Chapter Three: The First Order Of The Day
~~
Hawkeye walked into the Mess Tent the next morning with a thick carpet-like sensation in his mouth, and he had a feeling that the mud-pie coffee that they served would do little to help it. He took it anyway, feeling that he would need something to wash down the powdered eggs and sausages that had been unceremoniously slopped onto his tray.
He sat down at a table with Colonel Potter, Margaret and Father Mulcahy, who were making morning chitchat between themselves.
"Morning, Hawkeye, did you sleep well?" Father Mulcahy enquired genially before shoving a fork full of the breakfast down his throat and forcing himself to swallow it, whilst trying hard to be thankful for whatever it was.
"Eventually, thank you Father," Hawkeye said, sniffing his food before replacing it on the tray. "How's life in Post-Op, Colonel?"
"Everything's settled down, Hunnicutt's in there now, I think," Colonel Potter said.
Hawkeye nodded, remembering that he had woken up to find BJ's cot empty, and a lump under Charles' blanket snoring away. He had thrown a pillow at Charles to wake him up and had accused him of sounding like someone sawing a tree, whereupon he was haughtily informed, "Winchesters do not snore."
"How's Private Martin?" Margaret enquired, remembering one of the first and most injured patients to be carried through the OR doors during that last session. Private Jack Martin had come in with a chest like "a box of nuts and bolts" as Hawkeye had put it whilst removing the pieces of metal. He had been no trouble in OR, but the staff at the hospital were to keep a watchful eye on him, as cases such as this had often taken a turn for the worse following surgery.
"He's stable, he hasn't regained consciousness yet," Colonel Potter reported, chewing on a particularly tough piece of powdered eggs. "Oh, Father, before I forget, what time do you leave today?"
"Two-o'clock today," Father Mulcahy told him. For the benefit of the other two, so that they could be part of the conversation, he added, "I'm going to stay at the orphanage for a few days, to help plant their garden."
"That's nice," Hawkeye said sincerely, so glad to see that at least someone was getting something good out of something so bad. If he wasn't so busy trying to live through the war and stay sane, he might have tried it too.
"Every little helps," Father Mulcahy said with modesty, not one to make out that he was doing any more than the rest. Far from it, in fact; he felt that he could not do enough to help lost souls through the war, and was always striving to find new ways of providing comfort and morale for those around him, asking for little or nothing in return.
At that moment, the Mess Tent doors were flung open and Klinger, the 4077th Company Clerk skidded to a halt at the end of Colonel Potter's table. "Your Colonel-ness, we've got a problem," he said, trying to catch his breath from the sprint across camp.
"What kind of problem?" Colonel Potter growled, thinking that it was far too early in the day for trouble to arise.
"The stove is on the fritz," Klinger said bluntly, knowing that it was usually best to get straight to the point rather than beat about the bush when explaining to Colonel Potter the many dilemmas that seemed to arise. Those in the tent who had stopped their conversations to listen simultaneously groaned and griping began.
"Klinger, wake up Sergeant Zale and get him to fix it, pronto," Colonel Potter ordered, and waited for a moment for the Clerk to scarper away before addressing those in the tent. "Folks, we've got a slight problem with the stove right now, but rest assured, you will have your meals, you won't go hungry."
"I don't know whether to cheer or groan," Hawkeye muttered, looking at the yellow, lumpy substance that sat lifelessly on his fork, parts of it dripping back into the tray in a bid for freedom.
Suddenly, Hawkeye heard a shout from outside and turned to see Major Winchester marching across the compound, in hot pursuit of Klinger. "Someone woke up cranky from their nap," he commented, before turning back to his food.
Klinger had heard the shout, but he pretended to ignore it as he quickened his pace towards Zale's quarters. Charles tried again, bellowing, "Klinger, you cloth-eared being, stop this instant!"
Klinger decided that it was best to listen, since he seemed to irritate Charles more so with every step, so he halted and turned on his heel. "You hollered, Major?"
"Ah, you eventually heard me," Charles said with sarcasm. "Yes, I did holler, because I wish to know what happened to the mail I ordered yesterday."
"Well sir, I spent two hours after surgery working typing up patient files, cleaning the OR and working in Post-Op, and by the time I went to deliver the letter, you were in bed, so I thought I wouldn't wake you for it."
"Firstly, you should have awoken me, and failing that, you could have left it on my shelf," Charles suggested like it was the most obvious thing in the world to do.
"I thought about that, sir, I really did, but I thought that should some thief come in and take it, then you might rip my head off or something." Klinger looked up at Charles with some fear in his eyes for added effect.
"Well, bring it to me this instant," Charles demanded, determined to get his own way eventually, even if it took forever to get through the seemingly thick skull of Corporal Klinger.
"I can't do that right now, sir," Klinger said in an apologetic tone.
"Why not?" Charles challenged, becoming increasingly infuriated with the constant interventions that prevented him from reading his mail.
"I have to get Zale, the stove needs fixing," Klinger told him plainly, becoming annoyed at the interruptions. He would get Charles' letter, it was on his to-do list, but right then he had to get Zale, why couldn't Charles understand that? Why did he have to think that he was more important than everyone else?
"Can't that wait?" Charles pleaded, at his wits end.
"Not unless you want your lunch at tomorrow's breakfast time," Klinger told him dryly.
Charles sighed and seeing no alternative said, "Fine, go and wake Zale, and I will find the letter myself."
Klinger did not understand why Charles could not have done this in the first place, but he let it pass. "Gee, just because they're an officer doesn't mean they can't do stuff themselves," he muttered to himself as he continued in his tracks to find Zale.
~~~~
AN: Thank you for all the reviews I have received, I really do appreciate knowing what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong. Also, I don't know how many people made the connection, but you may remember me better as Becca T, for numerous reasons a change of name was in order. Hope you like this story, cos there's much more to come!
~~
Hawkeye walked into the Mess Tent the next morning with a thick carpet-like sensation in his mouth, and he had a feeling that the mud-pie coffee that they served would do little to help it. He took it anyway, feeling that he would need something to wash down the powdered eggs and sausages that had been unceremoniously slopped onto his tray.
He sat down at a table with Colonel Potter, Margaret and Father Mulcahy, who were making morning chitchat between themselves.
"Morning, Hawkeye, did you sleep well?" Father Mulcahy enquired genially before shoving a fork full of the breakfast down his throat and forcing himself to swallow it, whilst trying hard to be thankful for whatever it was.
"Eventually, thank you Father," Hawkeye said, sniffing his food before replacing it on the tray. "How's life in Post-Op, Colonel?"
"Everything's settled down, Hunnicutt's in there now, I think," Colonel Potter said.
Hawkeye nodded, remembering that he had woken up to find BJ's cot empty, and a lump under Charles' blanket snoring away. He had thrown a pillow at Charles to wake him up and had accused him of sounding like someone sawing a tree, whereupon he was haughtily informed, "Winchesters do not snore."
"How's Private Martin?" Margaret enquired, remembering one of the first and most injured patients to be carried through the OR doors during that last session. Private Jack Martin had come in with a chest like "a box of nuts and bolts" as Hawkeye had put it whilst removing the pieces of metal. He had been no trouble in OR, but the staff at the hospital were to keep a watchful eye on him, as cases such as this had often taken a turn for the worse following surgery.
"He's stable, he hasn't regained consciousness yet," Colonel Potter reported, chewing on a particularly tough piece of powdered eggs. "Oh, Father, before I forget, what time do you leave today?"
"Two-o'clock today," Father Mulcahy told him. For the benefit of the other two, so that they could be part of the conversation, he added, "I'm going to stay at the orphanage for a few days, to help plant their garden."
"That's nice," Hawkeye said sincerely, so glad to see that at least someone was getting something good out of something so bad. If he wasn't so busy trying to live through the war and stay sane, he might have tried it too.
"Every little helps," Father Mulcahy said with modesty, not one to make out that he was doing any more than the rest. Far from it, in fact; he felt that he could not do enough to help lost souls through the war, and was always striving to find new ways of providing comfort and morale for those around him, asking for little or nothing in return.
At that moment, the Mess Tent doors were flung open and Klinger, the 4077th Company Clerk skidded to a halt at the end of Colonel Potter's table. "Your Colonel-ness, we've got a problem," he said, trying to catch his breath from the sprint across camp.
"What kind of problem?" Colonel Potter growled, thinking that it was far too early in the day for trouble to arise.
"The stove is on the fritz," Klinger said bluntly, knowing that it was usually best to get straight to the point rather than beat about the bush when explaining to Colonel Potter the many dilemmas that seemed to arise. Those in the tent who had stopped their conversations to listen simultaneously groaned and griping began.
"Klinger, wake up Sergeant Zale and get him to fix it, pronto," Colonel Potter ordered, and waited for a moment for the Clerk to scarper away before addressing those in the tent. "Folks, we've got a slight problem with the stove right now, but rest assured, you will have your meals, you won't go hungry."
"I don't know whether to cheer or groan," Hawkeye muttered, looking at the yellow, lumpy substance that sat lifelessly on his fork, parts of it dripping back into the tray in a bid for freedom.
Suddenly, Hawkeye heard a shout from outside and turned to see Major Winchester marching across the compound, in hot pursuit of Klinger. "Someone woke up cranky from their nap," he commented, before turning back to his food.
Klinger had heard the shout, but he pretended to ignore it as he quickened his pace towards Zale's quarters. Charles tried again, bellowing, "Klinger, you cloth-eared being, stop this instant!"
Klinger decided that it was best to listen, since he seemed to irritate Charles more so with every step, so he halted and turned on his heel. "You hollered, Major?"
"Ah, you eventually heard me," Charles said with sarcasm. "Yes, I did holler, because I wish to know what happened to the mail I ordered yesterday."
"Well sir, I spent two hours after surgery working typing up patient files, cleaning the OR and working in Post-Op, and by the time I went to deliver the letter, you were in bed, so I thought I wouldn't wake you for it."
"Firstly, you should have awoken me, and failing that, you could have left it on my shelf," Charles suggested like it was the most obvious thing in the world to do.
"I thought about that, sir, I really did, but I thought that should some thief come in and take it, then you might rip my head off or something." Klinger looked up at Charles with some fear in his eyes for added effect.
"Well, bring it to me this instant," Charles demanded, determined to get his own way eventually, even if it took forever to get through the seemingly thick skull of Corporal Klinger.
"I can't do that right now, sir," Klinger said in an apologetic tone.
"Why not?" Charles challenged, becoming increasingly infuriated with the constant interventions that prevented him from reading his mail.
"I have to get Zale, the stove needs fixing," Klinger told him plainly, becoming annoyed at the interruptions. He would get Charles' letter, it was on his to-do list, but right then he had to get Zale, why couldn't Charles understand that? Why did he have to think that he was more important than everyone else?
"Can't that wait?" Charles pleaded, at his wits end.
"Not unless you want your lunch at tomorrow's breakfast time," Klinger told him dryly.
Charles sighed and seeing no alternative said, "Fine, go and wake Zale, and I will find the letter myself."
Klinger did not understand why Charles could not have done this in the first place, but he let it pass. "Gee, just because they're an officer doesn't mean they can't do stuff themselves," he muttered to himself as he continued in his tracks to find Zale.
~~~~
AN: Thank you for all the reviews I have received, I really do appreciate knowing what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong. Also, I don't know how many people made the connection, but you may remember me better as Becca T, for numerous reasons a change of name was in order. Hope you like this story, cos there's much more to come!