Chapter Two
"Radar, put a mask on!" Trapper yelled as Corporal O'Reilly staggered into the Operating Room. His dirty glasses were slightly askew, and tears glistened behind them. In one hand, he clutched a telegram. It was crumpled and damp from being in his fist.
"If that's my discharge, give it to me straight. I can take it!"
Hawkeye called out from where he stood in a puddle of blood, fondly remembering that same time two or three days ago, when their former Commanding Officer., Henry Blake, had gotten news of his being sent stateside. For once, Radar didn't feel squeamish at the sight of the surgeons' hands buried inside the bodies of soldiers. He ignored them both, grabbing the edge of a prep table to steady himself.
"I have a message..."
Each voice quieted, prepared for bad news. They rarely saw their boyish company clerk this sad before, his round, child-like face so pale.
"Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake's plane was shot down over the sea of Japan. It spun in." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "There weren't no survivors." He choked out the last words, leaning against the table harder than ever before. A tray or clamp somewhere fell to the floor. Radar disappeared, probably to sit and be alone. Hawkeye's hands faltered and he suddenly felt nauseous; the room swam before his eyes.
There was silence all throughout the Operating Room, save for a few dry sobs from some of the nursing staff. Hawkeye suddenly dropped his clamp and heaved, exiting the room and running outside. After requesting that a nurse close his finished patient, Trapper yelled for Margaret to hold Pierce's until return, and followed. The blonde-haired nurse nodded silently, walking with as much dignity as she could muster, over to the table Hawkeye had occupied only moments before. She held the clamp in her trembling fingers, anxiously looking toward the door.
Trapper peeked outside to find his fellow surgeon sitting in the dirt, his face hidden in his bloodstained hands. He kneeled next to his best friend and sighed, pulling Hawkeye's hands away to reveal a fresh wave of tears pouring from his charming antique blue eyes. "Why…? Why?" He mouthed silently, staring ahead at Trapper with a vacant look on his face. Trapper himself could'nt hold back the tears, and sat down beside him.
After several moments of silence, they rose together and re-entered O.R. to meet, once again, a deafening quiet, except for the metallic clinking noise of surgical instruments being disinfected, and the mumbles of doctors to the nurses assisting them. Margaret Houlihan was where Trapper had left her, gently squeezing the clamp that held together an enlisted man's insides, which had been torn open by an enemy artillery shell. Hawkeye relieved her of the clamp and nodded. "We're almost done." The Major took this opportunity and retired to her tent where she lie on her cot, crying. How many times had she and Frank gone over Henry's head? They had called him names; in fact, they had called him everything short of a two-headed cow, including a failure as a commander. What they hadn't realized, however, was that no matter how many faults there were in his command, he still held their unit together. The tears doubled.
*
The surgeons and nurses eventually finished their section, a rather short one, for it had lasted only a few hours. The casualties were minor, and for that, they were thankful. Nobody retreated to their quarters faster than Hawkeye, Trapper, and even Frank, who fairly dove into the Swamp and onto their beds. Faster than one could say "I want it dry", Trapper was already up and making mixing martinis with practiced ease. In a short while, the two Captains and Major each had a martini glass full of the toxic liquids, downing them swiftly to try and relieve the pain of losing Henry. Momentarily they stopped to listen, hearing the crickets outside sounding as though they were mourning in their own way. It was not long before most of the camp was asleep, attempting to drown out their sorrows.