Summary: Post-'Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen'… The war is over and a beacon of hope is spread over the 4077th; hope that life can now return to normal. But for Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce – Hawkeye to his friends – tragedy will strike and bring that hope crashing down around him.
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May Friendship Never Cease
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Prologue
"Look, I know how tough it is for you to say good-bye, so I'll say it. Maybe you're right and we will see each other again, but just in case we don't, I want you to know how much you've meant to me. I'll never be able to shake you. Whenever I see a pair of big feet or a cheesy mustache, I'll think of you," Hawkeye said, a bittersweet look on his face. B.J. smiled slightly.
"Whenever I smell month old socks, I'll think of you." Hawkeye smiled at the last dirty sock joke he'd hear from his best friend.
"Or the next time someone nails my shoes to the floor," Hawkeye said back. B.J chuckled softly at the memory.
"Or when somebody gives me a martini that tastes like lighter fluid." Hawkeye sobered, his face turning serious.
"I'll miss you," he said, hoping that B.J. understood how much he meant it. It looked as though he did.
"I'll miss you. I can't imagine what this place would have been like if I hadn't found you here," he said. Hawkeye nodded, in complete agreement. Then, after a final hug and a final smile, he stepped into the cockpit of the helicopter. B.J. waved one final time as the engines roared to life and he hopped back on his motorcycle. A sad look was shared between the men before the younger of the two sped off into the Korean dust. Hawkeye closed his eyes for a second as the helicopter took a few lurches to finally get off the ground. When he opened them again, he looked down to where three years of his life had been spent… there, written out in rocks was B.J.'s final message. GOODBYE…
May Friendship Never Cease
He knew… the very second after his helicopter landed. Something was dreadfully wrong. The final farewell, ironically etched into his memory in stone, was to be the only and the last. Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce landed at Kimpo with a heavy heart, not knowing specifically why. Itskipped a whole series of beatswhen he saw Colonel Sherman T. Potter waiting for him. The usually stoic-faced colonel was more than just stoic… he was pained. And that was when the ache started. Hawkeye stepped off the Huey, his legs feeling slightly weak as the good colonel approached. Before the captain could say anything, the older man wrapped an arm around the taller man's shoulders.
"Come along, son," he said in his fatherly way. Hawkeye was silent as they walked through the roughshod airport to the air commander's office. Colonel Potter shut the door behind them, leaving them alone to talk.
"If you're here to drag me back, I'm not responsible for what I might do… I could start the war all over again," Hawkeye tried to joke weakly. But it fell flat… deathly flat.
"You'll need to sit for this, Hawkeye," the man said. Hawkeye rubbed a quick, tired hand over his face before turning his defiant, steely blue eyes back to the colonel.
"What if I want to stand?" he asked as if his denial of the simple request would make everything else to be said next inconsequential and as equally deniable. Colonel Potter was silent a moment, as if choosing his next words carefully.
"So," Hawkeye broke the silence. "I take it that it was you who grounded my chopper to Tokyo… I wasn't even on my way to Guam, I swear…"
"It's B.J., son…" the colonel finally said as if trying to reel Hawkeye back to the dismal reality he was trying to hard to evade. Hawkeye's eyes went wide.
"What about B.J?" he asked, wanting so badly to cover his ears with his hands and pretend not to hear. Rather than say anything else, Colonel Potter extended his hand and Hawkeye could see the tarnished metal of a military dog tag. He reached out and clasped the thin, warm piece of metal in his own fingers.
There on the metal, where he couldn't readily deny it, was the stamped letters spelling out 'Hunnicutt'. The doctor then let out a held breath as he clasped his hand around the dog tag and brought the fist to his forehead. Closing his eyes, he found the nearest chair and tried to keep himself from succumbing to the nausea.
"What…" he tried, but his throat closed. With considerable effort, he cleared it and continued. "What happened?" Colonel Potter pulled up a chair next to him and put a comforting hand on the young man's slumped back.
"The war may be over, son… but these two countries are far from stable. Son, it's not a simple task of putting down the guns and going to respective corners to think about what was done. There still are communist sympathizers roaming these roads and leftover artillery – will be that way for a long time. B.J was one of the last few to get packed up, according to a couple of nurses. I was at the orphanage by that time. B.J. had taken off on the road to Seoul to meet his plane, but he was caught in some crossfire. It wasn't the snipers that got him, though. It was a danged landmine… there… there wasn't much left to identify but the motorcycle. A local found the tag, recognized the 4077th and searched me out. Got me at the orphanage right when I was about to leave," Colonel Potter said, stumbling only slightly in his doctor-like relaying. Hawkeye nodded once. Landmines… They escorted the eminent Captain B.J. Hunnicut into the land of Korea where daughters search out the blasted things for the safety of livestock… and they escorted the friend, the brother, out in such an anonymous, unforgiving manner.
"Does anyone else… know?" he asked hoarsely of his 4077 comrades. Colonel Potter shook his head.
"I wanted to tell you first, son. I figured he'd want it that way. As for the Mrs. and the little one, I've tried putting a call through, but it's been understandably busy on the lines out," the colonel said. A widow… Hawkeye thought. Peg Hunnicutt was a widow before the age of thirty… He took a calming breath. His daughter will never know who her father was… Another calming breath. And I'll never get to joke around with him at veteran parades or reunions… The calming breath didn't work this time as he stood quickly and ran to the metal trashcan sitting next to the desk so as not to retch all over the floor. He retched until he couldn't any more, Colonel Potter's comforting hand upon his back. After a moment Hawkeye looked up at the other man, his face pale and his blue eyes watering.
"I'd like to say that was breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the past three years," he joked, the smile he'd wanted to go with it failing to grace his face. There was a look that entered the colonel's eyes as he smiled down at the young man. It wasn't pity – not by a long shot. Instead, it was understanding. They both knew that Hawkeye was trying valiantly to re-build the walls of humor and crack-ups to protect himself from the ugly truth. But these walls would not be as sturdy, for the foundation had been torn away.
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Two weeks later in Mill ValleyCalifornia…
Hawkeye stood at the front of the funeral parlor, staring at the flag-draped casket with a morbid fascination. He was alone for the moment, but he could hear the voices of family members and friends seen not that long ago arriving. He wouldn't be alone with what remained of his best friend - or his thoughts - for very much longer.
Captain B.J. Hunnicutt was… had been one of the finest. The finest of doctors, the finest of fathers, the finest of husbands, the finest of men… the finest of friends. It tore Hawkeye apart to know that his grin – that perfect grin – would be seen no more by wife, daughter, the world… by best friend. He had only been thirty-one years old. Only a few years younger than himself. Hawkeye had seen the young die. Hundreds had been carted in front of him bleeding, torn up, dead. But he'd never expected this one. A hand clasped his shoulder, causing him to jump. Hawkeye turned to look into sympathetic hazel eyes.
"Trap… Trapper?" he asked, taken completely off guard by the other man's presence. He then looked past his former bunk-mate to where members of the 4077 had congregated in the doorway, watching the reunion. Radar gave Hawkeye a small, guilty smile that told the older man that it was the young clerk that had arranged this.
"What are you doing here Trapper?" he asked, only surprise evident in his voice.
"I… well…" what did someone say when faced with the mortality of his 'replacement'… and the utter devastation it caused? "I figured you'd need a friendly shoulder."
"A shoulder…" Hawkeye said simply as he looked down to where his hand lay on the flag. Trapper shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
"Or, rather, Radar thought you'd need a shoulder," he admitted. Hawkeye nodded once, but continued to look at his hand.
"Thank you," Hawkeye finally said after a moment, and then looked up at his friend. "Thank you for being here. It's good to see you again…" It was as much a forgiving, as it was a dismissing, statement if Trapper had ever heard one. And so, he left his war buddy standing alone. Hawkeye let out a sigh. Who were they going to send to talk to him next? It was predictable that they send the old bunk-mate first, to get the ball rolling, of course. He smiled to himself when he caught a whiff of peppermint, cigars and horses in the presence next to him.
"Howdy, Colonel. I suppose I should be glad that you're standing there, sir. I left my father hundreds of miles away back in Maine…" he said. Potter cleared his throat.
"You know better'n I do that I'm not a colonel any longer. Just call me Sherm, boy," he said. Hawkeye chuckled.
"And you know better'n I do that I'm not a 'boy' any longer," he said back. Potter clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward on his toes, then back again. It was if he were inspecting the troops all over again.
"I'll venture to say that's true of all of us, Hawkeye," Potter said. "War has a tendency of removing all that was a child within us… in our case, a little more surgically careful, but true all the same." Hawkeye looked at his former CO with an appraising glance.
"I don't think I'll ever be able to call you Sherm. You're Colonel Potter to me," he said after a moment. Potter slapped a hand onto the younger man's shoulder.
"We'll get you out of that habit all quick and tidy. It's Radar I'm going to have to work at. He calls me Sherm, but always follows it with a 'sir'. I'm beginning to think my given name is Shermsir…" the older man said with a sad shake of his head. All during Potter's explanation, the man had been gently easing Hawkeye to the rear of the funeral parlor, without him being aware of it, to where the 4077 was waiting.
Hawkeye couldn't help but chuckle when he realized that he'd been maneuvered in such a covert way. His eyes ran over the faces of the men and women he'd known for the past three years – and most he'd only said goodbye to two long weeks ago. It was good to see the Colonel with his Mrs. Colonel, but this latest war had left its mark on both of them. The simple laugh lines around the mouth and eyes had become craters, and the bags under their eyes looked as permanent as the silver in their hair. But they looked happy. And that was something.
Trapper stood off to the side slightly, his wife at his side, and broke off the conversation he'd been having with Radar at Hawkeye's approach. He, strangely, looked the same as he'd left. But then, he'd gone home when the rest of them had to stay. No longer as bitter about it as he had been about that whole situation, Hawkeye looked at their company clerk.
Radar no longer looked like the fresh-scrubbed teenager he'd been the majority of the war. He didn't wear that silly cap and there was an awareness that no 20-year-old kid should ever have.
Frank… well, he looked as depressed as only a lieutenant colonel without a war could be. But still… it was good to see him, ol' Ferret Face.
Father Mulcahy hadn't changed much. There was a bit of an oddness about him now, though, as he seemed to observe everything in a much wider scope, yet could pinpoint a conversation with unassuming ease. Hawkeye would lay a bet that the young chaplain didn't receive this particular telegram from the Big One Upstairs.
Charles Winchester III stood off to everyone's right a little bit, all six-some feet of him standing up straight. If it had been any other time, at any other gathering, in any other situation, Hawkeye could picture the glass of expensive red wine in his hand, a pretty young society miss on his arm and poetry spilling forth from his lips in his dignified, Bostonian accent. But alas… twas not such a situation. Instead, there were a few more gray hairs and a tiredness that seemed to be instilled in them all. No doubt it came from the stress of trying to adapt to a world without hundreds of casualties, gunfire or bombs invading every aspect of everyday life.
Margaret looked older too, and there was a slight droop to her usually proud shoulders. But among all this, there was one person who seemed to have not changed at all… or at least that was the impact he was trying to go for at that very moment.
Klinger stood, his wife by his side, in a modest black number with matching pumps. Hawkeye smiled and was about to say something but a soft, kind voice interrupted the appraising silence.
"I think, somewhere in the back of my mind, I've been avoiding this corner of the room," Peg Hunnicutt interrupted. Hawkeye turned to look at the petite woman, as did all the others. Rather than wait for the uncomfortable silence, Potter stepped forward and held out his hand.
"Sherman Potter, Mrs. Hunnicutt. It's a mighty fine pleasure to finally meet you," he said. When she took his proffered hand, he covered hers with his other and gave her a warm smile.
"Colonel Potter… I've heard so much about you from… letters," she said, licking her lip uncomfortably as she noticeably stumbled over the use of her husband's name. Potter smiled.
"Not so much a colonel at the moment, ma'am, as I am a friend. And I've heard nothing but wonderful things about you," he said in return. Then, Peg turned to look over the small group again.
"As much as your presence reminds me of how and why I lost my husband, B.J. would be very glad that you all are here. He loved you all, in spite of the war. He'd always say he wished he'd met you all someplace else," she told them. Silence fell as they each thought over her words. And just as Peg was about to move away, Klinger stepped up to her.
"He was the sanest man in all Korea, ma'am," Klinger told Peg as he gave her a salute. Peg's eyes were wide as she took in the Lebanese man standing in a tasteful black dress, low heels and a fashionable hat complete with veil. Soon-Lee stood at his side, with a sad smile on her face and her arm draped through the walking Section 8's other arm. Hawkeye turned to the young widow with a small smile.
"Klinger was looking to be discharged for being nuts. I'm sure B.J. told you all about it in his letters. It never worked, though. So, he gave up on the dresses near the end. This is his way of saying goodbye to Beej, I guess," he explained. Klinger gave Peg an assenting smile.
"Of all the people strong enough to make it through the war, of all the people who should have made it through the war, Captain Hunnicutt was it," the former corporal said. Peg nodded once, unable to say anything in return, but held her hand out to the man. He took it.
"Thank you, Klinger. He'd be laughing right now… I'm sure he is," she said before reaching up to wipe a stray tear that had slipped out. With a final, watery smile at the rest, she turned and went to find her daughter. Hawkeye then took it upon himself to greet each and every person standing in front of him.
"Frank… you know, I'd hoped that with my fading memory that some of your chin had faded with it. I'm sorry to say that it hasn't. It's still not there, is it?" he asked. Frank gave the other man a familiar glare.
"Oh ha, ha, noodle head…" he said, falling back into the pattern of insult-insult alike. But then the two men shook hands, shocking most everyone standing next to them. He shook Charles's hand after.
"Salutations, Pierce," the Bostonian said with a nod. Hawkeye nodded back before he gripped Father Mulcahy's hand, then Klinger's, then Radar's, then Trapper's. He was about to lean down to give his favorite head nurse a kiss on the cheek, but was stopped as she stepped to him and gave him a quick hug. Hawkeye smiled fondly down at Margaret when she stepped back.
"Well, hello again Hotlips. Care to try out your nickname?" he asked with a grin and a tap of his finger against his lips. Everyone chuckled as Margaret let out an angry huff and a glare. But that glare cracked and fell into an expression of pain as she stepped to the lanky man and hugged him again.
"Oh God, Hawkeye…" she bemoaned. "You must be feeling horrible… I know I do, and I didn't know him half as well as you did."
"I don't think anyone knew Hunnicutt as well as Pierce did. After all, tweedledee and tweedledum were always joined at the hip," Frank scoffed.
"Isn't your wife calling, Frank?" Hawkeye asked with a bit of a sneer on his face. He should have known that Frank couldn't keep his mouth shut even if someone sewed it so. Frank just gave him a glare, but Hawkeye got the satisfaction of seeing the man look carefully out of the corner of his eye.
"I didn't come here for your benefit, Pierce. I came because I actually liked Hunnicutt… mostly. It wasn't until he started hanging around you that he became intolerable… mostly," Frank said. He crossed his arms and looked as discontent as a second grader. Charles laughed.
"Sounds like you're jealous, Burns. Did someone not have any friends during the war?" he asked almost gleefully. Frank turned to face Charles.
"What do you know, you nosy Nelly? You lived in the same tent… are you telling me that you were best buddies with 'em?" he asked. Charles scoffed.
"Hardly. But I respected them. They were both brilliant doctors, especially under the conditions…" Charles said. Potter grinned.
"Amazing that he could actually admit that," he said, looking at a grinning Klinger and Radar. Charles gave them all a look.
"I'll ask you to refrain from this conversation seeing that it is not about you," he said, knowing that he was no longer under the man's command, but remaining respectful all the same. Potter held his hands up in surrender, but couldn't keep the chuckle down.
"Oh sure, Pierce and Hunnicutt were the wonders of the 4077… they were gods amongst the wounded…" Frank began to whine. Some things never changed, and most probably never would.
"It's good to know I'm not here," Hawkeye muttered as the two men continued to bicker amongst themselves about him and B.J. Margaret heard his comment and stood up straight. With a stern look on her face, she shoved Frank's shoulder, and then Charles's.
"Can it, you imbeciles! Can't you have a little bit of respect! We're here to say good-bye to a comrade, a friend. So zip your lips and go sit your butts down," she snapped to the two of them. Hawkeye chuckled as he shook his head, watching the nurse take the two men none-to-gently by the arms and push them towards the seats.
"Never let it be said you don't have the charm of a bulldozer, Margaret," he said,a teasing smile on his face. She gave him the look she usually reserved for him when he was being his complementary self, causing him to chuckle a bit more. Hawkeye had to keep from turning to look next to him, as he usually did in search of backup from his friend or to share a humorous glance. B.J. would surely have had a comeback for that. And that… was a sobering thought. With that, Hawkeye went to find his seat among B.J.'s family and loved ones, who probably didn't even know the B.J. who had died in Korea. What another sobering thought…
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Two days later… Crabapple Cove, Maine…
"Hello? Benjamin?" a voice called through the house. Hawkeye smiled to himself before answering.
"On the porch, Dad!" he yelled to his father. The elder Pierce opened the screen door and stepped out onto into the warm summer air.
"How was the weather in San Francisco?" he asked, leaning against the porch railing.
"Balmy and breezy, how else would it be?" Hawkeye asked. Then, he held up a hand to excuse the acidic sarcasm. "Sorry. I didn't notice much about the weather when I was there…" Daniel just nodded.
"That's understandable," he said. Hawkeye drained the rest of his beer and set the bottle down on the table with a heavy hand.
"I don't know about you, Dad, but I need another drink," Hawkeye said as he went to the kitchen, leaving his father on the porch looking after him with a concerned gaze. When Hawkeye re-emerged he was holding two beers.
"How are you holding up, son?" Daniel asked. It was nearly imperceptible, but Daniel saw Hawkeye's eye twitch.
"Fine," was the simple response he got. Daniel shook his head.
"You are not," he said. Icy blue eyes snapped to his.
"I said I'm fine. So it would be polite of you to just take that as it is," he said. Daniel sighed, unaccustomed to Hawkeye's temper. He knew that his son was walking a thin line right now. He knew how important B.J. Hunnicutt's friendship had meant to his son since the name had been scrawled into so many letters. But he also knew that if Hawkeye continued with this 'don't touch it, it won't hurt then' mentality, he'd end up in a place just like he'd been in Tokyo, calling home every once in a while and joking about full decks. After one more sigh, Daniel decided to take the bull by the horns and confront the issue he was concerned about.
"You'd better deal with this son… Deal with it before you try to pick up that phone and realize that there's no one on the other end," Daniel said sternly, standing in front of his son. Hawkeye let out a short laugh.
"Uh oh… Dad's brought out the important voice! I haven't heard that voice since… what? Age sixteen? Seventeen?" he said. Daniel's eyes narrowed.
"Since the day they drafted you," he said. Hawkeye was silent. Then, he let out a sigh.
"I don't think you need to worry, Dad. If I call someone, I think they'd pick up the phone. I didn't go that crazy over there," he said as he sat back in the chair. Daniel, too, let out a sigh as he sat in the chair next to his only son.
"That wasn't what I meant, and I think you know that, Benjamin," he said. Hawkeye nodded, his eyes caught on his feet.
"I know that, Dad. I know you're talking about B.J. And don't think that I don't know he's gone," he said softly. "Sometimes, though, I wish Trapper had never gone home. If he'd stayed, none of this would have happened. I never would have met B.J., but at least he'd still be in Mill Valley, alive and with his family." Daniel caught a hint of bitterness in Hawkeye's voice and didn't know where it came from. So, he took a stab at it.
"Do you blame Trapper?" Daniel asked. Hawkeye's eyes went wide.
"Trapper? No! Of course not. I can't blame Trapper for going home. He got his orders. He took them – granted, without saying goodbye, but at least he's sitting in Boston with his wife and daughters. Hell, Dad… I don't even blame myself. Beej was the last of us to leave. He saw me off. If given the choice he would have been at the front of that particular line, but instead he was the last by some trick of fate, some ironic sense of justice. Yeah, sometimes I wish it had been me to ride off into the sunset, but I don't blame myself. I blame the North and the South Koreans because they couldn't be good neighbors and bake each other apple pies. I blame the United States because of the damned 'Police Action'. It was war, damnit! It was hunt and destroy, and every good thing in the way got destroyed right along with it. I blame the draft board for sending people over to that godforsaken place who shouldn't have been there, who weren't prepared to be there. But do I blame anyone in particular? No. I can't," the younger Pierce said. It took him a second to gather an emotional breath before he could continue.
"I saw him the minute that damned armistice was sighed. He was standing right there, silly grin under that cheesy mustache. The war was over and we'd both made it through. We were going home… I made it to my chopper, why couldn't B.J have made it to his?" Hawkeye let out another breath, the tightness in his chest receding slightly as he vocalized some of his anger and his grief. Daniel watched as his son sank further into the chair, gripping the bottle of beer as if it were a lifeline.
"Ours is not to question why," Daniel ventured as he looked down at his own beer. He looked up in surprise as Hawkeye let out a sound that was half laugh, half whimper. When he looked closer, Daniel could make out a tear track down his son's face.
"Ours is not to let them die…" the young man, who suddenly looked old, whispered to the night air. Daniel sat a moment and gave Hawkeye a moment of silence. Then, he shifted to kneel before his son's knees.
"What's this about not blaming yourself?" he asked, an eyebrow arched in doubt. Hawkeye let out a sigh, knowing full well that he could explain it all until he was blue in the face, yet Daniel Pierce would not understand. He would not understand the war, Korea itself, the friendships amidst bloodshed, nor would he understand B.J. Hunnicutt or what he meant to Hawkeye. Mainly because Hawkeye himself really didn't understand it all. With that thought, Hawkeye tipped the bottle up and drained it.
"I don't blame myself, Dad. And if you don't mind, I think we've talked this subject to death…" Hawkeye said, wincing quickly at the last. Daniel stood. He knew that for all the talking his son did, and for the tremendous effort it usually took to shut him up, Hawkeye could be stubbornly silent.
"Well, then, my presence has worn itself out, I see. I guess when you want to talk, you know where I am," he said. Hawkeye smiled as the last part reminded him of Colonel Potter. With a nod, he relayed his good night to his father. Daniel Pierce didn't say anything more as he turned and found his way out of the house. Hawkeye stood and made his way inside to dispose of his empty beverages.
"This calls for something a little harder," Hawkeye said to the now empty house. He went to pull out a bottle of bourbon and made himself another drink. Then he sat himself down in the chair his father had given to him and switched on the radio. So, Hawkeye sat, bourbon and water in his hand, as the Platters sang their haunting melody over the radio softly. When he realized that the song fit the moment, he hummed along, picking up words whenever he could.
Oh-oh, yes I'm the great pretender
Pretending that I'm doing well
My need is such I pretend too much
I'm lonely but no one can tell
Oh-oh, yes I'm the great pretender
Adrift in a world of my own
I've played the game but to my real shame
You've left me to grieve all alone
Too real is this feeling of make-believe
Too real when I feel what my heart can't conceal
Yes, I'm the great pretender
Just laughin' and gay like a clown
I seem to be what I'm not, you see
I'm wearing my heart like a crown
Pretending that you're still around
After a moment, Hawkeye reached over and switched the radio off. It was hitting a little too close to home. The madness, it seemed, would never end. He stood from the chair and went over to the screen door to watch the clouds begin to fill the night sky. He was now alone in the silence of the cottage by the bay he'd dreamt of for a full three years.
He'd stayed to help Peg for as long as he could take it – two whole days. The jokes he'd cracked and faces he'd made to keep little Erin smiling had begun to wear him down. They were no longer from the good place, the unselfish part of him. They'd started turning into an escape for him to keep from thinking about his best friend not being there anymore. It was then that he realized that being in Mill Valley was doing him, and Peg and Erin, no good. Peg Hunnicutt was a strong woman. She had her family and her daughter. The young widow would be just fine – her grief would fade over time and it would become acceptance as her support rallied around her.
But Hawkeye… for Hawkeye it was different. B.J. had been his support. B.J. had been his sanity for two horrific, blood-filled years. They were supposed to get through the war aftermath together, go through midnight calls when there were nightmares, through the adjustments to real life. The 4077 gang had all been at the funeral, surprisingly… right down to Lt. Col. Frank Burns. At this juncture, you'd think everyone would want to forget the war, not come together and remember it - even for an event as important as B.J.'s funeral had been. Even Trapper had shown up; mainly to support Hawkeye since he'd never met B.J., but he'd come. Yet it hadn't been much of a comfort at all. Trapper had left. Without a goodbye. He'd ceased being Hawkeye's lifeline the moment B.J. uttered the words "Rudyard Kipling" at Kimpo.
Even though the reunion was bittersweet for the 4077 members, it hadn't done anything for Hawkeye either. They'd all scattered in the wind as soon as the funeral was over. They'd expressed their platitudes and condolences to parents, wife, child and best friend and then left to go live their lives in Iowa, Indiana, Boston, Hannibal, Toledo or wherever. And he was now back in Maine… to a life he hadn't found yet, and now, probably never will in its entirety.
B.J.'s death cemented another realization for him. No matter how decent, how undeserving, how loyal, how good a person was there would always be some sort of hell waiting for them. B.J.'s had been Korea… and Hawkeye's as well. But now, it seemed his very own hell was right on here on earth, without the one person that could lift his spirits enough out of the morose that he could count himself as a functioning human being. With that thought, Hawkeye lifted his bourbon to the sky that was now filling with treacherous looking clouds. Just like my mood, Hawkeye thought.
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Somewhere in North Korea…
A bead of sweat rolled down his back as he stared at the exposed bone fragments before him. B.J. wasn't sure if it was the North Korean summer heat, the pain his still unhealed wounds were causing him, or the gun that was menacingly jabbed into his back every now and then just to make sure that he knew that it was there that was causing the unusual amount of perspiration. The damned war was supposed to be over. He was supposed to be back in the United States kissing Peg and Erin hello. He was supposed to be home… but here he was, in enemy territory doing a slapdash surgery in conditions more grotesque than a front line aide station. He didn't know where he was, how long he had been there since he'd regained consciousness, or why he was where he was. His eyes began to sting as the blood from the wound on his forehead began to slide into his vision. He reached up quickly with his dirty, ungloved hand to wipe it away… and received another jab in his back with a gun.
"Alright, already! I get that you're there circling like a pair of goddamned vultures!" B.J said angrily, fully aware that neither of his captors understood a word of what he was saying. "I can't work when I can't see! And shooting me, right now, isn't an option that you can afford…" With that, B.J. looked back down to his patient. All he knew was that it was a North Korean soldier… and he was dying. What a day for the MASH 4077 survival percentages… Once they get a casualty to our front door, his chance of survival is 97.8 percent… That says a lot for the staff… Well, today might not be that day. For patient and doctor alike…
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A/N2 – I know that the song "The Great Pretender" didn't become a hit until 1954-ish and it's still only 1953. I'm taking my liberties with Father Time a bit and making it so that it was a song then. Sorry. I really do like to be historically accurate when I can, but sometimes, my muse won't let me… And wow… did you feel the angst in this one? Man, I feel like I need to crawl out of some dark, dank hole or something! But then again… angst is good… And not to spoil anything upcoming, but there may be a larger cameo by Trapper seeing as he seems to be growing on me a little bit at a time… So, hope y'all liked it so far! Let me know what you think!
