AUTHOR'S NOTE Just a quick note to morph: This takes place during the Trapper/Henry/Frank years. Although I too like the BJ/Potter/Winchester years better, I started writing this as I was watching seasons one through three and I thought Fred and George would really interact nicely with the Hawk/Trap combo as opposed to Hawk/BJ.

DISCLAIMER Don't own them.

…

A voice rang through a loudspeaker over the military compound. "Attention all personnel! Incoming wounded – all shifts to OR on the double!" Men and women dropped what they were doing and rushed to prepare for surgery.

Soldiers were moved into the OR and the doctors and nurses went to work. Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce, nicknamed Hawkeye, was the outfit's chief surgeon and probably their most compassionate doctor. He hated the Army and the war, but he hated death most of all. He did whatever it took to pull his patients through.

As usual, the wounded soldiers looked far too young to be dating, let alone fighting. Each one broke Hawkeye's heart over again.

"Captain Pierce!" Major Margaret Houlihan, head nurse, called as his patient was taken from the table.

"What is it?" Hawkeye asked. Margaret held up the latest X-Ray. "Jesus!" Hawkeye whispered. "This kid's got a fragment the size of a Buick in his side!"

Margaret nodded. "He's lost a lot of blood."

"All right, bring him in. Margaret, you assist. I need a gown and gloves!" Hawkeye called as the bloodied ones were taken away.

"Whoa!" Hawkeye blinked when the boy was brought in. "I've never seen hair that red before in my life!" Checking around the boy's neck, he found nothing. "Who is this kid? Where're his dog tags?"

"He didn't have any, Hawkeye," Radar O'Reilly, the outfit's near-sighted company clerk, said. "Didn't have a uniform either. The chopper just brought him in a few minutes ago."

"All right, well see if you can find out who he is."

"Yes sir." Radar left the OR and Hawkeye and Margaret prepared to operate. Letting his head fall back, Hawkeye closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening his eyes again, he glanced toward the small window in the door on the far end of the operating room. His patient was looking back at him.

"What the?" His surprised outburst drew attention from the other surgeons.

"Pierce?" Dr. Henry Blake, commanding officer of the unit, asked.

"What's wrong, Hawk?" asked Dr. John McIntyre. McIntyre, nicknamed Trapper, was Hawkeye's tentmate and best friend.

"That kid in the window looks exactly like the kid I'm about the operate on!"

The fourth surgeon in the room, Dr. Frank Burns, scoffed. "Ever heard of identical twins, Pierce?"

"Stuff it, Frank," Hawkeye replied, irritated that he hadn't realized it too. He glanced back at the window, but the boy was gone. He shrugged and focused all of his attention on the operation.

…

Fred turned away from the door. He couldn't bear to watch them cut into his twin brother. George's normally pale Weasley skin was pasty white on the operating table.

Stumbling away from the operating room, Fred felt trapped. It was the blood; it had to be the blood. Never had he seen a single human bleed that much from a wound.

Death itself didn't sicken him this violently. He'd wandered through dozens of bodies during the war. He'd seen friends die before him, as well as two brothers. He'd seen his own twin tortured with the Cruciatus Curse, before falling victim to it himself.

But, as violent as they were, Avada Kedavra and Crucio left the pain and death locked within the human form. These Muggle weapons ripped people apart and left them to bleed.

The blood was all around him. He was drowning in it. Unable to help himself, Fred staggered behind a building and began vomiting uncontrollably.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, just relax," came a deep voice. Fred finished throwing up his breakfast, wiped his mouth, and turned to the man behind him. "You okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." Fred, still feeling dizzy, blinked when he saw who had helped him. "You're a man…in a dress!"

The man, who was indeed wearing a deep blue evening gown, stared back at Fred. "And you're in surgery! Or, you're supposed to be…"

Fred felt more bile rise in his throat at the thought of George being cut open but he forced it back down. "That's my twin brother. We're identical." He raised an eyebrow. "You're in a dress," he repeated.

He snapped into a military salute. "Corporal Max Klinger, at your service!" He leaned toward Fred conspiratorially. "I only wear dresses to make them think I'm crazy so they'll let me outta this hell hole."

"Oh." Fred leaned on Klinger as they walked through camp. He was still dizzy and queasy. "Where are we?"

"The 4077th. Best MASH in all of Korea!"

"MASH unit? Korea?" Fred asked fearfully. He'd only seen Muggle maps once or twice in his life when his father had tacked them up on the walls of the Burrow, but he knew Korea wasn't anywhere near England.

Klinger, unaware of the redhead's confusion, nodded. "Ouijongbou, South Korea to be exact. Whoa, what's wrong, kid?" he asked, noticing how very pale Fred had gone. He led them over to a bench outside the mess tent.

"What…what year is it?" Fred asked shakily.

"1951."

"And we're in South Korea."

"Uh-huh…" Klinger looked at Fred, concerned. "You sure you're okay?"

Fred nodded weakly. "When can I see my brother?"

"He'll be in Post-Op soon. I can take you there to wait if you want."

Fred nodded and Klinger helped him to his feet. When they reached the Post-Op ward, Klinger let Fred lie down on an empty cot, then went to explain his presence to the nurse on duty.

There was an awful taste in his mouth, left from getting sick. "Lu…lieutenant?" Fred called, stumbling over the strange word that Klinger had called the nurse.

She was dark-skinned and looked a bit like Angelina. That brought a twinge to Fred's chest. Angelina had fallen in the war.

The woman sat by Fred's bedside. She smiled. "You can call me Ginger. What can I do?"

"Can I have some pumpkin juice?" Fred asked feebly. Ginger gave him a strange look, leading him to add, "Or water would be fine?"

"Of course." She brought him a glass of water, which he used to rinse his mouth out and drank the rest. She smiled, then bustled off to tend to other patients.

'1951,' Fred thought. He whistled to himself. 'Me and George haven't even been born yet. Merlin, Mum and Dad have barely been born!' It was a lot to accept.

"George and that bloody Time Turner…" he mumbled to himself. The day had taken its toll on him and his energy was gone. 'Mum's really gonna kill us,' he thought as he drifted off to sleep.