Lieutenant Reynolds waited impatiently in the doorframe of Henry's hospital
room. She had delivered his lunch exactly forty-eight minutes ago, as she
checked the clock in his room. Henry was slowly mixing his creamed corn
and mashed potatoes together, as he didn't feel like eating. What he
really wanted was a drink.
The Lieutenant was under strict orders to make sure that Henry ate all of his lunch. When she had told him this twenty minutes ago, the only response was a sarcastic "Yes, Mother."
"Excuse me, ma'am. Is this Colonel Blake's room?" The Lieutenant turned around, startled. An older man wearing a general's uniform was standing there, patiently waiting for an answer. His nametag (I don't know what those things are called) said his name was Hammond. "Oh, General! Yes, this is his room," she said, quickly saluting. Hammond nodded pleasantly and walked in.
Henry was now trying to hide the corn/potato mess in his napkin, because he thought that this slop made even the Mess Tent food look good by comparison. He was so absorbed in this he didn't notice Hammond at the foot of his bed until the general cleared his throat. "Oh, General Hammond! Uh, good to see ya, sir!" Hammond smiled and saluted smartly. "I would salute back, only every time I try, it feels like I'm having a heart attack," Henry said, with a sheepish grin. Hammond chuckled and sat down on the bed. "Heard what happened. I'm on the way to your unit right now, and I just thought I'd stop by and see how you're holding up."
Henry shrugged, wincing as a dagger of pain went through his chest. "Fair. Say, General? You wouldn't have any bracer, would ya, sir?" The general shook his head. "Even if I did, I understand you're not to have any." Henry sighed. "Damn it, that's all I want! That, and to get outta this hospital."
Hammond took off his hat. "This has probably got to be the worst thing that's ever happened to you, Colonel." Henry suddenly grinned. "No," he said sarcastically, "it's not. It can't be. Let's see, what's happened to me that's always resulted in my near death? The latrine blew up around me a couple times. Badly broken bone in both cases. A driverless jeep nearly ran me over, scaring the whatsis outta me. A pilot tried to push me out of a moving chopper. Now, every damn time I hear a jeep backfire, I jump high into the air. But, this? You're asking me to compare every death attempt to this? No, General, this is nothing." He never lost the sarcastic tone of voice.
"I'm sorry, but I've never had the latrine blow up on me." Henry was still grinning. "Of course not, the North Koreans have it out for me. They like you." Hammond noticed that Henry's eyes were a little glazed. "Colonel, are you all right?"
"General, could I see you for a moment?" A young voice startled Hammond. Captain Douglas stood at the door, motioning to the general. Hammond, with one last look into Henry's glazed eyes, left. "Uh, please sir, don't tell the Colonel this, but we had a complication during surgery." "What kind of complication?" Douglas took a deep breath. "Apparently, while we were attempting to remove the bullet that struck his heart, we left some fragments in there. Also, the heart and surrounding areas became contaminated and infection set in. The Colonel believes he'll be back at his unit in a week. I just don't have the heart to tell him that it's quite possible that he'll be dead before the week's over."
Hammond felt as if his own heart stopped. He couldn't believe it . . .his friend, dying? "Sir, I think you should go to his unit, the 4077th I believe, and introduce them to who may become their permanent CO." Douglas' voice shattered Hammond's thoughts. "Yes . . .that sounds like a good idea."
Later . . .
"Attention, all personnel! General Hammond is now entering the compound."
As usual, the personnel of M*A*S*H 4077 entered formation rather sloppily. This time, Hawkeye and Trapper, in their bathrobes of course, decided to grace this one with their presence. The jeep containing Hammond and the new CO pulled up in front of the flag, and Hammond energetically hopped out. He saluted Frank Burns, who, having always clammed up around generals, laughed nervously. "I am here to introduce you to your perma . . .ah, I mean temporary CO, a very good friend of mine." Hammond gestured to the other man in the jeep, who got out without a word and marched over to Hammond's side. The color of the man's hair couldn't be seen, because of the large brim on his hat, but his eyes were a cold, ice cold, blue. They glared at the assembled personnel. His gaze suddenly fell on a strange- looking woman dressed in the red suit of a business girl. The man marched over and looked over the person he thought was a she. "What is your name and rank, miss?" he snapped.
"Corporal Max Klinger, sir," came the unexpected response. The woman was a man! He was momentarily taken aback, and then shouted, "Well, soldier, next time I see you, you better be dressed like a soldier!" Klinger shrunk back, intimidated by this rather large man. Hammond clapped his hands together. "Everybody, this is Colonel Herring."
Hawkeye snickered at the name. "What kind of name is THAT?" he whispered loudly to Trapper. "I bet ya ten bucks that his first name is Guppy."
Herring strode over to Hawk and Trap. "Would you care to repeat that, smartass?" He took off his hat, revealing a shock of dark brown hair. Hawkeye, as smart-alecky as ever, replied, "Sure would. I made fun of your name and bet ten bucks that your first name's Guppy." He smiled.
"Wrong answer, buster! Name and rank!" "My name's Trapper John O'Reilly, and pardon my rank. I haven't showered since my last nurse."
Herring's eyes grew even colder. "I'm putting you on report, Captain Benjamin Pierce!" Hawkeye grabbed his dog tags. "Damn, a dead giveaway, and here I was, thinking you were stupid."
That evening in the Swamp . . .
"I have a good feeling that Colonel Herring is going to get THIS M*A*S*H unit on track at last!" Frank said, leafing through a medical journal. Hawkeye gulped his martini, belched, and said, "You two oughta find some common ground, Frank."
Frank looked up from his journal. "You think so?" he asked.
Hawk nodded. "Sure. Your finkness, perhaps. Or, maybe the fact that in personality you both act like Hitler. The only difference is that Herring looks a lot like him too."
Trapper held up his martini glass. "I predict horrible things to come. Herring's like Ferret Face, only ten times worse and with some actual good looks."
Frank threw down his medical journal and headed out the door, probably to Margaret's tent.
"Oh, nertz!"
The Lieutenant was under strict orders to make sure that Henry ate all of his lunch. When she had told him this twenty minutes ago, the only response was a sarcastic "Yes, Mother."
"Excuse me, ma'am. Is this Colonel Blake's room?" The Lieutenant turned around, startled. An older man wearing a general's uniform was standing there, patiently waiting for an answer. His nametag (I don't know what those things are called) said his name was Hammond. "Oh, General! Yes, this is his room," she said, quickly saluting. Hammond nodded pleasantly and walked in.
Henry was now trying to hide the corn/potato mess in his napkin, because he thought that this slop made even the Mess Tent food look good by comparison. He was so absorbed in this he didn't notice Hammond at the foot of his bed until the general cleared his throat. "Oh, General Hammond! Uh, good to see ya, sir!" Hammond smiled and saluted smartly. "I would salute back, only every time I try, it feels like I'm having a heart attack," Henry said, with a sheepish grin. Hammond chuckled and sat down on the bed. "Heard what happened. I'm on the way to your unit right now, and I just thought I'd stop by and see how you're holding up."
Henry shrugged, wincing as a dagger of pain went through his chest. "Fair. Say, General? You wouldn't have any bracer, would ya, sir?" The general shook his head. "Even if I did, I understand you're not to have any." Henry sighed. "Damn it, that's all I want! That, and to get outta this hospital."
Hammond took off his hat. "This has probably got to be the worst thing that's ever happened to you, Colonel." Henry suddenly grinned. "No," he said sarcastically, "it's not. It can't be. Let's see, what's happened to me that's always resulted in my near death? The latrine blew up around me a couple times. Badly broken bone in both cases. A driverless jeep nearly ran me over, scaring the whatsis outta me. A pilot tried to push me out of a moving chopper. Now, every damn time I hear a jeep backfire, I jump high into the air. But, this? You're asking me to compare every death attempt to this? No, General, this is nothing." He never lost the sarcastic tone of voice.
"I'm sorry, but I've never had the latrine blow up on me." Henry was still grinning. "Of course not, the North Koreans have it out for me. They like you." Hammond noticed that Henry's eyes were a little glazed. "Colonel, are you all right?"
"General, could I see you for a moment?" A young voice startled Hammond. Captain Douglas stood at the door, motioning to the general. Hammond, with one last look into Henry's glazed eyes, left. "Uh, please sir, don't tell the Colonel this, but we had a complication during surgery." "What kind of complication?" Douglas took a deep breath. "Apparently, while we were attempting to remove the bullet that struck his heart, we left some fragments in there. Also, the heart and surrounding areas became contaminated and infection set in. The Colonel believes he'll be back at his unit in a week. I just don't have the heart to tell him that it's quite possible that he'll be dead before the week's over."
Hammond felt as if his own heart stopped. He couldn't believe it . . .his friend, dying? "Sir, I think you should go to his unit, the 4077th I believe, and introduce them to who may become their permanent CO." Douglas' voice shattered Hammond's thoughts. "Yes . . .that sounds like a good idea."
Later . . .
"Attention, all personnel! General Hammond is now entering the compound."
As usual, the personnel of M*A*S*H 4077 entered formation rather sloppily. This time, Hawkeye and Trapper, in their bathrobes of course, decided to grace this one with their presence. The jeep containing Hammond and the new CO pulled up in front of the flag, and Hammond energetically hopped out. He saluted Frank Burns, who, having always clammed up around generals, laughed nervously. "I am here to introduce you to your perma . . .ah, I mean temporary CO, a very good friend of mine." Hammond gestured to the other man in the jeep, who got out without a word and marched over to Hammond's side. The color of the man's hair couldn't be seen, because of the large brim on his hat, but his eyes were a cold, ice cold, blue. They glared at the assembled personnel. His gaze suddenly fell on a strange- looking woman dressed in the red suit of a business girl. The man marched over and looked over the person he thought was a she. "What is your name and rank, miss?" he snapped.
"Corporal Max Klinger, sir," came the unexpected response. The woman was a man! He was momentarily taken aback, and then shouted, "Well, soldier, next time I see you, you better be dressed like a soldier!" Klinger shrunk back, intimidated by this rather large man. Hammond clapped his hands together. "Everybody, this is Colonel Herring."
Hawkeye snickered at the name. "What kind of name is THAT?" he whispered loudly to Trapper. "I bet ya ten bucks that his first name is Guppy."
Herring strode over to Hawk and Trap. "Would you care to repeat that, smartass?" He took off his hat, revealing a shock of dark brown hair. Hawkeye, as smart-alecky as ever, replied, "Sure would. I made fun of your name and bet ten bucks that your first name's Guppy." He smiled.
"Wrong answer, buster! Name and rank!" "My name's Trapper John O'Reilly, and pardon my rank. I haven't showered since my last nurse."
Herring's eyes grew even colder. "I'm putting you on report, Captain Benjamin Pierce!" Hawkeye grabbed his dog tags. "Damn, a dead giveaway, and here I was, thinking you were stupid."
That evening in the Swamp . . .
"I have a good feeling that Colonel Herring is going to get THIS M*A*S*H unit on track at last!" Frank said, leafing through a medical journal. Hawkeye gulped his martini, belched, and said, "You two oughta find some common ground, Frank."
Frank looked up from his journal. "You think so?" he asked.
Hawk nodded. "Sure. Your finkness, perhaps. Or, maybe the fact that in personality you both act like Hitler. The only difference is that Herring looks a lot like him too."
Trapper held up his martini glass. "I predict horrible things to come. Herring's like Ferret Face, only ten times worse and with some actual good looks."
Frank threw down his medical journal and headed out the door, probably to Margaret's tent.
"Oh, nertz!"