I promised myself I'd make this chapter shorter, but…well, as you can see, that didn't quite happen. sigh I'm a long-winded and flowery writer. Next chapter will be shorter, Girl Scout's Honor.
Five chapters left after this one!
- In Love And War -
Chapter Thirty-Three: Mail Call
"Mail, sirs!" Radar announced brightly as he strolled into the Swamp.
"Don't you ever knock?" Charles demanded.
I swung my legs over the side of my bunk to sit up. "Shut up, Winchester. He's the bearer of good news." It'd been three weeks since we'd last gotten mail, and everyone was feeling slightly cut-off from the world. "What've you got, Radar?"
"A whole load a letters for you, sir," the kid said, handing me said load—a whole, wonderful bundle of letters, mostly from Dad. Giggling with joy, I cracked open the first one.
"Got a lot for you, too, BJ." Radar wove his way through the clutter to hand BJ a stack of envelopes similar to mine. "Lots from your wife."
"Thanks," BJ said softly, taking the letters from Radar and setting them aside. Where once he would have read each letter five times by the end of the day, he now waited hours—or even days—before so much as opening a letter addressed from Peg. He wouldn't say why, but I guessed it was some form of guilt. He was, at heart, still a good, honest man, despite all I'd done to corrupt him—it probably hurt, reading all the loving things his wife wrote to him when he knew he'd be going home to break her heart.
"Is Trapper around?" Radar asked, pulling a smaller bundle of envelopes out of his mailbag.
"We folded him up and packed him away for the night," BJ said, at almost the same moment as I said, "He's in his coffin." We grinned at each other, and Radar rolled his eyes.
"Well, d'you know where he is?"
"I think he said something about a nurse, the supply tent, and something that would probably make your head explode if I said it out loud."
"D'you know when he'll be back?" Radar asked, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
"What's the big deal? Just leave his mail on his bed like always, he'll read it when he gets back."
Radar shook his head violently, slightly skewing his glasses. "I gotta give him somethin' in person."
"What kind of something?" BJ asked with only mild interest.
"Can you sirs keep a secret, sirs?"
"Radar, that you even have to ask that disappoints me."
"He's right, Radar," BJ said. "You should know by now that Hawkeye can never keep a secret."
"But tell us anyway."
His eyes darted around the tent, and the he dug around in his mailbag, half-pulling out an official army envelope. "See? I gotta give this to him—it's army!"
"What's it say, Radar?" I asked, intrigued now. Mail from the army usually wasn't good—the last letter I'd gotten from them had sent me over here. Case in point.
"Well, I wouldn't know about things like that, sir, and even if I did know, I wouldn't want you to know I knew, you know?
I blinked at him, blinked at BJ, then shook my head and said, "Radar, you know Trapper and I are basically the same person. Giving me a letter is like giving him a letter, so give me that letter and I'll give it to him."
"I can't, sir!" Radar screeched, aghast.
"Yes, you can. It's easy. Pull it out of that pretty little bag of yours and put it in these pretty little hands of mine."
"Careful, Pierce," Charles murmured, sounding amused. "There are some who might mistake that statement as hinting at something the army greatly disapproves of."
"Charles!" I exclaimed, as aghast as Radar now. BJ laughed softly, and I glared at him; he gave me an innocent smile.
"Corporal," Charles drawled, "my mail? Please?"
"Oh, sure, sir," Radar said quickly, pulling out a few letters from his bag and handing them over to Charles.
The major stared expectantly at Radar, who stared back with innocent confusion; Charles prompted, "The rest of it…?"
"That's all there is, sir."
For a brief moment, Charles's face fell, anguish passing across his features. "Four letters? That's it?"
"Yessir."
Charles pulled himself back together quickly, sneering at Radar. "Leave, corporal."
"Charles—" I started.
"Out!"
Radar scampered away, eyes wide and frightened.
"Oh, very nice, Winchester," I snarled. "Listen, just because you're angry doesn't mean you have to take it out on Radar, the poor kid never did anything to you."
"There is nothing to 'take out', as you so quaintly put it. And now, Pierce, you will kindly remove your nose from my business and your presence from my vicinity!"
"Let it go, Hawk," BJ said calmly, before I could hurl a rude response at Winchester. For some reason—probably just a fluke in his sunny personality—BJ seemed not to dislike Winchester as much as Trapper and I. And even stranger, the undislike seemed to be returned by Winchester. They could tolerate each other. BJ bridged the gap that no one wanted bridged.
"You might consider heeding your friend, Pierce. He, unlike you, obviously has more sense than sack of rocks."
"Winchester," BJ said patiently, though with a dangerous, protective note in his voice, "you might also consider heeding me, before I decide it might be better for everyone to not stop Hawkeye from ripping one of your arms off and whacking you over the head with it."
"Cretins," Charles mumbled, glaring as he pushed himself up off his bunk and stomped outside.
"He deserves to be hit over the head with his own arm," I said to BJ.
"Yes, he does," BJ agreed. "But get someone else to do it. I'd rather not see you thrown in prison for the next ten years—that would sort of ruin those plans we spent so much time making. Come on—regale me with news from home."
I smiled down at the letter in my hands. BJ had been trying to learn everything there was to learn about Crabapple Cove, and lately, he'd started calling it "home."
After reading Dad's vivid description of a small banquet Crabapple Cove had thrown in my honor (apparently, I'd been in Korea for two years now (not that I hadn't been dyeing a strand of hair grey for every day I was away from home)), I discovered that I was ravenously hungry. It seemed that I was also in the mood for the dry heaves or dysentery, depending on which meat-of-the-day (the mentioned day being one at least twenty years ago) I chose. I picked at the food until my stomach threatened to go on strike, and then I wandered back towards the Swamp and the dozen or so more letters awaiting me.
Through the mesh of the Swamp's walls, I could see that Chaa'les had returned and was sitting on the edge of his bunk; I could also see BJ, leaning on Winchester's writing desk, talking to him—actually talking, like you'd talk to a real person. That in itself was disturbing enough, so I took a slight detour to come at the Swamp from a different angle, so I could crouch out of sight of them but close enough to hear what they were saying. And, crazy as it may seem, it sounded like BJ was comforting Charles.
"…down to it, we're all alone here," BJ was saying.
"You're not," Charles accused, though his voice didn't have that normal self-assured, self-important tone I'd become used to. "You have Pierce and McIntyre. I have no one. My own sister writes me only one letter in the span of three weeks. I've been completely cut off from the world, and those upon whom I would rely to pull me from the abyss have already given me up as dead. There's no way out of this hell, and I don't even have anyone to…to pal around with."
I could hear the gentle smile in BJ's voice when he asked, "Charles, what is it you think we're doing right now? If you're feeling cut off, you need to make new connections."
"New connections?" Winchester repeated with a snobbish laugh. "With who?"
"If you stop acting like such an aloof ass, me. If you can ditch that superior attitude you've got, maybe Hawkeye and Trapper. If you start letting people come within arm's reach, maybe Margaret." An indignant snort from Charles. "I'm serious. We've all tried to get on your good side, but you have to let us find it first. And I'll also point out that you have to write letters to get letters back."
"I've written plenty of letters!"
A sigh. "Charles, I read some of those letters you sent out—"
"You what?!"
"—and demanding to be 'released from this snake pit' every other sentence is hardly the sort of thing that's going to generate a meaningful response. It's a part of that thing I mentioned before—letting people in and all that."
"You read my letters?"
"Did you hear a word I just said?"
The door slammed shut with a crash, and Winchester stormed out into the compound; BJ sighed in annoyance and started towards his bunk, and I had to scamper quickly out of the way before he could catch sight of me. I looped back around and came at the Swamp from the direction of the mess tent, strolling in and heading towards the still. "What, no hello?" I asked BJ.
"Mmph."
"You should ditch that superior attitude you've got, Beej," I said lightly.
He didn't answer right away; then, leaning up on his elbows, he accused, "You were spying."
"Of course I was." I draped myself on top of my bunk and raised an eyebrow challengingly at him. "Had to make sure you weren't planning any midnight rendezvous with Chaa'les."
"How much did you hear?"
"Enough to be amazed all over again at what an all-around good guy you are."
"Gee, and I didn't get you anything."
"We can take care of that later tonight. Come over here and I'll read you another letter." He stood up with an easy, tolerant smile and sprawled in the chair next to my cot.
About a half-hour later, I was summarizing another of Dad's letters for BJ when Trapper swept into the Swamp, humming to himself. "Have a good day, dear?" I asked.
"You know that new nurse? Shelly Donner?"
"Yeah… Wait, were you with her the whole time you were gone?"
He grinned broadly. "You have no idea what you're missing. No offense, BJ."
BJ waved his martini dismissively. "None taken."
"Hey," Trap said, seeing the letters scattered around me. "Mail come?"
"Yeah, but Radar's holding yours hostage."
"What? Why?"
"Don't worry, he probably just wants to read it before you do."
Grumbling to himself, Trapper poured a martini and kindly topped off mine and BJ's before going to sprawl on his cot. I tore open the next letter and quickly scanned the contents; then sat up to bring the letter closer to my face and scan more intently. "Hey," I said to no one in particular.
"What?" Trapper and BJ both responded, Trap in an uninterested monotone and BJ with polite interest.
"My dad's seeing someone."
"Was he blind before?" Trapper mumbled.
I ignored him. "A veterinarian. He says a guy came into the clinic with a wounded dog, and Dad didn't know what to do, so he took the guy and the dog over to the local veterinary clinic…and met Sarah McAllister."
"Irish," Trapper said with approval.
"And according to Dad, she's got a body that won't quit."
"That's how it always is with us Irish."
"Do you all have mouths that won't quit, too?"
"Yeah, and our fists don't quit either."
"Boys," BJ said tiredly, "don't make me put you in time-outs."
I opened up the next few letters and read them quickly; they were as full of Sarah McAllister as my letters were full of BJ. I smiled, said softly, "Good for you, Dad," and reached for a pencil and pad of paper to write him back.
BJ took the discarded letters and began reading them for himself. "Sounds like your dad's in love, Hawk," he said, amused.
"There's a lot of that going around, isn't there? We gotta find you someone, Trap."
He snorted. "No thanks—I've already found my one true love." He raised his martini. "Alcohol."
"Cap'n McIntyre, sir?" a tiny little mouse asked from outside the door. "Are you in there?"
"Yeah, Radar."
"And yes," I added, "Winchester's gone."
Looking relieved, Radar came into the Swamp. "Where's my mail?" Trapper demanded.
"I've got it, sir, but, uh, the colonel wants to see you."
"About my mail?"
"Well, kinda, sir… And he, uh, says he doesn't want you to keep him waiting…"
Trapper sighed and pushed himself up. "Don't wait up for me," he mumbled at Beej and I, following Radar back outside.
"We won't," I cheerfully called after him.
A comfortable silence filled the Swamp, with me busily scribbling my letter to Dad and BJ still reading Dad's letters; when BJ finished with the last letter, he stacked them all in a neat pile and asked me, "So you're happy for your dad?"
"Of course I am," I said immediately, surprised by the question. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I thought you said once that he'd only ever gone out with one other woman after…"
"My mom."
"…and that it didn't work out because you were…"
"Stupid and resentful. Yeah. But if this…thing works out between us, it'll be good to know I'm not really abandoning Dad once you and me…get settled in. That he has a lady-friend to keep him company. It's a win-win situation, if you look at it in the right light."
He raised his eyebrows slightly. "And if you look at it in the wrong light?"
"In the wrong light, I'm still a stupid and resentful fifteen-year-old who could easily see this Sarah McAllister as trying to fill I place I don't really want filled. But I'm looking at it in the right light, thank you very much, and the wrong light can go crawl off in a corner and die. I want what's best for Dad. And if I ever say differently, I'd like you to do the honors of whacking me over the head with my own arm."
"Glad to," he said, grinning and briefly squeezing my knee. "There was something in one of those letters about a…an Annie Harri-something, I think…"
"Annie Harrison, yeah. What about her?"
"That she couldn't wait to—"
"Yah-HOO!"
The door was pulled open so violently it nearly swung off its hinges, and a small twister blew into the Swamp, grabbing me by the arms, yanking me off my bunk, and twirling me around in a circle, sending papers flying everywhere. A kiss was planted firmly and wetly on my lips, and another shout of joy temporarily deafened me. Trapper was dancing around the tent, shouting and laughing and waving a handful of papers in the air. He finally stopped in front of me again and crowed, "I'm goin' home!"
"Wha…?" I asked blankly.
"Home! I'm goin' home! I got my orders! Home!" A gleeful cackle, another clumsy kiss, and more graceless dancing; and when his words finally penetrated, I pulled him into a fierce hug and jumped up and down with him, laughing and congratulating and slapping him on the back.
We spent the next two days in a constant state of total drunkenness, BJ occasionally joining in—though he seemed more than content to sit back and be amused at how utterly foolish Trap and I acted when drunk. On the first day, we spent a few hours debating whether Minnie Mouse was preferable to Mickey Mouse; then we pointlessly (and poorly) hid in Margaret's tent until she discovered our clever hiding place (a blanket thrown over our heads) and chased us out with pillows and (when the pillows didn't work) the broken and very sharp pieces of a chair. On the second day, after a particularly good batch of gin, Trapper and I took a naked romp through the mess tent, and then snickered like schoolboys through Potter's subsequent lecture. We spent the rest of the day trying to sneak past the two corporals who'd been assigned to keep us inside the Swamp, but they were far too clever for their own good (and we far too drunk for our own good), and we eventually gave up and finished off the gin before slipping into drunken stupors.
Nursing hangovers the next morning, we said little as we set about the task of packing up every little bit of Trapper scattered around the Swamp. All the clothing, all the little trinkets, and anything of Winchester's we could filch without him noticing—we crammed it all into the two suitcases he'd brought with him when he'd first come to Korea, probably lightly-packed then but now bulging at the seams. He changed into his cleaned and pressed Class-A's shortly before the chopper was due to arrive to take him to Kimpo airport and his flight home; and then he turned to me, where I stood fidgeting nervously behind him—I was happy for him, I really was, I was glad he got to go home…but I was losing the brother I'd never had, the guy who'd kept me sane for so long in this insane place, the person I cared about more than anyone else in the world (except for Dad and BJ)…and what was there to say? No words could sum up everything I wanted to say to him—how much his friendship meant to me, how much I'd miss him, and everything I had to thank him for… We both stepped forward, closing the gap, and pulled each other into rib-creaking, shoulder-squeezing, back-pounding hugs. "You take care of yourself, Hawk," he whispered hoarsely.
"You too, Trap. Kiss the ground for me when you get home, okay?"
"You got it," he said as we started to pull back; he squeezed my shoulder, smiling his crooked smile, and then turned away, wiping at his eyes with his knuckles. He turned towards BJ, who'd been sitting awkwardly on his bunk for most of the morning, not wanting to intrude on the strange farewell ceremony; he stood up now, he and Trapper staring at each other for a long moment, until Trap finally stuck out his hand and BJ reached out to clasp it. "Take care of him, okay?" Trap said softly, jerking his head towards me. "He can get in a lotta trouble if you don't keep your eye on him."
BJ nodded solemnly. "I will."
"And you know that if you ever hurt him at all, I'll track you down, right?"
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
"Good," Trapper said, and they shook firmly. We grabbed his suitcases and headed out to the chopper pad; we were quickly surrounded by the entire camp, singing "For He's A Jolly Good Fellow" and patting Trapper on the back and shouting parting snipes. The chopper landed just as we reached the pad, and I ran forward with one of Trapper's suitcases, he with the other, and we strapped them down in the pods; then I faced him, stood up straight, and lifted my hand to my head in one of my rarely-given salutes, a mocking gesture when directed at the Frank Burnses of the world, but a show of utmost respect towards any other variety of person. Trapper smiled and returned the salute, we slapped each other's shoulders, and then he climbed into the chopper and I dashed out of the way. The gathered crowd waved and shouted good luck as the chopper began to lift, and Trap pulled off his hat to wave it in the air, a huge grin splitting his face as the chopper rose higher and higher, became smaller and smaller, drew farther and farther away, until it finally disappeared behind the hills.
I wiped at my eyes, telling myself it was the brightness of the sun that was making my eyes water. BJ squeezed my shoulder lightly, and we turned with the rest of the crowd to head back into the camp.