B.J. shook his head as he recalled Charles's dry witticisms, namely, his request to be put under. Less than 24 hours later and Charles was indeed anesthetized. It figured that on a day of heavy casualties the pressure would have to be on him. The fact was that Charles was a good friend of his made it more difficult to handle the facts that his wound was potentially fatal and that he might not be able to save him.

"Sponge," B.J. instructed his nurse. Colonel Potter now had his first patient in front of him, a corporal with a head wound. Two more patients were wheeled in to the two surgeonless operating tables.

"Are we prioritizing these correctly?" B.J. called out to Klinger, feeling overwhelmed at the dire-looking soldiers the corporal had brought in all prepped for surgery. "Winchester can't operate, so don't send anymore over to his table."

"After this is all over," Potter grumbled, "Pierce is gonna get a good chewing out from me. If I'd been caught slugging my peers, my dad would take me out to the woodshed. Pierce is damn irresponsible."

Suddenly blood spurted from a nicked vessel in Winchester's chest, generating a curved line of blood down B.J.'s surgical gown. B.J. grabbed some more sponges and pushed them into the cavity so that he could locate the vessel.

"His blood pressure's falling, Doctor," Margaret announced, her voice full of fear. "It's down to 60 over 35."

"Nurse—clamp!" B.J. exclaimed, to be handed the clamp immediately.

"Need some help over there, B.J.?" Potter called out.

"You have enough problems," B.J. responded with a quick exhalation of breath. "Where the hell is Hawkeye? At least he could be helping me with one of his hands."

"No need to curse, Hunnicutt," Potter muttered. "All in due time. He has to get that straitjacket off Burns. That may take a while."

"I don't have a while, Colonel!" B.J. exclaimed. "I'll never forgive myself if I lose him!"

"Why do you say that? It's a pretty serious wound, Hunnicutt. You can't put such a burden on your soul."

"Maybe all our jokes finally got to Frank," Hunnicutt murmured. "If that's what happened, then I'm partly to blame for all that's happened in the past two days."

"Not completely," Potter admitted. "We'd still be down one surgeon. Pierce would've broken his fingers anyway." The commanding officer of the 4077th couldn't help but recall the first time he'd seen Pierce's hand in the cast when they'd had incoming casualties at 2330 hours the night before.

"What in the love of Louisa May Alcott did you do to your hand, Pierce?"

Potter could only stare at Hawkeye's bandaged hand, as he, Winchester, Hunnicutt, and Pierce stood in the scrub sink room. It was almost midnight, and yet the wounded arrived in droves.

"Do you really need to ask?" Hawkeye replied with a wince. "It was a mistake, Colonel."

"Don't tell me you slugged Burns," Potter grumbled. "He's never gonna get out of our hair if he gets on your back about this. I haven't seen him since last night—is it real bad?"

"I in fact did not touch Frank Burns," Hawkeye said matter-of-factly. He watched Colonel Potter sigh, just as B.J. and Charles turned to stare at him with confusion.

"Then what was the mistake?"

Hawkeye smiled.

"My mistake was that I missed him—and hit the flue pipe instead."

"Oh," Potter murmured, his face troubled as he shook his head. "That's bad business, Pierce. What were you fixing to slug him over?"

"Let's just say it's the reason he's not going to pursue it any further."

"Are you saying what you did was justified?" Potter questioned. "Never mind. When it comes to him, it more than likely is. So he's not gonna try to report you or some other malarkey?"

"Nope," Pierce said with utter confidence.

"I bet I know the reason for your little outburst, Pierce," Charles commented. "May I venture a guess?"

"Go ahead. And no, it's not because he's a vile person. Though he is, of course."

Charles's face was confident, a little smile playing across his lips.

"Does it have anything to do with a pocket watch, by any chance?"

Hawkeye could only gape at Winchester in utter surprise.

"How did you know that?"

Hunnicutt and Potter exchanged looks of incredulity.

"He was digging through your footlocker and claimed it as his own," Charles explained. "His poor attempt to justify the initials on the case was the lynchpin."

"Are you telling me Burns tried to steal something from you?" Potter asked, his voice a low growl.

"When were you gonna tell me, Charles?" Hawkeye replied, ignoring Potter for the moment. "I could've sucker-punched him and given him no time to get out of the way first."

"Wait," Potter interrupted, "Hold on just a second here, boys. Frank Burns is a thief?"

"Add it to his laundry list of shortcomings, weaknesses, and failings," Hunnicutt remarked. "Don't worry, Colonel; he has enough problems on his own."

"Yes, it sounds like simply returning to his day-to-day life in the States is punishment in and of itself," Charles muttered. "He was probably planning to pawn your pocket watch, Pierce. He must be truly destitute to purloin such a piece; what are brass cogs worth these days, anyway?"

"Nothing to him," Hawkeye remarked with a shrug. "He can't even tell time. Speaking of which, when is Frank planning on leaving, Colonel?"

"Hopefully before Margaret gets back," Potter replied. "I don't even want to deal with the aftermath once she's through with him. But anyway, Pierce, I'm disappointed in you for letting Frank Burns get you worked up like that. In a way, he's won."

Pierce said nothing, instead holding his usable hand and arm under the scrub sink spigot.

"What do you think you're doing?" Potter exclaimed. "You can't operate like that!"

"I can operate better with no fingers than Frank can with all his fingers."

B.J. spoke up. "I second that, Colonel."

"That may be true, but Pierce, you need both your hands to operate. You'll have to assist for a while until you get some use back in those fingers."

Hawkeye hadn't expected that response, and it showed on his face. He looked much like a pouting child.

"But they need me, Colonel."

"Those wounded boys are the ones that have to suffer for your dim-witted decision to slug Frank Burns, and you're just gonna have to live with that."

Glancing nervously over at Winchester's still form on the operating table, Colonel Potter remembered Frank Burns's lack of aiding in the O.R. when they'd received casualties the night before. He shook his head as he continued operating on his patient.

"Lap sponge."

B.J. asked for the material as he glanced to his side at Hawkeye, who handed him the item and repeated its name to him. They stood over the body of a sergeant who happened to get too close to an explosion.

"Wow, this guy's so full of lead an x-ray'd be useless," B.J. muttered, shaking his head. "I'm gonna need more hands for this one."

"Unfortunately, I'm tied up at the moment," Winchester called out. "My patient cannot wait a moment longer for his circulatory system to be a closed one once again."

"No can do at the moment, B.J.," Potter chimed in. "I'll be done in about five minutes or so."

Hunnicutt let out a sigh.

"His body can't wait that long."

"Here, lemme help," Pierce offered. "I've got one useful hand."

"Well, that's one more than Frank ever had," B.J. remarked. "But are you any good with your left hand?"

"If you hold a mirror up to it, it'll become my right hand," Hawkeye replied.

"Doctor," Hunnicutt's nurse called out, "his blood pressure's falling, sixty-five over forty."

"Damn it," B.J. muttered. "Get me another unit of whole blood over here. I need to buy some time."

A tense silence fell over the room.

"Where's Burns?" Colonel Potter called out. "Can't he operate?"

"Good one, Colonel," B.J. replied, smiling for a moment.

"I'm serious, Hunnicutt; where is Frank Burns? The man did go to medical school."

"Allegedly," B.J. remarked.

"I'm betting he spent most of that time paying people to take his tests," Pierce remarked. "Beej's patient's got a better chance of surviving without Frank; believe me."

"Maybe so, but where is he? You'd think he'd want to show off all the new techniques he's learned stateside."

"Frank is sans caduceus, Colonel," Hunnicutt said. "He's now no better than a snake at handling a needle."

"Wow, so he's better than he used to be," Pierce joked. Colonel Potter was still questioning Frank's absence from the O.R.

"Did he misplace it or something? We can overlook that for the sake of the casualties."

"It was taken away from him," Hunnicutt explained, watching his nurse suction out the thoracic cavity. Still he could not find the source of the bleeding. "I'll need a unit of whole blood here, O positive," he said to Father Mulcahy, who was standing off to the side.

"Are you telling me someone finally caught wind of Frank's ineptitude?" Potter asked, his eyes wide. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Regardless of how Potter normally felt about Frank Burns' skills as a surgeon, these were now extraordinary circumstances, what with Winchester and Pierce incapacitated. Frank Burns needed to do his best work to make up for all the trouble he'd caused since arriving at the 4077th.

"Welcome back, Frank," Hawkeye announced as he escorted the red-faced former surgeon into the O.R., his cheek already showing the signs of a bruise. Pierce brought him to his operating table and gestured to the wounded man. "Here's your patient."

"I can't do this!" Frank cried. "Don't make me do this!"

"Was that a no I heard from you, Burns?" Potter's voice floated melodically. "I guess you'd like to be in that straitjacket up at the front instead, eh?"

"You wouldn't!" Frank exclaimed, his face reddening even more. "What good would I be there?"

"You'd make a great rampart," Pierce remarked. He was met with a glower from Frank and grinned mischievously at him. "You're perfect for the job, Frank. You already have the red glare."

Suddenly Frank caught a glimpse of the unconscious Major Winchester being operated on by Captain Hunnicutt. He immediately looked ashamed, and he gestured towards B.J. "Will Major Winchester be alright?" he asked in a thin voice.

"Can't say," B.J. replied impatiently. "Get to it, will ya? We're down two surgeons thanks to you."

"But I'm no longer certified!" Frank retorted. "It would be illegal to let a non-surgeon operate on a patient!"

"That never stopped you before," Hawkeye muttered with a shrug.

Potter shook his head helplessly at his patient's dire condition. "Of all times, we gotta be down two surgeons right now! I don't think my patient's gonna pull through this…."

Frank could only gape at him silently. Potter frowned at the lieutenant colonel.

"What are you doing still standing there, Burns? Quit rubbernecking and do your job," Potter growled. "You got your nurses there—get operating! You didn't bother helping us yesterday, so now's your chance!"

Frank stood sweating before the patient that had been thrust upon him, an American G.I. with a bad gut wound. He stared down at the bloody mess before him and felt ill.

"I can't do this," he muttered to his nurse. "Have you ever opened before?"

"I'm new here," she replied apologetically.

"Damn it!" Frank blurted. "Why am I always surrounded by idiots?"

"What are you talking about, Frank? There aren't any mirrors in here," Hawkeye retorted.

Frank didn't reply.

"I don't see you working over there, Burns," Potter commented in a dangerous tone. "If you don't start operating this minute, you're gonna be the defendant in a military tribunal."

"For what?" Frank blurted. "It was that North Korean that shot Major Winchester, not me."

"Are you seriously trying to blame that guy?" Hawkeye raged. "He saved your damn life and you're condemning him?"

"Pipe down, Pierce," Potter called out. "Burns needs to get his confidence back before he's gonna sink his scalpel into that patient. You're not helping matters any."

Frank huffed as he took the scalpel from his nurse. Gulping, he gingerly sunk the scalpel into the flesh of the anesthetized patient and nothing bad happened. He smiled to himself at the sight of his small success, but his happiness was interrupted by Hunnicutt's nervous voice.

"I need you over here, Hawk," B.J. called out anxiously. "I got the bleeder clamped off but I think there's another bleeder that's behind his lung."

"His blood pressure's still down, B.J." Margaret worriedly informed him. "And his pulse is weaker."

"Nurse—a glove," Hawkeye said. He was suited up with a rubber glove on his left hand and immediately bent over the operating table. There was way too much blood in Winchester's chest cavity to have the damage be in one blood vessel alone. "Beej, we're gonna need more help here," he muttered. "This doesn't look good."

"Colonel Potter; you got a minute?" B.J. called out, his voice laced with impatience. "We can't stop the bleeding in Charles's chest."

"I've gotta find the bleeder in this patient first. His blood pressure's been bottomed out since he was carted in here. He's holding on by a thread—3-0 silk, to be exact."

"Sponges, nurse. A whole handful," Hawkeye muttered, holding out his good hand. He and B.J. packed them into the wound site, but the blood kept coming.

"We're losing him," Margaret cried, having monitored his vitals. "Do something!"

"Calm down, Margaret," B.J. said soothingly. He looked down at the wound again and could no longer see the sponges in Charles's chest, for they were now covered with crimson liquid. The veins in his neck stuck out as he lifted his head to the ceiling, his face a picture of gravity. "Oh, God, don't let us lose him!"