Chapter 8

"Name it...it went wrong..."

You would think, because a war was on, the government would be on their toes and choose the best men to run supplies to their men at the front. In no way, am I taking this opportunity to bash our government, but if the opportunity presents itself.

In the matter of supplies, the word would be horrendous, the other word, hilarious. When we'd requisition for morphine, we'd get sugar pills, when we asked for thermometers we'd get sugars sticks. It was so bad we were about to ask for something we didn't need to get what we did need.

Those poor soldiers at the supply unit must have been so confused.

This is not to say that every time we got the wrong supplies, it just seemed like it always happened at crisis time. Like in below freezing weather or an overflow of casualties. But we always made do with what we had. At one point removing heaters from tents to conserve energy and burning anything we could find to keep those heaters working. Sometimes it came down to trading other outfits things we didn't have to trade. I think I almost sold my soul to the devil for a case of morphine.

Our doctors always made light of the difficulties but never faltered. Inside they were angry and every once in a while showed just how they felt by storming into the CO's office or simply jumping up and down like three years olds.

Even without a drop of morphine, MASH 4077 won the battle. These people were amazing, I can't emphasize that enough. I mean truly amazing. You wouldn't dare to tell this people, it couldn't be done.

Everything hooked in neatly. The relationships played off each other just enough to make us all a family. And when supplies were low and winter clothing scarce, the patients were first in line for what we had.

We did it all together. Blankets, medication and heaters may have been low at times, but the spirits of the 4077 stayed high.

We made it through everything the war could throw at us. Even if it was 500,000 tongue depressors...and another year away from home....