"Attention, all personnel. The officer's club is closed today, due to the consumption of all stock at last night's 'Frank Burns for Gallows' party. Captain McIntyre, your presence is required at the clean-up."
So barked the PA speaker the morning after I found Pierce's letter. I'd heard this camp of cretins at the Officer's Club partying into the small hours. They'd better be grateful there were no wounded that night. I would have been their only hope.
"Captain McIntyre, report at once to the Officer's Club. Captain McIntyre, to the scene of the grime!"
Was I really that terrible? Everyone at the 4077th had disliked me since the first OR session, the first three-day party (condensed into one night), the first general's visit. I had honestly and fervently believed I was doing my duty as a Major in the United States Army.
"Trapper, if you don't haul your tush to the Officer's Club I will personally make sure you don't get your hands on one drop of booze for the rest of the war!"
Even I couldn't help but smile ruefully at that remark. Pierce was the only person McIntyre ever really listened to. The camp watched with suppressed giggles as McIntyre stumbled out of the Mess Tent, holding his head like a porcelain orb. I heard him mutter something about eternal vengeance and fired a glare in my direction as he dragged himself, snail-like, towards the Officer's Club. Enlisted cretins welcomed, of course.
As McIntyre fell into the Officer's Club, that altar of alcohol, my attention turned to those typewritten papers sitting on a crate beside my cot. Divorce papers. By signing, I would be effectively giving Louise permission to run off to Alaska with Patrick. My daughters… I'd never see them again. I would return to Fort Wayne, to an empty house, an empty life.
I stared at the divorce papers for what seemed like an eternity. Time warps in Korea: days can pass in minutes, yet thirty-hour OR sessions drag on for ninety. I felt I'd spent decades in Korea, yet barely hours with Louise and the girls in Fort Wayne. Shrieks and shouts wafted by the tent: McIntyre had burst out of the Officer's Club soaked through and ran around laughing while four corpsmen tried to catch him. How dare they have a good time! Didn't they know there was a war on? There could be snipers! Aerial bombers! Surprise inspections! All manner of things! Yet here they were, enjoying themselves!
My pen-hand wove over the papers almost by itself. I was losing the only thing I had any love for: my family. Louise and my three daughters. They were all I had. Louise's family hated my guts; mine liked to pretend I didn't exist. I was in no-man's land.
The pen began to fill out the papers, as if I'd told it to.
…oooOOOooo…
As usual, the Mess Tent was full of people wasting food. Joking, skylarking, messing about. To my dismay, I quickly saw the only available seat was next to Captain Pierce, two down from Captain McIntyre. It was that or eat on the floor.
"Noon, Frank."
I said nothing to Pierce and reached for the salt.
"Where were you last night, Hawk? You missed a heck of a party."
"I didn't feel like partying," he replied, morosely.
"Hawkeye, every nurse on base was at that party. We had no casualties, Post-Op's empty, Jenkins was on guard duty… what did you do last night? Frank, was he in the Swamp?"
McIntyre spoke to you? For the first time in a week, we were having a conversation. "No. I didn't see him."
"Dammit, Hawk, where did you go?"
"Why do you care?" grated Pierce. "Why are you suddenly so damned interested in where I spend my evenings? What does it matter to you?"
"I was just-"
"You can take your 'I justs' and shove them up your arse! Fuck, Trap, you're not my father! I don't have to answer to you!" As Pierce slammed his spotless tray down onto the table, I became acutely aware of everyone in the Mess Tent watching our little scene. I continued to eat and be as inconspicuous as possible.
"Hawk, you've been acting weirdly all week, and it's not just me. Go on. Ask any of the nurses." McIntyre pointed to a table of nurses, who all quickly averted their gaze and talked amongst themselves. Hmm.
"So you decide to hire yourself as a private investigator and tail me, thinking it concerns you!" Pierce jerked to his feet, eyeballing his best friend and partner in crime. "Let me tell you something, John McIntyre," he muttered, oil dripping from his words. "What I do and where I go is my business and my business only. If I hear one more word about why I didn't go to Frank's party-"
"It wasn't my party!" I shrieked. It had been McIntyre's idea to 'discelebrate Frank's innocence,' as he worded it.
"-then I will pummel your daylights into the next war, and don't think I won't do it!" Pierce threw his tray to the floor and stormed out of the Mess Tent.
McIntyre looked at me, a perennial look of confusion etched into his face. "What's up his arse today?" he asked.
It took me a few seconds to realise he was speaking to me. "I don't know. You're his friend."
"Yeah, but ever since your trial-" here he made a face to his tray "- he's been moping around like he got bitten by a depressed flea. When he's not on duty, he's always holed up in Radar's office or the O-Club for whatever reason."
"Well, er, he probably didn't like how the… trial turned out," I spouted, fibbing disgracefully.
"Eh, that's the only reason I can think of. Why am I discussing this with you anyway? You're the damn cause of it all," said McIntyre, as he rose to deposit his half-full tray in the pile. "Like you'd have any idea."
I knew that McIntyre didn't know about Pierce's saving my neck. Was it time to tell him? It might explain why Pierce was so solitary these days…
"McIntyre," I began haltingly. "I-I might know why Pierce has been so, er, antisocial."
McIntyre turned, one leg over the trestle bench. "Do you now?" he asked, somewhat sceptically.
"I saw a letter on Pierce's bunk to his dad and it said that he talked to the judges and got me let off and now he's beginning to regret his decision," I said quickly, as if it were all one word.
He paused to think before swinging his other leg over the trestle bench.
"You what?!" With a hazily furious expression, he burst out of the Mess Tent, eyes alert for any sign of Pierce. After both Captains were long gone, and chatter returned to the Mess Tent, Klinger sidled up to me, incredulous.
"What did you say to him?!"
…oooOOOooo…
"Attention, all personnel. Incoming wounded. Repeat, incoming wounded. Sorry Frank, you're back in business."
I didn't see either cretin again until we were all in OR. McIntyre had been in charge of triage and hadn't let me anywhere near those patients. Of course, this meant we operated on more Koreans first. They take no notice of my status as ranking surgeon.
"Forceps."
"Forceps."
We worked efficiently and quietly, for the most part: the only large break in the silence came when Pierce had a loud discussion with his nurse about the effectiveness of VD training films. Unusually, McIntyre said barely a word throughout the entire OR session, with the exception of asking for instruments.
"Nah, VD Through the Ages was my favourite, personally. There was some great imagery there, but it just didn't have the necessary spark to lead me to a life of celibacy," remarked Pierce, his forearms dripping with blood.
"You do know, Hawkeye, that celibacy isn't actually that bad a life choice," piped up the Father.
"Yeah, but you're used to it. I've been a business girl for years; it's hard to break the habit."
"Pierce, pipe down. The whole camp already knows all about your sex life, do we have to torture the patients?" asked Colonel Blake, in his usual ineffective fashion.
"Exactly. We don't need this OR filled with your smut-talk," I declared, feeling ready to assert my authority over the situation.
"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I didn't really think much of, ah, what was the other one?" As usual, Pierce steamrolled me.
"VD: Don't Let It Happen To You," interjected McIntyre, the first words he'd said all day.
"Ah, that's right, thanks, Trap. I really thought…" It didn't occur to Pierce at first that McIntyre was actually speaking to him. From what I'd overheard, they had been avoiding each other.
"Hey, Pierce."
At first he didn't register the sound of his own name.
"Pierce, dammit!"
"Pierce? Trap, I thought we were on a nickname basis. What changed?"
"Your letting Ferret Face off the hook, that's what changed."
With the flick of a scalpel, all spare attention in the OR was focussed on Captain McIntyre.
"I can't believe you! You start acting nice to that waste of space, then when he's finally court-martialled you go and get him set free! What happened, Pierce?" McIntyre thundered, placing careful emphasis on the surgeon's surname. "You been bribing him again, Frank?" Pierce spouted.
"No, and I would thank you to keep me out of this!"
A painful silence, then a bitter "We'll discuss this later, McIntyre," from the man who was once his best friend.