Mash (8 page)

Within the prescribed twenty-four hours following her arrival, Major Houlihan made a point of seeking out the boss of each shift and attempting to discuss nursing problems with him. Captain Burns was in starched fatigues and his most gracious mood, but he mentioned several nurses whose performance was inadequate and made a variety of suggestions for improvement. The Major was quite impressed with Captain Burns.

She was less impressed with Captain Pierce. She found him in the mess tent in soiled fatigues having a late breakfast. She introduced herself, and Hawkeye invited her to join him over a cup of coffee.

“Captain Pierce,” Major Houlihan said, “I observed the night shift and I was not at all impressed with some of our nurses. How do you feel, Captain, about the nursing situation here?”

“Major,” Hawkeye said, “this is a team effort. I’m responsible for my team. It consists of doctors, nurses and enlisted men. We’ve been working as a unit for six months with little change in personnel. I’m satisfied with them.”

“Well,” she said, “Captain Burns isn’t at all satisfied.”

“Mother,” said Hawkeye Pierce, “Captain Burns is a jerk, and if you don’t know it by now you …”

Major Houlihan arose. “I wonder,” she asked, “how anyone like you reaches such a position of responsibility in the Army Medical Corps.”

“Honey,” answered Hawkeye, “if I knew the answer to that I sure as hell wouldn’t be here.”

“Very well, Captain,” Major Houlihan said. “It appears that we are not going to get along. Nevertheless, I want you to know that I will attempt to cooperate with you in every possible way.”

“Major,” Hawkeye said, smiling, “I appreciate that, so would you consider another cup of coffee?”

Reluctantly she sat down again and resumed the talk. She was still terribly upset, so Hawkeye tried to explain a few things.

“Major,” he said, “you’re watching both shifts. Watch them with an eye to which shift does the most work with the least fuss. Watch them with an eye to how many people work happily or unhappily.”

“I observed last night that both nurses and enlisted men addressed you as ‘Hawkeye’.”

“That’s my name.”

“Such familiarity is highly improper,” declaimed Major Houlihan, “and inconsistent with maximum efficiency in an organization such as this.”

“Well, Major,” said Hawkeye as he got up and left, “I’m gonna have a couple shots of Scotch and go to bed. Obviously you’re a female version of the routine Regular Army Clown. Stay away from me and my gang, and we’ll get along fine. See you around the campus.”

Having been summarily dismissed by Captain Pierce, Major Houlihan took her problems to the commanding officer. The interview was quite unsatisfactory. Colonel Blake told her, after she’d bothered him enough, that he’d rather get rid of Captain Burns than Captain Pierce, but couldn’t afford to lose either one.

Major Houlihan was quite upset, but withheld final judgment for a week. By the end of that period she was completely convinced that the Swampmen, Pierce in particular, exerted an evil influence upon the Colonel and upon the whole outfit. Captain Burns, she learned from frequent observation, was a brilliant technical surgeon. His behavior was military, his dress and bearing were military. He was, she felt, an officer, a gentleman and a surgeon.

The obvious continued to escape her. For months Captain Burns’s group had been getting into difficulties. Some of its members, when in doubt, bypassed Frank Burns and asked the Swampmen for help. As a result, Colonel Blake finally decided to create a Chief Surgeon, whose duty, in addition to doing his fair share of the work, would be to assist each shift in the management of the most difficult cases. Everyone in the organization except Captain Burns and Major Houlihan recognized that this job could logically be given only to Trapper John, and so it was.

Upon learning of the Colonel’s decision, and certain that the commanding officer was bereft of his senses, Major Houlihan invited Captain Burns to her tent for a council of war. She gave Frank a drink. He explained to her the tragedy of turning the organization over to the riff-raff and, since she agreed with him, extolled her perspicacity. Then, over her signature, they composed to General Hammond in Seoul a letter that he would never receive because Hawkeye had the mail clerk censoring the Major’s outgoing correspondence. After that the Major gave Frank another drink, and Frank embraced and kissed her. Then they departed, reluctantly, for the mess tent. It was supper time.

In The Swamp, meanwhile, a party in honor of the newly appointed Chief Surgeon was in progress. Attendance was high, and at five-thirty it was suggested by someone and agreed upon by all that a Chief Surgeon should be treated with more than usual respect. Trapper John went along with this and requested that he be properly crowned and transported to the mess hall by native bearers. This presented complications, as crowns are hard to come by in the Korean hinterlands, and the Korean houseboys, when asked to serve as native bearers, protested that they had not hired out as such. Instead, a bedpan was fastened to Trapper John’s head with adhesive tape, and Hawkeye, Duke, Ugly John and the Painless Pole picked up the sack upon which the newly crowned Chief Surgeon rested and, with the others following, bore it and him to the mess hall.

“Now y’all hear this!” the Duke announced to the assembled diners. “This here is your new Chief Surgeon. He has just been crowned, so y’all do him honor.”

Then the members of the Chief Surgeon’s court broke into song:

“Hail to the Chief,

And King of all the surgeons.

He needs a Queen,

To satisfy his urgins.”

“That’s right,” Trapper John, still reclining on his sack, said. “And who’s that over there?”

He pointed toward the back of the mess hall. There, sitting apart from the others and evidencing complete disgust, were Major Houlihan and Captain Burns.

“Oh them, Your Highness?” Hawkeye said. “That’s just the goose girl and the swine herd.”

“I don’t like the swine herd,” Trapper John said, “but I might get to like the goose girl.”

Major Houlihan and Captain Burns retreated to console each other and plot their revenge. They retreated to the Major’s tent, where they consoled and plotted until 1:30 a.m. At least that was the report which Corporal Radar O’Reilly submitted in the morning.

The Swampmen were at breakfast when Major Houlihan and Captain Burns entered. As the two started to pass the table, eyes front, Duke spoke up.

“Mornin’, Frank,” he said.

“Hiya, Hot Lips,” said the Chief Surgeon to the Chief Nurse. “Now that I’m a chief, too, we really oughta get together.”

Frank stopped, turned and made one menacing step toward the Swampmen.

“Join us if you wish, Frank,” invited Hawkeye. “Looks like a great day to set a hen.”

Captain Burns thought better of it. He escorted Major Houlihan to a distant table, but his moment came that night when he and Hawkeye found themselves together in the utility room, next to the OR, where coffee was available. Hawkeye had just poured himself a cup and was seated at the table, sipping and smoking, when Captain Burns entered and approached the coffee pot.

“Hey, Frank,” said the Hawk, “is that stuff you’re tappin’ really any good?”

“One more word out of you,” Frank erupted, screaming it, “and I’ll kill you!”

“So kill me,” Hawkeye said.

At that moment Colonel Henry Blake entered, and what he saw was enough to do it. He saw Captain Pierce sitting peacefully with a cup of coffee and a cigarette. He saw Captain Burns, on the other side of the room, pick up the coffee pot and hurl it at Captain Pierce, who ducked. Then he saw Captain Burns follow the coffee pot and start flailing away at Hawkeye with his fists. Hawkeye, having spotted the Colonel, did nothing but cover his head with his arms and scream.

“Henry!” he screamed. “Help me, Henry! He’s gone mad!”

The next day Captain Burns was reassigned to a stateside hospital. Although the Swampmen were happy, Colonel Blake wasn’t, and entered The Swamp to define his unhappiness.

“OK,” he said. “You guys win another round. You ditched Frank. I could have put up with him screwing Hot Lips, if he was, which I doubt, but you guys had to have your way. I just want you to know that I know what you did. He was a jerk, I admit, but he was needed, and now we don’t have him and it’s your fault.”

“Henry,” said Hawkeye, “for Crissake, sit down and relax. Nobody needs guys like him. You’re all concerned with numbers of people. The clown created more work than he accomplished. We’re better off without him.”

“Maybe so,” Henry sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Henry,” Duke asked, “if I get into Hot Lips and jump Hawkeye Pierce can I go home, too?”

7

Each doctor’s tent at the MASH had a young Korean to clean it, keep the stove going, shine shoes, and do the laundry and other chores. He was called a houseboy.

Naturally, The Swamp’s houseboy was called a Swampboy. His name was Ho-Jon. Ho-Jon was tall for a Korean. He was thin. He was bright. Prior to the war he had attended a church school in Seoul. He was a Christian. His English was relatively fluent.

Ho-Jon thought Hawkeye Pierce, Duke Forrest and Trapper John McIntyre were the three greatest people in the world. Unlike other houseboys, he was allowed to spend a lot of his spare time in the tent. The Swampmen helped him with reading and writing English, had books sent to him from the States, and gave him a good basic education in a few short months. Ho-Jon had a mind like a bear trap. It engulfed everything that came its way. During bull sessions in The Swamp, he sat quietly in a corner and listened. During busy periods, he was brought to the OR and trained to assist the Swampmen as a scrub nurse.

The Swampmen thought as much of Ho-Jon as he did of them. On his seventeenth birthday, however, despite the attempt of Colonel Blake, urged on by the Swampmen, to intercede with the Korean government, Ho-Jon was drafted into the Republic of Korea Army. Unhappiness and a feeling of despair and frustration prevailed in The Swamp on the day of Ho-Jon’s departure. The Swampmen gave him clothes, money, canned food, and cigarettes. Hawkeye himself drove Ho-Jon to Seoul. There the two went to see Ho-Jon’s family who lived in a dirty shack on a filthy street and whose reaction to the largesse showered upon their son by the American doctors was awe-inspiring and pathetic.

Hawkeye left hastily. He found an Air Force Officers’ club where he drank moodily and disinterestedly without getting any emotional benefit from the good Air Force Scotch. He never expected to see Ho-Jon again. He thought of Crabapple Cove and wondered how he could ever have thought his material benefits and opportunities limited. Compared to Ho-Jon, he’d had everything.

As it turned out, Captain Pierce did see Ho-Jon again. It was six weeks later, when Ho-Jon returned in the uniform of a private in the ROK Army. The uniform was covered with blood. Deep in Ho-Jon’s chest was a mortar fragment.

At the Double Natural, as at every MASH, all wounds were first hastily assessed in the admitting ward and then the seriously wounded were brought into the preoperative ward. There blood was typed, nurses and corpsmen took blood pressures, started transfusions, inserted Foley catheters in bladders and Levin tubes in stomachs, and hung the X-rays on a wire in front of each patient’s cot.

Arriving for duty on this morning and finding the preop ward full, Hawkeye, Duke and Trapper John had gone down the row of wounded and started to make their plans. When they reached the last cot a corpsman said, “This kid is pretty bad.”

Hawkeye looked at the X-ray. He saw a large shell fragment deep in the boy’s chest.

“This one’s for you, Trapper,” he said. “I’ll help you, and Duke can take that belly back there.”

Then Captain Pierce took his first look at the patient.

“Christ!” he said. “It’s Ho-Jon.”

Trapper looked.

“OK. It’s Ho-Jon. We’ll fix him.”

Ho-Jon opened his eyes. He saw his friends and smiled.

“You’ll be OK, boy,” said the corpsman.

“I know,” Ho-Jon whispered. “Captains Pierces and Captains McIntyres will help me.”

“You know it, Ho-Jon,” Captain Pierce said. “You just rest, and we’ll do it after you’ve had one more pint of blood.”

The Duke was about to become occupied in a bad belly, so they decided not to tell him. They went out for a butt.