It had been a long sixteen hours in surgery. Hawkey and Trapper were physically and emotionally exhausted. About six hours into the surgery, Radar announced to the staff in the OR that their recently departing Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake's plane was shot down over the Sea of Japan and there were no survivors. The surgeons poured themselves a drink from their still and sat quietly on their cots. The silence in the tent was deafening. Neither spoke a word for several minutes. Trapper stared off into the distance, Hawkeye stared at the floor. Both tried their best not to start crying as they silently mourned the passing of their friend. Finally Hawkeye, his face stained with tears, still in his scrubs soaked in the blood of the casualties, broke the silence.
"I can't believe he's gone. I- I can't believe he didn't make it home. I can't understand it! Why? Why did it have to be him? His plane? Why?! Damn it! Why!"
Trapper didn't give an answer. He was too grief stricken to speak. He knew there was nothing he could say to comfort himself or his fellow Swamprat. Hawkeye looked at his glass of bathtub gin disgustedly and threw it across the room, causing it to break where it landed. He stood up and paced around the tent. He thought back to the day in OR when his childhood friend died on the operating table and Henry comforted him in the aftermath.
"Look! All I know is what they taught me in Command School. Rule one: Young men die in a war. Rule two: Doctors can't change rule one!"
Hawkeye yelled and sobbed in disgust:
"This goddamn fucking war!"
Someone tapped on the door to the Swamp. It was Frank and Margaret.
"Pierce. McIntyre, can we come in?"
"I'm not in the mood for your bullshit or her bullshit or Hammond's or Clayton's or MacArthur or anyone else's bullshit in this godforsaken Hellhole Frank!"
Hawkeye was expecting the Majors to burst into his quarters at a full blaze, and he was ready to fight both of them, Instead they came in quietly. Their faces were awash with the same sadness. That had afflicted both of the Captains, from their grief over losing Henry. Major Houlihan spoke first.
"Pierce… McIntyre I….. we….."
She trailed off and began to cry. Empathy was never Frank Burns strong suit, but as he watched his secret lover begin to cry, he grabbed her in a close embrace letting her cry into his chest. He looked at his bunkmates, both of whom showed unexpected concern for both Frank and Margaret. Trapper spoke up.
"Look guys. We're not the only ones upset right now. This whole camp is grieving over Henry. They're going to be looking to us for comfort, guidance, and leadership. For the good of the outfit, we need to put aside all of our differences and gripes with one another, and keep this thing afloat. Okay?"
Margaret unburried her face from Frank's shirt and whipped the tears from it.
"Okay."
"Frank?"
"You're absolutely right McIntyre. It's what the colonel would want us to do."
"Hawk?"
"Yeah. Let's do it for Henry."
Trapper poured himself and his four fellow officers a drink from the still. They held up their glasses to toast their fallen leader. Hawkeye lead the toast.
"To Henry Blake. Gpd's speed Henry."