Groundhog Day
(With a nod to—and much love for—Harold Ramis's fantastic movie.)
"Lt. Col. Henry Blake's plane was shot down over the Sea of Japan. It spun in. There were no survivors."
From the moment Radar made that shattering announcement, the day felt surreal… blurry. Numb and disbelieving, Hawkeye finished the OR session, staggered across an eerily silent compound to his tent, and drank until he cried… then cried until he slept.
Radar's bugle startled him awake as assembly was played out in the compound. Hawkeye opened his eyes only a slit and saw that it was light out… maybe mid-morning. It seemed utterly cruel to be summoned out of bed by new C.O. Frank Burns calling an assembly on the morning after Henry's horrific death. Did that man have no decency? No common sense? And how was Radar even standing, much less playing his bugle to gather the troops?
Trapper was already out of bed and shrugging into his yellow robe. What the hell was wrong with everybody? They should all be in mourning, not going about their business as if nothing had happened.
"Trap…" Hawkeye began, his voice raspy.
"Up and at 'em, Hawk," Trapper interrupted, smacking him on the foot to get him moving. "Henry's chopper will be here soon—get your ass outta bed."
Hawkeye blinked a few times, feeling disoriented and foggy and convinced he'd heard wrong. "What did you say?"
"I said, get up!" Trapper grabbed Hawkeye's beloved red bathrobe and threw it at him. "You don't wanna miss saying goodbye to Henry, do ya?"
Now Hawkeye sat up, letting the robe fall off his chest and to the floor. "Trapper, what the hell are you talking about? Henry's dead. He died."
Unbelievably, Trapper actually grinned as he stood there at the foot of Hawkeye's cot, watching him with interest. "Henry's dead? Is that what you said? Hardly. No, he just got drunk as hell last night at Rosie's. Just like you, apparently. Had yourself some nasty alcohol-induced dreams, huh?"
Hawkeye put his head into his hands and tried to sort out his thoughts. Had it all been a dream? That didn't seem possible. Yesterday had been real: Henry leaving on his chopper, the doctors getting called into surgery soon after, then Radar coming along with the tragic news.
But Trapper was certainly acting like Henry was alive and well, and minutes away from saying goodbye to his men.
What the hell was going on?
OK, take a couple of deep breaths and get a grip, he told himself. What's the harm in going out into the compound and seeing what's going on?
He lifted his head and took another look at Trapper, still bewildered and, truth be told, scared. If this was some colossal, bizarre trick, it was in the worst possible taste—and he would never be able to forgive the man standing in front of him.
But he forced himself to get up and put on his robe, and without another word, he followed Trapper outside.
Where the rest of the camp was standing in formation… just like yesterday morning. Frank, Margaret, and Radar stood facing the troops, Frank occasionally blowing that obnoxious whistle... just like yesterday morning. Hawkeye shot Burns a dark look as he and Trapper took their places at the end of the line.
And then the impossible happened. None other than Henry Blake suddenly emerged from his tent, dressed in that slick suit they'd bought for him in Seoul and carrying his suitcase… exactly like yesterday morning. As if the past 24 hours hadn't happened.
Hawkeye, his mouth gone desert dry, could only stare at his deceased C.O. come back to life.
It was a dream, he concluded. Most vivid dream of my entire goddamn life. It was the only explanation. After all, Henry was now approaching him, flesh and blood, looking hale and hearty.
Henry set down his suitcase and said, "So long, Hawk," and Hawkeye was nearly knocked over by the most dizzying sense of déjà vu he'd ever experienced. He had no idea how he managed to stay standing.
When Henry offered his hand, Hawkeye decided to play it just like yesterday. Or how yesterday had gone in his dream. "I'm afraid just a handshake won't do it, Henry," he said, and kissed his friend on each cheek.
He heard Trapper say, "Henry, that suit is really you." And then he heard himself cracking, without any forethought, "If you're Adolphe Menjou."
It was almost like an out-of-body experience. It was the strangest sensation. This already happened. Every last bit of it happened. Except it must not have…
There was Father Mulcahy telling Henry, "Your work here will never be forgotten." There was Klinger doing an about-face so Henry could zip up his gown.
Weird.
In a daze, Hawkeye walked with the assembled group up to the chopper pad, singing along to "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow."
As the Colonel's chopper took off and Hawkeye stood there waving, he fought off the sudden urge to sob. It was true… lovable good egg Henry Blake hadn't died after all.
Incredible. Amazing.
The chopper sailed away into the sky, taking Henry toward home. When it was finally out of sight, Hawkeye and his campmates began to walk back to the compound, most of them chattering about how much they were going to miss their sweetheart of a C.O. But Hawkeye was quiet and reflective, feeling light, like an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. This was how it was supposed to end. This was the righting of a terrible wrong.
An announcement suddenly came over the P.A., interrupting his thoughts. "Attention all personnel! Casualties on the way—lots of 'em! Everyone report to the OR on the double, please!"
Hawkeye froze. For no reason he could articulate, he got a twinge in his gut, a sense of foreboding. No…. don't think that way. Everything's all right now. Everything's good. Happy ending and all that.
He shook his head and got himself moving again, trotting in the direction of the hospital, right behind Trapper.
But somehow he wasn't at all surprised when Radar stumbled into the OR a few hours later, looking pale and shaken, mumbling, "I have a message…"
The pain seared through him all over again, knocking the air out of him, sending him spiraling downward.
Radar's bugle startled Hawkeye awake as assembly was played out in the compound.
His eyes snapped open. No no no no no no no…
"Up and at 'em, Hawk," Trapper said, standing over his cot. "Henry's chopper will be here soon—get your ass outta bed."
I'm losing my mind. I've gone completely mad. That's the only explanation…
Trapper grabbed Hawkeye's red bathrobe and threw it at him. "C'mon, Hawk… up, up! You don't wanna miss saying goodbye to Henry, do ya?"
Or it's a nightmare that never ends. It just keeps on going and going and going…
In a state of shock, Hawkeye rolled out of bed, put his robe on, and followed Trapper out into the compound.
Where everyone stood in formation. Where Frank was blowing his goddamn whistle.
Where Henry Blake came out of his tent again, dressed in that ridiculous suit, preparing to say goodbye to the gang.
As Henry approached him, Hawkeye shut his eyes and tried to focus. Tried to make heads or tails of this weirdness. Maybe I need to break the cycle, he thought. Maybe it's up to me to stop the events from happening…
His breath caught and he opened his eyes, suddenly certain… suddenly understanding. Yeah, that has to be it! I know that Henry's going to be killed, but nobody else does. I'm supposed to prevent it!
This time when Henry offered his hand for a shake, Hawkeye leaned close and whispered into his ear, "Don't take a plane, Henry. I know this sounds crazy… I know the arrangements have all been made, but cancel 'em. Find another way to get home. Take a ship."
"What?" Henry said in amused surprise as he pulled back. "A ship? It'll take forever to get home that way."
Hawkeye nodded emphatically. "A ship is safer. You gotta trust me on this. Please, Henry… I can't explain, not in any way that'll sound sane. Just do it… for me?"
"Hawkeye—"
"Are we friends, Henry?"
"Well of course we are. You know that."
Hawkeye put a hand on his shoulder. "Then do me this one favor… take a ship home. No plane. Promise me."
Henry stood there, looking nonplussed, clearly trying to figure out the logistics in his head. "I don't know, Pierce…"
"Please, Henry."
Apparently coming to the realization that Hawkeye wasn't going to let this go, Henry finally sighed and nodded, "OK, OK. When I get to Kimpo, I'll see what other arrangements I can make. No plane… OK?" In spite of the craziness of the request, in spite of the absurdity of the conversation, in spite of his plans being shot all to hell, Henry smiled broadly. "But you're going to have to explain to my wife why I'm not gonna be walking through the front door in a couple of days."
Hawkeye felt his mouth curve into a return smile, his first in a long time. "Deal."
And so, when Henry took off in his chopper this time, and Hawkeye stood there waving as it flew away, he felt hopeful and happy… convinced he'd changed the future… or the past… or whatever crazy time loop he'd gotten himself into.
Soon after Henry's departure, the doctors were called into an OR session that lasted well into the night. It was shortly before 1 in the morning when Radar stumbled in, sans mask, and muttered, "I have a message." A silence fell over the room as everyone seemed to sense what was coming. "Lt. Col. Henry Blake's ship was bombed less than an hour after it left port. There were no survivors."
When Radar's bugle startled him awake, Hawkeye groaned and rolled onto his stomach, fresh tears falling onto his pillow.
God, make it stop.
This has to stop.
I didn't save him. I couldn't save him. What the hell am I supposed to do?
"Outta bed, Hawk," Trapper said, tossing his red robe at him. "You don't want to miss saying goodbye to Henry, do you?"
No plane… no ship… what's left? What's the answer?
He couldn't move. He was tired and emotionally drained… he was appalled that this nightmare refused to end. No matter what he did, he couldn't change the outcome.
Trapper smacked him on the ass. "Get up, Hawk!" Out in the compound, Frank was blowing his whistle.
Unless…
Hawkeye rolled over again and blinked up at the canvas ceiling. Well, it was a long shot, but it was worth a try. He got out of bed and pulled on his robe, following Trapper out the door and into formation.
"So long, Hawk," Henry said again, offering his hand, just like the three previous times.
Hawkeye shook his head and leaned in close, saying, "Henry, do me a favor?"
"Of course. Anything. You know that."
"This is a big favor, but trust me, it's important."
"You got it, buddy," Henry said cheerfully, probably thinking he was about to promise to pay Daniel Pierce a visit in Maine.
"Don't go just yet. Not today. I know all the arrangements have been made, but do me a favor and postpone them. Stay for two or three days yet, and then head on home." Hawkeye knew how completely insane that sounded even as he said it, but he was fast running out of ideas.
Henry took a step back, eyeing Hawkeye closely, probably figuring this had to be some sort of joke. "Stay a few more days? Are you kidding me?" His voice had gone up in volume, allowing everyone assembled to hear the ridiculous request that crazy Captain Pierce had made. "My wife is expecting me to walk through the front door in a couple days. Why on earth would I want to stay in this godforsaken cesspool even one more day? Uh, sorry about that, Father… and everyone."
Hawkeye tried to pretend the entire camp wasn't looking at him like he'd gone off his rocker… Trapper included. He didn't take his eyes off Henry. "It's just a feeling, but a strong feeling. Trust me. It's not safe if you go today. Something bad will happen." Yeah, he was definitely sounding bonkers, no doubt about it. "But if you stay for a few more days, well, hell… we'll throw you another party, and play some poker, and have this long, drawn-out goodbye… and then it'll be safe for you to leave. I really think so." He hoped so. He had no other ideas. "Just a few days, Henry. Please."
The look on his face must have given Henry pause, because pause he did. Instead of scoffing, instead of calling Pierce loony tunes, instead of just picking up his suitcase and walking off to the chopper pad, Henry stood there thinking.
"Bad feeling, huh?" he asked softly, seeming to give the whole outrageous idea credence. Perhaps he'd felt something himself… his own little premonition…
Hawkeye nodded. "Yes, Henry. Trust me."
His eyes scanning the gathered crowd, Henry thought some more. And then some more after that. Hawkeye could feel hope growing inside him the longer it went on. He's considering this… Jesus, he's actually considering this…
Then, amazingly, with a smile: "Ah, what the hell. I could stand a few more days of you nutcases. Parties and poker? Why the hell not."
There was an outburst of applause and cheers from the troops, though they probably had no idea what exactly had transpired right in front of them. Hawkeye himself couldn't even exactly say. But he cheered right along with everyone else, pulling Henry into a bear hug and clapping him on the back, elated at this turn of events.
He'll stay a few days… the danger will pass… I'm sure of it.
Well, maybe not sure of it. But close enough. Close enough for jazz.
Late that night, well past midnight, they were all sitting in the O Club playing their umpteenth hand of poker when the first shots rang out.
At first they all looked around at one another dumbly, as if they'd never heard gunshots before. Then Klinger finally spoke up, saying what they'd all already deduced, "Sniper fire! We've got a sniper in the compound!"
They all leaped up from their seats and ran to the door, opening it a crack to look out. No more shots… not at the moment, anyway, so Trapper said, "Somebody should go check on the hospital. Make sure everyone's OK over there."
"I volunteer you, Trap," Hawkeye said from his position crouched behind his best friend.
"Thanks a lot" came the sarcastic reply.
Margaret, kneeling next to Henry, sneered at them. "Typical!" she said. "Couple of cowards, that's what you two are!" She turned her attention to Henry and said, concern evident on her face, "Colonel, Frank and two of my nurses are on duty in the hospital. I'm going over there to check on them."
Before Henry could say anything—and what he'd been apt to say was something along the lines of, "Like hell you are!"—she was out the door and running in the direction of the hospital.
"Margaret!" Hawkeye called after her in a panic.
"Margaret, stop!" Trapper echoed. "Come back!"
"Major, it's dangerous!" Henry shouted.
And before anyone knew what was happening, Henry was out the door, running as fast as anyone had ever seen him run… catching up to Margaret quickly, shielding her at first, then shoving her forward, into the darkness. At precisely that moment a couple more gunshots rang out and at least one bullet hit pay dirt, striking Henry in the chest.
Chaos. Hawkeye and Trapper screamed in unison, and next to them, Father Mulcahy made the sign of the cross. Hawkeye watched helplessly as Henry toppled over, landing facedown on the ground… blood running from the wound in his chest… much too much blood…
…life leaking out of him…
…and Hawkeye could only stare, open-mouthed, at the incomprehensible scene out there in the compound, thinking, This was supposed to save him. This was supposed to be the answer…
But of course, he hadn't known that for sure. It'd been an idea, but the wrong idea, clearly. Another bad guess… another horrible outcome… another day of loss.
He heard screaming behind him and out in the compound, and he heard Trapper barking orders, confidently trying to take charge, but none of the words registered in his brain.
He sat back against the O Club wall and put his head in his hands and began to sob… long, deep, breathless sobs…
Here we go again.
Hawkeye opened one eye and saw it was light out. Morning. He thought: Now the bugle is going to play, calling us to assembly.
And it did.
He thought: Now Trapper's going to tell me to get the hell outta bed.
And Trapper did.
He thought: Now I'm going to put on my robe and go outside and stand in formation and watch Henry Blake walk out of his tent with his suitcase…
But he didn't.
Instead, he stood up, put on his robe, and told Trapper he was going to the latrine. "Be back in a jiff," he said, trying to sound normal, like it was any other day.
Well, it was any other day. The same day. Over and over.
He needed to come up with a new plan, and he needed time to think. Time away from Trapper and the others. Time alone.
Instead of going to the latrine, he veered off in the direction of the supply room. Once inside, he shut the door and leaned against it, appreciating the peace and quiet and solitude, hoping it would foster productive thinking.
What's left? What haven't I tried? How the hell do I save Henry Blake?
Or… isn't he supposed to be saved after all?
"Then why the hell am I living this day over and over?" he asked, not even aware he was saying it out loud.
No, there had to be some answer. He needed more time. A good plan doesn't just fall into your lap. A good plan takes time to figure out. He needed to get Henry to stay again, like he'd done yesterday. That would buy him more time.
He took his place in formation just as Henry was coming out of his tent wearing his snazzy new civvies, complete with silk tie.
And just like yesterday (today?), Hawkeye stood there feeling like an utter fool as he talked Henry into staying "for a few more days." Telling him it was dangerous to leave right now… he had a bad feeling… but stay a few days and then everything'll be fine.
Once again, Henry balked at first, but ultimately agreed. Once again, the assembled group cheered to hear that their commander was going to hang around for a while.
Late that night, well past midnight, they were all sitting in the O Club playing their umpteenth hand of poker when the first shots rang out.
Klinger correctly surmised, "Sniper fire!" They all ran to the door and peered out into the darkness… all of them scared, breathing hard, trying to figure out what to do next.
"Somebody should check on the hospital," Trapper suggested. "Make sure everyone's all right."
Margaret, kneeling next to Henry, turned to him with concern evident on her face. "Colonel, Frank and two of my nurses are on duty in the hospital. I'm going over there."
Before Henry could reply or react in any way, she was out the door and running in the direction of the hospital.
"Margaret!" Trapper called out in a panic. "Stop!"
"Major, get back here!" Henry shouted.
Hawkeye didn't think—he bolted. He ran out of the O Club and after Margaret, catching up to her quickly, and as the gunshot rang out, he moved to shield her… and it worked, it worked, the bullet didn't hit her… he knew because he felt it hit him.
It ripped into his chest, tearing through flesh and cartilage and muscle. Bullseye.
That sniper got off a hell of a good shot, he thought crazily as he fell to the ground—
—and right on the heels of that came his last thought on this earth: Holy shit, I did it. I saved Henry. Go on home to your family, buddy. Go. I got this.
When Henry Blake stepped off the plane in Illinois, his eyes scanned the crowd, searching, searching for his family. He was disoriented and tired from all the traveling, but thrilled to be home… on American soil once again.
Like a dream, his wife emerged from the crowd, coming toward him with the new baby in her arms, an enormous smile on her face. "Henry!" she called out as she trotted to him, mindful of the child she was carrying. "Welcome home, darling!"
Running past her were Molly and Janie and Andrew, all of them reaching out their hands as they raced toward him, trying to grab him before they even got to him.
"Daddy!" they squealed in unison.
Grinning, crying, reminding himself to breathe… Henry knelt down and took his family into his arms.