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Tea not Sympathy

Sally Lester rolled over in bed and landed with a thump on the floor. She was not, as she had imagined, lying in the flower meadow of her parents' farm in the Hampshire countryside. As she came to her senses, the smell of honeysuckle which had permeated her dream was replaced by the scent of dry dirt and something else which defied description in her sleep-filled state of mind. She opened her eyes and found her gaze was met by two startling blue ones staring back at her, dancing with a mischievous glint.

"Hey, Beej!" the mouth below the eyes called to another bunkmate, "Did you know the enemy have started dropping female surgeons on us? Or am I just dreaming now?" The last sentence was directed at Sally, and was loaded with sexual intentions which she tried hard to ignore. She pulled herself into a sitting position.

"If you're dreaming, then I must be too," she said. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in for the first time the scene around her. It had been dark the night before when she had dragged herself to bed with the aid of Hawkeye's shoulder. After a long shift in surgery, her head had barely made contact with the pillow before she was fast asleep with images of her childhood home blocking out the images of the operating table which she had more recently witnessed.

The smell which she had been unable to identify now revealed itself to be the unmistakable scent of men living in close quarters. The stiffened socks hanging side by side with military issue shorts on an improvised washing line across the middle of the tent were almost steaming with odour. The wrinkled covers on the beds of the three men in the tent looked as though they had seen better days, and in the centre of the room a motley collection of crockery gathered around the base of what looked like a giant sculpture of medical instruments. She let her gaze rest on the monstrous contraption with its tubes and valves sprouting forth in opposing directions, and her room-mates guessed correctly what she was thinking. What the hell was it?

"I see you've noticed The Still!" said BJ, cheerfully. "This is the reason why we've lasted so long in this dump." he explained.

Hawkeye nodded sagely in agreement. "This," he said, standing and walking over towards his masterpiece, "Is the finest distilling equipment this side of Tokyo." He loving fingered the tarnished outside of the still, his eyes glazing over in mock-adoration.

"Hmmm, yes, quite!" Sally replied, unconvinced by what looked like a specimen jar with IV tubes attached. "Perhaps I'll try some later."

"Why not now?" Hawkeye sprung into action, swooping in with a martini glass in his hand.

Sally looked taken aback. She looked at her watch; it was just after 1000 hours, a little early to say the least. She told Hawkeye as much, but his reaction was typically blasé.

"You've been here less than twenty four hours, so you're still on home time. Which means it is," he glanced quickly at his watch, "eight o'clock in the evening, so you can have as much gin as you want!"

Sally came back just as quickly. "Actually, my home body clock says that it's one o'clock in the morning, which is why I am having trouble staying conscious as it is without adding home brewed alcohol into the equation. And I am also absolutely starving!"

Hawkeye and BJ exchanged a meaningful look. Sally saw this, and wondered what they were up to. "What?" she asked, "What's the matter?"

BJ came over and put a fatherly hand around her shoulder. "Sally, for what you are about to receive, may the Lord make you truly thankful. And the sad fact is that it'll take divine intervention to make anyone thankful for breakfast here."

oOo

Ten minutes later, Sally was sitting at a bench flanked by her two new friends. Sitting opposite was Radar O'Reilly who had positioned himself behind a large mound of rations and was slowly coming back into view thanks to some frantic fork action as he shovelled the food down his throat. Although food was perhaps too loose a term for what she found before her. Staring at the grey mush on her tray, she could see what Hawkeye and BJ had been getting at. She prodded suspiciously at the blackened bricks which were masquerading as toast, as though worried they it might suddenly come to life and hurl itself at her throat.

"What in the name is THAT?" she asked incredulously. Hawkeye and BJ took forkfuls of the matter which she had pointed to and proceeded to sniff at it like connoisseurs. They looked at each other, then back to their forks. Simultaneously, they lowered their forks and turned to look at Sally.

"Do you think she can take it?" asked Hawkeye.

BJ took Sally's wrist checking her pulse, before turning her face towards him and peering at the whites of her eyes.

"She's young," he said, "And healthy. But she's inexperienced. I say we don't risk it, Doctor."

"I concur, Doctor." Hawkeye replied. He pushed Sally's tray away from her, where it was swiftly pounced upon by Radar, while BJ slid a coffee cup in front of her. In her current state, she was in no mood to argue as she slipped her hands around the mug and raised it to her lips, taking a sip of the warm, brown liquid from within.

It took a moment before the full horror hit her, but when it did she reacted quickly. The table in front of her was covered in a spray of coffee which issued forth from her mouth like a geyser, which surprised the hell out of Radar. He was forced to dive beneath the table in order to avoid a direct hit.

"Where the HELL did they get this from?" she asked in a mortified tone. "Is this coffee, or have they simply run a pipe from a nearby cesspit? I know you Americans like your comedy a little wacky, but THIS," she shook the cup in her hand so violently that coffee splashed down the sides, "This is an affront to my good nature!" She sprung to her feet and marched from the tent, leaving Radar cowering and the two surgeons clutching their sides with laughter. Ten minutes later, Sally returned with a small brown packet, a teapot and a china cup and saucer. The assembled company in the Mess tent, now including Charles Winchester and Father Mulcahy, watched in wonder as she set her apparatus down on the table. Carefully, she broke open the brown packet and put two teaspoons of the contents into her teapot. She disappeared behind the serving hatch, reappearing moments later with the teapot clutched protectively to her chest. She returned to the bench and very carefully poured herself a cup of tea, closing her eyes as she allowed the heavenly liquid to slip over her throat. Her lips parted in a small murmur of ecstasy and when she opened her eyes, she was surprised to find that everyone at the table was staring at her with a mixture of amusement and fear. She met the eyes of Father Mulcahy who couldn't contain himself a moment longer. His face burst into a wide smile and he began to shake with laughter at the young woman. Hawkeye wasn't far behind him, and before long the whole table was laughing out loud at the performance they had just witnessed. Only Sally was able to keep her façade intact.

"It's not funny," she said seriously, her face poker straight, "I wasn't able to warm the pot!" She took another regal sip from the cup before she herself chuckled along with the rest of them.