While everyone else was frozen, Trapper ran forward and caught Hawkeye
before he hit the ground and lowered him gently downwards. The blood was
soaking through the shirt, and he started to pull it away.
"Hey," Hawk said weakly "They're gonna charge me for that at the
laundrette."
"Ambulance!" Henry yelled, then ran and knelt next to Trapper.
"Its ok, just put it on my account" Trapper said absently in reply to Hawkeye's joke. He looked at the wound. It was low down on Hawkeye's chest. It looked bad. He pulled off his shirt and used it to try to stop the bleeding.
"My Dad always said a true friend would give you the shirt off his back. Do you think this is what he meant?"
"Yeah Hawk, I'm sure you getting shot in a mess tent is exactly what he had in mind. Why isn't there a first aid kit in this mess tent!"
"Foods never been that bad." Hawk said. He grinned slightly. Then he moaned. "Hurts."
"Take it easy Pierce, it's going to be ok." Henry said, but he exchanged a worried glance with Trapper. Radar came running in with a couple of orderlies and a stretcher. They got Hawkeye onto it, but the act of moving him made him lose consciousness. As they brought him to the OR there was a tense silence.
"I'll operate, you assist right?" Trapper said abruptly as he and Henry got scrubbed up. Henry nodded.
"So much for the Hippocratic oath I guess." Neither of them was ready to face what had happened, they were just concentrating on the present moment.
They went into the operating room. Hawkeye was conscious again, though Ugly John was there ready to put him under. He looked paler than usual though it was hard to tell under his moustache. Margaret Houlihan was also there, looking shocked but efficient, no mean feat.
Trapper looked down at his friend, lying on the table and had the absurd thought that Hawkeye would just get up and tell him that it had all been a practical joke he and Frank had cooked up. The thought of Hawkeye and Frank cooperating almost brought a smile to his face. But not quite.
"Trap."
His name brought him back to the present. Hawkeye's voice. Too soft.
"Trap I need you to promise me something." Trapper wondered, in a split second what it could possibly be? He'd promised Hawk that he'd write his father if anything happened a long time ago. The night they'd finished the still actually. The twelfth night they'd been in Korea. The only night they'd ever really got totally and utterly blind drunk. In between pledging eternal friendship (to each other, to the still, to several passing women and the skeleton in Henry's office) they'd promised to tell each others families if. if was as far as they'd ever got. Some things shouldn't be said aloud.
"Anything Hawk, name it." He answered.
"I want you to send a telegram to President Truman, reporting a hole and demanding a refund." This was said with unexpected strength and conviction.
Hawkeye smiled beatifically at Trapper and Henry, who both stood there with their mouths open under their masks. Ugly John shrugged and put him under.
Radar hovered between his office and the window of the operating room. He wanted desperately to go in just to be there, but he was terrified that he might distract the surgeons.
The off duty base personnel clustered around the entrance to post op waiting for news. People on duty kept looking at the tannoy, willing it to make an announcement. Everyone spoke in hushed tones, when they spoke at all.
And in the mess tent, unseen and somehow forgotten Frank sat in the corner, rocking back and forth, staring at nothing.
"Ambulance!" Henry yelled, then ran and knelt next to Trapper.
"Its ok, just put it on my account" Trapper said absently in reply to Hawkeye's joke. He looked at the wound. It was low down on Hawkeye's chest. It looked bad. He pulled off his shirt and used it to try to stop the bleeding.
"My Dad always said a true friend would give you the shirt off his back. Do you think this is what he meant?"
"Yeah Hawk, I'm sure you getting shot in a mess tent is exactly what he had in mind. Why isn't there a first aid kit in this mess tent!"
"Foods never been that bad." Hawk said. He grinned slightly. Then he moaned. "Hurts."
"Take it easy Pierce, it's going to be ok." Henry said, but he exchanged a worried glance with Trapper. Radar came running in with a couple of orderlies and a stretcher. They got Hawkeye onto it, but the act of moving him made him lose consciousness. As they brought him to the OR there was a tense silence.
"I'll operate, you assist right?" Trapper said abruptly as he and Henry got scrubbed up. Henry nodded.
"So much for the Hippocratic oath I guess." Neither of them was ready to face what had happened, they were just concentrating on the present moment.
They went into the operating room. Hawkeye was conscious again, though Ugly John was there ready to put him under. He looked paler than usual though it was hard to tell under his moustache. Margaret Houlihan was also there, looking shocked but efficient, no mean feat.
Trapper looked down at his friend, lying on the table and had the absurd thought that Hawkeye would just get up and tell him that it had all been a practical joke he and Frank had cooked up. The thought of Hawkeye and Frank cooperating almost brought a smile to his face. But not quite.
"Trap."
His name brought him back to the present. Hawkeye's voice. Too soft.
"Trap I need you to promise me something." Trapper wondered, in a split second what it could possibly be? He'd promised Hawk that he'd write his father if anything happened a long time ago. The night they'd finished the still actually. The twelfth night they'd been in Korea. The only night they'd ever really got totally and utterly blind drunk. In between pledging eternal friendship (to each other, to the still, to several passing women and the skeleton in Henry's office) they'd promised to tell each others families if. if was as far as they'd ever got. Some things shouldn't be said aloud.
"Anything Hawk, name it." He answered.
"I want you to send a telegram to President Truman, reporting a hole and demanding a refund." This was said with unexpected strength and conviction.
Hawkeye smiled beatifically at Trapper and Henry, who both stood there with their mouths open under their masks. Ugly John shrugged and put him under.
Radar hovered between his office and the window of the operating room. He wanted desperately to go in just to be there, but he was terrified that he might distract the surgeons.
The off duty base personnel clustered around the entrance to post op waiting for news. People on duty kept looking at the tannoy, willing it to make an announcement. Everyone spoke in hushed tones, when they spoke at all.
And in the mess tent, unseen and somehow forgotten Frank sat in the corner, rocking back and forth, staring at nothing.