| *This story is kind of different, so here's a short explanation. The story is kind of a combination between "The Late Captain Pierce" and "Where There's a Will There's a War." I found it hard to combine these two, as they were from different times---Frank was still around in "The Late Captain Pierce" while Charles had joined the staff by "Where There's a Will There's a War." Therefore, I have written it as if Frank had already left (sorry Frank fans!) because I feel I write better for Charles than I do for Frank. I don't have Ferret Face's flair for the utterly ridiculous, I'm afraid. Thus this story contradicts what happened in the show (which I do not usually do but it was unavoidable), so therefore belief must be suspended. Well, that said, I hope you enjoy reading (and feel free to send me feedback at CLWshorty01@yahoo.com)! Mourners for a Friend By Cathy W. "So, Charles, how much do you owe me? Oh yeah, $733.25, plus 10 drinks in the Officer's Club. Don't worry, you can pay me on an installment plan. You can start by buying me a drink," Hawkeye said and winked, gloating. Charles snorted and replied, "You had to have cheated. No one can recognize my bluff unless they had some unseen accomplice working in the shadows." "Don't look at me," BJ put in. "I lost too. Just not so bad." He grinned at Charles, also happy to have shown Charles up. All Charles said was "Hmph." He put the deck of cards aside and made his way over to his bunk, where he sat down and picked up a novel. Just as he found his place and began picking up where he had left off last reading, the PA cracked, warning everyone that an announcement would soon follow. He put his book down in exasperation and thought, 'Every moment of repose I have is inevitably interrupted by the infernal war!' Radar's voice blared over the intercom. Everyone invariably winced at the sudden noise. "Captains Pierce and Hunnicut and Majors Houlihan and Winchester, report to Colonel Potter's office, sirs, and uh, Ma'am." The system registered feedback, forcing everyone to grimace or cover their ears. Charles looked over at Hawk and BJ with a smirk and joked, "What did you two do this time?" "Whatever it is, it involves you and Margaret too," BJ pointed out. The Swamprats hauled themselves out of their respective cots and dragged themselves to Colonel Potter's office, where he was waiting anxiously for them. When they arrived, Margaret, of course, was already there. "What's going on, Colonel?" Hawkeye asked. "It better be good. I was busy doing nothing. That's the most important thing I could be doing right now." "Yes, Colonel, what is this all about? We're all curious," Margaret added. "Well, an aid station was already short-handed when one of their surgeons broke his wrist. He'll be out of commission for a few weeks, but it'll take a coupla days to get a replacement surgeon for that long. Since things have been pretty calm at this end, I volunteered to have one of our doctors go until the new cutter arrives. So, any volunteers?" All three of the doctors stared at him in silence, obviously not willing to volunteer. "Colonel, what about if I went?" Margaret asked. "No, Major, they need a doctor," he answered. He put his hand up to stop her mid-sentence. "Major...Margaret, I know you're gung-ho to go, but we really need one of those happy volunteers over there." "I won't be outdone by Margaret," said Hawkeye. "I'll go, Colonel." "Okay, Pierce. You leave in an hour." "No, let me go," BJ hurriedly put in. "You got the last one, Hawk. It's my turn." "Nah, don't worry about it. You owe me the next one, though." "Okay, Hawk. Deal," BJ said in relief. *** An Hour and a Half Later *** After their customary goodbyes (the "see ya" from BJ, the "be careful, son" from Potter, and the "you better take of yourself" from Margaret), Hawkeye was now driving along the bumpy road---if you could call it a road---to the aid station. He had just finished mangling a Vivaldi opera and was moving on to show tunes when he was suddenly interrupted by a large boom. He looked around in fear, then lost control of the jeep as a shell landed very close by. His jeep grazed a tree and flipped over, turning his world upside down. He screamed in terror and then everything was black. *** Three Hours Later *** Radar was sitting at his desk finishing up the daily reports in record time when the phone rang, making him jump. "Geez!" he mumbled to himself. He picked it up and out of habit replied, "M*A*S*H 4077th." "Hello, is your CO there?" an unfamiliar voice asked. "Umm, just a second," Radar answered uncertainly. He got up and slowly approached Colonel Potter, who was painting. Whenever someone asked for Colonel Potter over the phone, it was never good----especially if they just asked for the CO and not for him by name. "Uh, Colonel, someone's on the phone for you." As Potter opened his mouth to ask who it was, Radar interrupted him. "They didn't say who they were, sir." Potter followed him to the phone and picked it up. "Colonel Potter, CO of the 4-0-double-seven. Who might I be speaking to?" "Lieutenant Hodges, sir. I was just wondering if you'd sent that doctor yet." "Yes, about three and a half hours ago. He should've been there a long time ago. Are you saying he's not?" "Uh, sorry sir, but he's not here. Do you want me to send a party to search for him?" the suddenly nervous lieutenant asked. "Yes, I would. I sent my chief surgeon out there," Potter emphatically stated, while the whole time he was really scared to death about what had happened to part of his "family." It really didn't matter that he was chief surgeon as much as that it was him. "We'll get on it as soon as we can, sir. Right now, we're pretty much overrun with casualties. As soon as the fighting slows, we'll look for him," Hodges said. "Be sure you do. I'd like him back." Potter slammed the phone down, not out of anger as much as out of frustration and....fear, he had to admit. 'God help him,' he thought fervently. *** Meanwhile Along the Side of the Road *** Hawkeye woke up to a bright blue sky and pain. His whole body seemed to throb in rhythm with his breathing. He groaned and turned over. He was eye-to-eye with a Korean soldier. 'Please let it be a South Korean, please let it be a South Korean,' he chanted in his head. "Boy, am I glad you found me," he said hopefully. The soldier looked at him questioningly, then muttered something in a foreign language which Hawkeye figured logically was Korean. The Korean took a gun out and pointed it at Hawkeye's head. He motioned him to get up with his hands in the air and walk forward. 'I guess it's a North Korean,' Hawk thought dejectedly as he stumbled forward. The soldier poked him in the back with the barrel of his gun. "I got the message," he said sarcastically as he walked faster. *** Back at the 4077th *** "Incoming wounded! Incoming wounded! Put on your best clothes, we're going to be waltzing all night," blared forth from the PA. The staff all got up and jogged to Pre-Op for triage. BJ went over to a man whose shoulder was bandaged. "He can wait!" he called out. "Doc, am I okay?" he asked. "You'll be fine," BJ answered sincerely. "Where's the doctor that was working on me? He got hit, I think." "What'd he look like?" BJ asked worriedly. 'Please don't let it be Hawkeye,' he thought. "I don't really remember. I was in too much pain to pay attention. The one thing I do remember about him, though, was that he joked around a lot." 'Oh no,' BJ thought. "Johnson," another casualty piped up. "He died. I heard the other doctors talking about it." 'No! Please, no!' BJ desperately thought. *** Back Along the Road, After an Hour of Walking *** "So, you got food where we're going? I'm starving," Hawkeye said conversationally. He found that he could stay calmer if he pretended the soldier was his friend and understood him. The soldier grunted. Hawkeye's feet were killing him, and his back still hurt---from the crash, he assumed. After a few moments of silence, he turned back toward his captor and asked, "Is there a chance I could sit down and take a breather?" Hawkeye was literally on the verge of collapse. Just when he thought he could not walk any farther, he spotted some low, run-down buildings and a few tents scattered in basically a circular pattern. 'A camp?' he thought. 'I'm going to be a POW!' He anxiously surveyed the land all around, in case he ever got the opportunity to escape; he would need to know the lay of the land. The soldier growled gruffly and pointed his gun toward the most run-down and dirty of the buildings. "You want me to go in there?" he asked and pointed. He slowly inched toward it and as he reached the door, the North Korean kicked him. Hawkeye fell to the ground and the soldier used the tip of his boot to push him into the room. Hawkeye hissed in pain and the man gave him one last kick for good measure. Then the man shut and locked the door behind him. *** At the Very Worried M*A*S*H 4077th, About Two Hours Later *** After a short session in OR (at least short compared to their usual marathon sessions), BJ ran to Colonel Potter's office. "Any word on Hawkeye?" he asked desperately. "No, son," Potter answered him sadly. He was just as worried about Hawkeye as BJ was, but the first rule he had learned as a CO was that you couldn't let the troops know how truly nervous you were. It only made them feel worse. "I'm sure we'll get word soon." "You don't understand, Colonel! One of the wounded said a doctor who joked around a lot was killed. You know Hawk. He's a constant joke-fest. It could be him, Colonel!" BJ pushed. He was desperate to hear his best friend's voice, someone telling him he was alive and well at the Aid Station, anything. His heart had never been so heavy before. He was not only worried, but he was also guilty. It should've been him out there. Hawkeye had taken his place and it was all his fault. He knew it was unfair to think that way, but he just couldn't help it. "Radar!" Colonel Potter yelled as Radar walked through the doors. Radar said, "I already tried, sir. The lines are down" at the same time Colonel Potter said, "Get on the horn to the Aid Station and see if there's any news." "Thanks, son," Colonel Potter replied. "Sorry, BJ. We'll try again later. I'm sure he's fine." "Yeah, he's a fighter," BJ said distractedly and not too convincingly. *** Back at the POW Camp *** Hawkeye's claustrophobia was starting to get to him. If he didn't get out of there shortly, he was going to pass out. Suddenly, the door opened and the same soldier from earlier walked in with a glass and a small plate---more of a saucer, actually. There were a few moldy vegetables on it, and the glass contained half a cup of water. Hawkeye didn't care; it was nourishment nonetheless, however insubstantial. Once the soldier set it down, he gobbled it down like he had never seen food before. He regretted it soon after, because it gave him a stomachache, but he was grateful anyway. Also, the fresh air that came in when the door was opened had helped to make his claustrophobia more bearable. The soldier stood over him the entire time he was eating, watching to make sure he ate it all, and then he turned around and left him alone again. *** Hours Later *** Hawkeye had lost all track of time. At first he kept count by making a mark with his finger on the dirt floor every time he thought an hour had passed, but he soon gave that up. The room he was in had no windows, so he was not even sure whether it was day or night. The soldier from earlier (whom Hawkeye had named Bob in his mind---Bob was the name of the neighborhood bully of his childhood) came in, this time carrying a piece of paper and a short, stubby, dull pencil. "Bob" was flanked by another soldier this time, a younger, friendlier-looking one, who told him in English, "Do with this whatever you wish. You can write a will, a letter to the commander here, whatever. However, if it is to your unit, you must know it will not be sent out while you remain here. Is that understood?" Hawkeye, his mouth too dry to reliably speak anything intelligible, nodded his head in agreement. The younger soldier smiled at him and turned to "Bob." He spoke some words in Korean, then they both turned and left him alone again, except this time he had something to occupy the endless time with. *** Back at the 4077th *** "I can't take this not knowing, Colonel! Can we send someone to the Aid Station or something? Please?" BJ pleaded. "Hunnicutt, I know how you feel. I'm chomping at the bit waiting, but there's nothing that we can do. I'm not sending you or anyone else out there. It's far too dangerous and besides, we're expecting casualties," Potter answered reluctantly. In his heart, he wished he could say yes to BJ's proposal, but a commander had to make decisions with his head, not his heart. And his head said it was too dangerous. Suddenly, there was a knocking outside. Radar got up and answered it, and a big man asked to see the CO. Radar pointed to the Colonel's office, where BJ and Potter were sitting, mutually down in the dumps and scared to death at the same time. The large man burst in and went straight to Colonel Potter. "I'm Digger and I'm here to pick up the body." "What?!" Potter and BJ exclaimed at the same time. "The body of a..." he looked down at the papers on the clipboard he was carrying, "a Benjamin Franklin Pierce. So, where is he?" "No! Hawkeye!" BJ screamed, the scream emanating from somewhere deep in his gut. He collapsed onto the floor, shaking with rage. 'How could I do that to my best friend? How could I let him go when it should've been me?!' he thought and curled up into a heap. Potter looked at him, then up at Digger. "He's dead?" he said in shock, numb. "That's what it says here," he answered, chomping on his piece of gum. "Benjamin Franklin Pierce, deceased. He's here, isn't he?" He looked around, as if expecting to see a corpse laying in the corner somewhere. "Oh no" was all Potter could manage to get out before his legs gave out and he fell back into his chair. "No. Not Hawkeye." "Could we make this snappy? I've got other bodies to pick up," Digger said impatiently, like he was picking up a package rather than a person. "He's not here..." Potter said in a daze. "He went to an Aid Station..." Just then, Margaret walked in. Instinctively, she knew what had happened. She put her hand over her mouth as her eyes teared up and she ran from the room. *** Back at the POW Camp, About an Hour and a Half Later *** Hawkeye had used the paper and pencil given to him to write out his will, as suggested by the younger soldier. He was now done and had decided to read it aloud. He hadn't heard a voice in hours and it was starting to really get to him. "I, Benjamin Franklin Pierce, being of sound mind and endangered body, do decree this to be my last will and testament. To my father, I leave all my worldly possessions with the exception of the following." He smiled, happy with his work so far. "To Charles Emerson Winchester the Third, who during the dark days of war made himself available. You've been the victim of a ceaseless stream of dumb jokes, and though we may have wounded your pride, you've never lost your dignity. I thereby bequeath to you the most dignified thing I own: my bathrobe. Purple is the color of royalty. To Father Francis Mulcahy, I leave five cents. You're a man of God and I know worldy possessions mean little to you, Father, so I leave you a nickel and something I value more than anything I own: my everlasting respect. To Margaret Houlihan---to you, Margaret, I leave my treasured Groucho nose and glasses. Maybe it'll remind you of how much I enjoy that silly side you show all too infrequently. To Sherman Potter---you not only knew what to say, but what not to say. My dad's a lot like that. It makes me miss him a little less knowing that you're around. My father called me 'Hawkeye' after the character in The Last of the Mohicans. It's his favorite book. I'd like you to have the copy he gave me. To Maxwell Q. Klinger---you may be one of the all-time scroungers, but when it comes right down to it you'd give a friend the shirt off your back, so the least I can do is give you the shirt off mine. And not just any old shirt, but my beloved Hawaiian shirt. I hope you'll wear it even if someday it does go out of style. To Radar, my naive 'little brother'---Radar, you came to Korea a boy but since then you've turned into a man. Therefore, I leave you the most grown-up thing I own: my magazines. You know which ones I mean. You may not be ready for them yet, but someday you will be. To BJ Hunnicutt, my best friend: nothing I own can adequately express how much you've meant to me so I am leaving you the attached letter. I know that it's not much, but I hope that it's enough to let you know just how special you are to me. This concludes my last will and testament." He signed it "Benjamin Franklin Pierce" and sat it down sadly. He couldn't believe that he really felt he had to write his will. It was almost unreal that he was seriously considering the fact that he might die. Unreal, but not unreal enough. Now what was he supposed to do for the rest of the time? He didn't have enough paper to write his letter to BJ on, so he decided to try to go to sleep. 'Try' being the operative word. He was in so much pain he didn't know if he could. He laid down and stared at the wall, trying to clear his mind. *** Meanwhile, Back at the 4077th, Now in Chaos *** "BJ can't seem to get out of it," Klinger noticed as he tried to lift BJ off the floor. BJ had been lying on the floor in the fetal position ever since Digger had arrived and had not stopped crying. He had even reverted to sucking his thumb like a lost little child. "And no one knows where Margaret is," he added to Colonel Potter. "Should I send the MP's?" "What? Oh yeah, sure," Potter said distractedly. 'I don't think he's heard a single word I said,' he thought. The camp had taken the news of Hawkeye's death in various ways. Margaret had run away, BJ had become like a little child, Klinger had gone into work mode, Radar had gone into almost a catatonic state, Charles had walked around making sure to avoid the Swamp, and Potter had become dazed. There was no telling what everyone else in camp would do once they were told. Potter had taken it upon himself to inform Hawkeye's closest friends, and then later that evening the rest of the compound would be told. The next day a memorial service was planned. "And then I'll call Dr. Freedman. This will hit the camp awful hard," Klinger added. Potter stared in silence. Klinger wasn't even sure if he had heard him talking at all. He decided that he would have to take some initiative to keep the camp up and running. He went to the phone and called first the MP's and then Sidney Freedman. He knew Freedman was a friend of Hawkeye's, and felt he shouldn't give him news like this over the phone. So all he told him was that it was an emergency and that he was needed urgently. Sidney seemed a little confused that Radar hadn't been the one to call, but he just answered that he would be there later in the evening. Klinger hung up and went over to the desk to make sure all the forms and such were filled out and filed. Radar had finished the daily reports, so he had some time to relax. But he didn't want to relax. He was strung too tightly. He got started on the next day's daily reports. *** Back at the Enemy Camp *** Hawkeye was awakened by a sharp blow to his stomach. He looked up, right at the tip of a black, shiny boot poised to kick him again. He scrambled up and guarded his stomach with his hands. "Bob" was back. At least his translator was back too, so that he could explain himself. "I'm hurt," he told the younger soldier. He pointed outside, back in the general direction where he had been picked up. "I'm a doctor. I have my medicine bag out there. If you could get it for me, I could take care of my wounds." The translator turned and addressed his superior, who snarled at the young man. "I guess that's a no," Hawkeye said unhappily. "Would you ask him if he would at least allow someone to take care of my wounds?" The translator repeated what he said in Korean, and the officer turned to him. He seemed to look him over, then he turned to the young man. He answered him, then the translator said, "He says he will send an officer out to get your bag. You may treat your wounds, but there will be two soldiers present. Then you must come before him in the main tent." Hawkeye sighed in relief, even though he knew he would probably be tortured for information at the "meeting." At least he could get most of his wounds taken care of right now. He wished desperately that they would just let him go, but he knew that was an impossible dream. He would have to rely on his wits to get him out of this situation. "Bob" and his colleague left, and Hawkeye mentally prepared himself for what may come. *** At the Troubled M*A*S*H Unit *** Colonel Potter, still dazed but feeling an obligation to reveal the terrible news himself, got up on a Mess Tent table during dinner and yelled to all those present: "I have an announcement. Everyone, be sure to be sitting. This is the worst news I could ever have to give and it's going to affect this camp deeply. Hawkeye Pierce is..." He took a deep breath, trying to calm the beating heart which was echoing in his ears. He continued more quietly, since he had everyone's attention and what he was about to tell them was of so delicate a nature. "Hawkeye Pierce is dead." Gasps echoed through the Mess Tent, forks and trays dropped, three nurses fainted. Weeping started, men stared in shock. Even Sidney Freedman, who had arrived earlier in the evening, was completely blown away. Tears flowed from his eyes in an endless stream. *** Back in Hawkeye's "Prison" *** "Bob" had returned, this time with Hawkeye's worn and battered medical bag. 'It's seen better days,' he thought. 'As a matter of fact, so have I.' He smiled slightly, but then winced involuntarily as he applied hydrogen peroxide to a deep gash on his shoulder. "Bob" watched every move carefully and intently. A tough-looking soldier had followed "Bob" into the room and stood at the door, his gun aimed levelly at Hawkeye's head. 'What has this world come to when a captor can't trust his prisoner?' He smiled at the ridiculousness of it all, but as "Bob" glared at him he immediately straightened his face again. He flinched as he applied dressing to a wound on his chest, and the armed soldier put his finger on the trigger. He relaxed when he realized that it was in pain. After five minutes of silence as the doctor worked, "Bob" grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him outside. He took a deep breath as the warm air from outside hit his face. He was brought to the largest of the buildings and "Bob" stopped to converse with one of the guards. The guard looked at Hawkeye in disgust and spit in his face. Hawk wiped away the spit so the guard kicked him hard in the shin. He laughed. As Hawk screamed in pain, the rest of the soldiers around him laughed harder. The door was opened and he was thrown inside. He hit the floor hard and looked up at an impressive-looking soldier. He was obviously battle-scarred, with a large, jagged scar along his right cheek and a chipped tooth. He smiled at Hawkeye evilly. Hawk thought to himself, 'How am I ever going to survive this?' *** At the Memorial Service **** Everyone was gathered in the Mess Tent for the memorial service. Margaret was there, weeping. She had been found by the MP's in a valley nearby, muttering something about, "I should've told him. I should've told him." Klinger was wringing his hands, locking and unlocking his fingers together. He just couldn't seem to sit still. Potter and Radar were sitting together, staring blankly at BJ as he spoke. Charles' eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, but he listened intently. Father Mulcahy, between fits of crying, would mumble a short prayer to God for the saving of Hawkeye's soul. BJ had cried himself out hours ago and had fallen into a fitful sleep. He had spent the rest of the time writing the eulogy for his best friend in the world. It was like he had lost a half of himself, and the words of rememberance had seemed to pour out of him. "These feeble words of praise are not enough...." BJ paused to collect himself. After a few moments of silence he continued, "are not enough to express how much Hawkeye meant to me, to us. He was a caring, gentle, compassionate man, but, above all else, he was a friend. A friend to all those who knew him. He loved every one of the patients that came here, and he did all he could to save every precious life. He was a part of me and I know he was also a part of most of you. When we lost Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce, we lost not only a great doctor, but a piece of the good part of our souls. The good part of humanity." The rest of the service continued in much the same manner, as the camp broke down and cried as one. *** Back in the North Korean Camp *** It had been only about an hour, but it seemed like an eternity to Hawkeye. He had been beaten severely and was on the verge of unconsciousness. He knew he had at least two broken ribs, countless bruises, and maybe a concussion, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was so weak by now that he couldn't even fend off the attack anymore. Just when he thought the blackness would engulf him, the commander asked him, surprisingly in English, "Where are your headquarters?" "What?" he asked. "You heard what I said. Where are your headquarters?" He repeated these last words with force and punctuated them with a swift kick to the stomach. Hawkeye had a choice. He could tell him the truth---"I don't know"---or he could lie. Although by nature he was an honest man, he seriously considered the consequences if he lied. 'If I lie, I could buy myself some time to escape. Once they find out, though, they'll kill me. If I tell them that I have no idea, they'll most likely beat me to death anyway.' He decided to make something up and hope he had an opportunity to escape. "In Inchon," he lied and looked the commander in the eye. The soldier looked him over, and, satisfied, nodded. He yelled to the guards, and one came in and dragged him back to his building. Hawkeye sighed in relief as he was pushed in. *** At the Very Depressed 4077th *** As everyone was leaving the memorial service, the PA suddenly blared, "Incoming wounded! Incoming wounded! All personnel report to the chopper pad!" Everyone began to cry again, thinking about the chief surgeon no longer among them. *** Back in the "Prison" *** Although Hawkeye was in extreme pain, he paced around. Since he had a concussion, he needed to stay awake as long as possible. 'I need to get out of here!' he thought desperately. He looked around, searching for a way out, and noticed one of the corners of the tin roof was rolled up. He dug his boots into the rusty and dented walls and pulled himself up until he was at eye level with the small opening. He pushed it as hard as he could until he could push no more. His head made it through with no problem. He strained and forced his shoulders through; the sharp metal edges caught on his skin and ripped huge chunks off. He didn't care---he was free! He got his hips through and pulled himself up onto the roof. He tiptoed across and made his way over to the side facing the woods. He jumped down and the second his feet hit the ground he was off and running. He never looked back. *** At the M*A*S*H 4077th *** After a grueling marathon session in OR, everyone headed back to their tents. BJ was exhausted but he went straight to the still and poured himself a glass. Purely out of habit he asked, "Want one, Hawk?" He turned, half-expecting an answer. When he saw the Swamp was empty, he started crying again. It was like a wound had just been ripped open again. *** On the Trail *** He zig-zagged back and forth, trying to throw off the trail of anyone who may have noticed his disappearance and come in pursuit. He had no idea where he was nor where he was going, he just kept going. After an hour of this running, he had to stop or he would pass out with exhaustion. He hid himself in a bush and tried to breathe slowly. After only a few minutes, he heard voices coming down the trail. He held his breath and closed his eyes. The voices stopped right in front of his bush. He wished with all his might that they would just go away and not notice him there. Suddenly, a hand pushed back a branch. "No, don't hurt me! Please!" he said as he covered his face with his arms. |
 |