Father Mulcahy came back from the orphanage a day early to a camp in shambles, not knowing what to do. Soon enough, within seconds of returning, he found himself in another tent after being arrested by Major Floyd's disgruntled men, clueless as to the cause of the dishonor. Without the comfort of his Bible or even a pen and paper to write the next Sunday service with (which was fast approaching), he seemed a little out of sorts as well. He had an idea of why he was arrested, just not the exact reason why he also was being accused of a murder (or two) that he obviously did not commit.
The Lord is my Sheppard. There is nothing I shall lack.
The words of Psalm 23 kept repeating over and over in his mind, but Father Mulcahy did not think this much comfort anymore. After all, he had seen what Major Floyd had done to so many members of the camp and it was not pretty. Locked into tents, starving, not knowing when they were going to see the sunshine again…Father Mulcahy had an idea of what he was facing. It did not give him much courage though, although he was begging for it.
Oh, Lord, give me that, at least. I need the audacity to face my enemies and to get through this. You know that I am innocent of everything. Let me prove it to them through You!
Suddenly, the door opened, revealing Major Floyd. Behind him were the two men who had been to Tokyo to search for Hawkeye and Klinger, who appeared to have just returned. Wright and Wellington were their names, if Father Mulcahy remembered correctly, and they were successful in capturing the two men, if the rumors around the camp were right.
Certainly, Colonel Potter wasn't going to say anything about it. Father Mulcahy knew that he had been silenced into submission, not knowing what to do as his camp slowly fell apart. Major Floyd had more power than he did.
May the Lord give him strength in these coming days. Colonel Potter will need it!
The last man in closed the door and leaned against it, as if to block anyone from coming in or out, a guardian of some sort. The other posed himself to Father Mulcahy's right, a gun aimed at his head. Major Floyd stood in the center, in front of Father Mulcahy. Shaking, the Padre turned to his interrogator and smiled weakly, showing that he, at least, expected the farce hospitality that he was receiving.
Surely, they cannot suspect me, a priest, of murdering? Of being part of this conspiracy I have been hearing about? Why, I didn't know any of these people before arriving at the 4077th. I met them on my first day here or when they arrived.
"So, Father Mulcahy," Major Floyd began earnestly, crossing his arms. "Major Houlihan had a lot to say about you."
He's lying. Father Mulcahy saw into the major's eyes. Major Houlihan wouldn't bear false witness against somebody like that, especially for murder.
"She began with telling us about Captain Pierce," Floyd continued. "Then, with a little digging, we found out that the murder of Nurse Winifred Curtis and Sergeant Aaron Church had been a plot. Both were US spies, working for the government, and your band of people, who are so un-American, found out that they had information against you. So, Major Houlihan, your natural leader, ordered you all to murder them."
"I bear no enmity towards you and your men, Major, but might I say that these theories of yours seem to be…well, a little on the wild side?" Father Mulcahy tried hard not to grin at his captors, to even laugh, about the seriousness in Floyd's face, which quickly turned to disgust. "I am a young priest, you know, Major, and I condone such practices as murder."
"So, you're against this war?" Floyd's eyes flashed with anger.
"I did not say that."
"To be against murder and death is to be against this war. It's unpatriotic, Father, to be protesting a war against our enemy, the Communists."
Father Mulcahy wanted to point out the oxymoron in this statement, but denied his tongue the right to speak it. War is most certainly the murder of thousands, if not millions of people, and all are victims, especially the children. However, for Major Floyd to be so intent on a murder (well, two) was preposterous. It was ironic even to think that to be for a war was also not tolerating murder. However, for a person to be investigating a murder, with so biased in the opinion on war, was a little silly of the Army.
"I did not say that I was closing my eyes to the sins of those against our country," Father Mulcahy said weakly. "I am merely stating that, as a priest, I frown upon those who murder in cold blood. It is nothing against our Korean conflict."
"You are confessing to being un-American!" Floyd yelled, a predator's grin planted on his face.
"Yeah, well, and you're telling me that I have no conscience!" Father Mulcahy yelled back. "I feel so useless in this camp, but to see the suffering people and to comfort them has been, and always will be, my greatest comfort on this Earth. I do not plunge a knife into the back of a man or woman nobody liked. I smiled at them and encouraged to be good to others, to be loving to a person. I do not outright plan a murdering spree with others. I would try to stop them, had I found out about it in the first place!"
Floyd frowned and uncrossed his arms, thinking. Father Mulcahy's harder than I thought. He isn't cracking. He isn't showing any signs of breaking down. He's as tough as nails, like Major Houlihan was initially. Hell, even we thought that he was too innocent and stupid to defend himself.
The man with the gun – Wright – then moved in at Floyd's silent plea, placing the end of his gun on Father's Mulcahy's head softly. He spun the barrel a few times, allowing it click down slowly and then stop. Finally, he turned to his superior officer, waiting for the order to shoot the priest or to back down.
As Father Mulcahy gulped audibly, Floyd asked, "So, Padre, have you ever heard of Russian Roulette?"
Father Mulcahy shook his head rapidly, making sure that the man with the gun would not shoot at the slightest move. No, he had not heard of this "Russian Roulette". Whatever it was, though, he knew that it had something to do with that gun.
"You see, Father, Russian Roulette, as the name implies, originated in Russia, or as we now call it, the USSR, ruled by Stalin." Floyd folded his arms again, clearly enjoying the game he was playing with the Padre. "According to the legend, it began as a suicide game to the officers in the Great War, who were losing so horribly before the revolution. Without any food, water, guns, ammunition, help or inspiration, the officers devised an honorable game in which, if they were overrun by the enemy or lost a battle, would ensure their safety to the afterlife. It was quick and easy."
"Suicide is against God's laws," Father Mulcahy only replied, but with the gun moving closer to his head, he shut up immediately.
Floyd, if he had heard him, continued, despite Father Mulcahy's pleading eyes. "Now, Padre, Russian Roulette only needs one bullet and a six chamber gun, which we have, as you can see. One bullet is inserted in and the barrel is spun at random once or maybe a few times. Then, naturally, you shoot at the head. Of course, you have a one in six chance of dying, but it's not our problem now…is it?"
"You know that I didn't murder those people," Father Mulcahy stoutly maintained. "Nobody here did. So, why can't you stuff it where you belong and hitchhike a ride back to Seoul?"
Floyd then nodded to Wright, who then smiled and pulled his trigger before Father Mulcahy could utter a prayer of farewell. No bullet came forward, so Wright spun the barrel again. When it stopped, he nodded to Floyd in return. It was ready for a second round.
Suddenly, without warning, Floyd was in the Padre's face, his hands clasping down on his arms in a tight embrace. "Deny it all you want, Father Mulcahy, but we have solid proof that you've murdered these fine people. You took their lives in cold blood, just like all the others. You rejoiced in it. You danced on their makeshift graves. Hell, you even planned the next murder, the one of Sergeant Church!"
"For all I know, Major, you could have been the murderer," Father Mulcahy blurted out, but immediately regretted. However, there was something in the major's eyes that kept catching his attention and it wasn't just the lying he did.
There was bloodlust in Major Floyd's eyes. Whether or not anybody else saw it during their own interrogations or conversations with the man is another matter. However, to work off of that would help the others in their own investigation…if he got out of there alive and managed to get a word to anybody in Tokyo about it. Even to get a hold of Colonel Potter right about now would make Father Mulcahy's day.
Floyd backed away from Father Mulcahy, ungluing his hands from the Padre's arms in the process, and turned his back on him. Finally, Floyd faced him once more, only to indirectly give Wright the order to shoot once more.
"I'm very sorry, Father," Floyd only said as Wright prepared to pull the trigger once more. "It was nothing personal."