1 Chapter Seven
2
3 Korea, 1952
Later that afternoon Sydney and Jack met Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger. The two of them were standing next to Vaughn's bed, while Margaret checked his status and explained to them what might have happened that would cause him to be unconscious for such a long period of time. Suddenly an olive skinned man came in wearing a black evening gown, pearls and army boots.
"Major Houlihan, you're needed in the OR. The Korean man with the severed leg?"
"Yeah?" Margaret asked. "What about him?"
"He wasn't put under all the way. Now we've got a pretty P-O'ed Korean trying to take a bite out of Captain Hunnicut. They need you to put him under again. Everyone else is trying to get him under control."
"God, can't one day in this place be normal?" She lamented as she hurried out. "We got people time-traveling and now cannibals. What's next?"
Sydney and Jack had been staring at the man ever since he'd walked in the door. Sydney realized who it was after a minute or two. He had started to leave behind Margaret but Sydney stopped him.
"Sergeant Klinger?" She asked.
"No, I'm just a Corporal, Miss." He replied, stopping at the door to the OR.
Sydney realized that he must have been promoted to Sergeant sometime later on and hoped that her mistake hadn't changed anything. "Oh, I'm sorry, Corporal. I'm not used to all these uniforms yet."
"That's okay. And you are?"
"Sydney Bristow. This is my father Jack. And the man on the bed is Michael Vaughn."
"Oh, so you're the ones that my clock brought here, huh?"
"I'm afraid so."
"I didn't know why the CIA wanted it. Now I sort of understand…I think."
Jack shook his head. "You couldn't possibly fully comprehend the situation. We're not even sure of the details."
"Well, whatever the story is, I'm really sorry. This isn't my fault you know."
"We understand." Sydney assured him. She looked him up and down and was about to ask him something about his attire, but decided against it. She didn't think that it was really worth it.
"Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but I gotta get back in there."
"We're sorry to have kept you Corporal." Jack replied.
He retreated, the hem of his dress swishing against the back of his boots. The moment he'd left they both burst out laughing.
******************************
Hawkeye and BJ were mixing up a few martinis when Charles and Jack walked in after dinner that night.
"Hey, you two want to join us for a little nightcap?" Hawkeye asked, waving his olive-garnished drink at the two men.
"No, thank you." Charles replied, sitting down on his cot. "I prefer my drink sans shrapnel. I think I will stick with my wine." He reached under the bed and pulled out a bottle of red. "Care to, uh, join me, Bristow?"
"Actually, I'm quite interested in this little still they've got here." He said, sitting next to BJ. He wasn't too impressed with his surroundings and the people in it, but he needed a drink to calm his nerves and help bring things into perspective.
"It's made from scratch." BJ explained.
"Which is also," a loud pop came from Charles' side of the room as he opened the bottle, "what I expect is in their alcohol as well."
"Speak up Charles! Remember what your mother and I told you about muttering." Hawkeye scolded. "And be careful with that cork or you'll put someone's eye out."
Charles sneered and poured himself a glass of wine.
"Pour me a martini boys," Jack decided. "How bad can it be?"
"You ever drank gasoline?" BJ asked.
"No, I can't say that I have." He said, unsure of why he'd been asked that.
"Too bad. It might've prepared you for this." BJ handed him a glass and Jack took it warily.
"Don't worry," Hawkeye assured him. "What doesn't kill you will only put you in critical condition."
"Besides, we're doctors." BJ explained. "We keep a portable stomach pump under Charles' bed."
Charles didn't seem the least bit amused.
"Bottoms up, Bristow," Hawkeye urged.
"Here's goes nothing." Jack took a swig and swallowed hard. Then he made a face. "That was probably the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted." Then he drank the rest and as he ate the olive said, "Pour me another."
Hawkeye and BJ cackled as they fixed another martini for their newfound friend. And Jack, though he didn't want to admit it, actually felt like he belonged somewhere for once.
*************************************
The VIP tent wasn't exactly Sydney's idea of a five-star hotel, but it was better than some of the places she'd slept during a few of her missions. She dragged herself into bed at about eight that evening and finally fell asleep a little while later.
***************************************
Jack felt much more comfortable in his surroundings than Sydney did. For the time being at least, he was quite content to stay in the Swamp drinking with the three M*A*S*H surgeons and talking. War-made martinis have the tendency to be more potent than regular ones and after about two or three the usually reserved Jack had thrown his tie and coat across the room onto his cot. After the next two he had started to talk about his wife. He even found himself singing sea shanties at the top of his lungs with Pierce and, when he had passed out, tying Winchester's boots to his wrists. It was weird but, without the pressures of being an agent, of fearing for your life and your daughter's life all the time, he was able to be less of a jackass and more like a human.
"So Jack, what sort of businessssss are you in?" Hawkeye asked, throwing a baseball up in the air and catching it again.
"Classssssified." Jack slurred. "Meanssss I can't tell you. Which isss why I'm gonna."
BJ shook his finger at the man sitting on the floor of the tent. There were three fingers as well as three Jacks and he shook his head before speaking. "Now, now, (hic) we don't want chew to get into trouble. We get into (hic) enough of that our (hic) selves."
"Iss thisss really classssssified? Or are you jussst pullin' our chainssss?" Hawkeye asked.
"I'm a sssssssecret agent." Jack confessed.
Hawk and BJ stared at each other for a second then started to laugh. They laughed even more when Hawkeye's baseball hit him in the face.
"No really, guysss." Jack insisted. "I work for the CIA."
"Yeah (hic). And I'm (hic) Cleopatra, Queen of the (hic) Nile." BJ retorted.
"Nice to meet you, your Highness." A familiar voice from behind them said. They all turned to see Potter standing in the doorway of the tent. "Hello boys." He sneered, stepping over Charles' snoring form and into the tent.
"Hello, Colonel!" Hawkeye cried jovially. "Care to join usss for a drink?"
"No thanks Pierce. I've actually come with a telegram from a Mr. Sherman T. Potter."
"Hey," BJ realized, pulling his lips from his glass, "that's you!"
"Great observation, Cleo." Potter replied.
Hawkeye clapped his hands giddily. "Come on, Colonel! Read usss our telegram!"
"All right, Pierce, hold your horses."
"Holding Colonel!"
Potter cleared his throat and lifted up a blank piece of paper. "To Captains Pierce and Hunnicut and to Mr. Jack Bristow. Stop. You are waking the whole camp up with your shenanigans. Stop. Shut up and go to sleep." He slapped Hawkeye, who was jumping up and down on the floor like it was Christmas, on the back of the head. "Stop!"
Hawkeye rubbed the back of his head. "OWWWWW!" He yelled.
Potter pulled BJ's glass, which was newly refilled, out of his hands and dumped it over Charles' face. He woke up sputtering.
"What in the name of God is going on…Colonel? Colonel! How, uh, nice of you to, uh, to drop by." He chuckled.
"I'm disappointed in all of you. The three of you need to be up and about ready for surgery tomorrow. Radar says there's a whole bunch of wounded coming this way. They'll be here at approximately O seven hundred."
"What?" BJ asked, suddenly sobered.
"Yeah, you heard me right. And if I don't see your little behinds behind a body by that time I'll personally yank the plug on this all night saloon!" Before he left he looked at Jack who had stood up. "And you…I don't know what they behave like in the future, but as long as you're here you behave how we behave in a war. Understood?"
"Colonel," Hawkeye butted in, "it wasn't his fault. We-"
"I don't care whose fault it was. I want this place cleaned and the four of you pressed by tomorrow morning or I'll press you myself!" And with that he was gone.
Jack, who felt like a complete fool, especially at being talked down to by a man who was relatively close to his own age, walked over to his bed and, without even bothering to take his shoes off, lay down and went to sleep. Charles did the same, except he unknotted his bootlaces and took the boots off from his wrists before crawling into bed. Hawkeye and BJ cleaned up a little before going to bed themselves. They felt terrible for the way they had acted and even worse for getting Jack in hot water with Potter. They each silently vowed that they would make it up to him somehow.
2
3 Korea, 1952
Later that afternoon Sydney and Jack met Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger. The two of them were standing next to Vaughn's bed, while Margaret checked his status and explained to them what might have happened that would cause him to be unconscious for such a long period of time. Suddenly an olive skinned man came in wearing a black evening gown, pearls and army boots.
"Major Houlihan, you're needed in the OR. The Korean man with the severed leg?"
"Yeah?" Margaret asked. "What about him?"
"He wasn't put under all the way. Now we've got a pretty P-O'ed Korean trying to take a bite out of Captain Hunnicut. They need you to put him under again. Everyone else is trying to get him under control."
"God, can't one day in this place be normal?" She lamented as she hurried out. "We got people time-traveling and now cannibals. What's next?"
Sydney and Jack had been staring at the man ever since he'd walked in the door. Sydney realized who it was after a minute or two. He had started to leave behind Margaret but Sydney stopped him.
"Sergeant Klinger?" She asked.
"No, I'm just a Corporal, Miss." He replied, stopping at the door to the OR.
Sydney realized that he must have been promoted to Sergeant sometime later on and hoped that her mistake hadn't changed anything. "Oh, I'm sorry, Corporal. I'm not used to all these uniforms yet."
"That's okay. And you are?"
"Sydney Bristow. This is my father Jack. And the man on the bed is Michael Vaughn."
"Oh, so you're the ones that my clock brought here, huh?"
"I'm afraid so."
"I didn't know why the CIA wanted it. Now I sort of understand…I think."
Jack shook his head. "You couldn't possibly fully comprehend the situation. We're not even sure of the details."
"Well, whatever the story is, I'm really sorry. This isn't my fault you know."
"We understand." Sydney assured him. She looked him up and down and was about to ask him something about his attire, but decided against it. She didn't think that it was really worth it.
"Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but I gotta get back in there."
"We're sorry to have kept you Corporal." Jack replied.
He retreated, the hem of his dress swishing against the back of his boots. The moment he'd left they both burst out laughing.
******************************
Hawkeye and BJ were mixing up a few martinis when Charles and Jack walked in after dinner that night.
"Hey, you two want to join us for a little nightcap?" Hawkeye asked, waving his olive-garnished drink at the two men.
"No, thank you." Charles replied, sitting down on his cot. "I prefer my drink sans shrapnel. I think I will stick with my wine." He reached under the bed and pulled out a bottle of red. "Care to, uh, join me, Bristow?"
"Actually, I'm quite interested in this little still they've got here." He said, sitting next to BJ. He wasn't too impressed with his surroundings and the people in it, but he needed a drink to calm his nerves and help bring things into perspective.
"It's made from scratch." BJ explained.
"Which is also," a loud pop came from Charles' side of the room as he opened the bottle, "what I expect is in their alcohol as well."
"Speak up Charles! Remember what your mother and I told you about muttering." Hawkeye scolded. "And be careful with that cork or you'll put someone's eye out."
Charles sneered and poured himself a glass of wine.
"Pour me a martini boys," Jack decided. "How bad can it be?"
"You ever drank gasoline?" BJ asked.
"No, I can't say that I have." He said, unsure of why he'd been asked that.
"Too bad. It might've prepared you for this." BJ handed him a glass and Jack took it warily.
"Don't worry," Hawkeye assured him. "What doesn't kill you will only put you in critical condition."
"Besides, we're doctors." BJ explained. "We keep a portable stomach pump under Charles' bed."
Charles didn't seem the least bit amused.
"Bottoms up, Bristow," Hawkeye urged.
"Here's goes nothing." Jack took a swig and swallowed hard. Then he made a face. "That was probably the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted." Then he drank the rest and as he ate the olive said, "Pour me another."
Hawkeye and BJ cackled as they fixed another martini for their newfound friend. And Jack, though he didn't want to admit it, actually felt like he belonged somewhere for once.
*************************************
The VIP tent wasn't exactly Sydney's idea of a five-star hotel, but it was better than some of the places she'd slept during a few of her missions. She dragged herself into bed at about eight that evening and finally fell asleep a little while later.
***************************************
Jack felt much more comfortable in his surroundings than Sydney did. For the time being at least, he was quite content to stay in the Swamp drinking with the three M*A*S*H surgeons and talking. War-made martinis have the tendency to be more potent than regular ones and after about two or three the usually reserved Jack had thrown his tie and coat across the room onto his cot. After the next two he had started to talk about his wife. He even found himself singing sea shanties at the top of his lungs with Pierce and, when he had passed out, tying Winchester's boots to his wrists. It was weird but, without the pressures of being an agent, of fearing for your life and your daughter's life all the time, he was able to be less of a jackass and more like a human.
"So Jack, what sort of businessssss are you in?" Hawkeye asked, throwing a baseball up in the air and catching it again.
"Classssssified." Jack slurred. "Meanssss I can't tell you. Which isss why I'm gonna."
BJ shook his finger at the man sitting on the floor of the tent. There were three fingers as well as three Jacks and he shook his head before speaking. "Now, now, (hic) we don't want chew to get into trouble. We get into (hic) enough of that our (hic) selves."
"Iss thisss really classssssified? Or are you jussst pullin' our chainssss?" Hawkeye asked.
"I'm a sssssssecret agent." Jack confessed.
Hawk and BJ stared at each other for a second then started to laugh. They laughed even more when Hawkeye's baseball hit him in the face.
"No really, guysss." Jack insisted. "I work for the CIA."
"Yeah (hic). And I'm (hic) Cleopatra, Queen of the (hic) Nile." BJ retorted.
"Nice to meet you, your Highness." A familiar voice from behind them said. They all turned to see Potter standing in the doorway of the tent. "Hello boys." He sneered, stepping over Charles' snoring form and into the tent.
"Hello, Colonel!" Hawkeye cried jovially. "Care to join usss for a drink?"
"No thanks Pierce. I've actually come with a telegram from a Mr. Sherman T. Potter."
"Hey," BJ realized, pulling his lips from his glass, "that's you!"
"Great observation, Cleo." Potter replied.
Hawkeye clapped his hands giddily. "Come on, Colonel! Read usss our telegram!"
"All right, Pierce, hold your horses."
"Holding Colonel!"
Potter cleared his throat and lifted up a blank piece of paper. "To Captains Pierce and Hunnicut and to Mr. Jack Bristow. Stop. You are waking the whole camp up with your shenanigans. Stop. Shut up and go to sleep." He slapped Hawkeye, who was jumping up and down on the floor like it was Christmas, on the back of the head. "Stop!"
Hawkeye rubbed the back of his head. "OWWWWW!" He yelled.
Potter pulled BJ's glass, which was newly refilled, out of his hands and dumped it over Charles' face. He woke up sputtering.
"What in the name of God is going on…Colonel? Colonel! How, uh, nice of you to, uh, to drop by." He chuckled.
"I'm disappointed in all of you. The three of you need to be up and about ready for surgery tomorrow. Radar says there's a whole bunch of wounded coming this way. They'll be here at approximately O seven hundred."
"What?" BJ asked, suddenly sobered.
"Yeah, you heard me right. And if I don't see your little behinds behind a body by that time I'll personally yank the plug on this all night saloon!" Before he left he looked at Jack who had stood up. "And you…I don't know what they behave like in the future, but as long as you're here you behave how we behave in a war. Understood?"
"Colonel," Hawkeye butted in, "it wasn't his fault. We-"
"I don't care whose fault it was. I want this place cleaned and the four of you pressed by tomorrow morning or I'll press you myself!" And with that he was gone.
Jack, who felt like a complete fool, especially at being talked down to by a man who was relatively close to his own age, walked over to his bed and, without even bothering to take his shoes off, lay down and went to sleep. Charles did the same, except he unknotted his bootlaces and took the boots off from his wrists before crawling into bed. Hawkeye and BJ cleaned up a little before going to bed themselves. They felt terrible for the way they had acted and even worse for getting Jack in hot water with Potter. They each silently vowed that they would make it up to him somehow.