Hey hey! Welcome to Chapter 4! Firstly, thankyou VERY much to all the people who reviewed! It really made my day. Now, onto the story. Notice as you go along, the chapters get longer? Like Harry Potter books:D
Sorry I haven't updated for a week, the internet screwed itself up and I couldn't log on! Yay! Not.
The Extra-Long Chapter 4 (Enjoy!)
Warning: Some bad language in this chapter. Don't say I didn't tell you.
Knock, knock. The door of the Swamp gently opened. Radar knew the recipient wasn't going to like the news he brought, especially since it was three a.m. and all occupants needed their sleep.
Radar quietly moved to Trapper's bedside. He gently shook the figure lying on the cot, still in surgery gear. Trapper had collapsed, exhausted, on the bed not five hours previously. When Trapper had gone to bed, Hawkeye had still been sedately sleeping.
"Trapper?"
"No, Kathy, the dog's food is not your food..." Trapper mumbled and turned around.
"Trapper? Trapper. Trapper-shhhhh, be quiet, wake up."
"Kathy, no, naughty girl, don't eat that... wha?" Trapper slowly opened his eyes, to be greeted by a face-full of Radar.
"What is it, Radar? There aren't more damn choppers, are there?"
"No, no, it isn't choppers, sir."
"Well, what is it then?"
Radar paused, hoping he wouldn't get hit with a pillow. "Er, Hawkeye's in the latrine, talking to himself, and I thought maybe you could get him to stop, sir."
"Oh, shit a brick!" That had woken Trapper up quick-smart, much to his annoyance.
Radar was at a loss as to how to answer this. "Er, wouldn't that be a bit painful, sir?"
As expected, Trapper wasn't amused. "Never mind. What the hell is he doing talking to himself in the latrine?"
"I don't know, sir, I thought you could find out."
Trapper hauled himself out of bed. "Dammit, Radar, I'm gonna be cranky in a few hours."
Radar sat on the cot, shaking. "Are you angry, sir?"
Trapper turned around. Noticing how nervous Radar seemed to be, he pulled Radar beside him. "No, I'm not angry. I'm just extremely pissed off that I get woken at such a stupid hour to fetch my best friend from the latrine he seems to be talking to!"
"Oh, er, that's okay then."
Radar was too relieved that Trapper wasn't angry to say much. He managed to nod as Trapper headed out the door. Frank let out an extra loud snore as the door closed behind them.
As Trapper and Radar approached the latrine, Hawkeye could clearly be heard having a conversation inside.
Trapper whispered, "You sure there ain't a nurse in there?"
Radar nodded. "They'd be kissing by now, and being a bit louder, sir."
"True," nodded Trapper. Wondering silently how Radar came across this snippet of information, they quietly sneaked up to the door.
"...Well, I don't know about you, Trapper, but I thought Nurse Baker was quite something... Oh, really? I thought so too..."
Trapper turned to Radar. "He's talking to me! He thinks he's talking to me, but I reckon he's talking to the wall."
"But, sir, why would Hawkeye be talking to the wall? I mean, you share a tent, he could, er, talk to you in person if he wanted, sir."
"Radar, I'm not sir. I'm Trapper. And I don't know why he's talking to the wall. I thought that's what you wanted me to find out."
"Sir, um, I have an idea."
"What is it, Radar?"
"Sir, maybe he's sleepwalking…"
If anyone else had been around to witness the goings-on, it would have been considered a rather comical sight; two grown men with their ears pressed to the latrine door, listening to another grown man (apparently) having a conversation with the latrine wall. However, the nature of the situation meant it was anything but comical.
"Sir?"
"It's Trapper, dammit. Trapper."
"Oh, sorry, Trapper... don't you think he's seeing things?"
"He must be, because I'm not in there, and he seems to be talking to me..."
A loud laugh coming from inside the latrine briefly spooked the twosome.
"...ha, that's the best joke I've heard in a long time... haha, the parrot fell off his perch... heeheehee..."
Trapper turned to Radar and sighed. "Apparently I'm quite the joker now... oh, hell, if he keeps laughing like that, the whole camp's gonna wake up."
"Are you going to wake him up, er...Trapper?"
Trapper pulled his face into something resembling a thinking expression. "Well, it doesn't look like I've got a lot of choice... but how? He's going to be pretty confused if two Trappers start talking to him... maybe you should, Radar."
Radar immediately froze. "What? Me? But... but..."
"No buts, Radar. You can do it."
Radar was very hesitant, with apprehension etched into his face. "Well... if you say so, Trapper..."
He slowly knocked on the door of the latrine.
Trapper whispered, "Radar! Now!" and the vertically-challenged Corporal gently opened the creaky door. He was greeted by a rather startling view of Hawkeye sitting on half of the latrine facing the opposite wall. Evidently "Trapper" was taking up the other half.
"Hold on, I've got to go now, Trapper, the door opened. See you around!" Hawkeye, eyes shut, turned to the open door and actually managed to step out. Trapper had to very quickly sidestep behind the door to avoid Hawkeye crashing into him.
As Hawkeye trundled along towards the Swamp, Trapper jumped back out from behind the door. As the light was very poor, befitting the ridiculous hour at which they were all awake (or asleep in Hawkeye's case), neither Trapper nor Radar could get a good view of Hawkeye, but Trapper was sure he would in the morning.
"That was excellent, Radar. Brilliant job," Trapper said to Radar as they watched Hawkeye.
Suddenly it occurred to them that Hawkeye was incapable of opening the door of the Swamp.
"Oh, dammit!" Trapper suddenly ran across to the Swamp and quietly opened the door just before Hawkeye got there, leaving a befuddled Radar to wonder and watch.
It was a matter of seconds before Hawkeye came bumbling in. "Now, then-"
"Shhhh." Trapper took hold of him and gently but firmly forced him into his cot. Hawkeye, acting in a manner not unlike that when he was drunk, didn't argue, only mumbling the occasional "What?" and "Trapper?" Trapper pulled a blanket over Hawkeye, then surveyed him from above.
"You really are a handful, aren't you?" he muttered to himself. Shaking his head, Trapper stifled a yawn before heading over to his own cot and lying down.
While Trapper drifted to sleep, Frank let out a large snore. Unusually for Frank, it was a fake one. As soon as he was certain Trapper was dead to the world, he tiptoed out of the Swamp – no mean feat considering the complete lack of floorspace in the tent – before heading over to the 44-gallon drums at the edge of camp often used by Hawkeye and Trapper as post-drinking puking receptacles. Frank didn't even get there. He was naught more than halfway when his legs buckled and the contents of his stomach emptied themselves all over the ring road in the compound. Splat. The remains of that day's slab and "potatoes" came to rest on the gravel.
"Oh my goodness… what happened?" Frank thought to himself as he went down on his knees and his stomach continued to empty. Frank had never felt sicker in his life. It was rare for him to become ill; many negative adjectives were commonly used to describe him, but "hypochondriac" was not one of them. "How come I feel like absolute crap? I don't understand it!"
As Frank Burns persisted in throwing up, the shadowy figure of a certain vertically-challenged Corporal made his way across the compound to his office…
That was my biggest cliffhanger yet! Good or bad, I'll leave you to decide. Review! Review! Review! Don't forget, you gotta write 'em to get 'em.