Aha! Chapter 7 awaits you! My thanks to all who read this story and send reviews; I checked my email after a week and a half of having Screwed-Up Internet and there, in amongst all the crap I get, were reviews! Reviews, children! How joyous!
Thanks again for reviews. Gripes have been noted.
Note: You know how I said this was a Non-Slash Story a few chapters back? Well I shall broaden that to a Non-Lots-of-Romantic-Activity Story. I hate romance. Yes, there'll be affection and whatnot, but I'll leave the romance to those best adept at writing it. Anyhow, on with the show…
Chapter 7 (strangely enough)"That's it!" Trapper announced excitedly.
"What's it, sir?" mumbled a bewildered Radar.
"I think I've just figured out how Hawkeye and Frank might have gotten sick."
"Erm… I didn't know you did much thinking, sir."
"Mmmm, normally not, but you know, desperate times and all that."
"I see, sir. How?"
"The food."
It all seemed so obvious to Trapper, so simple, not unlike a difficult riddle one ponders for days and then laughs at when the answer is reached. How could he not have seen this sooner?
"You know how shoddy a cook Igor is, he must have poisoned it with something."
Radar didn't want to believe that, partly due to his knowledge of the availability of poison (you needed a damn good reason and he didn't know anyone with one), partly due to his almost complete lack of understanding of the whole situation, and partly due to his disbelief that anyone would want to do something like that. He knew that there were some fairly shady people around the 4077th who'd do anything to get rid of a few others, but poisoning them…?
"Uh, sir, I've got some, er, stuff to do. I'll see you later." Radar quickly got up and made his way to the door of the Swamp, satisfied that Trapper could hold his own glass and wishing to get out of the conversation.
"All right. But Radar?" called Trapper as Radar stuck one foot out the door.
"Yes… Trapper?"
"Would you be able to help me track down whoever did this? I won't be able to do all this thinking on my own."
For the first time, a smile crept onto Radar's face, something Trapper couldn't help but emulate.
"I'd be honoured, sir." Radar would have saluted if he hadn't known Trapper would throttle him for it, and headed back to his office. The time was three a.m. Knowing the camp was in sleep mode, he decided he'd follow them to the Land of Nod. He looked around; there was no one else in sight. Radar was silently thankful that nothing had occurred that night in the way of sleepwalking doctors or vomiting surgeons. He reached his bed in a minute and fell asleep shortly thereafter.
Trapper looked at the Still wistfully, almost as if it were a good hour to have a drink. Usually, any hour counted as a good hour… but there were only four hours of guaranteed sleep left in the night and he wanted to make the most of them. God only knew what would be in store for them all the next day.
In one swift movement Trapper collapsed onto his bed with an almighty creak and fell asleep almost instantly. It had been a hell of a long day.
For the first time he could remember, Trapper woke up without the company of the Swamp rats. To say he didn't miss Frank would be a huge understatement; on the contrary, he almost hoped he wouldn't come back. Hawkeye, however, was a different kettle of fish.
"Damn food, look what it's done to us," Trapper muttered as he got dressed. "I mean, I couldn't care less about Frank, but Hawkeye…" He was thankful Hawkeye wasn't as seriously ill as Frank; he didn't think he could handle that.
Rat-tat-tat. A knock at the door.
"Anyone with bad news gets a guaranteed appendectomy," called out Trapper.
Radar opened the door. Trapper wasn't displeased to see him; he hoped Radar hadn't forgotten about their agreement the previous night.
"Uh, sir-"
"Trapper."
"Right. Uh, Trapper, I've managed to find another doctor to replace Hawkeye. His name is Captain James McCulloch and he will be arriving at oh-nine-hundred-hours."
Well, that was small comfort… "Only one?"
Radar nodded his head. "I'm afraid so, Trapper, he was the only one free."
Trapper thanked Radar and sent him on his way. Though the 4077th was still in desperate need of more surgeons, three was a damn sight better than two.
"Well, I can't stay in here all day, I've got to get moving," he thought, as he opened the door and headed over to the Mess Tent to grab some (preferably non-poisoned) "food."
Trapper sat at the end of the trestle table, playing around with the liver and onions on his tray that he had little intention of eating. He wore an expression many had described as "the most miserable known to man."
"Even the nurses aren't as interesting," thought Trapper. "Without Hawkeye, I mean… there's no fun in it. It was never just Hawkeye, or just me, it was always me and Hawkeye. Now it's just me with no Hawkeye and no Frank to annoy…"
Trapper put his head in his hands. He sniffled softly. "Damn it, Trapper, you're supposed to be strong, now stop it," he told himself. "Crying will get you nowhere." He hoped with all his might that Hawkeye would recover… if he didn't it was going to be a hell of a long war…
"Are you all right, Captain McIntyre?"
There was only one woman in the camp who even bothered calling him Captain. Major Margaret Houlihan.
Margaret sat down with her tray in her hands. She, like nearly everyone else, had never seen Trapper so morose and downhearted.
He replied, "Yeah, I'm fine," without looking up from his tray of uneaten liver and onions.
Margaret deduced that Trapper was so depressed about the state of his best friend he hadn't even bothered to lie about it. "No, really, McIntyre, are you all right?"
Trapper looked up. "You're the nurse, Major; you should be able to tell." He spoke in a brusque, offhand manner more typical of Hawkeye, but in a sullen fashion rarely seen from either. "Do I look all right to you?"
"No, you don't, but I didn't mean to upset you." Margaret spoke in the calming, soothing tone of voice she used with agitated patients. In a rare display of affection from the Major, she laid a hand over his shoulders.
Trapper had by now worked himself into such a state he almost didn't notice Margaret's gesture, only realising when she pulled him closer. He subconsciously moved towards a source of warmth and comfort as he started to cry.
Margaret sat at the end of that trestle table comforting Trapper, who was now sobbing openly. He'd always been the one she went to when she needed comfort most (excluding Frank, who was never too crash-hot at it anyway, she realised) and she felt it was time to return the favour. There had always been something tucked away in the depths of her heart for Trapper, but she had never allowed herself to bring it to the surface. This time, however, instinct took over. Her instincts told her Trapper needed support and she was willing to give it.
"Attention all surgical personnel. Report to operating room. Incoming casualties arriving by chopper, ambulance, and jeep. It's gonna be a big one, folks."
"Shit," Trapper muttered, between tears. How the hell was he supposed to keep operating in a state like this? Plus a new doctor he hadn't even met and a big load…
When the incoming wounded announcement rang out across the camp, Captain James McCulloch had only just arrived. Like most new arrivals, he looked very neat and tidy, with a wish to make a good impression. However, standing in the middle of the compound with his bags by his side wasn't going to achieve that too quickly.
"Geez, I hope I'm all right… this MASH has the best efficiency rate this side of the 38th parallel, and I'm replacing their best surgeon…" His mates in Tokyo had congratulated him on getting such a great posting: Hawkeye's surgical prowess was known all over Korea. James was only sorry he wouldn't be able to see him in action.
"Captain McCulloch?"
James shook his head. Radar had run across to meet him, he alone remembering the new doctor's arrival.
"Er, yes, that's me, sir." He saluted out of habit.
"I'm Corporal O'Reilly… you're needed in surgery, sir." Radar picked up his bags and ran to the VIP tent.
James stood, bewildered…
"Oh, right, surgery. Come on James, you fool, make a good impression!" he told himself as he approached the nearest ambulance.
Thankfully, that O.R. session passed without incident, though it dragged on for seven hours. James worked as best he could, given he wasn't used to the fast pace, earning praise from Houlihan. She had assigned herself to James in order to keep an eye on him and assess his abilities. In the end, she was pleasantly surprised, Not a patch on Hawkeye, of course, but good enough to have earned his stripes.
Trapper returned to the Swamp to find James sitting on Frank's bunk. Evidently Radar had moved his things over.
"Aha," Trapper exclaimed, by way of greeting. "I take it you're Captain McCulloch?"
"Call me James," he replied, standing up to shake Trapper's hand. "Captain McIntyre, I presume?"
"Call me Trapper." He shook James' hand warmly, instantly taking a liking to this new doctor. James was well-built, about 5' 8" with straight brown hair and cat-green eyes that were lit up like a Christmas tree. He'll be an instant hit with the nurses, Trapper mused…
"Can I offer you some lighter fluid?" he asked, motioning to the Still.
"Why not?" replied James. Trapper went and poured two glasses. James, being used to this sort of thing, barely grimaced at the taste.
"Well, James, I'm sorry that was your introduction to the 4077th," remarked Trapper, as the two sat down on their bunks. Noting his confused look, he added, "The surgery."
"Ah, I see. Well, I tried, and the nurse aiding me seemed satisfied…"
"Which nurse was it?" asked Trapper, making conversation.
"Erm… I think it was a Nurse Houlihan…"
Trapper spluttered. Houlihan? Praise? What the? "Are you sure it was Major Houlihan?"
"Yeah, she introduced herself… Major, eh?... Well, she seemed to like my work…"
"Major Houlihan giving praise is as rare as progress in peace talks! What did you do?" asked Trapper, quite impressed.
James seemed at a loss. "My job. That's all!"
"Well, you've seem to be going all right! I bet you'll fit right in," said Trapper, who once again noticed James' eyes light up.
Rat-tat-tat. A knock at the door.
"Come in," called James. It was Radar.
"Captain McIntyre, er, Colonel Blake wants to see you now, sir."
"All right Radar. James, I'll see you around, ok?"
"See you!" James was still beaming when Trapper closed the door.
Trapper and Radar opened the door to Henry's office. Henry himself was sitting in his chair with his head in his hands, a half-empty bottle of scotch next to him. Trapper was sure that bottle had been full on his last visit.
"Sir?"
Henry looked up, eyes bloodshot and dried tears down his cheeks.
"We got the new doctor?" he whispered. When Trapper nodded, Henry's head slid out of his hands and onto the desk. "We have three working doctors… three… we're saved!"
Trapper approached the desk. "Henry? You all right there?"
Henry looked up. "Apart from two of my doctors being sick with no known reason, lots of wounded and the fact this scotch tastes worse than your lighter fluid and doesn't get me drunk… yeah, I'm just dandy."
"What can I do for you, Henry?"
Henry snapped awake. "Do for me? Did I call for you?" He shook his head. "Must have done. Eh, if you can find any effective alcohol, let me know. And NOT that lighter fluid you and Haw… Hawk… Pierce drink so much."
"Okay, Henry. My eyes are peeled." Trapper and Radar both took that opportunity to quietly back out of the door.
"Will Colonel Blake be all right, sir?" asked Radar as they walked through the compound, going nowhere in particular.
"Let's hope so… the last thing we need is Henry cracking, we have enough crackpot surgeons here already…"
Mwahahahaha!
The two jumped at this sudden laugh. Many of the personnel in the compound at the time also jumped and looked toward Post-Op.
Trapper glanced at Radar. "I better see what the hell that was," he shouted as he burst through the Post-Op door.
All the patients were fixated on the happenings at the far end of the ward. Frank, who hadn't moved a muscle – or woken up for that matter – since Trapper saw him last, laid in the shadows. Standing above him, Hawkeye bared his teeth in a wolf-like fashion. He brought down his arm, letting a brilliant glimmer of light strike the scalpel in his hand…
Scalpel in his hand!
Hee hee hee! I worked overtime to get this finished… yes cliffhanger isn't brilliant, but I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 8 coming soon… Don't forget, you gotta write 'em to get 'em. And some of you don't have stories for me to review! Dammit! (Yes, I know some do, and I SHALL review. Scouts' honour. :P)