The idea to get Frank Burns drunk the night of his arrival hadn't been the wisest thing for Pierce and Hunnicutt to plan. They sat in the Swamp that evening conjuring up questions they'd ask Frank, with B.J. more and more interested in the concoction Hawkeye had brought in only ten minutes before.
Finally, B.J. could take it no more and dipped his cup into the large open bowl of clear red liquid, his face scrunching up at the unexpectedly sweet taste. When his eyes reopened, he looked over at Hawkeye, who was extracting alcohol from the Swamp's still.
"What is this, Hawk?" B.J. asked him. "And where'd you get so much of it?"
"It's Shirley Temple," Hawkeye replied. "Frank's favorite."
"Is that what he was drinking in the Officers Club earlier? I hadn't realized it was alcoholic," B.J. said, clearly confused.
"Shirley Temples are nonalcoholic," Hawkeye explained. "And as for where I got it, I pooled the funds of my recently won poker pool and had Igor make up two gallons worth of it."
"What's in it?
"Ginger ale, lime juice and a pinch of grenadine," Hawkeye replied. "I gotta admit, his love for Shirley Temples may be the only sweet thing about Frank."
"How are you going to convince him to come over?" Hunnicutt asked. "Sure, you can bring a horse to water, but it's hard to make him drink."
"Well, if Frank's as despondent as Charles seems to think he is, it should be no problem," Hawkeye explained. "Besides, there must not be too much going on in his life for him to come back over to Korea voluntarily."
Frank jumped at the knock on his door. He'd gone to Margaret's tent to find it to have been locked with a padlock, a padlock that wasn't hers. Since that unhappy discovery, he had been sitting quietly inside the V.I.P. tent when his silence had been greatly disturbed by some unknown person.
"Who is it?" he called out, not bothering to stand up.
"It's Hawkeye," the person responded. "Just wondering what your plans for the evening are."
"What evening?" Frank huffed. "It's 2100 hours already. It should be lights out right now, if the 4077th had an ounce of discipline."
Hawkeye silently sighed outside the door. He couldn't help but roll his eyes at the statement.
"You're not married to Margaret, are you," Frank called out, his voice wavering but attempting to sound confident.
"You're still mulling over that?" Hawkeye replied, almost snorting with laughter. "Really, Frank, I thought you knew me better than that."
Frank stood up inside his tent, glaring at the door.
"Now just what is that supposed to mean?" he growled, putting his hands on his hips.
"Me and Margaret? Come on, Frank. Don't get me wrong; she's the best kisser I've ever known but she's too regular army for me. That and the fact that she latched onto your ferret face first; no offense, Frank."
A silence fell behind the door of the V.I.P. tent. Frank's voice trickled through quietly.
"So Margaret's not married?"
"Let me put it this way: she's as single as a male Siamese fighting fish."
Hawkeye could almost hear Frank smiling behind the door; now the man's guard was down.
"Listen, Frank; the ceasefire's supposed to be over tomorrow so we're gonna have one final hurrah. Care to join us?"
Frank's smile faded as he stared at the door, his face wrought with confusion.
"Who is us?" he asked, suspicion in his voice.
"Why, the Swampmen, of course, both past and present. It will include myself, Captain Hunnicutt, Major Winchester, and hopefully, a certain Lieutenant Colonel Burns."
"I'm busy," Frank scoffed, sitting back down on his bed. It squeaked rather loudly in protest and he flinched at the sound.
"I heard that, you naughty boy," Hawkeye replied, shaking his finger at the closed door. "Why didn't you tell me Margaret got back early?"
"What are you talking about?" Frank squawked, standing up again and squaring off with the closed door. "She's not here!"
"Just kidding, Frankie," Hawkeye replied. "So are you gonna come or not?"
"No. You can all just forget about it." With that, Frank crossed his arms across his chest.
"Aww, it won't be the same without you," Hawkeye added, laying it on thick.
"I'm not falling for it, Pierce," Frank replied in a dangerous voice. "Find someone else to pick on."
Just then the door to the V.I.P. tent was unceremoniously pushed open, making Frank gasp with surprise. Hawkeye stood in the doorway, having changed into his blue and white Hawaiian shirt. Frank felt a rush of relief that Pierce had changed out of his maroon bathrobe.
"How dare you barge in here without asking?" Frank scolded, gaping at the surgeon. "I didn't give you orders to enter my tent!"
"I'm not taking no for an answer, Frank," Hawkeye said, solemnly shaking his head. "Just come over for a bit—you can leave whenever you like."
"That's what you said when you tricked me into searching for Margaret's supposedly lost earring in the latrines," Frank responded. "To this day, I get an occasional whiff of that disgusting place."
"I gotta admit, you took a lot of crap from us, Frank. That day alone you took at least three hours' worth of it."
"Right—just buzz off, Pierce. Why didn't you send Hunnicutt over instead? Is it the fact that he has a conscience?"
"I'm sorry, Frank," Hawkeye replied simply, gathering every ounce of willpower to appear repentant. His face became grave as he extended his arms apologetically out to his sides. "I really am. I mean, I just told you Margaret's single. If that isn't a kind of apology I don't know what is."
Frank's expression softened drastically then as he dropped his arms to his sides, staring at Hawkeye. Was that hope Hawkeye saw on Frank's face?
"Really?"
"Yeah, Frank. Why don't we just let bygones be bygones and have some laughs in the Swamp?"
"Of course you three will be drinking," Frank muttered. "And the laughs will be on me."
"Would you rather we three be laughing and the drinks will be on you?"
"Same difference," Frank huffed, crossing his arms again. "And as you know, I don't drink. Especially not that poison you call gin."
"We don't expect you to drink," Hawkeye replied. "Not only that, but we'll do plenty of cutting into Winchester in the meantime—did you know that his nickname around here is Major Ego?"
"Why's that?" Frank asked, trying to smile but not understanding why exactly he should.
"Because he's the most arrogant person on the face of this planet," Hawkeye explained. He watched Frank's smile slowly grow, and continued explaining. "He thinks that working at a M.A.S.H. is below him and believes that every time he touches a scalpel, a miracle is nigh."
"Ha! Is that really true?" Now Frank was smiling as widely as he had in his wedding video.
"Would I lie to you? Now, every time you touch a scalpel, an angel gets its wings."
Frank's face fell at the comment, and Hawkeye felt a tinge of remorse at crushing Frank's frail ego so easily. He'd forgotten how easy it was to tick off Frank and ruin his day. Poking fun at Winchester was far more satisfying, because Charles still retained his ego in the process, as well as often having a comeback ready. Insulting Frank was like playing a volleyball game with a team on only one side of the net.
"Anyway, so will you come over?" Hawkeye asked, his face pouty. "Pretty please?"
Frank paused for a moment, biting his lower lip with trepidation. Finally he found his voice.
"No, and that's final!" Now Frank's arms were crossed once again. "Just leave me alone, Pierce."
"Fine, fine," Pierce said, throwing his arms up in surrender. "It's just a shame that I already paid for all those Shirley Temples and now they're gonna go to waste." At that he turned to leave. "See you later, Frank."
Hawkeye counted the seconds of silence as he slowly stepped towards the door of the V.I.P. tent. One… Two… Three…
"Wait—did you just say Shirley Temples?" Frank murmured with disbelief, staring at the back of Hawkeye's head.
When Hawkeye turned around, he was grinning broadly.
"You heard right, Frank. A whole punch bowl full. Free for the drinking."
Frank shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, eyeing Hawkeye suspiciously.
"Does Major Winchester like Shirley Temples?"
"Nope," was the curt response. Frank reached an arm up to rub the back of his neck. Self-consciousness was practically dripping down his skin. Hawkeye felt the need to leave the tent as soon as was possible. Frank was a bad guy, an unlikeable person that Hawkeye never did warm to or ever wanted to warm to, and yet his current state was almost pitiable.
"Why did you get them, then?" Frank asked, his voice pinched-sounding. "I know you and Hunnicutt would rather die than be caught drinking them."
Hawkeye felt a pang of guilt that faded as quickly as it had appeared.
"Because I knew you liked it," he responded. "So, are you gonna join us or what?"
Frank froze in place, still suspicious.
"This isn't like you."
"I know," Hawkeye said with a shrug. "Right now I'm beside myself with confusion."
"Why are you doing this?" Frank huffed. "Is this some kind of sick joke? Because I won't hesitate to write you and your comrades up for attempting to embarrass a superior officer."
"Believe me, Frank; you don't need our help for that."
"I knew it!" Frank shrieked. "This is your way of getting back at me for my being transferred stateside and promoted! Now you, you've been a captain as long as I can remember!"
"As long as I can remember, too," Hawkeye replied. "Even my obstetrician called me Captain."
"Ha! You weren't born; you were hatched!"
"Now, Frank," Hawkeye scolded, "did you fall asleep one too many times in your embryology courses? I do have a belly button, you know."
"That's just sick!" Frank replied, his voice high-pitched and agitated. "You take that back!"
"Take what back? I'll tell you what I can't take back—the Shirley Temples. Guess I'll dump 'em out by the minefield. We don't want any more red pools on our compound."
"Now, wait a second, Pierce," Frank replied. "If I come over there, could you be nice to me?"
Hawkeye was flabbergasted.
"What?"
"Just this once. I'm only going to be here long enough to talk to Margaret again. This'll probably be the last time you'll see me. Can you just forget about how much you hate me, for a little while?"
"What about you, Frank?" Hawkeye retorted. "The hatred you have for me is as plain as the chin on your—no, wait; that's a bad example—it's as plain as the nose on your face."
Frank rolled his eyes but didn't say anything.
"Fine, Frank," Hawkeye said, sticking his hand out. "If the U.S. and Korea can have a ceasefire, so can we."
Frank shook Hawkeye's hand, almost giddy now.
"And the best part is, neither of us is a Red!"
Hawkeye stopped moving his hand, his eyes narrowed in challenge at Frank.
"You sure about that? I mean, you do like Shirley Temples, Frank, and they're redder than red."
"Well, you were the one to treat the North Koreans before our own boys, Commie lover! You're the one to push our young brave soldiers out of the way to pull those yellow devils through to the O.R.!"
"Right," Pierce deadpanned, clearly agitated. "Now, you, on the other hand, made it hard for anyone you treated to pull through."
"Now, see here! You told me you weren't going to—"
"There's a difference, Frank. I was joking. You weren't. I'm not going to stand here and take this off you."
Frank shifted uncomfortably, reaching into his trouser pocket and glancing at his pocket watch. Hawkeye saw the item and his face darkened.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing with my watch, Frank? My dad gave me that watch! Give it back!"
Frank hesitated, looking rather sheepish for a split-second. Hawkeye held out his hand, glaring at Burns all the while.
"If you don't give it back right now, Frank, I'm gonna clock you."
"I'd like to see you try! I'm a Lieutenant Colonel—"
"—with a black eye!"
Frank stuck out his tongue. This utterly infuriated Hawkeye, whose eyes were wide and teeth bared.
"Gimme my watch, Frank!"
He lunged for the item but Frank pulled it away.
"It's mine!" Frank shouted back. "It's going back to home to Fort Wayne with me and that's that!"
"You won't need it after I make your nose into a sundial!"
Frank looked a little too happy with himself, and all of a sudden Pierce's arm was swinging towards him, his fist clenched. The lieutenant colonel promptly fell to the ground at the sight, hearing Hawkeye's fist strike the flue pipe of the furnace in the center of the tent. Hawkeye yelped at the unexpected hardness of the metal on his closed fist, and immediately clutched his hurt hand to his chest. Frank gaped at him from his position on the floor.
"Don't think I won't try to punch you with the other fist," Hawkeye warned. "Gimme my watch."
Frank stood up haltingly, avoiding eye contact with Pierce. He'd been punched by Pierce before and had gotten his share of black eyes. Pierce certainly did not pull his punches. At the very real fear he felt about Hawkeye's consistency in following through with his threats, Frank pulled the watch and chain out of his pocket and held it in his hand.
"Oh," Frank said, pretending to examine the watch casing. "I hadn't seen the little initials there—B—F—P. Huh, that's you. Honestly, it looked an awful lot like the one Mother gave me."
"If you have to begin a sentence with the word honestly, then you're not being honest," Pierce hissed, grabbing the chain off of the man with his undamaged hand.
"You, uh, aren't going to say anything about this little misunderstanding to anybody, are you?" Frank muttered. "It was an easy mistake to make, picking up the wrong watch."
Hawkeye's smile was grim.
"Honestly, I won't."
Frank blanched.
"Wait—you just said that—"
"It was a joke, Frank. I'm not like you."
Frank sighed, a smile appearing on his face.
"Thank God for that."
Hawkeye was now smiling in kind, a grin so sickeningly sweet that it was in and of itself rather menacing.
"You took the words right out of my mouth."
"Where are you going?" Frank asked, as Hawkeye suddenly turned around and stalked out of the tent.
"To the x-ray room," Hawkeye replied. "It's probably better I hit the flue than your head, Frank. It's a lot less dense."
Frank puffed out his chest with self-importance.
"I should report you for attempting to strike a superior officer."
The grim smile he received in return was bone-chilling.
"Yeah, right after I report you for stealing my pocket watch. This little 'misunderstanding' as you call it will be your undoing. Still interested in pursuing your case?"
"Uh, not really," Frank replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
The discussion ended right there, with Hawkeye stalking off towards the hospital building and Frank standing confused at the entrance to the V.I.P. tent.
While Charles lay wounded on an operating table, Hawkeye returned to the O.R. with the blood and the levophed tucked between his cast and his surgical gown. Charles could only lift his eyes enough to see Hawkeye's blurry figure as it approached him. Suddenly the P.A. blared out a message that thoroughly depressed all the people in the O.R.
"Incoming wounded! All personnel report to triage!"
Hawkeye and B.J. exchanged a glance.
"Maybe there's not too many," B.J. said reassuringly.
"We're in for the long haul!" the P.A. added.
"Damn," Hawkeye grumbled under his breath. "Lemme hook up this blood first, and I'll go out and start processing 'em," Hawkeye muttered.
B.J. nodded at Margaret to apply the anesthesia to Charles, who had fallen silent and was barely able to hold his eyes open. As Charles lost consciousness from the anesthetic mask, Hawkeye finished up with the blood IV. He quickly administered an IV of levophed to Charles in an attempt to get his blood pressure up. Though his right arm was incapacitated, Margaret noticed that he was still proficient with preparing the drug and needle.
"Take his blood pressure, Margaret," Hawkeye called out as he finished up. "And keep monitoring it." As Margaret measured Winchester's blood pressure, Hawkeye rapidly paced across the O.R., shaking his head all the while. "What the hell are we going to do when all the patients come flooding in?"
"We need to think of somethin'," Potter said. "You're one-handed, Pierce, and the only other hands we have are Hunnicutt and myself. I should get Klinger on the horn to send us a surgeon from the 8063rd—"
"There's not enough time," Hawkeye replied, his voice edgy. "We need help now." He glared down at his bandaged hand. "I'm an idiot for letting Frank get to me like he did."
"That's right," Potter responded, to watch Hawkeye grimace in horror. "We have Frank Burns."
"He's second to none," B.J. commented. "None being no surgeon."
Colonel Potter shook his head.
"Now, I know he's incompetent, Hunnicutt, but he does still have use of both his hands—once we get him out of that straitjacket."
"As you already know, he got his caduceus taken away from him," Hawkeye cut in. "Who knows how long it's been since he's operated."
"Go get him, Pierce," Potter said. "We need all the help we can get right now."
"I'd argue against calling anything he does help," Hawkeye replied.
"That's an order," Potter responded gruffly. "He's gotta try to make up for what he did to Major Winchester. Otherwise, I won't hesitate to pre-book his cell in Leavenworth, or wherever they take people like him."