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Infatuation	By : Ridgley-Warfield Category: M through R > MASH > MASH Views: 2024 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own MASH or the characters. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Title: Infatuation
Characters: Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce/ Father John Patrick "Dago Red" Mulcahy
Rating: M for Sexual Content/Language
Summary: There's a difference between seeing someone and noticing them.
Author's Note: Based on the characters from the movie. This is Hawkeye's POV. Please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them all. Thanks for reading.

Two and a half months before I would get out of the goddamned army, and I was going to die at a battalion aid station from being bombed by goddamned mortars. Not only that, but Dago was going to die with me. God really was an asshole…
Seeing the other doc with a hunk of an army jeep sticking out of his back had really shaken me. All the shit I've seen doing meatball surgery, I've never seen someone bite it quite like that. It could have just as easily been me or Dago.
Trying to refocus on the kid bleeding to death on the table was almost impossible. This was the worst kind of nightmare. I was trying to assess what needed to happen first when Dago started to head for the tent flap.
What the fuck did he think he was doing! "Dago! Get back here!"
He looked at me over his shoulder, "The other boy, Hawkeye. He was outside."
Goddamn it…I watched Dago go outside, holding my breath and waiting for another explosion, before I tried to clamp off a bleeding artery on the kid.
We're gonna die. I thought. We're gonna die and no one knows where we are. Will they be able to identify us? How long would it take for them to inform Mary? Will she be waiting for me at the airport with Tommy and Charlie the day I was supposed to arrive home, watching anxiously as other military men disembark from the plane. Will she realize I wasn't on board? Will she worry? Will she laugh and think I'd missed my flight?
"Dr. Pierce," Dago's loud, stern voice startled me out of my thoughts and I realized he was standing in front of me. How long had he been there? "You have a patient who needs urgent care. What can I do?"
Instruction…yes, I could give instruction…"I need you to look for shrapnel in his belly while I suture."
Dago and I worked together quickly, with him picking out shrapnel with his bare hands and me suturing quickly behind him. The boy needed blood, but short of sticking a straw in my own arm, there was nothing I could do about that.
"I hope you've still got an open connection to your boss," I told Dago. "We're up shit's creek without a paddle."
"At least the shelling has stopped for now," he replied. "But don't worry, I haven't stopped praying since we left the camp."
I wasn't comforted by the fact that the shelling had stopped. It could mean any number of things—they were reloading, they were moving closer, they were sending in foot soldiers to survey the carnage. I didn't want to consider the possibilities of capture, but I glanced up at Dago and could see the worry lines creasing his brow. He was thinking along the same lines as me.
"Can you get on the horn and try to reach Radar?" I asked. "We gotta get outta here. I know it's just a couple of miles, but I'd rather not be wandering around out there in the snow, unarmed, trying to carry this kid back."
Dago nodded and moved towards the radio to call for help. "I have no idea how to work this, but I'll do my best…"
I worked as quickly as possible, listening to Dago's mayday calls over the radio. Static was the only answer as he flipped between channels, repeating the call for help over and over again. The situation was going from bad to worse by the minute and I couldn't help but think of the last thing the battalion aid doc had said…more wounded would be coming our way. If they didn't come, it meant that the enemy was just over the ridge and Dago and I were sitting ducks. If they did come we were still in over our heads. To top it off, the sun was starting to set and the temperatures were dropping even further.
"You should have stayed at the camp," I told Dago as he finally gave up on the radio and came back to help me finish up with the kid.
"And leave all the excitement to you?" He joked flatly. "I told you, you never know when you'll need a priest. This definitely seems like one of those situations where I'm needed."
I bandaged the kid and covered him with all the available blankets, then looked around to see if there was anything else I could give the kid—blood, drugs, IV—but there was nothing else I could do for him. He would have to pull through on his own will and Dago's prayers until help came. I went to the small sink and pumped water into the basin and started washing my hands. Dago joined me, washing up as well.
"One of us should start back towards camp," he said quietly. "And seeing as how I'm not a doctor, I think it should be me."
"Are you nuts?" I asked, looking at him as if he'd just renounced his faith. "The sun is setting, we could be ambushed…I'm not letting you go out there alone, baby. Not on your life! You could get lost, you could get captured, you could freeze to death…No. We'll stay here and keep trying the radio."
"Hawkeye," he said firmly. "That boy is going to die if we don't get him back to camp. If more wounded come through here, we're going to be in serious trouble. It's a couple of miles; if I run, I can be there in less than half an hour."
Just as I opened my mouth to argue another mortar hit the ground somewhere nearby, sending a shockwave through the ground that knocked me into Dago and we both fell back against a metal tray holding gauze and bandages, toppling it to the floor and struggling to maintain our balance. As we clung to each other for support, I looked at him intensely. "That settles it…you're not going anywhere."
"What do you suggest we do?" He asked, having obviously changed his mind as well. "Any one of those shells could hit this tent."
"I know…" I was racking my brain for solutions, but had to admit that I had none. I spotted a bottle of whiskey near the battalion aid doctor's personal bunk and looked back at Dago. "I suggest we drink?"
"What?" He crinkled his brow in confusion, obviously having hoped for a better answer. I let go of him and went over to grab the bottle that was missing 1/3 of its contents. I shook it at him.
"We drink." He was looking at me in shocked disbelief and I sighed. "We're so close to the front lines we could spit on the North Koreans, we're being shelled, 2 of the guys who were alive an hour ago are dead, we don't have a jeep, no one knows where we are, the radio isn't working…I don't know about you, Dago, but I've learned when the odds are stacked against you, and you're presented with a bottle of booze…drink."
I sat on the cot, twisted off the lid and took a long hard pull on the bottle before looking at the label.
"You'll appreciate this one, babe; it's an Irish whiskey."
Dago reluctantly came and sat next to me on the cot, taking the whiskey from my hand as he looked at the label of Jameson 12 Year Old Special Reserve. "This feels wrong, Hawkeye." He said very softly.
"There's nothing right about this war, Dago."
"No…I suppose there's not." He sighed and held up the bottle. "To fallen comrades."
I watched him put the bottle to his lips and take a swig. As he passed it back to me, another shell landed somewhere outside and we both flinched, but didn't otherwise react. I took out my pack of smokes and offered him one, which he gratefully took.
"Why do you think they're shelling an aid station, anyways?" Dago asked as we lit up.
"Trying to cut off our guys from getting patched up, I would assume. I'm not a military strategist by any means, but seems to me the best way to take over a place is cutting off the resources of your enemy so that they have to fall back and concede the territory. They probably haven't hit the tent on purpose because if they can take it over, they can use it to fix up their own guys."
"And what will they do with us if they take over?"
I could hear the fear in his voice, could sense that he was thinking about the days of his imprisonment, but I wasn't sure how to allay those fears. The outcome for us, if the enemy did take over, was not good. We'd either be killed on sight or taken as Prisoners of War. I couldn't imagine that being a POW would be any more pleasant than his past experience. The best thing I could think to say was nothing at all. Maybe if I focused the conversation elsewhere, it would help take both our minds off of the situation.
"Why'd you decide to become a priest, Dago?" I asked as I swigged the whiskey.
He crinkled his brow again in confusion, looking at me as he tried to make the mental leap from our current circumstances to my asking about his past. "Uh…well…I grew up in the church and I was an altar boy, and I really admired the deacons and Father Gallagher. I thought it was really neat that they got to work for God, and they spoke in Latin, and they had beautiful vestments, but it wasn't until later in my college education that I truly felt called to the Church. I actually spent my undergraduate work getting bachelor degree in education and languages. I had planned to become a teacher, like my mother, but the Christmas before my expected graduation, I was attending Mass with my mother and father and…it just hit me, I guess. I knew that I was meant to go to seminary and become an ordained priest. I stayed and talked with Father Gallagher afterwards about how to go about applying and where I should go, and he told me about his alma mater in Maryland—Mount St. Mary's. He still had a few connections at the school, so with his help I applied, interviewed and was accepted."
"Do you ever regret becoming a priest?"
"No, not really."
I raised my eyebrows, "Not really?"
He laughed softly, "Let me see if I can explain… Priests are typically expected to be in charge of a parish, run a church… while that's great, it does get—forgive me, Lord—a little static and boring. I really love the missionary work I've done: traveling, learning about other religions, teaching others about God and His Word, bringing them to Christ; even being here as a chaplain has been more exciting than being in San Diego simply presiding over Mass every Sunday."
Another shell exploded, giving us pause as we both tensed. Dago took the whiskey from me and drank.
"I wish I'd known you back when you were in college," I commented, looking at him. "You've changed a lot just in the last few months, consider what you'd be like now if I'd known you then and gotten an early start on corrupting you."
Though I was kidding, he looked at me seriously. "Changed how?"
"I dunno, babe, you're just different."
"Well, what makes you say that? What's different about me?"
"Your attitude, the things you do, the things you say...the fact that you don't put up with any of my crap anymore." I smirked, but he looked skeptical. "It's not a bad thing, Dago, it's just…different."
"Yes, but different how, Hawkeye?" He asked, a little exasperated.
I laughed and wrapped my arm around his neck, dragging him against me and kissing him deeply. "It's little things—like the fact that you smoke now. You didn't do that before we got involved, so I know that's my doing. You used to be a lot more shy and reserved, you used to blush easily…but all that's changed. You've become a lot more confident, baby. You've become more than just your title. I don't think any of us—me, Trap, Duke, Spearchucker, Painless, or any of the boys—see the priest first and the man second anymore. We see Dago Red, the guy that can hang loose with us, who also happens to be our camp's chaplain. You're…I dunno…you're one of us now, you know? You don't think you're different?"
"I noticed the increase in frequency of my drug and alcohol use," he murmured. "But I never considered that my confidence had changed. I just feel more comfortable around you and the boys, that's all."
"I'm no head shrink, baby, but if I had to guess, I would say that you've never really been able to be yourself around anyone before. You've always had rules and expectations to live up to—your dad, the church, the army. No one has ever given you much freedom to just be you until now."
Dago looked like he was seriously thinking about what I'd said when another shell landed close enough to shake the entire tent, making the light flicker. "I wish they'd cut that out." He growled, gripping my thigh.
"Yeah, so do I…" I gave his shoulders a squeeze and got off the cot to check on the wounded kid. His temp was still dangerously low despite all the blankets, and his pulse was weak. I started to take off my jacket and lay it over him and Dago stood as well, shucking his jacket and offering it to me. "You sure?"
"He needs them more than we do."
I eyed Dago's fur-lined ear-flapped cap and he seemed to read my mind. He took it off his head and moved to affix it to the kid's instead, arranging the ear flaps over his ears and gently tying it under his chin. I moved over to the tent flap and peered out. The sun had set now, leaving us in the shadow of darkness, the only glow in the little snow-filled gully coming from the one bulb hanging over head. I moved over to it and clicked it off, throwing us in complete darkness.
"Maybe if they can't see us, they won't shell us," I offered, no longer able to see Dago. I took out my lighter, flicked it on, and made my way back over to the cot. He joined me and we huddled close together for warmth and comfort.
"I could try the radio again, if you want."
"It's okay," I said softly. "I'd rather they didn't send anyone out here in the dark with the shelling going on."
"Do you think he's going to make it?"
"I don't know," I sighed. "He needs blood and to be warm. It's going to be a really rough night for him, I think."
"For all of us," Dago amended with a slight shiver.
I handed him the whiskey bottle and held him closer. "Could be worse, right?"
He laughed softly, "Are you the new face of optimism now?"
"What? You don't think I can be optimistic?" I asked with mock offense.
"Cynicism seems to be more your forte."
I laughed and ruffled his hair. "See, this is what I'm talking about with you being different. You're a lot more playful now. Sarcastic even."
"Maybe you're right; maybe I just haven't felt like I could ever be myself."
My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and I could see him turn his head up to look up at me. I bent forward a little and brushed my lips across his. "I'm glad you feel like you can be you around me."
"Me too," he murmured, pressing his lips firmly against mine.
We laid down on the cot, facing each other, tangling our arms and legs as we pressed our bodies close.
"Fuck, it's cold." I grumbled, burying my face against his neck.
"What do you plan on doing when you get back to the states?" He asked softly. I knew he was trying to help me take my mind off our surroundings the same way I had with my questions.
"Probably try and get a job at one of the hospitals. I'll probably end up at the VA hospital in Spruce Springs for a while. At least it's not too far from Crabapple Cove so the commute won't be too bad. I feel like I'm going to be really behind on some of the new procedures and whatnot since I've been here for almost two years. I'll have a lot of catching up to do."
"Think you'll stay a surgeon?"
"That's my area of expertise," I nodded softly. "I don't have a specialization, though."
"Like what?"
"Well, like Trapper; he's a chest cutter, specializes in thoracic surgery, and Spearchucker is a neurosurgeon, specializes in brain and spinal injuries."
"Could you get a specialization when get home?"
"It would take a couple of years under the right supervision to see me through the boards, but I could probably do it. I'll have to get a feel for the market when I get back home."
"You never wanted to be just a general practitioner?"
"Nah, they never see any real excitement. Swollen tonsils and head colds and that's about it. I like surgery because I feel like I'm fixing something, saving a life, making them better. Of course, here I just feel like Dr. Frankenstein; taking parts and cross-wiring bodies."
"I admire what you boys are able to do in the OR. Half the wounded that come in look—to me—like they don't have a chance, but you boys sew them back together and they make it. It's incredible."
"Not all of them make it." I reminded him.
"No, but the majority do, Hawkeye. That's the important thing."
I didn't want to talk about the wounded or meatball surgery anymore so I propped my head up on my hand and looked down at him. "So, Dago, explain something to me…why are there so many different jobs in the Catholic Church?"
"Jobs? You mean like priest, bishop, pope?"
"Yeah…how do you move up the line? Or can you?"
He laughed softly. "I could be promoted, yes; it would all depend on my service to the Church. The Pope is the one who really promotes people within the church. There is a hierarchy system with the Pope at the top, Bishops under him, Priests under the Bishops. There are Cardinals, which really don't do anything except serve as the Pope's advisors…his cabinet, if you will. Priests are the head of a parish—or church. Bishops are the head of the Diocese, which is in charge of all the local churches in one region. The Pope is in charge of all the bishops around the world, and serves as both his Diocese head and the head of the local parish- St. John Lateran Basilica in Rome. It's literally the Mother Church."
"So the Pope actually gives sermons on Sundays?"
"Yeah." He chuckled, "He draws quite the crowd."
"That system is really confusing; you know that, right?"
"No more confusing than the American government. Think of it more or less like that. The Pope would be the President; Cardinals, his cabinet; Bishops would be the Senate; and Priests would be the governors of each state. It's not an exact comparison, of course, but you get the idea, I'm sure."
"So you could potentially be the Pope?"
"Oh, I very highly doubt it, Hawkeye. I've never really done anything note-worthy for the Church.
"Well," I said, rolling over on top of him, "I bet if you keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, you'll get promoted in no time. Telling army generals where they can stick their medals probably isn't the best way to get recognized by the church."
He laughed and dragged me down, locking his lips with mine. I opened my mouth against his, eager to deepen the kiss. He tasted of Irish whiskey and Old Gold Regulars. His hand traveled down my back and over my ass and I nearly moaned into his mouth as I felt my dick getting hard, but a noise somewhere outside made me stop completely. I pulled away from him and froze, listening intently.
"Hawkeye?"
"Shh."
I slowly got off of Dago, quietly moving towards the tent flap and heard the unmistakable crunch of snow beneath a combat boot outside. Shit…I had no weapon and no way to know if it was friend or foe. Dago moved across the tent as quietly as he could and I watched his silhouette crouch down next to the corpse of the aid doctor.
"What are you doing?" I whispered harshly at him.
"He had a gun on him," Dago replied in a whisper. I heard him fussing around with the body then heard a series of mechanical clicks as Dago found the gun, checked the magazine, and loaded one into the chamber. He stood up and pressed the grip of the gun into my hand.
"You want me to shoot them?"
"I can't shoot them."
I sighed, but took the gun in my hand. Now was not the time to argue about supposed hell-worthy trespasses. Another crunch of ice. Whoever it was was moving slowly outside. I moved closer to the flap and peeked out. There was only one guy that I could see about 5 yards from the tent, but I couldn't tell if he was one of ours or one of theirs. All I could see was the rifle in his hand.
"That's far enough, friend." I said, loud enough for him to hear. The only answer came in the sound of a click as he released the safety on his rifle and aimed it in my direction. The fact that he hadn't fired yet meant one of two things—he was either on our side and I'd just taken him by surprise, or he couldn't see me. I was hoping for the former as I called out, "Identify yourself."
"C-Corporal Levi Goldberg. Service Number 51 314 7—"
"I don't need your number, Corporal," I interrupted stuffing the barrel of the gun in the back of my pants, relieved that he was on our side. "What are you doing out there alone?"
"Sir, my squad…the bombs…they're all dead, sir." The boy sounded close to hysteria.
"Well first of all, put your weapon down, solider, I don't want to be shot accidentally. Secondly, the name is Hawkeye. Third, get in here before you freeze to death."
"Thank you, sir." He clicked the safety back on his rifle and came towards the tent. "Don't you have any lights here?"
"We underwent some shelling of our own—lost a soldier and the aid doctor. Figured if they couldn't see us, they couldn't shoot at us."
"We?" The kid asked.
"God be with you, Corporal." Dago said from where he had been standing.
"Who are you guys?"
"Hawkeye Pierce, M.D. and general nuisance of the 4077th MASH unit up the road. This here is Dago Red—"
"Father Mulcahy," Dago corrected. "Chaplain of the 4077th."
"What are you guys doing here?"
"Honeymooning," I deadpanned.
"Hawkeye," Dago rebuked. "One of the soldiers brought us down here to assist the battalion aid doctor before the shelling took place. Now, we're kind of stranded."
"Oh…"Goldberg said.
"Are you alright, Corporal?" I asked. "Are you injured at all?"
"I took a bullet in the leg," he answered. "Managed to tie it off. You said you were a doc?"
"That's right. I'm afraid there's no open stretchers, but you can lie down on the cot over here and I'll take a look at it."
"Thanks Doc…"
Dago and I both helped the kid over to the cot and I pulled out my lighter and handed it to Dago. "See if you can find a flashlight or something for me, babe. I don't want to turn that light back on unless I have to."
As I settled the kid on the cot, Dago looked around the tent to try and find a flashlight. While Dago looked around, I talked to the kid finding out where he was from and what he'd been doing before the war. Turns out he was 19 years old from Jersey and had been working in his parents' deli when he decided to enlist. He'd been a fan of the Captain America comics, and had hoped being in the army would make him a superhero. A light clicked on off to the side and I saw Dago smile triumphantly at me as he held up a flashlight.
"Got it." He said as he came back over, squatting to the side of me and holding up the light over the tourniquet the kid had fashioned on his leg. I untied the makeshift bandage from his leg and saw the hole that went through the leg of his trousers and into his flesh.
"Roll on your side for me," I told the kid, helping to push him on his side to see if there was an exit wound, which there was. "Dago, find me a pair of scissors."
I took the light from him as I continued to assess the wound. There was a fair amount of blood, but not enough for me to consider that the femoral artery had been hit. When Dago came back with the scissors, I cut away the kid's trouser leg around the wound.
"You're a very lucky soldier, Corporal Goldberg. Half an inch to the right and you probably wouldn't be with us right now." I looked over at Dago, "Will you find me some gauze, a clean scalpel, a pair of forceps, and a suture kit?"
He gave me a skeptical look, but went off in search of the items I'd asked for.
"How's it look, Doc?"
"You'll be fine, Captain Rogers."
"Rogers?" Dago asked from across the room.
"Didn't you ever read Captain America, Dago?" I asked, getting up and finding a small medicine chest with vials of morphine and demerol. I picked up the demerol and a clean syringe, inserting the needle into the bottle and pulling back the plunger to draw the pain medication into the syringe, then pushing up on the plunger to expel the air.
"No, I can't say that I ever really had time for comic books."
"Captain America was the alter ego of Steve Rogers," Goldberg told Dago. "He was some scrawny little kid like me who wanted to be enlisted into the army, but they wouldn't take him. Then some scientist guy injected him with some superhuman serum and turned him into Captain America."
As Goldberg spoke, I gave him a couple of injections around the wound to numb it enough for me to debride it. Dago came back with a tray of everything I asked for and I smiled approvingly. "Add this to your resume too, babe: battalion aid assistant."
"By the end of this war my resume will be 50 pages long." He looked at the kid then, switching gears abruptly. "Is there anything I can do for you, Levi?"
"You don't happen to know any Jewish prayers, do you?"
"I'm an army chaplain, I know a lot of different prayers." Dago moved to the other side of me and laid his hand on the crown of Goldberg's head, then he started to speak in a language I could only assume was Hebrew. "Mi-sheberakh avoteinu v'imoteinu, Avraham v'Sarah, Yitzhak v'Rivkah, Ya'akov, Rachel v'Leah hu y'varekh et Levi v'yavi aleihem refuat hanefesh u'refuat haguf yachad im kol cholei amo Yisrael. Barukh atah Hashem, rofeh ha'cholim."
"Amen," Goldberg said, looking at Dago with strange admiration.
"Amen," Dago echoed, smiling softly.
As Dago had started to pray, I had started to clean the wound, looking for any debris or fragments that needed to be removed. "I hate to interrupt," I said as they'd finished, "But can you find something I can irrigate the wound with? A saline wash would be ideal, but I'll settle for whatever you can find."
I worked quickly, cleaning out the wound, then—satisfied that I'd gotten everything and cleaned it thoroughly—I sutured and bandaged. Dago had managed to find an extra pair of trousers with the aid doctor's gear, so I helped Goldberg out of his and into the new ones.
"I'm afraid we're all out of blankets, Capt'n." I told the kid.
"I've got one in my pack there by the door."
Dago fetched the pack, found the blanket and draped it over the boy as I went to check out our other wounded patient. His temperature seemed to be a little higher and pulse a little steadier.
"Get some rest, my son. Hawkeye and I will be here if you need us." I heard Dago murmur to the boy.
"Thanks, Father."
I clicked off the flashlight and headed outside, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it seconds before Dago joined me, hugging his arms around him for warmth. "This has been some night."
"When we get back tomorrow, I think we ought to call in a shrink for him," I murmured softly.
"Why? I know he said his whole squad is gone, but he seems fine to me, Hawkeye."
"Right now he does, but he's in shock, Dago. He was shot in the leg, saw his entire squad get blown up, walked God knows how far in this weather until he stumbled upon us…He was in survival mode. Once the adrenaline wears off and reality sinks in…"
"I see what you're saying." He sighed. "I wish there was more I could do."
"You didn't tell me you spoke Hebrew."
"I don't. I told you theology and religions are a personal interest of mine. Chaplain school teaches you to minister to all faiths, but I decided to take it a step further by teaching myself several different prayers in each of the major religions."
"And you can remember all that without looking it up?"
He shrugged slightly and took the cigarette from my hand to share it. "I have a photographic memory. I see something once and it gets ingrained in my mind."
"You really are a genius, you know that?"
He laughed softly. "No, I'm not a genius, just lucky."
"Is that why you can quote the Bible verbatim to me?"
"Well, that and I've read it enough times that I know it backwards and forwards."
We finished the cigarette and went back into the tent, finding a place on the floor to sit. Dago's teeth were chattering and I wrapped my arms around him, rubbing his upper arms for warmth.
"Have I mentioned lately that I hate winter in Korea?"
"I think, right now, I might have to second that feeling." He said softly, then stifled a yawn.
"You can lean on me and sleep if you want, Dago. I'll keep watch."
"Are you sure, Hawkeye? I can stay awake if you want me to."
"No, you sleep. I'll wake you up if I need to."
He nodded, then leaned his head on my shoulder with another yawn, curling as much of his body against my side as he could sitting up. I kept my arm around him and could feel him slowly drifting off to sleep.
If I listened close enough, I could distinguish between Dago, Goldberg, and the other kid's breathing patterns. That and the arctic wind blowing outside were the only noises that filled the otherwise silent night. I tried not to think about how cold it was, or how I wanted to be back at camp in front of a stove wrapped in a large warm blanket with a hot cup of coffee…instead I focused on what Dago had asked me about earlier: what would I do when I went home?
I'd read the latest medical journals every time they came out and my wife sent them to me, but getting mail from Maine to Korea could take months…and—believe it or not—a lot could happen in a couple of months in the medical world. I felt like I would almost need several refresher courses by the time I was home and ready to start working again.
Being in Korea was more than just an inconvenience in my life, it was a disadvantage. By the time I got home, 2 years would have passed and I would be so far out of touch with society, I was starting to doubt that I'd ever find a place to fit in again. I couldn't help but wonder if Mary had also moved beyond me. Two years without a husband is a very long time. Was it possible that she had fooled around on me the same way I had on her? If she did, how could I blame her? After being involved with Dago, would I still even be able to connect with Mary? Would she be able to connect with me?
My thoughts circled my head like vultures over dying prey, leaving me more unsure than ever about the direction of my life after the war. I rested my head against Dago's, nuzzling my nose against his soft hair and hugging him a little tighter to try and ground myself and my thoughts, but only bringing back to mind the fact that returning to life with Mary meant leaving this life with Dago behind. I closed my eyes in an attempt to shut out all thought completely and just listened to the sound of my three companions breathing and the wind howling outside.
"Jesus wept!" The sound of an unfamiliar voice startled me, and I realized suddenly that I had fallen asleep and it was now daylight outside. Dago, too, stirred at the sound of the voice and lifted his head, groaning a little and grabbing his stiff neck. I patted him on the knee comfortingly but got off the floor to find the source of the voice about the time that someone came into the tent. "What the hell happened here? Shit! Mac!"
The newest addition to our troop bent down next to the body of the aid doctor in shocked horror.
"We underwent shelling." I explained. "They hit the jeep out there, killing one solider, which sent shrapnel inside the tent, killing the doc."
"And who the hell are you?"
"Hawkeye Peirce, surgeon at the 4077th; that guy with the cross is my chaplain, Father Mulcahy; leg wound there is Corporal Goldberg, who lost his entire squad in the shelling, and the kid here barely hanging on by a thread…well, we haven't been introduced. And who are you, friend?"
"Dr. Bennett, call me Earl. I came up here to relieve Mac for the next 72 hours, but seeing as how he's dead…shit."
"Did you happen to come in a jeep?" Dago asked hopefully as he came to stand with us.
"Yeah, why?"
"Well, we've been AWOL from our unit since yesterday afternoon…and this boy needs more medical care than Dr. Peirce was able to provide here…"
"Right…I get you, Padre. Load up the jeep, I'll take you boys back to your MASH. God knows I've got some shit to deal with here."
Dago and I carefully loaded the boy on the stretcher, then helped Goldberg into the passenger seat of the jeep. With Dago and I both in the back holding onto the stretcher, Earl turned the jeep over and headed back towards home.
"Henry's going to flip when we get back," I warned Dago.
"I know," he said, flinching against the cold whip of the wind. "I don't care as long as we get there."
When we pulled into camp, I shouted for the corpsmen to come carry the boy into the pre-op ward and get him warmed up with some blood. I would want to go back over him later, but for now I wanted to get him stable. Another corpsman brought a wheelchair out for Goldberg and took him over to post-op. And, as expected, Henry was coming towards us, purple faced and livid.
"Thanks for the lift, Earl. You know where to find us if you need anything for your report, but I'd say book it before you get on the receiving end of Colonel Blake's wrath with Dago and me."
"See ya, Doc…" Earl said before putting the jeep in gear and heading out of camp.
"Henry, before you jump down our throats, let me explain—"
"C-Can it P-Pierce." Henry stuttered, furiously. "I've h-had it up to h-here with you thinking you own this c-camp! There are r-rules and r-r-regulations! You both r-realize that I could have you court marshaled!"
"Colonel," Dago said softly. "We never intended to be AWOL. There was a medical emergency that came up and Hawkeye and I made the decision to go without informing you because there simply wasn't time. The situation was more dangerous than we anticipated and we have been stranded at the battalion aid station until just this very morning. There were multiple fatalities and two casualties that we've brought back with us, sir."
"Fatalities?" Henry asked, his anger dissipating with Dago's calm explanation. How he managed to always calm people just with the sound of his voice never ceased to amaze me.
I quickly filled Henry in on what had happened, stealing the rest of his thunder and leaving him rubbing his forehead.
"Damn it, Pierce, I wish you hadn't told me all that…there's forms to fill out and reports and—"
"We'll take care of it, Henry," Dago cut in. "If you'll have Radar pull the necessary paperwork."
"The only problem is that we don't know anything about the deceased. I didn't check their dog tags and didn't get any names, but the kid that brought us back here was the aid doc's replacement and he said he would take care of that end of it."
"So long as someone does," Henry muttered. "Alright…I'll let you guys off the hook this time, but so help me, Pierce, if you so much as put one toe out of line—"
"Henry, Henry… I wouldn't dream of it." I allayed.
He thrust a finger into my chest, poking me with every syllable. "And stop dragging my chaplain into all your messes."
I eyed Dago, who was trying to hide his smirk behind his hand. I shook my head softly, "Yeah, alright, Henry."
Satisfied, Henry stormed off towards his office and I fixed my gaze back on Dago. "Something funny there, Losing Preacher?"
"Not at all," he said with a mild laugh. "However, if you would excuse me, I would like to go find my spare jacket and hat."
"What? You're still cold?" I teased. My own skin and extremities had long since gone numb and tingly so it was safe to assume his had as well. "I better get to pre-op and check on that boy, make sure they're giving him enough units of blood and see that he's thawing out. It's a wonder we didn't all freeze to death last night."
"Let me know if there's anything I can do, Hawkeye."
I smiled and ruffled his hair. "You've done more than enough, baby. Couldn't have made it through that without you. Go get warm and I'll come find you later."
He hesitated in front of me for a long moment and I knew he was thinking of kissing me right there in the middle of the compound. My dick throbbed in my pants as I ached to take him in my arms and satisfy his hunger. Dago was usually the cautious one, always aware of our surroundings, but the fact that he hesitated meant he'd nearly had a lapse in judgment. Christ, that thrilled me far more than it probably should…
My eyes swept the compound. No one was looking at us from what I could tell and the supply tent was just a few yards behind him. I shoved Dago backwards, catching him off guard and he nearly tripped over his own feet before he caught himself, looking at me with a confused expression, but realization quickly dawned as I advanced on him and shoved him back another step.
"Hawkeye!" he groused, almost tripping a second time. "Is that really necessary?"
"No," I smirked. "But it's fun."
He rolled his eyes, but moved quickly out of my range, clearly not wanting to be pushed again. When I had backed him into the supply tent, I looked around to make sure we were alone, but then found myself roughly pushed against the door frame as Dago fiercely claimed my lips. His intensity said everything we'd both been thinking and feeling since yesterday: it could have been one of us that had died.
Dago pulled away breathlessly, searching my eyes, "I love you, Hawkeye."
Never before had he said the words first, and I felt my throat growing tight. I swallowed as I pulled him too me. "I love you, too, Dago."
He pulled back after a long minute, but I cupped his face and kissed his forehead, then his lips one last time before releasing him. We both took a deep breath at the same time, then laughed softly. I ran my fingers through his hair, grinning at him and pushing him towards the door.
"Go on; go park yourself in front of a stove for a while."
I slapped Dago on the backside and he tossed a glare over his shoulder at me as he walked out of the supply tent. I took a moment to collect myself and let my dick wilt a little before I headed for my original destination in pre-op.
Trapper and Duke were both hovering over my patient and looked up as I walked in.
"Man, what in the hell happened to you last night?" Duke asked.
"It's a long story," I said stealing the stethoscope from around his neck. "The short and skinny of which is that I'd rather be in this hell than manning an aid station."
"Is it true you and Red killed some gooks?"
"Killed some…what? Who the hell started that rumor?" I asked, not surprised that rumors were already flying.
"I dunno, it's just what we heard a few minutes ago."
"No, we didn't kill anybody," I answered as I sat next to the kid and listened to his heart and lungs, slightly cheesed off. "We got caught in some shelling that killed a soldier and the aid doctor. We spent the night without our coats so this kid wouldn't freeze to death on us, another kid wandered up to the station and I had to patch him up with minimal supplies, and finally, the aid doc's replacement drove in and found us and brought us all back here. Otherwise, we'd still be stuck out there trying to figure out what to do and how to get back."
"Could have been worse," Trapper commented.
I looked over my shoulder at him. "Yeah, I could have been stuck with you two rather than Dago."
"Well, anyways, we're glad you're alright, Hawk." Duke said, actually sincere.
"Thanks… I think once we finish getting the blood in, we can take him to post-op to keep an eye on him. If I have to go back in I will, but he seems okay right now."
"Duke's on duty right now," Trapper said. "But I could go for a martini, how about you, Hawkeye?"
"I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I think all I want is something to eat, a hot cup of coffee and a cigarette, and then a few hours of sleep in a nice, warm cot."
Trapper accompanied me to the mess tent, where I found a bowl of piping hot oatmeal with my name written all over it. I sat with him at our usual table, shoveling a bite of tasteless mush into my mouth and letting it linger on my tongue until I couldn't stand it anymore, then swallowed, feeling it burn all the way down my esophagus. It hurt, but it was warming me up from the inside out.
"Christ, I think I just burned the roof of my mouth just watching you do that," Trapper commented as he dug into a plate of eggs and sausage.
I could hear murmurs from a nearby table and looked over to see several enlisted men huddled together, looking in my direction. I wondered what rumor they had heard, and was idly contemplating letting the rumor mill get out of hand just to see what kind of crazy scenario they would concoct. I could only imagine Dago's reaction when someone asked him how it felt to kill an enemy solider. I laughed at the thought.
"You're not starting to crack up, are you, Hawkeye?" Trapper asked hesitantly, leaning slightly away as if crazy was contagious.
"Starting to? Baby, I cracked up a long time ago," I mused. "No, I was just trying to imagine what kinds of rumors are going around right now. Maybe I can play this to my advantage…beg Henry for a few 3 days passes to Tokyo; tell him the stress of being in combat was just too much."
"Yeah right," Trapper snorted into his coffee. "If he buys it, get me a pass, too. Tell him I was distraught over the thought of you in combat. We can hit some holes together and find some geisha girls to entertain ourselves with."
"What about Dago? He deserves a pass, since he was there in the action with me."
"Okay, a pass for him, but no girls. Henry would kill us."
We laughed at the thought of Dago in the middle of a tryst with several geishas. I wondered if he would ever be that drunk to let himself get mixed up in a situation like that, but I'd learned not to put anything passed him…not that I was going to say as much to Trapper.
I finished breakfast and my coffee, had my smoke, then headed back to the Swamp. I idly wondered what Dago was up to, but knew that he was probably passed out under a pile of blankets, just as I intended to be. If I thought I could get away with going to his tent to sleep with him, I would have, but Trapper had assigned himself as my unofficial man-servant and I wasn't sure I could shake him.
I kicked off my boots, found a pair of wooly socks in my locker, shoved them on my and stripped down to my boxers, hurriedly getting into my sleeping bag and zipping it all the way up. "Say, Trap, be a good fellow and throw 10 or 20 blankets on me."
"You're going to roast yourself," he warned as he threw my blanket over me and added a few more on top.
"That is my intent, yes."
"Anything else?"
"Yes, tell them to keep the war down for me," I closed my eyes and yawned.
"Don't worry about wounded if we get any," Trap said. "If we need ya, we'll send for ya."
"Oh, Trap…that kid in post-op—Goldberg—put in a call to Sidney Freedman, will ya? I imagine he's gonna have a lot on his mind."
"Sure thing, Hawk. Nighty night, sweet prince."
I cracked an eye open at the sarcastic retort, "What? No kiss, Mother?"
"Not on your life." Trapper said before walking out.
When I woke up about 4 hours later, I was tempted to roll back over and go back to sleep, but Trapper had been right…I was sweating to death under all the blankets. I unzipped the sleeping bag and tossed the pile of blankets off of me before worming out of the bag itself. It was too nippy to sit around in just my shorts, so I found a pair of clean trousers and a sweater my wife had sent me and pulled them both on before shoving my feet into my boots. I found my jacket, which had been lent to the kid the night before and obviously returned to me, stuffed my arm arms into the sleeves, picked up my lighter and cigarettes, and headed outside to see what was new.
Not surprisingly, my feet took me straight to Dago's tent. I knocked but didn't hear any sign of life inside, so I poked my head in the door, finding his tent empty but his bed unmade. It wasn't like Dago to not make his bed unless there hadn't been time, and the only thing that would have been that dire to him was an emergency in the OR or post-op that required his services. I turned and headed for post-op.
Dago, Duke, Trapper, and Henry were all there, gathered around the army's top shrink from Seoul—Sidney Freedman. They were standing at the foot of Goldberg's cot, who was currently asleep but restrained…
"What the hell did I miss?" I asked, walking up on their conference.
"Damn kid tried to slit his wrists just before Sidney got here," Trapper said.
"Don't know where he managed to get a scalpel from—he didn't get out of his bed." Duke added.
"Didn't anyone think to come and get me?" I asked hotly, looking at each of them in turn.
"What for? We could handle it just fine, Hawkeye," said Duke.
"Yeah, well what'd you need Dago for then?"
"I asked for him," Henry barked. "Sidney wasn't here yet and Dago's the closest thing we have to a counselor. He managed to calm the boy down so we could sedate him while we waited on Sidney; who, by the way, just got here. Any other questions, Pierce?"
It wasn't very often that Henry could make me feel lower than the scum on a pond, but this was certainly one of those times. However, rather than apologize and admit my fault, I simply turned and left post-op, heading for Dago's tent, knowing he wouldn't be far behind me. I had just collapsed into his cot when I heard the door open, then softly close.
"For the record," he said quietly, coming to sit beside me on his cot and placing his hand lightly on my chest. "I strongly suggested they wake you, but I was overruled."
"It's okay. Thanks for trying. I just don't like being the last to know about a situation involving one of my patients." I placed my hand over his, squeezing gently. "How's the kid?"
"Sidney thinks he'll be okay. He said he's seen this kind of thing a lot over the last few years. Apparently, he and another psychoanalyst have been doing a study—mostly on survivors from the Nazi concentration camps, but they're starting to include soldiers like Levi who are the sole survivors of a combat-related encounter. He said they haven't really come up with a name for it yet, but they've been loosely calling this kind of thing 'survivor's guilt(1).' Aptly named because the survivor feels guilty that he lived while the others didn't. Sidney said symptoms manifest in a variety of forms, suicidal attempts only being one of them." He paused and took a deep breath. "You were right when you said we should call a psychiatrist, Hawkeye."
"Yeah, I don't need to study head bumps(2) to know that kid was going to crack up."
"I don't know," he smirked. "I think maybe you're in the wrong field."
I laughed softly, but something still sat funny with me about the situation. Dago seemed to sense my uneasiness.
"What's the matter, Hawk?"
"I dunno… Something's just bothering me about that kid." I thought for a minute, clicking my tongue against my teeth. "They said he used a scalpel?"
"Yeah, but we don't know where he got it from."
"Did anybody check him when we brought him in?"
Dago shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"I have a feeling he swiped the scalpel I used on him last night. I thought I got all the instruments I used, though."
"We both fell asleep, Hawkeye, he had ample opportunity to find one and stash it while we were out."
"Yeah…maybe…" the idea still didn't sit right with me. "It doesn't make sense, though. That he would go through all that trouble after being shot, to get patched up, then try and kill himself here?"
"Well, I don't think either of us are going to be able to figure out what kind of mindset he's in. Sidney's here and he said he can stay at least a few days, but he and I both agree that the kid should be sent home."
"So we're going to Section 8 him?"
"There's not really another option. We can't falsify his record, especially if he might harm himself, or someone else, again."
I didn't say anything, but I knew Dago was right, even though it still felt wrong. "He's just a fucking kid, Dago…"
"I know, Hawkeye, but war isn't a comic book." He sighed softly. "I don't like that he's going to get a dishonorable discharge after all he's been through any more than you do, but this wasn't a spur-of-the-moment act of depression…it was intentional."
"Yeah, but maybe it was an act of desperation. He knew if he healed up, they'd send him to a new unit…maybe he knew he had to do this to get himself sent home."
Dago considered that seriously for a long moment but shook his head sadly, "Even if that is the case, it's going to be Sidney's call."
"Sidney's a good guy, for a shrink. I trust his calls."
"But not mine?" Dago sounded seriously offended.
"I didn't mean it like that, baby. I just meant that maybe when Sidney gets a chance to talk to him, he'll realize he's a good kid, that's all."
"They're all good kids, Hawkeye." He said, angry now as he took his hand from mine. "Have you ever taken the time to talk with any of the other boys that come through here in Levi's condition?"
"Well—"
"No, you haven't" He interrupted. "You write them off as a nutcase and leave it for me to recommend the next step because as far as you're concerned they're all patched up and that's where your services end."
"Hey!" I shouted over his raised voice, sitting up to meet him eye to eye. "You don't have a damn clue what we go through with those kids, Dago. I can't get emotionally attached to any of them because when I do, shit like this happens and I disagree with the army's standards of how to 'treat' people. If it were up to me, I'd discharge them all! Don't tell me I write them off, you son of a bitch!"
The words left my mouth before I realized I was speaking them and Dago flinched as if I'd physically hit him, staring at me with a mixture of anger, hurt and disbelief. He turned his gaze away from mine and I reached out for him but he fought my hand away.
"Dago…I'm sorry."
"Leave me alone, Hawkeye." He said dejectedly.
"Baby, please… you know I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."
"Please, Hawkeye, just go away."
I didn't leave. Instead I wrapped my arms around him and forced him to lean back against my chest. He resisted just long enough to realize I wasn't letting go. "I'm not leaving until you accept my apology."
"I accept your apology," he said flatly.
"Dago, come on," I sighed, starting to get annoyed. "Haven't you ever said something you didn't mean?"
"I was taught to think before I speak."
"Well, if I had been taught that, I would probably say a lot fewer things." He didn't laugh, but I felt him take a deep breath and relax a little. "I'm sorry, John, I really am."
"I know," his voice was barely a whisper and I kissed just below his ear.
"You know I think what you do is incredible, Dago…all the tasks we can't do…" I kissed along his neck. "You're right; I don't take enough time to get to know my patients, and I should. It's just hard, you know?"
"It's very hard," Dago said emphatically. "But it's what we have to do."
"I hate the army."
"I know you do, Hawk." Dago turned in my arms and looked into my eyes. "In times like these, so do I."
I brushed the end of his nose with mine, hugging him a little tighter. "Forgive me?"
He gave an exaggerated sigh but smiled softly, "I guess."
I kissed his lips for a long moment before we pulled back and he poked me in the chest, just as Henry had done earlier.
"Just know that if you ever call me a son of a bitch again, I'll punch your lights out."
I laughed at the semi-idle threat and kissed him again, "Yes, Father."

TBC
1. Survivor's Guilt was a term coined in 1960 by William Niederland, a German-American psychoanalyst who studied holocaust survivors and originated the "Survivor's Syndrome" theory. He also later contributed to what became recognized as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in the 1980s.
2. Phrenology was developed by German physician Franz Joseph Gall in 1796, and is the science which studies the relationships between a person's character and the morphology of the skull.
Translation of Jewish healing prayer:
"May the One who was a source of blessing for our ancestors, bring blessings of healing upon Levi, a healing of body and a healing of spirit. May those in whose care they are entrusted be gifted with wisdom and skill, and those who surround them be gifted with love and trust, openness and support in their care. And may they be healed along with all those who are in need. Blessed are You, Source of healing." From JewishHealing dot com.
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