When the shot rang out, Hawkeye's legs threw him to the floor of the bus without bothering to consult the rest of his body first, and he banged his elbow on something on the way down. He lay, holding his throbbing arm, listening for another shot. There were a few screams and the sound of running feet from outside the bus, but everyone had gone quiet inside, even the wounded.
"Sniper?" Charles whispered. He was also lying on the bus floor, his head a foot or two from Hawkeye's.
Hawkeye tried to think above the deafening beating of his own heart. "No…" he said, shaking his head. "Sounded closer."
"Hey," hissed a man lying next to the back windows (a boy, really - every day they looked younger and younger), "Is that your priest fighting with one of the Commies we took prisoner?"
Hawkeye crawled to the rear of the bus and poked his head up cautiously. His helmet was in the Swamp...somewhere (why did he never have it when he wanted it?), and he half-expected to feel a bullet tearing through his skull. Through the grimy window of the bus, he could make out Father Mulcahey wrestling with a wounded soldier in a North Korean uniform on the hood of a Jeep. He appeared to be kneeling on the man's wrist, trying to twist something out of his hand while fending off blows from the man's other hand. After a moment's struggle, Father Mulcahey wrested the thing from the man's hand and jumped off the Jeep.
"It's all right, everyone," he called, "I took the gun!" He waved the thing in the air, and Hawkeye saw that it was a pistol. Exhaling in relief, he called to Charles to finish up triage on the bus and rushed out the back door.
"Father, are you all right? Anyone hit?"
"I'm fine," said the priest, handing the pistol off to a passing corpsman "but BJ-" he grabbed Hawkeye's arm and pulled him along as Hawkeye felt a bucket of ice water crash over his insides.
BJ was standing a few steps back from the Jeep, his hand pressed against his belly just above the belt of his robe. He took his hand away, looking at his bloody palm, and Hawkeye saw a bloom of dark red spreading down the front of his robe.
"Beej!" shouted Hawkeye, shaking off Father Mulcahey and sprinting over to his friend. He ducked under one arm as BJ staggered, and Father Mulcahey took BJ's other arm.
"Litter!" Hawkeye called. BJ's knees buckled, and he and Father Mulcahey were now supporting most of BJ's weight. "You're gonna be okay, BJ, you hear me?" he said, trying to convince himself as much as BJ. His heart was beating a fast and merciless rhythm against his ribs. His hand against BJ's back felt wet, and he ducked back out from under BJ's arm for a moment, trying to support him with one hand under his armpit as he looked at the back of BJ's robe. Another, larger, patch of blood was spreading down BJ's back - the bullet had passed clean through him.
At least we won't have to hunt for the bullet, Hawkeye thought, taking BJ's arm across his shoulders once more.
People had started to realize what was happening and several of them rushed over to see if they could help.
"I'll get gauze and bandages!" Kellye shouted, rushing off to the supply room.
"Doesn't hurt as much as I would've thought," said BJ, sounding dazed.
"That's good," said Hawkeye, even though he could think of half a dozen reasons why that wouldn't be good.
"Out of the way! Move!" came Klinger's voice on the other side of the growing crowd. They parted, and he and Goldman hurried forward, carrying a stretcher, which they set on the ground.
"Lay him on his side," Hawkeye ordered them, letting Klinger take his place at BJ's side. Klinger and Goldman gently lowered BJ to the stretcher. They started to cut BJ's robe away.
"Hey, that's my favorite robe," BJ complained feebly.
"I'll buy you another one," said Hawkeye, kneeling down by the head of the stretcher. He put his hand on BJ's shoulder. "A really nice one from Tokyo."
"You can't buy your way into my pants, mister," said BJ, a half-smile on his face.
Hawkeye laughed in spite of himself as Klinger spread a blanket across BJ's legs and hips, and he moved to the side of the stretcher to look at the exit wound.
Kellye hurried back with an armful of bandages, gauze, surgical tape, and other supplies.
"Thanks, Kellye," said Hawkeye. "Help me here." She knelt next to him as he bent over BJ's back and tore open a pack of gauze. "Sorry, Beej," he said, and he started packing the wound with gauze.
BJ cried out, and Father Mulcahey quickly knelt opposite Hawkeye and Kellye and grabbed BJ's hand.
"Baker, go get us some morphine!" Hawkeye shouted, and the watching nurse hurried off.
"I'm sorry, BJ," said Father Mulcahey. "If I'd been faster, this wouldn't have happened."
"If you'd been slower," said BJ, panting with pain and doing his best to stay still, "I'd have a-a hole in my head I don't-don't need."
Hawkeye froze at this, images of BJ lying, dying or already dead from a shot to the head, flickered through his mind.
"Doctor?" said Kellye.
"Right," he said, shaking his head to clear it and getting back to work.
Col. Potter and Margaret came bursting out of Pre-Op as Nurse Baker hurried back with a syringe of morphine.
"Why is half my blessed medical staff standing around gawking?" Col. Potter barked. "Let's get to work, people!"
"Inexcusable!" said Margaret, looking from one nurse to the next, "You should all be dressed and ready in the OR by now!"
The crowd around BJ thinned as people ran inside to take their places.
"Get these people into Pre-Op!" Col. Potter shouted. "Pierce!"
Hawkeye glanced up as Col. Potter stormed toward him, then stepped over BJ and started to tend to the entry wound. Nurse Baker injected the morphine.
"Hunnicutt is on triage today, Pierce! Get your butt into OR!"
"Baker, Kellye, let's go!"
Both of them seemed to realize what was happening at the same time, because they both stopped shouting, and Hawkeye heard Margaret gasp, then two pairs of footsteps hurting toward them.
"Sorry Colonel," said BJ, relaxing as the morphine started to take effect, "I guess I'm in triage instead of on it."
"Sorry, son, I didn't know," said Col. Potter, kneeling down next to Hawkeye and resting a hand gently on BJ's head.
"How's he doing?" Margaret asked Hawkeye.
"Losing a lot of blood, but the bullet missed his spine. I'll know more once I get him into surgery."
"Pierce," said Col. Potter softly. "I need you in the OR."
"I'm not done here," said Hawkeye curtly, unwinding a pressure bandage.
"Pierce, we have twenty trained combat medics who can do what you're doing right now, but none of them can perform surgery. I know you don't want to leave him, but there are a bunch of boys who may not survive without you."
Hawkeye exhaled sharply, clenching his fists, fury at the situation welling up inside him. He slammed his fist in the dirt next to his knee, the sting of grit on his knuckles a welcome distraction from his helplessness. "You're right," he said abruptly.
"'Course I am," said Col. Potter. He turned to the nearest corpsman. "Tie that pressure bandage around his wounds, and keep an eye on him - bump him up the list if he starts to get shocky."
"Okay, Beej," said Hawkeye, clasping BJ's hand as the corpsman got to work, "I have a dance card with your name on it, and if you don't show up at my table I'll be very disappointed. Got that?"
"I'll wear my best tux," said BJ.
"Good," said Hawkeye. He squeezed BJ's hand, then let go. Col. Potter helped him to his feet. Father Mulcahey gripped BJ's hand once more, Margaret laid her hand on his face, and both of them hurried inside.
"Get him inside and give him two units of B negative," Hawkeye ordered Kellye, who nodded.
"Godspeed, son," said Col. Potter, patting BJ's shoulder, and he followed the others.
"See you," said BJ to Hawkeye.
Hawkeye stared at him for a moment, trying not to think that this was the last time he might see BJ alive.
"See you," he said, and he forced himself to turn away.
BJ watched them go, gritting his teeth to stop himself calling after them, Please don't go, don't leave me here. The morphine was clouding his thoughts, blunting the sharpness of the growing ache in his belly, and he knew that every other wounded person felt the same, but none of that stopped the dread of being alone.
Should've let Father Mulcahey bless me...
"It'll be okay, sir," said Klinger, appearing suddenly at the head of BJ's stretcher in his outdated nurse's uniform, and BJ felt himself hoisted into the air. "I've seen you surgeons patch up guys much worse off than you."
"Thanks, Klinger," said BJ. Something he'd wondered but never asked floated to the surface of his mind. "How do you keep your uniform so white?" he asked.
"Cold water and salt to get the bloodstains out, and then a lot of bleach."
Maybe we should try that method on generals' brains...get the bloody thoughts out of their heads and let us all go home, BJ thought.