- In Love And War -
Chapter Two: Welcome to Hell

The jeep screeched to a halt—it had to, since the army frowned on MPs running over doctors. I patted the hood of the jeep, which was about six inches from my thighs, and said to the two MPs in the front seats, "We'll take them from here."

They glanced uncertainly at each other. "Are you two doctors?"

Trapper and I looked incredulously at each other. "Can't you tell?" Trap demanded. I thought we looked properly doctoral with our stylish mix of olive drab and Hawaiian; add to that my cowboy hat and Trap's fishing hat, and who could doubt we were surgeons?

While he tried to persuade the MPs we were sane as well as doctors, I stepped around to the side of the jeep. "Klinger, you're looking wonderful today, as usual."

"Thank you, sir," Klinger said, accepting my hand down. "I feel a little rumpled, though. And they took my hat."

"You're the only man I know who can be shipped in a box of underwear and still look good afterwards. And you," I said, turning to the jeep's other occupant, "must be Captain Hunnicutt."

He was young, and as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as they come. I'd probably looked like that once, about a hundred years ago, when I'd first come over here and before I realized how terrible it was. He was wearing a clean and pressed dress uniform complete with a hat that shaded most of his features; he took the hat off and smiled uncertainly as he climbed out of the jeep and shook my hand. "BJ." Neatly-cut brown hair, nice blue eyes, an easy smile—handsome.

I returned the smile and firm handshake. "Hawkeye Pierce, M.D."

"Mentally deficient," Trapper explained before seamlessly continuing his conversation with the MPs.

"I'll be your host for the duration of your stay here." I grabbed BJ's bags out of the back seat, and lead him away from the jeep.

"Why 'Hawkeye'?" BJ asked.

"It's from The Last of the Mohicans, my dad's favorite book. I throw a fit whenever someone calls me anything else. What about you, what does BJ stand for?"

He smiled, still a little nervous. "Anything you want it to."

I returned the smile. "Ah-hah…I'll decide later. Trap—"

Trapper gave a loose salute to the MPs and jogged to catch up with us; Klinger hitched up his skirt and followed after, taking BJ's bags from me.

"Hullo, bunkie," Trap said cheerfully, shaking BJ's hand. "Trapper John McIntyre, at your service. BJ, right? That stand for anything?"

"Whatever you want it to," BJ said readily. Judging by the quick response time, he was asked that question a lot.

We stopped under the entry sign—"MASH 4077, Best Care Anywhere"—allowing BJ to bask in its glory. "I propose a toast," Trapper announced, pulling the enema bag of scotch from where it'd been hidden in his shirt.

"A brilliant idea!" I agreed, pulling out four martini glasses. BJ's eyes were wide with surprise, and I explained, "Scotch. Do you drink?"

"Once in a while…"

"You'll need it here," Trap said, pouring.

I distributed the glasses, and we raised them high. "To Lancelot," I proclaimed, clapping my hand on BJ's shoulder. "Welcome to Camelot." Trap, Klinger, and I downed the scotch, and BJ tried to follow suit, but ended up choking and coughing at the same time.

"Good stuff, isn't it?" Trapper asked cheerfully as he slapped BJ on the back. "Just wait'll you try the real good stuff."

The toast done, Trap and I re-stowed the goods, and I directed our company towards the main building. "Come, wayward maid and weary traveler—"

"Which one am I?" BJ interrupted, his voice still slightly hoarse from the scotch.

Trapper and I shared a quick grin. Hot-Lips and Ferret-Face didn't have a chance; this doctor had come pre-corrupted. I clapped my hand on the back of BJ's neck and giggled with pure joy. "Which one do you want to be?"

"I've never been a wayward maid before."

"Good choice," Trapper said, nodding philosophically.

Klinger leaned in close to me and whispered, "He's good stuff, Captain. He told me blue is my color."

"Well it is," I whispered back. Trapper and I pulled open the doors leading into the office. "After you, wayward maids. Radar, we have a delivery for Colonel Potter."

Radar jumped up from his seat to salute. "You must be the new surgeon, Cap'n, sir."

"Put that down, Radar," Trapper said sternly, and Radar lowered his hand from the salute.

"BJ Hunnicutt," I said, "meet Corporal Walter O'Reilly."

"Everyone calls me Radar," he said shyly with his characteristic grin and shrug combination.

BJ's head tilted slightly to the side. "Why's that?"

"Well, sometimes I know what's gonna happen before it happens. 'Scuse me, sirs—" He pushed open the door of Potter's office just as Potter bellowed, "Radar!" BJ blinked in surprise and glanced at me; I smiled reassuringly, or at least I hoped it looked reassuring.

"Klinger's back, sir," Radar said into Potter's office, "and so's the new Captain surgeon, Colonel, sir."

Potter came out of his office, and BJ came to attention with a crisp salute. Potter took pity on the poor boy and returned the salute. "Colonel Potter. You must be Captain Hunnicutt."

"Yes sir."

"We found him wandering around outside," Trapper said.

"Lost and cold and alone," I added.

"And in this place, you never know what could happen to a handsome guy like him."

"All the ravenous nurses…"

"I was thinking more the ravenous doctors."

"Can we keep him, Dad?" I begged Potter. "Please, please, please? Just look at those eyes…who could say no to those eyes?" Those eyes darted around a little nervously above an uncertain smile.

"Can it, Pierce."

"Canning, sir."

"Radar, you'd better—"

"I'd better go get Majors Burns and Houlihan and Father Mulcahy, yessir," Radar said as he headed out the door.

"Hunnicutt, I'll be with you in a minute. Klinger, step into my office…"

Once Potter and Klinger had gone behind closed doors and out of earshot, Trapper warned BJ, "Prepare yourself."

"For what?" he asked worriedly.

Poetically, I said, "For the Majors Disaster."

"Or the major disasters," Trap amended.

"Interchangeable," I agreed.

"Ferret-Face and Hot-Lips."

BJ tried to suppress a grin, and failed. "I…take it they're not exactly well-liked?"

"Understatement of the century," Trapper said dramatically. "Frank Burns—"

"Ferret-Face," I explained.

"—is a bumbling incompetent."

"And that's putting it nicely."

"Is he a surgeon?" BJ asked.

Trap and I exchanged glances, and he said, "We're not sure."

"I, personally, think he should have been drafted as General MacArthur's personal thumb-sucker."

BJ grinned, a little lopsided like Trapper's. "And the other major?"

I smiled nostalgically up at the ceiling. "Ah, Margaret Houlihan—"

"Hot-Lips," Trapper added with a suggestive grin.

"—is sex on legs."

"Or legs on sex."

I frowned at Trapper. "That doesn't always work, you know."

"It makes sense to me," he said defensively.

"That's because you're an idiot."

"Oh yeah. I forgot."

"They're both regular army."

"By-the-book."

"Whistles and whips."

Trap grinned at me. "I like that."

"Thank you." And back to BJ: "We, and now you, have the misfortune of having to share a tent with Burns. It's not pretty—"

"—but it makes for cheap entertainment," Trapper finished.

BJ was looking a little overwhelmed—and I couldn't say that I blamed him—but he managed a smile. "I take it you two keep life interesting around here?"

Trap shrugged. "We do our best."

"There's only so much one can do with what little we have, and so little of much to do it with."

"Are you sure you're not the idiot?" Trapper asked me.

"I thought you drew the short sausage today."

"Oh yeah. I forgot."

The doors were flung open, and Frank and Margaret came trooping in, followed by Radar and Father. BJ saluted to them—Trap and I would have to cure him of that habit, soon. "Hello, Frank," Trap said.

"Don't you wish," Frank sneered.

Margaret shuffled towards BJ with a flirtatious grin. "Captain Hunnicutt, I presume…?"

"Yes, ma'am." BJ gave her a winning smile. "But I'd appreciate it if you called me BJ."

Her grin widened, and I could practically see the stars dancing in her eyes. "I'm Major Houlihan—Margaret Houlihan, Head Nurse. And I welcome you on behalf of all the nurses of MASH 4077."

"Which half?" Trapper asked innocently.

Margaret glared at us, and said in a very loud undertone to BJ, "I hope these two pranksters haven't given you the wrong impression of our organization here."

"Not at all," BJ said with a reassuring smile. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he winked back.

I leaned over and whispered to Trapper, "I think I'm in love."

"You always were a sucker for blue eyes."

Frank finally took the initiative and stepped forward, tiny chin all aquiver. "Captain, I'm Major Frank Burns, and it's a pleasure to have you here. The 4077th is always ready to accept new members—"

"Since it takes an increasing amount of people to make up for your incompetency," I finished helpfully. When Frank swung to glare at me, I twiddled my fingers cheerfully at him.

Klinger trudged out of the office, even his nose drooping sadly. Potter followed behind him, shaking his head. I reached out to pat Klinger's shoulder comfortingly on his way by. "Keep trying, soldier," I said encouragingly.

"How can you promote something as twisted as what he's doing?" Frank demanded. "It's disgusting."

"It's no more disgusting than anything else in this war, Frank," I said.

To BJ, Frank said in a confidential whisper, "He's not one of us."

" 'All the people like us are we, and everyone else is They'," I quoted, and BJ looked over at me with surprise and appreciation.

"Kipling."

"Very good," I said with a grin. So he wasn't just another pretty face…

Klinger stopped in front of BJ to salute. "It was nice to meet you, Captain."

"Nice to meet you, too, Corporal," BJ said with a smile. He had a very ready smile, BJ—and it was certainly a nice smile. A very nice smile.

"Can I take your bags to your tent, sir?"

"Thank you, Corporal."

"Out, Klinger," Potter commanded, and Klinger hefted BJ's bags and left the office.

Potter led us all into his office, and I started for the liquor cabinet again, but Potter blocked my way. "You already stole enough scotch from me," he said sternly.

"We shared it with you," I pointed out.

"It was mine to begin with!"

"Fine," I said, tossing my head and turning away to lean against a filing cabinet. BJ was given one of the room's two chairs, and Margaret claimed the other; Frank stood behind her, Trap stood next to me, Father Mulcahy perched on the edge of a table, and Radar hovered near the doors trying to look officious.

"Well, Captain," Potter said, "I assume you've met the whole gang by now."

"I don't believe I got the chance to introduce myself yet, Colonel," Father said, and leaned forward to shake BJ's hand. "Francis John Patrick Mulcahy, chaplain. I do all different kinds of services—"

"Later, padre.

"Oh, of course, Colonel. Forgive me."

"Now, Hunnicutt—things are pretty loose around here, so as long as you keep your nose clean and don't get into too much trouble, we'll get along just fine. To that effect, I'd advise you to keep a safe distance from Captains Pierce and McIntyre."

"Colonel, that's not fair," Trapper protested.

"No, no, I think he's right, Trap. We're bad news."

"But we're loads of fun."

"Well, that's true," I agreed.

"And we throw some great parties."

"We do, don't we?"

"And," Trapper said to BJ in his most persuasive voice, "we have cookies."

BJ tried to keep a straight face. "I do like cookies." Margaret and Frank both looked over at him in alarm.

"Colonel!" Frank shouted. "Are you just going to stand there and—and let these two degenerates corrupt Captain Hunnicutt?"

"And just what would you like me to do, Major?" Potter demanded.

"Well I don't know, you're the commanding officer."

"That's right I am, Burns, and don't you forget it! I give the orders here, not you!"

I almost giggled again.

"Now that we have that settled," Potter continued, still glaring at a cowering Frank, "I've gotten word that we'll be getting casualties in soon. Our boys as well as some North Koreans. Hunnicutt, why don't you go change out of those frills and bangles—no use destroying that nice uniform your first day here."

"We'll show you to the Swamp," I said quickly, and Trap and I hurried forward to drag BJ up from his chair before Margaret could think of some excuse to claim him. Once safely outside, I informed BJ, "We were going to get you nice and drunk…"

"But the army doesn't like it when we operate drunk," Trapper finished sadly.

BJ said with just the right touch of sarcasm, "I can't imagine why."

"Neither can we," I said glibly, opening the door of the Swamp. "That's your small and uncomfortable bunk over there. That one is Frank's—if you have any sort of trash, feel free to throw it there."

"The maid hasn't been in to clean yet," Trapper explained, seeing how BJ was looking around. "She should be here in about ten years."

"Or at the end of the war, whichever comes first."

BJ's eyes settled on the still, and his eyebrows rose. "Is that…what I think it is?"

"It is indeed," I said proudly. "A good old non-army-regulation still. Creates a tonic for all occasions, guaranteed to destroy all five senses."

"We'd offer you some, but…"

"I think I'll take a rain check," BJ said, switching his dress uniform for fatigues.

"Good choice," I said, gazing appreciatively at his bare back before he pulled on his olive drab t-shirt. Trapper rolled his eyes at me. "We wouldn't want to kill you before you got the chance to operate."

And then it came—the whir of the choppers overhead, and Trap and I were already halfway out the door before the announcement came over the loudspeaker: "Incoming wounded again, folks. Both shifts to the O.R. It's gonna be a long night."

"C'mon, BJ," I called. "We're on!"

TBC