Author's Note: I've tried to do as much medical, military, and period research as possible to make this as realistic as I can, still, if any of my readers notice any glaring mistakes, please let me know so I can correct them. Thanks.

Chapter Two – Eye of the Storm:

"Aneurysm?" Pierce said groggily. His eyes were clouded with medication and sleep. He struggled weakly to get into a sitting position and Charles laid a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down.

"Pseudo," Charles answered.

"Aortic rupture?"

"I'll thank the patient to keep from diagnosing his own injuries," said Charles.

Pierce coughed weakly in way that made Charles thing he'd been trying to laugh.

Charles relented, "Partial tear. I managed to get to it in time. You lost quite a bit of blood, however."

"How much did I take?"

"So far ten units of blood, two plasma," said Charles. "Plus one." He indicated the bag of whole blood attached to the IV stand and currently dripping into Hawkeye's good arm.

Hawkeye shut his eyes but continued to speak, "How's the lung?"

"There was, as you'd guessed, a pulmonary laceration of your left lung. I got to it before it collapsed."

For a moment Hawkeye didn't speak and Charles began to wonder if his patient had once again fallen asleep. "It hasn't collapsed yet, you mean."

"Yes well," Charles cleared his throat. "We're all keeping our fingers crossed, Pierce."

"Dangerous thing to do when operating," whispered Hawkeye.

Charles bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. At the same time his stomach walls felt as if they were being eaten away by acid.

"How's the arm?" said Hawkeye. He opened his eyes again, searching Charles' face. "I can't feel a thing. I'm asking you because I know BJ will just lie. He's a…good friend, but…a lousy…." Hawkeye didn't continue, eyelids slipping shut again. He breathed shallowly, face pallid, lips slightly parted.

"Nothing very complicated," said Charles. "Palmar Barton's fracture, shoulder dislocated, you fractured your left clavicle. I suppose you'll also want to know that you suffered fractures to your first, seventh, and tenth ribs."

"Not really, no," said Hawkeye, barely moving his lips. "Any damage to the brachial plexus?"

Charles' throat somehow seemed abnormally dry. He coughed again. "We'll have to wait and see, Pierce. But we shouldn't, of course, rule out the chance that the lack of feeling your experiencing is due more to the pain medication than any nerve damage," Charles answered.

Hawkeye mouthed the word alright, but appeared to be growing too weak for any more conversation. Charles lifted a hand and felt Hawkeye's forehead with the back of his fist. He frowned and stood from his chair.

Hawkeye murmured. "Do I have a temperature?"

"Nothing unusual, considering the anesthesia," said Charles quickly. He left to retrieve a thermometer and returned to Hawkeye's side. He said while sliding the thermometer between Hawakeye's lips, "Now, as difficult as it will be for you, try not to speak for a moment."

"Sure thing," Hawkeye breathed.

"If you're a good little boy, you'll get a balloon," Charles quipped.

After a moment he removed the thermometer from Hawkeye's mouth and held it up to read it.

"m'I gonna live?" Hawkeye said.

"You're not getting out of the army that easily, Pierce," said Charles, and walked across post-op to address Nurse Kellye, who was scanning a clipboard of another patient.

"How is he, Doctor?" Nurse Kellye said, looking up as Charles approached.

"He's got a low-grade fever. Administer three units of penicillin at four hour intervals."

"Yes, Doctor."

Charles turned as the door opened, letting in the noise of the still falling rain outside. Major Houlihan marched in, hood of her windbreaker pulled over her head.

"Aren't you out of bed a little early, Major?" said Charles, cocking an eyebrow. "You've only been away for a little over two hours."

Margaret effectively dodged his question, saying, "I checked the Swamp. Hunnicutt's out like a light. How is he?" She inclined her head to Hawkeye's cot.

"He's running a slight temperature," said Charles. "Nothing to worry about, 101.4. I've prescribed regular doses of penicillin. Just as a precaution, mind."

"There's no need to sugarcoat it, Doctor," Margaret snapped.

"I shouldn't like to be accused of sugarcoating anything," said Charles.

"They only sugarcoating Winchester's do concerns their fancy-pants crystalized pineapple, I suppose," said Margaret bitingly.

"I don't want to run the risk of any unnecessary complications, Major," said Charles brusquely. "You know as well as I do that Pierce, in this state, could hardly be expected to survive any serious infection –"

"Yes, I know, I know," said Margaret testily.

"Not to mention the risk of him contracting pneumonia is worryingly high, what with his broken ribs and damaged lung –"

"Thank you, I know, Charles," said Margaret. An edge to her voice warned Charles not to continue. Margaret flung her hood off her head, revealing a tangled mess of hair. Charles noticed her eyes were bloodshot. He wondered if she had been crying. He remembered that she had, after all, had barely four hours of sleep in the last twenty-four.

He said gently, "What Pierce really needs is to be transferred to the Evac Hospital in Seoul."

"Yes," Margaret murmured, "Radar's been on it for the past hour. Apparently, lines are out all over the place because of the storm. That was why we didn't get a wire that Battalion Aid had been hit in the first place. We were supposed to know that Hawkeye was coming in on that bus."

"I do have to admit that was rather a nasty surprise," said Charles.

Margaret appeared not to be listening to him. "If only it wasn't for this damned rain!" She said, voicing the same frustration that Charles had refused to show for the past hours. "Not to mention the shelling! It's stopping anyone from getting through." As if in mockery, a rumble of artillery echoed in the distance.

"Well, we mustn't lose faith in our trusty Company Clerk," said Charles. "After all, he's never failed us yet; I see no reason why he should do so now."

Margaret sighed. She cast her arm in a hopeless sort of gesture back over to Hawkeye's bed. "How's he doing, otherwise?"

"Fine." Charles answered. "He was awake a minute ago."

"He's awake!" Margaret's eyebrows shot up. "Do you mean to tell me he's probably been listening to every word we've said?"

"I doubt any of it will come as a surprise to Pierce, Major."

"Yes, well – still!" Margaret huffed.

"And were you not just a minute ago accusing me of sugarcoating?" said Charles. His upper lip pulled into a smile.

Margaret sighed again, but her eyes brightened slightly. It was probably the closest thing she'd been to amusement for hours, Charles thought.

"I guess I'll go sit with him again," she said.

Charles rose his eyebrows questioningly.

She scowled. "Oh, shut up."

"I was not aware I had said anything at all, Major," Charles allowed himself a smile as Margaret left him in a huff, marching over to sit beside Pierce.

Radar caught himself asleep with his cheek pressed against the keys of the typewriter for the second time that afternoon. At least he thought it was afternoon. Truthfully, everything was sort of fuzzy and the stormy sky wasn't helping much, as – really – it might be any time at all, morning, noon, or night.

The sheet of paper in the typewriter was covered in a garbled collection of letters he'd smashed onto the page with his cheek. Radar fixed his glasses and peered through the smudged lenses to read the clock nailed above Colonel Potter's door. The hands were fixed at three quarters of the way to sixteen-hundred. Radar's mouth slipped open in surprise. That meant he'd been dozing for about twenty minutes!

What if he'd missed something important? A phone call or a telegraph or Colonel Potter wanted to send a message –

"Radar?"

"I didn't mean to, sir!" Radar leapt to his feet, chair spinning backwards as Colonel Potter came through his swinging office door.

"Didn't mean to what?" Colonel Potter demanded.

"Nothing, sir!" said Radar. He reached over and hastily snatched the ruined page from the typewriter, crumpling it into a ball in his fist and tossing it onto the floor.

"Oh…well, that's good, then," said Colonel Potter. "Any word from ICOR, yet?"

"No, sir. At least, I don't think so, sir." Radar kicked the balled-up piece of paper under his desk.

The colonel swore, pounding his hand into his fist, "Where are these people? Don't they understand we've got a crisis on our hands? One of my best darn surgeons is lying in post-op with his chest blown apart!"

Radar felt something hitch in his throat. "Yes, sir. I've been trying but the storm's interrupting our frequency."

"Alright," said Colonel Potter, taking a deep breath, "buzz your friend Sparky again, see how they stand in getting an ambulance up here."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Radar – you've got letters pressed into your cheek."

"Yes, sir," said Radar, already reaching for the phone. The door to the office flung open, letting in a wave of wind and cold rain. Klinger burst through, wearing a soaked knit shawl and a wicker hat, the flowers of which drooped depressingly over the edge of the brim.

"Colonel Potter!" Klinger exclaimed, eyes alight, water spilling onto the floor from the brim of his hat.

"Not now, Klinger!" Colonel Potter bellowed. "I'm in no mood for any more bad news!"

"I'm afraid I can't help it, sir," said Klinger, shaking his head. "I've got a Korean boy out here who says his hut just got smashed by a tree. Must have been a lightning strike, sir. Says his mom and little sister are still inside – they're both unconscious."

Colonel Potter swore loudly again. Just then the child in question slipped through the door, a tiny Korean boy who looked no older than eight or nine years-old. "Ppalli waseo! Ppalli waseo!" he chattered. "Mother, sister, hurt. Come. Please come!"

"Alright, son, we're coming," said Colonel Potter, reaching over to lay a hand atop the boy's drenched hair. "Radar, go wake Hunnicutt. I don't think I'll be able to handle this by myself."

"Right away, Colonel Potter." Radar leapt forward, grabbing his jacket off the hook and flinging it over his shoulders.

Klinger, you know where the kid's hut is?"

"Yes, sir!" said Klinger.

"Good." Colonel Potter said to the Korean boy, "You stay here, son. Radar –"

"Sir?"

"Get the kid a cup of cocoa when you get back."

"Sure thing, Colonel." As Radar swept out of the office and into the downpour he heard the Colonel swear again.

"As if it wasn't enough to be caught in a warzone, we had to be hit with a damned typhoon!"

Radar slipped and skidded across the compound to the Swamp. He peered through the mesh window on the door only long enough to see that BJ was still sprawled motionless across his cot before knocking briefly and then swinging open the door.

"Captain Hunnicutt, sir? BJ?"

BJ's eyes snapped open. He sat up sharply in bed. Radar jumped.

"What is it? What's happened? Is Hawkeye alright?"

"Yes, sir, he's fine, sir, I mean, I don't know –" Radar became aware that he was babbling. "I mean, Colonel Potter wants you. A tree fell on some Koreans' house – a mom and her little girl…."

"My God, even the trees are against us now?"

"I guess so, sir."

BJ threw off his blanket and stood, grabbing for a pair of trousers crumpled at the foot of his bed. "How's Hawkeye, Radar? Have you heard anything?"

Radar swallowed. "I don't know, sir. He was asleep when I went to see him. I think maybe Major Winchester and Major Houlihan are in post-op now."

"Margaret?" said BJ, he smiled a smile that Radar thought looked sort of tired and worn out. "I guess it's just like her to trick me to get some sleep while she sneaks back to post-op. How long have I been sleeping, anyway? What time is it?"

"Almost four, sir."

"You've let me sleep for seven hours?" BJ demanded, pulling his head through his already buttoned shirt.

"Colonel Potter said to let you rest," Radar said quickly, not wanting BJ to think it had wholly been of Radar's doing.

BJ shook his head. "I should have been up helping with the wounded."

Radar didn't know what to say. The whole situation felt so – so darned hopeless and confused. "Colonel Potter wants to hurry, sir. Klinger's waiting with a jeep," he said instead.

"Sure, Radar," BJ sighed.

"I guess I've got to run now," said Radar. "I've got some hot cocoa to make." He left BJ shoving his feet into his boots, launching back into the cold rain and racing as quickly as possible to the mess tent.

He hadn't forgotten about calling Sparky again. But there just seemed to be so much to do. Why, a person could only be in one place at one time. Honestly, though, he didn't think calling Sparky again would do much good. He'd already called something like twenty times and the answer was always the same, no one was getting through to anywhere except for the Chinese, and everyone else was doing everything they could to stop the Chinese from getting through to anywhere else. Plus, this rain was interrupting radio reception, and telegraph lines were down just about everywhere.

Radar stifled a sigh and ran back to the office, clutching a mug of steaming cocoa in one hand and cupping the top of the mug with the other to stop the rain from getting in. He clattered through the door to find the little Korean boy had made himself right at home. He was wearing Radar's hat, grinning, and spinning himself in Radar's swiveling chair.

"Hey," said Radar, "don't do that, you'll get yourself sick."

The boy laughed and dug his heels into the floor to bring himself to a halt. "Doctors go to mother and sister?" he asked, blinking.

"Oh yeah, sure," said Radar, "we've got real fine doctors here. You don't have to worry about your mom and little sis at all. Here," he placed the mug of cocoa on top of the desk, "you drink this to get warmed up. You're all wet."

"Yes, gang-u. Water." said the little boy, reaching for the mug.

"Careful now, it's hot," said Radar. He reached over for the phone again and gave the telephone magneto a couple of hard cranks before putting the receiver to his ear.

"Sparky? Hey Sparky? Can you hear me?" Radar pressed the receiver closer to his ear, speaking loudly. The little boy looked at him curiously, slurping his cocoa carefully.

"Yeah, I know the storm's making it hard to hear," Radar continued. "Listen, how's it coming with getting some transport through to Seoul? …Yeah? …Sparky it's real important – yeah, I know… Oh, jeez, really? Gosh, how soon? …Yeah, listen, keep trying to get an ambulance up here… Thanks, Sparky."

Radar placed the receiver back with a clatter. "Oh, boy," he muttered, and darted toward the colonel's office. He remembered that Colonel Potter had already left and spun in a circle, charging toward post-op.

He barged through the doors, "Major Winchester –"

"What is it now, Corporal?" said Major Winchester, looking tired and bothered. He was standing at the desk in the corner, measuring out something into a syringe.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Major, but I just got word that the Chinese have overrun Hill Eerie. We've got casualties on the way."

"Good heavens, if we didn't have enough to worry about already!" Major Winchester exclaimed.

"What is it, Corporal?" Major Houlihan approached. Her face suggested that she had already guessed the news wasn't good.

"Casualties on the way, ma'am. We've got about fifteen or twenty minutes."

"We're already full up!" said Major Houlihan, "Where are we going to put them all? Is there still no word on getting transportation down to Seoul?"

"No, Major."

Major Houlihan sighed, clenching her teeth. "I'd better go see Colonel Potter."

Radar said quickly, remembering in the midst of everything else he had to worry about, "He's not here, ma'am. He's –"

"He's what?" Major Houlihan demanded, eyes flashing. "What do you mean he's not here?"

Radar felt his words gush out of his lips, "A Korean family's hut got hit in the storm. The little boy's in the office. He says his mom and little sister were hurt. Colonel Potter and Captain Hunnicutt left to –"

"Hunnicutt's gone, too?" Major Winchester interrupted. "What on earth were they thinking? We're already down one surgeon –"

"They'll be back as soon as they can!" said Radar. His throat was tight. He was exhausted, aching, and worried, and all of this wasn't his fault.

"How many casualties are coming in?" said Major Houlihan, she seemed to have regained control of herself. At least she wasn't yelling anymore.

Radar swallowed, "I don't know. A whole bunch."

"Alright," she ran a hand through her hair and straightened her shoulders. "Come on, Charles. I'd better go tell the nurses. And Corporal –"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You stay and monitor post-op. We're going to need all the hands we can get to manage the casualties."

"But I've got a whole bunch of stuff already to do!" said Radar, fear bubbling in his stomach. "Besides, I'm not a doctor, what if –" what if something went wrong? What if a patient needed help? What if Hawkeye –

"You'll be fine, Corporal; I'll send in Lieutenant Baker," said Major Houlihan impatiently but not unkindly. "If anything happens that you don't know how to handle, come get one of the doctors."

"Yes, ma'am, but –" Major Houlihan was already stalking toward the doors, following Major Winchester. Radar could feel his heart pattering quickly in his chest. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself. He looked over his shoulder to the row of beds down the wall, eyes falling immediately on the still, dark head of Hawkeye. Radar chewed on his lip.

He hadn't seen Hawkeye when he was awake yet. All he kept remembering was seeing the captain lying on that stretcher on that bus, covered in blood, lying in the operating room, chest split open with Major Winchester trying to pump life back into his heart –

"Wait, Major –" Radar tripped after Major Houlihan's retreating figure.

She turned around, "Yes, Corporal?"

"How's he – well, you know," Radar swallowed again and whispered confidentially. "Is he okay?"

Major Houlihan seemed to know exactly who Radar was talking about. "He's fine, Radar," she said, smiling wearily. "You'll do fine."

Radar slunk unhappily down the center aisle of post-op. Most of the patients seemed to be resting peacefully, perhaps lulled to sleep by the lazy sound of the pattering rain. A couple of guys were sitting up in bed near the end of the room, playing cards together. Radar felt horribly miserable and useless. It wouldn't be so bad if he could go back into his office, perhaps patch in a few calls to ICOR, try to get something done –

"Hey, soldier," said a weak voice, and Radar turned. "Long time no see."

It was Hawkeye. His eyes were open but that was about the only thing that indicated he was awake. He was utterly still, covered to his chest in blankets, left shoulder wrapped in white gauze, lying with his head sunken into his pillow. Radar felt his stomach tumble but then remembered he should probably smile.

"Oh, hey. How are you –" he stopped. Radar was so stupid. He could plainly see for himself how Hawkeye was doing. Hawkeye probably didn't want a whole bunch of meddlesome questions.

"I've been better," Hawkeye breathed.

Radar choked a laugh out through his clogged throat. He stood anxiously at the foot of Hawkeye's bed. He didn't like to see him like this. Hawkeye was supposed to be bounding across the compound, cracking jokes and smiling. It was…it was like bad dream, seeing him like this.

"Is there –" said Radar awkwardly. "Is there anything I can get you maybe?"

"A couple of martinis and Nurse Able in a nightgown," Hawkeye managed to get out, coughing feebly.

The door at the end of post-op opened and shut. Radar didn't look up to see who it was.

"Who's your little friend?" Hawkeye croaked.

"Huh? – Oh," Radar saw that it was the little Korean boy who had wandered in. He was rocking on his feet and staring at Radar like he wanted to tell him something. "Hey," said Radar, "Sorry, I almost forgot about you."

"Doctor come soon? Eomeoni wa jamae? Soon?"

"Oh, sure," said Radar, "they'll be back real soon."

Hawkeye's eyebrows furrowed. "What happened?"

"Oh, his hut got smashed by a tree. BJ and Colonel Potter went to see what they could do to help."

"Anyone hurt?"

"I don't know," said Radar, frowning. He hadn't meant to excite Hawkeye. "His mom and little sister maybe, but…."

Hawkeye shut his eyes and swore quietly under his breath. He shifted uneasily, pushing with his right arm, but winced and then when limp. Radar could tell that he was experiencing, perhaps, the same indescribable frustration at the situation as Radar was.

"You sure I can't get you anything, Hawkeye?" Radar asked again.

"Unless you can pump .02 more CCs of morphine into me," said Hawkeye with his eyes closed.

"Sorry I – I don't know how to do that," said Radar.

"It's 'kay," murmured Hawkeye.

"You wanna rest now?" said Radar.

"Yeah…but, how 'bout you stick around for a little longer, 'kay, Radar?"

"Kay," said Radar glumly. He settled in unhappily on the chair by Hawkeye's bed. The rest of post-op was quiet and he could catch no sound yet of approaching wounded or the return of Colonel Potter's jeep. The little Korean boy stared from Hawkeye to Radar for a moment before coming over to wiggle himself onto Radar's lap. Radar breathed deeply, feeling the gentle pressure of the little boy's head against his chest to be oddly comforting, almost like a life-sized, breathing teddy bear. Radar sighed and the little boy echoed him, the both of them settling in to wait.

Klinger tossed his ruined and wet white velvet gloves into the back of the jeep, leaping out of his seat and landing on the muddy road with a splash. He'd exchanged his high-heels for combat boots after losing a pair of green suede pumps in the mud two days ago. Unfortunately, the clunky brown boots clashed horribly with his pink swing skirt and Peter Pan collared blouse, but he honestly wasn't thinking very much about that now.

"Grab hold of that end, Klinger!" Colonel Potter bellowed across the pounding rain and roaring wind, indicating the large pine limb that had fallen across the entrance of the ramshackle hut by the side of the road.

"Yes, sir!" Klinger yelled back, grasping for a handhold amongst the tangle of branches and needles that snagging his arms and skirt. He closed his hands as well as he could around the limb and heaved, rolling it away from the doorway.

"Close enough," shouted Captain Hunnicutt, clutching a medical bag in one hand. "I can get through." He scrambled over the mess of tree branches, slipping inside the dark opening Klinger had managed to make into the hut. Lighting cracked and thunder rumbled overhead. Klinger stared cautiously up at the swaying branches of the other towering pine trees lining the side of the road.

"How's it look, BJ?" Colonel Potter asked, attempting to climb over the branches and into the hut as well.

"Damn, it's dark in here," BJ shouted back. "Not too bad, Colonel. The little girl's awake. Her mom's unconscious, though. Send Klinger in with the stretcher! I'll carry out the girl." Klinger dashed back to the jeep before Colonel Potter had a chance to utter the order.

When he returned back to the opening in the hut, clutching the stretcher at his side, he could hear BJ's soothing voice from inside. "It's okay, honey. You're safe, now." BJ emerged a moment later carrying the little girl, who looked no more than two or three year old. She was clutching BJ around the neck like a baby monkey would its mother, eyes wide and small body quivering all over. A trail of blood slipped down her cheek.

"Here you are, sweetheart," BJ murmured gently into her dark head of hair. "You go to Colonel Potter, now. Don't worry. You're okay."

BJ eased the little girl into Colonel Potter's waiting arms, who examined the cut on her cheek gently.

"How's the mother look?" Colonel Potter asked.

"Okay, I think. Let's get her out of here first. Come on, Klinger." Klinger handed the stretcher through to BJ before climbing over the mess of branches. He stumbled after the captain into the dark and musty hut.

The tree seemed to have collapsed directly on top of the little structure, crumbling the walls and scattering pieces of the thatched roof over the dirt floor. Klinger ducked under the reaching branches that spilled through the broken roof, letting rain drip onto the floor.

BJ led him over to the crumpled form of the mother lying on the floor, half-way covered with a large limb.

"She was on top of her daughter," BJ murmured, "almost like she'd thrown herself on top of her to protect her from the worst of it."

Klinger helped BJ move the branches off the woman's back, and then helped roll her onto the stretcher. He backed up slowly, shoulders hunched, and clutching one end of the stretcher tightly in his hands. BJ followed, holding the other end of the stretcher, medical bag slung over his shoulder.

Together they carried her out of the hut and onto the back of the jeep. "Alright," said Colonel Potter, "let's get out of this storm."

Just then, Klinger caught a rumbling sound in the distance that didn't sound like thunder or artillery. He cocked his head, listening as the sound grew closer and more recognizable.

"Sounds like trucks, sir," said Klinger as Colonel Potter turned his head.

"Maybe they've finally got someone through to get to Hawkeye," said BJ, a hopeful lilt to his voice that Klinger had not heard for many hours.

"Let's hope so," murmured Colonel Potter, but just then the bus rolled into sight, mud flying off its wheels, windshield wipers swinging furiously. The driver beeped the horn as it went speeding past the jeep. That bus was followed by row of jeeps with stretchers strapped on the back of them.

"Casualties," Colonel Potter said tersely. "Headed up our way. Come on."

"We're in for another tough one," said Klinger, noting another bus that came in out of the mist in the distance.

"As if anything else could go wrong," said Colonel Potter gruffly.

"Something already did, sir," said Klinger sadly, yanking the jeep into gear and pressing his foot on the gas. "I tore my skirt trying to get out of the hut."

Ending Note: Don't ask me where the side story of the Korean family came from. I guess I needed to come up with some sort of distraction for poor BJ. Thanks for the reviews.