Five hours later, Henry sat in his office, his feet propped on his desk and a cigar hanging out of his mouth. A white gauze bandage was wrapped around his finger, complementary of the battle with his nylon-attracting hat, which still sat firmly on his head. Radar peeked his head in through the swinging office doors. "Sir?"
"Yes, Radar?" Henry answered with a sigh, wondering what the corporal wanted this time.
"Corporal Kinger is here to see you, sir, like you wanted him to be." Radar looked behind the door and stifled a giggle. Henry rolled his eyes and tried to prepare himself for whatever Klinger might have dressed in.
"Alright then, show him…" before the rest of the sentence could escape Henry's lips, Radar had disappeared and Corporal Maxwell Klinger was standing in the middle of the office in a floor-length red ball gown, his usual fox stole, and decked in gold jewelry from the gold tiara in his short, black hair to the gold rings on his fingers. He clicked his heels together and saluted.
"You rang, my Colonel?"
Henry groaned. The dark Lebanese man always seemed to try new and interesting insanities to get a Section-8 discharge, which was only reserved for those soldiers who had truly gone mad. His favorite method was dressing up in women's clothing. If Henry hadn't been in charge of the hospital, he would have commended Klinger for his hysterical attempts. Instead, he just sighed loudly.
"You look smashing, as usual, Klinger." Sarcasm was dripping from every word.
"Thank you, sir. I made it myself, sir!" Klinger clicked his bright-red pumps together after each 'sir' in a highly military fashion—which only added to his bizarre appearance.
Henry shook his head. "Klinger, Klinger." His tongue tsked in the back of his mouth. "An evening gown before noon?"
"Sometimes one wants to feel dressy when one pulls KP for three weeks in a row…sir." Click "You wanted to see me, sir?" Click. Henry exhaled loudly again and motioned to the chair on the other side of his desk.
"Have a seat, Dorothy." Henry smiled at his own joke, while Klinger merely rolled his eyes.
"I don't remember a red number of this caliber in Oz, sir." He muttered defensively, but he sat down across from Henry anyway.
"Okidoki." Henry breathed, standing up. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as he started pacing nervously around his desk. Klinger watched him walk back and forth; realizing Henry was reluctant to bring up whatever it was he was about to say.
"Colonel, you're making me sea-sick!" Henry looked up, with a confused expression. He realized he was pacing and stopped. He straightened his back a bit and cleared his throat.
"Klinger…do you remember when General Barker visited last month?" Henry's eyes shifted back and forth, as if they were still pacing nervously, whether his body was or not.
"Of course I do!" Klinger replied proudly. "I always remember when any 'Big Brass' comes to visit!"
"Yeah, well…ya see…" Henry started pacing again, stopped, looked at Klinger with his face set in determination and said "Klinger…you really can't go on insisting you're engaged to the man!"
Klinger's face moved from an amused look to mock annoyance. "Colonel Blake, are you trying to ruin my engagement announcements?" His large brown eyes grew wide in a devious stare.
"I'm not trying to 'ruin' anything!" Henry insisted. "You're not engaged! Least of all to General Barker!"
Klinger stood up, yelling. "How dare you spread nasty rumors about my fiancé!" Henry was becoming more and more agitated with Klinger's obstinate behavior.
"Klinger!" He barked. "I have orders from General Barker himself! To confiscate all of your dresses and to report you for kissing a superior officer!" Klinger's defiant smile vanished.
"You wouldn't dare take the 'Klinger Collection!' Wouldn't it be easier to just send me back to Toledo?"
"That's out of the question, Klinger. You've given me no other choice with that gag you pulled." Henry sat down in attempts to look more official and firm.
Klinger leaned on Henry's desk with both hands. His fox stole fell off his right shoulder as he pushed his face inches from the Colonel's. Very resolutely and calmly, he stated "You can make me peel potatoes day and night. You can make me carry limp bodies back and forth in the operating room. You can refuse to let me go home, but you can never—will never—make me give up the 'Klinger Collection' without a fight!" He slung the lose end of his stole back on his shoulder, turned on his pump and marched out of the office, his red gown trailing behind him.
"Dismissed" Henry muttered in surrender.
"Sir?" A small voice came from right next to him. Henry jumped out of his chair and looked at the source of the voice.
"Radar!" He managed in his shock. "I swear you're going to give me a heart-attack one of these days!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I don't mean to, sir. Hey, at least you're a doctor. You wouldn't have to get it diagnosed or nothing." Radar smiled at the colonel, who was glaring back at him sternly.
"What is it now, Radar?" Henry asked slowly, through gritted teeth.
"Uh…Major Houlihan is here to see you, sir."
Henry felt a drag of dread. He hated his one-on-one time with Hotlips Houlihan. She was constantly working against him or reporting his lack of command to a slew of Generals behind his back. "Thank you, Radar…" Radar turned to go. "Wait, Radar. Do me a favor? Please go to Klinger's tent and clean out his dresses."
"I will sir, I promise…Right after the choppers." Henry saw that Radar's face was suddenly alert and serious, and then he was running out of the office.
"Wait! Radar!" Henry called after him. "What choppers? Where choppers?"
"Wait for it!" Radar yelled back, still running towards the compound.
A few seconds later, a voice crackled over the PA system. "Believe it or not, folds! We have a double-header tonight. Choppers to the welcoming pad, surgical team one to report to OR immediately!" Nurses, corpsmen, and doctors began rushing to the compound to start sorting through the incoming wounded. Even the camp chaplain, Father Francis Mulchahy, was rushing out of his tent to help. Henry saw Margaret out helping Frank with triage and his first thought was of relief that he didn't have to face her. Soon, however, his relief was replaced with dread again. Headquarters had assured him there wasn't going to be any more wounded for at least a day or so. Yet here was a new batch of wounded only six hours after their last session.
Henry was suddenly aware that he had been sitting in his chair instead of rushing to the hospital. He knew the wounded would be prepped quickly and he still had to go scrub up. He walked briskly through the swinging doors of his office and towards the hospital. Behind him, he heard Radar explaining to Hawkeye that these were leftovers from the morning's session that had been pinned down by sniper fire. Hawkeye muttered "When are these bastards going to stop waking us up from 15-minute naps to stand in the blood of babies?" As usual, Hawkeye was able to boil everyone's sentiments down to its simplest form. The surgeons marched into the scrub room and prepped for surgery.