AUTHOR'S NOTE Now we're into the real crossover part. This story is only 14 chapters long, just to give you all a frame of reference. Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER Don't own any of them. JKR owns some and whoever owns MASH owns the others.

…

George's eyes fluttered open. "Ugh…" he managed to moan. His entire body felt like it'd been used as a playground for Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"George!"

He managed to open his eyes completely to see Fred rushing across the bare room. Beds of patients lined the walls and white-robed nurses floated around caring for the wounded. A young doctor sat reviewing medical charts at one end.

Fred reached his twin's bedside. "How do you feel?"

George tried to stretch and immediately regretted it. "Like Dad's old Ford Anglia ran me over. Where am I?"

"Post-Op ward." Fred glared at his twin. "In South Korea. In 1951!"

"1951?" George groaned. "We're doomed."

"I know." Fred glanced at the bandage his brother was sporting. "How is it?"

He looked at Fred in all seriousness. "It feels worse than Crucio."

Fred shuddered. Both he and George had been on the wrong end of the Cruciatus Curse during the war against Voldemort. "Nothing's worse than that."

"This is." George smirked half-heartedly. "These Muggles really know how to build a weapon."

Fred laughed. "Dad would be so proud."

"Arthur Weasley's second-youngest son, struck down by a Muggle weapon!" George grinned, regardless of his pain.

Seeing his patient awake, the young doctor came over to the redhead's bed. "Good afternoon!"

"Hello," Fred and George replied together.

The doctor raised his eyebrows. "Ah, so you're British," he said, noting their accents. "We were wondering, you not having dog tags and all. I'm Dr. Pierce, I operated on you this morning."

"Oh. Thank you!" George looked at his twin. "And yes, we're British. But what are dog tags?"

Dr. Pierce looked at the two identical boys. "Uh-huh. Well, I removed a large shell fragment from your side. Barring any complications, you should be able to return to your outfit within a week."

Fred and George looked at each other, clearly confused. "Okay," George finally answered. Fred glanced at him, but didn't say anything.

Dr. Pierce was clearly concerned, but just patted George's shoulder and left. Fred turned to his brother. "Return to your outfit?"

George shrugged. "I figured I wouldn't ask. I think we need to learn about Muggle warfare. Quick."

…

Hawkeye left the Post-Op ward, worried about the boy. "Radar!" he called as he walked into the company clerk's office.

"Right here, sir."

Hawkeye jumped and turned around to see Radar right behind him. "Don't sneak up on me like that! Or I'll put a collar on you with a little bell attached."

"Yes, sir."

Hawkeye sighed, rubbing his temple. "Any word on that kid?"

"Uh, no sir. I called Regimental Headquarters, Seoul, Tokyo. No units have reported anyone missing fitting his description."

"Well he's gotta be someone! People don't just appear!" Hawkeye sighed. "People disappear in a war, not the other way around."

Radar nodded. "Do you know anything about him?"

"He's got red hair, an identical twin, and he's British." Hawkeye got an idea. "Hey Radar, why don't you – "

"Yes sir, I'll call the UN right away sir." Radar was already on the phone.
Hawkeye shook his head. Radar's uncanny ability to anticipate people's requests or incoming choppers never ceased to amaze him. It was what had earned the young man the nickname "Radar."

Radar turned back to him. "Was there something else you needed, sir?" Hawkeye didn't say anything at first. "Sir?" Radar asked again.

"What? No Radar, that's all." Absently, he left Radar's office and crossed the compound. The heat was sweltering. All he wanted to do was sleep. He headed for home.

Hawkeye collapsed gratefully onto his cot in his tent, affectionately called the Swamp. Trapper was asleep in the next cot, snoring. Thankfully, Frank was not around.

His eyes closed, Hawkeye was just about asleep when he heard the screen door of the tent bang open. "Captain McIntyre, sir!"

Hawkeye grabbed a boot and checked it irritably at the intruder. Corporal Klinger stepped aside just in time and the boot landed harmlessly on Frank's bed. Trapped muttered curses under his breath. "Captain McIntyre, sir, it's your shift in Post-Op!"

"You have five seconds to get out of here, Klinger," Trapper growled.

"Or we're run your bra up the flagpole!" Hawkeye threatened.

"Like I'd let you near my bra!" Klinger replied with an indignant sniff before ducking out of the Swamp.

With a groan, Trapper sat up. "Anything I should watch for, Hawk?"

"Yeah," Hawkeye mumbled. "That red-headed kid I operated on this morning."

"Infection?"

"Uh-uh. He and his brother are British."

"Well, we'll cure him of that," Trapper joked. Hawkeye glared at him sleepily.

"Watch him because he might be a little battle-fatigued. He asked me what dog tags were."

"All right, I'll keep an eye on him."

Frank, who had walked in to hear the end of their conversation, snorted. "He's faking! He must be a deserter. Him and his brother." He smiled a bit to himself. "Major Houlihan and I have taken it upon ourselves to contact all British units in the area and let them know we've found him."

Trapper rolled his eyes. "Frank, would you at least let the kid get better first? He was in pretty rough shape when they brought him in. He needs rest."

"I don't need you to tell me what a patient needs to recover, McIntyre!" Frank snapped.

"Frank, even the patient knows more than you!" Hawkeye retorted, feigning sleep with a hand thrown over his eyes.

Frank sputtered angrily for a minute, then glared at his two tentmates. "You…guys!"

Hawkeye lifted his head and watched Frank stalk off. "Will he ever think of a better retort?"

"Nah. His head's too full of that medical knowledge," Trapper replied sarcastically.

"And Hot Lips." Hot Lips was Major Houlihan's nickname. She and Frank had a very hot relationship, supposedly unbeknownst to the camp. Definitely unbeknownst to Frank's wife.

Trapper laughed. "Yeah, right." He pulled on a light military jacket. "I'll see ya later, Hawk. And don't worry about your boy. I'll watch him for you."

"Uh-huh," Hawkeye mumbled into his pillow. "Thanks, Trap."

"No problem."

Within minutes of Trapper's departure, Hawkeye was fast asleep.