The silence didn't last long, pandemonium breaking out as soon as the shock wore off. Somewhere, in the shuffle of surprised cries, indignant demands, and exaggerated gasps, Nurse Daggett found herself being pushed out the door by Hawkeye.
"Listen, our date -- you understand, I can't -- maybe Thursday night -- I've got to go in there, I've got to --" He paused, gripping her arm. "Don't -- don't say anything to anyone, will you? We're trying to -- I mean we've got it all worked out between us, dragging the rest of the camp in couldn't --"
She nodded, dumbfounded.
"Good, good, that's just --" And then he was gone, back in the tent, and she was left staring at the closed door of the Swamp. Blinking, she managed to turn away and stumble back to her quarters, her mind in a haze. She just couldn't put it together, BJ always was the collected one, the one who was more grounded than any other in the camp. And what, just what on earth, had happened to his arms?
Falling into her bunk, oblivious to the probing questions about why she was back from her date so early, she closed her thoughts to the goings-on in the Swamp, working to remember the sly grin Hawkeye had given her that sent chills down her spine.
Instead, all Nurse Daggett could seem to remember was the pained and panic look his face had held right before he had disappeared back into his tent.
***
"My god, BJ what -- your arms, what happened to your arms?" Margaret cried, flinging herself across the small space and over to where he stood. Once there, she began to inspect him with such intensity BJ had to fight the urge to flinch away. "The blood's clotted and it doesn't seem to be serious enough for stitches, but --" She cut off, looking up into his face. "What the hell happened to you?"
"You should see the other guy." BJ grinned. Catching sight of Hawkeye's face, he quickly sobered up. "I -- it's nothing Margaret, I --"
"Nothing?" Hawkeye suddenly spoke up. "The hell it's nothing!"
"Hawkeye," Father Mulcahy pulled himself to his feet, reaching a hand out in warning, "Let's not --"
BJ pulled his arm from Margaret's hand, staring at the raven-haired man leaning against the door frame. "Hawk, come on, don't --"
"I shouldn't have left, I should have stayed here. What the hell was I thinking, leaving to go on some date, some stupid date."
Father Mulcahy looked to where Sidney sat, silent and watchful, and pleading for help with his eyes. Radar, acutely aware of the mounting tension, darted his gaze back and forth, biting at his lip.
"I don't understand." Margaret took a step forward, toward BJ. "What's going on? What's Pierce talking about?"
"Now let's not -- let's not let our emotions get the best of us." Father Mulcahy ventured. "We don't want to say anything we may regret." He pointedly looked to Hawkeye, letting the entire tent know just who he thought would regret saying something.
"I can -- I can leave if --"
"Stay, Radar."
Radar immediately fell onto the nearest cot.
"Hawk, let the kid go if --"
He jumped back to his feet again.
"He can stay, he deserves --"
Sitting back on the cot, Radar lightly touched a hand to his head. "Could you sirs please make up your mind? All this sitting and standing is starting to make me dizzy."
"Forget it." Hawkeye turned away.
Margaret, frustrated at the situation, reached for the nearest chair. Sliding into it, she made it clear she had no intention of leaving until she knew what was going on. "Will someone please tell me what happened?" She glared up at the others.
Sidney, as calm and collected as ever, continued to watch the scene unfolding as if he were detached from it.
"Look, Margaret, it's taken care of, you don't --"
"I can see it's taken care of." Hawkeye spit out. Turning back around, he added, "Dammit, Beej, I told you to come to me, I told you to -- I'm just trying to help, you and your stupid pride --"
"Maybe," Father Mulcahy cleared his throat, backing toward the door, "We should leave before we get further in the way. Major, Radar, why don't we go over to the Officer's Club and I'll --" It was then he stumbled over the small bundle that lay forgotten on the floor. Frantically clawing at the tent pole for his balance, Father Mulcahy watched with the others as the contents of the bundle came spewing out, sliding across the floor in every which way.
"Beej, what's --" Hawkeye stopped. Leaning over, he gently picked the scalpel from the dust on the floor, wiping the tiny flecks of red off the tip. He slowly meet his gaze with BJ's, eyes full of a pain no one could quite recall seeing before. "Oh, Beej."
Radar's eyes widened, realizing just what lay at his feet. Carefully, he lifted the shard of glass from the ground. He look up at the blonde man across the tent.
Father Mulcahy breathed out an "oh dear", taking up the shaving blade a few feet away.
Margaret, watching the others around her, brow knitted in confusion, reached for the sewing needle that lay just left of her side. Glancing back and forth at it and BJ, she fought to wrap her mind around what all the others had managed to grasp.
"Hunnicut, what --"
BJ began to shake, ever so slightly, just enough so that Sidney's watchful eye caught it. His eyes darted around the room, from one person to another, wide in what could only be defined as fear. Clenching and unclenching his fist, he gave one last look to Sidney, begging for help.
"I think," Sidney broke in, at long last, "I'd like a cup of coffee. Major, Father, Radar; care to join me?" His voice left the impression that, although he poised it as a request, they had no choice but to follow him.
"I -- I don't understand what --" Margaret shook her head. "You'll have to excuse me Major, I'm on Post Op duty. I came to get -- well, I'll just tell the nurse they'll have to do without tonight." Suddenly, she was Margaret again, all business behind her rough exterior. "I'll expect to see one of you, Pierce and Hunnicut, at oh-seven-hundred tomorrow. My nurses are not there to take up the slack when --"
"Major." Father Mulcahy coughed.
"Right." She stood up, making her way to the door. "Oh-seven-hundred. And don't think I'll just forget all about this here, because I won't. First thing in the morning I'm finding out what happened if I have to pry it from your teeth myself."
Hawkeye nodded, waving her out.
"BJ," Father Mulcahy turned back, hesitating, "I'll be in my tent, all night, if you need me. If you want to talk or just -- well, my door is always open, especially now."
"I'll tell the Colonel that Major Houlihan and you worked something out."
"Radar, if Potter wants --"
"I'll tell him Captain Hunnicut's indisposed." Radar finished.
"Right."
Sidney groaned as he stood up. Watching the Priest and Corporal make their way into the biting wind and hurry across the compound, he tossed over his shoulder, "I'll be back before too late, BJ." Again, his tone seemed to leave no room for discussion.
Suddenly, the tent was empty save for Hawkeye and BJ, the quiet as deafening as the artillery blast they had grown to sleep through.
"Beej," Hawkeye voice was low, hardly above a whisper, and as cold as the ice forming across the cesspool at that moment, "What the hell were you --"
"I wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking and I don't need you rubbing that in my face."
"I'm not --"
BJ sank to the edge of the cot, and began to pull his sleeves back over the bloody bandages. "Hawk, I think I'm -- I think I may be in more trouble than I thought."
Hawkeye was at a loss for words, unable to come up with a fitting reply. Instead, he dropped down next to BJ, slung and arm around his shoulder, and gave a gentle squeeze.
They stared into the fire, watching it jump and spark, for longer than either could rightly say.
***
"Major, the patient in bed six, I'm not sure if it's anything to worry about, but he says his stomach pains are worse." Kellye paused. "Major?"
"What? Oh, uh, right." Craning her neck, Margaret quickly scanned the chart being held before her. "Take his temperature and vital signs. If they're regular, we'll just keep a close watch on him the rest of the night."
Kellye nodded, hurrying off to a nearby cot.
Now, Margaret had seen her fair share of gore and blood. As a nurse in a combat zone it was expected. She had seen things that had left her sick for days, things that would curl the hair of most any other person. She had, at times, been the only thing holding a man's kidney in one piece, and had once been the person in charge of cleaning the blood and brains from the walls after a suicidal soldier had gotten hold of his gun. Over the years she had learned to detach herself from the gore of wartime surgery, and managed to get through most weeks without losing her lunch.
This, the pain and horror in BJ's eyes, the look of the stained bandages, this was different. There was something going on, something she didn't know, and she was certain it couldn't be good. The look on Hawkeye's face as he picked up the scalpel was enough to --
The scalpel. A bag filled with scalpels and glass. The looks of pain on everyone's faces as they conspicuously glanced at those awful red bandages. Sidney.
Suddenly, it all began to slip into place.
"Kellye!" Margaret jumped up, barking out.
"Yes, Major?" Startled at the noise, the Lieutenant glanced up from taking a groaning man's temperature.
"I'll be with the Colonel. If there's any problem, I want you to come straight to me, and not Captains Pierce and Hunnicut, is that understood?" She headed for the door without waiting for an answer. "I have to -- Hunnicut -- the Colonel needs to --"
She stalked out, leaving a bewildered Kellye behind.
***
"Amen." Father Mulcahy unfolded his hands, letting out a slight groan as he pulled himself from his knees. Pulling back the covers from his cot, he reached across to his desk and lifted the Bible given to him by his sister three days before he left Philadelphia for Korea,
It wasn't until he had read the same passage three times without realizing what he was reading that Father Mulcahy thought to close the book. Most times, when he found himself troubled, reading a favored verse or two would set his mind right at ease. Tonight was not such a case.
As a priest in a medical unit three miles from the front, Father Mulcahy was almost used to feeling helpless. In his line of work, he never had learned his way around an operating table and could hardly tell a kidney from a spleen. The religious services given every Sunday morning were always politely ignored, no matter what he did, the living conditions for the orphans worsened, and Father Mulcahy was often left to stand at the sides, watching, while the doctors brought a man from the brink of death. It wasn't uncommon for him to go through bouts of helpless feelings, getting so low he nearly reached depression. But, without fail, something would always bring him back, some small sign of the help he was would appear and Father Mulcahy would be back to the cheerful priest everyone knew. Whether a smile from one of the orphans, a heartfelt thanks from a wounded soldier reconciled with God, helping another man through a difficult time; without fail, it would happen.
This time, there was something different about the feeling Father Mulcahy was having. The image of a bloody BJ was burned in his mind, and each time he recalled it, Father Mulcahy could feel the knot in his stomach growing tighter.
Sighing, he climb out of his cot, dropping to his knees once more.
"Dear Lord," He began.
***
At long last he tore his eyes from the stove, glancing to where BJ sat, eyes unfocused.
"Beej --"
"I'm sorry." His voice seemed as if it were coming from far away. "I should have --"
Hawkeye coughed, working to set the thoughts whirling through his mind in order. "There's just -- there's so much blood in this damn place already."
"I know."
"It's one thing to see it pouring from some kid I'll never see again, but my best friend is almost worse." Hawkeye stood up and began to pace. "No, it is worse. This war, this damn war, it's already taken so much from us, ruined so much. It's ripped us from our homes, forced us to work for eighteen hours straight on children blown to pieces just so they can get sent back and blown up all over again. It's taken everything we've had from us, and replaced it with death and killing and blood and --" Hawkeye's voice, which had steadily been rising, cut off abruptly. Taking a deep breath, he smacked a hand against the tent pole, adding, "I won't let it take you too."
"I thought he was in the clear, Hawk." BJ said, as if he didn't he a word of Hawkeye's rampage. "He was doing fine, I thought that Evans kid was going to make it. I knew it's be hard going, but I could have sworn he would --" He dropped back, stretching out on his cot.
Hawkeye stopped his pacing, glancing across the tent.
"It hurt so much, god it hurt. I didn't even realize what I was doing, I didn't even notice until I couldn't feel that pain in the pit of my stomach anymore. You know that pain, Hawk?"
"Yeah, I know that pain." He dropped to his cot, staring at BJ.
"I started bleeding and right away that pain was gone and it felt so good -- so good, Hawkeye! I -- I think I'd do it all over again if --" He didn't finish, having no need to. Instead, BJ lifted a shaky hand, pointing at the forgotten bundle on the ground. "Just -- just get that out of here Hawk, I never want to see it again. Get it out of here, I don't care what you do with it. Get it away."
Hawkeye nodded, dropping to the ground to gather the razor, sewing needle and other "instruments".
"God, I'm so tired. I can hardly -- if Sidney comes tell him to -- I'm so tired." BJ struggled to roll over, eyes heavy.
"Get some sleep, Beej." He paused before adding, "I'll be here."
BJ managed to make a soft agreeing noise before sleep got the best of him, his breaths evening out as he drifted into unconsciousness.
Hawkeye watched him a moment, then turned back to the task at hand.
***
"Radar? You still awake?" Hawkeye called, barging into the office ten minutes later. Radar sprang up from his bed, fumbling for his glasses.
"Yes, sir, I am now." Slipping his glasses firmly on, he swung his legs over the edge of the cot. "What is it, Hawkeye?"
"I want you to take this," Hawkeye said, holding out a bundle, "And lock it in your footlocker."
Radar's eyes grew wide as he let out a small gasp. "Isn't that --"
"Yes. BJ wants me to get rid of it. Yours is one of the only locks we haven't found a way to break into to yet, outside of Potter and the cook." Once again, he thrust the bundle toward Radar. "I want you to take it and lock it up. Leave it there, no matter what anyone tells you."
"That's an officer's private belongings, I can't take that!"
Hawkeye tossed the bundle onto the bed and began to tug at the lock on the trunk at his feet. "Look, Radar, right now Beej is asleep and I promised him I wouldn't leave. I've got to get back to the Swamp, I don't have much time to argue with you. Unless you want BJ to do -- what happened tonight, all over again, I suggest you take this."
Radar paused, signs of relenting evident in his eyes. Skeptical, he asked, "I just have to leave it there?"
"No matter what BJ tells you, even if he begs you, pulls rank, I don't care -- no matter what he says, you keep it locked up." Hawkeye looked him straight in the eye. "Understand."
Radar nodded, leaning over to open the footlocker. "I understand."
***
Sidney sat in the empty Mess Tent, huddled over a steaming cup of what he hoped was coffee. Glancing at his watch, he figured at this hour most of the camp was in the Officer's Club, if not the back corner of the Supply Tent. He would be free to think in peace, the gurgling sounds of his "coffee" the only interruption.
Slowly, he turned the problem with BJ over and over in his mind. This wasn't the first time he had been approached with a case like this, but to have the patient be a close friend, and BJ at that, was something he couldn't altogether grasp. He knew, from experience, that something would need to be done about this, and quickly. The longer a patient was left untreated, the harder it would be to find a treatment that worked.
Sighing, Sidney ventured a sip from his mug, struggling to swallow it down. He knew what had to be done, but he didn't have to like it. How many times had he done just what he was about to do? He was a professional, this was his job, his specialty.
This was different, this wasn't the same as all those other cases. This was personal, and, Sidney knew, would be much harder to treat. Taking one last swig of coffee, he stood up, and made his way out the door and back to the Swamp.
There was only one thing to do. Until he was no longer a harm to himself, BJ would have to be sent to the hospital in Seoul for psychiatric observation.
An indefinite vacation. Sidney bit at his lip, hurrying through the Korean night.
