In the mess tent bleary nurses and privates wandered in for breakfast at
the now-growing customary hour of 2 o'clock in the afternoon. True to the
Seneschal's word, no wounded had arrived. Neither had any mail, any
deliveries, or any phone calls from the outside world. Those who didn't
know about the quarantine that the Camarilla had placed upon the camp's
boundaries were blissful in their ignorance; they awoke at a leisurely
hour, sunned themselves, taking advantage of the last few warm days of the
year, and played games of football in the compound. Those who were in the
know, however, trembled and thrashed in the vampiric net, anxious to be
free to return to the humdrum, every-day terrors of war.
Radar scurried into the mess tent, where Colonel Potter perched unnervedly at the head of a table, Hawkeye at his right and B.J. on his left. Next to Hawkeye, Sidney sat with his legs crossed in his normal lax manner, attentive to the conversation but, again, typical of him, slightly removed. Down the bench from B.J. were Majors Burns and Houlihan, Houlihan and Burns, evidently made up from their little lover's spat, the both of them fuming with indignation.
"Why don't we just take down the VIP tent and let those-- things get a little sun?" Margaret snarled out her vindictive opinion.
Hawkeye put his hand flat on the table and glared at her, "Don't forget, one of "those things" is still Henry Blake."
Margaret straightened her shoulders proudly and tossed her chin up, "I don't care. You should have SEEN the way he was looking at me, I-- I could have--" she sputtered.
"Out of dirty words, Hot Lips?" Hawkeye jeered, "Or is it just that you could have done something --really-- unspeakable?" He leant over suggestively, "If you need some help increasing your vocabulary later, you can find me in the supply tent. I'll give you a whole declension... just let me figure out your case, number and gender..."
"All right, kiddos, that's enough," Colonel Potter cut in, lifting a hand as a barrier between the chief surgeon and the head nurse. Then, turning to Margaret, who was doing her best to ignore Hawkeye and give the Colonel an image of rapt attention: "Believe me, the idea's crossed my mind."
"Colonel!" Hawkeye tried to cut in, but Potter swung his hand around, pointing his index finger out in a warning gesture.
"The idea HAS crossed my mind." He repeated more firmly, then, his voice gentling out, "But I don't see what blessed good it'd do us. Seems to me these vampires are everywhere, in charge of everything! If we got rid of these three, this Camarilla would just send more. Or, of course, they might not even do that. If they thought we were fighting back, they'd have us living in a crater before we could say--"
"Sir?" Radar piped meekly at the Colonel's side, "I tried everything on the phone, sir, just everything." The Pooka reached a hand up to his nose to give the slipping Chimera a little boost; his hands were clad in bulky yellow-brown kitchen gloves which didn't seem like they should be staying on at all. "I gave our location to at least seventeen different people; all of them said that we couldn't possibly be there, and told us where to go to look for ourselves! We could be anywhere between Ouijongbu and Indianapolis, for all they've told me. I even tried giving them some places that we AREN'T, but they said we weren't there, either."
Hawkeye shuffled down the bench, rousing Sidney from his placid state enough for him to move down the bench as well, leaving room for Radar to plop down and look distressed.
"See what I mean?" Potter asked rhetorically, "Great Caesar's Ghost! They're everywhere!" He sighed and took up the gloomy disposition of the changeling to his right. It quickly spread across the table, and even Frank, who was doing his best to look righteously indignant, whimpered gently.
Margaret settled her hands on the table in front of her and let out a weary breath, the gravity of the situation weighing on her.
Father Mulcahy, looking more wide awake than any of the crowd, burst in the Mess Tent door and looked around briefly before hastening to Colonel Potter's side. "Sir," he whispered, his breath rushing out and carrying the words along with it. "Have you seen Klinger?"
"No," Colonel Potter glowered, "And I don't have time to deal with his shenanigans today. Just tell me what he's wearing now, so I won't fall over when I see him..."
"It's not THAT, sir. I think there's really something wrong with him."
The rest of the table held its breath, the priest's words hanging in the air. The words which, three days prior, would have meant that he thought Klinger had come down with a bug, or that Klinger was looking a little peaked. Now... now it could mean anything.
Potter finally broke the silence with a sigh. "All right. This meeting is in recess. Let's go see Klinger." He batted his hands on the table and shook his head resignedly.
~
Radar scurried into the mess tent, where Colonel Potter perched unnervedly at the head of a table, Hawkeye at his right and B.J. on his left. Next to Hawkeye, Sidney sat with his legs crossed in his normal lax manner, attentive to the conversation but, again, typical of him, slightly removed. Down the bench from B.J. were Majors Burns and Houlihan, Houlihan and Burns, evidently made up from their little lover's spat, the both of them fuming with indignation.
"Why don't we just take down the VIP tent and let those-- things get a little sun?" Margaret snarled out her vindictive opinion.
Hawkeye put his hand flat on the table and glared at her, "Don't forget, one of "those things" is still Henry Blake."
Margaret straightened her shoulders proudly and tossed her chin up, "I don't care. You should have SEEN the way he was looking at me, I-- I could have--" she sputtered.
"Out of dirty words, Hot Lips?" Hawkeye jeered, "Or is it just that you could have done something --really-- unspeakable?" He leant over suggestively, "If you need some help increasing your vocabulary later, you can find me in the supply tent. I'll give you a whole declension... just let me figure out your case, number and gender..."
"All right, kiddos, that's enough," Colonel Potter cut in, lifting a hand as a barrier between the chief surgeon and the head nurse. Then, turning to Margaret, who was doing her best to ignore Hawkeye and give the Colonel an image of rapt attention: "Believe me, the idea's crossed my mind."
"Colonel!" Hawkeye tried to cut in, but Potter swung his hand around, pointing his index finger out in a warning gesture.
"The idea HAS crossed my mind." He repeated more firmly, then, his voice gentling out, "But I don't see what blessed good it'd do us. Seems to me these vampires are everywhere, in charge of everything! If we got rid of these three, this Camarilla would just send more. Or, of course, they might not even do that. If they thought we were fighting back, they'd have us living in a crater before we could say--"
"Sir?" Radar piped meekly at the Colonel's side, "I tried everything on the phone, sir, just everything." The Pooka reached a hand up to his nose to give the slipping Chimera a little boost; his hands were clad in bulky yellow-brown kitchen gloves which didn't seem like they should be staying on at all. "I gave our location to at least seventeen different people; all of them said that we couldn't possibly be there, and told us where to go to look for ourselves! We could be anywhere between Ouijongbu and Indianapolis, for all they've told me. I even tried giving them some places that we AREN'T, but they said we weren't there, either."
Hawkeye shuffled down the bench, rousing Sidney from his placid state enough for him to move down the bench as well, leaving room for Radar to plop down and look distressed.
"See what I mean?" Potter asked rhetorically, "Great Caesar's Ghost! They're everywhere!" He sighed and took up the gloomy disposition of the changeling to his right. It quickly spread across the table, and even Frank, who was doing his best to look righteously indignant, whimpered gently.
Margaret settled her hands on the table in front of her and let out a weary breath, the gravity of the situation weighing on her.
Father Mulcahy, looking more wide awake than any of the crowd, burst in the Mess Tent door and looked around briefly before hastening to Colonel Potter's side. "Sir," he whispered, his breath rushing out and carrying the words along with it. "Have you seen Klinger?"
"No," Colonel Potter glowered, "And I don't have time to deal with his shenanigans today. Just tell me what he's wearing now, so I won't fall over when I see him..."
"It's not THAT, sir. I think there's really something wrong with him."
The rest of the table held its breath, the priest's words hanging in the air. The words which, three days prior, would have meant that he thought Klinger had come down with a bug, or that Klinger was looking a little peaked. Now... now it could mean anything.
Potter finally broke the silence with a sigh. "All right. This meeting is in recess. Let's go see Klinger." He batted his hands on the table and shook his head resignedly.
~