(A/N: Alright, a lot of you asked for longer chapters. Well, some of you asked, some of you bitched. I gave them to you. I was hoping to get at least ONE bloody review for a chapter after that! Just one! What's so hard??? So many people just stopped after I started writing longer chapters. Sorry AEM1 and the great Mrs. Wilberding, and thank you for reviewing faithfully, but if I can't hold an audience anymore I'm either gonna leave it open for you to make up yourselves what could happen next, or slap a one-chapter ending on after this. I know I'm being irrational, but hey! I'M THE AUTHOR! Authors are irrational altogether! That's what makes their stories interesting.

...Most of the time.)

Chapter Nineteen

Hawkeye sat by Klinger's bed, half asleep and with a monstrous hangover. Upon return to the Swamp the night before he had drank himself into a blurry stupor, and had only returned from his passed-out condition half an hour ago, upon which awakening he had decided to visit Post-Op.

"Mornin' Hawkeye..."

Klinger mumbled groggily, and Hawkeye sat up straight, opening his eyes fully.

"Klinger! You're awake!"

"Yeah. Now if I could only remember what I did to get in this state..." He grumbled, just over a whisper. Yet Hawkeye still put a hand to his head and screwed his eyes shut, hissing "Ugh... not so loud..." "How'd I get a free pass to O.R., again? I'm kinda foggy on that one." Klinger asked, now down to a full whisper, and Hawkeye replied "You took a bullet for Henry." "I saved Colonel Blake?" "That's right." "Wow... I guess I did. I remember that guy, I think he had sarge stripes, with a pistol. What was going on?"

"He was... after Henry. But you don't need to worry about that, we'll explain it to everyone in a few days when it's all taken care of."

Deciding it was better not to ask any more on the subject, Klinger chose another question and asked raspily "So how does a guy go about getting some grub 'round these parts of camp?"

"Ah ah ah, my lebanese life-saver, you're not on solid food for about a week. It's stomach tube for you, until then."

"Aw, but Captain!"

"I'm not a butt-captain. I am a butt-head, I am only a butt-kisser if I'm desperate, and if need be, I am a butt-surgeon, but I am not a butt-captain. I'll see you later. Get some rest, okay?"

"Alright."

Hawkeye got up and walked away from the bed, stumbling and wobbling slightly, grinning as Klinger started mumbling and complaining. It sounded like he was back to his old self. Though he nearly hit the double doors head on, Hawkeye made it outside and looked up at the sky. It was blue with hardly a cloud except for the grayish white wisps that floated lazily by. It was rare that the sun shined, but today it did.

"Hey, Hawk!"

BJ cried, jogging toward him.

"You're crushing my brain with every footstep..."

Hawkeye said in a pained voice. Apparently his head was still throbbing with the aftereffects of way too much alcohol.

"You crushed your own brain with the weight of those martini glasses, my inebriated friend. I just thought it would be good for you to know that we're battening down the hatches - the 4077th is in for a big one."

"What?"

"A storm, genius. We're in for a big storm."

"What are you talking about? The sun is shin-"

He looked up, suddenly realising it was darker than it had been five minutes ago. Where there had been sun and wispy little marshmallow clouds, there was now a huge mass of grey covering the sun, and it was growing cooler. The wind was starting to blow.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming. While we're at it, would you mind driving one of those stakes into my brain?"

"Not at all. Your skull should have taken the consistency of gin, as that's what the majority of your bodymass is at the moment."

"Stop trying to sound like a doctor because you know I'm useless as one right now. Why the hell are you so bouncy?"

"Can't help it. The eggs this morning were like rubber. Haven't stopped bouncing since."

"Ugh."

As they reached the Swamp, Hawkeye began fastening down his side of the tent by pulling it taut with ropes and driving stakes into the ground to secure them against the wind. Every time the mallet hit a stake he winced, wanting nothing more than to lie down and sleep through the storm and whatever it brought.

"Done."

Hawkeye wandered inside and dropped onto the cot, laying one forearm over his eyes to try and stop the pounding that was causing him such agony. That was when the door slammed open and he heard Henry's voice shout

"Alright, what the hell is going on here, Hawkeye?!"

"AAAGH! BE QUIET!"

"Some bastard tried to take a shot at me while I was on my way to the john, and I deserve to know what it's all about!"

"Shh, shh, shhh...!"

Hawkeye curled up into the fetal position and jammed his pillow down over his head, moaning. Now his head was spinning wildly and he felt sick. He made a pledge, albeit one in a hangover state, to never drink another martini ever again.

We'd see how long that would last.

"I took care of it, Henry... go away..."

He said from beneath his pillow, his voice coming out very muffled. Henry didn't look satisfied, and pleased that he wasn't the one reeling from too much booze this time, continued to yell

"Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce, I directly order you to tell me what in the name of MacArthur's pipe is going on right under my nose!"

Pausing to realize that he had acted like a Colonel for once and given a direct order, Henry only half-saw Hawkeye sit up quickly, before he leaned over the side of the cot and pleasantly expelled his partially digested breakfast all over Henry's boots.

"Aw, Hawkeye...!"

But he was already asleep on his cot, feeling slightly better, and oblivious to the winds now beginning to whip through the camp.