Hey, sorry I haven't updated for a while. Guess what, I still don't own
MASH or any characters or settings therein.
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Trapper wandered out of the operating room, more exhausted than he had ever been in his life. He stopped at Radar's off ice but the corporal wasn't there. No matter. He could try later. In the meantime a drink sounded good. He remembered Hawkeye telling him that on bad days he could hear the still calling to him from all the way inside the OR. Trapper knew exactly what his friend had meant now.
He found himself in the swamp, with no memory of walking there. He poured a drink. Drank it. Poured another. His eyes were somehow drawn to Hawkeye's bunk. Messy and unoccupied.
"You could have been packing up all of his stuff right now." A voice whispered inside his head. "Packing it and sending it back to his Dad with a letter that didn't really say anything and wouldn't really help."
No. It hadn't happened. Hawkeye would be fine. He finished the new drink that had somehow found its way into his hand. Funny, this stuff was beginning to taste good. It had never used to. They had simply tolerated it and made bad jokes about it. He wondered if he'd be able to go back to drinking real gin after the war. After the war. Strange concept. Sometimes, there wasn't any after-the-war or even before-the-war. There was just what there was. Hawkeye and Trapper and Henry and Margaret and the rest of the nurses, yes and Radar too, against it. Trapper wasn't totally sure what IT was. The war, certainly, well most of them. Maybe not Margaret. Casualties perhaps, but that was there word. Hawkeye didn't see casualties. Hawkeye saw people. And now he was one himself. Casualty. Person.
But he would be alright, so there was no real need for Trapper to be sitting here, on Hawk's bunk (how had that happened?) drinking more of this damned paintstripper. There was Frank too. He'd forgotten Frank in his list of who 'we' were. But Frank couldn't be with them. He had shot Hawkeye. He had shot him, and if the bullet had hit an inch in any direction, then Trapper would have been packing up all Hawkeye's belongings and writing that useless letter. Frank was dangerous. He finished his glass. They had always said so, always joked about it and now it was obvious. The Ferret Face had even said earlier that day (that day? Or was it yesterday now, or last week or last year? Who knew?) that he wished someone would shoot Hawkeye. Well, now he had, and Trapper could just imagine how satisfied he was. Yes, Frank had to be dealt with. But there was something else he had to do first. He had promised.
Trapper stood up and, unsteadily, walked out of the swamp and headed for Radar's office. The kid was in this time, filling out forms. He looked up to see Trapper come in.
"Hiya Captain Macintyre! Isn't it great about Hawkeye? That he's going to be ok I mean. Everyone was real worried."
Trapper nodded and sat, or more accurately slumped, on Radar's desk.
"Say, are you alright?"
Trapper thought for a moment. "Yes." He decided. "Hawk's ok, so I must be too."
Radar looked worried. "You shouldn't have had to operate on him. "
"If I didn't, then who?" Trapper asked loudly, waving his arms. Then he added, softly. "He shouldn't have had to be operated on." Radar didn't answer that.
"Anyway," Trapper said, standing up. "I came in here because I want to send a telegram."
"Alright," Radar nodded. "I can do that." He got the equipment ready.
Trapper paced up and down.
"To President Harry S. Truman, White House." He began.
Radar looked round at him. "Uh, are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked nervously. "Last time I did this, General Clayton nearly ended up being pulled to North Korea in a latrine."
Trapper smiled slightly at the memory. "I promised Hawk." He answered simply. "If you're worried, you can tell Henry or whoever that I ordered you to do it."
"Couldn't you actually order me to do it?"
Trapper just looked at him in response.
"OK, OK." Radar got ready for the rest of the telegram.
"Dear Harry. On behalf of a friend and colleague, I wish to report a hole and demand a refund. Yours truly, an unwilling participant. Got that?"
Radar nodded. "It's sent. Uh Captain?"
Trapper looked over at him. "What?"
"I think you should really get some sleep."
"Not yet." Trapper said, to himself as much as to Radar.
He walked into post op, and stood, looking down at Hawkeye until one of the nurses - funny, he couldn't remember her name - chased him out.
"He won't wake up for at least five more hours. You know that. So why don't you go and grab a couple of hours sleep now and you can be here when he wakes up." Her tone was sympathetic, but unyielding. When he tried to protest, she threatened to send for Henry and have him sedated. So he left, with one last glance back at Hawkeye. Odd, to see him so still.
Trapper did, in fact, desperately want to sleep, but there was still something he had to do first.
"Now," he thought. "If I was a homicidal, incompetent, ferret-faced excuse for a doctor, where would I be?" He couldn't answer his own question, so he headed back to the Swamp for liquid inspiration and in the vague hope that Frank would be there.
He wasn't. But Sidney was there, sitting on Trapper's bunk, staring at Hawkeye's.
"Hiya Sid. What're you doing here?"
"I came for the poker game. Stayed for the shock victims."
"Ah. Want a drink?" Trapper attempted to pour but kept missing the glass. Sidney took over and poured two, fairly small, glasses.
"Have you seen him?" slurred Trapper.
Sidney raised is eyebrows. "Hawkeye?"
"No. Hawkeye's unconscious, and they wouldn't let me stay with him. I meant Frank."
"No-one has. He's vanished. I got Colonel Blake to send out the MPs after him. Why do you want him?"
"He's got to be stopped."
Sidney paused. "From what I hear, it was a complete accident."
Trapper shook his head. "It was still Frank's fault. What's he doing with a gun in a war? Don't we get enough bleeding people for him? And he's always hated Hawkeye."
Sidney was about to answer when both of them were distracted by a commotion from outside. They got up simultaneously and headed for the door, in time to see Frank being marched past by two MPs.
With a shout, Trapper ran, somewhat haphazardly, after them. He stood in front of them, blocking their way. A crowd was gathering. Both Henry and Sidney were running towards him, shouting something.
The MPs eyed him nervously. Frank showed no sign of recognition, just stared straight ahead, glassy eyed.
"Sir" one of them began. But at that moment, Trapper, with all his strength, hit Frank Burns in the jaw. Frank went straight down, dragging the MPs with him.
Trapper looked around uncertainly, swaying slightly. The whole camp was watching. Finally, Trapper crumpled to the ground, passed out.
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This story welcomes careful reviewers.
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Trapper wandered out of the operating room, more exhausted than he had ever been in his life. He stopped at Radar's off ice but the corporal wasn't there. No matter. He could try later. In the meantime a drink sounded good. He remembered Hawkeye telling him that on bad days he could hear the still calling to him from all the way inside the OR. Trapper knew exactly what his friend had meant now.
He found himself in the swamp, with no memory of walking there. He poured a drink. Drank it. Poured another. His eyes were somehow drawn to Hawkeye's bunk. Messy and unoccupied.
"You could have been packing up all of his stuff right now." A voice whispered inside his head. "Packing it and sending it back to his Dad with a letter that didn't really say anything and wouldn't really help."
No. It hadn't happened. Hawkeye would be fine. He finished the new drink that had somehow found its way into his hand. Funny, this stuff was beginning to taste good. It had never used to. They had simply tolerated it and made bad jokes about it. He wondered if he'd be able to go back to drinking real gin after the war. After the war. Strange concept. Sometimes, there wasn't any after-the-war or even before-the-war. There was just what there was. Hawkeye and Trapper and Henry and Margaret and the rest of the nurses, yes and Radar too, against it. Trapper wasn't totally sure what IT was. The war, certainly, well most of them. Maybe not Margaret. Casualties perhaps, but that was there word. Hawkeye didn't see casualties. Hawkeye saw people. And now he was one himself. Casualty. Person.
But he would be alright, so there was no real need for Trapper to be sitting here, on Hawk's bunk (how had that happened?) drinking more of this damned paintstripper. There was Frank too. He'd forgotten Frank in his list of who 'we' were. But Frank couldn't be with them. He had shot Hawkeye. He had shot him, and if the bullet had hit an inch in any direction, then Trapper would have been packing up all Hawkeye's belongings and writing that useless letter. Frank was dangerous. He finished his glass. They had always said so, always joked about it and now it was obvious. The Ferret Face had even said earlier that day (that day? Or was it yesterday now, or last week or last year? Who knew?) that he wished someone would shoot Hawkeye. Well, now he had, and Trapper could just imagine how satisfied he was. Yes, Frank had to be dealt with. But there was something else he had to do first. He had promised.
Trapper stood up and, unsteadily, walked out of the swamp and headed for Radar's office. The kid was in this time, filling out forms. He looked up to see Trapper come in.
"Hiya Captain Macintyre! Isn't it great about Hawkeye? That he's going to be ok I mean. Everyone was real worried."
Trapper nodded and sat, or more accurately slumped, on Radar's desk.
"Say, are you alright?"
Trapper thought for a moment. "Yes." He decided. "Hawk's ok, so I must be too."
Radar looked worried. "You shouldn't have had to operate on him. "
"If I didn't, then who?" Trapper asked loudly, waving his arms. Then he added, softly. "He shouldn't have had to be operated on." Radar didn't answer that.
"Anyway," Trapper said, standing up. "I came in here because I want to send a telegram."
"Alright," Radar nodded. "I can do that." He got the equipment ready.
Trapper paced up and down.
"To President Harry S. Truman, White House." He began.
Radar looked round at him. "Uh, are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked nervously. "Last time I did this, General Clayton nearly ended up being pulled to North Korea in a latrine."
Trapper smiled slightly at the memory. "I promised Hawk." He answered simply. "If you're worried, you can tell Henry or whoever that I ordered you to do it."
"Couldn't you actually order me to do it?"
Trapper just looked at him in response.
"OK, OK." Radar got ready for the rest of the telegram.
"Dear Harry. On behalf of a friend and colleague, I wish to report a hole and demand a refund. Yours truly, an unwilling participant. Got that?"
Radar nodded. "It's sent. Uh Captain?"
Trapper looked over at him. "What?"
"I think you should really get some sleep."
"Not yet." Trapper said, to himself as much as to Radar.
He walked into post op, and stood, looking down at Hawkeye until one of the nurses - funny, he couldn't remember her name - chased him out.
"He won't wake up for at least five more hours. You know that. So why don't you go and grab a couple of hours sleep now and you can be here when he wakes up." Her tone was sympathetic, but unyielding. When he tried to protest, she threatened to send for Henry and have him sedated. So he left, with one last glance back at Hawkeye. Odd, to see him so still.
Trapper did, in fact, desperately want to sleep, but there was still something he had to do first.
"Now," he thought. "If I was a homicidal, incompetent, ferret-faced excuse for a doctor, where would I be?" He couldn't answer his own question, so he headed back to the Swamp for liquid inspiration and in the vague hope that Frank would be there.
He wasn't. But Sidney was there, sitting on Trapper's bunk, staring at Hawkeye's.
"Hiya Sid. What're you doing here?"
"I came for the poker game. Stayed for the shock victims."
"Ah. Want a drink?" Trapper attempted to pour but kept missing the glass. Sidney took over and poured two, fairly small, glasses.
"Have you seen him?" slurred Trapper.
Sidney raised is eyebrows. "Hawkeye?"
"No. Hawkeye's unconscious, and they wouldn't let me stay with him. I meant Frank."
"No-one has. He's vanished. I got Colonel Blake to send out the MPs after him. Why do you want him?"
"He's got to be stopped."
Sidney paused. "From what I hear, it was a complete accident."
Trapper shook his head. "It was still Frank's fault. What's he doing with a gun in a war? Don't we get enough bleeding people for him? And he's always hated Hawkeye."
Sidney was about to answer when both of them were distracted by a commotion from outside. They got up simultaneously and headed for the door, in time to see Frank being marched past by two MPs.
With a shout, Trapper ran, somewhat haphazardly, after them. He stood in front of them, blocking their way. A crowd was gathering. Both Henry and Sidney were running towards him, shouting something.
The MPs eyed him nervously. Frank showed no sign of recognition, just stared straight ahead, glassy eyed.
"Sir" one of them began. But at that moment, Trapper, with all his strength, hit Frank Burns in the jaw. Frank went straight down, dragging the MPs with him.
Trapper looked around uncertainly, swaying slightly. The whole camp was watching. Finally, Trapper crumpled to the ground, passed out.
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This story welcomes careful reviewers.