As a side note, make sure to check out my other stories, I'm new, so I need some criticism; I'm also on Fiction Press and Fan Story under the same pen name, so if you like my style make sure to check out my originals. And don't be afraid to be harsh in your critiquing, as long as it's constructive. You're all great!

I have a new MASH C2 community, so if you have a story you would like to include let me know, and I'll see if it fits with our parameters. In addition, if YOU have a C2 community, I would love to be a staff member, so long as it's not Anime; I don't know anything about that, which is sad considering I'm part Japanese, but anyway… Never mind, I lied. I do know about Kingdom Hearts seeing as I'm doing voiceover work for Number 3. (If you would like some spoilers, contact me, so I don't spoil it for the rest)

Special thanks to highmaintenance for reviewing; you're the only one so far! Cookies for you! Make sure you let me know which story of yours you want me to review and I will ASAP. That applies to everybody but since Madam highmaintenance reviewed first she gets special treatment. Oh! And whoever Jack Benin is, thanks! I'll do something for you too.

As for this lovely story, I know that everything will be a bit sketchy for a little while, but bear with me. Nora's "special circumstances" will some come into play as a major component in a few chapters (her past, in general, will be explained throughout the next two chapters to help). This "set-up" has to be done before she actually arrives at the 4077th, which will most likely happen by chapter five, six at the latest. I have to keep them separate for awhile to develop the different plot lines, which will, in the end, make the story even better. Especially when the North Korean army shows up.

Keep in mind, you will have to read this sequentially, because as Nora's past and other character inconsistencies start to unfold, the complex pattern within the story will rear its head as we start making the connections with the other characters.

I'm going to continue to start the chapters with Nora's narration, simply because it will lead better into the other character's thought processes, and add a bit of foreshadowing to the story until they meet up at the 4077th in a couple of chapters. Even then, the small off-to-the-side narratives will show up here and there to show variance of emotion between Nora and the rest of the gang and some other narrative elements.

My approach is a bit unorthodox, I know, but just go with the flow on this one. It will all make sense in the end.

On a different note, Frank fans should be happy because he is going to be in the next couple of chapters as a pivotal player; ditto with Sidney and Rizzo. Even Scully appears for a sec.

Also, to die hard MASH fans, I'm going to be taking some liberties with the timeline, so please excuse this. It hurts me as much as it hurts you, I promise; only true obsessees, like me, would have a sign on their door reading "The Swamp." (For more ways to find out if you are a true obsessee, check out my other story: Swamp Rats Unite!)

Just a quick note on this story (I know, time to shut up, but last thing, I promise). There is some violence and language in this, but it is all in context, considering the time and place.

"Nigger" is not my personality coming through AT ALL; I believe what happened concerning the African American population is disgraceful and the character of Tyler Hickman embodies that hate and will, in the end, pay for his ignorance and racist tendencies. I hate him…

I would also like to apologise to anyone from Georgia. I absolutely love Georgia, but as you probably know, the summers can be terrible with the heat and sporadic storms. Nora's hate is more directed towards the army's training program, but like most of us, she is not putting the blame where it belongs; I'm sure all of you would be cranky too if you were in her position, plus no A/C and your best friend… well, you'll just have to read on. So, in short, Georgia is awesome and has great peaches and squash!

I think that's enough updates for now. On to the tale!

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Chapter 1: Against All Doubt

The mud sucked congenially at their boots. Nora thought wearily, "I'm not going to make it. How can the army possibly defy the laws of nature?" The summer Georgia sun beat down on the new recruits helmets. She was pulled from her reverie as a tree root rose from nowhere and pulled her into the mud, strangely cool and… comfortable. A twenty mile ruck hike lay ahead. What was the point when she could find such absolute serenity here in the….

"New Recruit Remington!" A hand came out of the sky and pulled her from the comfort of her dark, snug hovel of wet dirt. Her eyes fluttered open to the glaring white smile. "Sleeping on the job?" Nora smacked her lips

"I tripped." He smiled again.

"Whatever, Jazz. You were going to leave me to finish this monster on my own." Nora slopped the mud off of her fatigues.

"Think what you like, New Cadet Clayton, but I tripped. Besides, Bill, I'm only on my first try at basic." He growled in friendly annoyance.

"Come on. Let's get going before we lose the rest of the pack." Bill pulled out his army-issue pocket watch. "Never mind; too late for that. Let's just try and make the 1900 hour deadline." They began to jog through the brush, but soon lost heart.

"God, I hate this place," Nora exclaimed, as she picked a bug out of her newly grown ponytail. The first day of training, she had been greeted by an over zealous barber with orders for a shoulder-length cut. Ten minutes later and five-inches too short, her shadowy brown locks looked as if they had been cut with a weed wacker, the ends jagged and uneven, short enough to outlaw a ponytail as a styling option, but long enough to get in the way, especially the way her hair liked to spring every which way. She wiped the back of her sweaty neck with a dirty sleeve, leaving a streak. "Is there any wind in this horrid state?"

"What? Not good enough for your blueblood," sneered a voice from behind. Nora sighed in recognition.

"I would ask you to kindly not talk about what you don't know, Hickman." Tyler Hickman, the long, blond, and recruited football player jogged up beside them.

"Really, Remington. The only reason you're still here is because they feel bad for you."

"At least I didn't scream when the snakes were put in our tent."

"That wasn't me." Bill laughed.

"Just like it wasn't you who threw rations at the sergeant."

"Be quiet, nigger. I wasn't talking to you." Bill narrowed his eyes.

"What did you call me?"

"You heard me… you nigger." Bill jumped for Hickman, knocking off his helmet.

"Don't. You. Ever. Call. Me. That. Again," Bill rasped between each punch, making blood spurt from Tyler's nose. Nora could only stand by and watch in horror; she wished to help Bill more than anything, but could not compromise her position in training. Suddenly, the tides changed. Quick as a flash, Hickman rolled to his side, flailing limply, somehow managed to get on top. Grabbing a nearby rock, Tyler bashed Clayton on the side of the head, knocking him out cold. The fight was won, by the wrong side most certainly, but still in the bag. However, Hickman's revenge had not been paid out as he continued to bludgeon his fellow squad mate.

"Stop it," Nora screamed

"Not a chance, dollface. This here nigger don't deserve to be a member of the

You-nited States army."

"He's still a human being and does not deserve to be beaten." Hickman knelt back on his heels.

"What'd you think we did fo' years down here in good 'ol Georgia?"

"Times have changed Hickman. He has every right to be here." Hickman laughed scornfully.

"Not in your dreams."

"Look, if you don't stop this instant, as soon as we return to base, you'll be court marshalled," she snapped her fingers, "like that." Hickman stood up.

"But if someone finds out, I have ways of all the bad things that happen to me finding their way back to you." He started to advance.

"Stop Tyler."

"And what are you going to do to stop me dollface? Shoot me?" Nora felt her spirits lift slightly. She fumbled for her handgun and pulled the trigger. It smashed into his shoulder, shoving him to the ground. He was on his feet in an instant, grasping his arm.

"Ask and you shall receive," Nora quipped. "You should know better than to suggest a shoot-out with the best marksman in the platoon." With one last malicious look, he jogged off down the rail. A low groan broke the jagged silence. Nora rushed to kneel by Bill, throwing her pack on the ground beside her.

"Hey Bill. How are you doing? Bit of a headache?" Another groan, originally meant to be a laugh, escaped his lips. She tilted his head on its side. "Oooh," she cooed. "That really is a bit of a nasty gash. But we'll have you cleaned up in no time."

She took out her flashlight and shone it into his eyes. "You have a bit of a concussion, too." She clicked her tongue. "Well, I'm not about to leave you here to trudge twenty miles to get a jeep, and I'm not about to make you stand up and walk there either." Bill groaned again. "You are most welcome. Did you bring a razor with you?" He squeaked. She laughed. "First time I could not read your groans." She thought for a minute. "Ok. I would like you to wiggle your fingers." They obligingly fidgeted. "Very good, very good indeed. Now, if you do have a razor, I would like you to move them again." They twitched.

Nora dove for the pack, rummaging through until she found his hygiene kit and had ripped the spare razor blades from their pouch. "Where's your lighter?" He tapped his pocket weakly. She reached down into the pocket, pulling out the famous guitar-shaped cigarette lighter. She set the two items on the clean inside flap of Bill's pack. She pulled her pack to her, digging until she had found her first aid and darning kits.

"Can you keep a secret," she asked Bill, flipping open the lighter.

"Urgh"

"I'll take that as a yes. Do you know why they put me in the intensive unit?"

"Ugh."

"They're trying to get me into the field as soon a possible because…"

"Muuh," he groaned sarcastically. Nora laughed.

"Stating the obvious again, aren't I? Just trying to keep things light." She stuck the tip of one of the razor blades in to the flame of the lighter.

"Juuuh," Clayton questioned.

"Oh! I'm sterilizing the blade, just in case." Bill eyes opened wide. "Oh, darling, don't worry. I know what I'm doing. That's my secret." She grabbed her white drill gloves from the front of her pack, sliding them on over her petite hands. She hummed disappointedly. "They're not the best for this sort of thing, but they'll have to do. At least they're clean." She picked up the razor blade and tacked a clot of cotton onto the end. She dabbed the side of Bill's head tenderly.

"Truth is, I'm a surgeon."

"Uhhh?"

"I tend to get that a lot. I know it's pretty strange but… oh, you'll forgive me for not telling you sooner, won't you darling?" She fixed more cotton onto the end of the blade.

"Muuh."

"I promise I am! When we get to base camp I can show you my credentials and everything. You know, the only reason I'm even allowed… relax your face muscles; there we go… allowed to be here is because I practically threatened that poor Doctor Finch at the army hospital. They won't allow any female doctors out there because the need them here at home to take care of the boys who come back; I suppose they think that our motherly instincts will kick in or something and we'll fall apart when we are needed the most."

She started to re-sterilize the blade. "What that means is I'll be going into the field as a nurse and an officer, honorary rank, of course."

"Juuuh?"

"I know, I was a bit confused myself when Doctor Finch told me that. My conscience feels terrible about not working for the rank, but it seems alright."

"Tahgwa."

"Then why am I training with a combat unit? Honestly, I don't know. You know, they were so reluctant about letting me in because I had no field training; I suppose this is just their way of seeing what I'm made of. Ok Bill. You're prepped for me to start operating."

"Gaah!" She smiled reassuringly and stuck a tongue depressor between his gritted teeth.

"Don't worry; I'll talk you through the whole thing. The only thing I'm worried about is the fact that we don't have any pain killers with us. I've heard stories about things like this during the Great War, surgeons having to operate with no pain killers that is, and the patients biting their tongues off in the process."

"Gaah!" He tapped her hand away. She sighed and smiled awkwardly.

"Sorry, I have a problem with saying the wrong things at the wrong times. But don't worry. That's what the depressor is for. You are welcome to cry as much as you like, shout, scream, do whatever you need to, but just don't move your head or take your teeth from that depressor, even if you break it. One wrong move and I could hurt you even more." She placed the blade softly beside his temple. "I'm going to be cutting out the gravel from the wound, stitch whatever is messed up in there, and then seal the outside. That's it; we're done. I'll give you some time to rest up and then we really have to get going; you can take your time, but you have to move. This is too close to the part of your brain that controls motor skills for my liking and if your skull's cracked…." She trailed off. "Let's just do this. Are you ready?"

"Ugh." She slid the blade along the perimeter of the wound. Clayton moaned. Nora's hands moved deftly as she started to clear out the foreign matter. This was her element. She was back at Manhattan Memorial's white-washed OR. As an intern, the brain had fascinated her and she had sat in on as many cranial surgeries as she possibly could.

She looked at the open wound before her with concern. The blood wasn't clotting as she would have liked. She dabbed more blood away. "So," she whispered, "it is cracked." The characteristic "black blood" of the brain squished through the fissure. Bill's brain was swelling dangerously; she couldn't stitch with his pressure already so high.

"Bill, bad news. I can't stitch this because your brain is swelling too much and I don't have the proper equipment to relieve the pressure." She took out a clean under shirt from his pack and ripped it into strips. "How are you doing for pain?" A small wail answered. "I'm really sorry; I was trying to be careful. It's quite hard on us surgeons too. We get into the business to help people, but we have to hurt them to do our jobs. I suppose it's the same way with the army. We go out to help people, but come back with blood on our hands. Just another terrible irony of life, I suppose." She wrapped the cloth tightly around his head, securing it with her sewing needle. "There's nothing more I can do here except keep you from infection. We need to get you to a hospital as soon as possible. Can you sit up?" He clutched her hand weakly. She smiled. "On three."

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Charles sipped his Cognac thoughtfully as Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" floated through the Swamp. He absentmindedly waved his hand in time, sloshing the drink over the side. The "Sonata was one of his favourites but he could hardly concentrate. He reread the letter he had received from his sister for the third time.

"Dearest Charles,

I'm afraid mother has taken quite ill and I'm utterly afraid for her well-being. I suppose it is my fault that she has gotten so bad in the first place. A few days ago, I began to notice she was entirely avoiding the music room. Of course, you know mother, always in there during her free time.

When I took her to visit our doctor, he said that her physical being is quite in order and that there was nothing to worry about. But I tell you Charles, there must be! Mother has entirely lost her will to live; it is the only way to describe her demeanour of late. There is no light, no fire behind her eyes.

Father and she are perfectly alright, no fighting or cold shoulder between them. Indeed, I do believe the passion they must have shared at one point has returned. I have never seen them more affectionate.

Here we come to what really disturbs me. Last night was the opening night for the symphony's rendition of the Brandenburg concertos. You would have absolutely died, brother! In all of our years in attendance, never have I heard it played with such conviction!

In any case, back to mother. Her old friend, Louis Sanderson (you remember him, of course- the one who used to call you the 'mad cow' when you practiced your French Horn), was the guest violist and asked if she would honour us with 'a bit of Liszt.' Believe it or not, she hesitated! Our mother, one of the most celebrated Liszt interpreters of the concert piano! I practically had to push her into the music hall and force her onto the bench.

She looked positively mortified when her fingers touched the keys. Even more terrifying is she could not remember the notes to 'Hungarian Rhapsody, no.2.' How long has that been her specialty piece? Our dear friend (well, I suppose not yours, but mine in any case for speaking the truth about your playing- I do hope you are practicing in your off time) acquired some sheet music before her next, on can only describe it as, beginner's attempt. She was worse than you Charles, if that is at all possible!

When the music arrived, the most disturbing of all, she could not read the notes! Oh, Charles, how I wish you were here! I don't know what to do. Nothing in her routine has changed, save for, of course, the music. She avoids the piano like the pestilence.

By the time you have received this, things may have escalated in severity. If the worse does come, I will take her to a psychiatrist. If our pride is keeping our mother from happiness, or even normality, I could never forgive myself. Please understand, Charles, that whatever is happening to her is more important than what the papers will say. I know this is entirely contradictory to all we stand for, but so is mother's behaviour.

Believe me, I feel terrible bothering you with all of this when you have enough problems with your patients (in a war zone, no less), and I have nothing cheerful to tell you. If your commanding officer will allow you to place a stateside call, please contact me as soon as possible. I crave your counsel more than anything. So much may have changed since this has reached… oh, I do not even wish to think of the possibilities.

In closing, dear brother, I hope I have not added to your eminent stress. Be careful.

With love, Honoria."

He folded the letter back and held it against his nose; it still smelled of home. He set his Cognac down with a sigh. For the first time in his life, he didn't know what was wrong.

"Attention all personal. Attention. There's a party in the OR and remember to bring an incoming wounded or two. Party starts in ten minutes." Tent doors slammed all around. Winchester closed his eyes for the last few measures of the "Sonata." This wasn't America's war and it most certainly wasn't his. The front lines at home needed him, but he was out here in the back, with a piece of shrapnel, keeping him from moving.

He sighed and started off towards the OR. Colonel Potter met him coming out of the clerk's room. Potter smiled at Winchester. "Don't spare the horses, eh, Major?" Charles gave an obliging smirk. "Want to tell me what's on your mind, son?"

He shook his head. "Family matters, nothing the Winchester's haven't handled before," he lied.

"Sidney is making his rounds and should be in the neighbourhood next week. Want to put your name on the list?"

Charles laughed. "My forefathers managed quite well without the help of… shrink."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"Isn't it? Stability is the first sign of normality."

"Most people benefit from talking to someone about what's bothering them."

"Well, Colonel, Winchester's were never considered among 'most people.'" Potter shook his head and open the OR door.

"Let me tell you, Major; I've been through three wars and have seen what it does to my boys. I won't forgive myself if I let it, whatever IT is, get on so bad in you kids when I could have done something about it. You'll be talking to Sidney." Winchester gave him a reassuring smile.

"No need to worry, I promise you, sir. The moment of melancholy has passed. I am more worried for my sister's condition. I need to place a stateside call after surgery. You see, my sister's distress in her latest letter is what worries me. Our family matter seems to be falling on her shoulders and she simply needs some reassurance."

"You'll have to talk to Klinger or Radar about the actual placing, but that's fine with me. Alright. Enough chit-chat; scrub in. We've got some boys to save."

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Nora felt proud. After just two months of training, she was now able to half drag/ half carry her 200-pound friend and pack through the Georgia underbrush. Bill had put up a valiant effort and had been able to hike six miles with her support, certainly more than she could have done in his condition. Now he was propped up on her back, head on her shoulder, with his feet dragging behind. She was perhaps a bit overzealous about her small achievement, but in the army, where they squeeze every ounce of dignity and energy out of you the first week, celebration, she felt, was in order, however small and pathetic the reason.

Bill smacked his lips, their sign that he was thirsty. She traipsed to the side of the road and laid him against a rock. "Ok now. Be careful with this. It's all we have left and there's two more miles to go." She handed him her canteen.

"Chwah?"

"Yes, that's mine. You need it more than I do." She smiled and lay back into the dirt. A deep boom of thunder reminded them of the impending storm. Bill drained the rest of the water. Nora hoisted him back over her shoulder as the sky opened up and poured. Bill groaned in dismay.

"Oh, it's perfectly alright. What can a little rain do to hurt us? We've been through worse," she comforted, more to herself than Bill. Any number of things could happen and the rain just made the fear of such more daunting. However, as she suffered from the curse of undying optimism, Nora continued to trudge on towards bas camp, softly singing "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy," the very song that had earned her the nickname of "Jazz," from their drill sergeant in the first week of training. Indeed, it was the very song that had gotten her into this mess to begin with.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They had been doing gun drills, throwing them into the air, when he had caught her singing. "Your gun is not an audience, New Cadet. It's a killing machine that likes to hear screams, not show tunes."

"Sorry, sir. Singing helps me keep time."

"What was that?" She turned her eyes to the ground.

"I mean, no excuse sir."

"That right, New Cadet. No excuse. You have a good voice, a great voice, but next time restrict it to lullabies and free time, got it, Miss Jazz?"

"Got it, sir. Thank you, sir." She beamed at the rare compliment. That turned out to be a mistake.

"Why are you smiling at me, Miss Jazz? Something funny?" She dropped into a frown.

"No sir. No excuse sir." After they finished and were heading off to the showers, Bill, Jerry, and Tim, her other friends from the squad, cornered her.

"Geez, Nora, where'd you learn to sing like that? I've got a big band back home and after thing blows over, we could use you," Tim said excitedly in his Midwestern accent.

"Thanks, I'd…" she was cut off by Jerry's deep voice.

"Hell, we knew you could play…what, a gazillion different instruments, but where'd you get vocal chords like that," he asked.

Jerry had been studying Trumpet at the Ohio Conservatory of Music before he was drafted. Almost every night, during free time, you could hear the two pounding out a song in the rec room with the melodic trumpet and whatever instrument Nora had been possessed to play that night. Every spare corner of her individual room (being the only female on the squad had its perks) was packed with all different kinds of instruments, even a drum kit. Then, of course, there was her record collection, which spanned from classical to country western to the new seedy rock and roll. That said, there was hardly any room for her large library that seemed possess the cure for every ailment from broken knees and hearts to the hiccups and her duffel bags of clothing (infinitesimal next the rest of her possessions). It was common joke in the squad that she would need a B-52 to take all of her stuff to Korea.

"Jerry, I'm surprised at you. All musicians sing, even if it is just in the shower." They laughed.

"Do you sing anything else besides boogie woogie," Bill inquired.

"Oh, everything; opera, show tunes, you know me, Bill. No music is safe."

"What's your range," Jerry asked, getting technical.

"Whatever you want it to be. In every choir I've been in, I've been classified as in different sections, even in baritone, if you can believe it."

"I can't. Sing something in baritone."

"Pirates of Penzance suit your fancy? Hold on." She cleared her throat exaggeratedly. In the deepest she could muster, she sang, "I am the very model of a Modern Major General." The boys clapped.

"What was that," Tim gushed. "Do you have another life you're not telling us about? What's the highest you can go?"

"Last time I checked, D or E an octave above high C, although I'm not entirely sure."

"I'm checking you on that later," Jerry promised, clapping her on the back as he headed off towards the showers.

"Wait until I tell the guys back home! You'll come and sing with us, won't you," Tim asked.

"Of course. As long as I can have some of your momma's cooking you keep raving about."

"That's implied in the contract! I'll catch you in the rec hall. Mind if I jam with you two tonight?"

"Not at all, so long as it's ok with Jerry. I'm feeling about playing the clarinet tonight, if you don't mind taking the piano."

"That's all I can play."

"I know."

"Show off." She laughed.

"I'll see you after dinner," Nora called after Tim's retreating figure. Bill put her in a headlock and ruffled her hair.

"And I'm just going to be there to cheer you on, Miss Jazz," he teased. "You know, that's a pretty good nickname as far as the Sergeant Ekland's go." She twisted away from him.

"Ya. 'Miss Jazz' is a lot better than 'Thumb-head.'" Bill threw his towel at her.

"You're in for it now. I'm going to see to it that's all you're called from now on." She laughed.

"Go ahead. I like it. And I've never had a nickname before."

"Really?"

"Ya."

"That's sad."

"Tell me about it."

"Ok. I've got to go shower before my stench causes someone to have seizure."

"No kidding," she joked, waving a dainty hand in front of her nose.

"Are you sure that's not you you're smelling?"

"Oh, be quiet," she giggled. Bill turned to go, but stopped.

"Really. Tell me where you learned to sing like that."

"Just around. I picked up things here and there. Nothing special."

"You can trust me, Jazz."

"You know that 'special circumstance' on my record?"

"Naturally."

"That's how and that's why."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I."

"Another thing I don't understand… with all that talent, why are you here?"

"I'm hoping to find home."

"No. That can't be why."

"It is. Scout's honour."

"Did something bad happen to you or…."

"Lots of bad things have happened to me, Bill, and there's always been music to pull me through. The song I was singing earlier, 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy?'"

"Ya?"

"That's how it all started."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you one of these days."

"We're going to war, Nora. There may never be one of those days."

"That's what I'm hoping; I don't want to get you wrapped in this mess too."

"Are you in danger?" Nora stared back at him sadly.

"Not exactly. But there is no sense in finding out if I am if I can hide from it effectively."

"That's why you're here, isn't it? To hide?"

"Yes. I thought that by perhaps secluding myself from the rest of the world, I would be safe. And, I think I am, unless I do something stupid, of course."

"Jazz, if you ever need anything, you know you…"

"I know and the same goes for you. I trust you Bill; you were the first one to actually talk to me here, and I'm eternally grateful for that. Now, please go take your shower. I'm starting to feel light-headed." He nodded gravely and left. Nora went into her room and closed the door. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall. She had been able to stay lost for a long time now. Only two more weeks and she was gone for good. She could last until then.

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Hawkeye released the clamp one moment too soon. Blood spurted from the ruptured liver. "Suction, suction," he yelled as he tried to reapply the clamp. "Hurry! I can't see what I'm doing!"

"Donna, go help Hawk. I can close up on my own," BJ ordered, as nurse Donna Jenkins rushed over. Kellye appeared at her side, charging over from leaving a patient in post-op.

"Ready," Donna asked, pulling on new gloves.

"Well, somebody better be ready, or this boy's going to bleed to death. " They mumbled ashamed, "sorry, doctor"-s as they stuck their hands inside.

"You call that suction," Hawkeye screamed at Donna.

"Sorry doctor."

"Geez, Hawkeye, little harsh," BJ quipped.

"Indeed Pierce, there is no need to take out your barbaric tendencies on the good nurses, for an error you can attribute to yourself," Charles added.

"They do their best," Margaret interjected from the next table. "Besides, Charles is right. It's your fault for taking the clamp off too soon."

"Oh, so now it's my fault that this boy got shot in the first place, huh, Margaret?"

"Pierce, what the hell are you talking about? I didn't say anything like that!"

"Oh, yes you did."

"Oh, no she didn't," BJ interrupted. Pierce shot him a deadly look over his shoulder. "Hey, don't look at me like that. Margaret's right. And keep your eyes on your own patient. That's probably why he became Old Faithful in the first place."

"BJ, stay out of this. And Margaret. Do you really think you can do better than me?"

Kellye and Donna looked at each other in disbelief. The head surgeon had now taken his hands out of the patient and was starting to march over to the doors. Donna handed suction duty over to Kellye and quickly grabbed a clamp off of the tray, fastening it shut on the broken artery. The flying blood stopped in an instant. They both sighed in relief.

"Pierce, get back to your table," Colonel Potter yelled from across the room. "And zip your lips. I don't want to hear another peep from you until you're scrubbed out." Pierce curled his lips and stomped back to his place like a small toddler having a tantrum. Kellye timidly handed him a threaded needle. He grabbed it too roughly, sending the tip into his hand.

"Christ," he yelled, pulling it out. "See Margaret? See what your nurses did to me? Great! Now I'm bleeding."

"What do you mean? You…," Donna was cut off.

"How dare you insult one of my nurses, Pierce, for one of your stupid mistakes. And stop complaining. It's only a little puncture."

"I'm a surgeon. We don't make mistakes."

"You're such a liar. Do you know how many times I've gone back and fixed your mistakes?"

"Oh really. Do you want to come over here and finish this boy? I hope you know how to butterfly."

"Captain Pierce, you are such a…"

"Hold it right there, Major," Colonel Potter roared. "And Pierce, get your head back in that boy and fix him up. You've spent so much time sitting there all high and mighty for no good reason when there's a life on the line. I would bet money YOUR nurses have already finished your job for you, maybe even done a better job than you would have."

"Thank you, Colonel," Donna and Kellye mumbled, stitching up the liver and removing the clamp successfully.

"You're welcome. Now, listen up. I've had enough of this horse hockey. Klinger, how many are left in pre-op?" Klinger poked his head out the door.

"Three, sir. All pretty stable looking."

"Good. After you finish up, I want Houlihan and Pierce to go cool off. The rest of us can finish up here. After we're done, you two get to do rounds first and are officially on call for the next week. In addition, both of you are banned from the OC…"

"No," Pierce exclaimed.

"Oh yes. No OC for either of you until you can speak a civil word to each other. Got it?"

"Of course, absolutely, Colonel," Margaret agreed. "But if Pierce hadn't…"

"No ifs, ands, or buts, Major. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Pierce?" Hawkeye stabbed the suturing needle into the skin tissue.

"Yes sir," he grumbled.

"What was that?"

"Yes sir," he yelled. He tied up the end of the stitches. "Kellye, wrap him up." He snapped off his gloves and stormed out of the OR.

BJ and Charles exchanged looks across the room. Tonight, it was best to stay away from the Swamp until he had either mellowed out or had drunk himself to sleep.

"Radar," BJ called.

"Yes sir?"

"Can you beat Captain Pierce back to the Swamp and grab a change of clothes and overnight 'stuff' for Charles and me?"

"And, Radar, there's a novel on my desk by one Henrik Ibsen. I would like that along with my tea set. I can go one night without Brahms if I have those," Charles added.

"Oh, and grab the picture of Peg and Erin. Then, set up two beds in the VIP tent for us. We'll be there until Pierce blows over."

"Sure thing, Captain…oh, and Major. Gee whiz, what's wrong with Captain Pierce anyway, sir," Radar asked.

"Who knows," Charles said, frustrated. "Just make sure you add him to Sidney's list of nutters."

"I hope he gets here soon," Margaret said. "When Pierce gets on a war path, it's only a matter of time before he pulls the whole camp down with him."

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Sorry, there wasn't much of our good ol' gang in this first chapter (not to mention most of it was negative), but don't worry, I'll be making up for it in the next few chapters and definitely when "Miss Jazz" arrives.

By the way, if the "Miss Jazz and the music" part didn't make sense, good. I was trying to confuse you. I know, I'm mean. Ha-ha. No worries. I'm going to pull an Alfred Hitchcock soon and it all will become clear (or make it even more confusing). Actually, if some of this didn't make sense, I updated the Prologue to match, if you're reading this chapter as a new update to the story compared to reading the whole story for the first time. Just do a quick read-over for you updaters; it's only four pages and hopefully that will clear some things up.

Please rate and review if you can. I really want to hear what you think (or hope) is going to happen in the next couple of chapters. I'm starting to get excited about this and I hope you share my enthusiasm.