"What do we have here? Did he fall off his bike or trip when chasing a butterfly?" Hawkeye Pierce asked jokingly, seeing Henry holding Radar under his arm while leading the Corporal into post-op.
"Oh, cut it out, sir," Radar looked at him, annoyed as always when Hawkeye made a joke about his youth.
"Actually, he's feverish with a headache and sore throat. Must be the flu. Take care of him, Pierce, will you?" Henry said.
"Oh, naturally! Our little Corporal is going to be right as rain again after a few days in our grand health resort. Come on, Radar, lie down over there," he pointed to a free bed, "Nurse Kellye will bring you a pair of hospital-issue pajamas so that you don't shock anyone with your holey shorts."
"My shorts are not holey! Cut it out!"
"Fine, fine, just change into them, that's regulations. We don't want to get closed down."
As Radar struggled with changing into pajamas under the sheets so that no one could see any part of his naked body, Hawkeye turned to the Commanding Officer.
"I know you're busy, Henry, but how's it going with getting that new autoclave for the O.R.? You must be getting as fed up as the rest of us with the old one, never knowing when it'll malfunction. It's unbelievable they gave us this thing in the first place-"
"I know this talk by heart, Pierce, as we've had it at least five times this week already. Believe me, no one is more concerned about it than me, I'm dreading the day we'll get so many wounded that this thing will have to operate almost continuously. But what am I to do? Radar's been calling everywhere in the past few days and it only got him having to complete reports at night and this is probably why he got sick, being so overworked."
Hawkeye glanced at Radar who had just finished putting on his pajamas and was now lying down with his eyes closed, ready to fall asleep once more.
"Poor kid," he sighed, "So you're telling me there's no way around it to get the autoclave?"
"I think not, if there was, he'd have it figured out by now. He's a real miracle worker when it comes to getting things like that done. But now he can't work and I'm left with a fella who wears dresses to convince me he's crazy to get out of the army. Ha! In this outfit, this is actually one of the less crazy things people do. I just hope it doesn't interfere with his work."
"You're talking about Klinger, I had the pleasure of meeting him yesterday. I think he has potential, but to become a proper secretary he should change from those evening gowns to two-piece dresses."
"Joking, always joking. That's what you're best at. I got an idea, how about you drop in after your post-op duty ends and try making those calls yourself? I'll be busy teaching Audrey Hepburn how to write reports."
"I thought you'd never ask," Hawkeye smiled sarcastically at the not-too-pleasant offer. But there was nothing else to be done – they all had to pull their weight to get things done while Radar was down with the flu.
"Hello? This thing doesn't work," Hawkeye complained. He was sitting in Radar's office, holding the telephone's receiver in his hand.
"You have to crank it first," Henry told him.
"Ah, right. How do I do that?"
"Don't play dumb. How did you make calls in your hometown? Don't tell me you've always had a dial-up."
"Actually, Crabapple Cove is so behind the times we've only recently got a telephone line. I'm still not used to that."
"No kidding. Okay, just crank that crank and wait for the operator to respond."
Hawkeye did as he'd been told.
"Hello? I'd like to make a phone call… Oh, very funny. This sarcasm can get you very far… Who are you? …I see, a very telling name… Sorry, how could I know Sparky's not a name?… I'm Captain Pierce and I would like to-… He's sick… No, nothing serious… Okay, I will… Hey, wait! I still need to make that call!… Yes, transfer me to… uh… one moment…" Hawkeye covered the phone's transmitter with his hand. "Henry, where should I tell him to transfer me?"
Two hours later, Hawkeye stretched his arms with a grunt.
"I have completed a doctorate in thoracic surgery, but I still can't talk to people to get things done. Nobody, neither the snotty-nosed switchboard operators, nor supply sergeants, nor officers, will go out of their way to do anything to make our lives easier. And, for that matter, to make some other guys' lives last longer. That autoclave can get us in serious trouble one day if it breaks for good and we're left with only the laboratory-purpose ones. And I can't make them understand it," he buried his face in his hands.
"Don't be too hard on yourself. Radar is a natural with tackling things like that over the phone, a rare gift," Henry reminded him.
"It's true, they all seem to really like him. I'll never remember the names of all the people who asked me to give him their best."
"Since you're having a break with the phone calls, how about you now give me a hand with these papers?"
"Oh, no, no, all these hours that I've been in post-op and then here playing a secretary, Trapper's been sleeping, eating and doing other equally extravagant things! Go ask him, I'm going to have a bite in the mess tent. I only hope my teeth can withstand it. Besides, where's Betty?"
"Who?"
"You know, tall, lean, well dressed?"
"Ah, Klinger! I gave him a break. He's not so bad at this job, but the amount of complaining he does certainly slows things down. Besides, a guy can only spend a limited amount of time in this office chair before his nylons get caught on a splinter."
"Well, good luck."
"Pierce, wait. Before you leave, just help me with this one thing."
"Yes, Henry?"
"Just where do I sign these?"