Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me, but belong to M*A*S*H and its related companies. I am borrowing these characters to make a non-profiting story.

A/N: I apologise now for my typos, but it's been a long day.


Against the Odds: Luck of Three
by Becca T


Part 1


It was a hazy afternoon on the road in South Korea. As a lone jeep rumbled along its path, dust rose up from behind it and slowly settled back on the ground some seconds later.

The driver of the jeep was a doctor, the rank of Captain. The curly-haired man, John McIntyre, was known as Trapper to his friends. He was a member of the 4077th M*A*S*H Unit, situated not far from the front line of the Korean War. As a surgeon, Trapper spent his days putting young soldiers back together. It was an exhausting job, physically and mentally, but in hours when he was not operating, the Still would be on hand to get him through the days.

Trapper was not alone in his job. The other staff at the hospital were there, helping each other through the troubled times. Trapper's greatest friend in Korea was Benjamin Franklin Pierce, also a Captain. He was known as Hawkeye, a nickname given to him by his father. Hawkeye was a brilliant surgeon and a caring human being on one side, and on the other he varied between comical, crazy and nurse chasing. All the time, though, he was down-to-earth, and a good friend.

Trapper had a lot of good friends at the camp. Henry was the CO of the outfit, someone who really had no idea of what was going on in the war, apart from when it came to saving lives. Radar was the young company clerk, giving innocence to the war. Even Klinger, who was not the happiest person in the war, was there if he was needed. And even those who did not show much friendship towards Trapper, Majors Frank Burns and Margaret Houlihan, could have their good points at times.

Father Mulcahy was a good friend to have. He did not wait until people asked for his help before he gave aid. Trapper remembered the time that he had drowned his sorrows after getting a letter from his family. Even though it had little effect, Father Mulcahy never gave up trying.

It stung Trapper to think about his family. That was the reason for him going for R&R. Nothing had felt right since he got that phone call from the States. He had been told that there had been a fire in the McIntyre family home. His wife and children had not survived.

For some days, Trapper had been inconsolable. The same thought kept bouncing off the sides of his mind. "I'm in the most dangerous place in the world, they're safe at home. Why them and not me?"

For the first few days, he would lie lifelessly on his cot. The only other time he would go anywhere was to perform surgery, which was the only time he would talk to anyone.

After a few days, he stopped eating. It was then that Hawkeye took action and called in Sidney Freedman, psychiatrist and poker player. It took two intense days, but Sidney got Trapper back on his feet again.

Henry presented Trapper with a hardship discharge, but to everyone's surprise and disbelief, the Captain refused. "I haven't got a family to go home to," he explained. "Right now, my family are here."

Instead of a discharge, Henry had given Trapper four days of R&R in Tokyo. When the CO explained the situation to the higher authorities, they were reluctant to accept that no sane person would turn down a discharge from a war, but Trapper personally assured them that it was a choice from a person who was as sane as could be in the circumstances.


As Trapper's thoughts drifted back towards the present, they were pierced and shattered by gunshots. He looked around and listened, instantly trying to determine how far away the shots were. More shots were fired, this time closer, and Trapper grabbed his helmet. He kept driving, keeping low, and looked for somewhere safe to stop. Parking in the middle of the open road would have been too dangerous.

Just as he saw a small clearing at the edge of the road, he was shot in the side. Trapper let out a cry of pain and anguish, and slumped forwards onto the steering wheel.

The jeep was sent careering on its own course, and came to an abrupt stop some seconds later, when it struck its front left wheel in a large rut by the side of the road. It hurtled sideways before shuddering to a grinding halt.


It was a couple of minutes before Trapper opened his eyes and tilted his head up. Slowly looking around, he gained focus and took in his surroundings. He had been thrown from the jeep when it crashed, and lay some feet away from it. The vehicle was on its side, with smoke puffing from the engine.

Speaking of sides, blood was pouring from a little above Trapper's hip. As he sat up, he winced and gasped from the pain. All he could do was take off his shirt and wrap it around the bleeding area.

His next task was to crawl a few feet across the ground to the jeep. He had tried to stand, but it was impossible. He thanked his lucky stars that the ever-organised Radar had remembered to equip the jeep with a radio. He was more than thankful that it had only been knocked about in the accident, and was not broken.

"4077th M*A*S*H," he called into it, only receiving crackle in return. He tried again. "Come in, 4077th M*A*S*H!"

"4077th M*A*S*H," came the reply. "Corporal O'Reilly here."

"Radar, get Hawkeye," Trapper commanded.

"Trapper, is that you? How was your trip?"

"Great, but I'm in trouble. Please get Hawkeye."

Realising that all was not well, Radar dropped the radio equipment and sprinted into Post-Op, where he knew he would find Hawkeye on Post-Op duty.

"Hawkeye," he called, running over to him. "Hawk, you gotta come quick."

"What's the problem?" Hawkeye asked, replacing the clipboard on the end of the bed. "A patient?"

"It's Trapper, he says he's in trouble. He's on the radio."

"Probably ran in with the Japanese police," Hawkeye muttered lightly as he followed Radar into his office.

"Trapper?" Radar waited for a reply, and tried again. "Trapper!"

After a groan, Trapper answered. "Yeah? Hawk?"

"I'm here," he assured him. "What's up? Get arrested for drunk driving?"

"Got shot, by a sniper," he explained. "Crashed the jeep."

Hawkeye had to suppress a gasp before answering. "Where are you?"

"About half an hour away, I think," he answered quietly.

"Where were you shot? How bad?" After a moment of silence, Hawkeye tried again. "Trap? Can you hear me?"

Dropped the receiver on the desk, Hawkeye turned to Radar. "Get Hotlips. Get a jeep into the compound. Tell Henry to get ready for surgery. Tell Klinger to stand by the radio in case Trapper calls back. We leave in five minutes."

Radar ran as fast as he could into Margaret's tent, not bothering to knock since he was under a time limit. She was sitting, brushing her hair. "Corporal! Haven't you heard of..."

"Emergency," Radar cut in, slightly out of breath. "Captain McIntyre... jeep crash... you're needed."

Margaret was instantly alert, and dropped her brush on the table. "I'll be out in a minute."

Within mere minutes, Radar drove out of the camp with Margaret and Hawkeye in the back. Henry had been informed, and was getting ready for surgery with the knowledge that Trapper had been shot. Klinger was standing by the radio.

A few minutes later, Hawkeye stopped the jeep. "That's it! Come on Radar, faster!"


Trapper heard the rumble of the engine sometime before Hawkeye spotted the upturned jeep. He opened his eyes, but decided to shut them again since the world was unclear to him. He tried again, and felt less dizzy this time. He saw the radio, and remembered that he passed out half way through his conversation.

He looked at his wound, and saw that a lot of his blood had seeped through the shirt. He was beginning to feel nauseous by the time Hawkeye's jeep skidded to a halt.

Hawkeye did not wait for the jeep to stop before jumping out of it. He crouched beside his friend and began to assess the injuries.

"Trap? Can you hear me?" Margaret crouched beside Hawkeye as he spoke to Trapper.

"Hawk?" Trapper tried to sit up.

"Hold it, Trap, relax. I'm here, and you're going to be fine. You're not injured to badly, nothing that I can't fix." Hawkeye called to Radar. "Get a stretcher over here."

Radar was already half way there, and the three staff helped the patient onto the stretcher.

"How will he be?" Margaret asked Hawkeye.

He swallowed. "He'll be fine if I have anything to do with it."

On the way back to the hospital, Hawkeye did his best to keep his friend comfortable, and Margaret gave Trapper support by holding his hand. She was cool on the outside, but on the inside she could only think of the times when she had put Trapper down, and it filled her with regret.

As the jeep swerved into the camp, Hawkeye began to reassure an unconscious Trapper. "You're going to be fine, Trap. I'll even wash my hands before I operate." He watched as the stretcher was carried away, and then headed into the Scrub room.

Inside, Margaret was already preparing for surgery. "You care about him a lot, don't you," she murmured.

Hawkeye sighed. "I could joke about it, and say that I don't know anyone else I can beat at poker. But, seriously, I don't give a monkeys about whether we operate on North, South, East or West Koreans, I don't give two cents how much filth or dirt is on the floor, in my food or in my nudity magazines, I couldn't care less if I woke up here, there or anywhere, but I sure give a damn about my best friend."

Margaret was too stunned to say anything, but had no need to as Henry Blake came in to tell them that the OR was ready. As Margaret went in, she thought about how right Hawkeye's speech was. She was missing something in her life in the war, and that was true friendship. She had Frank in her life, but Frank was not real friendship material. She was just a convenience to him. Margaret realised that she had to do something before she found herself isolated from the rest of the people in the camp.


The atmosphere in the OR was tense and concentrated. There were four members of staff at work, but the silence was such that each member felt that they were in their own solitary world.

Father Mulcahy was present in the OR. He hoped that he would not be needed, but he wanted to be there, in case. He prayed silently, asking the Lord what he should do to help Trapper and his friends.

Henry was concerned for Trapper, but also for all the other staff at the hospital. The news would be heavy for the personnel, and as CO he had to try and hold everyone together, for the sake of the wounded if any should arrive. He also had a feeling that Major Burns and possibly Major Houlihan would stir the problem, adding to his troubles.

Unknown to Henry, Major Houlihan would not be stirring, even if Frank would be. She was as concerned as the others, and deeply regretted the times that she had directed her anger towards Hawkeye and Trapper. She hoped that she would have the opportunity to make amends.

Hawkeye was concentrating so hard that he seemed to be emotionless. At the back of his mind, he remembered when his friend Tommy Gillis died. Hawkeye knew that in his skilled and capable hands, Trapper would be fine, but the thought still lingered.

After the operation, it was almost dusk. The surgeons slowly meandered out of the OR, drained from their word. Margaret and Father Mulcahy retired to their quarters, leaving Henry and Hawkeye in the Scrub room.

Henry was first to speak. "Simple surgery. Two fragments. Couple of bleeders. Nothing that couldn't be handled. Nicked the small intestine. Easy to deal with."

"Yeah," Hawkeye murmured.

"So why do I feel like I just did six hours of surgery?"

"Ten," Hawkeye corrected.

Henry paused. "He had nothing to worry about. He was being cut by the best surgeon in the whole war."

Hawkeye stood up. "I'd better go see how he is." He was about to walk out of the door, but he stopped and turned to Henry.

"What?" The colonel asked.

"It's not over," Hawkeye murmured, anger and frustration tinting his voice. He sat back down again.

"What's not over?"

"This! First, his family are killed. Then he gets shot and crashes his jeep."

"What's makes you think that there's more?"

"Ever heard the saying that bad luck always happened in threes?"

"Sure. But surely, you don't think..."

"It's possible," Hawkeye finished.

"But, if it were true, what could we do? We couldn't wrap him up in cotton wool forever."

"We can't do anything. All we can do is to be there, on hand, if and when anything does happen."

"Shouldn't be too hard. We are a hospital," Henry chuckled slightly. "But seriously, do you really believe that something might happen? Surely he's been through enough already." Henry thought of something. "Perhaps his first bit of bad luck was being sent to Korea."

Hawkeye smiled at this. "If that's the case, then we're all due a bit more bad luck." He left the room and headed for Post-Op.

Part 2


It was late evening when Hawkeye was sitting in Post-Op. The light was dim, creating a shadowy look in the room. A nurse was milling around, checking on patients.

Hawkeye sat beside Trapper, as he had done for several hours. Henry had let him, knowing that it would be difficult to move him. Hawkeye had become concerned because Trapper seemed to be showing signs of a fever.

He decided to pass the time by writing a letter to his father. He found a pen and some paper, and began.

"Dear Dad," he wrote.

"How are you? And how is America? I'm not so bad, and Korea is still at war. I guess you knew that from reading the papers.

"Today has not been one of your usual days. This morning, I had had it up to here with Frank Burns. Trapper had been gone four days and was due back this afternoon. That's when I got a phone call..."

Hawkeye went on to tell the story of the afternoon up to that point. He tried to stay away to finish his letter, but exhaustion got the better of him and he fell asleep in his chair.

After some time, Major Houlihan came to relieve the nurse of her duties. Before she left, the nurse pointed out the sleeping Hawkeye. Margaret decided that he should be moved to a spare bed. Carefully, but with difficulty, the two nurses moved him without waking him up.

The tired nurse left, leaving Margaret with the patients. She carried out her duties before settling in the chair that Hawkeye had been sitting in sometime ago.

For a moment, she just stared at Trapper. She watched his gentle breathing as his chest rose and fell. It was calming, almost relaxing. For some seconds, it continued, but then seemed to stop, and Margaret panicked. She stood up, preparing to carry out CPR, but was relieved to see that it started again. Guess there are some things that doctors and nurses can't explain, she thought to herself.

Looking at the relaxing breathing again, something snapped inside Margaret. Throughout her life, she had always been active, especially in her military life, and especially in Korea. Relaxing was a foreign concept to her. Thoughts and memories overcame her, and all she could do was break down and cry.

As she sobbed, she wondered why she was crying. Perhaps it was seeing Trapper stop breathing for a moment, she thought to herself. Perhaps it was seeing the bond between him and Hawkeye that day. Perhaps it was a lot of things rolled into one.

Her sobs awoke Hawkeye, who wondered where he was. He looked over to Trapper's bed, but could not make out the shadowy figure in the dim light. He neared the person, and was taken aback to see that it was Margaret.

Hawkeye was put out, and unsure of what to do. Then, he decided that she was in need of comforting, so he crouched down and hugged her.

"It's okay," he soothed. "He'll be fine." He could feel her trembling in his arms.

Margaret sniffed. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what?"

"I shouldn't be crying."

"Why not? Why can't you cry if you feel like it?"

"I'm meant to be able to handle stuff like this. I was brought up like it."

"We all handle things in our different ways."

"How are you handling it?" Margaret asked.

"I don't think there's anything to handle. I know he's going to get better," Hawkeye told her.

"Oh, great. So now you think I've gone mad, I suppose."

"No. I just think that you have had a lot of pressure build up inside you, and you just reached breaking point. You're one of the sanest people I know, even if you do hang out with Frank frequently."

Margaret frowned, and Hawkeye realised that he had hit a nerve, but chose not to say anything at that moment. Instead, he hugged her tighter.

Margaret whispered, "thank you." She had found a bit of friendship in Hawkeye that night, and she was determined to keep what she had found.


Over the next day, people noticed a change in Major Houlihan. During a short session of surgery, she complimented the staff on their work, and never complained when the new nurse dropped a tray of instruments.

She found Hawkeye sitting back beside Trapper when she finished surgery. She walked over to him.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Slight fever. Hasn't woken up yet," he replied, frowning slightly.

"Don't worry. Everyone reacts differently to surgery."

Hawkeye nodded. "You've changed," he stated simply.

"Changed? How? And when?"

"You got nicer," he said, sounding like a child.

"I got nicer?"

"Yeah. Over the past day, you haven't yelled at anyone, you haven't threatened to go over Henry's head, you've even started to talk to me civilly." He put his hand to Margaret's forehead. "You're probably coming down with something."

Margaret shook her head. "It took me this long to realise that I have no friend, no proper friends, in this war."

"You've got Frank. Actually, Frank's more like a pet than a friend."

"I'm more like Frank's entertainment," Margaret sighed. "I was raised the Army way. I've been kidding myself that this was the best way for me. It's not."

"So how does that make you nicer?"

"I'm less strict," Margaret enlightened him.

"Oh, I see. It took you this long to figure that out? I guess the Army must have gotten to your head and gone right through it." He smiled an accepting smile. "Welcome to our world." He held out his hand and Margaret shook it, grinning also.

"Thank you," she replied genuinely.

Hawkeye was slightly surprised. "You really, actually mean it? Less complaining? Less starchy-strict Army style? More kindness? More laidback attitude?"

"Sure," she replied in a laidback voice. She became serious for a moment. "How do you think Frank will react?"

Hawkeye pondered this. "I'm not sure. You want me to tell him?"

"I don't think so. I don't think it's a case of telling him, but more a case of him finding out for himself."


The next morning, Hawkeye was doing his share of Post-Op duty when he saw a sight that brought a smile to his face. He walked over to Trapper's bed and sat on the edge of it.

"Took you long enough," he grinned.

Trapper tried to open his eyes fully. "Am I still in Korea?"

Hawkeye shook his head. "Nah. The war decided to move to Rio de Janeiro."

Trapper sighed. "I'm still in Korea."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I got hurt somewhere, someplace."

"At least you still remember how to be a doctor," Hawkeye joked.

"That's probably the only thing I remember. What happened?"

"You don't remember? Don't you remember anything?"

"I know who I am, so it's not long-term amnesia. I'm Trapper John McIntyre."

"Know who I am?"

"Yeah, I know who you are, Hawk. I just don't remember anything about I ended up here."

"You were drafted," Hawkeye enlightened him.

"I meant in this hospital bed, you idiot," Trapper groaned.

"Oh, right." Hawkeye smirked at his mistake. "Guess you want me to tell you what happened."

"Would be nice."

"How much do you remember?"

"I left Tokyo. From then on, nothing."

"Okay, it's pretty simple after that. Basically, you got shot by a sniper, crashed your jeep, radioed Radar for help, we found you and operated on you back here. You got shot in the side, a broken leg, and a concussion."

"When was that?"

"About two days ago," Hawkeye informed him whilst looking at his chart. He added, "you probably could have done with the sleep after your stay in Tokyo. How was your stay in the big city?"

Whilst Trapper and Hawkeye filled each other what had gone on since Trapper left for Tokyo, a discussion of more negative terms was taking place in Major Houlihan's tent. The conversation between her and Frank Burns was not all that pleasant.

"Margaret, sweetie, I don't understand. Why?"

"Why what, Frank?" Margaret asked in an irritated voice.

"Why you talked to Pierce about it instead of me! You can tell me anything you want, dearest."

"No Frank, I can't."

"Why? Is there a problem?"

"Frank, sometimes people need to talk to somebody different about certain things in order to," Margaret grasped for the right words, the ones that weren't necessarily true but would please Frank, "to get a neutral view of a situation."

"Oh," Frank thought this through before snapping, "you were talking about me!"

"No, we weren't talking about you," Margaret contradicted calmly.

"Oh, that's what they all say. That's what they always say. I saw you and Pierce that night. I saw more than you know I saw. He put his arms around you, and what's more, you let him."

Margaret was surprised that Frank had seen this but had kept quiet about it for so long. She sighed.

"I know that sigh. That sigh of yours means I'm right. I don't hear it all that often but I know it when I hear it."

Margaret sighed again. "Yes, you're right. What you say is true. But you don't know why." Frank remained quiet as she continued. "He was being a good friend in me, someone I could confide in."

"But you can confide in me, precious," Frank whined as he put his arms around her.

"Not then, Frank." She removed his arms from around her shoulders and turned to face him. "I went to see Captain McIntyre... Trapper, to see how he was. He's a friend and I care for him. But whilst I was there, the pressure of everything just cracked me, and Hawkeye was there to comfort me. Frank, you've reacted badly to people cracking because of the war. How do you think that I could have come to you, knowing that?"

"But, that's different..."

"How? We're all in the same war. Hawkeye was nice to me..."

"I'll bet he was," Frank snorted.

"He was a good friend," Margaret snapped. "He seemed to understand. He put all our differences aside and saw me as someone in need of a friend. Not only was he a good friend, but he was a good human being, something I don't see in you too often, Frank," she finished.

Frank wasn't sure whether to be hurt or angry. He just settled for exclaiming, "Margaret!" As this gained nothing, he tried a new approach. "They've poisoned your mind! They're turned you against me!"

Margaret sighed at the pitiful, pathetic picture before her. "No, Frank. I've opened my eyes. You didn't think you'd ever lose me, did you? Well, at least not until the war was over, and you'd have your wife and family to go back to. I got news for you. I've opened my eyes, and I don't like what I'm seeing."

Frank sniffed. "I've always admired you, Margaret. We always saw eye to eye. Not anymore. Now that you've teamed up with Pierce and McIntyre, nothing will be the same. This is the finish." With that, Frank stormed off into the night. Margaret felt a strange sensation wash over her, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Part 3


"You want a what?" Henry asked in disbelief.

Frank, as calmly as he could, repeated what he said. "I want a transfer."

"Frank, the last time you asked me for a transfer to another unit, you had your arm in a cast with a hook sticking out of it. What now?"

Frank thought to himself about what had driven him to ask for a transfer. He originally thought that Margaret would turn to see sense and would come crawling back to him, where she would have been immediately forgiven. Instead, she treated him like a stranger.

Frank, sensing defeat, decided that he had two options. He could either carry on by himself, or he could ask to be transferred. He was not about to tell Henry the reason for his choice, because he thought Henry would tell Hawkeye and Trapper without delay.

"I don't have to give any reasoning," Frank this made known.

"No, that's true. But I need you to stay until McIntyre is fit to work. I'm down by one surgeon as it is, and if I lose another without replacement then it'll jeopardise the patients."

"I understand," Frank agreed. "But as soon as he is ready, I want out."

"You're not kidding around," Henry murmured. "All right, Burns. I'm not happy about it, but I'll get it sorted."

"Thank you, sir," Frank saluted and left.

Henry sighed. Frank leaving? He wondered what could have brought this on. "Ra..."

"Transfer papers, sir," Radar interrupted, producing himself and the papers to Henry, who jumped out of his skin.


"Mail call!" It was some days later, and Radar was being mauled as people grabbed for their letters and packages from home. The assortment of mail contained a letter from Hawkeye's father, some things sent by Trapper's in-laws, and parcels from the Tabasco Film Company.

Henry decided to hold a showing in his office that afternoon, as Trapper was becoming restless, according to Hawkeye. He helped Trapper in Henry's office, and found him two chairs; one for him to sit on and one to prop his broken leg on.

Whilst Henry set the film up, he made small conversation with the two doctors. "You guys get anything in mail call today?"

"Got a letter from Dad," Hawkeye told him. "He's okay. He also had a message for Trapper, telling him to call a cab next time he thinks about taking a jeep," he added, chucking as he did so.

Henry laughed before Trapper spoke. "My mother-in-law, Louise's mother, she sent me some stuff. Some of the girls' things, like Becky's favourite dress, and Kathy's baby blanket. They were on the washing line at the time... she sent me some photos too."

It was clear to both Hawkeye and Henry that Trapper had still not fully come to terms with the loss of his wife and two daughters, but he was making good progress.

Henry finished preparing the film, and then announced, "Gentlemen, the film you are about to see was supplied by the Tabasco Film Company..."

"Get on with it, Henry," Hawkeye interrupted. "You're not saying grace for Thanksgiving dinner."

"Okay, okay," Henry muttered as he started the film and sat down.


The film ended, and the three men felt better then they had before it. The heavy atmosphere had been replaced by a light air.

As they discussed the picture, Henry's telephone rang. "4077th M*A*S*H, Colonel Blake at your service," he greeted as Hawkeye and Trapper laughed at him. "Yes... yeah, that's right... not yet, but we're still looking... he's up and recovering well... that's correct... finalised? Good, okay, I'll tell him. Thank you, good day." Henry replaced the receiver.

"Good news?" Hawkeye asked. "Has the war ended? They want me back home?"

"Keep hoping," Henry replied cynically. "Radar!"

Radar hurried. "Yes sir? Was the film good?"

"Yeah, great, thanks. Tell Major Burns to report to my office."

"Yes sir," Radar replied, trundling out of the office.

"What's the big secret?" Trapper asked.

"Well," Henry began. "I was going to keep a lid on it until now, when it's all been finalised. Frank is being transferred."

Hawkeye broke the moment of shock. "For real?"

"It is now. There's no turning back."

"But why?" Trapper asked. Hawkeye had no need to enquire, as he already knew. He figured that Frank and Margaret must have come to blows, and so Frank gave up and waved the white flag. Trapper, like the rest of the camp, had not realised that Hawkeye and Margaret had discussed it.

"He didn't say. Personally, I think that Major Houlihan is involved somewhere along the lines."

Hawkeye chose that moment to keep quiet, and was thankful of his judgement as Frank walked in.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Frank asked, ignoring Hawkeye and Trapper.

"Yes, Frank. I just got a call, saying that everything is ready for your transfer. You'll be permitted to go as soon as Trapper is fit to work."

"When will that be?" Frank persisted. He could only take so much of the war being isolated.

"Well, Pierce, you're his physician. What do you think?" Henry asked.

"I'd give him three days," Hawkeye concluded. "Only part time duties, though. I know he has a broken leg, but unless we get a deluge of wounded then we'll be able to cope."

"There you go, Frank. I'll organise it from here." Henry paused. "You know, Frank, we may not be the sanest, strictest, most regular army place in the war, but I didn't think it would come to this."

Frank looked touched for a moment, before frowning. "Well, it wouldn't have come to this if it weren't for those two!"

Hawkeye feigned shock. "Frank! After all we've done for you, how could you say that?"

"Quiet, Pierce. Frank, you're dismissed."

As Frank turned and left, Henry turned to Hawkeye. "Are you sure McIntyre will be fit to work? I mean, his leg is still broken, and I know how much you would love to get rid of Frank..."

Hawkeye held up his hand to stop Henry. "Okay, I know I am low, but I'm not that low. He's making a good recovery, and it won't be long before his leg gets its strength back."

After a moment of silence, Hawkeye raised a suggestion. "We ought to throw Frank a party."

Henry looked at the captain in disbelief. "Have you gone bananas or something? You and him aren't exactly the best of friends. I've seen better friends between the North and South Koreans," he added with humour.

"Funny, Henry. I'm being serious though. As much as the guy gets on my nerves, the least he deserves is a going away party, to make up for the times when we've wound him up."

"It's just an excuse for you to get drunk and meet some nurses," Henry retorted.

"Fine then, what will your excuse be for turning up?"

"Touché. When do you want this party?"

"The day before he leaves. That works as Saturday night."

Henry found a piece of paper and began to write down the details. "Should we make it a surprise party?"

"Definitely," Hawkeye agreed.

"Trapper, have you got any suggestions?" Henry asked.

"Save your breath, he fell asleep a while ago. Right about the time that Frank walked in," Hawkeye added impishly.

"We'll take him back in a minute. It can't be too comfortable in that chair."

"Okay, sure. Party first though. We'll hold it in the Officers club. Someone could do the decorations. A banner would be good... Henry are you getting all this?"

"Yep... banner. What else? Drinks?"

"Henry's life source," Hawkeye commented. "Now, we need music too..."


The planning continued, and by the next day everyone except for Frank knew about the party. They began planning it, beginning by setting up the Officer's Club.

When Hawkeye informed Margaret of the idea, she was reluctant. "I don't think that me going to Frank's party would be such a great idea," she admitted.

"I thought that this transfer had something to do with you. What happened?"

"I was going to try and let him down gently, but it never worked out that way. He kept twisting everything I said, so I just gave up and told him straight."

"Not great, but it would be wrong for you not to come. You'll enjoy it once you get drunk."

"Do I always get drunk?"

"Let me take you back to Trapper's farewell party, the one he never really went home from."

"Don't remind me," Margaret groaned. "I was so embarrassed."

"About what? Getting drunk or dancing with Trapper?"

Margaret looked uncomfortable. Sensing this, Hawkeye changed tact. "Let me also remind you of the time that Frank outlawed alcohol in the camp, and the three of us managed to get drunk in the Swamp. Or how about the time you were going to leave, so yet again, you got drunk..."

"Okay, point taken," Margaret laughed. She was smiling again, and Hawkeye was glad that he had dug her out of the hole that he managed to dig her into. She added, "I tell you what. We'll make a bet. If I don't get drunk, you give me twenty dollars."

"Wow, we must have had a great effect on you, since you're a gambling girl now, too. All right, if you don't get drunk, then I give you twenty dollars. If, however, you do get drunk, then I want twenty dollars off of you."

"Deal," Margaret said, shaking hands.

As they laughed and joked together, Hawkeye did some thinking. He noticed how much nicer she was when she wasn't around Frank. She'd laugh and joke, compliment people, and be at ease. Hawkeye wished that he'd seen this nice person in Margaret before, because he would not have given her such a hard time.


Hawkeye was not the only one who noticed Margaret's changing character. Moral was higher in the nurses, and their work improved. Henry noticed the changes, and felt happier that he would expect less complaining from the head nurse.

Most of all, Hawkeye and Trapper had found a friend in Margaret. It took a little convincing after he woke up after the accident, but soon Trapper also saw what Hawkeye had seen in her.

"It's amazing, the influence your friends have on you," Trapper said to Hawkeye. The two friends were busy setting up the Officer's Club for Frank's Farewell Party, which was to happen later that night.

"I know," Hawkeye agreed. "We must be a great influence on her."

"Or Frank's a really bad influence on her," Trapper put forward.

"Or perhaps a little of both," Hawkeye suggested. "Or, maybe, when you are friends with bad people, it brings out the bad in you, whereas when you hang around with good people..."

"All right, stop getting technical," Trapper groaned. "In conclusion, she's nicer. End of story." He got up from his chair and hobbled over to a person in a dark coloured dress. "Hey, Klinger, great banner you got there."

"Thanks," Klinger replied. "How are you feeling?"

"My leg is still a bit sore, otherwise I'm fine," Trapper replied, touched by Klinger's concern. "Is this what you'll be wearing tonight?"

"This old thing? No, I have something new lined up for tonight. Dark purple satin, halter neck and backless," he said, painting a mental picture.

"That one's gonna be turning some heads," Trapper laughed.


Everything was set. The decorations were ready, the banner was in place, some gifts had been wrapped, and Frank was on his way over to the Officer's Club for what he thought would be a last drink there, by himself.

"Shh!" Everyone called.

The door of the room opened. "Hey," came Frank's voice. "What happened to the lights?"

"SURPRISE!" The lights flicked on, revealing the decorated room. Frank was taken aback beyond words as he took in everything around him.

"I... I... Who?" He could not yet string sentences together.

Hawkeye, clad in his famous Hawaiian shirt, stepped forward, along with a tipsy Henry in his black and orange sweater, and Trapper on crutches, also with a Hawaiian shirt. "That would be us," Hawkeye informed him simply.

"You? You did this?"

"You're not dreaming," Hawkeye said.

"I'll pinch you if you want," Trapper added.

"No, I believe you," Frank said hastily. "But why? A party, from the people who put ether in my aftershave? Who tricked me into thinking Korea was a goldmine? Who replaced my Purple Heart with a Purple Earring?"

"It was still an honour," Henry slurred.

"Well, after all that, the least you deserved from us was this. Enjoy!" Hawkeye finished by shouting, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

Frank was ushered over to the bar, where he was given something to drink. After about an hour, Hawkeye called everyone to attention, as he was going to present Frank with some presents.

"Okay, from all the nurses and the enlisted men," he began. "They all chipped in a bit each, and came up with a new frame for your mother's picture." Frank was touched that the people he had so often put down could be so nice to him.

"From the officers, a martini glass and a pack of cards to play poker, two of the things that you can make it through the war with. Sorry we couldn't give you the third thing, but they wouldn't let us wrap up a nurse."

The crowd laughed as Frank accepted the gift. A few more offerings were offered, and then people went back to enjoying the evening. Frank walked up to Hawkeye.

"I don't know what to say," he confessed. "I really don't."

"Surprised?"

"That's understatement of the year. I still don't get it, though."

"I guess I don't, really. I can think of one thing to help explain it, though. I remembered the time when the Army shelled the village of Tae Dong. In the end you and Margaret did the decent thing and helped with the report. I guess that after all the rotten things we did to you, we had to do the decent thing and organise a decent send off for you."

"I know what to say now," Frank said. "Thank you." The two shook hands. Frank had forgotten that he was leaving because he was disliked. He was going to enjoy the evening that had been planned for him, and that was the end of it.

Everyone, Frank included, enjoyed the night. Radar played on a drum kit, creating fast or mellow rhythms for the dancers to keep in time to. He had a wild moment on the percussion, and was applauded for it afterwards.

Henry was in the corner of the room, drunk through past his skull. At several moments, he could be caught trying to chat up a plant, though unsuccessfully of course.

Trapper sat on one of the tables, watching the dancing. He was tired, as he should have rested more over the days that he had been up, but did not really want to. He had also been drinking more than he had for the past week, which added to his fatigue. He noticed Margaret alone by the bar, so he decided to go over and see her.

"Hey," he greeted. "You're all by yourself. What's up?"

"Nothing," she said brightly. She had had nothing to drink at the party, and was determined to keep it that way. Stakes were high, not just for the money, but for her pride.

"Wanna dance?" Trapper asked, not quite sure what he was doing by asking that question.

"Dance? Sure, but what about your leg?" Margaret pointed out.

"Well, you dance and I'll kind of sway or something," he grinned.

"Okay then." They got on the floor, and Trapper held Margaret close. After some attempt at moving, the pair gave up and just decided to sway.

"This is nice," Trapper murmured.

"Yeah," Margaret agreed.

As the music and alcohol slowly entered him, Trapper's thoughts drifted. He remembered something that he had told no one. It happened not long after the jeep crash.

He had been unconscious in Post-Op, when suddenly he opened his eyes to see his wife and children before him. He was going to speak, say something, anything, but he found he couldn't.

"John," his wife spoke. "I love you, and know how much you cared for me. You have to understand that I can't be there for you anymore, but you can be there for someone else. There is someone else for you, someone close to you. Make her happy."

Trapper found his voice. "What is this? What are you talking about?"

His questions were left unanswered, and he just passed it off as a dream inspired by his surgery and forgot about it. Then, he remembered it again, and wondered if there was more to it than he first imagined.

Hawkeye looked over at the two dancers. "They look happy," he commented. It had been a while since he had seen Trapper look so contented.

"Trapper looks half asleep," Radar remarked. Hawkeye had to laugh in agreement.

"He starts back at word tomorrow," Hawkeye told him.

"With a broken leg? What kind of doctor are you?" Radar demanded to know.

"Relax, he won't be operating," Hawkeye assured him.

"Did Colonel Blake okay it?" Radar persisted.

"Calm down, Radar. Yeah, he okayed it."

"I still can't believe that Major Burns is leaving," Radar changed the subject.

"Neither can I," Hawkeye replied. He remembered that the last time this situation had occurred, Hawkeye had schemed to stop it. This time, though, he had accepted it.

Back on the dance floor, Margaret noticed that Trapper was beginning to tire, as he was having trouble keeping in time with the music.

"Trapper, you're tired, aren't you."

"A bit."

"Shall I take you back?"

Trapper yawned and nodded in reply. "I'll just go and say goodbye to Frank," he said. Whilst he did that, Margaret went to find Hawkeye.

"Hi," Hawkeye greeted. "Having fun?"

"Yeah, sure am. Without a bit of alcohol in me, I add. But, I just came to tell you that I'm going to take Trapper back to the Swamp. He's getting tired."

"Okay, sure," Hawkeye said. "Is he all right?"

"Yeah, but he's more tired than he'll admit. I'm sure he'll be fine after a good nights sleep," she added hastily, not wanting Hawkeye to think that Trapper was unfit to work the next day.

Meanwhile, Trapper had found Frank. "Frank," he began. "I'm going now. Sorry to leave early, but..."

"Don't worry, I understand. Well, McIntyre, Trapper, it's been okay knowing you. Not good, but okay."

"Thanks," Trapper said sarcastically.

"There have been good times, times when you've helped me. You helped me save a man's life, telling me not to cut out his only kidney. That day was the day when I had the most respect for you."

"It sure won't be the same without you, Frank." Parting on good terms, they shook hands and bid farewell to each other.

Margaret walked back to Trapper's tent with him. She held open the door for him as he, aided by his crutches, fumbled through it into the Swamp.

"Thanks, Margaret," he said as he took off his boots. "Hawkeye is right, you are a great friend."

Margaret smiled. "Glad to know it." She waited for a moment for a reply, thinking it was an awkward silence. It was only when she looked up she realised that he had fallen asleep.

Margaret smiled like a parent watching over an overtired child. She picked up his legs, which still hung over the side of the cot, and put them into his bed. He covered him with a blanket and lightly kissed him on the cheek before returning to the party.

Part 4



All was frantic in the OR. It was two days after Frank left, and a sudden deluge of wounded had poured in. With still no replacement surgeon, Hawkeye and Henry were finding it difficult to cope.

"It'll be fine, he says. We can cope without Frank, he says. Unless there's a deluge of wounded, he says," Henry mumbled in a sarcastic voice as he picked fragments out of a patient.

"Oh no, don't you start. You asked for my opinion, and that's all. You made your part of the decision by signing his papers," Hawkeye reminded him. "All right, this guy's all stitched up, lets have the next one in."

"How are we going?" Henry asked, referring to the number of patients.

"Slowly," Hawkeye said gravely as he was gowned and gloved.

"We're doing well for supplies and there is still a lot of whole blood," Margaret informed them.

"Do my ears deceive me or did that just sound like some good news? I've forgotten what it sounds like since I haven't heard it in a while," Hawkeye quipped as he looked at the X-rays of the patient in front of him and tried to figure out where to start.

"Klinger!" Henry yelled.

"You called?"

"What's the situation on the new surgeon?"

"Radar's gone to get him, but it could be a while yet," Klinger reported.

"Ah, there we go. The familiar sound of bad news again," Hawkeye grumbled. He would have gone on, had he not heard raised voices coming from the scrub room. "What's that?" he asked. After the voices died down, the curtain of the OR crept back and a sterile Trapper entered the OR.

"Gown and gloves, Kellye," he commanded. Knowing not to argue with the officer, she ran to fetch them.

"McIntyre, what do you think you are doing?" Henry growled.

"Preparing to operate," Trapper put simply.

"With a leg in a cast?"

"I'll manage."

"Trapper," Hawkeye began. "How do you plan on standing on one leg for so long?"

"I'll manage," Trapper repeated. He limped, unaided by crutches, to the nearest table. "Okay, lets have a patient, a nurse, and some cutlery."

"McIntyre," Henry began in a warning tone.

"You can kill me later, Henry. Just let me save some lives first, okay?"

Henry couldn't argue with that, so all carried on. Some hours later, all the wounded had been cared for, and the lights of the OR were flicked off for another day.

Hawkeye and Henry cornered Trapper as soon as they entered the scrub room.

"I don't know what you were thinking. You're not fully fit, and you know it. You could have jeopardized the lives of those wounded." Henry was lost for words.

"Yeah, but not helping," Trapper retorted. "If I hadn't have helped out, the surgery would have gone on for a lot longer, making both of you tired and below standard. I think I did the right thing, but I guess our views of that are different."

Radar entered at that moment. "Sir," he addressed Henry, "the new surgeon has arrived."

Henry looked relieved. "You're lucky he's here, so you don't have to pull another stunt like that again." With that final comment, he left to meet the new surgeon, with Radar following.

Trapper was left in the Scrub Room with Hawkeye. "Go ahead, it's your turn to tell me I did the wrong thing. Join the club that Henry just started." Trapper sat heavily on the bench, folded his arms and waited.

Hawkeye sighed. "I can't do that. I would have done the same thing as you. Come on, you deserve a date with your cot."

Meanwhile, in Henry's office, the newest 4077th recruit had just met the CO of the camp.

"Well, Captain," Henry began. "It's good to meet you. I'm Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake, and welcome to the Korean War. You came at a hectic time, but I'm sure that everyone will make you feel welcome. Now, what was your name again?"

"BJ Hunnicutt, sir," the Captain saluted.

"Okay Hunnicutt, no need to worry about the formalities around here. Pretty much everyone around here calls me Henry, and even less people salutes. Now, Radar will show you to your tent. Ra..."

"Sir?"

Henry jumped and took a moment to recover himself. "Radar, show Captain Hunnicutt to his tent. You'll be meeting two other Captains there, Pierce and McIntyre. They'll make you feel right at home."

"Thank you," BJ replied, following Radar to the Swamp.

"Here you are," Radar said, placing the bag by what was once Frank's cot. "Hawkeye, this is Captain Hunnicutt. Sir, this is Hawkeye Pierce. See you later," he said, leaving the Swamp.

"Please, call me BJ," the new surgeon insisted.

"Nice to meet you, BJ," Hawkeye began. "In that cot over there is Trapper John McIntyre, who will also be pleased to see you as and when he wakes up."

"You got some interesting names. In fact, so far Henry is the only one with a normal name."

"His name is the only normal thing about him," Hawkeye remarked dryly. "Besides, BJ isn't exactly average."

"True, but its not Radar, Hawkeye or Trapper. Plus, it doesn't have an interesting story behind it, as I am sure your names do."

"Well, Hawkeye came out of a book, 'The Last of the Mohicans', which is as interesting as that one gets. Radar is so called because he knows things that happen before they actually happen."

"I noticed that earlier. Scared the life out of Henry Blake," BJ remembered.

"So, about you. You need to go through the Official Swamp Interview. If you sound like the last guy who was here, you fail."

"All right, so what do you want to know? My family consists of me, my gorgeous wife Peg and my equally as gorgeous one-year-old daughter, Erin. We're from California, and I love my family with all my heart. By the way, let me know if it bugs you when I talk about my family."

Hawkeye smiled. "I like you already. You're in."

BJ grinned. "Good to know. Enough about me, tell me what kind of place I ended up in."

"This place could easily be mistaken for a nuthouse. We're all mad here, but don't worry, we're harmless. You'll get to know everyone pretty soon. Oh, hey, have a drink. Meet the Still, one of your best friends in the war. Produces the ingredients of sanity. Warning though, it'll hit you hard on your first taste."

BJ found this out for himself when he drank it. "This stuff will dissolve my guts!"

"You need nerves of steel and a liver of something similar to drink this. You get used to it though. Hey, I'd love to stick around, but I got Post-Op duty. Make yourself at home, if you can. I'm still trying to."


Over the next few days, BJ began to find his way around. The staff at the hospital took a liking to the down-to-earth doctor, who was a breath of fresh air after what they had endured whilst putting up with Frank.

Although the camp did all they could to make their new comrade feel at home, BJ could not help but feel dreadfully homesick. He missed his wife and daughter desperately, and felt as if there was a piece of him missing. He decided to write to his wife in the hope that he would feel better.

"Dearest Peg," he began.

"I'm not brilliant at writing letters, but I guess now is a good time to start. I made it safely to Korea, and have been posted to the 4077th M*A*S*H. I have only been here for a couple of days, but already I've been made to feel very welcome. I am in a tent called 'The Swamp,' which I share with two other captains.

"Hawkeye Pierce of one of them. He is outgoing, and makes a habit out of chasing nurses and/or getting drunk. Don't get me wrong, though, he is one of the most dedicated and compassionate doctors I have ever met, and he has been a great friend to me in helping me settle into this, this place. That's without mentioning his skill as a surgeon, which is superb.

Another skilled surgeon, and the other person who shares my tent, is Trapper John McIntyre. He has been through a lot recently. I was informed that his wife and two daughters were killed in a fire whilst he was here. Later, coming back from leave in Tokyo, his jeep crashed. Listening to his story, I realise that no matter how bad this place gets, it could be so much worse.

The other people at the 4077th are as follows. Colonel Henry Blake is the CO of the outfit. He is lax with rules, making it easier for the rest of us. He may also be absent-minded or vague at times, but he is good company. Radar O'Reilly is his Company Clerk, and is brilliant at his work. He keeps Henry in check, and makes sure that everything around the camp gets done.

"The other officer in the camp is Major Margaret Houlihan. Apparently she used to be impossible, but since my predecessor left, she has improved. Personally, I saw her as a kind, compassionate human being from the start, but I can't judge as I never saw her before. Somehow, though, I think she's hiding something."

BJ then went into telling his overall impressions of Korea before closing his letter and sending his love to Erin.

On finishing his letter, his spirits felt only slightly raised. Being so far away from home was definitely not fun, so he decided to have a drink to hopefully lightened his mood.

Countless glasses later, BJ was having trouble figuring things out. Nothing would hold focus, and things kept moving. In the end, he decided that sleep was the best thing. Only later did he discover that he would face problems trying to sleep standing in the middle of the Swamp.

Hawkeye and Trapper had just left the Mess Tent when they heard the crash. They made a beeline for the Swamp, and were staggered to find BJ in a heap on the floor.

"Is he okay?" Trapper asked as Hawkeye checked his vital signs.

"Yeah, but I think he must have drunk the contents of the Still."

"Probably got homesick," Trapper said, thinking back to the times he had felt the lack of his family. He remembered one time he was so drunk that he decided to pack up and go home. Of course, at least then he had a family to go home to.

"Trap? Earth to Trapper?"

Trapper snapped out of his daydream and back into reality. "Well, at least we aren't expecting wounded for a while," he said.

"Don't you dare even think that! It's those kinds of comments that cause accidents!"

Radar then chose that moment to poke his head into the Swamp. "Sirs, there are reports that we should be expecting wounded in about an hour."

"Terrific," Hawkeye sighed. "Famous last words."

BJ began to stir, and his eyes opened. "Hey! Hawker and Trapeye! How you doin'?"

Hawkeye and Trapper looked at each other. "I do believe that he is drunk, Trapeye."

"Definitely, Hawker," Trapper replied.

"How much did you have?" Hawkeye asked BJ.

"Some."

"I think this calls for the Houlihan Sobering treatment. Head in the shower."

"All right," Trapper agreed. "But, if he comments on my body like she did, you're on your own, Hawk."


An hour later, BJ had been given his sobering treatment, and now had a hand on his thumping head. "I can't believe I did that. Thanks again for helping me."

"No problem. I did the same thing once. I missed my family so much that I got drunk and packed my stuff up, ready to catch the next flight home," Trapper admitted. "Luckily, someone stopped me before I left the Swamp."

"My arm hasn't been the same since. And don't give him ideas, else next thing we know he'll be packing his things up."

"Me give him ideas? Who was it that tried to send the Officers Latrine to the North Koreans to try and get the war to end?"

"Children, please, don't fight so loud, daddy has a hangover," BJ joked as he laid down on his cot.

"Hey, if you plan on going to sleep, the North Koreans have other ideas for you. We've got wounded to stitch up," Trapper reminded him.

"We? You, my broken-legged friend, will not be operating. You're on triage."

Trapper nodded, and set off to start the welcome party for the incoming wounded.

Hawkeye turned to BJ. "You'll get used to it here. And if you find you don't, then talk to someone about it. One more drinking binge like that and your liver might expire."

BJ nodded as they made their way towards the OR, and thought to himself that he could not have ended up in a better place.


"Sidney," Hawkeye greeted. "Good to see you. How's work?"

"The usual, patients that drive me crazy," Sidney Freedman said. "Yours?"

"Some of my patients have me in stitches," Hawkeye quipped. "Where's Sam?"

"On his way. So, who's in the poker pack tonight?"

"Me, you, Sam, Trapper, and BJ Hunnicutt, the new cutter on the block. Henry has Post-Op duty, but sends his love. He could have just sent his money."

"BJ Hunnicutt? Is that Frank's replacement? How's he settling in?"

"He had a rough first few days, but he's doing better. He's a good surgeon."

"Better than Frank?"

"My grandmother could operate better than Frank, and she's been six feet under for twenty years," Trapper said, limping in. He was rid of his cast now, but was still weak on the leg.

"Talking about an unskilled surgeon again? Major Burns, I presume?" That was Sam Pak, entering the Swamp, bringing chairs from Henry's office with him.

"Frank's got quite a reputation, hasn't he," Sidney remarked.

"Does Henry know you've got his desk chair?" Hawkeye asked.

"He will do, but only when he finds himself sitting on the floor," Sam replied. "Is this everyone?"

"Still waiting for BJ. He was finishing dinner in the Mess Tent, but we can wait."

"Sure, it doesn't take too long for someone to get reincarnated these days," Sidney said sardonically.

"Sirs," Klinger walked into the Swamp and saluted. "This is some kind of food that Colonel Blake said you could have."

"Great diagnosis," Hawkeye muttered, staring intently at the chunks of brown.

"Hey, Klinger, join the game," Trapper invited. "You got money, right?"

"Yeah, let me go and get it," Klinger started.

"Don't worry, we're playing with chips for now. Money later," Hawkeye corrected.

"Am I late? I just finished dinner, you see," BJ said, running into the Swamp.

"Yep. Finished, digested, threw up and put on that plate," Sidney said, nodding towards the brown chunks that Klinger had brought in.

"What was that?" BJ asked.

"We're not sure, but there's a prize for anyone who can guess right," Hawkeye replied. "All right, all present and correct. Cut for dealer." Hawkeye cut the highest card and proceeded to deal. "All right, the game is five card, deuces wild."

Several hours later, members of the poker group were feeling considerably bankrupt, with the exception of Sidney and Klinger, who were having a good game.

"Who's idea was it to invite Klinger?" Sam asked as Klinger collected yet another lot of winnings.

"For someone who curls their hair and paints their nails, you play a great game of poker," Hawkeye complimented.

"He's probably got cards up his skirt," Sidney said.

"I'd rather continue my losing streak than look up there," Trapper said, shuffling the cards.

"I have nothing up my skirt," Klinger said indignantly.

"That worries me even more," Hawkeye yawned. He looked at his watch. "It's only ten! Why am I so tired?"

"It's been a long war," Sam said.

"I think we should call it a night. I need to be off early tomorrow," Sidney suggested.

"Not staying for breakfast?"

"You mean another look at tonight's dinner? I could do without it. I'll collect my winnings later, if you please."

The poker players began to disperse, much to Klinger's annoyance, who felt that he could win a lot more money, given the chance.

As Trapper put the chairs away, Sidney joined him. "Let me give you a hand," he offered.

"Thanks," Trapper replied.

"You're holding up well, I notice. Better than you were on your last visit."

"I thought there would be an ulterior motive in there somewhere. You psychiatrists are all the same."

"Of course. And your answer?"

"Yeah, I'm doing better. It's not a great thing to know that when the war is over, I'll have to go home to nothing, but I know I'm needed where I am right now, and that keeps me going."

"Anything else? Anything else troubling you?"

Trapper stopped, and sat in one of the chairs that he had taken back to the office. Sidney did the same. "Yeah, there is something. After the jeep accident, I had some kind of strange dream. I saw my wife and my girls. Louise told me that there is someone else, someone close to me, who I can make happy. I just passed it off as something caused by the drugs that I got during surgery, but lately it's been getting to me."

Sidney paused as he took this in. "Did you tell anyone about this?"

"No one, not even Hawk."

"I'm afraid that I don't have an answer for you, Trapper. There are some things that doctors, all doctors, are unable to explain. Sometimes they are as you say, caused by drugs, but sometimes they aren't."

"I hope you won't be charging me for this," Trapper joked.

"After my winnings today, I sure don't need to," Sidney replied. "But seriously, if you need to talk, I'm trained to listen."

"Thanks, Sid," Trapper said, getting up to leave.


Sidney was not the only one listening and trying to help that night. As Hawkeye walked across the compound, he saw Margaret walk into her tent after completing a night of Post-Op duty. Her head was low, and her shoulders looked like they carried the weight of the world on them.

"Hey, Margaret," he called. "Long shift?"

"Fairly long. Come in," she said, opening the door for him. "How was the game?"

"I had a bad night, and it looks like I wasn't the only one. Want to talk about it?"

Margaret was beginning to crack. "I need your help. I don't know what to do. Who can I talk to? I can't help it..."

"Shh, it's okay," Hawkeye soothed, putting his arms around her.

"It's not okay, though. You won't like it, and I know it."

"It's not up to me to like or dislike whatever it is that's troubling you."

"All right, but don't say I didn't warn you. I think I'm in love."

"Well, what's so bad about that? Who do you think you are in love with?" As the words passed his lips, he suddenly got a mental picture in his head, and he realised.

"You've just figured it, I can tell," Margaret sighed.

"Trapper," Hawkeye answered.

Part 5


Margaret and Hawkeye talked through the night about the situation, as Hawkeye tried to make sense of it.

"I can't love him, Hawk," she said. "He just lost his wife and kids. Could you imagine it if he found out? He'd never speak to me again."

"I don't think he'd be that extreme," Hawkeye mused.

"I just don't know what to do."

"How about if I broke it to him?" Hawkeye suggested.

"What? Tell him?"

"Or maybe just drop a big hint?"

It was eventually settled that Hawkeye would talk to Trapper, and then see where to go from there.

"I'm sorry for me putting you in this difficult position," Margaret apologised as Hawkeye got up to leave.

"Don't worry," Hawkeye replied. "You had to tell somebody."


Two days later, Hawkeye decided to hold the conversation. It was just the two of them in the Swamp, as BJ was in the OR.

Just as Hawkeye was going to start, Trapper blurted out, "Hawk, I need your help."

Déjà vu, Hawkeye thought to himself. "Sure, what's up?"

"You probably won't like it very much. I mean, you'll be telling me that its just a short-term thing, but..."

Hawkeye recognised this babbled talk from somewhere. "Okay, Trap, slow down and start from the beginning."

"All right. I'll tell it to you straight. I think I'm in love, with Margaret."

Hawkeye struggled to keep his eyes from jumping out of their sockets as Trapper continued. "I know, I know, it sounds stupid, and probably sounds like I'm using it as a way to get over my wife, but..."

"I really don't think it sounds stupid," Hawkeye interrupted, wondering when he had last seen a better combination of people. "I don't know why I didn't see it before."

"Well, at least you're okay with it, but what would Margaret think if she ever found out?"

Déjà vu again, Hawkeye thought to himself. "How about I talk to her?"

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"It's been known to work," Hawkeye assured him.

Just then, frantic Radar ran into the Swamp. "Sirs, we have just got word that an aid station got bombed. Wounded within half an hour."

"Terrific," Hawkeye muttered.

"There's worse news. Wait for it." A moment later, a shell exploded not too far away from them, closely followed by another.

"Double terrific," Trapper murmured, looking for his helmet. "Guess its show time."

"I guess so."


"I hate this war," BJ muttered.

"You holding up okay?" Henry asked.

"Better than this guy."

The staff had been in surgery for eight hours. No one had said anything about Trapper going in, even on a weak leg, and Trapper thought that he would make it through. Unfortunately, after the eight hours, his legs began to buckle beneath him, and he had to grab the table to stop him meeting with the ground.

"Kellye, get a chair," Hawkeye called, unable to do this himself.

"I'll be all right, I just need to walk around a bit."

"I'll take your patient," BJ volunteered. "I'm done here. New gown and gloves."

"It's convenient," Henry said, "because you can walk over to the Supply Room and get us some plasma. We're running low at this end."

"Henry, give him ten minutes to sit down first," Hawkeye objected.

"Okay, sure." As Trapper left, Henry called, "all right, this one's done, lets have the next one." Henry was presented with a patient that turned his face while.

"Henry, are you all right?" BJ asked.

All Henry could do was to turn and stumble out of the OR.

"Henry?" Trapper saw Henry stagger into the Scrub room. "What's up?"

Henry slumped onto the bench. "That woman," he whispered.

"What woman? A nurse? From our unit or the Aid Station?"

"Yeah, Aid Station. She is the exact double of my wife, Lorraine. I couldn't see any difference, except this lady was wounded."

"I bet that was scary," Trapper sympathized.

"I really thought it was her. I couldn't operate on her, each time I'd look at her I would think that I was operating on Lorraine."

"Okay Henry, think for a second, just for a second, that it was actually Lorraine, your wife, on that table."

"Are you nuts?!"

"Hear me out, Henry. If it was your wife, then would you trust anyone but yourself to be in complete control of that operation?"

Henry thought about this for a moment before standing up. "You're in the wrong specialty. You and Sidney ought to go into partnership."

"No chance, I'd go mad! You go and operate, and I'll go and get some plasma."


Back in the OR, Henry carried on, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. He made a special effort to save this particular patient.

Another shell landed with a devastating blast outside. "They're getting closer," Hawkeye said, finishing the patient. "Next!"

"No more patients," the core man called, taking away the patient Hawkeye had just finished.

"In that case, I'll tell Trapper not to worry about the plasma," Margaret volunteered, leaving the OR.

"I guess it wasn't as bad as we thought," Hawkeye said, referring to the surgery.

"Speak for yourself," BJ murmured as another shell hit made itself known.

"Need some help, Beej?" Hawkeye asked.

"I'm just finishing, thanks anyway," BJ replied.

"Sirs!" Radar skidded into the OR. "You gotta come quick. It's the Supply Room, it's been hit!"


A few moments earlier: "Trapper," Margaret called into the room. "We don't need the plasma anymore. There's no more wounded."

"All right, I'll just put this back," Trapper called. He walked between the shelves, and found the space where he had taken the goods. As he replaced the containers, there was a huge thud and an explosion above him. The ceiling rained in on him, and the shelves and objects showered on him.

"Trapper!" Margaret screamed. She moved the heavy boxes off of him, and tried to check if he was hurt.

"Can you hear me?" she yelled at him.

"Me, and the rest of Korea," Trapper joked, but with difficulty through the pain.

"You're hurt," Margaret stated with concern.

Trapper didn't know what came over him. A mix of pain, light-headedness and love, but the only thing he could do was to kiss Margaret.

As he kissed her, all Trapper could think about was all the times he had been close to Margaret. The time she was attacked by Stanley Robbins, the plastic surgeon, and he comforted her afterwards. There was the time that he kissed her over the desk after she and Frank provided her with the evidence to get the Army to admit it was wrong. How about the time he kissed her before getting on the bus to Rainbow Bridge. All the times they had worked together, particularly when he had a long, difficult surgery, including an open-heart massage. She had been there for him every step of the way.

The time he remembered most was when they were in the Supply Room, when the camp had been bombed a previous time. That thought stuck in him mind for a long time.

When their lips finally parted, their look in their eyes said that what had just happened was right.

"You okay?" Trapper asked cautiously, more about the kiss than being trapped in the room.

"Only if you're okay. Are you?"

His heart-warming smile said it all.

As the two stared into each others eyes, they heard voices from outside.

"Margaret! Trapper!" The door burst open and Hawkeye peered into the room.

"Here!" Margaret called.

"Are you hurt?" Hawkeye asked.

"Not loads," Trapper said, trying not to wheeze.

"You'll be fine once we get out of here. Can you both walk?" On seeing them nod, Hawkeye said, "Good, I'm about to teach you how to run. Now go!"

The three of them scrambled out of shelter, but with the rib injuries, Trapper could not make it across the compound and collapsed in a crumpled heap, rasping for air.

Hawkeye looked back and saw his friend go down. "Trap," he muttered anxiously, going back for him. Margaret had already gone inside, ahead of him.

He crouched down on the ground next to him. "Always the big, silent, strong guy. You make a lousy patient," he muttered.

"And a frequent one," Trapper muttered. "I'm sorry all this stuff keeps... keeps happening to me, Hawk."

"You don't have to be sorry. But, don't worry, I think your reign of bad luck is over." Hawkeye unbuttoned Trapper's shirt to get a better look at the extent of the damage. "You see, bad luck comes in threes. You've had your three doses of it."

As Hawkeye talked, there was a look of excruciating pain on Trapper's face. Hawkeye saw it and became more concerned. "What? What is it?"

"Just painful."

"All right, I'll fix you up good as new. Don't go anywhere, okay?"

"Like where?"

"I don't know, the movies or something," Hawkeye joked.

"Hawk," Trapper began as he was loaded onto the stretcher.

"Yeah Trap? Anything?"

"Me and Margaret, in that room... tell her I love her."

"Consider it done," Hawkeye promised.


"He's going to be fine," Hawkeye assured Margaret for the third time. He was in the scrub room, talking to Margaret about Trapper's surgery. "The procedure was simple, and there were absolutely no problems."

"As long as you're sure," Margaret said, still not convinced.

Hawkeye rolled his eyes. "This is why I didn't let you into the OR." He softened. "I know how much you care about him."

"And you don't?" Margaret retorted.

"Sure I do, he's my best friend. I just don't care about him like you do. He left you a message, before he went in there."

"What? What did he say?"

"Not much, just that he loves you," Hawkeye teased.

Margaret, overcome by more emotion than she could account for, sat on the bench. Hawkeye sat beside her and embraced her.

"It's okay," he calmed her. "It's all right. Everything's gonna be all right."

Part 6

Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics belonging to The Backstreet Boys, I am borrowing them for a non-profiting fan fiction.



In the hospital the next day, Henry had a patient to visit, and an explanation to give. He sat beside the bed of his wife's doppelganger.

"Hello Miss," he began. "I'm Henry Blake, the guy who operated on you yesterday."

The young nurse began, "Hi. I remember you, from before they anaesthetized me.

"You'll probably remember me running out on you," Henry admitted. "I'm sorry for that."

"Can I ask why? Were you ill or something?"

"Ill? No, I wasn't. The reason was this." He fumbled in his pocket, producing a photo. "You and this person, you look so alike. You know, you could easily be her double."

"You're right. You obviously know this woman, so I guess it was a real shock to see me on the table."

"Especially since the woman in the photo is my wife."

The nurse drew a sharp intake of breath. "I can understand why you ran out."

Henry and the nurse talked for a few more minutes before Henry left and went to check on another patient. "Trapper? How are you?"

"Congratulations, Henry. You win a prize for being the hundredth person who's asked me that today."

"Feeling better, I take it."

"Well, a bit."

"Don't trust him, Henry. The last time he tried to convince me he was all right, I turned around five seconds later to find him on the floor, fighting for his life." Hawkeye said this, walking into Post-Op and over to the bed.

"He's such a drama queen," Trapper drawled.

"You can joke, but I'm not the one in the hospital bed. Again."

"Hey, I can't help it that bad luck just follows me around."

"No more, or I send you home," Henry warned jokingly. "I can't have you getting shot or whatever every week."

"Don't worry, Henry. People like me are here to keep an eye on people like him, keep him out of trouble and such," Hawkeye said.

"You've had three bits of bad luck, don't you feel cursed by now?" Henry asked.

"Not really, because I've had three bits of good luck, too," Trapper said. "Frank left, I gained a friend in BJ, and of course, there's Margaret." Trapper stopped and thought for a moment. "Actually, I've had another bit of good luck. I found out that I have a lot of good friends in this place, especially my best friend."

"That wasn't a bit of recent good luck," Hawkeye contradicted. "You've had that every since you got here." He punched Trapper playfully in the arm.


As soon as Trapper came out of the hospital, his first priority was to talk to Margaret, in private. Whilst he was in Post-Op with other patients and staff, he did not want to discuss what he wanted to with her.

He took her out to the field area of the camp, away from the others. It was a sunny afternoon, with a beautiful blue sky looking over Korea.

Trapper sat beside Margaret, and for a moment could not make words into sentences. Margaret gave her reassuring hand to him, and smiled.

"Margaret," he began. "Since my wife passed... I'm sorry, I've done it all wrong already. I know you didn't like it when Frank talking about his wife..."

"This is different, and I understand. Go on," she coaxed.

"Well, since Louise and the girls... people might have thought that me liking someone would be to do with that. Rebound or some way of coping. But, this isn't. You're something special, and you hold everything that I could ever hope for. When we, in the Supply Room, that confirmed it. I need to know how you feel now."

"I've never felt this way before. I've felt it for a while, and since then I've been feeling good."

Trapper squeezed her hand. "Now, I know that some people in my position right now would get down on one knee and get out a ring. But, I don't feel ready, not so soon after, you know."

"I know," Margaret said, kissing him.

"One more thing," Trapper said after the kiss. "I know how Frank treated you, and you deserve so much better. I'll do everything I can to try and give it to you."

He stood up, and she also. She rested against him, and they swayed gently. Trapper's voice provided all the music they needed. He sung softly to her.


'Baby you deserve much better,
What's the use in holding on?
Don't you see it's now or never,
Cos I just can't be friends,
Baby knowing in the end, that

I would love you more than that,
I won't say the words then take them back,
Don't give loneliness a chance,
Baby listen to me when I say,
I will love you more than that.'


"Ooh, they're dancing now," Hawkeye gushed comically, looking through the binoculars.

"Cute," Radar smiled.

"Pass the popcorn," BJ asked. The three of them were hidden behind a rock, watching their friends become an item. "When you told Henry that you'd keep an eye on him, I didn't know you'd go this far."

"Presenting Margaret Houlihan and Trapper John McIntyre in the newest romantic comedy, Against The Odds."

"Apt," BJ said. "For someone who's gone through all he's gone through and can still smile, it's very apt."

"Do you think that it's the beginning of the end for Trapper's story?" Radar asked.

"Au contraire," Hawkeye retorted. "This, my friends, may be the end of the beginning."


The End


A.N: Well, hope you enjoyed this first instalment of a possible series that may continue, depending on the feedback that I get. Let me just say that if my description of BJ is out of character, its no wonder. One of the crazy parts of this story is that I have never seen a M*A*S*H episode with him in, so I am writing purely on my impressions of him from other fan fictions I have read. It wasn't easy, but let me know any criticism of that part. I'll wait for your feedback!
(And yes, I do know that my Backstreet Boys song was not around when M*A*S*H was made, but I thought that the lyrics were good and I think it's a great song.)
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