let him know about this. I mean, that everything's all right, of course, not-- well-- good night, Father!"
"Good night, Major." Mulcahy shook his head as he watched Margaret bolt off, leaning up against the wall of the Officer's club for a brief second, before spotting B.J. and Sidney. The two were emerging into the compound again, now burdened down with lanterns, and headed across in the wake of the head nurse. The chaplain stepped in to intercept them.
"Captains? What are you doing?"
The pair stopped short, and, after a brief glance to one another, B.J. answered, "Well, looking for you, among other things."
"What for? Did you find Colonel Blake?"
"The question on everybody's lips. No, we figured we'd find him when we found you. But we figured you were out in the middle of nowhere, Minesville."
"No... is that what the lamps are for? Did you get the blood over to the Officer's Club?" he continued, eagerly.
"No," Sidney replied, in amused frustration, "Were you in on that plan, too? Major Houlihan told us to give it the boot, and head out to the Western Front for operation spotlight."
"Oh, well... the Major hasn't been quite herself tonight, she's going to be resting in her quarters for a while to try to wait it out."
"I'm beginning to wish I could wait out the entire night," B.J. smiled, "If I wasn't so curious to see how it ends. I think you were off a little, earlier, Sidney, this is no horror flick... I've seen 'em all. This is a flat-out, knock-down comedy. The finest kind."
"So, we're back to the old hemoglobin, boss?" Sidney did a poor but amusing enough impression of his favorite of the three stooges, and B.J. responded in kind: "Of course, you knucklehead!"
They started to lug the lanterns back to the supply tent, and Father Mulcahy only paused a second to wonder at the arch before ducking back into the O.C.
The compound was empty a moment, causing Radar to leap up from the seat he'd briefly taken to watch the chaos unfold.
"An interlude! Complete with singing, dancing, and--- oop, nevermind, back to your seats, folks, the show goes on!"
On cue, Margaret ran back into the compound, a gruff-looking Colonel Potter in tow.
"Calvin Coolidge keel over if this place won't be the end of me!" he ranted, "Not to say I'm not glad that everyone's back alright, but--" he cut off, staring momentarily at the beacon of glittering Nehi bottles that stood over the O.C. doors. "I could use a drink-- Margaret? Major? You all right? You look like you've got ants in the old attic!"
He'd noticed, of course, the Major looking around in nervous expectation.
"What's keeping him, anyway?" Radar commented, not, of course, to Hawkeye, but to the chimerae. Hawkeye turned his head in wonder from the show as Radar talked to himself: "Oh. Ohhhh.... Oh! Well, no, I didn't know that either."
Radar turned to the anticipating look Hawkeye was giving him, and, leaning closer, whispered, "My sources back in Washington tell me that small doses of Fae blood can cause--" he giggled, "some rather /odd/ effects on the Corpses," he frowned slightly, turning aside and murmuring, "Geez, Ban, can't you think of anything /nicer/ to call Henry?"
"Oh, me, sir?" Margaret spurted, "Oh, I'm just /fine/ sir, I was just..." she craned her neck to look around, "Eager for you to look over the new roster I made up, why don't you go look it over now?"
"Now, Margaret? It's--" Colonel Potter sighed, "Well, I suppose a C.O.'s work is never done. I'll go look at it. Good evening, Major Houlihan," he nodded politely and mosied toward his office.
Margaret waited until the Colonel was out of sight before running this way and that in the compound, wringing her hands anxiously.
"A motion catches her attention. Is it he?" Radar whispered, as Margaret's head, indeed, snapped up and to one side.
She let out a little exasperated grunt and tried to make herself look busy as she found it was, in fact, Hunnicutt and Freedman, wheeling around the same medical cart as earlier.
She ran back and forth like a frantic dog on too short a leash, not wanting to leave her front door, but desperately trying to look like she's not--
"Waiting for someone, Margaret?" Sidney smiled, recognizing the quirkily stifled expectation of a lusty encounter he'd seen displayed on at least several occasions prior to tonight.
"If you're going to tell us to go fetch your lamps again," B.J. warned, "I may just have to quit this war."
"No!" Margaret yelled. Too quickly. "No, Captain," she started again, composing herself. "That won't be necessary."
"Give Frank my regards," Sidney nodded politely, tipping his cap with a playful touch as they wheeled past.
"I'm NOT waiting for -- Frank-- I'm just going to visit the ladies' latrine, thank you very much." Margaret protested, in her agitated state fully expecting them to have accused her of waiting for Henry Blake. She lifted her head haughtily and stormed off in the indicated direction.
The two shook their heads and continued their course, wheeling the cart into the shadows behind the Officer's Club, preferring to use the back loading door. Margaret ran back to the proximity of her door and smirked.
"Our heroine shines with pride. She thinks on how she's got all her campmates fooled. They think they're so smart, they think they understand how she works, but she's got a secret known only to herself and the priest she's entrusted it to-- And does she have any room left in her womanly affections for our tragic hero? She turns to her tent, and wavers on the threshold. Of course, she's still fond of him, she thinks, as she shuts the door and reaches for the light. But when there's a shuffle in the darkness, a frightful sound, whose name jumps to mind? Well, certainly not that of Frank Marion Burns.
'Hello? I'm here--' she calls.
A further step sounds in the tent's shadows. She thinks it sounds weak, uncertain, indirect, and reaches out with her arms.
'Oh, no, now, it'll be okay, I'm here, now."
She comes upon a figure, and wraps him up in her arms-- but-- what's this! Shorter than she thought, warmer than she expected, and--
'Margaret,' the dark figure speaks!"
"Frank!" Margaret's voice could be heard faintly even from where Hawkeye and Radar were sitting.
"'Frank!' she says! 'What are you doing here?'" The Pooka narrator continued.
"'Who'd you /think/ it was, Margaret?'
'Well, of course /you/, Frank, but what's the matter?' Now she asks in a hurry. She's got a date tonight, after all.
'He's out to get me! Colonel Blake!'
'Frank, that's ridiculous.'
'It's not!' Our hero cries.
'Frank, get out of here. Go to the officer's club. Father Mulcahy is there. Have a drink with him-- you'll feel safe with him, won't you?'
'Margaret! Let me stay here! Please?'" At this point, Hawkeye snorted as he watched Radar try to do an impression of Frank Burns, sucking in his upper lip and making his chin quiver in a particularly Burnsian manner.
"'Frank... it'll be /much/ safer with the Father, wouldn't it? I would go, but I've got so much... paperwork to catch up on! You wouldn't believe it. The war must go on, Frank. But you-- you're a surgeon! What would the war do without you?'
'I am kind of indispensable, I guess...'
'Of course you are. Go where you'll be safe, then. We wouldn't want to see you be hurt.' She knows her lover well, and all the right buttons to push to get him out of her hair, too!" Radar giggled, then brought his face to a humorous mockery of Frank's straight and somber expression.
'Right! For the good of the outfit, and for the welfare of the United States Army!'"
Frank's beady little eyes appeared in a crack as the door opened, and, looking around and not finding anyone to see his cowardly retreat, he sped out the door and snuck toward the officer's club. He hesitated in front of the glass arch, seeming uncomfortable with its presence there, then, leaning to one side, Radar and Hawkeye could clearly see the whites of his eyes gleaming in the shimmering light of the construction as he widened his eyes in fear.
"Someone's coming!" Radar hissed.
Frank, for his part having independently come to this conclusion, jumped back from the entryway to the O.C. and hid around the corner.
Sidney pushed the door open and waited for B.J. to stroll out before following. "So, now to--" he paused as he shook his head and smiled at wonder at the arch as he passed underneath to join the surgeon, who was in a similar state.
"Uh, to find Henry, right." He finished up.
Hunnicutt nodded, "And to get him back here. We don't need him going-- uh-- crazy in the middle of the festivities tonight, after all."
"It seems kind of strange, doesn't it? Setting this all up, I mean?"
"It's been a strange-- day and a half? Is that all? Funny how you get used to things. One night you find out there are such things as vampires, the next night you're organizing a midnight snack fit for a count."
"So, will Colonel Potter approve of all this?"
"I'm not sure, but I saw him heading to his office, earlier, if we can hurry this process along, he might not have to find out at all."
"And Margaret?"
"You heard the excuse she gave the Father... she'll be 'sick in bed' until long after it's over."
"Well, you know how high up in the air Frank'll flip if HE finds out."
B.J. lifted a hand in a calming gesture, "Margaret will take care of Frank. He won't know what's going on until it's too late-- and then, what can he do?"
"I guess you're right." Sidney paused. "And you're sure no one's going to miss 'em?"
B.J. shook his head, "Nah, nobody likes that type, anyway."
Sidney chuckled. "Right. So, to round up Colonel Blake?"
"Yep. I guess first we should make sure he's not around the post-op. Last thing we need is for him to go crazy on one of the boys in there, they've all lost enough blood as it is."
"Not to mention he'd ruin his appetite," Sidney quipped as they headed out of the compound.
"Uh, oh..." Radar whispered, intent on the action.
Frank leapt out from the shadows in which he'd lately hidden himself, his face white as a ghost. "Those... those... ghouls!" he squeaked faintly, and then, looking plaintively toward Margaret's tent, he whimpered and bolted in the opposite direction, headed full-tilt for Colonel Potter's office.
"The plot, it's discovered by our tragic hero, Frank Burns." Radar intoned with a deep seriousness. "But what plot? An egregious use of medical supplies to lend aid and comfort to mankind's longtime enemy? No. His eyes have been veiled by magics, the plan he sees laid out ahead, far different from that of anybody else, seems far more sinister and terrifying.
Our fearless leader, all unaware of the forces running rampant in his camp, looks over our dedicated head nurse's paperwork, and doesn't stop when Frank comes in in a tizzy. After all, Frank Burns' normal state is somewhere between tizzy and huff.
'Colonel Potter!' he cries, 'Woe is me! My lady-love doth lie in wait with butcher Hunnicutt and headshrink Freedman, and plots my downfall to the vampire! In case I do not die tonight, drained of my life-blood as they all plan for me, I'll never again betray my sweet Louise, who waits her husband's triumphant return from war, with no idea what horrific dangers he faces, and who, if she but knew, would wail long into the night for her Frank Burns, so nearly lost!'
'Dear lad,' our brave commander replies, 'Thy brains are addled. Return you to thy swamp and let the wiles of Morpheus bear away these evil omens.'
'Alas! I am abandoned!'
'Good night, Frank.'"
The last line was delivered in such a deliberate, direct, and Colonel- Potter-Esque tone, cutting through the flowery prose that the Pooka had previously been putting into the unbearably banal mouth of Frank Burns, that Hawkeye was forced to writhe with the force of a snort of laughter that bubbled up from within him.
Radar squirmed slightly as he watched the painful looking attempt, but bit his lip down and looked over to the Great Arch of Nehi, confident that, if he did his part, it would do its. It sparkled at him in approbation, and Bantelhopp sneezed. It was good.
"To review:" Radar took a deep breath, "the doctor and the psy-chi-atrist think the vampire's about to go crazy, the head nurse thinks that the vampire's already crazy-- about her, she thought she told the father that she was crazy about /him/, but she really told the corpsman who's trying to get folks to think HE's crazy. The commanding officer thinks the whole CAMP is crazy, and Frank Burns is in fear for his life. In other words, it's just your typical night at the M*A*S*H 4077th. In addition, the whole rest of the team is brewing up a night of festivities and celebrations for the return of their lately late but just returned Colonel Blake, who, by the way, hasn't returned yet, but will, in just a few minutes."
On cue, Henry stumbled into the compound, face flushed (for a corpse) and looking contentedly confused about the world.
"Or, you know, now," Radar commented, and Henry wandered toward them. Radar ducked, seeming to think himself and Hawkeye finally discovered, until the Colonel finally paused at the signpost and peered at it.
"Psst," Radar whispered to Hawkeye, and nudging him gently, he pointed in the opposite direction, where they could now see Frank shuffling across the compound, his eyes shifting maniacally back and forth as he tried with visible effort to keep his cool.
"Excuse ME, sir," Henry addressed the signpost, his speech patterns weighted differently than normal, "Have you SEEN the v-I--p tent?"
On the other side of the swamp, Frank uttered a shriek generally characteristic of small female children, and dove through the door of the surgeon's tent, "Not likely to stop until he reaches the safety of the dark spot under his cot." Radar whispered cheerfully.
Henry, for his part, lifted an arm in surprise at the sign-post's reply. "Well, I know it's no four-STAR hotel, but, geez, it's NOT that BAD. That is, if it hasn't, hadn't, doesn't, didn't, um, one of those, have to seem to have run off, somewhere. Too bad, I could use a place to-- to lay down a second, someplace that wasn't spinning around so fast."
Henry paused a second and blinked at the signpost. "Yes, sir, of course, General, and may I SAY that's a very lovely kitten you've got there."
"Colonel Blake? Hey, you are back! I thought I heard your voice." Klinger had come around from putting away lanterns and changing into a floor-length party gown for the evening's festivities.
Henry hustled over and began wandering around Klinger in a circle. "Oh, yes, um, young lady, and thank you, I was beginning to think I WAS the only one hearing it." He looked over pensively into the mountains, "And would YOU mind slowing down a bit, I'm having trouble keeping up."
Klinger's face scrunched up as he watched the obviously impaired Brujah babble. "I'm not going anywhere, Colonel," he reminded him. "You don't /smell/ like you've gotten into your liquor cabinet, already." He mused.
"Oh, yeah," Henry stopped his wandering, flailing his arms as if to keep from falling over, "Don't you remember what they taught me, first day of med school? Always read the label before taking anything. Whew!" he shook his head. "Do you KNOW where the v-Ip tent went to? I could lie down for a year."
Klinger looked concerned, and pointed over to the row of four tents lining the side of the compound, "Third from the left," he reminded Henry, then whistling gently, "You really are bombed, aren't you, sir?"
Henry peered over at the line of tents, murmuring, "No, no, I don't THINK the bombs liked me much. Not that I'm COMPLAINING." He shook his head. "Third... thanks, honey."
Klinger squinted at the affectionate term, and lifting his skirts up out of the dust, shook his head and headed toward the Officer's club. His concerns faded a bit as he smiled broadly up at the arch he passed underneath to enter.
Henry, meantime, regarded the line of tents coolly. "Alright... one two, five six, eight, twelve... Come on, guys, no fair switching places." His face contorted in an overly thoughtful gesture, and he finally picked out 'the third tent from the left', which happened, after all, to be the third from the right. He approached on a jagged path, mumbling with muddled ire about whoever planted the cactus garden out here. "Guards, guards, there were supposed to be guards?" He asked, rather than stated. "Oh. There you are," he leaned down and spoke to a rock near the doorpost. "I'm GOING in NOW." He nodded, "Thank you."
As he was conversing with the rock, the door to Major Margaret Houlihan's door opened, and she looked out into the compound, whispering, "Colonel Blake?"
Henry stood up again, popping into view all of a sudden and looking around for whoever called him, "Yo?" he asked.
Margaret nearly melted, once she got over the surprise of his sudden appearance. "Oh, poor thing, you've been under so much stress... you look terrible. Come inside."
"Oh, good," Henry mumbled, taking a few tries to get through the doorway, "It's not just MY imagination..."
The tent's door had no sooner shut than Klinger re-emerged from the Officer's Club, calling back inside. "It all looks great! I'll go get the banner!"
The door swung shut behind him, just missing the edge of the bottled arch, but not causing the least tremor in the structure. He was headed over toward the swamp, when B.J. and Sidney, having sported him, ran out from the operating theater.
"Hey, Klinger!" Sidney shouted.
"Klinger, wait up," B.J. added, as the three came to a halt in the center of the compound, "You seen Henry around?"
Klinger's large eyebrows lifted impressively. "Yeah, looks like he started the party without us, though, he was really smashed!"
The other two looked at one another. "Klinger..." B.J. started.
"Yeah?"
"Remember that kind of-- fury-- that the Colonel's been subject to recently?"
"Remember?!" Klinger asked incredulously, remembering very well being flung halfway across O.R. It was only after his indignation was subdued that the implications of what was being said sunk in.
"Oh, god." He mumbled.
"Yes. We're hopefully going to find him and get him some blood before he decides he needs to take some on his own."
"Well, when I saw him he was looking for the VIP tent. Said he needed to lie down a while."
B.J. let out a breath of relief. "Then we're fine! Let's go get him." And without further ado, they headed for the VIP tent.
Meantime, a murmur was rising in the camp's atmosphere. "Revellers!" Radar whispered, nudging Hawkeye to pull the lawn chair closer to the edge of the swamp, further into the shadows as nurses and enlisted men started to wander, first singly, then in clusters, toward the gleaming beacon in front of the O.C.
"What do you mean? There are more than two of us here!" B.J. insisted, "Let us in."
The guards at the VIP tent door looked at one another, "Um, we were told two, sir, no more, no less. Orders are orders, sir." One of them cringed.
Frank's head poked out of the Swamp, and he clutched two crosses close to himself
"Hey! It's Major Burns!" the cry arose from the slightly inebriated crowd, "Come on, Major, let's party!"
"Alright, fine," B.J. flattened a hand into the air, and turned with a sticky-sweet paternal tone, "Klinger, wait outside for us, we TWO are going inside." He turned back to the guards, "Better?"
As the two ducked in, with approval of the guards, of course, Henry came stumbling out of Major Houlihan's tent, "Pardon me, Miss, I think the bellboy gave me the wrong room." He tried to straighten his shirt and put himself back together, but he was suddenly caught up in a whirling horde of people, which, as Radar pointed out to Hawkeye, probably didn't help his changeling-blood-induced hallucinations any. In fact, he began to look thoroughly ill as the crowd helped him along toward the O.C. "Somebody drop the anchor on this thing!" he called weakly, to the delight and amusement of the crowd. The sea of blood that rushed around him also did wonders for reminding him how hungry he was. What he wouldn't give for a nectarine cobbler.
"He's not here!" B.J. hollered, coming out of the tent, his voice loud to be heard over the increased crowd in the compound, "You could have told us he wasn't here," he admonished the guards.
"You didn't ask, sir." One of them reminded him.
"Alright, fine, I'm asking now. Do you know where he is?"
The two guards pointed in the direction of Major Houlihan's tent.
Frank spotted Henry across the compound, and tried to resist against the troupe of half-drunk privates who were trying to drag him toward the large glass arch. "You can't do this to an officer of the United States Army!" he cried.
"Major Houlihan!" Klinger, B.J. and Sidney all shouted out at once, the same thought occurring to all of them, namely, that their head nurse was at this very moment in the process of becoming deceased.
Margaret peeked out of her tent, pulling her slinky silk nightgown tighter around herself as she saw the crowd that had accumulated and attempted to appear sheveled after Henry's abrupt disappearance.
Frank strained against the arms that carried him along, reaching toward the other Major. "Margaret! How could you?"
"Nothing happened, Frank, I swear!"
"How could you let me die like this, all the way over here in Korea?!"
"What do you mean, let you die?"
"What do YOU mean, nothing happened?"
The swamp rat, the shrink and the section eight couldn't hold in smiles at the lovers' conversation.
"Oh, look!" Klinger noted, "There he goes!" Pointing, of course, to the dazed and befuddled Henry Blake, pushed along at the head of the group, followed by a chorus of "For He's A Jolly Good Vampire."
B.J. nodded, "He looks on the edge... we'd better go around back and get those drinks ready for him when he gets there."
The three ran around to the back of the building, and Margaret and Frank were swept up into the front door via the current of party-goers.
Colonel Potter, clipboard under his arm, watched the last of the people head into the club, shaking his head and smiling widely. "Good to see everybody getting along so well." He mused to himself, and made his own entrance, making the party and the performance complete.
"Down curtain!" Radar announced, parading into the center ring of the compound as if it were his own personal circus, which, of course, it was.
"Please, ladies and gentlemen, hold your applause until the very end," he proclaimed to the as yet still and silent Captain Pierce. "The Cast of Characters!"
~