Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Title: Infatuation
Characters: Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce/ Father John Patrick "Dago Red" Mulcahy
Rating: M for Sexual Content
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.

Sundays were typically always such wonderful days. If we didn't have wounded, we were more-or-less considered to be "off-duty." Though, for the army that simply meant not being more than 300 yards away from post-op in case a situation came up. After Duke's little service, Dago had excused himself to go visit with the patients in post-op who he hadn't been able to see due to his being out of commission.
I was glad that he was well on his way to fully recovering, but I could tell there was still some lingering pain—as was to be expected. He moved slowly and stiffly. He was healing nicely and the stitches could probably come out in a few days, and then a few days after that I knew he should be back to—relatively—normal.
Trapper and I opted to take advantage of the sunshine and lugged our golf clubs up the chopper pad to hit a few balls while Duke decided to write the obligatory weekly letter home to his wife.
"Fore!" Trapper called as he swung. I watched the ball sail over the camp and bounce somewhere behind Henry's tent. Later we would have some of the houseboys go shag the balls for us, so it was good to have an idea which direction to send them looking.
"Nice one, Trap." I commented as I took a drag on my cigarette.
"Eh…I was aiming for the mine field."
I set up my tee and ball, aiming to hit it into the basketball hoop in the middle of the camp on a hole-in-one.
"So what's going on between you and Dago, Hawk?" Trapper asked as I lined up my shot.
"What do you mean?" I asked dismissively, trying not to seem like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.
"I mean you guys just seem…close."
"We are close," I answered, hoping to leave the conversation at that as I cried out, "Fore!"
I overshot, then looked over at him to see his look of incredulity.
"What?"
"You're not going to expound on that?"
"What is there to 'expound' on? You and I are close, Duke and I are close, and now Dago and I are close. Is there some reason I should not be?"
"Look, it's nothing against Red—we all really like him—but what could you two possibly have in common to talk about? Unless you're undergoing some sort of spiritual transformation, I just don't see how you two could spend so much time together and manage to fill the silence."
"You'd be surprised," I answered, smirking to myself as I considered just how we managed to fill the silence. "Did you know he was arrested? And exiled from China?"
"What? Him? Really? Why?"
I told him the story Dago had told me. I didn't mention that I'd spent the last week reading Dago's personal journal, but the story I relayed was enough to throw off any suspicions Trapper might have had about my relationship with Dago.
"See, now that is interesting. Why doesn't he ever talk about that kind of stuff with us?" Trapper asked as he lined up his next shot.
"Because none of you shut up long enough to listen to him."
"So what else don't we know about him?"
"Maybe you should ask him next time he's around." I suggested, realizing that beyond Tibet and Danny, I didn't know that much about him myself, but I wasn't about to tell Trapper about Dago's past.
After our round of golf, I decided my own wife was long overdue for a letter, so I went back to the swamp and updated her on what was new.
Hi Honey.
Sorry I haven't written in a couple of weeks. I hope you haven't run off with the neighbor in the meantime. How are the kids? Has Tommy lost his tooth yet? Tell them Daddy says 'hi.'
You'll probably laugh when I tell you this, but I've befriended our camp chaplain. He's Catholic, but not one of those religious weirdoes. He's a pretty decent guy and overlooks the fact that I don't believe much in his God.
Life here is still hell, but we manage to pass the time best we can. I'm counting the days to February when my time here has been served and I can ditch this place like a bad date.
I love you, I miss you, I can't wait to see you.
As true as the last words were, I also realized that going home to my wife meant leaving Dago. I could do my best to ignore that eventuality, but I couldn't help but wonder what would become of us. Would we keep in touch? Would we secretly rendezvous back in the states? Was he even planning on going back to the states? Dago wasn't a draftee like me, he was here because he chose to be. If he re-uped his commission and stayed with the army he could go anywhere they sent him, which meant that in all likelihood I'd never see him again.
Maybe it was for the best that whatever this was ended here in Korea. I loved my wife and my kids, but I could justify fooling around here. I was 7000 miles from home. No one would ever find out about the girls I'd been with, or about Dago. But, back home…that was a different story. That involved lying and planning and sneaking around, which I just can't do to Mary.
Still, knowing there was an expiration date to this thing with Dago wasn't easy to accept. And the fact remained that I loved him. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore that aspect of it. How do you just walk away from something like that? I'd never loved anyone but my wife; this was new ground. A thought flashed across my mind of me bringing Dago home from the war like some sort of stray. I was fairly certain Mary would flip her lid, but part of me knew that she did tend to have a wild side. Maybe this would be the thing that would really get her going. We could end up being one of those strange swinger couples and my kids would just grow up thinking we really liked having sleepovers.
I laughed at the thought, but immediately dismissed it. This would end and I would miss Dago, but life would go on. I would make no promises, nor plans concerning life after the war, and I knew that he wouldn't either. I knew Dago was troubled by the depth of our relationship. The sex was one thing, but the emotional attachment was as new for him as it was for me. He'd said he hadn't loved Danny, and Danny was the only one he'd ever been with…did that make me his first love? What a fine mess this was…
About that time, Radar rushed into the Swamp, breathless and sweating. "They've taken Pork Chop Hill…the wounded are coming, sir; lots of them—choppers, ambulances, buses..."
I was on my feet and following him out the door before he finished. We'd all been fearing the fall of Old Baldy as the fighting had grown closer and closer to Pork Chop Hill. With us as the closest MASH unit to the front, I knew we were in for the longest haul yet and steeled myself for what was to come.
The first wave hit us like a tsunami, flooding the camp with some of the most severe wounds I had seen in months. We worked quickly, living up to our standard of meatball surgery as we cut and tied and snipped and amputated our way through the bodies. Before we'd even finished getting through round 1, round 2 came in with a vengeance. We worked and worked until we were nearly dropping off from sheer exhaustion. Henry was the first to go down. After 22 hours, he'd almost hit the floor, so we sent him off to get some sleep. After 4 hours, he came back and relieved Trapper, who returned after 4 hours to relieve Duke, who came back to relieve me.
As I staggered out of OR, I was disoriented by the fact that it was dark out. Time had measured itself in bodies over the last day. I was exhausted and my feet were absolutely killing me, but a sea of wounded greeted me outside; wave 3 had hit. In the middle, making his way around to each of them, was Dago. Even from several yards away I could tell he hadn't slept either, but his face was set in determination. As much as I wanted to fall into my bunk and go comatose for the next few hours, my feet veered themselves in his direction and I was soon kneeling on the other side of a body, assessing the wounds as Dago prayed in Latin.
"Can I do anything to help you?" I asked wearily.
"No," he said shortly, though not impolite. His eyes had dark smudges underneath, indicating just how exhausted he was. "Go rest, Hawkeye. I'll be fine."
Maybe it was my level of exhaustion, or maybe it was something else, but I leaned across the wounded soldier and pressed my lips to his. It took him a second to react as his tired brain processed what was happening. Though he kissed me back for a fraction of a second, he pulled away quickly.
"Hawkeye!" he admonished, eyes darting around nervously for spectators.
I didn't apologize, mostly because I didn't think to. I stood up, and brushed a hand through his hair. "Don't kill yourself out here, baby."
"I'm trying not to," he said, looking up at me.
I went to my tent and passed out…
"Hawkeye…" a hand was gently shaking my shoulder. I groaned and tried to turn away. "Hawkeye, I'm sorry, but they need you back in the OR."
My eyelids felt like they'd been filled with lead, but I managed to open them and saw Dago leaning over my bunk. "Whatimeisit?" I asked sleepily, rubbing my eyes.
"0800."
If I accurately remembered the time I'd left OR, they'd let me sleep a full six hours. Dago looked ragged as he straightened up. "Have you slept?" I asked him.
"No, but I'm alright."
"Bullshit," I replied, getting up and pointing to my cot, knowing that his body couldn't take anymore. "Lay down and go to sleep."
"There's still—"
"Dago…lay down and sleep. We'll send for you if we need you."
He sighed but nodded, obviously grateful. "Thanks."
I pulled him to me and kissed him. It was rough and sloppy as neither of us were rested enough to be very coordinated, but he didn't protest this time. When I let him go, he practically collapsed on my cot, one foot still on the floor, as he draped his arm over his eyes. I noted to myself that he seemed to be moving more fluidly now. Either that, or he'd simply just learned to ignore any lingering pain.
Dragging myself away, I scrubbed back in and went back to work. We are all cranky, tired, short-fused. Henry decreed that we would work no more than 12 hour shifts, and get six hours to rest and eat. By 4:30 that afternoon, we had managed to get through all the severe cases and were finishing up the last of the non-severe cases. We were anxious to get through the six o'clock hour, each knowing that choppers only came after six pm if it was a severe case. If no choppers came at six, then we could all try and get some rest.
Henry, Dago and I stood outside the OR at 5 til six. Henry and I were smoking nervously and Dago was jiggling his beads. He had gotten about as much sleep as I had before he came back to the OR to help out, but he at least didn't look like a gentle wind would knock him over anymore. At 5:59, we heard the choppers and we all groaned in dismay.
"It has to stop," Henry said in disbelief. "This can't go on forever."
"They'll eventually run out of bodies," I said, throwing my cigarette down and smashing it out.
"Somehow the army keeps finding more bodies to replace the ones we get," I heard Dago say as we all headed for the chopper pad.
The bodies came in for five days straight. We began referring to this nightmare as "The Deluge." Even though we were working in shifts again, we were dog tired and it was showing. I was working on a kid who needed a bowel resectioning after several pieces of shrapnel had shredded his insides. I was down to working with one nurse and I needed more hands.
"Duke, can you give me a hand?"
"Sorry, Hawk, I got my own kid."
"Henry?"
"Not now, Pierce."
"Anybody?"
There was no reply, but then someone stepped up to the table, gowned and gloved.
"What can I do, Hawkeye?"
I looked up into Dago's eyes for a long moment, unable to express my gratitude for his help, knowing how very much he disliked this part. I took his hand and put it on the retractor I was trying to hold.
"Hold this. Pull it towards you." He did as I instructed. "Good, pull a little more…a little more. There! Perfect."
I worked as quickly as my cramped fingers would allow, digging out the shrapnel, cutting out the parts of the intestines that couldn't be saved. Dago and my nurse passed me tools or held things as I instructed, and I finally got down to the part where I could stitch his good intestines back together and close him up. I was tired and fatigued, and once I'd finished sewing up the loose ends, I wondered if maybe I'd cut away too much, or sewn it too tightly. I thought about redoing the stitches, but simply closed instead.
When the last of the wounded had been operated on or tended to, we again waited with bated breath for the six o'clock choppers.
Six o'clock came and we all held our breaths, listening.
"Radar?" Henry asked.
"Nothing sir."
Six fifteen came and again Henry asked, "Radar?"
"Nothing sir."
At six thirty, we released our collective breath. Trapper, Duke and Spearchucker headed for the Swamp for shut eye, others headed for the shower, but I stayed in OR, calling Dago back as he had also been eager to leave. He looked at me with tired, curious eyes, but strayed away from the retreating crowd. There were a few corpsmen cleaning up the mess from surgery, so I was careful in what I said.
"Take your shirt off, babe. I want to see if your stitches are ready to come out."
"Oh…I almost forgot about that." He said as he slid his jacket off and pulled his shirt over his head.
"Doesn't hurt at all?"
"No. It did for a little while when the wounded first came in, but it's alright now. Just feels like a sore muscle."
"Good." I smiled and patted an exam table, watching as he slid up onto it. I pushed his arm over his head and examined the skin around the stitches before picking up a pair of suture cutters and snipping away the thread. "There…good as new. It shouldn't scar too bad."
He looked down at his side, gently running his fingers across the area, before looking back at me. "Thanks, Hawkeye."
I handed him his shirt and he tugged it back on. "Are you going to sleep?"
"I'd planned on it," he answered as he hopped off the table. I held out his jacket and he slipped his arms in the sleeves as I pulled it up across his shoulders, giving them a brief squeeze. "Did you need to stop by my tent for a minute?"
His voice was quiet and the invitation sounded innocent enough, but I knew what he was asking. "If that's alright."
"Of course," he said, smiling softly over his shoulder at me.
We left the OR and crossed the short distance to his tent. I latched it after me and before I could even fully turn around, Dago was in my arms, drawing me into a kiss. We were both still so exhausted that the kiss seemed clumsy, but I didn't care and he certainly wasn't complaining. His hands were on my belt, working furiously. I shrugged my jacket off, then pushed his to the floor before I started working on his belt and trouser fastenings. He was already toeing off his boots, kicking them to the side and dragging me towards his cot by my belt loops.
I laughed against his mouth, pulling away, "What's the rush, baby?"
"The next wave of wounded could still come at any minute," he answered, somewhat breathlessly.
"Good point." I toed off my own boots and we both shimmied out of the rest of our clothes before he pulled me down on top of him in the cot. I was concerned about his wounded side. "Let me know if you're in any pain."
"I will," he breathed before giving me a long, hard kiss, his hands reaching between our bodies and taking hold of my cock. "I want you…inside of me."
The request was barely a whisper and I could feel his body temperature rise as he blushed. Oh how I wanted to be inside of him, fucking him 'til kingdom come. "I don't have the lubricant with me."
Dago surprised me by pulling back from the kiss and taking my hand. He held my eyes with his as he kissed my palm, then sucked my index and middle finger into his mouth, getting them sufficiently wet with his saliva. The feel of his tongue stroking my fingers made me groan softly as my cock twitched with anticipation. I pulled my fingers from his mouth, leaning down to kiss him as I slid my hand between us and began to gently penetrate him with my spit-soaked fingers.
He gasped and moaned into my mouth, making it that much harder not to just ram my dick into him, and finally he pulled back and told me to take him. If the words weren't enough, the raspy, lustful tone of his voice certain was. I withdrew my hand, took hold of my cock and entered him.
There was nothing gentle about our lovemaking this time. We both had a need for release, a need to grind against that blissful ache. I knew I was all-out fucking him, but he was meeting each of my thrusts with his own. Our bodies were slick with sweat, and we were panting, gasping, groaning each other's names.
He was the first to cum, crying out so loud that I had to stifle the sound with my hand roughly over his mouth. The feeling of his body growing rigid with release, his sphincter muscles tightening around my cock, was enough to send me over the edge and I came along with him. Riding out my orgasm, I continued to thrust myself deep inside of him. His own hand had come up to my mouth, and I gently bit his index finger, dragging my teeth up and down the long, slender digit.
We were both panting and trembling when we'd finished, so worn out from lack of sleep and satisfying sex that Dago could barely keep his eyes open at this point and I hardly had the strength to move off of him. We managed to shift around in the cot so that we were both on our sides. I spooned my body against his, kissing his shoulder as I wrapped my arms around him from behind.
"Love you…" I found myself murmuring.
His fingers tightened their hold on my arm briefly as he whispered softly, "Me too."
I didn't think about the implications or the complications of our quiet admission, and simply let myself fall asleep with him.
When I woke up with the need to pee, it was still dark out and I tried to peer at my watch in the darkness, barely able to make out that it was somewhere in the neighborhood of midnight. I knew that I should probably go back to the swamp. With any luck, the others would still be asleep and I could play it off like I'd been there all night. Dago was still sleeping soundly and I carefully extracted my arm from underneath him, biting back the groan as pins and needles pricked from my hand to my elbow. I gave it a few gentle shakes to get the feeling back before I sat up and eased myself over his body and off his cot.
He stirred despite my efforts, raising his head to look at me. "What time is it?"
"About midnight," I said softly. "I need to pee and should probably go back to the swamp. You go back to sleep, baby."
"Okay," He told me tiredly. "See you at breakfast…maybe."
I laughed softly as I pulled on my clothes, then leaned over his cot and kissed him before I left his tent. I tended to my business and returned to the swamp, glad to see that my fellow Swamp-mates were still very much unconscious and would not question me as to where I'd been the last five or so hours. I fell into my cot, briefly catching Dago's scent as my face hit my pillow. I smiled softly, having forgotten that I'd told him to rest here several days ago. I breathed deeply of my pillow, hoping to catch the scent again, but could only smell myself and the staleness of a pillow in need of laundering.
Sleep came again and I quickly succumb to it, too tired to even dream.
I didn't make it to breakfast the next morning, or even lunch, but by the look of the deserted camp as I made my way to the shower, hardly anyone else had either. I showered and shaved, then dressed before making my way to the mess tent. My hands were shaking as my blood sugar dipped dangerously low from the lack of sustenance over the last several days and I practically inhaled my entire tray. I was contemplating seconds when I saw Dago running full speed towards the mess tent, his dog tags flopping around behind him. I was already up and at the door, knowing something was wrong by the look on his face.
"What is it, babe?"
"Travers," he panted. I mentally connected the dots as he explained. "The boy I helped you with. They need you right away."
I grabbed his arm and pulled him along with me as I took off running across the compound. "What's the situation?"
"I…don't know…" he said between breaths. "Duke thinks…you missed…something."
"Nah…couldn't have…" We made it to post-op and Duke and Knocko looked up as we ran through the door. Dago was clutching his side, panting, but I couldn't worry about him at that moment. "What're his symptoms?"
"Fever, high blood pressure, he's pretty shocky, and his abdomen feels tight. Think you missed something?" Duke asked.
"No. Ten to one his stitches tore when they moved him here from OR. Get him prepped, I'm going back in. Knocko, I want you to assist. Dago, go find Ugly John."
Dago nodded and ran back out the door and I headed to scrub room.
Just as I'd predicted, I'd made the stitches too tight and they had torn free, leaving the kid bleeding into his belly. I kicked myself for not having corrected the problem when I'd considered it earlier.
I was halfway through re-doing the resectioning when the OR doors slammed open and soldiers were carried in on stretchers—one of them screaming in agony.
"What the hell is this?" I asked the corpsmen carrying the screaming kid.
"New wave just arrived."
I swore and finished working on my kid, confident that I'd managed to get it right that time, and went over to the boy, still screaming. I knew there was no way we'd be able to sedate him like this and I certainly had no knack for calming kids down, so I sent for Dago as I assessed the kid, trying to prioritize the wounds.
Dago didn't even need to ask what I needed from him. He leaned over the boy, laying his hand on the kid's shoulder and murmuring to him gently.
"I don't want to die!" The boy screamed, reaching up and clutching the front of Dago's jacket.
"You're not going to die," Dago said in a raised voice. "You're at the 4077th MASH being operated on by Hawkeye Pierce, the finest surgeon there is. Trust me…everything will be okay but you have to calm down and let him work so he can save you."
"Don't leave me, please…" the kid pleaded.
"I'm not going anywhere," Dago assured him. The kid didn't let go, but he stopped screaming and calmed down enough to let the gas passer put him under. When the kid was out, his hands went slack and Dago was able to pull free.
"Have I mentioned I don't envy you your job?" I teased as I started to work.
"Once or twice." He tossed back. "Anything else I can do for you?"
"I'll let you know."
It was another 8 hour session in the OR, which was peanuts compared to The Deluge, but still tiring. I was starting to forget what normal hours felt like. I made a trip through post-op to check on Travers and saw Dago sitting vigilantly at the bedside of our screamer, who was still out.
"What are you doing?" I asked softly, stopping at the end of the bed.
"I promised him I wasn't going anywhere."
"Babe, he'll be out for another few hours at least, and when he wakes up, he's not going to remember anything about that conversation."
"Maybe not," Dago said seriously, "But now that I've been in their shoes, I know what it's like. I remember everything that happened up to the point of going under. What if he does too?"
I shook my head, knowing I wasn't going to talk him out of sitting there all night. "Do you want me to stay with you?"
"No…you should sleep."
"I'm getting to the point where I feel like all I do is sleep and operate." I reconsidered. "Or maybe just operate with sporadic periods of unconsciousness."
He laughed softly as he looked up at me, his eyes twinkling even in the dimmed lights. I added another item to my list of things I liked about him. I motioned for him to follow me.
"Come here," I said, slowly heading for the door.
"Where?" he asked, looking between me and the patient as he debated whether or not to follow.
"Just outside for a second. It won't take long."
Like an obedient dog, Dago followed me and I led him around to the backside of the building. It was dark and deserted.
"Hawkeye? What are we doing back here?" He asked in a whisper.
I answered him by pulling him to me and kissing him, pressing his body against the corrugated metal covering the semi-permanent structure. He sighed pleasantly as I slid my tongue into his mouth; his hands ran up my arms and over my shoulders, fingers locking together behind my neck.
"I love kissing you," I murmured against his lips. "I love the way your lips feel, I love the way you taste, I love the way your tongue feels in my mouth. I even like your sharp I-teeth…especially when they graze my cock."
"Oh…" I could practically feel the intensity of his blush. "If I hurt you—"
"You didn't," I interrupted, smiling and pressing my body closer to his. "That's why I said I like it."
He gently pulled me back into a long, slow kiss—the kind of kiss that drove me absolutely crazy with desire. I ran my hand down his abdomen to his belt, but his hands covered mine in a flash and he pulled back. "N-Not here, Hawkeye."
"Come on, babe," I murmured, kissing the juncture just behind his ear, knowing it was one of his weak spots. "No one can see us."
He was breathing heavily, and though his hands were still covering mine, he wasn't fighting me. I undid his belt and felt him tense, but he still didn't stop me. His head was tipped slightly to the side, silently urging me not to stop kissing his neck. I licked and nibbled and kissed behind his ear and down his neck as I managed to undo his pants. I slipped my hands around his waist and gently guided him around so he was facing the building.
"Hawkeye…" it was half a protest, half a question, and I responded with my lips once again on his weak spot. He moaned softly and I began to work on my own trousers, slipping them down enough to free myself. I pushed his pants down and Dago automatically stepped his legs as far apart as he could, bracing himself up against the building as I positioned myself behind him. I spit in my hand and rubbed my dick, then gently thrust myself inside of him. He gasped just as my hand covered his mouth, muffling the sound, and I pushed all the way inside, dropping my head against his shoulder as I groaned softly.
"Is this okay?" I asked, not moving yet.
He nodded and I uncovered his mouth, dropping my hand down to reach around him and take hold of his cock, pumping him in time to my thrusts as I began to move. We both stifled our groans as best we could, but Dago's dog tags were jangling around his neck. He reached up and grabbed them, holding them in his fist as he used his other hand to support himself against the wall. I could hear him panting softly, and saw him bring his hand—dog tags and all—to his mouth, biting his knuckle to keep from moaning.
We'd never done it like this before, but there was something exhilarating and powerful about taking him like this. I didn't want to dominate him or force him into anything, but I felt like I was in complete control of him, and that was intoxicating.
"Say my name," I murmured against his ear.
"Ben…" he half-moaned as he drew his knuckle away from his mouth.
"Say you love me," I murmured again, not entirely sure why I wanted to hear him say those words.
"You know I do," he said softly.
"Say it…"
"I…love you, Ben." Even though he hesitated for a brief moment, I could hear the absolutely sincerity in the words. I felt strange as he said it, like I was somehow lighter, though my insides felt like they were swelling. How could those words from this man have such an impact on me?
"I love you, John," I echoed, pressing my lips to his weak spot once again.
We came simultaneously. I could feel Dago trembling as he struggled to hold himself up against the wall as I pumped his cum into my hand and my cum into his ass. I wrapped my other arm around his chest to help him stay upright, groaning against his shoulder as I spent myself. When I withdrew, Dago's knees buckled and he nearly fell into the building, but I managed to catch him and hold him up until he had enough strength to stand on his own again. He turned around, leaning against the building as he pulled up his pants. I shook my hand to fling the cum off and he gave me a disgusted look that made me laugh as I pulled up my own pants.
"We're getting careless," he told me softly as I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "We might as well be fooling around in broad daylight in the middle of the camp."
I took and drag and slowly let it out as I considered what he was saying. Maybe we were risking it a little, but I couldn't help myself. He was a drug and I was addicted. I offered him my cigarette but he shook his head.
"I'll try to limit molesting you in public," I finally conceded, knowing he was right and that we would eventually get caught if we messed around out in the open.
He chuckled despite the seriousness he was trying to impose on the situation. "I don't mind it so much…I just don't think it's a good idea for others to find us in…compromising positions."
"No, you're absolutely right, though that would be one way of getting out of the army."
"Hawkeye," he admonished with a slight laugh.
I took a long drag on the cigarette, feeling plagued and uneasy about my feelings for him. Despite my resolve not to question it, I found myself doing just that. "Dago…where do we go from here?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean with the way we feel? What the hell are we going to do after the war?"
He was quiet for a long minute, not meeting my eyes. "You'll get your orders in February to go home, and you'll go back to your wife and children."
The thickness of his voice belied the stoniness of his words. He didn't want to think about this anymore than I did because he had come to the same conclusion I had—we had until February to do as we pleased, and then all of this would end. I swallowed hard.
"What about you?"
"I'll stay here for the duration of the war. I haven't thought much about where I'll go after Korea, or if I'll continue to serve in the army as a chaplain."
"If you had your choice, where would you go?"
He sighed softly as he considered the question, "Tibet…but that'll never happen."
"I still want to write to Tseten for you."
Dago's eyes met mine and even in the darkness I could see the glisten of unshed tears. He looked away and sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I just don't know what to say, Hawkeye…"
I stamped out my cigarette and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him tightly against me. I felt his breath hitch a little as he slid his arms around my waist, knowing he was upset over the thought of my leaving rather than thoughts of Tibet or Tseten.
"Let's just not think about it," I said softly.
"I try not to," he admitted. "But each time you say you love me, I can't help it. It kills me, Hawkeye. The thought of never seeing you again…it's…devastating."
I didn't know what to say to that, mostly because I couldn't imagine how I'd feel once I was gone. When I came to Korea and had to leave my wife and kids, I missed them terribly, but there was always the knowledge that in 18 months I'd be back home with them. With Dago, I knew that all I had was another six months and then I'd never see him again, so the timing was bittersweet.
"Would it be better if I didn't tell you I love you?"
He shook his head. "No…I like hearing it."
I pulled back enough to kiss him, then hugged him again. "We'll think of something, baby."
After a few minutes, I felt him sigh softly as he pulled back. "As much as I could stand out here all night with you, I don't want that boy to wake up alone."
"You're incredible, you know that, right?"
"I'm not," he shook his head.
"You are," I countered. "You don't give up on anyone, you work harder and longer than any of us. You're a rock, Dago."
He was quiet for a moment before he met my eyes. "I have to be."
He headed back to post-op and I headed back to the mess tent for something to eat before going back to the Swamp. Trapper and Duke were enjoying martinis in their bunks. It felt as though I hadn't seen them in forever, but none of us were in the mood to chat much. I wasn't ready to sleep, so I poured a martini, took out Dago's journal and laid back with it, not opening it until the other two had gone on to ignore me in favor of writing home or passing out.
I read through the rest of the entries detailing his life in Tibet, then came to an entry written in December 1948. I realized this must be the first entry Dago had written after his imprisonment and ultimate exile from Tibet.
December 17, 1948
Today is the first day I have felt like writing since I arrived home in the middle of November. I simply haven't been able to face what has happened to me since July. I can still feel the canes beating me in my nightmares…I've lost count of how often I've woken up screaming. Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy, but I can't talk about it with anyone. I just want to forget, but I feel as though it has been branded into my mind. I see it every time I close my eyes.
Two months in jail for a crime I did not commit... It would have been longer, and I might have even been sentenced to death if it hadn't been for Tseten's courage and the help of the Maryknolls to convince the Tibetan government that I truly was innocent and that it was simply a misunderstanding. Every day they tortured me, trying to get me to confess to being an ally of the Chinese. I almost broke so many times, I wanted to just lie and tell them I was so they would end the torture, but I knew that if I did, they would simply kill me.
I wonder what happened to the church, but I can't bring myself to ask. I feel like I have failed in the worst way. Not only the Maryknolls, but God and his new flock in Tibet.
And Tseten. Dear Tseten. I shall never see nor speak to him again. My soul grieves for the loss of my friendship. I cannot bare to think of him yet.
Though I am home in San Diego, I have not returned to my parish. I am not ready. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will be.
Why, God? What is the purpose for this? I have given my life to serve you…why would you do this to me? There must be a reason. I try to have faith and believe that you were with me through my suffering; I try to remember the trial of your Son as he was whipped and beaten and hung on the cross to die, but it's so hard…When the nightmares come, when I remember everything that happened, when I think of Tseten…I can't help but wish that I hadn't survived.
I felt sick and cold as I read the cryptic, angry entry. It was so different from the others, so dark for the Dago I'd come to know. I couldn't begin to imagine what he must have gone through, or how he'd managed to overcome it. When I'd asked him about it before, he'd glossed over his time in jail like it had been nothing, simply saying that it wasn't "pleasant," but I'd never imagined how horrible it might have been. Nearly all of my six brothers had been in jail before—multiple times, even—and to them it was just an inconvenience in their crooked lives, but nothing like this.
It struck me that at this time four years ago, Dago would have been in that jail. Did he still think about it? Did he still have nightmares? Was my constantly asking him about it and Tseten making him remember it against his will?
My mind was filled with images of Dago being beaten with heavy canes and I slammed the journal shut, hopping out of my bunk. I needed to move around, I needed to get the images out of my head, I needed to see him.
"You okay, Hawk?" Trapper asked as I headed for the door. I didn't answer him.
I went to post-op and found Dago nearly dozing off as he continued to sit at the kid's side. He jumped when I put my hand on his shoulder. I felt almost crazed as I looked down at him, filled with anger and rage at his captors, grief and sorrow for his experiences, and all encompassing love and admiration for this man I was still learning about.
"Hawkeye? What's the matter?" He asked, getting to his feet, worry etching his handsome face.
"I didn't know…" my voice cracked under the strain of so much emotion and my eyes were stinging.
Dago took my arm and was leading me out of post-op as I started to break down. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried; not like this anyway. Unabashed, unconcerned, uncontrollable. He led me to his tent and latched the door, sitting me down on his cot as he sat beside me, rubbing my back soothingly.
"I didn't know…" I said again.
"Didn't know what?"
"What happened to you." I took off my glasses and wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve.
"Oh," he said softly, understanding dawning. "You couldn't have, Hawkeye. I didn't tell anyone about it. It was a long time ago, I've moved on from it."
"What did they do you?" I needed to know for my own morbid curiosity.
Dago cleared his throat, "That's probably not something you'd really want to know, Hawkeye."
"I need to know, John."
I looked at him and held his eyes he sighed softly, and warned, "You can't un-know it once I tell you."
I nodded in understanding.
Dago sighed again and stood up, pacing the small space of his tent for a moment before he began speaking. "Tibetan jails are kind of like medieval dungeons. The cells are dug into the ground and are one large room with no ventilation, no sunlight, but somehow flood easily in the rainy season.
Monsoon season was coming to an end when I was arrested, so the cell I was put in was about knee-deep with water. They have metal shackles attached to one long chain that goes around the entire room and they shackled my feet and hands."
I closed my eyes as he described it to me, feeling queasy at the thought that he'd been chained up for two months.
"Every day they beat us with bamboo canes, but they seemed to really enjoy beating the ones who screamed or cried or fought back. I found that if you just took it, they got bored with you very quickly, though it never deterred them from finding some other way to torture you. I still have a few scars in various places."
"What did they do besides hit you?
He closed his eyes tightly, and I could tell for a moment he was reliving whatever he'd gone through. "Whatever horror stories you've heard about Chinese torture is also true for Tibetans—bamboo under the finger nails, being tied down with water dripping on your forehead…I saw things done to others that, thank God, never happened to me. People were disemboweled right in front of me. They were suspended by their wrists in the air and jerked around until their arms were dislocated or broken or both. One of the worst ones was some kind of garrote that was tied around a person's arms and legs and a rope would slowly pull it tight cutting them all the way to the bone…and sometimes slicing clean through.
"I don't know why they never put me through some of the other forms of torture," he continued with a sigh as he sat back down on the cot next to me. I took his hand and held it tightly as he spoke. "It wasn't just physical torture, though, it was mental and emotional and everything else. The only food we were given was moldy bread. The only water we could drink was the standing water in the cell from the rain—which was also the only toilet we had. It was a nightmare, Hawkeye…I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."
I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing him so hard it hurt. I understood now why he hadn't written about it for several months after his return home, and why he hadn't gone into detail, and why he had been so angry with his god. What I couldn't understand is how he could go through an experience like that and still have such strong faith in that god and not be an absolute nut case. Had I not read his journal, I would have never known Dago had been tortured so brutally. I couldn't wrap my mind around it.
"How did you get over that, Dago?"
"It wasn't easy," he admitted, pulling back from my embrace. "And sometimes I wonder if I really am over it. I had to keep reading the story of Jesus' crucifixion, and I prayed and prayed and prayed for enlightenment. I was so, so angry at God. I just couldn't understand why he would put me through something like that. It took about six months of constantly reliving it and analyzing it and praying about it for me to come to terms with the fact that it happened and I couldn't change it. All I could do was learn from the experience and be grateful that I had been spared the fate of so many I had seen mutilated or killed. I ultimately realized that God was protecting me from harm as much as He could. He sustained me and kept me alive and kept me sane. I realized that the two months I endured was nothing compared to the life sentences that others are put through—prisoners of war, people who are persecuted for their religious beliefs, innocents like myself….even true criminals don't deserve that—but it gave me a deeper understanding of the suffering that goes on in the world. And that realization is what led me into the army. Maybe I can't end the torment that goes on, maybe I can't bring peace to warring nations, but I can at least counsel and be a beacon of hope.
"There are still times that I'm overwhelmed by what happened to me; certain things will trigger a memory and sometimes I start to relive it. I try to keep to myself during those times, because I know I'm a completely different person when that happens."
"Has it happened to you since you've been here?"
"Oh yes," he said with a somber laugh. "The first time I was in OR, I was so overcome by the memories that I blacked out. I really had to question my decision to be an army chaplain after that. Henry told me that I didn't have to be in the OR if I couldn't handle it, but I knew I was needed in there as much—if not more—than anywhere else. There are certain smells that trigger the memories—like the dirt when it first rains, and the smell of festering wounds. I think…or I hope anyways, that I've been here long enough that I'm starting to get used to those things. The triggers have gotten less and less since I first got here, but it still happens."
"Baby, I don't think anyone could get used to those things," I said gently. "Or they shouldn't have to."
I suddenly thought of all the times I had forced Dago to help me in OR and my heart sank. I remembered the look of sheer terror on his face, the panicked expression, the way he had been so withdrawn and bitter afterwards…
"Christ," I swore, dropping my head in my hands. "I'm so sorry, John. Every time I made you help me in OR…I didn't realize…"
He put his hand on my shoulder, his voice soft and comforting, "Like you said, you didn't know. I wish I could help you doctors more than I do, but I really have to push myself sometimes. When I joined the army, I didn't know I'd be sent to a MASH unit, but…there's a reason I'm here, Hawkeye. Maybe it's to help me get over what happened, or maybe my experience in Tibet helped prepare me for this. I don't know. It could be both. It could be neither. I won't know until I die and God reveals His ultimate design to me. All I can do is try to move forward and remember that time is linear. The past is over, it can't be changed. I have to try and not let it rule my future. I just deal with it as best as I can."
"You're unbelievable, Dago. Really, you are. I can't imagine what it must have been like…what it must still be like. The fact that you've never let it show, that we had no idea…"
He swallowed hard, "Thank you…really."
"I swear I won't push you to help me like that again. I never would have if I'd realized what it was doing to you."
"You needed me." He said gently. "Those boys needed me."
I was awed by him. I knew I'd never be able to express exactly how I felt about Dago in that moment. There simply weren't words or actions… All I could do was hug him and kiss him and tell him how much I loved him. Then, again out of morbid curiosity, I asked to see where he'd been scarred.
Dago laughed softly, shaking his head, but pulled back the sleeve on his jacket and turned his right wrist over. The scar was faint, but visible; a pale line that ran perpendicular to his veins. "One of the shackles had a sharp edge that cut into my wrist anytime I moved or anytime the chain was pulled."
He turned the same hand back over and held up his pinky finger that had a deep, diagonal scar across the distal interphalangeal joint. I had noticed this one before when admiring his hands, but I hadn't thought to ask about it.
"I got this one pretty early on in my imprisonment, when I tried to protect myself from being hit with the cane. It caught me on my finger and busted it open. I probably needed stitches at the time, but…well…" he gave a bitter little laugh, then pulled up the left leg of his trousers and pointed to another deep scar on his shin. "Another caning scar. Most of my scars came from the canes. They mostly liked to hit you on the shins, the feet, the hands, the wrists, the head and the face—places it hurts the most, and was likely to do the most damage. I have a scar here…" He ran his finger just above one eyebrow, where I saw yet another faint scar, "and here…" he tilted his head back and showed me the scar just under his chin. "And right about…here…" he felt around on the side of his head.
I was dumbfounded. I couldn't even think of anything I could possibly say to him.
He gave a nervous laugh, readjusting his clothes. "I always tell myself it could have been worse."
I picked up one of his hands and examined the tips of his fingers, just under his short nails. I could see the scar tissue on the nail bed as well, evidence of bamboo shoots driven under his nails. I brought his fingers to my lips, kissing each of his fingers. He reached up with his other hand and gently stroked his thumb across my cheek. I realized he was wiping away tears. When had I started crying again?
"Have you ever talked about this before, Dago? To anyone?"
He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "I tried to…with Danny, but I was still processing it myself, and Danny…well, it's not that he wouldn't listen, but he would get really upset when I talked about it. He developed such a hate for those people because of what they did to me…which I suppose, thinking about it now, is rather ironic that he's serving as a chaplain for a platoon stationed in China. I don't want to think about what he might be doing to those people to retaliate."
I could only imagine, but another thought struck me, "You said if you could go anywhere you'd go to Tibet…even after everything that happened to you?"
He nodded solemnly. "I loved Tibet. I loved the people, the culture, the language, the history… Even knowing what I would go through in prison, I would do it all again in a heartbeat. Their society is steeped in ancient customs, their prisons and punishments reflect that. I don't commend or condone their treatment of prisoners, obviously, but I do have to admit that it is effective. There is virtually no crime for that very reason."
Again I was astounded by his ability to see and know and understand things that the rest of us couldn't. I couldn't say that I hated the Tibetans personally for what they did to Dago, but I hated that he'd been put through that and traumatized so severely. The fact that he would chose to go back there was utterly inconceivable.
"God, I need a drink…" I muttered, rubbing my eyes. I felt like my whole world had been turned upside down. I hadn't expected to hear all of this, or see the evidence of his torture forever etched on his body. How many times had I touched his scars, never knowing where they'd come from, or what he'd endured when he'd got them.
He laughed softly and got up from the cot, going over to the stash of booze and beer that he kept on hand for occasions like this, and for grieving doctors, nurses or enlisted men who needed a good cry and a stiff drink after a hard day. He handed me a bottle Jack Daniel's. I wondered where'd gotten it and how he'd managed to keep someone from running off with it—real hooch was hard to come by if you didn't stock up at the PX, and even then, they rarely had anything this good.
I twisted off the cap and tipped the bottle back, taking a long swig before I passed it over to him. He sipped the bottle carefully and handed it back.
"I told Trapper that you'd been in jail," I admitted softly. "He couldn't imagine what you and I possibly talk about and…jeeze, Dago…I never thought anything like that had happened to you."
"It's okay. If they ask me about it, I won't go into detail about my experience. It's not really their business, but it's okay you told him."
"How come you told me?"
"You asked." He said simply.
I looked over at him and he took the bottle from my hand before taking a long drink.
"I don't think there is anything I wouldn't tell you, Ben. I trust you. That's why I gave you my journal to read."
I shook my head in disbelief and wonder. "You've had such an amazing life, Dago…I feel like anything I've ever done pales in comparison."
He laughed softly. "You've done things I've never—and will never—do, Hawkeye. You've married, had children…"
"Have you ever wanted kids?"
"I never really let myself think about it. It was kind of pointless after I started seminary, knowing I was headed for ordination." He had that look on his face like he was seriously considering my question, so I stayed quiet as he thought. "I don't know, really. I can't imagine myself as a married man or having someone call me 'daddy.'"
"Why not? People already call you 'Father.'" I teased, taking the whiskey bottle and drinking.
He laughed, "That's true, but there's a completely different connotation of the words."
I leaned back on his bunk, studying him carefully. "I think you'd make a good dad. You have infinite patience; you're kind and understanding…"
He smiled softly, but remained quiet for a long moment. "How old are your kids, Hawkeye?"
"Tommy's five. Charlie is seven."
He smirked softly. "Tommy and Charlie? There's not a Benjamin Franklin Pierce Jr.?"
"Actually, it would be the third in a line of B.F. Pierce's, and no…I will be the last of the Benjamin Franklin Pierce's."
He laughed in absolute amusement. "So you're the junior?"
"Unfortunately. I don't know why my dad continued the name. He hates it as much as I do. He prefers to go by Benji, which he tried to bestow upon me before he took to calling me Hawkeye. I tell you, reading that damn book was the best thing he could have done."
"Hawkeye does seem to suit you better than Benji," he mused, taking the bottle from me and drinking. "What else don't I know about you?"
"Better question is: what do you know?" I asked honestly. I couldn't remember a time when we'd ever talked about me…not that I minded. I loved hearing about him.
"Well, I know you're from Crabapple Cove in Maine. I've heard you talk about trapping lobsters with your dad as a kid. I know you like golf and you used to tell people you were the 'pro from Dover' so that they might give you a free round on the course."
I laughed, "I still use that when I can. I never realized you were paying any attention to my conversations. You're quite the eavesdropper."
He blushed, "Oh…well…I never meant to eavesdrop."
I laughed again, "I'm kidding, Dago; but it sounds like you've pretty much got the gist of it. I was born and raised in Crabapple Cove. I have six brothers—all older, which is why I don't understand how I got stuck with being a junior. They're all a bunch of no-gooders. They've been in and out of jail so many times I can't keep up with who's in and who's out. Dad's the captain of a fishing boat but catches all kinds of things like crabs and lobsters. Most of my brothers followed in his footsteps and help man his boat when they're not in jail. I, on the other hand, went to college and medical school because I hate being on boats."
He was listening with rapt interest. "What about your mother?"
"Mom died when I was 10."
"I'm sorry, Hawkeye."
My mother was not a subject I enjoyed talking about, mostly because it still made me very angry and emotional, but Dago had been so candid and open about everything in his life, that I found myself telling him about her.
"She had been sick for a while. I remember my dad would pick me up from school and we would stop by the church on the way home and pray. I would beg God to make her better, promising I'd never ask for anything ever again if he would just make her better. She continued to get worse, so I figured I wasn't praying hard enough, and eventually I was staying up half the night praying, but she still died anyways."
He was quiet for a long moment, then he took the bottle and cap from my hand, set it aside, an moved so that he was beside me. I knew what he wanted, so I stretched out on his bunk. He laid down and put his head on my shoulder, hugging me around the middle. "What did she die of?"
"Tuberculosis." I said, closing my eyes and running my hand through his hair. "There weren't any effective treatments back then…at least in the states. I didn't really understand that when I was 10, I thought that doctors could make everything better."
"Is that why you wanted to be a doctor?"
"Mostly, yeah…" I admitted. "I wanted to help people, I wanted to save them so that no one had to go through what I went through. I wanted to be the one who found the cure for every disease… A pipe dream, of course, but that's my struggle to this day. Every kid I can't save…"
I shook my head, not able to finish the thought, and he gave me a gentle squeeze of understanding. He was quiet again for a minute and I knew he was thinking about what I'd said.
"Hawkeye…you know she didn't die because you didn't pray enough, right?"
I didn't answer, mostly because part of me still resented God so much for taking her and the kid in me still felt responsible, even though I knew—now—that the illness had been incurable. He looked up at me, sitting up a little so he could look down into my face.
"Is that why you stopped believing in God?"
I felt the prick of tears. This is why I hated talking about this. It always rolled around to God and that was something I hated to talk about on a serious level. Still, I nodded, staring stonily up at the olive drab ceiling to avoid seeing the look on his face.
"Oh, Hawkeye…" he said sadly. I could hear the God-talk coming before he even started speaking again and I closed my eyes, intent on not listening. "God doesn't punish people, Hawkeye…not like that. He doesn't take people from us because we didn't pray enough or we didn't believe in Him enough. Your mother didn't die because God ignored your prayers…Death is a consequence of living. The Bible describes death as our enemy, and our destiny. But if you believe in God, you will be given eternal life. John 3:16 says 'For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' God didn't take your mother out of cruelty, Hawkeye. He granted her an end to her suffering and gave her eternal life, free of suffering, in His Kingdom. I know that's not easy for a child to understand—many adults have trouble accepting death as a part of life as well, but in learning to grieve, we grow wise. Ecclesiastes says 'It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will it to his heart. Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better."
Though I didn't want to hear what Dago was saying, I found myself looking at him, spellbound…though grudgingly. "And what does that mean exactly?"
"It means that everyone dies, and we would be wise to remember that. Death has a profound impact on the living…as you well know."
I looked away as angry tears blurred my vision, but he gently dragged my face back to meet his gaze. "I don't think you're really a non-believer, Hawkeye…I think you're just angry with God, so to retaliate, you deny Him."
I pushed Dago off me roughly as wave of pure rage surged through me. I hadn't meant to dislodge him completely, but I forgot how small army cots were, and he fell onto the floor. I wanted to apologize, to help him up, to tell him I hadn't meant to do that, but I was blinded with agonizing anger at the fact that he was right. I was paralyzed with grief, sadness, bitterness, anger, hate, remorse, and so many other emotions I couldn't even name, that all I could do was lay there as they poured out of me through a river of unbidden sobs and primal screams. I balled my hands into fists, pounding anything I could—the cot, myself, even Dago as he jumped off the floor and grabbed at my hands to calm me. I grabbed him and pulled him to me as I cried.
Having Dago see through me so easily was unsettling at the least. I had argued the existence of God with people before, and had even been told similar sentiments—that I was just angry at God—but never before had it hit home like it did now. No one had ever said it quite so plainly, or with such compassionate understanding. I wanted to be angry at Dago, but knew that my anger was with myself…and God.

TBC
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Infatuation