This chapter is a bit shorter than intended, but I have so little time to write at the moment :( But... Cliff hanger! Mwahaha!

A big thanks to Miss-Tris who's been helping me with the grammar and spelling! The first two chapter has been improved and updated :)

Chapter 7 – A trip to the unexpected

"That, sir," Agnes said with a chuckle, gesturing towards the frame hanging behind Potter's desk, "is a brilliant painting. Absolutely spot-on."

Colonel Potter looked from her to the picture of Charles, he had painted shortly after the Major's arrival, and smirked.

"Funny – the model wasn't quite so amused with the outcome."

"No, I can imagine," Agnes said and studied Charles' furious expression. "I was just about to ask what the good Major was so mad about, but that would be a silly question, wouldn't it?"

Potter rubbed his chin.

"I have considered repainting him," he confessed to Agnes, "once he'd softened up to this place, but I'm afraid I'll be long dead and gone, if it ever happens."

"I'm pretty sure Charles would rather be dead and gone, than develop anything that comes close to fondness of this place."

"In my naivety, I had rather hoped that some of the other Swamp rats' laid back attitude would rub off him in time," Potter responded, pointing to another one of his painting, this time featuring Hawkeye with his feet up on the desk, happily enjoying a martini, "but I'm afraid I have failed miserably."

"Well, you know what they say: You can lead a horse to the water, but you can't force it to drink."

"A horse idiom," Potter noticed, chuckling gruffly. "You I like. Please, Captain, take a seat. I didn't bring you all the way in here to bore you with my humble hobby."

When Agnes had sat herself down on the other side of his desk, he continued: "I just got words from I-Corps – they're expecting a slow day tomorrow, so I'm proposing a morning with you playing first scalpel in OR. How's that sound?"

"Just give me a time and I'll be there with my cleanest gowns on," Agnes promised.

There was a knock on the door and Radar poked his head in.

"Uh – sir. Father Mulcahy is back from the orphanage and he wants to talk to you."

"Show him in, Radar."

Father Mulcahy squeezed past him, dusty from the trip and still wearing his helmet and with a rather apprehensive look on his face.

"Colonel, I– Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry, sir. I had no idea you had company."

Potter waved him closer. "Come in, Father. The Captain and I were just talking about her lecture tomorrow."

"One of the young boys at sister Theresa's was scratched by rusty nail why I was there," Mulcahy said, wiping road dirt from his glasses. "We cleaned the wound, but I'm afraid he requires a tetanus shot. I need one of the doctors to go with me back to the orphanage."

"Of course, padre. You have my permission to swing by the Swamp and grab whomever is awake."

"Sirs, there's really no need for that," Agnes contributed. "I could go."

Potter's hesitation was obvious.

"Captain, the orphanage isn't exactly just down the road," he said.

"I would be more than happy to go," Agnes assured him. "The only part of Korea I've seen so far is the army hospitals and the roads between them."

"I must say – I prefer it that way," Potter said frowning. "The camp is the safest place around here."

"Please," Agnes said, looking from the priest to the Colonel. "Don't make me beg."

"Well, if me and my connections can't keep her safe then who can?" Mulcahys noticed with a mild smile.

Potter sighed.

"I'm losing my grip," he muttered brusquely. "Alright – but you come back with her in one piece, padre. She's not ours to lose."

oOo

The unfortunate little boy uttered an unsatisfied squall, when Agnes gave him the injection.

"Aw, come now – it wasn't that bad," she said in a comforting manner and took him from the sister's lap. "I thought you were a tough cookie – but maybe you rather want one, than be one," she said, distracting him with raisin cake from last night's dinner in the mess tent.

Seung's tears stopped immediately and soon he was happily munching his way through the cake with raisins sticking to both cheeks.

Agnes chuckled. "If all patients were as easily pleased as you."

"We have come a long way, haven't we, Seung?" sister Bendicta said mildly, smoothening the boy's black hair. "His mother was killed in a shell fire three month and he wasn't found in the ruins until days later. He was so feeble, he couldn't even cry."

Agnes was overwhelmed by the motherly instinct that laid hidden in every woman and had the fight the urge to hug the stuffing out of the poor boy.

"Good thing you ended up here, huh," she muttered softly and bounced the boy on her knees, until his chubby face split into a toothless grin. "You will find a wonderful new family one day, you adorable little munchkin – yes you will, yes you will." Noticing Mulcahy's smirk, she added: "Don't worry, Father. I'm actually very sane when there are no kids around."

"You are going to be a brilliant mother someday, Agnes," Mulcahy noted gently. He was surrounded by a group of young children, four or five years of age, and was dealing with the impossible task of having to share a box of sweet equally between the younglings.

"That's it – there is no more," he told them, when the box was empty, and he showed his hand to the kids like a black jack dealer, just to prove to them that he was in fact telling the truth. "Sorry, children."

One of the boys stole the box and ran off, pretending it was a helmet. The rest of the children hurried after him, squealing in delight. Mulcahy smiled and came over to join Agnes and sister Bendicta by the dinner table.

"I think it's time we returned to the camp, Agnes," he said. "I promised Potter we wouldn't stay away for too long, in case we got unexpected casualties."

Agnes tickled Seung until the boy squirmed with bliss and handed him back to sister Bendicta. "It's been a pleasure, sister. Don't hesitate to call if he gets the slightest of problems."

Sister Bendicta smiled.

"The pleasure is ours. I pray for you to have a safe journey back. Goodbye, Father. Goodbye, Captain."

It was almost lunch time when they hit the road again. The sun was at its brightest and the air smelled of warm dust and spruce. If it hadn't been for the gaping mortar holes in the road and the uncomfortable headwear, one could almost forget that there was a war going on.

Father Mulcahy was a wonderful travel companion. He had seemed a bit shy at first, but once he realized they were both from Philadelphia, he had lightened up like a pinball machine. So far from home it was like meeting a kindred spirit when you came across someone from your own area.

"I have been away for so long, I can hardly remember all those little things that makes Philadelphia so special," the priest confided in her, about halfway back. "The smell of rain on Broad Street after a long hot summer day; the buzz of people on the Italian Market…"

Mulcahy sighed by the memories.

"… the tourists huddling in front of the Friendship Gate and blocking all traffic," Agnes added. "The delicate scent of early roses blooming in Bartram's Garden."

"Captain, you are making me weep."

She chuckled. "Sorry, Father…"

It happened out of nowhere.

There was a gunshot and one of the tires exploded. The jeep swung to the left and Mulcahy jerked at the wheel. The next shot went straight through the windscreen; glass flew everywhere and Agnes ducked with a yelp, her arms above her head. Mulcahy gasped in pain and jammed on the break.

"What was that?!" Agnes piped, her voice breaking in shock.

"Sniper," Mulcahy responded, clasping his arm. "Oh, dear…"

"Are you hit?"

"I think the bullet grazed me…"

"Let me see…"

Agnes removed his hand; she couldn't see how bad it was, but he was already bleeding through his uniform.

"We have to get away from here," she said, surprised at how firm her voice sound; she was shaking like Jell-o on the inside. "Can you drive?"

"I think so, yes," Mulcahy said, sounding strangely feeble. "But I doubt he is going to let us."

Agnes looked up – and a sting of anxiety made her chest tightened. Five or six yards away, at the edge of the forest, stood a North Korean soldier. His face was so dirty it was hard to make out his features and he didn't say a word. But his rifle spoke loud enough: It was turned directly at them.

This can't be good…