The next morning came, and she was up before the sun. Groggy, tired and the proud owner of a bad hangover, but she was up none-the-less. Bernie was well into making breakfast when a knock came at the kitchen door.
"Come in!"
"Heya Bernie, you've got a delivery." Radar poked in and then out. "Can you get the door for me?"
"Sure thing. What is it?" She held the door open as Radar lugged a moderately sized crate through the door.
"Can't tell, but it's got your name on it. It's from someone named Captain Reidwilier." The crate made a sharp thudding noise when Radar set it down. "Saaaay... isn't that the same last name as the General. Think they're related?"
"Yes, in fact, I know they are." Her hand couldn't bring itself to touch the wooden crate. She was about to tell Radar to take it out of her sight when she caught the faint smell of strong coffee. "Thank you for bringing this out Radar. Would you happen to know who I would talk to if I needed to make a call?"
"Yes Ma'am. That would be me." He brushed himself off. "Do you need to?"
"Not right now, but I'd like to... thank, the person who sent me this. It's coffee, completely un-ground, and very much unmilitary. It's the real stuff." She looked for something to pry open the top. "Would you like some?"
"Gosh! Really?"
"I'll brew you up a little, all your own. I'm gonna make a big pot for everyone, but it's better in small batches." Crow bar in hand she paused. "Wanna share a pot?"
"Oh, would I!" This kid was too much. She felt like patting him on the head or pinching his cheeks. Instead, she grinned at him conspiratorially.
"Same here." The crow bar hit the top of the wood with a satisfying crack, and within minutes the smell of real brewed coffee filled the camp. But with the warm smell came the cold tone of the droning choppers over the horizon. Radar was out the door before she could even tell what the reason for his rush was, but when she heard them Radar poked his head back in and apologized. "It's fine Radar, a rain check. I'll save you a pot, scouts honor."

"Where do you suppose she got it from?" Charles mused over his patient.
"Connections with the General I suppose." Potter said as he started down a weaving piece of three-oh silk. "I really don't want to know. It seems to good to be G.I."
"Here's to the smell of the finest Columbian coffee of the American army in Korea," BJ raised scalpel. "By whatever means it got here."
"It came in a crate addressed to her this morning." Klinger hefted the prone body of a writhing patient onto the table. "Radar delivered it himself. Says it came from a Captain Reidweiller." In a tall voice he added, as if he had thought of the notion all on his own, "No doubt a relation to the general."
"Pierce, how long have you been on that kid?" Colonel Potter half admonished half concerned.
"Too long. He's got a complications in his complications!" Pierce squinted at an oozing bowel angrily. "Suction!" The nurse next to him promptly responded. "The smell of that coffee isn't doing much good either." He groaned. His mood had done nothing but grow more brooding with the sudden in-flow of wounded and the feeling he'd thought had gone several days before suddenly returning, and at the worst time.

It was a quiet breakfast that morning, and quite a bit of food sat cold on the kitchen counter set for disposal. Everyone had had something to do with the wounded that kept coming in, and eating didn't seem to be a pastime enjoyed by many around here. Bernie sighed and got plates ready to deliver to post-op for the boys who may be able to eat. If the soldiers stationed here weren't going to enjoy her food, some one sure as hell had to. She waited a few minutes for an enlisted man to show and take the food off her hands, but no one did. So, with a vigor that wasn't too hard to muster she hefted the plates herself and headed off towards the towering metal and khaki amalgamation on her own.
"Could you please tell me how I know who can eat what?" A prim woman, with gorgeous blonde hair pinned back very neatly started when Bernie entered the room and then scowled slightly in annoyance.
"It's on their charts, here" she thrust a finger at a clipboard hanging at the end of each bed. She gave Bernie a good once over and then squinted at her. "I don't believe I know you, Sergeant."
"Mess Sergeant Bernie Owens Ma'am. I'd salute, but there doesn't seem to be a place to set my trays." She grinned sheepishly, but did her best to look respectful. Suddenly, the woman changed colors of kindness and offered to take several of the trays. "Thank you, um..."
"Major Margret Houlihan, head nurse." She smiled warmly with a marked pride in her position. "I must tell you, dinner last night was wonderful."
"You have no idea how good that is to hear," Bernie shifted the lighter load of trays in her hands. "I was beginning to think that no one around here eats."
"Not when there's work to be done!" The Major quipped and immediately set about to distributing the trays. Bernie raised a brow and set to the other side of the room the Major wasn't blanketing already. There weren't many would could eat, mostly boys with shrapnel in their legs or other parts. An occasion stomach wound or unconscious boy were obviously impossible to serve. It wasn't long before everyone who could have a tray did, but a particular boy caught her attention.
"Arms out of commission, solider?" She caught a stool and hunkered down next to the boy who hadn't touched his tray.
"As a matter of fact, they are." He grinned at her and held out both of his bandaged hands. "Burn." He stated matter-of-factly.
"Want me to get a nurse so you can eat?"

"They're all busy," he shrugged. And they were, hustling with a look akin to a beehive. "I'm not very hungry anyway."
"Now don't say that! It's as if you don't like the food, and that's just a plain hurtful thing to say to the girl who made it. Here" She took up a fork full and pressed it at him, "take this for example. Took me five hours just to make this one."
"I don't think so." He was too busy eying her doubtfully to bother with what was going in his mouth.
"Honest. Here, see, you're eating just fine." She shoveled another forkful into his mouth and smiled.
"I guess so." He grinned and chewed. "It's good to get hot food again I guess. I've been out on the road for almost, well, I'd say just over two weeks now."
"With the way your wearing your skin like that I'd say at least two and a half!" She continued to feed him and talk. "What would your mother say if you came home looking all skin and bones like this? She'd have my hide!"
"My mother doesn't know you ma'am."
"And she won't know you either if I have my way. You eat every last bite of this and get horribly fat. Orders."
The tray was gone with a few more kind jokes, and she stood and brushed herself off. She saw the Major checking his chart, as well as the faint signs of a deep fatigue that was being desperately covered by a bit of well-placed make-up.
"Say, Major? Would you mind if I brought you a cup of coffee?" She touched the womans shoulder and heard her bark.
"Certainly not! I mean, no. I mean..." The woman shook her head and rubbed one temple. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"A cup of coffee. Is it okay if I bring one in here for you?"
"That's fine Sergeant, no need to go to any trouble."
"Trouble or not I'm bringing one in here, I'm just wondering if it's allowed." Bernie shrugged and eyed a few empty trays that needed to be gathered. She excused herself and collected them, only to be stopped by the Major on her way out the door.
"A cup of coffee would be nice Sergeant, thank you."
"Coming right up!" She hustled her way back to the mess tent and quickly prepared several mugs and with an awkward balancing act made her way back. There where more people out in the compound now, and she assumed the worst must be over.
"Here you are." She set down the trayful at the desk and picked up one for the Major. She assumed that a look of what might have been gratefulness passed across the woman's face. Several Nurses cluttered around the desk, each taking their own swigs of the coffee and moaning in delight.
"I smelt it all the way from here, but I thought it was a dream. Fresh coffee! Real, fresh coffee!"
"Nurse!" A cry from across the room came from a familiar voice. "Margaret!" The Major almost slammed down her mug and bolted across the room. Bernie couldn't hear exactly what the urgent mumbling was about from where she was at the nurses desk, but she new it was Captain Pierce, and that something was seriously wrong with one of the patients.
Suddenly, everything was quite, and a nearby nurse caught a corpsman by the arm and muttered something in a low tone. The crowd of nurses slowly dispersed, no one really feeling like drinking much anymore and she saw the Captain sitting over a bunk and watched as two men entered the room to take the former patient from his bed. She stared at him, both motionless, a something rose up in the pit of her stomach.
Death was never so close.

Something steamed near his right cheek and when he turned he saw the blank face of Sergeant Bernie staring down at him.
"Coffee," she offered meekly. "You look..." she was going to say 'dead,' but caught herself. "Exhausted."
He didn't say a word as he took the mug and sniffed it passively.
It was funny. She had nothing to say in a situation like this. She wanted more than anything to just reach out and touch a sholder, but she couldn't. But something didn't seem right, and he didn't exactly look like he wanted the comfort right now. He just stood up and slunk out of the room. She did the same, but in the other direction, picking up the mugs and heading back to cleanup breakfast.
It was unnerving, to say the least. He'd been an asshole, and then a nice guy, but for a few moments back there she'd seen a very broken man. She'd thought she'd seen it all in this war. Kids who lost their buddies at the front, guys who got dear John's from their girls, and mooned for days. Even at the General's post she'd seen the bravest men reduced to the smallest children in a matter of mere moments, and she'd had something for each of them. A cake, or a batch of cookies, a few kind words, but most importantly a set of ears and a shoulder to lean on. Bernie knew best.
She paused as a stretcher cut her off in her path and she watched as a hand fell out from beneath the blanket, clutching a fragment of bloody cloth. It suddenly occurred to Bernie that she knew nothing at all.

She'd tried to make lunch a little heavier that day, seeing as how very few people had made it to breakfast, she figured the lot would be starving. And she was right.
"I'm famished!" An officer grinned at her across his metal tray. She heaped a bit of extra on and winked.
"Finish that and we'll talk about getting you some more." His grin was exactly what she waited for. That smile was why she loved cooking. She'd waitressed, bartended and did hundreds of other jobs across the country back home, but nothing made her happier than to see someone grin over something she'd made. She worked her hardest to make sure that every time someone went through her line they at least felt satisfied by what they ate. No one leaves without a full stomach and a warm feeling, was a motto she'd picked up in the south, and stuck to here in the east. It was what got her the job with the general.
"Sergeant." It was the prim Major from that morning.
"Good Afternoon ma'am." She heaped the Majors tray, who balked.
"I can't eat that much!"
"You're too skinny to eat any less!" Bernie protested and waved her aside, in an action that would've been disrespectful if the Major had been paying attention.
"You think I'm too skinny?" Margaret wasn't sure whether to be outraged or pleased.
"If I were you I'd be more afraid of a strong breeze than an artillery bombing ma'am." Bernie laid it on thick and then moved on to the next person.
"Not so much please. I need to maintain my girlish figure." She looked up from the two hairy hands holding the tray in front of her and met a warm grinning face.
"Klinger! Good afternoon." She gave him a fair portion, but less than she'd given the others at his wishes. "Thanks again for showing me to my tent last night."
"Anytime. Including tonight, I've got KP, so I'll walk you home."
"Sounds like a plan. See you when you're shift starts!"
"Say, did you do something with you hair, looks nice." He motioned at her head, where she was still wearing her cap, but had let her hair down.
"This old thing?" She grinned and let him pass through the line.

"Reporting and ready," Klinger appeared in the doorway with a smart but slightly mocking salute.
"Get ready with the oven then." She pointed a floury finger at a set of sheets. "Take what's in there out and then put those in. After twenty minutes repeat."
"Can do." He raced over to where he needed to be and then stopped. "How'd you get this far with all this already?"
"I just did." She wiped a hand across her face and the panicked. "Get those things out of the oven, now!" This wasn't good, she was raising her voice.
"Whoops, sorry." He shrunk a little and took up the food, quickly shifting what needed to be out, out, and what needed to be in, in.
"Here, you'll need this," she tossed and apron to him with a smile and then motioned him over. He tied it on as he went to her side. "Okay, here's what you do. Take a bit of this in this bowl."
"Is that meat?"
"Uh huh. Take this meat, and place it right in the center of this dough square, and then do the same with the other bowl with the vegetables. I'll roll out the dough, and fold them after you've finished. Got it?"
"Can do." He followed orders to a T. After a bit of working he asked, "so how did you this much done this quickly."
"I've been thinking. I like to cook when I think, it helps the process." She'd been worried about the look on the Captain's face aft6er the death in post-op for most of the day, and about the package that had come from Reidweiller.
"I know how you feel. When I need to really give a thought the twice over, I sew." He nodded, but continued to mechanically place the meat and veggies.
"Did you sew that dress?"
"Most all of what I wear, I made." He shrugged. "It passes the time I guess."
"It's a beautiful thing, Klinger! Do you plan to keep making dresses after the war?"
"Now see here!" He suddenly stopped what he was doing. "I plan on doing no such thing!"
"Why not!" She touched the hem of his collar, "you're wonderful at it."
"Where I come from it just doesn't work that way. It isn't right for a guy to be making stuff like dresses."
"Where exactly do you come from?"
"Toledo, Ohio" His face glowed. The look of love and longing that passed over his face made Bernie feel a little jealous. She never really had a town she could think of in the way he was right now.
"And they don't have tailors in Toledo Ohio?"
"Oh sure, but I couldn't be one of them."
"Why not?" she pushed.
"I don't know how!" Klinger threw the meat into the dough with more force than Bernie cared to see being taken with her food.
"I disagree. Pass me the flour, would you?" She pointed at the container of it on his left. "Besides, why don't you take a course in it through the mail, I'm sure we could find something that would work."
"Maybe," he shrugged, and then changed the conversation. "So what is it that had you thinking so much you made enough food for an army."
"Making enough food for an army is my job" she laughed, "but I wasn't really thinking about anything important. Heavy stuff, like death and war, but thoughts like that seem to be inherent here."
"I guess so." Klinger raised his eyebrows at her. "Those are pretty heavy. What brought them on?"
"I saw a man die in the Post op today." It was hard not to sound affected. She didn't mention Captain Pierce. "I guess it just shook me up a little."
"I don't blame you. Did you have a reason for being in Post-op?"
"Delivering breakfast. I brought coffee for all the nurses when someone shouted out and there was this buzzing for a moment and then... nothing. A very terrible sort of silence." She sighed. "In the past two days I've seen more carnage and death than I ever thought I'd see in my life. The front was just this passive 'being' people talked about either in booming brave tones or hushed secretive ones. It was never anything real to me until this morning."
"I know how you feel." Klinger sympathized. "It seems a ways off now, but I went through the same thing when I got here. A lot of people feel that way." He patted her on the shoulder lightly and when she looked up at him with a sad smile he wrapped his arm around her and squeezed. "You never really get used to it, but all that means is your human, and there's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all."

"Somedaaaaay, when I'm awfully low... when the world is cooooold!" Bernie bounded in the kitchen with an empty food 'bin' in tow and several utensils clattering around inside of it. She felt like singing.
"What is wrong with you? I'm beat!" Klinger sluffed in after her, weighed down by several more empty bins.
"I love it! It's all gone, every last bit!" She threw her things into a large sink of waiting soapy water, and took Klinger's, throwing them to the same fate. "Did you see all the smiles. The talking over their food. Wasn't it great?" She grabbed the corporal's shoulders and grinned. "We made those smiles Klinger! Only food does that to people!"
"Hey, I guess you're right." Klinger started to grin slightly on his own, "but your still crazy. You've got to be beat."
"Crazy says the man in the black pumps! I'm not tired at all. I feel like dancing!" She giggled. "But there aren't any nightclubs around here, are there."
"No, but I do know where we can find a jukebox and some floor space."
"Klinger, are you asking me to go dancing!" She chided.
"Is that a problem?"
"A big one!" she threw up her hands and laughed. "Who'll lead?" Klinger joined her laughter and lead her out the door. "Whoop! Hold on, let me grab some cookies."
"Cookies?" Klinger followed her with an exasperated look as she ran through the kitchen and threw open a few doors, searching. "We're going dancing and you stop to get cookies?" Bernie shrugged.
"You have something against cookies?"
"Not necessarily, it's just..."
"Then shut up and walk me to where the music is playing."

"Pardon me," they'd been bumped into, and the friendly sound of BJ Hunnicut's voice sounded very near her ear. "Well, hello Bernie, fancy bumping into you here."
"Captain." She nodded. "It's a wonderful night for dancing don't you think?" They'd been dancing for almost half an hour and her head was spinning. Klinger was a stitch and she couldn't keep her ribs from aching. Her feet were beginning to have problems of their own, and with her sense of euphoria still high she pleaded that they take a seat.
"Here, we'll take this table, I'll get us some drinks. What goes good with cookies?" Klinger chided.
"I don't know, but I'll see how beer works out."
"Two beers then, I'll be right back." He took off and she reached into her bag and pulled out the brown sack of baked goods.
"Planning to stay here long?" BJ settled into the chair across from her.
"I'm sorry?" She didn't understand until he pointed at the paper bag and said,
"You packed a lunch?"
"Oh, no! Dessert." She carefully opened the bag and let him peer in. "Want one?"
"Don't mind if I do." He bit into one and she grinned at the way a few grains of sugar clung to his mustache. His eyes rolled back and he smiled. "Mm! Now these are good. What do you call them?"
"Sugar cookies. It's been awhile?"
"Too long, obviously. Peg bakes all the time, but everything she makes never quite seems to make the long trip here in one piece." Bernie remembered the way BJ had loving described his family the night before and felt a warmth settle over her. The thought of a loving family always seemed to make her choke up.
"Then have another, they're not made with the love a family might send, but I try." She smiled and grabbed one of own after BJ had taken a second. "Say, Beej, do mind if I ask you something."
"Shoot."
"How's Captain Pierce doing after this morning? I was there when that boy... he seemed to have taken it pretty hard." BJ stopped munching and considered the cookie in his hand very seriously before taking another slow bite.
"Hawkeye? He's been brooding all day. Which isn't that out of the ordinary." BJ shrugged and took another bite. "I tried to get him to come with me tonight, but I guess he wanted to rest. He'll be fine. By tomorrow morning he should be completely back to normal." Bj pointed at the bag. "Mind if I take a few of these for some of the others?"
"Actually, I was hoping to get rid of them all. Here," she took a few for Klinger and handed the rest of the bag to BJ. "Make sure they find a happy home."
"Thanks, I see that they do." BJ stood up but then made a face. "Uh oh, looks like your dance partner found another date." Sure enough, Klinger was on the floor with someone else. He seemed to be enjoying himself so Bernie didn't mind in the least. She was tired as hell anyway.
"Ah well, it's like they say, a girl and her date in a skirt are soon parted. I was thinking about heading back to my tent anyway. Good night."
"G'night. And thanks again for these" He held up the bag.
"Anytime!" She waved and yelled slightly as she made her way through the crowd and out the door. At this time of night everyone was either asleep or at the officers club, so the light on at the 'swamp' puzzled her. She stopped when she passed by and knocked softly. She could see the faint halo of Hawkeye against the light.
"Come in." It was little more than a mutter.
"Hey, I just wanted to stop by and give you these, sort of a 'thank you' for last night." She held out the cookies she'd saved for Klinger who had no use for them now.
"What are they?" He mumbled.
"Rocks. Mud. Kimchee. What do they look like?" He looked up at her, to the cookies, and then back at her as he took them from her hands.
"Thank you." He set them down on the table next to his bed and settled back.
"Did you eat dinner?"
"No."
"You should've. You're too skinny."
"You seem to think everyone's too skinny. Margaret's on cloud nine from all the slim talk you've been giving her."
"I think it because everyone /I too skinny." She grinned a little, but then killed it when she saw the look on Hawkeye's face. He was in no mood to be jovial. "You should eat the cookies, they're best fresh."
"I'm not really in the mood, but thanks anyway." He finally gave her a small smile, that was more for her sake than his. She could take the hint, he didn't want to be comforted. She turned and pushed on the door when his voice suddenly stopped her. "Where'd you get the sugar for these anyway?"
With her back to him she muttered, "an old friend sent it with some coffee." And with that she was back in the night and made her way to her tent under the light of a slowly filling moon.

Breakfast went smooth enough and everyone was able to eat. The casualties didn't come until around noon and even then there were only a few of them. However, among those few was one who would change Bernie's day unlike any other casualty could have.
"Bernie." Klinger popped his head in the door and looked around. At the sound of his voice she looked up from her baking and wiped her fore arm across an itch on her nose, leaving a track of white flour.
"What can I do for you Klinger."
"There's someone who wants to see you. He says he's a friend of yours."
Bernie stiffened. Please, she thought, don't let it be him, don't let him have followed me hear. The packages I can handle, but personal appearances, it's too much.
Quietly, she asked his name.
"Cutter I think." Klinger narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you all right?"
"He's here!" She ripped off her apron and almost ran over Klinger as she made her way out into the open compound as he trailed behind her, panting. "Where is he? I don't see him?"
She had expected to see him in a Jeep or standing around, loitering and waiting for her. He was here on a visit wasn't he? What she hadn't expected was when Klinger pointed to the post-op door. He hadn't needed to say a thing. She just took off, tears fighting there way through he jagged breaths.
"Cutter!" She flew through the door and around the fabric hanging, searching frantically for his face. And then she saw him. "No," she gasped in horror. He was flat on a bed, laid out, wounded, but smiled straight at her like he wasn't in the same bed that death had visited only a night earlier.
"Hey there you. Bet you didn't expect to see me here." He sat up a little as she rushed to his side, angry tears falling down her face as she wiped her hands over him, barely believing he was there and doing her own, futile, check for gashes and wounds a doctor might have missed. "It's just a broken leg and a nice burn, that's all." He pulled her into a large hug to comfort her and to stop her probing.
"What the hell have you done!" She grasped blindly for a stool and collapsed into the seat when she found one.
"It was a mine, that's all. It wasn't even a very big one." He grinned sheepishly, "I was just trying to catch a cow and..."
"The hell you were!" Bernie roared and then received a look from the nurse on staff that made her repeat the same sentence, only in a whisper. "If you want beef, you requisition beef. It's not that hard."
"When the General wants beef I requisition it, when I want beef, I have to catch it."
"No cow is worth losing a leg over. Do you know a man died in that bed last night? Died! And now you're there. It's a bad omen Cutter, very bad." She shook a shaking finger at his face, and he grabbed it.
"Bernie, you've never been one for superstition, please don't start now." Her took her in his arms once again and she could feel his chest rumble as he laughed. "I'm supposed to be the one getting comfort you know. I'm the burn victim."
"You don't deserve comfort." She muttered and wiped her nose on his sleeve to accent the point.
"Um, sorry to break this up, but you're over-exciting the patient." Hawkeye's voice sounded at the end of the bed with a thick hint of innuendo Bernie chose to ignore. Instead she sat up and wiped the rest of the tears from her eyes.
"Hey Doc! Have you met my friend Bern?"
"It's Bernie, you jerk" she resisted the urge to hit his smug face. "And of course we've met." She turned to Pierce and asked "is he going to be alright?"
"He's lucky. Most people don't come out of a mine blast this whole. Fortunately the cow set it off an not him."

"Waste of beef." Cutter muttered loud enough for her to hear and she gave his a warning look.
"I'm leaving now Cutter. Is their anything I can do for you while you rest?"
"Well my mother used to make me soup, I can't remember what kind though."
"Don't worry about that," Bernie grinned, her teeth tight together and her lips strained. "I'll just call her as ask her what it was she cooked the last time her son got blown up, by a cow."