I am SO sorry. Let me just say band is evil and time consuming. Read as no social life. Anyway, I have finally written the next chapter, so don't kill me. And honestly, if I owned MASH I would've kept Frank, not because I like him but because I love to hate him. And now, it's story time. Italics are writing and italics with quotations around them are thoughts.
Occasionally, he felt the urge to scream. A gut-retching scream of anguish. In the past, he had felt pain when his mother passed away, but that time didn't hold a candle to what hell he lived everyday in Korea. Artillery and gunshots continued day and night as the front-lines continuously changed day to day. Currently he was crouched in a ditch that he had been in two weeks prior and three weeks before that, when he had met the 339th. There was blood everywhere, dried to the rocks in large splotches. Ben cringed. The smell had been overpowering weeks ago and was now gag-inducing.
His hands were shaking, he noticed. Sticking his hands under his arms to hide to twitching limbs, he sighed and wished for the whiskey that Rodeo was always talking about. They had run out of all forms of alcohol, medical or otherwise, a week ago and were in desperate need of it, infection was running rampant in the unit. Men groaned around him, waiting for a chopper that might not even arrive in time. Being right on the front-lines caused many of the choppers to land a couple of miles back to avoid artillery fire. Most of the people around him wouldn't make it to the chopper, let alone though the night. He sighed and forced his shaking hands to pick up the pen and paper he had been writing on before.
Dear Harry,
Today is the 41st day that my papers have been missing, so instead of being where I am supposed to be assigned I am at the front-lines waiting for my replacement and my papers. Please get someone on this, I would like that very much. Anyway, how is your wife? I hope she is doing fine. How am I? I'm doing well. The front-line is not what it's cracked up to be. In fact, I would say it's worse. I'm going to be blunt, your generals suck. get them to make up their minds. Thank you. Oh, ignore the red stains, the conditions here aren't the best so the boys are kind of trying a new form of relaxation, puncture wounds. Personally, as a doctor, I don't recommend it but it seems to be the rage around here. Sorry, that was rude. When you are here, manners only get you killed.
The unit I am temporarily assigned to is the 339th Marine Corps. When I showed up they had 50 men, now we're down to a whopping 24. Who said war wasn't interesting, eh? I'm going to be honest here. There is no alcohol to stop infection and what little ammunition we have left is on the brink of non-existent. We need supplies. We don't even have food, we ran out yesterday. Personally, I haven't...
The letter was had been dropped on the ground by that point and he ducked down covering his head as artillery blasts hit the ground directly in front of his ditch.
... Sorry, artillery shells were falling from the sky again, sorry for the shaky handwriting, I hope you can still read this. I promise this paper used to be white. Well, i hope so, i got it in Maine, my home state, so it should be. Sorry, I'm rambling. Anyway, it's never silent here, the sounds of gunshots, artillery, and men crying and shouting are a constant backtrack to my day. If it was quiet I think I would think I'm deaf. This "Police Action" needs to stop, the causalities are already to high.
Sincerely,
Citizen Ben "Hawkeye" Pierce.
Signing the letter with a flourish, Ben carefully folded it and stuffed it in his pants pocket. It was time to get to work.
A/N: I think I did an okay job at this chapter. It was a lot darker than the previous ones. Sorry, but isn't war dark and scarring? As always, R&R.