Henry Chapter 17: Not Quite the Ultimate Sacrifice, a m*a*s*h fanfic

Chapter Seventeen

"Frank, will you please knock it off?"

The beady-eyed surgeon had begun his incessant clucking. Strangely enough, this was something Frank usually did while preparing for a late-night excursion with the lovely Major Houlihan.

"Captain Hunnicutt," Margaret said stonily, trying to glare over in BJ's direction "you and Captain Pierce conduct yourselves in a manner unbecoming human beings, much less officers, in O.R. Therefore, it is not the fault of Major Burns if fatigue is altering his behavior."

"It's not altering his behavior, he acts like a chicken all the time."

Hawkeye piped up tiredly, his gloved hands professionally probing the insides of the latest soldier laid before him. For once, Frank didn't deny the fact that he was tired, or rise to the bait of the two captains, but simply went on clucking.

"Speaking of chickens" Henry said from his table "I need to go lay an egg real quick. Nurse, close for me."

"Colonel...!"

Everyone in the operating room gave a disgusted groan of protest at this comment, while Henry, too tired to care, stripped off his gloves and went through the double doors into the scrub room. Hawkeye, BJ, and Margaret all went rigid with terror as Frank's annoying clucking noises, to the tune of "Row row row your boat" became louder. He kept glancing through the window at a tall figure walking across the compound, one hand in his pocket. Margaret tried wildly to catch Hawkeye's eye, making small, jerky movements. The man was out of sight now, but Frank still paused to stare carefully out the window, now louder than ever.

It was a signal.

"Baker!"

"Anderson!"

"CLOSE FOR US!"

Hawkeye and BJ shouted in unision, running from their tables, Margaret close behind. Henry was halfway to the latrine, with Sergeant Demorest now kneeling on the ground, trying to take aim with the pistol. Henry was only steps away now.

"Colonel! HENRY!"

Margaret shouted as loud as she could. Demorest looked up and quickly took the shot, which flew true.

But Henry wasn't the one hit.

A flash of blue hit the ground in front of him with a shout. Klinger, in his blue nurse's uniform, lay in the dirt with a bullethole in the right side of his chest. Frank, looking ready to whoop with glee, followed the nurses and doctors and corpsmen pouring out of O.R. It was rare for anyone to leave when there were wounded to attend to, but the last remaining wounds were mostly superficial, and a gunshot was not something to be taken lightly.

Demorest was gone, and Frank's face fell when he saw who had been hit.

"Klinger!"

"Oh my god!"

"What happened?"

"He's been shot!"

Rumors and accusations flew like ammunition throughout the crowd.

"Goldman!" Hawkeye shouted, running to Klinger, where Henry was already kneeling. "Get a stretcher out here, now!" Two corpsmen hauled the lebanese man into O.R. on a stretcher, Hawkeye and BJ assessing his wounds as they went. Henry ran up from behind, his face pink with rage. "Who the hell did this?" "Sergeant D... Sergeant Dettman, that man is finished, get him off the table and get it ready for Klinger! I'm operating!" Hawkeye yelled at another man, turning to Henry.

"No idea."

Margaret and BJ stared at him, mouths open, but he just shook his head and began to re-scrub.

Klinger was covered in blood as they cut open his nurse's uniform, and Hawkeye couldn't do anything but stare at the hole in his chest, just below his heart. "Hawk, you need help?" BJ asked worriedly, looking up quickly from his own patient. "No." Hawkeye said simply. "Lieutenant Baliss, come assist Major Burns. I will be assissting Captain Pierce in his operation."

"Yes major."

Margaret hurried over to Hawkeye's table, who gave her a grateful smile. Under the constant watch of Frank, though, she didn't return it.

"Suction."

"Sponge."

"Retractor."

Around the bullet hole was a mixture of burnt, torn, and pulverized flesh, blood, and ruined tissue. For a moment, Hawkeye couldn't help but stare at it. Then he turned his head, past the cloth barrier, and looked at Klinger's face. For having such dark skin, the corporal's face was abnormally pale.

"Scalpal."

He cut a deep slit on either side of the wound to widen it slightly, having Margaret suction away blood regularly so he could see what he was doing.

"Forceps."

Gently easing the metal instrument into Klinger's chest, he probed with it and located the bullet. With the ends of the forceps clamped around it, he pulled ever-so-slightly on the piece of metal and dislodged it. Once the pressure was released, part of a vein that had been hit released a spurt of blood into Hawkeye's face. Margaret sponged it off, and Hawkeye kept going, sterilizing the wound and feeling to make sure he hadn't missed any fragments.

"Ready to close, doctor?"

"Ready to close."

Hawkeye sutured the wound and said

"Well, everybody, Klinger'll live to see another day, and another dress. Corpsman, give him the gown reserved for VIP's of the fairer sex. You know, the one with the pink polkadots. I think he'd like it." Hawkeye said tiredly.

"Gowned and gloved, please, and lay another unfortunate on my table."

He said, stripping off the outer layer of his soiled garments in exchange for newer ones.

"No need, Pierce, we're done."

During the operation, Hawkeye hadn't heard the call that the wounded were all gone. He hadn't heard the doctors and most of the nurses come up behind him to watch, with bated breath, as the life of one of their number lay under the scalpal.

"Thank God."

Removing the rest of his bloodstained white clothes to trade in for his red bathrobe, Hawkeye accompanied BJ back to the Swamp for some latrine cleaner. Er, a martini, I mean. Margaret went along too, though at a slower pace, so as to be inconspicuous.

So did Frank.

(A/N: Why didn't Hawkeye reveal Sergeant Demorest as the attacker? Find out next time on... Henry!)