A/N: Hey, everyone! MASH is such a wonderful show, it gives us a lot of room to work. This is my first ever fanfic for this fandom, so there are bound to be some problems. Leave a few words if you feel like it, criticism is fine because then I'll know what not to do next time. I have a few ideas for darker ones, but instead, I came up with this. Colonel Flagg's character has always been one of my favorites, and I wanted to poke at him a little. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, just messing around.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes/content inaccuracies/grammatical errors are mine alone.


The alarm clock beside the cot began shrilly announcing that it was 0530. Radar was jolted out of a pleasant dream about Iowa and slapped at the clock. He hauled himself off his cot and any peace he may have gotten from his dream faded away as his stocking feet touched the icy floorboards. It was getting colder every day at the 4077th, and Radar regretted not sleeping with his shoes on. Or at least two more layers of socks.

He stumbled over to the desk and mechanically began preparing the coffee, something he could have—and had—done in his sleep. Sleepily, he looked over the personnel reports with one hand while flicking switches and connecting circuits on the phone and switchboard with the other. A quiet humming noise assured him their power hadn't been cut off in the night, and an ear-splitting shrieking noise through the channel let Radar know that everything was working as well as it ever could. He pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose, grabbed the coffee pot, and tucked the personnel reports under his arm just as Colonel Potter walked in, fully dressed and looking refreshed from his night.

"Good morning, sir," Radar said at the same time Colonel Potter said, "Good morning, Radar."

"I'd like the—"

"Personnel reports are here, the coffee is hot, and the requisition forms are on your desk awaiting signature from a colonel, Colonel," the corporal said comfortably, holding the door open for his commanding officer.

"Oh, good, I'd hate to overlook anything," Potter said wryly. No matter how many times he saw it, the ease with which Radar seemed to know most everything still baffled him. At first, it made him uneasy because Radar's ability could have been used for all manner of skullduggery, but Radar had a heart of gold twice the size of Texas.

"Yessir," Radar replied absently, setting the coffee down on the desk and adding the colonel's preferred amount of powdered milk and sugar. Potter sipped at his coffee and leaned against the edge of the desk, watching the sun come over the horizon through the window in his tent. He glanced toward the company clerk and noticed that Radar was standing stock-still, looking straight ahead to the swinging doors leading to Colonel Potter's office.

"What is it, Radar? Choppers?" Potter asked calmly.

"No sir," Radar replied distractedly, still listening. "Not choppers, and no wounded. I think it's a Jeep."

"A visitor, huh?" Colonel Potter asked dryly. "Let's go see who's calling."

They stepped out of the colonel's tent and Potter hunched his shoulders against the cold. Squinting ahead, he could see the faint light of headlights on the Jeep at the far end of the compound and headed in their direction. Whoever was driving had the accelerator floored; they could hear the engine screaming in protest and a plume of dust rose behind it in a steady column.

"Oh, no," Radar breathed out, looking in the direction of the moving vehicle.

"Don't tell me," Potter sighed, catching on.

The Jeep raced towards them, skidding to a stop and peppering Radar's legs with small, sharp stones. Potter waved the accompanying dust away and beheld the dark haired, solid form of Colonel Flagg. The man's strong features glared out through the dust cloud, and his dark blue eyes appeared to take in everything around him, although Potter knew he was probably checking the dust around him for hidden microphones.

"Colonel Potter. Corporal," Flagg's laconic voice greeted them.

"Colonel Flagg," Potter said back, not bothering to disguise the weariness in his voice. "I'll be honest, I didn't expect to see you here this early."

"But you were expecting me," Flagg's voice suddenly sharpened. His eyes, which never seemed to open more than halfway, narrowed even further to mere slits. "Who informed on me? Was it Ensign Spinelli? Someone from the agency? Or someone closer to home?" At this, he squinted suspiciously at Radar, who shrank back.

"Flagg, believe me, we never really expect to see you around here," Potter replied. "And when you do drop by, usually we expect a lot more chaos. Couldn't manage to have a village bombed for your backdrop today?"

"My orders were to travel quietly this time, Colonel," Flagg said haughtily, moving towards the Colonel's office. "I need to make a call to HQ."

"Yessir, Colonel, I'll get the number for you," Radar started for the door. He was halfway across the threshold when a hand of iron clamped around his upper arm.

"Not that HQ," Flagg said slowly, staring into the corporal's frightened face.

"Well, what do you mean, sir?" Radar asked, face contorting in confusion. "I was just going to call I-Corps—"

"I don't need I-Corps, Corporal," Flagg said in his sardonic way. "The HQ I need to contact is a little Greek restaurant in Sausalito, California. Kyrios Vasilakis has been a trustworthy informant on the Korean conflict for years."

He released the corporal and strode confidently into the office while Radar frowned.

"Colonel Flagg—" he started for the office.

"Let him go, Radar," Potter told him with the air of long-suffering.

"But sir, how could there be an informant for years? The war didn't even start until fourteen months ago!"

"It would take more time than we have for him to explain it to us." Potter shook his head. "Come on, breakfast will be served soon."

They walked to the mess tent and were consequently some of the first to get their food. A few minutes later, the chow line slowly filled up with sleepy-eyed personnel. The conversation was subdued and quiet as everyone prepared for another day in Korea. Casualties had been few and far between for the better part of a week. The camp was on the verge of falling into one of their bored stupors that occurred between periods of frantic adrenaline that OR sessions inspired, and Potter could see that the calm was making some of his best officers jumpier than the action ever did.

It was the lull that made them nervous. They knew they should enjoy the peace while it lasted, but they could never relax knowing it was right there, that at any moment they would be wrenched out of their sleep by the scream of ambulance tires, chopper blades, and a PA announcing death and pain all around them. Death was always presented in numbers because there were too many names for anyone to remember.

Potter had seen men go to pieces that way before, regarding the world in mid-flinch as if any second all hell could spill loose again. Lately, he'd seen that dull, anxious look in some of the members of this outfit and swore that he would set up something to boost morale soon.

Hawkeye and BJ slunk into the mess tent, both wearing wool caps and their coats. The circles under Pierce's eyes looked darker than normal, BJ's face was a little more drawn, but they were chatting animatedly as they got their customary ration of slop.

"I'm telling you, it's no contest. The Shadow, every time. All the Whistler has is a few stage-whispers and a penchant for walking by night. Around here, he'd be likely to step into the minefield," Hawkeye was chatting as he sat down opposite Potter.

"But the Shadow only knows what lurks in the hearts of men. What about women?" BJ countered. "He could be overthrown by the prettier half the population."

He glanced over to where Klinger was sitting, dressed smartly in red chiffon with pearl earrings. A matching hat perched rakishly on the mass of dark hair as Klinger daintily peeled off his black gloves in preparation for the meal.

"Except for you, Klinger," BJ smiled at the man.

"You always say the nicest things, sir," Klinger said contentedly, grinning at the captain.

"Good morning, Colonel," Major Houlihan said as she arrived at the table. Frank Burns followed soon after, squeezing in near her on the bench.

"Good morning, Major," Potter replied warmly.

"No, I still think the Shadow would win," Hawkeye was insisting, waving a sausage around on his fork to illustrate his point. "He can vanish from the minds of men. Just poof! Gone!"

"Sounds like my surveillance training in the Himalayas," a deep voice said from behind him, and the chief surgeon's face fell without turning around. BJ glanced back and grimaced.

"Maybe we can ask for vanishing lessons for Christmas," BJ muttered.

"We're not the ones that need to disappear," Hawkeye declared before turning around and pasting a fake, wide grin on his face. "Colonel Flagg, welcome! I assume that's still who you are?"

"What a surprise, Colonel!" Margaret jumped up and saluted him. "We weren't expecting you."

"Colonel! Always a pleasure," Frank said amiably, holding out his hand to shake. Flagg looked at the outstretched hand like it was wired to explode. After a few awkward seconds, Frank slowly lowered it back to his side.

"When did you get in?" BJ asked him. "Want some coffee?"

"A little while ago," Flagg replied slowly. "No, thanks. Probably laced with fluorine."

"Flagg doesn't need food or drink like the rest of us," Hawkeye told BJ in a confidential tone that most of the tent could hear without difficulty. "He subsists almost entirely on the souls of the wrongly accused."

"Can the smart talk, Pierce," Potter said. "Did that call to HQ go through alright?"

"As a matter of fact, no," Flagg said, staring past the table with his hard gaze, scoping out the tent. "The gyros were all on backorder and the baklava all came out in a solid brick. Trouble is brewing just over the horizon."

Silence fell over the table. Then, "What?" Hawkeye asked, trying to determine if he'd heard correctly.

"Nothing to concern yourself with, Captain," Frank sneered. "Leave it to the Colonel. He has his finger on the very pulse of this war. If there's any scuffling around, you can bet he'll be the first to know."

Flagg turned towards him for the first time and Burns had the impression of standing in a spotlight. "Who said anything about a scuffle?" he demanded. "I was talking about gyros and Greek desserts."

"Yes, sir," Burns faltered, and sank back into his chair.

"I'm glad we cleared that up. How long do you think you'll be staying, Colonel?" Potter asked courteously.

"A few days, just long enough to sus out the traitor here in the 4077th," Flagg said casually.

"A traitor? Here?" Frank's voice didn't quite reach a shout as his eyebrows flew up into his hairline.

"Take it easy, Frank, the North Koreans will hear you," Hawkeye admonished him.

"That's right. The Agency received word that someone at this camp has been selling secrets to the Chinese and betraying the cause. I'm here to drag that dirtball back to Seoul with me," Flagg said coldly. "No doubt he's listening as we speak."

Klinger's head perked up and a pair of large brown eyes were suddenly shining with hope.

"Seoul? I confess, Colonel Flagg, it was me. I'm the traitor! You've finally caught up with me, and I can't run anymore." The corporal dramatically flourished a handkerchief and wiped at his eyes with it.

"No good, Corporal," Flagg replied flatly. "It's someone who's animal cunning and scent for danger far exceeds your own abilities."

"How could anyone scent danger better than me?" Klinger cried despairingly, gesturing to his own large nose. "I'm telling you, I did it! I was the one who switched the cinnamon with the curry powder last week! I traded a supply sergeant from the 8063rd three cans of pickled herring and a tube of anti-fungal cream for these pumps!" he pointed to his heels.

"The man I'm looking for is a dangerous subversive," Flagg remarked. "I'm going to take a look around the compound, Colonel Potter. When I find him, my orders are to bring him back to Seoul. My superiors didn't specify whether that meant dead or alive."

Flagg got up and began stalking towards the entrance.

Klinger stared after him for a moment, and then called at his retreating back. "If your superiors decide they want the traitor alive in Seoul, I'll tell them I was the one who put thumbtacks on the toilet seats in the officer's latrine last week!"

"That was you?" Hawkeye looked at him in awe. "I thought we did that." He looked at BJ.

"No, we printed General MacArthur's portrait onto the toilet paper rolls," BJ reminded him serenely.

"Oh, right," Hawkeye agreed, and Margaret's jaw dropped.

"There are ladies present!" Frank all but screeched.

"Sorry, Major," BJ said, albeit unrepentantly. Hawkeye just smiled into his coffee cup.

Margaret rolled her eyes and turned back towards Colonel Potter.

"Is there really a traitor in camp?"

"I doubt it," Potter replied. "Just another crackpot scheme of Flagg's justified by some absent-minded superior who signed everything in front of him. It's a shame they never actually have to deal with it when Flagg is on the warpath."

"I'm telling you, if we could just aim him at the Chinese, the war would be over in a week. It would collapse into complete and utter ruin," Hawkeye quipped, stabbing at his eggs as if he expected them to start running away.

"He would have North Korea so confused in a week they'd surrender just to get rid of him," BJ answered, and Radar giggled nervously.

"Colonel Flagg is a thoroughly efficient military man," Frank declared righteously. "His methods and modes of operation are far beyond anything we could hope to understand. His orders come from higher up."

As he finished, Father Mulcahy came hurrying into the mess tent.

"Colonel Potter, I don't wish to alarm you, but I passed Colonel Flagg on the way here. He appears to be rummaging through our refuse piles, he says he's looking for communists."

The priest's brow furrowed up.

"Don't mind him, Padre," Colonel Potter said evenly. "He'll be gone in a few days."

"You're right, Frank. I'll never understand Flagg or the things he does," BJ responded before getting up to refill his coffee cup.

"You're just jealous!" Frank spat at him, red-faced with indignation.


The first day with Flagg was odd. After a few hours, the personnel stopped jumping when Flagg popped out of every conceivable hiding place and area of concealment in camp, right down to the showers and parked Jeeps. They took to ignoring the skulking, glaring man of iron who paced around tables and stared down people trying to eat or play cards. They patiently tolerated the interrogation and circuitous conversations that only led to greater confusion. The officers simply refused to be pushed around. The nurses avoided the worst of his intimidation by refusing to engage with him, but Flagg's presence had the enlisted men scared to death.

He would walk into any tent demanding that everything be turned upside down and reorganized according to his own pattern which only he could comprehend.

Potter walked into the supply tent while Corpsman Prescott, covering for Sergeant Zale, was being given one of the worst tongue-lashings Potter had heard.

"I want to see these extra blankets and dishes in alphabetical order the next time I enter this supply tent, Corporal. Any out of their assigned place, and I'm going to shove them in your ear, do I make myself clear?"

"I—I don't understand, sir—" Prescott was shaking, close to tears and closer to a nervous breakdown when Colonel Potter stepped in and placed a hand on his shoulders.

"Easy, son," Potter told him kindly. "I'll handle this."

"Thank you, sir," Prescott whispered brokenly and fled the supply tent.

"You promised me complete cooperation, Colonel Potter," Flagg intoned. "I wasn't finished with him."

"Flagg, if you don't ease off my personnel, they're all going to be discharged with Section Eights or turning themselves into Seoul as traitors just to get away," Potter told him sternly.

"War is hell, Colonel," Flagg replied sententiously. "Your men need to learn to harden their minds against all trial and tribulations. They need to be able to stare down Death and be prepared to sock it right in the eye when the time comes."

"They teach you all about that in the CIA, I'm sure," Colonel Potter remarked, nodding to himself.

"Nice try, Colonel, but I'm with the CID on this case. Unless I find what I'm looking for, in which case it becomes a CIC matter."

Potter stared hard at the impassive man in front of him and had time to wonder if Flagg had ever been a normal person.

"Any reason you were shaking down my supply officer?" Potter asked, trying hard to keep his temper with Flagg.

"Just turning over every stone, Colonel," Flagg replied vaguely. "The evidence is here somewhere, and I'll find it. As long as I'm here, the traitor has no chance." Flagg walked out of the supply room, setting his gaze about on a new set of victims to harass.

"None of us has a chance if he stays much longer," Potter said to himself, before leaving the tent.


Sometime after dinner the following day, Radar walked into the Swamp. Frank was sprawled on his bunk reading his Bible. The clerk peeked over and wasn't surprised. Song of Solomon, naturally. BJ and Hawkeye were playing cards. It looked like an uneasy combination of go-fish, old maid, parcheesi, bridge, and tiddlywinks because every so often one of them would drop a few jacks and throw a bouncy ball in Frank's general direction.

"Sirs? Colonel Potter wants to see you in his office," Radar said.

"I told you we should have run while his back was turned," Hawkeye said to BJ, getting off his cot with a sigh and pulling on his jacket.

"What about me?" Frank was on his feet and whining now. "I'm a major, and they're only captains! If there's anything important to discuss, I should be included!"

"He called for all you sirs, sir," Radar replied blandly before turning back to Hawkeye. "It's Colonel Flagg. I think he wants to talk to the officers."

"Did he actually find something this time?" BJ asked in bemusement.

"Who knows?" Radar sighed and left the Swamp.

Flagg was cutting them all in half with his steely gaze when they entered.

"Thank you, gentlemen, for coming," Flagg said, looking them all over slowly.

"We resent that," Hawkeye piped up and BJ grinned.

"Well, Flagg, now that you've got us all here, what did you want?" Potter asked with the long-suffering patience of a father humoring a child.

"I think I've got almost all the evidence I need to catch the traitor."

"Except of course the identity of said traitor," Hawkeye said.

"I'm getting to that," Flagg remarked laconically, acting as though he hadn't a care in the world. "Steady, Pierce."

"My nerves aren't the problem, Flagg," Hawkeye said, getting heated. "The problem is that in addition to being stationed in this upholstered toilet, the government regularly sends you here to torment us and increase the chaos around here!"

"If you're innocent, you have nothing to fear," Flagg intoned.

"Everyone has something to fear!" Hawkeye exclaimed. "If we're not getting sent bombs from the Chinese, we're being sent the living kind from Seoul or wherever the hell you're hailing from now."

"Actually, it's Decatur, but that's not the point," Flagg replied, unfazed as always. "I called you here because I wanted to talk to you officers."

He glared pointedly at Radar, who scowled at the floor.

"Radar stays," Potter said calmly.

"Enlisted men can't be trusted," Flagg scoffed.

"That's exactly what I always say," Frank piped up, happy to agree with Flagg.

"Frank, how would you like a grenade in your shorts?" BJ asked quietly. "I'm sure Colonel Flagg has one we can borrow."

"Listen to me, Corporal. What I have to say is very sensitive." Flagg stepped forward and grabbed the rubber date stamp between two fingers. "Now get out of here or I'll be forced to end your military career with this."

Radar took one look at the rubber date stamp and left the office with his shoulders hunched up and his fists balled up at his sides.

"You should be more careful what you say to Radar, he can arrange for all sorts of things to happen," Hawkeye told him.

"Save your jokes for the Kremlin, Pierce," Flagg deadpanned, turning back to Colonel Potter. "I've traced the traitor back to one Lieutenant Decker. I have irrefutable proof that he's the one responsible for the intelligence being sent to the Chinese, so you might as well give him up."

"Wait a minute, Decker? Gene Decker?" Hawkeye asked incredulously. "He got caught in some shelling three weeks after we were stationed here, and his leg got torn up. He was sent stateside right after that; he's been at home in Missouri for the last 11 months!"

"Nice try, Pierce, but you can't hide your comrade from me."

"No, Flagg, he's right," Potter said, quietly pulling a personnel file from a massive cabinet. "Decker, Eugene. Discharged from the United States Armed Service, September 23rd, 1950. Purple Heart."

Flagg snatched the paper from Potter and squinted hard at it. After a moment, he scoffed.

"Obviously a forgery. Easy enough to cover your tracks if you know someone is looking for you."

"Isn't that the approval seal from I-Corps?" Hawkeye asked, pointing to a stamp at the bottom. "They'll have a triplicate copy of this in Tokyo along with twenty other documents certifying Gene Decker left, free and clear."

Flagg glared hard at him for a moment, then reasserted his features in their usual deadpan look which assured everyone around that he couldn't possibly be reasoned with.

"That's obvious enough. This thing is bigger than all of us, and I won't stop until I dig out the communist rat. Looks like I-Corps is going to get a visit very soon."

"Flagg, you can't go after I-Corps. They'll court martial you or slap you with a Section 8 so fast you won't get anywhere near the top," BJ said reasonably.

"That's my business, baby," Flagg growled. "The closer you get to the truth, the more insane everything gets, especially where the army is concerned."

"You know, he's got a point," Frank finally admitted.

"Your head has a point," Hawkeye shot back.

"Luckily, I've been around insane people all my life," Flagg continued. "Takes some special dealing with. You'll be hearing from me," he said ominously. He reached over and flicked the light switch off, plunging the room into darkness.

"Oh, come on, Flagg!" Hawkeye yelled, groping for the switch along the wall. They heard a loud crash from outside the tent and Radar hollered, "Ow!" before they got the light back on. When they all rushed out the door, they saw Radar sitting on the ground with his glasses broken and sporting a bruised eye that would turn black before the night was over.

"Colonel Flagg came barreling out of the office just as I was going in and knocked me over with the door!" Radar cried, clearly upset.

"Easy, son," Potter said gently. "Did you get cut by the broken glass?"

"No, sir," Radar muttered, poking gingerly at his eye.

"That's going to be a pretty good shiner," BJ remarked, looking at Radar's face.

Hawkeye was looking off towards the Jeeps, trying to figure out where Flagg went.

"Is he gone?" he yelled to some personnel near the motor pool.

They simply shrugged in answer, and Hawkeye sighed. "Well, maybe he had something more pressing to do. Like interrogating a flock of pigeons."

"That does it," Radar all but growled from his place on the ground. He pushed himself up and BJ and Potter were astounded at the level of hostility on the normally amiable countenance of the clerk.

"Radar, I wouldn't take it personally. He probably just didn't see you," Hawkeye joked. If looks could kill, Benjamin F. Pierce could have stopped paying taxes then and there.

"I've had it with Colonel Flagg coming in here and messing up my outfit," Radar muttered as he stalked back through the office doors.

"His outfit?" BJ looked at Potter who sighed. He was getting too old for this.

"I'll calm him down. It doesn't matter where Flagg went, as long as he stays gone for a good, long while."

"Sure, Colonel," BJ said.

"If you need us, we'll be in the Swamp," Hawkeye stated.

Potter watched them go, then took a deep breath before walking into his office.

Radar was sitting at the desk near the phone writing on a piece of paper methodically but with controlled anger.

"Radar, there's no reason to get upset about this," Potter said consolingly. "Flagg is gone for a while now."

"But he always comes back, sir!" Radar almost shouted. "Right when everything seems to be going okay, he comes back here and threatens the personnel and hurts people and causes damage everywhere he goes!"

"He's a self-limiting disaster for the most part, son," Potter mused.

"No, sir. Begging your pardon, Colonel Potter, sir, but you don't understand. It's one thing if a prank here goes too far, because we always have to report to somebody, but Flagg doesn't have any consequences for anything he does! I'm gonna figure out how to report him this time, and I won't give up until I do!"

"That may take a good, long while, son," Potter replied gently. "He's behind an eight-foot wall of Army red tape, not to mention all the extra stuff with the CIA or wherever."

"I don't care," Radar seethed. "I'll find him."

Potter just shook his head and went into his office, leaving Radar to fume in the little anteroom that served as his bedroom.


Radar spent the next few days working very late into the night to allow himself more time for this Flagg investigation after completing his normal clerk's duties. The dark circles under his eyes became more pronounced. He consumed an exorbitant amount of coffee. He asked all personnel individually what they knew about Colonel Flagg, any conversations they'd have with him, what places he'd mentioned.

Four days after Radar had taken up his quest, BJ and Hawkeye were sitting in the Swamp, cultivating their famous ten-minute gin recipe.

"Say, isn't the mail supposed to be in today?" BJ asked suddenly.

"Usually is. In fact, it's about two hours off schedule," Hawkeye said, glancing at his PX clock.

"Wanna go see what the holdup is?"

"Well, I'm not gonna sit here and wait for my Nudist's Quarterly to walk itself over here."

Together, they walked over to Colonel Potter's office and found Radar hunched murderously over his desk, scribbling at a scrap of paper. Torn sheets and lists littered his desk. Some were taped to the walls, and some were folded up and placed on top of each other. BJ picked one up that just had "BATHTUB" printed on it in large, block letters.

"Radar, we were wondering if the mail came in," BJ asked.

"What is this?" Hawkeye demanded, looking around at the carnage. "Did Hurricane George come through here a minute ago?"

"Yeah, the mail is here," Radar muttered, not looking up from his paper. They waited. Radar didn't even glance their way.

After about thirty seconds, BJ offered hesitantly. "Could we—have our mail? Please?"

"I haven't sorted it yet," Radar said testily.

"What have you got going on that's more important than my nudist magazines?" Hawkeye asked sharply.

"I'll get to it when I have the time!" Radar yelled and looked up. For the second time within the space of a week, Hawkeye would have been killed right then and there if Radar had the power.

"Careful, Radar, you're starting to sound like General Clayton," BJ said quietly.

"Would you guys just get out of here? I'm busy!"

"Sure, we'll come back when you're not mean enough to spit at," Hawkeye said nastily, passing out the door. "Can you believe him? Give the guy a little power and all of a sudden, he's Mussolini and Stalin."

"I think we should talk to Colonel Potter about him," BJ said fretfully.

"Colonel, if we don't get his mind off Flagg, he's going to crash and burn," Hawkeye said anxiously. They were all standing outside the mess tent, huddled around a trash barrel that had been lit on fire for heat. "He's been at this for days now."

"I know it and you know it, but he don't know it," Potter sighed. "I've been trying to get him to focus more on his duties here. Take a look at this; he messed up one of our monthly personnel reports. I snagged it before he could send it off."

He pulled a form out of his pocket and BJ read it aloud for Hawkeye's benefit:

Accounting for personnel of the MASH 4077th as follows:

Commanding Officer: Colonel Sherman Flagg

Captain Benjamin Flagg

Captain B.J. Flagg

Major Frank Flagg

Major Margaret Flagg

Chaplain Francis Flagg

"Now that's really disturbing," Hawkeye murmured uneasily as BJ continued scanning the list.

"Even Klinger," Potter said darkly, and two heads shot up at him in concern.

"No," Hawkeye exclaimed despairingly.

"'Fraid so. He's really let this whole Flagg thing get into his head."

"Maybe he needs a week in Tokyo. Or a sedative. Or both," BJ said, rubbing a hand across his face.

"The kicker of it is, I think he's actually close to finding it out now," Potter replied ruefully. "Damned if I know how."

"Colonel, this has passed the point of friendly investigation. Radar's cracking up as it is, and I think we ought to stop him," Hawkeye said seriously.

"Hawkeye, you know I'm worried about him too. But Flagg's crossed him now. If anybody can figure it out, it's that boy. And we'll probably never get another chance like this. There's been no wounded for almost two weeks now, he's not hurting anything by getting this bug out of his system. Besides, don't you wanna know who Flagg really is?" Potter asked.

"Not bad enough to kill Radar for it," Hawkeye said darkly and strode off. BJ and Potter watched him go, and Potter sighed. "There's just no making that one happy."

"Hawkeye just understands too well," BJ said comfortably. "Between him and Radar, they could write a book on obsessive-compulsives. When they get something stuck in their teeth, neither of them can ever let it go."

"You got that right," Potter sighed again. "Hopefully this won't last too much longer."


It was 0330, five days after Flagg had left the 4077th and Radar was wide awake, staring down at his papers on the desk. Finally, finally, things were starting to make sense. He reviewed his sheet scrupulously, feeling that he was on the verge of a breakthrough.

Colonel Flagg

Aliases:

Captain Halloran

Major Brooks

Lieutenant Carter

Captain Louise Klein

Captain Goldberg

Corporal Perkins

Queen Victoria

Ling Chow

Birthdate: Unknown

Hometown: Unknown

Marriage Status: Unknown

Relatives/Children: Unknown

Possible Branch of Service: CIA, CID, CIC, etc.

Rank: Unknown

Radar stared hard at the paper through smarting eyes. He would have to get some sleep tonight; it had been too long already. He looked at a scrap of paper from his interview with Lieutenant Kellye. Flagg once mentioned that he'd been in intelligence for 20 years. That would mean he was probably born sometime between 1910 and 1915 if Radar was estimating his age correctly.

Buy you a drink, Sam?

A man's phantom voice whispered in his mind. The thought rested there, fragile as a crystal. Radar froze. Who had said that? When? He got a cold shiver down his back, and his cold fingers reached up to adjust his glasses. He couldn't remember just now.

Buy you a drink, Sam?

Radar erased the top line, hesitated, rewrote it.

Colonel Samuel Flagg

He wasn't sure why, but it felt better that way. The word "Colonel" suddenly leapt out at him and sparked in his brain.

Hadn't Flagg said he was Captain Halloran when Hawkeye was left in charge of the 4077th? That was the day Hawkeye had been griping about being Officer of the Day, Radar was almost sure of it. Later, he claimed to be a Lieutenant Colonel when Henry Blake was in command. And now he was a Colonel. It could have just been a promotion. But the more the clerk thought of it, the more it seemed likely that he was assigned an equivalent rank to the highest-ranking person he met at the 4077th. That made the CIA much more likely. Maybe he didn't have actual military rank at all.

Radar scribbled a note for himself and placed it on the phone for when he got up in a few hours. Shuffling, he fell onto his bed and was asleep three seconds after his head hit the pillow.

The next morning, Radar was up with his alarm. Gritty eyed but determined, he sucked back some coffee and prepared his morning reports. Colonel Potter saw the waiting paperwork on his desk, looked through the window of his doors and saw Radar looking madly over his notes and making a new mark every so often. Potter sighed, remembering his resolve to let the boy be.

By midmorning, Radar had a list compiled of numbers to call, and a pretty good idea of what to do next. He stumbled to the mess tent for lunch, ate mechanically, and headed back to his tent.

Buy you a drink, Sam?

Radar took a deep breath before starting. He reminded himself it could be a long while yet. Cranking the phone, he pulled the headset on.

"Sparky? It's Radar. Yeah, everything's been pretty quiet here, too. Maybe they're finally deciding to give up. Listen, Sparky, I need—What? No, we haven't gotten a new shipment of chewing gum in months. If I had any, I'd trade you for it. I need you to connect me with General Steele in Tokyo. That's okay, I'll wait. Thanks."

"General Steele? This is Corporal O'Reilly with the MASH 4077th, I'd like to talk with you about something important here, sir. Do you happen to know a Colonel Sam Flagg? You do? What do you know about him? No military service record? Disappears into a mist? Yeah, we've heard he's from the CIA, too. Okay, thanks anyway, sir."

Radar let the phone drop for a moment, crossing one of the numbers off his list. Taking a deep breath, he began again.

It took him an hour and a half. He went through six captains, five majors, three actual generals, traded the ice cream rations of the 4077th for the next five weeks, and promised 53 pairs of wool socks before he reached the person he needed, but it was worth it.

"Agent Larsen, Combat Info."

"Agent Larsen? This is Captain O'Reilly with the MASH 4077th in South Korea," Radar said prominently.

"We're calling about one of your operatives, a Colonel Sam Flagg. He's been causing some problems here that should be reported to his CO, so we've been trying to track down his division. No, Flagg, two 'g's. Yes, thank you. No, I'll wait, that's alright. What was that? You've never heard of anyone named Flagg in the CIC at all? Not even a satellite informant or worker or anything like that? Contracted? No, sir, I didn't mean to imply that the CIC uses contract workers to conduct investigations. My rank and serial number? Sorry, sir, the connection seems pretty spotty here. What? I can't hear—"

Radar slammed the phone down, hoping the connection was cut quick enough to stop any kind of tracing. That was too close.

After a few minutes, his stomach settled back where it belonged and he was able to pick up the phone again. This time it was an entire shipment of inflatable pools and brassieres, but he was able to get in touch with who he needed.

"Detective Sergeant Windetti, CID."

"Yes, sir, this is Major O'Reilly, MASH 4077th. I'm calling about one of your men, Colonel Sam Flagg, he's—Flagg's not in your files? Are you sure? He could be using a fake name—Well, I'm not sure when he would've started intelligence. Sometime around 1932. Not with the CID? How should I know if he's been transferred? You people are supposed to have all the answers, you can't even find one guy!"

He slammed the phone down again, feeling his frayed nerves sing with tension. He had one hope left.

"Colonel Anderson, Central Intelligence."

"Colonel? This is Colonel O'Reilly with the MASH 4077th in South Korea," Radar said, affecting his voice to sound deeper. "We've got a serious grievance we'd like to level against one of your men over there."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, then, "You mean one of the operatives?"

"That's right, Colonel," Radar said, holding the phone slightly away from his mouth so that the Colonel couldn't hear how loudly his heart was beating. "Colonel Sam Flagg. He's done some damage here at the 4077th, and we'd like to inform his superiors."

"Flagg?" the voice repeated, sounding confused. "Flagg, Flagg. And you say he's in Korea?"

"Don't tell me he's not with you," Radar cried, forgetting to disguise his voice.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, but I honestly don't know anyone named Flagg in the agency. If he had an alias, it's possible—"

"Lieutenant Carter," Radar cried angrily. "Major Brooks. Corporal Perkins. Captain Goldberg. Louise Klein."

"A joker, huh?" the flat voice said in his ear after the last one. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I'll ask around, but Intelligence doesn't have anyone stationed that close to the front right now. There's no one nearer than Tokyo, and that's someone who we'll call Kathy."

"You don't understand!" Radar all but shouted into the phone. "It could be him! If it's a tall, broad-shouldered dame with a face like a block of granite, put her in an arm-lock!"

"You forget yourself, Corporal," the cold voice said on the other end of the phone, sounding hard and rough. Buy you a drink, Sam?

"Wait, how did—" Radar whispered. He was so tired he could hardly understand the words anymore. "You—I'm not a colonel, I'm Corporal—I mean—it's you, isn't it? You're Flagg. You're—" The phone connection went dead and the ringing in his head was pulled away to the one in the phone.

"That's enough, Radar," Potter said gently, taking his finger off the receiver. "It's time to stop this."

"Sir, I almost had it!" Radar screeched, madder than hell. "I was so close to finding out who Flagg was, I had them on the ropes! I could've gotten through!"

"Get ahold of yourself, Corporal!" Potter barked, and Radar instantly stopped, blinking at him too fast from behind his glasses.

"Son, I know how hard this has been on you. But you've got to let this go," Potter said gently. "It doesn't matter this much."

"Don't you want to know who he is?" Radar asked doggedly, his eyes were bleak and dull. "I thought I could help by finding out…"

"Radar, you can do almost anything you put your mind to," Potter began after a pause. "I've seen you pull mountains of supplies out of an empty shed, make trade deals to turn the whole tide in the OR. I've seen you create something out of nothing and get people together in a way that I'll never be able to understand, but this is just one thing you can't do."

"Colonel Flagg probably doesn't exist in any way we can comprehend. He doesn't have a military service record, and he isn't affiliated with any government level we can reach. Hell, he probably isn't even with the government at all! Who knows where he came from? I don't even care, as long as he stays away from this outfit."

"I just wanted to know for sure," Radar said in a small voice. He blinked for a long moment, and when he opened them again Potter had his hands on his shoulders and was walking towards his bed.

"I know you did, son. You got closer than anyone else ever has or will. It's just too big for any of us," Potter said gently. Radar was already asleep.

Potter tucked him under his blankets, and positioned the teddy bear under Radar's arm gently, taking off the corporal's glasses for him.


Radar slept for the next sixteen hours straight. When he woke up, he was bleary-eyed and hungry, but no worse for the wear.

When he got to the mess hall for breakfast that morning, Hawkeye and B.J. were already there, dissecting their food.

"How's it going, Radar?" Hawkeye asked cautiously, having been informed by Potter about what happened.

"It's alright," Radar said noncommittally, turning towards his WW2 surplus pancakes.

Frank Burns came to sit down. On seeing Radar, he immediately started a tirade.

"Well, if it isn't the little rat fink traitor. Did you find out who Colonel Flagg is yet?"

Radar surprised everyone, including B.J. who was preparing to retaliate by punching Frank in the nose, by scoffing.

"Who cares?"