Title: Thin Red Line

Characters: Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy and Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce

Rating: M

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: The Red Scare spreads to the 4077th when a no-nonsense colonel is sent to investigate one of their own.

Author's Note: Based on the characters portrayed by Rene Auberjonois and Donald Sutherland from MASH (1970), the original film production.

In response to persimmon's whump challenge. As always, please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them right away. Thanks for reading. –RW

WARNING: A bit of smut to be had in this chapter. I couldn't resist with their bodies pressed together... Enjoy.

Time seemed to have come to a grinding halt as the chaplain and the doctor stood together like sardines in the hole. The slight conversation had made the air hot and stale around them, and Dago felt himself growing ever more afraid that they were going to run out of oxygen before West let them out.

"Maybe we ought to stop talking, Hawkeye," he had suggested, trying not to sound frantic, least he send the other man into another panic. The doctor had agreed, muttering about being tired and pondering if he could sleep standing up, but had ultimately gotten quiet. If it weren't for his steady breathing across the priest's neck, or the heat of his body against his back, Dago might wonder if Hawkeye was even there at all.

But the topic had gotten Dago's mind wandering as he remembered just what had led him into the army. He'd been a missionary priest before becoming a chaplain and had spent time in places like Brazil and China and Tibet. That had been during the Second World War, when he was fresh out of seminary and eager to spread the Good News with the rest of the world. He'd love missionary work—meeting the people, visiting new places, living a simple life. But he'd felt called to something else. The world around him was so full of anger and chaos and war, that Dago knew he needed to do more. Perhaps becoming a chaplain was simply to prove that no amount of violence or destruction of disregard for human life could change the goodness in him. It had been a goodhearted gesture, but a foolish one. War was ugly, and the words of God he quoted fell upon deaf ears. He was mocked, ridiculed, or all together ignored by the very people he was meant to minister to. And now he was imprisoned for doing his duty and protecting his flock. And he had been changed.

Dago sighed and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the dirt wall. Guilt surfaced within him. How could he have given up on God so easily? Certainly there was cruelty in this place, but who was he to expect the Almighty to come and save him when God had sent his own Son to die for humankind? Jesus was the messiah; Dago was simply a man. He silently prayed for forgiveness, owning to a moment of mental, physical and spiritual weakness.

Hawkeye's weight shifted against his back, and the doctor rested his head on Dago's shoulder. The priest knew that if Hawkeye wasn't asleep, he was certainly on the verge of it. He was glad that he had managed to calm Hawkeye down, though he wasn't sure how long it would last. Three days was a terribly long time to be trapped like this.

"This is surprisingly comfortable," Hawkeye said softly, the breath from his words tickling the hair at the base of Dago's skull. "I mean, my feet are killing me, and I still feel like a suffocating sardine, but otherwise you make a nice leaning post."

Dago chuckled softly. "I'm glad one of us is comfortable. I feel like I get a pound of dirt in my nose every time I take a breath."

"I'm sorry." Hawkeye said gently, then paused in thought. "You've got a smaller frame than I do, if I push back as far as I can, do you think you'd be able to turn around?"

"I highly doubt it. We're wedged in here pretty tight."

"Yeah, tell me about it." There was a slight edge to the words, alluding to the panic that lay just under Hawkeye's cool exterior. "Are you okay otherwise? I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No, I'm okay. My back is still a bit sore, of course, but…I'll live."

Dago felt a rush of warm air against his neck as Hawkeye let out a heavy breath.

"So you've been a priest a long time, right?"

"All of my adult life." Dago affirmed. "I was an acolyte of the church growing up—starting at 7 when I became an altar boy."

"In times like this, do you ever regret things?" Hawkeye asked. "You know, like never having sex and such?"

"Not really," Dago said. "Being a virgin affords me the benefit of not knowing what I'm missing."

Hawkeye laughed softly. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it. But then again…you don't know what you're missing."

Dago shrugged. "That could be said about many things."

"Yeah, but I know what I'm missing right now…I keep thinking of all the girls I could have had a chance with and how they might be in the sack."

"That seems like a fruitless line of thinking."

"Says you." Hawkeye said, obviously grinning. "Don't you find anyone at the Double Natural good looking?"

"Of course," Dago scoffed. "I'm a priest; I'm not blind."

"Yeah?" Hawkeye sounded surprised. "Who?"

"Oh, Hawkeye…really…" The chaplain sounded annoyed.

"Come on, Dago; it's not like I'm going to tell them."

"Everyone has some desirable quality, be it their looks or personality." The chaplain said diplomatically.

"Don't cop out; tell me specifically." Hawkeye needled. "Dish? You like her?"

"Lieutenant Schneider is a very attractive young woman, yes." Dago said properly. "But she's also a married woman, Hawkeye. For me to think of her in any way beyond that would be wholly inappropriate."

"Okay, okay…" Hawkeye could hear that the chaplain was getting riled up by the line of questioning, and backed off. They still had far too much time stuck together in the hole for him to piss off the priest. He stayed silent for a while, trying to think of something else to talk about, and trying not to wish that it was Trapper or Duke he'd been stuck with instead of Dago. At least then he'd be free to talk about the more tawdry side of life. "How long do you think we've been in here?"

"A few hours, maybe." Dago said after a moment of consideration.

"Christ…" Hawkeye swore softly. "What did you do when you were in here before?"

There was a silence before the priest spoke in a barely audible whisper, "Went insane."

Hawkeye felt that wave of guilt wash over him again, remembering how the priest had broken down and shut himself off. He pressed his lips to the top of Dago's shoulder, more of a comforting gesture than an actual kiss. "I'm sorry."

"It's better this time…ironically." Dago told him. "At least I'm not alone. That was the worst part of it, I think."

"I keep trying to tell myself that at least we're not up there busting up rock." Hawkeye said. "With a window, a couple of beds and some fresh air, this would actually feel like a vacation."

Dago laughed softly. "You don't want for much, do you?"

"Well, if it was really a vacation, you'd be a beautiful woman, not a priest."

"Sorry to disappoint." Dago teased.

They lapsed once again into silence, losing themselves in their own thoughts as time continued to wear on. Dago shifted his weight from foot to foot as his feet started to ache from being in one place for too long. His stomach growled audibly, protesting the severe lack of food.

"I almost wish Henry would have come after lunch," Dago said. "I can count the number of meals I have in the past week on one hand."

"If you start feeling faint, let me know."

"I'm okay right now...just hungry."

Time continued to lapse as the men stood, growing ever more weary. The air was growing hotter and thicker with each exhalation, and it was becoming harder to think about anything beyond food, water, oxygen and sleep. Dago idly considered that he'd been fooling himself to think holding the buckets of water would be the most physically demanding thing, and found himself wishing he'd held out a little longer.

His stomach was cramping and gurgling painfully and his throat was dry, his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth. He wanted to sit down, wanted to sleep, but knew it would still be days before that would happen. The priest gave a soft cry of misery, and Hawkeye lifted his sleepy head off his shoulder.

"What's the matter, babe?"

"I feel like I'm going to die," Dago said shakily. He might have actually cried were he not so thoroughly dehydrated. "I'm tired…and hungry…and thirsty."

"I know," Hawkeye said gently, squeezing the priest's arm gently. "It'll be over soon."

"It won't," the priest argued forlornly. "Even when they let us out, it'll be like it was the first time—West will make sure everyone else has eaten. I've had two meals since I've been here, Hawkeye. Two. I'm so hungry."

"Shh…Dago..." Hawkeye wormed his arms around Dago, hugging him even closer in the cramped spaced. "It's okay. It'll be okay."

"It won't," the priest repeated again, clutching Hawkeye's arm tightly.

The doctor knew he had two options to keep Dago from melting down—knock him out, or try and get his mind off the pain. He didn't fancy doing the first option, mainly because he knew Dago would fall under his own weight, and then they'd be in a totally new world of discomfort. The second option required thinking, which Hawkeye was in no mood for. Then he remembered the basic needs of mankind—well, man anyways. Food, shelter, and sex. The third option, while still not ideal, and would certainly gain protest from the priest, seemed like the only course of action. Consequences be damned.

Hawkeye rested his head against Dago's, dropping his voice to a low murmur. "It's okay, baby." He nuzzled Dago's ear as he whispered sweet nothings and reassurances to the priest, one hand lightly running up and down the other man's chest. Daringly, he placed a whisper of a kiss just behind Dago's ear. Under his hand, he could feel the priest's pulse quicken, though his head lolled ever so slightly to the side.

The effect was working, Dago was starting to focus on the pleasure rather than the pains in the rest of his body, but he was also becoming aware of what was going on. "Hawkeye…what are you doing?" He asked, his voice soft and far-away sounding.

"Don't talk," Hawkeye whispered. "Just trust me."

Hawkeye's sultry voice, coupled with the heat of their bodies, was slowly putting the priest into a trance. He felt Hawkeye's lips again, just behind his ear, followed by the gentle flick of a tongue on skin. He shivered slightly and opened his mouth to protest, but a soft cry of pleasure bubbled out of him instead.

"No…" he said weakly, as Hawkeye's hand slipped down his body. "No, please. Stop."

Hawkeye stilled his hand over Dago's abdomen, redoubling his effects to seduce the man by kissing his neck. Dago's skin tasted of salty sweat and dirt, but it wasn't wholly unpleasant. He nipped the skin lightly and grazed Dago's earlobe with his teeth, eliciting another soft cry. He felt the priest's hand reach back and grasp his thigh, and Hawkeye resumed his slow track down the man's torso.

Dago's pants were loose enough at his waist that Hawkeye could easily slip his hand beneath the waistband, lightly fondling the priest through his boxers. He was moderately surprised to find that Dago was semi-aroused, and even more surprised to find that it excited him in turn. He gave a low, soft moan, pressing his lips to Dago's ear.

"That's it, baby. Just close your eyes and relax." His hand worked into the opening of the boxers, pulling Dago's cock free as he wrapped his fingers around the swollen member.

"No." Dago said again, though his body was saying yes. "Stop it. Stop. It. Oh…Hawkeye…"

Hawkeye had begun to gently stroke the priest, moving his hand up and down with practiced precision. His lips and tongue busied themselves across Dago's neck, teeth nipping here and there for added stimulation. He could feel his own cock throbbing in his trousers, and though he felt no attraction for Dago, he used his free hand to lightly pull the priest back against him, grinding himself on Dago's backside as he worked them both towards orgasm.

The priest's head fell back on Hawkeye's shoulder as he cried out, his hot seed spilling into Hawkeye's hand. Hawkeye continued to work his cock until every drop had been spent and the priest shuddered under his touch, then Hawkeye retrieved his hand from the priest's pants and shoved it down his own, grabbing his own cock and pumping it furiously until he, too, found his peak. He fell heavily against Dago's back as he came, groaning in pleasure and milking himself dry.

When Hawkeye finally came to his senses, he pulled his hand out, wiped it on his trousers and released a heavy, satisfied breath. He could feel Dago trembling before him, but knew it wasn't from pleasure. The priest was crying—or would have been if he'd had any water left in him for tears.

"It's okay, Dago…" Hawkeye said gently, placing his hands on the chaplain's shoulders.

"It's not okay," the priest choked on the words. "That was…not okay. How could you, Hawkeye? How could you…"

Hawkeye rested his chin on Dago's shoulder, frowning contritely. He knew he shouldn't have, but honestly…what else was there to do? "Come on, babe…it wasn't all bad, was it?"

Dago took a shuddering breath, and to Hawkeye's surprise, answered with a very quiet, "no."

Hawkeye grinned despite himself. "There, ya see? I just wanted to take your mind off things for a while. Make you feel good for just a minute. And it worked, didn't it?"

A pause, then another soft reply, "Yes."

"It doesn't make us queers, Dago."

"You won't tell anyone…will you?"

"Exactly when would something like this come up in normal conversation? 'Ho-Jon, make me a martini. Oh, say Trapper, remember when I was in that prisoner camp? Yeah, I jacked off Dago Red while we were in the hole.' No, babe…I'm not going to tell anyone about this."

"I've never…you know…before." Dago admitted, shyly.

"Never what? Came?"

"Must you say it like that?" The priest chided, blushing furiously in the darkness.

Hawkeye chortled, "How would you prefer I say it?"

"I don't know…but…don't be so…crude."

"Never experienced sexual gratification." Hawkeye rephrased in words Dago might have used.

"Yes." The priest said dryly.

"Now you know what you're missing." Hawkeye grinned again.

"Yes," Dago repeated, sounding none-too-happy. "Thanks for that."

The sarcastic tone made Hawkeye laugh, despite his attempt not too. "Come on, babe. We're in the seventh circle of Hell, I think God will forgive a little foreplay, all things considering."

"Regardless…this entire experience has changed me, Hawkeye. Not simply what we did a moment ago. I've lost sight of God here. As a priest, that is the most unspeakable thing I can think of. I'm so…ashamed."

"Dago… You know where I stand on the religion thing, but I don't think you should be ashamed of anything. The things you've endured…I'd call you crazy if you weren't shaken by it."

"Still." Dago shrugged softly.

"Listen, when Henry gets us out, I'd say we earned some real R&R—I don't know about you, but I plan to complain to management about this place." Hawkeye nudged Dago, trying to elicit a laugh, but the priest just harrumphed quietly. "Anyways. Maybe you should…you know…go to talk to someone to sort things out."

"Yeah," the chaplain sighed. "I probably should. What about you?"

"Eh, I'm okay. Pissed off about what they're doing here, mad as hell what West and Grayson did to you, but I'll be alright. I just want to make sure this place gets shut down."

Dago sighed again, this time tiredly, and Hawkeye hugged him around the middle, angling them so they were wedged into a corner, supported by their combined weight and the wall.

"Close your eyes, babe," Hawkeye said gently. "Try and get some sleep."

"I don't think I can sleep standing up."

"You're not going anywhere; trust me."

The priest scoffed lightly. "You've said that before."

"And it worked out okay, didn't it?"

Dago grumbled something that Hawkeye couldn't quite make out, but as the priest settled back against him, he decided to let it go. He closed his own eyes, tucking his face in against Dago's neck, and held onto the priest as they both dozed off.

By the third day, Dago was so weakened from hunger and continued dehydration, that Hawkeye was truly fearful for the priest. He had become delirious, muttering incoherently at times; his lips were dry and cracked, and his body was so parched of fluid that Hawkeye could feel where it had shriveled and wrinkled. He was becoming dangerously ill, and Hawkeye knew that the only place the priest needed to be was a hospital.

Fat chance. He thought bitterly, holding on to the weakened man as if he were preserving Dago's life in his hands. He knew that once they were out of the hole, he was going to do whatever it took to get Dago some actual help. If West locked him away for a whole week, so be it. Dago would die if he went much longer without food or water.

When the door finally opened, it was dark outside and the breath of air that licked Hawkeye's face was as sweet as mother's milk. He gasped, drinking in the air greedily, not realizing how oxygen-deprived the hole had become. Dago was still in his arms, his eyes unfocused and somewhat glassy.

The guard took notice. "He alive?"

"Barely," Hawkeye grumbled. "He needs to go to a hospital or he's going to die."

"Bring him up." The guard said.

Hawkeye half dragged, half carried Dago out of the hole—the priest's body limp and frail in his arms, but somehow still quite heavy. Hawkeye knew that Dago's body had shut down in response to the starvation.

West was standing there, cigar clamped in bulldog jowls, eyeing Pierce and the priest. "What's wrong with him?"

"You're killing him." Hawkeye said. "He's had two meals since he's been in this goddamn camp, and probably just as much water."

"Take him the mess tent; get him some grub." West said dismissively.

"If I do that, it's likely to finish him off. His body won't be able to handle it. He needs to be in a hospital."

West stared at him for a long hard moment and Hawkeye counted the beats of his heart until West finally waved a guard over. "You know what to do."

Hawkeye tensed. What exactly were they going to do? "Colonel?"

"Get him to a jeep, Pierce; then get back to your tent."

"Where are you taking him?"

"That's none of your concern." West said, brushing ash off his shirt.

"Well, you see, it is my concern, because I have no intention of letting you take him so you can just dump him somewhere to die."

"Get him to the jeep, Pierce, and get to your tent."

"So help me, Colonel, if you do anything to Dago—"

"Get. To. Your. Tent." West growled.

Hawkeye helped get Dago settled into the back of a jeep so that he wouldn't be thrown out and grasped the priest's hand. "It'll be okay, babe."

Dago's eyes fluttered, meeting Hawkeye's for a brief second before the priest returned to his delirium. Hawkeye looked to the guard, not wanting to let Dago go, fearing the worst. "Where are you taking him? Please…I need to know."

The guard said nothing, simply sticking the jeep into gear and driving through the gates. Hawkeye watched the taillights as they faded out of sight down the long dark road. He had a sinking feeling that he'd just given his friend over for certain death, but there was nothing he could do. Whether Dago was forced to stay in the camp, or taken to wherever he was going, he would die without proper care. Hawkeye felt sick at the thought.

The last few days had been enough of a nightmare, as he's had to stand there, crammed in the hole with Dago, holding onto the priest as he slowly deteriorated. Hunger pains had turned into debilitating cramps, and Dago had been so parched that he couldn't speak without sending himself into a horrible coughing fit that left him dry heaving. All Hawkeye could do was be there and try to comfort Dago through touch and speech. The priest had seemed to grow weaker and weaker with each passing hour, falling in and out of consciousness, and finally into his present state where he seemed neither awake nor asleep. Hawkeye had wished a thousand times over that it had been him instead of Dago. While he, himself, was starving and dehydrated, he was nowhere near as bad off as the chaplain.

Stripping his shirt off over his head, Hawkeye moved towards the shower stall, pulling the chain as he stuck his face into the stream, lapping at the foul tasting water to try and rehydrate himself. He scrubbed his face and hair, washing off dirt and sweat, then did as he had been told and returned to his tent.

Williams and the others were playing a round of cards, but no one spoke as he ambled past them towards his cot. Too weary and weak to do much else, Hawkeye collapsed onto the bed, where his last conscious thought was of Dago.

Henry Blake had come to an impasse on trying to retrieve his doctor and priest from the prisoner camp. The official word was that Freedom Camp did not exist, and if it did, it was far beyond the scope of the Judge Advocate General.

"I need hard, physical evidence that your men are being mistreated, Henry." General Royce had told Blake as he'd visited HQ in Seoul. "If I start poking around and pointing fingers at the CIA without any proof, they'll cook my goose!"

"Clarence, my men were arrested and charged with treason. I visited that camp with General Hammond, I saw Hawkeye and Father Mulcahy with my own eyes! They were beaten, they were dirty, they were… Hell, Clarence, you know as well as I do that this smell rotten. The CIA has no right to police army officers. Investigate, interview, spy…that's their power."

"Look, Henry, I'm not saying that what you've told me hasn't happened, but if the CIA has established a prison camp here and they are mistreating the men, then we're going to be opening a very big can of worms. Besides, if they have been arrested on suspicion of treason, then there will be a trial. If they are found guilty, they could be in a lot of trouble."

"Well put me down as a character witness for both of them. They are not traitors. Pierce may be a lot of things, but a traitor isn't one of them." Henry leaned towards Royce with a hard look. "Come with me to the camp, General; see for yourself. Talk to my men. Put them on trial if you want, but get them out of there!"

As it was, Henry had gone back to the 4077th with only the promise that Royce would look into it, but still needed proof of foul play and mistreatment. Blake had called Hammond upon his return to see if the General could pull the same strings as before and get them back into the camp. This time, Henry would take Radar's camera.

Several days had passed with no word from Hammond. Henry felt like he was going out of his mind. How could the army let this happen? How could the camp simply not exist when Henry himself had been there? What the hell was going on in the world that the CIA was running covert military prisons?

It was still hours before dawn when Radar rushed into the colonel's tent, breathless, and shook Henry from a deep slumber. "What is it, Radar? I was having a beautiful dream about a gorgeous blonde—"

"I'm sorry sir," Radar cut him off. "General Royce is calling from Seoul. He said it's urgent."

Henry was out of bed in a flash, stuff his feet in his boots and throwing on his bathrobe as he reached for his glasses, barreling towards his office with Radar on his heels. "What'd the General say?"

"Just that it was urgent, sir. I asked how urgent, because I know you don't like to be woken up, sir, and he said urgent enough to make me a private if I didn't get you on the phone, sir."

"Thank you, Radar, put it through to my office." Henry went through the office door, and picked up the phone on his desk, knowing Radar would have already patched the call through. "Clarence? What have you got?"

"You better get up here right away, Henry." Royce said. "Remember that can of worms I told you about? It's been opened."

Royce wouldn't say anything more, but Henry hadn't wasted time in getting dressed. Radar had a jeep ready and waiting for him before he could even think to ask, and left instructions for Trapper to be in charge in his absence. With his unit taken care of, Henry headed back to Seoul, eager to find out what the General knew.

When day broke at Freedom Camp, before the bell tolled for roll call, the door to tent 3 slammed open and West barreled inside, his eyes fixed on Hawkeye in a murderous scowl.

"What have you done?" West demanded. "Where's my jeep and soldier? Don't lie to me, boy; I know you said something to him before he left last night. What was it!"

A glimmer of hope, shadow by a tinge of fear for Dago, shimmied up Hawkeye's spine. "How should I know? I only asked where he was taking Dago and he didn't even answer me. Maybe your lackeys are tired of doing your dirty work, Colonel. Especially if you sent a man out to kill a priest."

West looked ready to snap. "You've made a very big mistake, Pierce. Kill him."

No one moved at West's orders, the guards standing stoic near the door, Williams and the others looking on with anxiousness. Hawkeye looked from West to his guards, then back at West, who looked livid. He swung towards the two guards.

"I said kill him!"

Neither man moved.

"You mutinous bunch of cowards," West spat. "Fine. I'll do it myself."

West pulled the pistol from the holder at his hip and cocked back the hammer, taking aim right between Pierce's eyes. Hawkeye slammed his eyes shut, his heart stuttering as his life flashed before his eyes. He thought of his dad, his wife, his two young boys. He thought of the life he'd had before this war, and lamented on the life he would never return to. He expected to hear the bang of the gun, feel the force of the bullet as it pierced through skin and bone and brain, but a voice rang out in the tent.

"Hold it right there."

Pierce opened his eyes to find Henry standing there with another man.

"Put the gun down, or I'll order these men to take you down instead." The man commanded.

Hawkeye dared to look back at West, who was still leveling the pistol at his head. He looked like an animal that had been cornered. Hawkeye could almost see what was about to happen just mere seconds before the colonel turned the gun on himself. Blake and the other man hollered out just as West pulled the trigger and fell to the floor dead. Hawkeye was up on his feet, kneeling over West, his fingers pressing against the pulse point in the colonel's neck though he knew it was too late.

"He's dead." Hawkeye declared, feeling a deep sense of justice at the words. He got to his feet looking at Henry with a baleful expression. "Dago…Henry, I'm sorry, there was nothing I could do…"

Blake crossed the room, looking down at West's body briefly as the other man ushered the rest of the men out of the tent, then placed his hand on Pierce's shoulder. "Dago's fine, Hawkeye. Or…he will be in a week or so."

"He's alive?" Hawkeye's eyes welled with tears that spilled down his cheeks at the news.

"One of guards was apparently ordered to kill him and toss his body in a mass grave, but instead he brought Dago to HQ and narced on West and this whole operation. It was the proof we needed to blow the lid on this place. Seems like we got here just in the nick of time."

"What happens now?" Hawkeye asked.

"A transport is here to take everyone back to HQ. From there, we're not quite sure yet."

"What d'you mean you're not quite sure?"

"This is a serious situation, Pierce."

"Yes, I figured that out a minute ago when West painted the walls with his blood." Hawkeye said flatly. "Don't give me that bullshit, Henry. Dago nearly died in this place for no reason at all. Every man here is innocent. None of us are traitors."

"I know that," Henry snapped back. "But now we have to prove that to get it off your permanent records. Far as we can tell, this was an illegal operation set up under the table by some government yakity yak in Washington who thought our boys were being corrupted by communists posing as Korean peasants. This is a big deal, Pierce, so can the sarcasm, will ya?"

Hawkeye narrowed his eyes slightly, but kept his mouth shut for a moment. "Can I at least see Dago?"

"I'll arrange it as soon as we're in Seoul, but he was unconscious when I saw him before we came up here." Henry put his arm around Hawkeye's shoulder, leading the doctor out to where the other men were already being loaded up in the transport. A wild cheer went up and Hawkeye saw the men beaming and pumping their fists in the air at the sight of him, obviously believing him to be responsible for their freedom. It felt good knowing that he had—somewhat—had a hand in bringing justice to this place, but he gave all credit to Dago, who had nearly given his life.

TBC