The patient dies before BJ can close. He replaces his blood whites with army greens, and makes his way to the Swamp so he can put the still to good use. And when it's dry and he can't get drunk enough –
But not like that, because Hawkeye's the alcoholic, not him.
- there's such a bitter taste left in his mouth that he almost wants to spit, but he knows that it would be so much less satisfying than it sounds. So he holds it in, just like he's always held in every scream, every sob that's threatened to wrack his entire body, every urge to throw something against a wall, hard, so that it shatters and he can smile and think, I've always wanted to do that.
He's just so exhausted; sick and tired of the death and the blood that can't be suctioned fast enough and not knowing what's worse, dying alone in Asia or living, and watching everyone else fall without grace, and he knows he would condemn this whole fucking war if he wasn't too sober to realize that he's already in hell.