Chapter One: The Welcome Mat
~~
"Ah, the welcoming committee, I see," Charles said, getting out of his jeep and almost stepping onto a patient lying on the ground. His instincts as a doctor took over from the desire to have a shower and sleep, and he immediately began to assess the man's injuries. "Corpsman, one of you help me get this man into Pre-Op, the other please, carefully, take my bags to my tent," he commanded, his personal needs not altogether forgotten.
"Welcome back and scrub up, we've got a long one here," Colonel Potter barked as Charles walked into the scrub room. Without anything further to say the Commanding Officer of the 4077th M*A*S*H walked through into the OR, irritated at an afternoon session of painting being interrupted by incoming wounded, a frustration that would evaporate from his mind as soon as he entered the OR.
"Hi, Charles, how was Tokyo?" Hawkeye asked as he washed and rinsed his hands thoroughly, before the rubber surgical gloves were snapped on. Hawkeye was slightly envious, he would have loved the best part of a week in Tokyo with no one to stitch back together on a daily basis, but still he was compromised by going on a date with the newest nurse in the camp.
"Full of drunks officers, flirtatious nurses, corrupted people of the Eastern Orient, noisy, untidy, exactly the way you left it on your last visit, Pierce, thank you," Charles said, moving to the sink that Hawkeye had just vacated, "How many casualties?"
"Too many," Hawkeye said with some ire, again being reminded of how much he despised war and the suffering that went on in it, just to declare someone the winner and someone the loser - that could easily have been settled over a game of tiddlywinks, "Colonel Potter says we've got about fifteen hours work in there."
"Fifteen - that's absurd! I've just have a ride on some kind of aging aircraft, followed by a ride on the hay cart of some local farmer that wouldn't stop talking to me throughout, in Korean, no less," he complained, his backside still feeling the ache of that journey.
"I should hope you gave him your two cents for that offence," Hawkeye said, his gown now tied to him, "I mean, a Korean speaking Korean in Korea, the shame of it!"
"The point is, Pierce," Charles sneered through gritted teeth, wishing he was back on the hay cart instead of quarrelling with Hawkeye not five minutes after his return to camp, "I haven't had any sleep for God-Knows how long, how am I expected to be able to operate efficiently in this state?"
"Do what you always do, operate with your eyes closed and one hand tied behind your back," Hawkeye said, his eyes grinning at his remark as he disappearing through the doors to the OR.
~~
"All right, next one in," Potter called as the patient with shrapnel in his shoulder was lifted from the table. It had been a long, draining ten hours, and several times tempers had risen to boiling point before he, the commander of the outfit, had to extinguish them. As the next patient was brought into the OR, Colonel Potter turned to study the x-ray.
"What have you got, Colonel?" Hawkeye asked as he delved deep into a belly wound, carefully picking out the seemingly small and insignificant, yet hugely harmful shell fragments.
"Guy took one to the leg," the CO of the outfit reported, still examining the x-ray, "should be fairly straight-forward. How's everybody else?"
"Fine," BJ said shortly, concentrating hard on carefully removing a fragment from one patient's belly.
"Just closing," Charles reported efficiently, neatly stitching the wounds back together.
"I'm glad you asked that, Colonel," Hawkeye began, ignoring Potter's slight groan. "OR is fine, except for the wounded that keep coming through here and interrupting my boredom. My cot is about as thick as a cracker, and slightly less comfortable to lie on. And don't get me started about the food here."
"How's your patient?" Colonel Potter growled, really not in the mood for Hawkeye's ranting that evening.
"His shoulder is going to be just fine," Hawkeye said, picking out the last piece of shrapnel from it.
For the next few minutes the OR was in silence, save the metal clattering of instruments, and fragments hitting the bowls once they were removed. The silence was interrupted by a gurgle coming from the far side of the room.
"Either you missed lunch, Hunnicutt, or your belly's doing the talking for you today," Colonel Potter noted, at the same time expressing a concern that BJ had been too quiet for his liking, not just that day but for about a week now. "Father, could get rustle up a sandwich for him, please?"
"Certainly," Father Mulcahy said brightly, always happy to help, but he was stopped in his tracks.
"No need, Father, I'm fine," BJ said, not looking up from the wound he was working on. He didn't wish to cause any unnecessary fuss, or possible contamination, by eating inside the OR.
"Food in the OR? As an anaesthetic, maybe, but probably not a good idea for the doctors, don't you think?" Hawkeye commented with humour, whilst expertly stitching up the patient's shoulder.
"All right then, Hunnicutt, after you're done with your patient you can go over to the Mess Tent yourself and get some food," Potter said, not really in the mood to argue with anyone at that moment, he was too tired, tired of the war.
"It's no problem, Colonel, I'm fine," BJ repeated, not wanting the food. He just wanted to finish operating and get back to the Swamp where he could sleep.
Colonel Potter was not satisfied, but he let it go, only saying, "it's your call."
Charles inadvertently broke the tension by asking, "Colonel, was there any mail delivered whilst I was away?"
"One mail call," Potter said, finding the first of three pieces of shrapnel in the boy's leg. He threw it deftly into the provided pan before saying, "I suppose you want to know if you got any."
"Well, if it's not too much trouble," Charles said with some sarcasm, hoping that it had been implied in his first question.
"Klinger!" Potter bellowed.
Corporal Max Klinger, dressed in his now customary military uniform, came charging into the room, almost running straight into a table of carefully cleaned and placed surgical instruments.
"Klinger! Watch where you're going," Major Margaret Houlihan scorned, her hands already reacting and placed out to intercept the tray should it have fallen.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Klinger said quickly but with sincerity, before turning to Colonel Potter and asking, "You called, sir?"
"Did Major Winchester receive any mail while he was in Tokyo?" Potter asked, ignoring the chaos Klinger almost just caused and getting straight to the point. His nerves were wearing thin, what with Hawkeye's constant joking, BJ's inexplicably sullen mood and Charles' constant demands, and of course the regular flow of wounded pouring in.
"Yes sir, one letter, I kept it in my office for safekeeping," Klinger explained, addressing both the Colonel and Charles.
"Klinger, I want that letter as soon as I have stepped out of surgery, the second I snap off these blood-covered gloves, do I make myself clear?" Charles said, speaking clearly, calmly and with a certain amount of menace in his voice.
"Crystal, Major," Klinger said, giving a sharp yet mocking salute before turning on his heel and leaving the operating room.
"Ah, the sweet aroma of mail from home," Charles began, about to launch into a poetic speech of some form or other.
BJ could have retched at that moment, had he possessed any less self- control. The mention of mail only brought back the memories of what was written in that letter, the one that haunted his dreams and turned them to nightmares. He prayed for Charles to shut up, to stop talking about mail, but he did not pray hard enough.
Charles continued, "A white envelope, pure and innocent away from everything in this war that is both green and red. The letter folded so neatly at the creases, it rustles almost cleanly when you open it."
"Oh, it's going to be a long evening," Colonel Potter muttered under his breath, loud enough for Charles to hear and take heed, and once again all was quiet in the OR.
~~
"Ah, the welcoming committee, I see," Charles said, getting out of his jeep and almost stepping onto a patient lying on the ground. His instincts as a doctor took over from the desire to have a shower and sleep, and he immediately began to assess the man's injuries. "Corpsman, one of you help me get this man into Pre-Op, the other please, carefully, take my bags to my tent," he commanded, his personal needs not altogether forgotten.
"Welcome back and scrub up, we've got a long one here," Colonel Potter barked as Charles walked into the scrub room. Without anything further to say the Commanding Officer of the 4077th M*A*S*H walked through into the OR, irritated at an afternoon session of painting being interrupted by incoming wounded, a frustration that would evaporate from his mind as soon as he entered the OR.
"Hi, Charles, how was Tokyo?" Hawkeye asked as he washed and rinsed his hands thoroughly, before the rubber surgical gloves were snapped on. Hawkeye was slightly envious, he would have loved the best part of a week in Tokyo with no one to stitch back together on a daily basis, but still he was compromised by going on a date with the newest nurse in the camp.
"Full of drunks officers, flirtatious nurses, corrupted people of the Eastern Orient, noisy, untidy, exactly the way you left it on your last visit, Pierce, thank you," Charles said, moving to the sink that Hawkeye had just vacated, "How many casualties?"
"Too many," Hawkeye said with some ire, again being reminded of how much he despised war and the suffering that went on in it, just to declare someone the winner and someone the loser - that could easily have been settled over a game of tiddlywinks, "Colonel Potter says we've got about fifteen hours work in there."
"Fifteen - that's absurd! I've just have a ride on some kind of aging aircraft, followed by a ride on the hay cart of some local farmer that wouldn't stop talking to me throughout, in Korean, no less," he complained, his backside still feeling the ache of that journey.
"I should hope you gave him your two cents for that offence," Hawkeye said, his gown now tied to him, "I mean, a Korean speaking Korean in Korea, the shame of it!"
"The point is, Pierce," Charles sneered through gritted teeth, wishing he was back on the hay cart instead of quarrelling with Hawkeye not five minutes after his return to camp, "I haven't had any sleep for God-Knows how long, how am I expected to be able to operate efficiently in this state?"
"Do what you always do, operate with your eyes closed and one hand tied behind your back," Hawkeye said, his eyes grinning at his remark as he disappearing through the doors to the OR.
~~
"All right, next one in," Potter called as the patient with shrapnel in his shoulder was lifted from the table. It had been a long, draining ten hours, and several times tempers had risen to boiling point before he, the commander of the outfit, had to extinguish them. As the next patient was brought into the OR, Colonel Potter turned to study the x-ray.
"What have you got, Colonel?" Hawkeye asked as he delved deep into a belly wound, carefully picking out the seemingly small and insignificant, yet hugely harmful shell fragments.
"Guy took one to the leg," the CO of the outfit reported, still examining the x-ray, "should be fairly straight-forward. How's everybody else?"
"Fine," BJ said shortly, concentrating hard on carefully removing a fragment from one patient's belly.
"Just closing," Charles reported efficiently, neatly stitching the wounds back together.
"I'm glad you asked that, Colonel," Hawkeye began, ignoring Potter's slight groan. "OR is fine, except for the wounded that keep coming through here and interrupting my boredom. My cot is about as thick as a cracker, and slightly less comfortable to lie on. And don't get me started about the food here."
"How's your patient?" Colonel Potter growled, really not in the mood for Hawkeye's ranting that evening.
"His shoulder is going to be just fine," Hawkeye said, picking out the last piece of shrapnel from it.
For the next few minutes the OR was in silence, save the metal clattering of instruments, and fragments hitting the bowls once they were removed. The silence was interrupted by a gurgle coming from the far side of the room.
"Either you missed lunch, Hunnicutt, or your belly's doing the talking for you today," Colonel Potter noted, at the same time expressing a concern that BJ had been too quiet for his liking, not just that day but for about a week now. "Father, could get rustle up a sandwich for him, please?"
"Certainly," Father Mulcahy said brightly, always happy to help, but he was stopped in his tracks.
"No need, Father, I'm fine," BJ said, not looking up from the wound he was working on. He didn't wish to cause any unnecessary fuss, or possible contamination, by eating inside the OR.
"Food in the OR? As an anaesthetic, maybe, but probably not a good idea for the doctors, don't you think?" Hawkeye commented with humour, whilst expertly stitching up the patient's shoulder.
"All right then, Hunnicutt, after you're done with your patient you can go over to the Mess Tent yourself and get some food," Potter said, not really in the mood to argue with anyone at that moment, he was too tired, tired of the war.
"It's no problem, Colonel, I'm fine," BJ repeated, not wanting the food. He just wanted to finish operating and get back to the Swamp where he could sleep.
Colonel Potter was not satisfied, but he let it go, only saying, "it's your call."
Charles inadvertently broke the tension by asking, "Colonel, was there any mail delivered whilst I was away?"
"One mail call," Potter said, finding the first of three pieces of shrapnel in the boy's leg. He threw it deftly into the provided pan before saying, "I suppose you want to know if you got any."
"Well, if it's not too much trouble," Charles said with some sarcasm, hoping that it had been implied in his first question.
"Klinger!" Potter bellowed.
Corporal Max Klinger, dressed in his now customary military uniform, came charging into the room, almost running straight into a table of carefully cleaned and placed surgical instruments.
"Klinger! Watch where you're going," Major Margaret Houlihan scorned, her hands already reacting and placed out to intercept the tray should it have fallen.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Klinger said quickly but with sincerity, before turning to Colonel Potter and asking, "You called, sir?"
"Did Major Winchester receive any mail while he was in Tokyo?" Potter asked, ignoring the chaos Klinger almost just caused and getting straight to the point. His nerves were wearing thin, what with Hawkeye's constant joking, BJ's inexplicably sullen mood and Charles' constant demands, and of course the regular flow of wounded pouring in.
"Yes sir, one letter, I kept it in my office for safekeeping," Klinger explained, addressing both the Colonel and Charles.
"Klinger, I want that letter as soon as I have stepped out of surgery, the second I snap off these blood-covered gloves, do I make myself clear?" Charles said, speaking clearly, calmly and with a certain amount of menace in his voice.
"Crystal, Major," Klinger said, giving a sharp yet mocking salute before turning on his heel and leaving the operating room.
"Ah, the sweet aroma of mail from home," Charles began, about to launch into a poetic speech of some form or other.
BJ could have retched at that moment, had he possessed any less self- control. The mention of mail only brought back the memories of what was written in that letter, the one that haunted his dreams and turned them to nightmares. He prayed for Charles to shut up, to stop talking about mail, but he did not pray hard enough.
Charles continued, "A white envelope, pure and innocent away from everything in this war that is both green and red. The letter folded so neatly at the creases, it rustles almost cleanly when you open it."
"Oh, it's going to be a long evening," Colonel Potter muttered under his breath, loud enough for Charles to hear and take heed, and once again all was quiet in the OR.