Hello again! Welcome to the big, bad world of Chapter 8! Firstly, the ubiquitous (but entirely necessary) thanking of reviewers. A large hello also to Sporky, whose full name would take up about three lines. :D Post reviews, Sporky! Post! ahem

Chapter 8. Nothing more, nothing less.

Note: Anyhow…there might be a bit of bad language in this chapter (Sporky, please don't kill me). If not, consider yourselves conned.

Scalpel…what the hell's he doing with a scalpel!

Trapper raced down the end of the ward and, without regard for the other patients or his own well-being, crash-tackled Hawkeye to the ground.

"Radar… sedatives… NOW!" Radar hurried off, mumbling a "yes, sir" as he left. Trapper pinned Hawkeye to the floor of the Post-Op Ward, wrenching the scalpel out of Hawkeye's grasp with one hand and covering his mouth with the other.

"Hawkeye! Shush! Quieten down!"

Trapper held his hand firmly over Hawkeye's mouth until the sick doctor relented and gave up struggling. His eyes remained narrowed with anger… but at what?

He removed his hand. Hawkeye looked up into Trapper's soft brown eyes. His own widened as he slowly realised he was no longer standing over Frank with a scalpel in his hand.

"Trap…Trapper?"

Called the man, "Where the hell is-"

"I brought those sedatives, sir." Radar had, as usual, appeared out of nowhere.

"Brilliant," muttered Trapper under his breath. Hawkeye had enough sense left in him to recognise a needle filled with sedatives; at the sight, he attempted to let out a scream before Trapper once again clamped his mouth shut. Trapper gently closed his eyes as he slid the needle into Hawkeye's arm. He went limp in an instant. Trapper then laid Hawkeye down next to Frank, as he always had. Those were damn powerful sedatives, Trapper told himself, so he isn't likely to wake again soon. Even if he does, he'll only attack Frank, who's had it coming a long time.

"Do you need anything else, Trapper?"

"What? Oh, shit," he muttered. He'd quite forgotten Radar was there.

"I need a miracle, Radar, but I don't suppose you could get me one of those."

"Erm… sorry, no can do. If there's anything else let me know."

"Will do, Radar."

Radar trotted out the door, doubtless having more paperwork to bury himself in. As Trapper walked out the Post-Op door, he felt his eyes prick with tears.

"Fucking hell, Trapper, you are a SURGEON. You are a DOCTOR. Doctors don't cry. Doctors don't mellow in their self-pity. You will pull though this, and so will Hawkeye," he muttered sternly to himself. Without stopping to look at anyone, he burst through the door of the Swamp and all but fell on his bed, his eyes closed. James looked up, alarmed.

"Hey, Trapper, are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

Trapper turned to face James, sporting the same bloodshot eyes as Henry. He tried to sputter something coherent, but failed.

"Hey, uh… do you know who that scream was? It was pretty loud…"

James knew even as he asked the question that he'd said something wrong. Trapper's face crumpled, and he buried his face in his sleeve.

"Trapper…"

Trapper mumbled something incoherent into his shirt. James leant over towards him.

"Trapper, what's wrong?"

Trapper lifted his head, eyes filled with tears. "Hawkeye," he managed to croak out before wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"Shit," thought James. "I barely know anything about Hawkeye's illness, other than that he's crook and lying in Post-Op and that I'm replacing him."

He asked, in a voice little more than a whisper, "What happened to him?"

"I don't know! That's the problem! He only fell sick two days ago! I know Frank's got gastro, though how he got it remains to be seen. But Hawkeye I don't know about! One day he's chirpy, fantastic, as normal, the next he's talking to latrine walls at three in the morning!" Trapper burst out. He realised what he'd said and started to sob, again, into his sleeve.

James got up and sat on the end of Trapper's cot. "Maybe I can help you find out."

Trapper slowly sat up, taking in what James had said. "Really!" asked he, in an excited tone that belied his current mental state. "That's the best thing I've heard all day. You have no idea how wonderful that makes me feel!"

"Really. I want to help," James replied casually, taking a good look at Trapper in the process. His cheeks were caked with dried tears; he looked as if he'd aged three years in a day. "This guy's a mess," thought James. "Trapper's gonna need all the help he can get."

"I suppose you want to know what happened," Trapper said, his eyes clouding over at the thought.

"That would greatly aid our investigations," countered James, with a hint of a smile.

In any other situation, Trapper would most likely have grinned. This time, eyes still clouded, he began his story.

Trapper told James everything he knew. Everything from that morning in the Mess Tent mocking the food to Hawkeye's scalpel-wielding antics barely fifteen minutes before. No detail was left out; Trapper was careful to include everything in order for James to understand.

"Wow," remarked James after the elder doctor had finished his story. There wasn't much else he could say. Trapper's story was enough to amaze even the most dull-minded of listeners.

"That's right. No wonder this camp is falling to bits." replied Trapper. "Are you sure you can help?"

"I'm sure. I don't know if we'll find out for certain, but I know I can help."

This time, Trapper grinned. Thankfully, he thought, James has a sense of humour, which we can all do with.

They sat in silence for a few moments, still grinning, when a thought struck Trapper.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, startling James.

"What is it, Trapper?"

"I've just remembered something," Trapper replied urgently. "Dr. Pierce needs to be told."

"Hawkeye's father, I assume?"

"The one and only." Trapper's face was grim. "I promised Hawkeye that if anything ever happened…" That was as far as he got before once again his sleeve became a handkerchief. Thanks again for your offer, James."

"No worries, Trapper." James gave a little wave as Trapper stood up and went out the door.

Trapper didn't even bother knocking on Henry's door before barging in. To his surprise, the scotch bottle was gone (most likely finished off, he thought) and a cup of ersatz coffee replaced it. He was staring at some papers on his desk and seemed to have been about to call for Radar.

"Oh. McIntyre, what do you want?" he asked, with the slightest slur to his words.

Said Trapper, in a hurry, "Someone needs to call Dr. Pierce."

Henry sat up in his chair in an instant; this was evidently something he hadn't thought of. "Ooh, yes, that would make sense… Trapper, get Ra-"

"You called for me, sir?"

"No, I didn't, but Trapper was about to. Listen, Radar, we need to patch a call though to Hawkeye's dad."

Radar's eyes widened; he hadn't thought of this either, but immediately mumbled "yes, sir" and rushed back into his office.

He picked up the phone. "HQ Seoul."

"Hey Sparky, it's Radar."

"Radar! How are you?"

"Doing lots of work at the moment, but I'll be okay. Now, I need to put a call through to a, uh, Dr. Daniel Pierce, of Crabapple Cove, Maine."

"Can do, buddy. Just connecting."

Radar waited as Sparky put him through. After ten minutes he heard, "Dr. Pierce on the line."

"Thanks, Sparky." He put the phone down. From Henry's office, Radar could be heard to shout, "Dr. Pierce on the line, sir!"

"All right, who's going to talk to Dr. Pierce?" asked Trapper.

The twosome looked at each other. Henry's shoulders slumped. "I suppose it's my job, since I'm his CO, but hang on Trapper," he called as Trapper edged away from the desk. "Dr. Pierce may want to talk to you and I'd like you at hand."

"Plus to tell you what to say to Dr. Pierce." Trapper added.

"That too," admitted Henry sheepishly.

Trapper's stomach was filled with butterflies, knowing that 6,000 miles away a phone would be ringing, bringing with it some very bad news.

……ooooooOOOOOOoooooo……

In a small stone house in Crabapple Cove, Maine, Daniel Pierce sat on the sofa. Silence permeated the house, as per usual, as he sat reading. He was reading one of Hawkeye's letters, the happy ones that brightened his day immeasurably. He always looked forward to his son's letters and treated them like gold, recounting the stories therein to anyone who would listen. Daniel almost felt as if he knew the 4077th already, with Hawkeye's tales of mischief, monotony and -

Rrrrring.

Daniel jumped. "Yikes, who could that be?" he thought, as he got up to answer the phone.

"Hello, Daniel Pierce speaking."

"Hello, this is Seoul HQ, you have an incoming call from the 4077th MASH."

"All right then," replied Daniel, quite puzzled. The only reason he could think of for the 4077th to be ringing him was if something terrible had happened… He tried to put that out of his mind.

"Hello, this is Lt. Col. Henry Blake, commanding officer of the MASH 4077th," began Henry, sounding remarkably professional for a decidedly non-professional man. Trapper suspected Radar had drilled this into his head a thousand times.

"Hello, Col. Blake, what can I do for you today?"

"Dr. Pierce, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Daniel paused, anxious. "What news?" he replied, his voice lowered.

Henry lowered the phone. "What do I say?" he whispered urgently.

"Oh for Pete's sake, Henry, I'll do it," said Trapper as he picked up the phone.

"Sorry about that, Dr. Pierce, this is Captain John McIntyre. Col. Blake is, er, indisposed at the moment." He was secretly proud he'd used a word like 'indisposed.'

"As in Trapper McIntyre?"

"The very same."

"Listen, Col. Blake mentioned something about bad news… what did he mean?"

Trapper paused. He wasn't sure how quite to word it, but it needed to be said.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Pierce, Hawkeye has come down with an illness. We aren't quite sure what it is yet, or how he got it. He's fainted twice and has also been hallucinating quite severely."

A pause.

"Did you say, 'We aren't quite sure what it is'?"

Trapper replied, "Yes, I did. We – and by that I mean myself and Captain McCulloch, your son's replacement – haven't got any idea as to how he fell sick, or indeed what he is sick with."

"What are his symptoms?" Daniel was trying his best not to be nosy, merely helpful.

"Fainting, hallucinations, fever, that sort of thing. Do you have any idea?"

"Sad to say I don't. I wish you luck in diagnosis."

"Thankyou, Dr. Pierce, we're going to need it… If anything happens, I will be sure to let you know."

"Thankyou, Captain. I appreciate your call." The phone went dead.

Daniel set the phone down. He knew he needed a few moments for it all to sink in… his son with a mystery hallucinogenic ailment no one knew the identity of… He shook his head; he had the utmost faith in these doctors, they were bound to find the cause soon…

Trapper set the phone down. That hadn't gone as badly as he'd thought; on the contrary, Daniel Pierce had seemed quite calm and composed on being told his son had an illness the best MASH in South Korea couldn't identify.

"How did that go?" asked Henry, who had turned slightly red.

"Quite well, considering," Trapper replied. "Hopefully we won't have to ring with any more bad news for him."

"Amen to that," Henry agreed. "Can I offer you a drink?"

"I can't stop you," quipped Trapper. "All right, yeah, I'll take one."

Henry went to the cupboard, took out a bottle of scotch (a new one, Trapper noticed, confirming his earlier suspicion that Henry had finished off an entire bottle by himself) and poured two glasses.

"To our doctors getting well," declared Henry, as he raised his glass.

"To Hawkeye getting well," replied Trapper. After Henry glared at him, Trapper muttered, "And Frank too, I suppose."

The two clinked glasses. Trapper was just about to take a sip when –

"Attention all personnel. Incoming casualties. Report immediately to admitting ward and operating room on the double!"

"Dammit," Trapper and Henry curiously muttered at the same time as both leapt out of their chairs and rushed outside to greet the new arrivals.

At full strength, this load of casualties would only have taken five hours at most. With just three surgeons, and James inexperienced at that, the O.R. session seemed to all to drag on endlessly. When at last Klinger shouted "No more casualties, sirs!" doctors and nurses alike breathed a huge collective sigh of relief.

"Thank God that's over," declared Henry as the three surgeons scrubbed down.

"Amen," replied James. Trapper remained conspicuously silent, but the other two knew better than to pressure him into making conversation. When Henry left to "re-acquaint myself with a good friend," as he put it, Trapper and James exchanged knowing looks and set off for the Swamp. Neither knew what the time was; the fact it was dark and had been for some hours now meant it was sleep-hours to these two.

"We'll start investigating tomorrow, okay?" asked Trapper.

"Can do," replied James, eager as always.

"Brilliant. I've already got a few hunches," he said as they stumbled into the Swamp. Trapper and James bade each other good night (or "good morning" as James worded it, given the hour of night) and both collapsed, exhausted on their beds. James fell asleep almost instantly.

"Oooh, how I envy you," Trapper muttered, surveying James' sleeping form. "If I got to sleep as quickly as you I'd be a much, much happier man." Realising that his muttering was, in fact, preventing him drifting off, he quickly stopped and made himself comfortable.

Late that night, or early that morning, Trapper had a dream…

……ooooooOOOOOOoooooo……

To be continued…

:P Details in the Ethereal Chapter 9! Have to put a cliffy in there, keep you reading! Anyhow, I hope you liked it! Please review! Don't forget, you gotta write 'em to get 'em. :D If any of you have stories that need reviews, post their names along with your comments. Thanks!