For a few days after that grueling forty-eight hour session, there was a lull in activity at the 4077th. With no wounded and only three men still in recovering in Post-Op, life in camp was peacefully – and pleasantly – dull.
Except when things concerned Hawkeye.
He was so sleep-deprived that most people thought he would drop over dead any day now. Though he made sure to keep clean and shaven, a first, and stayed away from the martinis, another first, his eyes gave it all away. The bright, antique blue of his irises was fading, replaced by little red lines that spiderwebbed across them, partially obscured by drooping lids.
More than once a nurse would have to prod him into wakefulness, because he had fallen asleep leaning against a wall during one of his vulgar suggestions as to evening occupations.
Nearly every mealtime found him perilously close to drowning in the potatoes, until BJ or Margaret or Colonel Potter yanked him out of the offending substance by the back of his collar.
All orders to sleep properly, though, were ignored.
However, what happened even more often than any of these things, were the disappearances. Hawkeye would frequently disappear for hours at a time, only to come wandering back into the camp at twilight, constantly glancing behind him and breaking into a sprint once he could see the Swamp. It was the same every night. He would burst into the tent and dive into his cot, curling up in the fetal position. Frank would say
"Pierce! Where've you been?!"
And Hawkeye would only answer "Preparing. They will come." Then he would spend another sleepless night, staring through the netting of the tent and forcing himself to remain awake, only catching infrequent, insubstantial snatches of slumber.
Tonight, though, was different. Before anyone had lie down for bed, the PA suddenly crackled to life and Radar announced loudly
"Attention all personnel! Colonel Sherman T. Potter has ordered a staff meeting in the Mess Tent at twenty-one hundred hours! That's now, folks! Required to attend the meeting are Major Burns, Major Houlihan, Captain Hunnicutt, Captain Pierce, Lieutenant Father Mulcahy, Corporal Klinger, and Corporal O'Reilly. Oh, hehe, that's me. Ahem! That is all!"
"C'mon, Hawk," BJ said gently, helping Hawkeye up out of the fetal position and onto his feet. They, along with a sour-looking Frank, trudged through the gathering darkness and towards the Mess Tent.
As they walked, BJ started noticing things. Markings. Sometime during early evening, a purple circle with a white cross inside had been painted on the door of every single tent, as well as a few on the ground.
"That... that's the sign of an exorcism!" Frank squeaked in a high-pitched voice. "What's it doing on all the tents?!"
"It's to keep them away," said Hawkeye in a monotone voice, before opening the Mess Tent door and walking inside. Suddenly the lights went out and the camp was thrown into darkness. The backup generator failed to jump into life, so Klinger immediately got up, but the fact that the Mess Tent light was still on stayed him. They were on in other tents as well. It was only the lights outside, the ones mounted on tall poles throughout the compound, that had gone out.
...Odd...
Everyone else was already assembled at one of the tables, staring at them expectantly. Hawkeye, BJ, and Frank all took their seats, and for a moment, there was silence all around. It was Colonel Potter who spoke up.
"Never mind the lights, we'll take care of 'em in a minute. This is important. Pierce, son... did you make those marks out there?"
"Yup."
"Why?"
"The aliens."
There were frustrated murmurs from everyone, but with one look, Potter shut them all up and continued his mild interrogation.
"What about them?"
"If they feel that there are demons in this place, they'll become hostile. You didn't know that?" He looked genuinely surprised. "So I asked Father Mulcahy to perform a series of exorcisms. They will come in peace, since the camp has been cleansed."
Everyone looked expectantly at Father Mulcahy, who gave an apologetic shrug and fingered his silver cross delicately.
"Hawkeye," Colonel Potter said suddenly and sternly, "I order you to knock off this alien bull. It was a cute joke before, but it ain't funny anymore. You're vandalizing US Army property, wasting said property for the purposes of contacting these pretend beings, and just being an overall nuisance!" He barked all this out sharply at an unwavering Hawkeye, who simply stared back.
"Now you'd best get back to your hole and get some sleep, because we're gonna need you in full working condition when those casualties start rolling in again. And you're gonna listen, too, hear me Pierce? I don't wanna have to punish you, but if you put the efficiency of this unit in danger for your tomfoolery, I may just have to. Comprende?"
But Hawkeye wasn't looking at him. A sheet of glistening sweat had broken out over his face and he was staring up at the roof of the tent with wide eyes, making something akin to a fearful whimpering noise.
"Wha... what's that sound?" Frank whispered, and for once, Margaret didn't reprimand him. She, too, was glancing between Hawkeye's frightened face and the canvas ceiling as a whirring noise overhead grew louder and louder. Drafts of wind sucked at the tent around them, drawing it up on its ropes and dropping it again as the sound became nearly deafening.
"It's just a helicopter!" Potter roared over the din, but he looked nervous himself. Radar was halfway under the table, squeaking in terror.
"The choppers don't FLY at night!" sobbed the scared little Coporal. Then the eight men (and woman) rushed out of the tent as light flooded the compound, eerie green and nearly blinding. Others were dashing out in nightgowns and bathrobes, shielding their eyes against the strange light.
Then... the screams began.
The nurses, mostly, but Radar and Frank clutched each other, screaming for all they were worth as a giant shape whizzed out of the dark sky above and hovered in midair before descending gently to the ground in the middle of the compound.
Hawkeye was hysterical.
He was bellowing for all he was worth that they had come. The aliens.
...They had come.
Except when things concerned Hawkeye.
He was so sleep-deprived that most people thought he would drop over dead any day now. Though he made sure to keep clean and shaven, a first, and stayed away from the martinis, another first, his eyes gave it all away. The bright, antique blue of his irises was fading, replaced by little red lines that spiderwebbed across them, partially obscured by drooping lids.
More than once a nurse would have to prod him into wakefulness, because he had fallen asleep leaning against a wall during one of his vulgar suggestions as to evening occupations.
Nearly every mealtime found him perilously close to drowning in the potatoes, until BJ or Margaret or Colonel Potter yanked him out of the offending substance by the back of his collar.
All orders to sleep properly, though, were ignored.
However, what happened even more often than any of these things, were the disappearances. Hawkeye would frequently disappear for hours at a time, only to come wandering back into the camp at twilight, constantly glancing behind him and breaking into a sprint once he could see the Swamp. It was the same every night. He would burst into the tent and dive into his cot, curling up in the fetal position. Frank would say
"Pierce! Where've you been?!"
And Hawkeye would only answer "Preparing. They will come." Then he would spend another sleepless night, staring through the netting of the tent and forcing himself to remain awake, only catching infrequent, insubstantial snatches of slumber.
Tonight, though, was different. Before anyone had lie down for bed, the PA suddenly crackled to life and Radar announced loudly
"Attention all personnel! Colonel Sherman T. Potter has ordered a staff meeting in the Mess Tent at twenty-one hundred hours! That's now, folks! Required to attend the meeting are Major Burns, Major Houlihan, Captain Hunnicutt, Captain Pierce, Lieutenant Father Mulcahy, Corporal Klinger, and Corporal O'Reilly. Oh, hehe, that's me. Ahem! That is all!"
"C'mon, Hawk," BJ said gently, helping Hawkeye up out of the fetal position and onto his feet. They, along with a sour-looking Frank, trudged through the gathering darkness and towards the Mess Tent.
As they walked, BJ started noticing things. Markings. Sometime during early evening, a purple circle with a white cross inside had been painted on the door of every single tent, as well as a few on the ground.
"That... that's the sign of an exorcism!" Frank squeaked in a high-pitched voice. "What's it doing on all the tents?!"
"It's to keep them away," said Hawkeye in a monotone voice, before opening the Mess Tent door and walking inside. Suddenly the lights went out and the camp was thrown into darkness. The backup generator failed to jump into life, so Klinger immediately got up, but the fact that the Mess Tent light was still on stayed him. They were on in other tents as well. It was only the lights outside, the ones mounted on tall poles throughout the compound, that had gone out.
...Odd...
Everyone else was already assembled at one of the tables, staring at them expectantly. Hawkeye, BJ, and Frank all took their seats, and for a moment, there was silence all around. It was Colonel Potter who spoke up.
"Never mind the lights, we'll take care of 'em in a minute. This is important. Pierce, son... did you make those marks out there?"
"Yup."
"Why?"
"The aliens."
There were frustrated murmurs from everyone, but with one look, Potter shut them all up and continued his mild interrogation.
"What about them?"
"If they feel that there are demons in this place, they'll become hostile. You didn't know that?" He looked genuinely surprised. "So I asked Father Mulcahy to perform a series of exorcisms. They will come in peace, since the camp has been cleansed."
Everyone looked expectantly at Father Mulcahy, who gave an apologetic shrug and fingered his silver cross delicately.
"Hawkeye," Colonel Potter said suddenly and sternly, "I order you to knock off this alien bull. It was a cute joke before, but it ain't funny anymore. You're vandalizing US Army property, wasting said property for the purposes of contacting these pretend beings, and just being an overall nuisance!" He barked all this out sharply at an unwavering Hawkeye, who simply stared back.
"Now you'd best get back to your hole and get some sleep, because we're gonna need you in full working condition when those casualties start rolling in again. And you're gonna listen, too, hear me Pierce? I don't wanna have to punish you, but if you put the efficiency of this unit in danger for your tomfoolery, I may just have to. Comprende?"
But Hawkeye wasn't looking at him. A sheet of glistening sweat had broken out over his face and he was staring up at the roof of the tent with wide eyes, making something akin to a fearful whimpering noise.
"Wha... what's that sound?" Frank whispered, and for once, Margaret didn't reprimand him. She, too, was glancing between Hawkeye's frightened face and the canvas ceiling as a whirring noise overhead grew louder and louder. Drafts of wind sucked at the tent around them, drawing it up on its ropes and dropping it again as the sound became nearly deafening.
"It's just a helicopter!" Potter roared over the din, but he looked nervous himself. Radar was halfway under the table, squeaking in terror.
"The choppers don't FLY at night!" sobbed the scared little Coporal. Then the eight men (and woman) rushed out of the tent as light flooded the compound, eerie green and nearly blinding. Others were dashing out in nightgowns and bathrobes, shielding their eyes against the strange light.
Then... the screams began.
The nurses, mostly, but Radar and Frank clutched each other, screaming for all they were worth as a giant shape whizzed out of the dark sky above and hovered in midair before descending gently to the ground in the middle of the compound.
Hawkeye was hysterical.
He was bellowing for all he was worth that they had come. The aliens.
...They had come.