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June '54… San Francisco, California
Hawkeye tugged uncomfortably at the tie around his neck. He could count the times he'd had to wear a tie in the past ten years on one hand… It was a beautiful California day and yet he wished he were back in a cool, sure-to-be-drizzly Maine. In fact… considering his personal views on marriage and his own apprehension of the institution, he'd rather be in Hell. But he couldn't help the small smile as he watched little Erin Hunnicutt walk down the small, make-shift aisle to where her soon-to-be stepfather stood. Hawkeye had to hand it to Peg. She had to have found the two best men on earth to choose to be married to. David Layne was a stand-up guy and Hawkeye couldn't find fault with him. He worshipped Peggy and absolutely adored Erin, but he was no B.J. Granted, David Layne also hadn't gone to war and hadn't been stuck in olive drab government lodgings with Hawkeye for two years, so he was really in no position to compare the two men. Instead, David had befriended Peg in the two years that B.J had been gone, only becoming romantically involved with her a while after B.J's funeral. In a way, David had become Peg's own Hawkeye Pierce. How could he find fault in that?
It was quite surreal to watch a woman he really didn't know – but strangely enough, knew better than most – get married. Bea and Jay Hunnicutt sat in the front row among the bride's family and watched with bittersweet smiles as their only grandchild walked happily down the aisle spreading smiles and flower petals in her wake.
It was supposed to be a happy event, and for everyone else, it was. But for Hawkeye, this was an event that cemented his best friend's death. Oh, he'd known in before – but this was saying that life moved on. Peg Hunnicutt of Mill Valley was now Peg Layne of San Francisco. A change of scenery for a changed woman. It didn't seem right. And it was worse than knowing. Hawkeye wondered if the hole in Peg's heart was just as big as the one in his own. But at least she had something to start to fill it. Or someone…
The girl-chasing, Lothario-like ways Captain B.F. Pierce had been known for had found an early grave that day in Kimpo with Colonel Potter by his side. The life he'd once led in Korea had blown away like dust in the wind. His only company these days were his father, on the days that the elder Pierce was glutton for punishment, and a bottle of aged scotch. His friends, who had once clamored to be around the jokester and often called him perpetually adolescent, now rarely stopped by and called him perpetually world-weary. It was a description of himself that he couldn't help but agree with. And because of that internal grayness, he'd held off until the last minute on whether or not to show up for this wedding. So, he'd shown up at the church just as the organ began to play. He'd stood out front for a few minutes, the awkward tie starting to close around his throat like a noose. He'd gone in, of course, and sat way in the back.
But Peg – the ever saintly, ever perfect Peg – had seen him and sent him a small smile before taking her soon-to-be husband's arm. Hawkeye smiled back, but then his eyes strayed to the dark-haired man at her side.
David Layne was short. He was as short as B.J had been tall. And Hawkeye couldn't help but compare the two men. He couldn't blame Peg for finding a man the complete opposite of her former husband. Yet, still, it fit. As he was sure that Peg standing next to B.J had made sense, he could see that this made sense as well.
Hawkeye sighed heavily as he sat in that very back row. The people in front of him looked back at him curiously, and all he could do was smile at them. He'd made his peace with this. That was all that mattered. It was as if these past few months he'd been hurting for B.J. And he had been. And now, that small, simple smile from a serenely beautiful Peg had calmed that spirit. He could go home and tip his glass to the sky and tell his best friend that things were going to be alright. He was glad he came.
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October '54… North Korea
B.J watched carefully when the guards escorted him back to his lodgings… if you could call them that. It appeared that his captors were some sort of sub par North Korean militia. They'd probably been trying to raid out the part of Korea the 4077 had been in as soon as the military presence was no more. When he'd been the last to leave, he'd been unfortunate enough to ride straight into the crossfire. And this is where he ended up because of his blind naivety. Just because the war was over for America did not mean it was over for either Korea. Yet he'd been stupid enough to believe it for however long it took for him to get captured. It was what the afterglow of the 'end of the war' did to him.
So, now he was relegated to watching for his opportunity… and he felt that it was close at hand. B.J noted that the phrase 'sub par' was key in his earlier description. There weren't nearly enough strongly armed men to go after him should he find a way to duck out of his accommodations. And the evened odds of sorts gave him a little more hope than he'd been privy to in the past few weeks. It was all he needed at the moment… that and a plan, which he was developing a little more each day and with every observation he made.
The plan so far was to wait for the impending storm he knew was coming. The last time he'd seen the outside during daylight, the sky had been dismally gray. B.J knew that the Korean storms could be just as harsh as the summer heat and the winter cold. He was counting on that little fact. The storm would be the first they had in months it seemed. So the tiny makeshift encampment would be busy keeping itself afloat. Too busy in fact to notice that their 5'4, clean-shaven Korean door guard had transformed into a 6'4, bearded American escapee running into the woods. And with the limited munitions they seemed to have, B.J knew that if he could make it to those woods, he wouldn't have to worry about them coming after him. He'd just have to worry about Mother Nature then… and he liked his odds.
His fingers worked quickly, under armed watch, as they pieced together another nameless, faceless patient. According to the gestures from his captors, this one was the last for the evening. B.J held his impatience in check in these long stints of enforced solitary triage and surgery by occasionally trying to recite the Hippocratic Oath in his head. He never did remember it all, but it was always a solitary thought that snuck up and kept him from bashing everyone's face in… North Koreans on the table included.
Into whatever houses I enter, I will go into them for the benefit of the sick, and will abstain from every voluntary act of mischief and corruption.
B.J chuckled at the thought. He remembered a time at the 4077 that Hawkeye had chewed out a patient and B.J had to check his friend's temper. B.J'd laughingly asked his dark-haired bunkmate at a later confrontation if he was mad that B.J had more control over his temper. "You want me to apologize because I'm more rational than you?" Well, he'd later proven that his touted rationality ran a fine line. After the whole fiasco, Hawkeye had told him that there would be a time that the rationality would run away and never come back. Lassie wouldn't come home. It was what war eventually did to a person. Hawkeye had then laughed that B.J's had held on longer than most because before it all he had truly been a fairly naive, good and decent person untouched by the ugliness of war. It had taken longer for Korea to get to Captain Hunnicutt than it had for Captain Pierce. The latter's rationality had swooped out the window the minute he'd read his draft letter.
B.J had hoped he'd held at least a tenuous grip on that rationality by the time American occupation came to an end. Yet as the gun was jabbed into his kidney one more time and the wish to take the scalpel in his hand and inflict all the amount of pain he'd endured all these months, all he could see was Hawkeye's 'I told you so' smirk.
While I continue to keep this Oath unviolated, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and the practice of the art, respected by all men, in all times. But should I trespass and violate this Oath, may the reverse be my lot.
Looking down at the broken man on the table with a tense and shaking hand, B.J wondered when, exactly, his rationality had packed its bags.
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The storm came earlier than he predicted, but that didn't mean B.J was any less prepared. A harsh tap of the rain woke him in the middle of his little sleep. It was only the third rain of the long, excruciating, Korean summer. And he was pretty sure it wasn't even summer anymore. But the rain made him as giddy as a schoolboy. He grinned to himself as he looked out the small window and saw the entire camp scrambling around trying to batten down the hatches. Supplies were being dragged to drier spots, roofs were being patched up as last minute leaks made themselves known… it was just short of chaos. It was his time to move out.
Jumping off the cot, he went over to the ramshackle door. The guard stood at attention with his M-16 pointed to the door. Taking a deep breath, B.J tapped against the door. It caught the guard's notice and he turned to look at him.
"It's leaking in here," B.J said. He then did a quick gesture to mime the leak. The guard watched him for a second and then hit the door with the barrel of his gun, an unspoken demand for B.J to back away from the door. B.J did as he was instructed and picked up the metal tray that had brought his dinner. He heard the clicking of the locks as the guard brought him closer to freedom and lifted the tray, ready to strike.
…will abstain from every voluntary act of mischief and corruption…
The voice couldn't help itself as B.J prepared to inflict injury in exchange for his freedom. The Oath be damned. These North Koreans didn't give a damn about him. What was one of them for the hundreds he'd already saved?
As the door swung open, B.J pounced, swinging the tray with all the might his six-foot frame could allow under duress. It met the shorter man's head with a sickening 'thunk'. Weapon and keys fell to the floor, as did their owner. B.J couldn't help that sick feeling in his stomach as he stared down at the unconscious guard. "Always the peace-maker…" Hawkeye's voice scolded as it had in its original intent. It got B.J moving again and he bent down to take the helmet, gun and keys from the man.
Then, he picked the North Korean up and placed him on the sorry excuse for a cot and covered him with the even sorrier excuse for a blanket. Without a second hesitation, B.J went out the door and locked the man in. With a careful look around and a hunching of his significantly taller form, B.J slipped around the side of the building and began the 100-some-odd-yard journey to wooded sanctuary. It would be the most dangerous part of this escape. If only… and his thought was cut off as there was a streak of lightning that lit up the sky. The overly dry summer had worked to B.J's advantage as it lit up a grassy patch on the other side of the road. North Koreans were running around the place, rushing water to the spot and paying no attention to where their prisoner should have been.
"You two were reprimanded by Major Burns for setting fire to the latrine…"
"That was an accident..."
"... we were having a weenie roast."
"In the latrine?"
"We're not allowed to cook in our tents..."
The first conversation he'd ever had with Colonel Sherman Potter rang through his head at the smell of the fire. He grinned as he ran the entire 100 yards to the forest.
The sudden activity and blood rush through his body made him feel slightly dizzy as he stumbled into the trees. There had been no shouts of warning or the stampede of feet in chase behind him. For that, B.J was extremely grateful. He was pretty sure he didn't have the energy to run any more in this heavy rain. In fact, he felt like passing out. But he knew if he did that, he'd either drown in the puddle that would form around him or he'd be caught. Neither option really appealed to him, so he trudged through the newly formed mud.
He walked and walked, hoping to find something that looked even slightly familiar. It would be light out soon and he crossed his fingers that he was headed in the right direction. Whatever that direction was. When you were stuck in a place for two years, familiarity and direction became relative.
B.J wandered a bit from the beaten path after a while…. Or what was actually was a severely bombed, narrow, farming road. The rain had slowed to a slow drizzle as he had walked, the morning light making the sky a dismal and ugly gray. He'd walked along for a little while, hoping that life would stir somewhere and point him in the right direction. It was difficult, with the path he followed next, to think of that decision to stray from the main road as anything other than the worst of his life. He stumbled over a hidden root and went tumbling end over end down the hill that the road wound around, hitting every branch, rock and root along the way. B.J tuned out the pain as he neared the bottom of the hill. Instead, he marveled that he'd missed hitting his head on anything. Even so, if any North Korean had taken the time or effort to follow him, he would surely be killed because he could not run away.
Just as the sun brought light to the world in stages as it rose in the early morning, so did the pain in B.J's tall frame. With a wince, he raised his head to look down at the damage. There was blood oozing from where sharp rocks had sliced his clothes to the skin. His leg was surely broken, as was an arm – or maybe a wrist. The pain was too much for him to really pinpoint the injury. His eyes then turned to roam the area and saw a clear field stretch in front of him. His useless limbs could take him no further. As darkness descended on him, BJ couldn't help but curse himself for his stupid clumsiness. Little did he know that said clumsiness would ultimately save his life.
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BJ opened his eyes. The pain he'd expected wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. With a frown, he looked around his blurry surroundings. He could have sworn that he'd been outside, in some sort of field. Rather than the stormy gray sky, he was looking up at a wood ceiling. Had the North Koreans captured him again? That thought startled him into action and BJ sat up… which he regretted instantly as a twinge of pain went through all of his broken joints. He couldn't help the swear word that slipped past his lips.
A smattering of Korean was heard to his left. He looked to see an older couple sitting there with concerned gazes directed on him.
"Where am I?" he asked, panic lacing his words. The two looked at each other and then back at him. BJ sighed.
"Do you speak English?" he asked. The couple looked at each other again and talked among themselves. It was obvious that the answer to his question was a negative. A bright light suddenly enveloped the small hut as a figure pulled back the cloth used for a door and stepped inside.
"Ah, you awake," a feminine voice said. B.J frowned.
"Where am I? Who are you?" he asked. The girl, about fourteen or fifteen, kneeled down next to him and pushed him back into a lying position. She took a cloth from the basin of water she had brought in and placed it over his forehead.
"Still warm to touch," she explained. Then she proceeded to answer his question. She nodded to the couple standing just behind her. "My father… Hung Sim Cho. Mother… Soon Cho. I Chin Cho." B.J nodded slightly in greeting.
"Doctor B.J Hunnicutt. MASH 4077. How long have I been asleep? Where am I?" he asked.
"Three days you sleep. You in South Korea," the girl said as she set a different, steaming bowl of liquid down next to him. BJ eyed it warily.
"What is that?" he asked. The girl smiled.
"It pain relieving remedy. It help you sleep," she said in her broken English.
"I've slept enough, I think," he said, watching the girl fill a small bowl. He remembered the last local remedy the 4077 employed and how awful it smelled.
"You sick with fever. You need more," the girl said as she helped B.J sit up enough to drink the liquid. He took a small sniff and was pleased to find there was barely any odor. He drank the proffered remedy without a fight. He preferred a dreamless sleep rather than the fitful images that wracked his brain for the past three days. He was relieved to get it in a few short moments. All B.J could hope was that when he woke up again, there wouldn't be guns pointed in his face…
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When he opened his eyes again, he could hear birds chirping outside. The hut was empty and he assumed it to be morning. Light once again enveloped the small hut as Chin entered.
"We help you," she said as she set a plate of food down next to him. He eyed the fresh eggs and vegetables with hungry eyes.
"Thank you for your help," he said, reaching for a piece of food. The girl smiled.
"No… we help you…" she urged. B.J still didn't catch what she was attempting to mean. Instead of trying to guess, he lifted the food in toast to her and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed greedily on the first suitable piece of food he'd eaten in nearly two years. B.J knew that he'd make himself sick if he inhaled the victuals, but he simply couldn't help himself. Before too long, the plate was completely empty, no crumb in sight. He lay back with a sigh as a nourished sleep once again overtook him.
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The jarring was what woke him. When he found himself in a farmer's cart being pulled along a small South Korean road by a donkey, he couldn't help but feel another slight twinge of panic. Colonel Potter would have called him a 'nervous nelly'. He sat up quickly, heart starting a quick staccato in his chest as he imagined being sold to the North Korean army in exchange for whatever this family may need. For a brief second, B.J wondered what his life was worth.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked, startling the girl walking next to the cart. Chin placed a calming hand on his shoulder.
"Take you to Seoul," she said. "Find your home…" B.J couldn't help but laugh at her statement, which quickly turned into a fit of coughs. He waved off her concern and continued to laugh after he caught his breath. At her words, he couldn't help but feel like the stray dog who had wandered too far off. Too bad he didn't have his tags.
"To Seoul," he said, another cough escaping. The hope that stirred in his chest at the thought of going home wasn't as large as it once would have been and he couldn't help but wonder why. Hung Sim stopped the cart and said something to his daughter. She said something back and grabbed a water jug from next to B.J. The old man drank quickly from it and then pointed to B.J.
"We not far from Seoul. You should be clean. Father no want to take dirty American into city in his cart," she said, handing B.J the water. He knew that image and honor were important to the Koreans. He knew that Hung Sim wanted to make sure everyone knew that he had taken care of the 'dirty American' with honor and dignity. The older man stepped up to B.J, held out a shaving blade and indicated to the American's unwieldy beard.
B.J. eyed the blade with a new sort of twinkle in his eye. He then eyed the South Korean and his family who had been kind enough to pick up his broken body and care for him. With a gentle hand, B.J. reached out and took the blade from the smaller man's hand. Hung Sim smiled graciously with a small bow. B.J. smiled back, but his eyes never left the blade. He knew why the hope hadn't blossomed. Being this close to home made him realized just how much things had changed. He wanted the old B.J. back. He wanted the one before the war… but at this point, he'd even take the B.J. that had been created by the hand of the MASH 4077. Would his mother and father… would Peg… would Hawkeye be able to recognize who he was now? It had been nearly two years since the war had been over. It had been two years that this new B.J. had been molded in this Asian form of purgatory. B.J. ran a finger over the blade and hissed only slightly as it split the skin. He watched in fascination as the blood began to gather on the tip of his finger. Yes… he wanted to be the old B.J. again. But he knew, deep down, it wasn't really possible…
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Stay tuned… :)
