Barb yawned as she stepped off the plane in Seoul and out of the gates. She shifted her weight to make carrying her bags and guitar case easier, and set off at a brisk walk to catch her Jeep. Her dog-tags clanked together and Barb glanced at them in annoyance.

She still couldn't get used to wearing them. She had never liked wearing necklaces, and this was pretty close to a necklace anyway. She also couldn't get used to this nurse's uniform; ugh, brown was so not her color.

Also, the stupid patches on her arm that explained her rank were annoying as well. She had been given the rank of sergeant, and already hated it. She would NEVER get used to privates and corporals saying, 'Ma'am, yes, ma'am!' or 'Ma'am, no, ma'am!' It was annoying. She wasn't a ma'am. She was too young to be a ma'am.

As she reached the door, she glanced around outside for her Jeep and sighed with relief when she saw it and the driver, a corporal, waiting for her. She pushed the door open, and nearly fell back in from the heat. Immediately, sweat popped up on her brow and she could hardly breathe from the humidity.

She stumbled over to the Jeep and shoved her bags in the back and stepped in. "Corporal," she greeted the driver. He saluted, and reluctantly, she lifted her hand and saluted back. Any kind of movement felt heavy and...very hot. "Hello, ma'am," he answered.

"You're heading for the MASH 4077, I presume," he said as he started the Jeep. Barb nodded the affirmative, as they started driving. The slightly cooler wind felt good on her face.

"Where you from, if you don't mind my asking, ma'am?" he asked politely as they turned sharply. Barb fell against the door with a grunt. "Would you quit with the 'ma'am' stuff, please?" she asked crossly, not quite thinking straight from jet-lag. "I'm too young to be a ma'am," she said.

"Jet-lag," the corporal said. "Don't worry. It affects you for a few days, but then you feel okay." "I'm from Beaufort, South Carolina," Barb answered his previous question. "I'm from Bluffton, South Carolina," the corporal grinned. "We're practically neighbors!" Barb managed a laugh. "You ever seen Beaufort?" she asked.

"Just once," he answered. "Nice little town, that." "Yeah," Barb answered, a hint of sadness in her tone. Just then, there was an exploding sound and the Jeep swerved as a cloud of dust went up beside them.

"What was that?" Barb shouted. "Bomb!" the corporal shouted back. "It's fine! We'll be fine!" He stepped on the gas pedal and the Jeep zoomed ahead, trying to outrun the unknown enemies.

About five minutes later, the corporal predicted that they were safe and they went a little slower.

However, just then, Barb spotted something up ahead. "Look!" she said, pointing. "What is that?" The corporal glanced over to where she was pointing and braked. "Wounded soldier," he answered her. "Get out." Barb looked at him in horror. "And do what?" she shouted at him.

"Hell, ma'am, you're a nurse!" he said. He reached in the back and pulled out a medical bag that someone had shoved in her arms when she left the plane. "Use this!" Barb was too nervous to reproach him for using the term 'ma'am'. She stepped off the Jeep and hesitantly approached the wounded man.

He glanced up, his breathing heavy, and then laid his head back down. "Do something!" the corporal screamed at her. Barb shook off her fear and examined him. Blood was leaking from his leg, and there was a stained bandage wrapped around his head.

She took the bandage off and winced at the ugly sight. She knew instantly that he was in deep trouble. The leg could wait, she thought to herself, and opened her bag to look through it.

"Can you do anything?" the corporal asked from the Jeep. Barb glanced back, sweat heavy on her brow. "He has a lot of shrapnel in his head," she said. "It's a wonder he isn't dead now. I doubt he'll make it to the MASH unit." "What are you going to do? Will he make it?" the corporal asked anxiously.

"Get over here!" Barb ordered tightly. In seconds he was kneeling beside her. "I wish I had some anesthesia," Barb muttered. "What are you doing?" the corporal asked. "I'm going to try and get some of the shrapnel out," Barb answered. "Can you do that?" he asked worriedly.

"I don't know yet," Barb answered. "I'm only a nurse, not a doctor. I wish to God that there was a surgeon here." She worked tensely for several minutes, removing piece after piece of shrapnel. Finally, though, she threw her instrument down and hung her head.

"It's no use," she said in defeat. "The brain is damaged. He'll never make it." By now, the soldier had blacked out from pain and his breathing was slowing rapidly. She checked his pulse and shook her head. "You have a watch?" she asked. She held the soldier's hand until finally the pulse stopped. "What's the time?" she asked. "3:21 P.M.," the corporal answered softly.

Barb sighed. "This does not bode well," she whispered. "I can't believe that I lost a patient after only being here for a half-hour." "You're only a nurse," the corporal said. "If you were a surgeon, then you would have cause for disappointment. But...if I was a nurse, I wouldn't have even tried. You gave it everything you had."

Barb was silent for a moment, and then got up, brushing off her skirt and closing her medical bag. "Help me carry him to the Jeep," she said.

. . . . . .. .....................LATER.................................

They traveled in silence all the way to the MASH unit. Some stretcher carriers carried off the dead man, and Barb clutched her bags and guitar case as she surveyed her new home. She wiped her damp forehead with her hand and walked briskly to the C.O.'s office.

She walked inside, and set down her bags next to the desk where a young corporal was working. "May I please see the commanding officer?" she asked him.

He glanced up, and started, rising to attention with a salute. She saluted him back, and he answered, "Are you the new nurse we've been waiting for?" "Yes, I suppose," Barb answered tiredly. "Oh, Colonel Blake's in his office," he answered.

"I'm Sergeant Joelson," Barb introduced herself. "Oh, I'm Corporal O'Reilly," he said. "Could I have your first name?" Barb asked. "Oh, uh, Walter," he said. "But most folks call me Radar." "Radar?" Barb said, cocking her head. "That's an odd name." "Oh, well, uh, I suppose so..." Radar answered. "My name is Barb," Barb said, although she wasn't sure why she said it. "Oh, that's nice," Radar said, his head down as he ruffled through some papers.

Barb lingered for a moment and then, as it was apparent that Radar didn't have anything else to say, went into Colonel Blake's office.

She saw the colonel with his feet on his desk, smoking a cigar with a half-full brandy glass next to him. "Colonel," Barb said, saluting him. He looked up, hurriedly removed his feet from the desk and stood up, and saluted her back. "Sergeant Joelson," he said, shaking her hand. "Colonel Blake," Barb acknowledged.

"Glad you made it," he grinned. "Thank you, sir," she said. "Call me Henry," he said. Barb nodded, not really wanting to say much as her tongue felt like it weighed ten pounds.

"Eh, would you like a tour of the 4077?" he asked. "Oh, well, actually, Henry, I was hoping to get some rest," Barb said, her vision starting to blur from exhaustion. "Oh, of course," Henry answered. "I'm sure you must be tired." "Yes, sir," Barb answered.

"Well, uh, Radar will show you the way," he said. As he called out, "Radar!" Radar entered the office and as Henry said, "Radar, take Ms. Joelson's bags to the nurses' tent," Radar said, "I'll take Ms. Joelson's bags to the nurses' tent." Barb hazily observed that this must be why he was called Radar.

"Oh," Barb said. "When am I on shift?" "Uh, tomorrow afternoon," Henry answered, "1-5 in post-op. Of course, if casualties come in, we might need your help earlier." Barb nodded, and followed Radar.

Once they reached the nurses' tent, Barb looked around. It was small, but comfortable. There were two bunks and one bed. One of the top bunks was emptied of clutter, so Barb assumed that was her bed. "Here you go, ma'am," Radar said nervously, setting her bags down. "Thank you, Radar," Barb said. He nodded, and left the tent.

She yawned and kicked off her shoes, and shoved her bags and guitar case underneath the bunk. Then, she managed to climb up to her bunk and laid down on top of the covers and fell into a deep sleep. However, as she slept, her dreams were haunted by the memory of the dead soldier's eyes as he looked at her. They were full of fear, and it was almost like he was pleading with her to help save him. And all she could do was sit there.

A/N: Some of the medical details might be wrong, but I think on the most part, I got a lot of it right. I hope you like it! Please R and R!