"Attention, all personnel, chopper on the pad! Just one, though! That is all."
BJ opened his eyes to the early morning light and noticed that his tentmates were both gone. Hawkeye, he knew, would be the first one up to the helipad, and Frank was probably in Margaret's tent. His second home.
Stretching and yawning he got up, pulled on a pair of pants, and hurried out the door, up the hill to where the chopper's blades were still rotating in dizzying circles. Hawkeye and Colonel Potter were already there, examining the only woundd man who had come in, and Frank was standing off to the side, apparently having trouble getting his zipper up. God only knew why it had been down in the first place (Though Frank later protested, among comments declaring that it was none of their business, that he had been in the latrine).
"Superficial leg wound." BJ heard the Colonel call out, looking up as he approached. "I'll take him. Lieutenant!" He caught the pilot's attention. "Turn off that confounded windmill and take breakfast in our Mess Tent. You been up awhile, son."
With a nod and a tip of his hat, the pilot complied, going in the opposite direction of Potter and the corpsmen as they headed to OR.
He took a seat among Hawkeye, BJ, Radar, Klinger, Margaret, and Frank after loading his tray with an unpleasant array of drab colors. The usual chatter was present; taunting about Frank's mysterious absence during the night, discussion of various patients, several interjected puns on Hawkeye's part, and nasal analyzation of the food. The Lieutenant sat silently through all of this, enjoying a friendly atmosphere that was rarely found this close to the front.
Fifteen minutes later, Colonel Potter came into the tent. He grabbed himself a cup of coffee and plunked down on the bench next to Frank, who made a little noise of protest.
It was promptly ignored.
"Morning, Swamprats, Margaret, Lebanese Lady, Radar, Lieutenant Marcus." Potter greeted everyone in turn. Lieutenant Marcus swallowed, with some difficulty, his most recent bite of army gruel and said
"Colonel, there's something I've been meaning to ask you." "Fire away." "What was with all those strange markings on your landing pad?"
Looks of confusion came at him from all around the table. "What markings, son?" The Lieutenant looked at him like he was stupid. "On one pad, it looked like somebody spelled out the word 'welcome' with toilet paper. On another pad, there was a shape that looked almost like a piece of... well... of toast. You mean to tell me you don't know anything about this?"
Everyone looked at Hawkeye who studied his plate very intently. His forehead was turning red beneath the locks of black hair that obscured his eyes.
"Your aliens again, Hawk?" BJ teased, while Margaret and Frank dished out glares of disapproval and disgust. Lieutenant Marcus looked to Hawkeye seriously and, with a glance at Frank, said seriously
"Aliens? Oh, but you'll never get them that way. They can't read our writing. You have to spell it out backwards."
There was a clatter as silverware dropped to the table, and everyone groaned.