An Interesting Predicament
Real crappy I know, but hey! Ongoing fun-ness n.n
Hawkeye groaned and rolled over, staring at the green walls blankly before shaking his head and yawning. Sitting up and blinking sleepily, he ran both his hands through his hair and looked around. Then it struck him.
"Hey Beej!" he whispered loudly, throwing a pillow over at his sleeping bunkie as he jumped up, accidentally tipping over the glass on the floor.
"Wtsrflgrt" mumbled BJ Hunnicutt, flailing an arm out and grabbing for his watch. He looked disbelievingly at his clock, then at his friend, who was stooping to place the glass back by the still and then struggling as quietly as possible into some clothes.
"Hawkeye! What is the big idea?" he protested loudly, holding out his watch, just visible in the dawn light. Hawkeye cringed and made 'shut up' motions with his hands.
"You said wake you early, Rip van Winkle! Remember?"
BJ stared at the watch again. "Why would I – oh!"
"Sssh!" hissed Hawkeye again. Charles turned over in his bunk restlessly and the two captains glanced in his direction. BJ nodded and started getting dressed. "I'll meet you outside the mess tent," Hawkeye said quietly before slipping outside. BJ grinned mischievously and picked up his shirt. He paused a moment and stared at the green material, before sighing and getting on with it. It was always green.
Hawkeye padded over to the mess tent, bootlaces trailing in the dusty earth. He squinted at the rising sun over the Korean hills, mentally going through his plans. There was no way they were going to mess up today. A stunt like this was old as those hills, but pure genius! Giggling gleefully to himself, he turned round and opened the door of the mess tent. Running into the major coming the other way.
Margaret gasped involuntarily as she walked straight into Pierce on the other side of the door. What was he doing here right now? Was her thought, which was abruptly cut off as she grabbed at his wrists to steady herself. Hawkeye stepped backwards, and stood on his lace. The two of them fell backwards into the compound, limbs flailing. Margaret sat up and was about to launch into a blistering vituperation when the captain's strong hand went over her mouth.
"Ssh! Why, we should do this more often, Margaret!" He whispered, obviously enjoying her discomfort as she rolled to the side, shaking off his restraining hand.
"Hawkeye, if you think that is even remotely funny –" she started hotly, scrambling to her feet and glaring at him. Hawkeye sat up and lowered his hands urgently for her to be quiet.
"Please, Major! A little quiet?"
She shut her mouth and looked at him narrowly. "Why?"
BJ came strolling quietly over, looking in surprise at the head nurse.
"Hawk, you sly devil! And here I was thinking you'd gone off to start setting up!" he whispered merrily to his buddy, who was still sitting on the floor. Hawkeye winked impishly. "I rather enjoyed rolling on the floor with Margaret, thank you," he whispered back irrepressibly. The Major decided enough was enough.
"What on earth do you two think you're doing up so early anyway?" she said sternly, glaring at Hawkeye. The captain opened his mouth, but BJ could see he was just going to say something doubtless witty and doubtless annoying to the head nurse. He cut in hurriedly.
"Margaret, maybe you'd like to help us," he said ingratiatingly. Hawkeye shut his mouth and looked up at his friend with question in his blue eyes.
"Help you do what?" said Margaret, her interest piqued and her anger at the two rogues fading fast.
Hawkeye scrambled to his feet and looked around the empty camp. He beckoned the other two inside the mess tent, a smile escaping him as he thought of their master plan. BJ courteously held open the door for Margaret, stepping inside after her and standing with his back against it.
Hawkeye wandered over to the main pole of the structure and looked back at the Major, smiling widely. "What Beej means is, dear Major, that you have caught us about our terrible business. For today – well, do you swear to secrecy?"
"Uh, okay..." replied Margaret, her head tilted to the side.
"Great!" said Hawkeye, striding over to her and BJ, and began telling her quietly. Margaret clapped her hand over her mouth. "You can't do that! It's too predictable!" she said, her eyes widening and a smile threatening to break through her Major's façade.
"Just watch us, dear lady!" said Hawkeye, bowing with a flourish. "Messrs Pierce and Hunnicutt will stop at nothing!"
"I can tell…" said Margaret, her eyes crinkled trying not to smile.
"So, are you in?" inquired BJ eagerly. "We could use another pair of hands…"
Margaret threw her hands up in the air. "Well, if you insist. But if this crazy stunt goes wrong, I'm no way involved!"
"Of course not, Major Houlihan," said Hawkeye, his blue eyes wide and innocent.
BJ rubbed his hands together. "Great, here's what you can do, Margaret…"
BJ stole back into the Swamp. There had been no wounded for nearly a week; Post-Op was empty, and this was the first day Colonel Potter had decreed no morning wake up call. Part of him kind of missed being able to sleep in, but there was no way they could miss an opportunity like this. After what Charles had done to them four days ago, they'd been letting him lord it over them, thinking that he had well and truly got them. The captain bit his finger to stifle his giggle as he carefully lifted the bucket of water to balance precariously over Charles's light, then took the piece of string tied to the handle and knotted it gently around the major's arm. Placing the garment from under his arm in place of Charles' trousers, he took the major's real pants and hid them under his own bunk. He was just about to leave when a thought struck him, and he crept back again to pick up an object. Tiptoeing out again, he picked up the other bucket and balanced it above the door that was just ajar. BJ stepped back admiringly. "The oldest trick in the book," he chuckled to himself. Margaret came hurrying over, a piece of paper retrieved from Klinger's office fluttering in her hand. It read THE WHITE KNIGHT. Hawkeye also came strolling over, hands jammed in his pockets, grinning widely. "All set, guys?" he asked, looking up at the bucket.
"A-OK Hawk," whispered BJ. "Everyone in the mess tent?"
"Yup," he replied to his friend, who handed him the object and set off back to everyone else. Margaret smiled impishly and finished tying the string on the sign in her hand, then looked expectantly at Hawkeye. "Well?" she said pointedly.
"All in good time!" retorted the captain, checking that BJ was over at the mess tent. As he looked his best friend waved a hand in the air - a hand holding Klinger's camera – and ducked inside the mess tent. Hawkeye took a deep breath and walked over to the netting wall beside the gently snoring Charles.
"Oh Charles…." He said loudly. Charles snorted and opened his eyes to Hawkeye's grinning face. The captain held up one of Charles's prized records. "Me and BJ are off to play frisbee. You wanna come?"
Charles stuttered and glared in disbelief. He suddenly sat bolt upright, his face red with anger – and jerked the bucket of water over his head. Hawkeye's riotous laughter echoed in the major's ears as he dashed off holding the record.
"PIERCE!" roared Charles, tearing the string off his arm and grabbing for his trousers. Shaking his sopping wet head, he tried to put them on – and found the ends sewn up. The enraged major stumbled out through the door after his nemesis, spluttering in anger. As he pushed the door open, it suddenly occurred to him that this might not be such a good idea. He looked up – and the bucket of flour hit him full in the face, covering his hair and eyes and sopping wet body, sticking there. He stood there a moment, speechless with fury. Margaret, who had been hiding round the corner trying not to laugh, raced round. "Major Winchester!" she gasped, doing a credible imitation of surprise to the man blinded by flour.
"Margaret! Where did Pierce go!" he shouted, trying to clear his eyes. Margaret reached up and swiftly hooked the sign over his neck without him noticing.
"Why, I think I saw him off at the mess tent," she said innocently. Charles stumbled off in the general direction, finally managing to clear his eyes and wrenching the door open.
"Smile!" said BJ brightly.
Charles stomped back to the Swamp, the laughter of the whole camp echoing in his ears. Back at the mess tent Margaret wiped her eyes and tried to stop laughing. Hawkeye and BJ had collapsed in paroxysms and Klinger carried his camera off with all the reverence of a holy object. "Copy those negatives!" Hawkeye managed to yell, still giggling helplessly. "Never fear, sir! I will treat them like gold dust!" called back Klinger.
Back in the Swamp Charles sat muttering to himself before grabbing a towel and walking off to the shower. He'd show them, this little prank was nothing….
The calm of the week ended pretty quickly after that with the arrival of the next batch of kids from the front. Coming out of the OR one evening, BJ and Hawkeye were surprised to see three tall wooden cupboards by Colonel Potter's office. Pulling off his hat, Hawkeye approached them with a kind of weary amusement.
"Hey look Beej, guess the army decided we needed a new wardrobe."
"I was getting sick of olive drab anyway," quipped BJ, a tired note in his voice. Hawkeye peered inside one.
"It's empty anyway. Hoi, Klinger!" The Lebanese corporal looked round as he hurried past.
"Yes, sir?"
"What the hell are these for?"
Klinger looked disgusted. "Don't ask, sir. Lets just say a certain supply sergeant owed me an awful lot of poker winnings, and he promised me a case of Scotch. Instead I end up with three cupboards! What am I supposed to do with them?" The wiry man threw his hands up in the air and stalked off. Hawkeye shrugged.
"The place needs a little decor anyway. I'm bushed. Care for a drink of the water of life, Beej?"
"Antifreeze of life, you mean."
"That's the stuff."
The two captains staggered back to the Swamp, yawning hugely. Now was really a day when they needed a sleep in.
Charles's eyes gleamed faintly in the dark as he observed Klinger's new acquisitions. A plan came to mind….
The next morning Charles handed over his duty in Post-Op, being snippy to BJ when he was a few minutes late. Wandering over to Klinger's office he waited courteously until the corporal had finished talking on the phone.
"Ah, Klinger, I was wondering, what are you going to do with your new – ah – winnings?" he said urbanely, jerking his head towards the cupboards outside.
"Damned if I know. Can't even get them through the door. Though one might be useful in that corner. If you moved that cabinet."
"Perhaps I could, give you a hand, maybe?" pressed Charles. Klinger looked surprised.
"Well sure, Major. A hand would sure be nice."
The pair of them transferred the largest cupboard into the corner by turning it on its side. Klinger stood back and dusted his hands. "Perfect! How can I ever thank you, Major?" he inquired eagerly. Charles looked a little pained. "No thanks necessary, Klinger… though keeping your hands off my personal belongings to trade with might be nice…"
With that he walked out. Klinger scratched his head a little confused, but shrugged and went back to his seat.
About an hour later Colonel Potter passed through the office on his way to do duty. He stared disbelievingly at the huge cupboard in the corner.
"What in the name of sweet red apples is that doing there? Klinger, I thought I told you not to do anything extreme with this room!" he rounded on the corporal.
"But sir…" protested Klinger innocently.
"No buts sonny! I want that out of here! Double quick! Now get on that horn and find some transportation!" the CO slammed the door into Post-Op behind him. Klinger threw him a black look.
"Sheesh, what's up with him today?" he mumbled, reluctantly picking up the phone once more.
The next evening a truck rattled up. Klinger started talking hurriedly with the man who was driving it, and between them they loaded the truck with the three cupboards. The corporal smiled and pushed back his hat, looking mournfully at the items. "Just wish I could have got that scotch," he said to himself. Suddenly an ear-splitting bang echoed across the compound. A babble of voices broke out, and people rushed to their doors to look around. Klinger raised his voice.
"It's all right everyone, it's just the truck tyre!" he called. "Oh camel dung," he muttered to himself. "Hey, Jack, we can put you up tonight 'til we find a new tyre. Shouldn't take too long."
"But my stuff," protested the driver. "I got valuable items in there, the black market would pay a fortune to get their hands on that!"
"Hey, we're a MASH compound. We don't get that many thieves, honest."
"Apart from you, ya little scavenger," said the burly driver, cuffing Klinger around the shoulder. Klinger smiled sourly before heading off to the office.
Charles smiled delightedly. Just what he had hoped! An even easier way. Having pocketed the key when helping Klinger, he had checked he could open and shut the wardrobes with ease. An hour or so in there would certainly humble those three pranksters, he thought merrily. Now how to get them there…
Hawkeye, BJ, Margaret and the Colonel were in Rosie's Bar talking quietly when Charles came in looking flustered but grinning.
"What's up, Chuckles?" inquired Hawkeye, swinging round in his seat. Charles looked at him.
"Ah, Margaret," he said, pointedly ignoring Hawkeye. "You'll never guess what I found in Klinger's cupboards just now!"
"His white heels," said BJ smartly.
"His fox fur stole!" said Hawkeye, grinning.
"Neither of them, you cretins," he said witheringly before turning to Margaret again. "Do please come and see..."
"What is it?" said Margaret, unmoving.
"Ah-hah... a little, shall we say... surprise?" mediated Charles.
Hawkeye and BJ exchanged looks.
Margaret rolled her eyes and got up. "Well go on then Charles, it had better be good."
Hawkeye jumped to his feet too. "I'm coming too! Don't leave me out, Mommy," he appealed to Charles, who looked disgusted.
"I'm sure it doesn't concern you, Pierce, just sit back down."
"Oh no, not likely! Let's see what Doctor Dustdigger has found! Coming, BJ?"
"I think I'm sufficiently engrossed in my comfortable seat here, thank you," grinned BJ. Hawkeye shrugged and followed Margaret outside. Charles grimaced and walked out behind them, but inwardly groaned. He was supposed to get Hunnicutt too! Well, him next. He led the madly grinning Hawkeye and the coolly staring Margaret towards the broken truck, and clambered swiftly up the ramp. Amongst all the bales of penicillin and morphine two of the cupboards opened darkly in the dim light. Charles urged them forward. Hawkeye stepped forward cautiously, pretty sure Charles was going to try something, but he wasn't sure what. Charles walked in to the first one and from the back pulled out a fistful of military scrip. "There's caches in here!" Hawkeye immediately went into the other one, rummaging around the back panel. Margaret peered interestedly inside too. Charles came to stand beside her.
"Find anything?" she inquired, leaning forward a bit more. Charles moved.
He pushed her in the cupboard, slammed the door… turned the key. Leaned against the door.
"The revenge of the White Knight, gentlemen!" He called, chuckling quietly to himself as he pocketed the key. Margaret screamed furiously.
"When are you gonna let us out, you JACKASS!" she yelled. Hawkeye tried to cover his ears, but it was still a pretty tight fit in the cupboard and he couldn't move very much.
"What's the big idea anyway, locking me in a cupboard with Pierce!" she shouted again, elbowing Hawkeye in the ribs.
"Only for an hour or so, my dear… stunt pulling… friends!" whistled Charles merrily before heading back to the Swamp.
"CHARLES!" yelled Margaret again. Hawkeye grabbed her arm. "Please, Margaret, you're bloody loud!" he winced.
"Get your hands off me," she hissed, trying to round on him but failing in the confined space.
"Well spending a hour locked in a cupboard with a screaming major isn't exactly my idea of fun either," he retorted sharply. "No-one can hear us, I think Charles was so nice to close the truck door. Do you have a torch?" For it was pitch black.
"You think I always carry one every time I go to the bar?" said Margaret bitterly. "This is all your fault, you… degenerate. If you'd never forced me to help play that stupid trick..."
"Hey, I didn't force you!" replied Hawkeye sharply. "Ow!"
"What's up?" said Margaret, suddenly sounding concerned. She was standing with her back to him, so couldn't really turn round to find out, even if she could see.
"Well, let's just say this cupboard isn't meant to have people in," said Hawkeye, heartfeltedly, wanting to rub his elbow but couldn't. He pressed both his arms against the walls. This place was too small… Margaret sighed.
"How long 'til we get out?" she inquired, suddenly sounding tired. "An hour?"
Hawkeye didn't reply. "Hawkeye?" she asked again, a little irate.
She heard him swallow in the dark. "Margaret, get me out of here." he said quietly. "God, get me out of here!" he suddenly yelled, banging on the side fiercely, his breath loud and ragged as if full of terror. Margaret held his arm to stop him banging.
"Come on, Hawkeye, he said he'd be back soon…" she said consolingly. She was startled to hear a faint sob in the captain's voice.
"I can't stand it, Margaret, it's too small, too enclosed, get me OUT!" he suddenly said, hands pushed against the sides of the cupboard. Margaret suddenly thought.
"Hawkeye… are you okay?" she said softly.
"Of course I'm not," said Hawkeye, silent tears rolling down his face.
"You're claustrophobic, aren't you?" she persisted quietly.
"Whatever! Just damn well let me out of here!" he said raggedly, collapsing to sit on the floor of the cupboard, not realising he was crushing the major in the corner. To Margaret's amazement she heard him crying. Hawkeye Pierce, the man with a quip for everything, the one who pulled them through all the worst times, was actually terrified by just being in this cupboard. Margaret sat on the only space available, which happened to be his lap, and silently hugged him. Hawkeye clung on to her, his mouth dry with terror and his heart beating wildly. He was claustrophobic, Margaret knew now. She held him as a mother comforts a small child, silently stroking his hair.
BJ threw down his cards from where he was playing Gin with the Colonel. "Where can Hawk and Margaret have got to? They've been gone half an hour!" he wondered out loud. The Colonel shrugged. "I wouldn't have put it past Charles to gone and done something to them. He was pretty mad the other day, sonny…" he said, trying not to grin. BJ couldn't help returning it. "Hey, it was old. He should have expected it." Getting to his feet, he was nearly cannoned into by Klinger rushing through the door.
"Hey Jack!" the Lebanese called. The burly driver looked up from the corner of the bar. "Yo, Klinger. What's up, buddy?"
"I found ya a tyre. You could get back to Seoul this evening if you hurry," grinned Klinger. "Great!" said the driver excitedly. "I know my CO will roast me if I'm not back before midnight! Help me out?" The two rushed out past BJ, who shrugged and wandered over to the Swamp. Charles was sitting listening to opera, merrily waving an invisible conductors stick to the music. BJ looked around and then looked hard at the major.
"Charles. Where's Hawkeye? And Margaret?" he said sharply, disturbed by the lack of his best friend. Charles chuckled amusedly.
"Oh come now, Hunnicutt, I'm sure you remember the, ehheh, prank you pulled the other day? Do you think I would let you get away with it?"
BJ rolled his eyes as Charles held up a key. "Where have you locked them?" he said exasperatedly.
"One of Klinger's cupboards," said Charles, giggling slightly. BJ turned white.
"You mean on that truck?" he demanded. Charles looked surprised.
"Of course. I thought I would let them out in a few minutes though..."
BJ snatched the key from Charles' hand and raced out into the compound. Charles sat up hurriedly and looked out into the deepening twilight of the summer evening and at the tail lights of the truck disappearing around the corner.
"Oh. My. God." he whispered, turning as white as BJ had.
"Hey! You! Stop!" BJ yelled, running flat out after the truck and waving his hands. Eventually it rumbled out of sight and the captain stopped running, breathing harshly and with a sick feeling in his stomach. Colonel Potter and Charles came up behind him.
"What the hell is going on, Hunnicutt?" asked Potter roughly. BJ turned to glare at Charles, who was still pale as a ghost.
"That…. baboon…. decided it would be funny to lock Hawkeye and Margaret in that truck," BJ spat, turning back to the road. Colonel Potter stared disbelievingly at the major.
"You did what, Winchester?"
Charles waved his hands inarticulately in the air. "I was certain it wouldn't be leaving this evening! I was going to let them out in a minute or so! I didn't mean to!" he said, his eyes a little wilder than usual. Potter realised that blaming wasn't the answer right now. He turned round decisively and grabbed BJ by the shoulder.
"It's not like they're going anywhere off the face of the earth, only Seoul," he said briskly, taking the key out of the captain's unresisting hand. "Hunnicutt, come with me while we grab a jeep. You, Winchester," he turned and looked hard at the quivering major, "will have to do all the Post-Op duties. And make damn sure you do them well!"
Charles nodded tremulously as Potter and BJ hurried off the CO's jeep.
Hawkeye was shaken awake by the movement of the cupboard. "Charles? That had better be you!" he called, shaking the traces of terror out of his voice as he realised he was still in the cupboard. Margaret suddenly sat up. "Hawkeye? Have I been asleep?"
He found her hand in the dark. "Listen."
Margaret listened. Then in a quiet voice said, "The truck's moving, isn't it."
"Damn!" swore Hawkeye quietly. "How the hell are we going to get out of this one!"
He banged one arm on the cupboard side in frustration, trying to forget his unreasoning fear. Margaret spoke up, her voice trembling a little. "We'll get out soon, Hawkeye, don't worry…"
"Don't WORRY?" he exploded, trying to stand up but hampered by her sitting on his lap. He quieted down as quickly as he had got angry, realising that she was gulping back tears. Little did he know that they were out of concern for him.
"I... I'm sorry, Margaret. You've been so... understanding," he said remembering his earlier outbreak. "I didn't mean to shout."
"That's all right. I mean, I've read that claustrophobia is pretty bad, and you…"
Suddenly the pair of them were flung across to the side of the cupboard, cracking the wood by the hinge. The truck careened madly and then on to its side. Loud Korean voices shouted and there was a rattle of gunfire, and someone screamed. Outside they could hear the back of the truck being opened up and packages being hauled out. Shaking his head muzzily and sitting up from the side of the cupboard, Hawkeye suddenly realised that the hinge was now weak. Unreasoning joy flooded through him and he was about to force his way out no matter what was going on outside when a hand caught his arm. Being jumbled together when the truck turned, Margaret was no longer between him and the way out of his dark enclosing prison. The major knew this; but she also knew that to be found now might be their deaths. "Hawkeye!" she whispered sharply as he struggled to free his arm. "What?" he said aggressively before she laid a finger on his lips. "Shut up!" she whispered back, heart in her mouth as the moving of baggage got closer. Reason finally got through to Hawkeye and he stopped struggling, trying not to breath loudly.
A curt order was given and a vehicle was heard revving off into the distance. They waited a minute.
"Now can we go?" whispered Hawkeye desperately. Margaret let go his arm and he slammed himself against the wood, trying to break through. At the second blow the hinges gave way and Hawkeye tumbled unceremoniously into the back of the truck. It was empty apart from the cupboards and six packages left. Stumbling out into the cool night air, Hawkeye breathed deeply, laughing now that he was free. Suddenly he remembered Margaret and hurried back towards the truck. Margaret had cautiously managed to get out herself, and Hawkeye offered her a courteous hand. She took it and got to her feet, going out onto the road.
She breathed deep to stop her trembling. Hawkeye was slowly walking round to the front of the vehicle. Suddenly Margaret remembered the driver, and hurried after him. Hawkeye looked through the cab window and then immediately turned away, sickened slightly even after his years of being a surgeon. He spoke his first words since he had got out.
"Don't look, Margaret."
She stared up into his face, saw the look there and turned away.
"All right. But it's a bit silly to ask me that, really," she replied. Hawkeye shrugged. A little of his old humour crept back into his tone.
"So, what now, Major? Stay here?"
Margaret looked about, noticing the packages still left. "No," she decided. "They might be back for the rest of the packages. Let's not risk our lives again"
"You know, that's the best idea I've heard in a while," replied Hawkeye. "I especially liked the part about not risking our lives. Bravo, Major! Back down the road?"
"I guess so. But off the road. We don't want to be seen."
"Last time we got lost and went off the road, we didn't get found for ages," objected Hawkeye. Margaret blushed slightly as she remembered what else had happened last time they were lost. Why did he go and bring that up? She was glad it was night. She beckoned to him and started walking briskly. Hawkeye got up slowly. He didn't want Margaret to realise how badly he had cut his head, somewhere between the crash and breaking down the door. He sighed. What did he bring that last time up for? He couldn't help remembering how it had felt to have her in his arms, after waiting so long…. Then he had got scared and ran away, only reconciling to be friends. He remembered his terror in the cupboard, and how she had held him. Maybe she still did care. Maybe maybe maybe! Shut up and walk, Hawkeye Pierce, his mind said sternly. Now is not the time! It's never the time for you, his heart retorted. Shaking his head and wiping most of the blood away with his hand, he started to follow her down the road, back to the MASH.
They walked quietly onwards, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Hawkeye stumbled, and quickly stood straight again, but Margaret noticed and turned round.
"Hawkeye? You all right there?" came her soft voice.
My head hurts and it's the middle of the night and we're far from home and in the middle of the war and I love you I can't tell you but I do my dearest darling my heart's love…
"Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled. Suddenly he heard a vehicle in the distance. Grabbing her arm he started off into the foliage at the side of the road.
"Come on, Margaret!" he said urgently. "Can't you hear it?"
She could as well, and pulled them both down underneath a concealing bush a way from he road. Sitting up quietly as it faded into the distance, she hugged her arms to her unconsciously. Her hand came up damp and dark from the stain on her sleeve where Hawkeye had grabbed her arm. The captain was leaning against the trunk of the bush, long legs stretched out in front of him, running exploratory fingers over his temple and wincing. When he realised she was looking at him he quickly put down his hand, but it was too late. She grabbed his wrist.
"There's blood on your head, Captain Pierce."
"There is? Well fancy that. I didn't really think it was my colour, you know?" he said innocently. She thwacked him lightly on the shoulder.
"You should have told me. I could have done something about it."
"Like what?" he said challengingly.
"Cleaned it up?" Margaret suggested. Tearing her sleeve (the bloodstained one – lets be economic) she carefully wiped his brow, him submitting meekly to her ministrations. Folding the material and putting it on the floor, she tilted her head to the side and looked at him critically.
"Do I pass roster?" he asked, lightly teasing. His blue eyes were darker in the night, and her blonde hair bleached almost white by the moonlight. Something changed in the air; the silence was palpable. Very gently, Hawkeye reached out and ran his hand down her cheek.
"Over there!" yelled BJ, tugging on the Colonel's arm. The jeep slewed to a halt and BJ had jumped out even before it stopped moving. He stared in disbelief as the torchlight showed the overturned truck. The captain ran round to the back of the truck to look for the cupboards. Colonel Potter stooped to check the cab, and grimaced at the sight of the driver, the man named Jack who had so recently been laughing animatedly in Rosie's. "God, don't let them be like this," he said quietly as he went round to find BJ.
Hunnicutt was pacing the road outside the back of the truck, looking for other signs. Potter examined the broken cupboard in the back. "Didn't get to Seoul then," he said, throwing the key into the back and feeling sick. "Looks like black marketeers. I'm reckoning they'll be back for this penicillin. Help me here, Hunnicutt?"
BJ turned to stare at Potter. "Where are Hawk and Margaret?" he demanded. "Penicillin? It's hardly important right now!"
"Look at it this way son. Either they've been taken by the North Koreans (which I doubt, seeing the state of the poor driver) or they've managed to break out of that cupboard and are now walking away from here. I'm hoping and praying it's the latter, and therefore they'll be somewhere near! Right?"
BJ smiled faintly. "I guess they would be off the road, somewhere a little safer. We're nearly at Seoul, right? So they'll have been walking onwards, yeah?"
"Do you think? I think they wouldn't know where the hell they are. It's past midnight, no east or west to work out. I think they'll have set off back."
"Well…." said BJ, unconvinced.
"Look, how's about this for an idea?" said the Colonel practically. "On to Seoul looking for signs of them, dropping off this penicillin when we get there. If we don't find them, then it's back along the road. What do you think, son?"
"I guess," sighed BJ. His thoughts treacherously strayed from his missing friend to his wife as it often did. Oh Peg, I wish I were home now with you, not mixed up in this crazy war, he wished fervently. Then he sighed and helped the Colonel with the packages.