Izzy was being helped into the mess tent by Hawkeye two days later.
'Be warned, the food isn't the best cuisine,' Hawkeye said.
'Better than living out of a rubbish bin, I bet,' Izzy replied. She sat down while Hawkeye got a tray of food for her. A man with a black shirt and army jacket sat at the table, at the other end. He muttered something and made a cross with his hands.
'Hello, are you the chaplain here?' Izzy asked, knowing he was.
'Yes, I am,' Father Mulchay said. 'You were the girl who was hit by the jeep, right?' Izzy nodded as Hawkeye got back.
'Here you go. First grade slop,' he said, placing the tray in front of her. Izzy poked it experimentally. On TV, the food was never considered really great, except on special occasions, when someone managed to snag something decent. Spooning something greenish-gray onto her fork, she ate it, chewing carefully and slowly.
'It's not that bad,' she said, swallowing it. 'What did I just eat? It tastes a little like baby peas.'
'It is that bad. You just ate canned broccoli from world war two,' Hawkeye replied.
'Oh,' Izzy said, now feeling a little odd. 'Don't tell me what I'm eating from now on. Ignorance is bliss.' Hawkeye and Father Mulchay smiled at Izzy.
'Izzy, this is Father Mulchay, the camp priest. Father, this is Izzy, she's from Australia,' Hawkeye said.
'G'day from down under, and all that,' Izzy said in an exaggerated Australian accent. Hawkeye grinned as a piece of meat (it could have been either fish or liver) flew threw the air and hit Frank in the face, who'd just walked in the door.
'Who threw that!' he demanded. Izzy glanced around, and noticed the camp cook with a spatula in one hand, laughing. Obviously he had launched the meat from that. 'Tell me who threw that now, or I'll put you all under house arrest!' No-one spoke. Hawkeye got a mischievous look in his blue eyes.
'I'll give you five bucks to fling your mashed potato at him,' he whispered to Izzy, pointing to the sloppy, lumpy mixture in the corner of her tray. What the hell, Izzy thought. I may never get another chance like this. So, grabbing a spoon, Izzy used it as a catapult to send some mashed potato in Frank's direction. The major was splattered with it, and he turned to face their table.
'Pierce! I should have known!' Frank yelled. Suddenly, Izzy felt guilty, and the cook seemed so too.
'He didn't do it, I did,' Izzy explained. 'And anyway, there's nothing you can do to me, because I'm not part of the army.' Hawkeye's face split into a grin when he realised what Izzy was saying was true. Suddenly, someone behind Frank flipped their broccoli at him. When Frank turned to see who did it, more people flung things at him. Frank decided it was best to bid a hasty retreat, and got out the door, soaked from head to toe with sloppy, lumpy food.
'That was fun,' Izzy giggled. Hawkeye laughed.
'Yeah, Frank can be a lot of fun when you want him to be,' he said. 'But other times he's a real pain in the neck.'
'Be warned, the food isn't the best cuisine,' Hawkeye said.
'Better than living out of a rubbish bin, I bet,' Izzy replied. She sat down while Hawkeye got a tray of food for her. A man with a black shirt and army jacket sat at the table, at the other end. He muttered something and made a cross with his hands.
'Hello, are you the chaplain here?' Izzy asked, knowing he was.
'Yes, I am,' Father Mulchay said. 'You were the girl who was hit by the jeep, right?' Izzy nodded as Hawkeye got back.
'Here you go. First grade slop,' he said, placing the tray in front of her. Izzy poked it experimentally. On TV, the food was never considered really great, except on special occasions, when someone managed to snag something decent. Spooning something greenish-gray onto her fork, she ate it, chewing carefully and slowly.
'It's not that bad,' she said, swallowing it. 'What did I just eat? It tastes a little like baby peas.'
'It is that bad. You just ate canned broccoli from world war two,' Hawkeye replied.
'Oh,' Izzy said, now feeling a little odd. 'Don't tell me what I'm eating from now on. Ignorance is bliss.' Hawkeye and Father Mulchay smiled at Izzy.
'Izzy, this is Father Mulchay, the camp priest. Father, this is Izzy, she's from Australia,' Hawkeye said.
'G'day from down under, and all that,' Izzy said in an exaggerated Australian accent. Hawkeye grinned as a piece of meat (it could have been either fish or liver) flew threw the air and hit Frank in the face, who'd just walked in the door.
'Who threw that!' he demanded. Izzy glanced around, and noticed the camp cook with a spatula in one hand, laughing. Obviously he had launched the meat from that. 'Tell me who threw that now, or I'll put you all under house arrest!' No-one spoke. Hawkeye got a mischievous look in his blue eyes.
'I'll give you five bucks to fling your mashed potato at him,' he whispered to Izzy, pointing to the sloppy, lumpy mixture in the corner of her tray. What the hell, Izzy thought. I may never get another chance like this. So, grabbing a spoon, Izzy used it as a catapult to send some mashed potato in Frank's direction. The major was splattered with it, and he turned to face their table.
'Pierce! I should have known!' Frank yelled. Suddenly, Izzy felt guilty, and the cook seemed so too.
'He didn't do it, I did,' Izzy explained. 'And anyway, there's nothing you can do to me, because I'm not part of the army.' Hawkeye's face split into a grin when he realised what Izzy was saying was true. Suddenly, someone behind Frank flipped their broccoli at him. When Frank turned to see who did it, more people flung things at him. Frank decided it was best to bid a hasty retreat, and got out the door, soaked from head to toe with sloppy, lumpy food.
'That was fun,' Izzy giggled. Hawkeye laughed.
'Yeah, Frank can be a lot of fun when you want him to be,' he said. 'But other times he's a real pain in the neck.'