I'm so sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I know it's been a ridiculously long time since I've updated it, and I have no excuse other than a busy life and a muse that seriously needs to get its act together and stop throwing plot bunnies at me when I haven't even got a decent amount of time to devote to the two stories I'm already dedicated to.
That being said, I would like to sincerely thank all you wonderful people who are still tolerating my irregular updates for the sake of this story. I promise you it will not be abandoned. I would especially like to thank Black Scarab, Guest, Silence your heart, demonbarber14, Arctic Winters, , Kiwisaurus, and ShigureAyameHatoriFanClub for their kind and encouraging reviews. I know that I didn't reply to you all individually this time, but I did get your reviews and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your kind words and support.
And now enough of my babbling. You all have been waiting for this chapter long enough. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Anything thing you recognize from M*A*S*H or any other source is the property of its rightful owner. I lay no claim on the characters, settings, plotlines, etc. found in M*A*S*H, although I am honored to have to opportunity to work with them throughout this fanfiction (emphasis on the "fan" part). All I own is my OCs and whatever original plotwork is related to them and their stories.
"Frank, if you don't shut up and keep still, I'm sewing you to the lining of your sleeping bag!" Hawkeye snapped. It was 2 o'clock in the morning, they hadn't had wounded in days, and both boredom and tempers were running high.
"You shut up, you cretin!" Frank shouted back. "I, at least, am trying to do something productive over here!"
"What could you possibly be doing, Frank? Practicing kissing into your pillow?" Trapper propped himself up onto his elbows, staring over at his tentmate, who appeared to be rigging up some sort of pipe and soup can concoction.
"I'm creating a sound funnel," Frank explained. "This way, when in the morning, the glorious bugle sounds," he said with passion in his expression, "I can hear it better than anyone else." He finished with a childish grin at the piece of amateur engineering in his hands.
Hawkeye and Trapper exchanged a look. "Frank," Trapper began, "this wouldn't have anything to do with Margaret, would it?"
"What?! No!" Frank spluttered.
"Frank, she'll be fine," Hawkeye answered, ignoring his colleague's protests. "You, on the other hand, won't be for much longer if you continue to keep us awake. Especially since, according to my spies," otherwise known as Radar, "we're due for a huge influx of wounded tomorrow when the 425th tries to retake that hill they lost last week, and we're all going to need all the sleep we can get."
"Major Houlihan can do what she likes," Frank snapped. "It makes no difference to me if she wants to extend her trip in Tokyo for a day or two. She's a grown woman, it's her choice. Why should it matter to me?" And with that he shoved his invention off to the side, turned off his lamp, and burrowed down into his bunk.
Trapper and Hawkeye exchanged another look. Neither of them had mentioned to anyone that they were also eager for Margaret's return. With any luck, she would have at least found out where Radar's penpal had been assigned when she first arrived in Korea. With that information, they would have a strong starting point for their search for the girl.
Margaret couldn't keep the grin off her face as the jeep pulled into the 4077th. She felt an incredible sense of triumph, and could hardly wait to share the news she had found out with the others in the camp.
As the driver turned into the main circle of the camp, she could see Corporal O'Reilly standing in front of post-op, clipboard in hand, squinting against the sun. Even with the mood he's in, he still performs his job quite admirably, Margaret thought. Not that she would ever tell him that for something as simple as waiting to meet her upon her return.
"Welcome back from Tokyo, ma'am," the boy greeted her. He still seemed to be rather glum, but there was a spark of hope in his eyes, something that had been missing for far too long in Margaret's opinion. "How was your trip?"
"Excellent, thank you," she answered. "Grab my bags, will you, Corporal?"
As the diminutive clerk hurried around to the back of the jeep, Margaret clambered out of the side, careful not to trip over her high heels. Really, they looked fabulous enough, but here in the countryside mud instead of the smoothly paved streets of Tokyo, they were rendered simply impractical. She made a mental note to change into her boots as soon as possible.
"That will be all, thank you, Private," she said, turning back around to face the young man – teenager, really – who had driven her back to the unit.
"No problem, ma'am," he replied. He turned the wheel and stepped on the gas, pulling away from the hospital and back towards the main road that would take him back to his own unit.
A muffled shout of surprise and indignation brought her attention back to O'Reilly. It appeared that he had not been able to get a suitable grip on her bags before the driver had pulled away. Thus both the clerk and the luggage had ended up being tipped backwards into the muddy ground. She strode purposely towards him as he grumbled and attempted to right himself. As she neared him, she noticed a glint of metal on the ground, and stopped to snatch up the corporal's glasses from where they had fallen. "Here you go, Corporal," she said, handing him his eyewear.
A muffled "Thank you, ma'am" was all she got in response.
Margaret pursed her lips, thinking. After a moment, she reached a decision. "Radar," she whispered softly, trying to prevent anyone from hearing her. The boy's eyes widened in shock at hearing the usually regulation – some would say uptight – major address him by his nickname. But before he could say anything, she continued. "I have news about Samantha."
Radar felt like his heart had stopped. Certainly that must be the reason why he felt as if he could no longer breathe. "S-Sam?" He managed to gasp after a moment.
"Yes, Sam," Margaret replied, still speaking as gently as possible. "I've found out where she's stationed."
"Where she's stationed?" The words made sense, in and of themselves, but Radar was still having a difficult time comprehending them.
"Yes Radar," the major answered. "I know where she is. General Hammond told me. He said that he couldn't do anything to send her home – something about the consequences of committing fraud against the American government – but maybe she could come up here for a little while, just so you could see her?"
Radar's head was spinning. There didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the air. There was a rushing sound in his ears; he realized after a few moments of reflection that it sounded an awful lot like his heart pounding, samSam samSam samSam samSam.
He must have looked awful, because he was distantly aware of someone calling his name. Several someones, actually. The voices sounded familiar, but he couldn't place them. His mind was too full of the sound of his pulse. samSam samSam.
The world came back to him in a rush. He could hear Hawkeye's voice. It sounded close by – right next to him, in fact.
"How could you be so stupid, Margaret?!" The man was shouting. "He's been pining over this girl for months! Couldn't you have at least waited to get him inside?" Radar could feel hands on his shoulders, one large – a man's – and one small – a woman's.
"I didn't expect him to just collapse like that, Pierce!" The major snapped back. "And I'd thank you to remember that you're speaking to a superior officer!"
"Superior at what, traumatizing young kids?" Hawkeye questioned rhetorically. Before the major had a chance to respond, he had turned his attention to the company clerk, who was currently curled up on the ground, tears running down his face and concerningly unresponsive. "Radar? Hey Radar, can you hear me?" Radar could feel the larger hand squeeze tighter on his shoulder.
The smaller hand tightened as well. "Corporal? Corporal O'Reilly? Can you open your eyes please?"
Open his eyes? But weren't they already . . . oh. That would explain why everything had gotten so dark all of a sudden. Radar squeezed his eyes tighter together, trying to get the feeling back in his eyelids. Then, with a tremendous amount of effort, he managed to pry them back open. He blinked, letting his eyes readjust to the light in the sunny compound.
He could see Hawkeye's worried face in front of him. "Radar? What happened?" The man asked gently.
"Sam," he told him, as if that explained everything. (And, in many ways, it did.)
"Yes, Radar?" Hawkeye asked. "What about Sam?"
Radar gestured vaguely in Margaret's direction.
She pursed her lips. "Perhaps we should take this discussion inside," she said. "I think the Colonel would be interested in hearing this as well."
Hawkeye looked torn, but acquiesced when Radar nodded minutely and gasped, "Yes." He pushed his glasses back up his nose – they had slid down at some point, making the angle between his eyes and the lenses all awkward – and began walking towards the Colonel's office.
Hawkeye and Margaret exchanged a glance and followed him.
Thankfully the Colonel was in his office when they arrived. Hawkeye didn't want to have to deal with keeping Radar calm while they were waiting for the man, and he was almost certain that Hot Lips would refuse to elaborate on the information she had discovered without Henry present.
"What do you want now, Pierce?" Henry asked as they walked into the office, eyes remaining fixed on his papers. After a moment, he glanced up, catching sight of Radar's face. His own expression morphed into one of puzzlement and concern. "Radar? What's wrong?" His eyes flicked over to Margaret. "And Major Houlihan! When did you get back?" His gaze tracked between the three of them for a few moments, sizing up the situation and the tension between the group. "What's going on here?"
Before the others could speak, Margaret had stepped forward. "Colonel Blake, I have news about Samantha," she reported formally.
Henry blinked, taking a moment to process her words. "Oh. Well," he began. "Well, that's just excellent!" His voice took on a tone of enthusiasm. "What did you find out?"
"Where she's been assigned, sir," the major replied. "She's with the 425th infantry."
"Fantastic," the colonel replied. "I'll just call up their C.O. and ask to speak with Ms. Wilson . . . and . . ." He trailed off, noticing the sudden heavy silence in the room. Hawkeye was staring at Margaret, his jaw hanging open. Henry didn't think the man was even blinking, so complete was his focus. And Radar . . . Radar looked like someone had just punched him in the stomach. His face seemed to have drained of all color and his eyes were wide and stunned. "What's wrong?" He asked, suddenly serious.
"That's where the wounded are coming from, sir," Radar whispered, sounding choked.
"Wounded? What wounded?" Henry asked. His spirits were rapidly sinking, and he was desperately hoping that what he thought was happening wasn't really happening. Maybe it was all some sort of sick nightmare, and he would wake up any second and wander out into the compound to see Radar smilingly announcing that he had received a new letter from Sam, who was safe and sound back in the States. That could happen, right? It was perfectly plausible, much more so than what was happening at the moment.
"The ones on the choppers, sir," Radar informed him, swaying a little as his sensitive ears caught the sounds of approaching choppers, still too far away for any of the others to hear. He turned and ran out to announce the arrival of more wounded to the rest of the compound.
Hawkeye made a move to follow him, but before he could get farther than a few steps, Henry's voice called him back. "Pierce, what's going on?"
Hawkeye swallowed hard and turned back around. "The 425th," he started, before pausing and clearing his throat. His voice had sounded far too hoarse to be understood, and he only had a few moments before he had to run off to the scrub room to get ready to operate. "The 425th. Where Sam's stationed. They just tried to retake a heavily guarded hill." He heard Margaret gasp softly beside him. "I don't know what the outcome was and I don't care; there's a very good chance that Radar's girlfriend may be out there dying with the rest of them."
He turned and ran off without waiting for either of them to respond. He had a job to do, and either Sam wasn't there and there would be time for more explanations later, or she was and she would need all the help she could get.
Margaret and Henry stared at each other for a few moments before taking off after Hawkeye. They, too, were determined to help Sam if she had ended up as one of the injured.
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