The party roused back to life, as parties are wont to do, and with the
littlest fuss possible Henry and Radar rounded up Hawkeye, Colonel Potter
and Father Mulcahy, and the three of them headed out just as a set of
chopperblades began to be discernable on the threshold of human hearing.
"Just one, sirs," Radar confirmed, pushing his glasses affectionately up on his nose as he stared up the hill toward the chopper pad.
"One is enough, Radar," Potter reminded him, "What the HELL is it doing here, anyway?"
"Yeah," Henry mused, "I thought reports were that all was quiet around here, they weren't expecting combat for another few days, at least. Maybe it's a sniper case, after all, those guys never seem to--"
"Henry," Hawkeye cut in, "I think Colonel Potter meant that he's not quite sure why there are choppers flying around when they should be grounded."
Henry looked around, "Oh, yeah. They're not supposed to fly at night, are they?" He hadn't seen the sun in so long, well, if you discount their last, very, very poor encounter, that he has becoming used to nighttime being the constant state of the world.
"Radar--"
Radar was shaken out of a boggling inspection of the air in the direction of the chopper's sounds by Colonel Potter's voice.
"Right, come on, Padre, let's you and I go get a couple litters,"
"--Go get somebody to bring--"
"Yes, sir,"
"Right."
The Colonels continued on the path up the hill, lifting their arms as the air grew biting cold from the whipping breeze of the whirling blades.
They lifted their hands to keep flying debris out of their faces as the dark object sunk through the night.
It was marked, as it came closer, by a pair of glowing red lights that turned and glared upon the two men intently as the chopper sank skillfully to earth.
Radar rushed up behind Colonel Blake, and grabbed his woolen cap in his hand in surprise at the sight, Father Mulcahy coming after, slightly slower, and murmuring, "Oh, my God,"
The four were silent until the chopper landed, and, in the space of time it takes a man to blink, the strange lights from the darkness of the inside of the chopper disappeared, leaving the craft seeming to be vacant but for shadows.
"I'm not still seeing things, am I?" Henry mumbled quietly, afraid to move as the chopper blades began to still.
"That must be it," Radar spoke, taking a breath of tangible sound, "The hallucinations are spreading."
Hawkeye finally stirred, "Well, the CHOPPER'S no hallucination, that's for sure, and we can only pray that the wounded are. Father?"
"On it," Father Mulcahy nodded as Hawkeye took a few cautious steps onto the chopper pad, bending down and approaching the driver's side, his eyes wide.
"I'm sorry, sir, we weren't expecting visitors... we didn't subscribe to the weeknight edition of this war." Hawkeye cracked genially as he approached, peering down into the plastic cover of the stretcher up alongside the chopper.
"What've we got here? Aah!" Hawkeye yelled, as one of the patient's hands grabbed the plastic rim once, twice, groping for the latch to undo the plastic cover, and momentarily popping it open.
A ruffled-looking young man sat up, then stood, showing a bit of a dazed look, but generally seeming to be-- unwounded. "Gaw! What a ride. Oh, here, let me help you out, there," the fellow thrust a hand into the driver's side of the chopper, and it was soon taken up by a pale, small, but sturdy-looking hand, which was soon followed out by a pale, small, but sturdy-looking young woman, to whom the hand, oddly enough, belonged.
She smiled and looked down over the camp, then yelled in a coarse tone back into the chopper, "Well, I told you I could find this place. Don't smile at me like that, I know you didn't believe I could.
From the other side of the chopper emerged a matching figure in size, more ruddy and certainly less pale than the other, a man whose hair was a quiet brown, an easily recognizable fellow for those paying attention in the early chapters of this narrative.
"Yes, yes, I'll admit it, I had my doubts, but, you understand, I thought I had cause. After all," Joles T. reached back into the chopper's rather scrunched third-passenger compartment, "Irene and I might have fared a little more poorly than yourself in the event of an unfortunate landing. Oh, look," he smiled, looking over to the small cluster on the helipad as a mirror action of the disembarking on the driver's side took place, a lady's slender hand, much more delicate and lovely than the first, reached out to steady herself as she stood and readied herself to step out.
"We've got a little welcoming committee." He finished just before Irene's pale and smiling face made an appearance, turning without any eagerness or pretence to scan the faces of those assembled and smile warmly at them as she stepped down.
Henry felt a jolt, the remembrance of a sharp pain in the chest. He knew that face. Goddamnit, he knew that face.
~
"Just one, sirs," Radar confirmed, pushing his glasses affectionately up on his nose as he stared up the hill toward the chopper pad.
"One is enough, Radar," Potter reminded him, "What the HELL is it doing here, anyway?"
"Yeah," Henry mused, "I thought reports were that all was quiet around here, they weren't expecting combat for another few days, at least. Maybe it's a sniper case, after all, those guys never seem to--"
"Henry," Hawkeye cut in, "I think Colonel Potter meant that he's not quite sure why there are choppers flying around when they should be grounded."
Henry looked around, "Oh, yeah. They're not supposed to fly at night, are they?" He hadn't seen the sun in so long, well, if you discount their last, very, very poor encounter, that he has becoming used to nighttime being the constant state of the world.
"Radar--"
Radar was shaken out of a boggling inspection of the air in the direction of the chopper's sounds by Colonel Potter's voice.
"Right, come on, Padre, let's you and I go get a couple litters,"
"--Go get somebody to bring--"
"Yes, sir,"
"Right."
The Colonels continued on the path up the hill, lifting their arms as the air grew biting cold from the whipping breeze of the whirling blades.
They lifted their hands to keep flying debris out of their faces as the dark object sunk through the night.
It was marked, as it came closer, by a pair of glowing red lights that turned and glared upon the two men intently as the chopper sank skillfully to earth.
Radar rushed up behind Colonel Blake, and grabbed his woolen cap in his hand in surprise at the sight, Father Mulcahy coming after, slightly slower, and murmuring, "Oh, my God,"
The four were silent until the chopper landed, and, in the space of time it takes a man to blink, the strange lights from the darkness of the inside of the chopper disappeared, leaving the craft seeming to be vacant but for shadows.
"I'm not still seeing things, am I?" Henry mumbled quietly, afraid to move as the chopper blades began to still.
"That must be it," Radar spoke, taking a breath of tangible sound, "The hallucinations are spreading."
Hawkeye finally stirred, "Well, the CHOPPER'S no hallucination, that's for sure, and we can only pray that the wounded are. Father?"
"On it," Father Mulcahy nodded as Hawkeye took a few cautious steps onto the chopper pad, bending down and approaching the driver's side, his eyes wide.
"I'm sorry, sir, we weren't expecting visitors... we didn't subscribe to the weeknight edition of this war." Hawkeye cracked genially as he approached, peering down into the plastic cover of the stretcher up alongside the chopper.
"What've we got here? Aah!" Hawkeye yelled, as one of the patient's hands grabbed the plastic rim once, twice, groping for the latch to undo the plastic cover, and momentarily popping it open.
A ruffled-looking young man sat up, then stood, showing a bit of a dazed look, but generally seeming to be-- unwounded. "Gaw! What a ride. Oh, here, let me help you out, there," the fellow thrust a hand into the driver's side of the chopper, and it was soon taken up by a pale, small, but sturdy-looking hand, which was soon followed out by a pale, small, but sturdy-looking young woman, to whom the hand, oddly enough, belonged.
She smiled and looked down over the camp, then yelled in a coarse tone back into the chopper, "Well, I told you I could find this place. Don't smile at me like that, I know you didn't believe I could.
From the other side of the chopper emerged a matching figure in size, more ruddy and certainly less pale than the other, a man whose hair was a quiet brown, an easily recognizable fellow for those paying attention in the early chapters of this narrative.
"Yes, yes, I'll admit it, I had my doubts, but, you understand, I thought I had cause. After all," Joles T. reached back into the chopper's rather scrunched third-passenger compartment, "Irene and I might have fared a little more poorly than yourself in the event of an unfortunate landing. Oh, look," he smiled, looking over to the small cluster on the helipad as a mirror action of the disembarking on the driver's side took place, a lady's slender hand, much more delicate and lovely than the first, reached out to steady herself as she stood and readied herself to step out.
"We've got a little welcoming committee." He finished just before Irene's pale and smiling face made an appearance, turning without any eagerness or pretence to scan the faces of those assembled and smile warmly at them as she stepped down.
Henry felt a jolt, the remembrance of a sharp pain in the chest. He knew that face. Goddamnit, he knew that face.
~