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Writer's Note : The current chapter occurs in late December 1952 and goes to late January 1953, about the beginning of Season 8. The show we love was strong on intelligent humor, slapstick, drama, characterization and just plain had heart. Its continuity is open to interpretation. As I dart around a bit, please forgive any errors. The TV war lasted 11 years, and retcon takes a bit of work -- Rob

Chapter 8 - Where The Heck Is Home?

DECEMBER 31, 1951

Henry Blake stood up, feeling on this day almost all of his 1400 years, and looking it to boot. The recent news of his imminent discharge and departure only made the longing to go home all the more intense. Father Mulcahy took note of this, like a good Watcher would.

"Pre-Journey Jitters, Colonel?"

"Father--the last time I was this nervous about a trip, Rosencrantz and Gildenstern weren't dead yet."

Unlike a good Watcher--Francis Mulcahy had told his charge who he was. He couldn't help it, for his admiration of the man was just too great. He wasn't the first Watcher to suffer so. He would not be the last.

"Have faith, brave Knight. Soon you shall be warmed by hearth, home, and family."

Henry smiled a little.

"I'm scared, Father. Last time I felt this close to any family was in Britian--Arthur. We all know how that ended up."

"Lorraine loves you, Henry. Biology aside, those children are yours. You'll be with them soon."

Blake nodded.

"Thanks To Thee, Francis. There Were Many An Exalted Bishop Did Curtsy Before The Pendragon Throne, Exalting Us To Purity And The Mantle Of The Siege Perilous. I Have Known But A Bare Few Holy Men, Though. To Me, You Seem Less A Priest And More A Prophet, like Isaiah, and Ezekiel. Had Camelot Such As Thee...."

Henry caught his speech, at last.

"....Maybe It Wouldn't Have All Gone Into The Latrine."

"I...understand, Colonel. And Thank You."

As the New Year approached, Henry Braymore Blake, once Bedivere of Camelot, held up a glass.

"Listen, People, I....."

But everyone just kept talking.

"Want Me To, Sir?"

"No, Radar. This One's Mine."

Henry Blake spoke, not in the voice of a befuddled Commander that needed to yell to be heard, but in the voice of a Knight Of The Round Table who once turned back a 300-foot dragon with three heads, all with Gawain and a band of farmers. He did not yell. He no longer needed to.

"You Will Hear Me."

All of them, from barely-lucid Corpsmen to Nurses as much on the prowl as anyone else, from present and future clerks inclined to respect anyway to three doctors who often took him for granted, now fell silent. Margaret Houlihan was flatly stunned. At least in tone, Henry's voice was now that of her father's. The departing CO looked around. He smiled.

"Its Good To Be The King's Nephew."

Henry again held up a glass.

"To The New Year--May She Be A Damn Sight Better Than The Old One, And May We One And All Be Home Before She's Done."

"Here, here."

Trapper quipped.

"Go home? I signed on for extra innings."

Frank daydreamed.

"A year--defined by strong leadership, such as only certain people can provide. Is that all right with you, Margaret?"

Margaret daydreamed.

"Mrs. Frank Burns."

"Where?!!!!"

Daydreams end, of course.

Henry spoke again.

"To Doctors Spearchucker Jones, Duke Forrest, and Ugly John. To Nurses Charlotte Cunningham, Julia Winslow, and Bennie Martin. We miss each and every one of you---you are not forgotten."

Now the silence was deep, and profound. Oddly, it was Pierce who pointed up what everyone knew.

"Henry--is that such a good idea?"

"People live and exist, Pierce. No government edict can say otherwise. They may try to hide it, like the Church did with The Donation Of Constantine. But The Truth Is Out There. And It Hungers To Be Known."

The stunned silence continued. A large MP walked up to the podium.

"Colonel, Sir? I think you better come with me."

Pride Of Place--aided by a few martinis-- returned to The Knight's face.

"I Say Thee Nay, And What Is More---"

Henry belted the MP off the platform, and simultaneously grabbed his sidearm.

"---I Say Thee Never. Now Get Out Of My Camp. Tell Your Boss He Has No Power Here."

The MP left, actually shaking at how easily the smaller, older man had bested him. Blake gave the sidearm to Radar, who shook himself as he ran to put it away. Blake downed another few, making like his courage came from the bottle. In fact, if it came from any vessel, it came from a Chalice he once drank from.

"Bullies--some things never change."

DECEMBER 31, 1952

"Bully--Some Things Never Change."

Charles Winchester was toasting a good year-end report from Wall Street. BJ stared, as he often did on holidays, at a picture of two ladies, trying in vain to decide which of the two was more beautiful. He knew he missed them equally, but even he had no idea just how much pain he was in. He would, soon.

"Listen Up, People."

Everyone fell silent at Colonel Potter's normal tone of voice. He held up a glass.

"To The New Year--May She Be A Damn Sight Better Than The Old One---And May We All Be Home Before She's Done."

"Here, Here."

Radar O'Reilly sat, and thought about those who had died, and those who had left. He shuddered anew when he realized that among those dead---was himself. He walked up to Colonel Potter.

"Colonel---could I--"

"Two weeks in Tokyo? Done, Radar."

The old man smiled, as did the young Immortal. Henry was gone, but Sherman was also like a father to him. That made three, Radar thought--two of them gone.

"Could I---"

"Leave Tomorrow? Klinger already arranged it."

"You let Klinger---"

"We cleaned up afterwords."

Radar shook his head.

"Colonel--you weird me out when you do that stuff!"