Author: Sam

Story: I Spy With My Little G.I.: 9 of 17

Series: The War Within

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/samwise_baggins/index.html

Colonel Blake and Corporal O’Reilly headed towards the shower tent, talking enthusiastically about fishing. Rather, Henry was discussing fishing on the next quiet day, and Radar was listening with half an ear, the other listening to see if there were any more loud calls from Post-Op. He’d heard one about fifteen minutes before; it had sounded like Hawkeye. Since the surgeon had called for medical once but hadn’t screamed again, Radar had forgone telling Blake about it at all.

The Commanding Officer had still been struggling with his mail during whatever catastrophe had befallen the ward, trying to forget the annoying visit to his office that Frank Burns had paid him. After several more minutes, though, he’d thrown down his pen and called out to his clerk, “Radar, I’m going to get a shower to clear my head. It’s about that time of week for you, too, so get your stuff together and join me.” Radar had reluctantly obeyed.

Now, as the two walked, the younger man noticed an odd occurrence at the VIP tent. Igor was standing guard in the doorway with a gun. Zale’s voice came from inside, telling someone that he *shouldn’t have attacked the doctor like that*. Father Mulcahy then walked out of the tent, carrying a bag of clothing. Klinger followed Mulcahy out, accepting the gun from Igor and coming to attention as Henry passed.

For his part, Henry blinked, looking nearly shell-shocked once more. “What’s going on, Klinger?”

Saluting, the Corporal in the nurse’s dress loudly called out, “Patient Mathius attacked Father Mulcahy and Doctor Standish and is being held until transferred out, Sir.” Then he flashed a smile for the Colonel. “Any chance I’ll get transferred out, Sir?”

“No.” Henry looked towards the tent. Igor and Zale both saluted then hurried back to their guard duties. Normally when the regular staff was rotated to day guard, they didn’t see that kind of action at all. Colonel Blake sighed and looked back at the Corpsman and the priest. He gave an absent smile, hoping not to have to worry about it for some time; he had enough on his plate with Colonel Flagg there. “Carry on.”

“Yes, Sir.” Klinger saluted once more, disappointed he wouldn’t get the Section Eight he so desperately wanted. Once everyone was convinced he was crazy and let him out of the military, he could stop wearing dresses and heels and go about being as sane as he really was. He watched the pair head for the showers then turned to Father Mulcahy, “are you sure everything’s all right, Father?”

“What?” Father Mulcahy looked up. He’d been lost in thought about what had been and might have been. It was odd. While he had been the prisoner, there had been no fear. A calm assurance that he was protected by the Lord had settled over him. But when Emil had been grabbed, fear overruled faith and he had been frantic to help his friend, though impotent to do so. He was relieved that Emil had seemed unharmed and had merely gone to the showers to wash off the blood. “Oh, yes. I’m fine, Klinger. I’ll just bring Emil’s things to my tent until we can sort this out. Be careful.”

Klinger nodded. “Always. I want to get home, but in one piece, Father.” He grinned and saluted the priest who merely smiled and strode off, bag in hand.

Upon entering the shower tent, Radar and Henry stopped talking about fishing and moved to strip. Someone else was there ahead of them leaning against a stall wall while water ran unheeded across the floor. Radar frowned, noting the red-hair, blood-soaked clothing, too pale skin, closed eyes… it was Emil, and the doctor looked sick. “Sir,” Radar kept his voice low, tugging on Henry’s arm. After getting the Colonel’s attention, he pointed towards Doctor Standish in the far stall.

Something about the way the redhead looked sent the doctoring instincts soaring through Henry, and he leapt into action. Rushing forward, uncaring about his half-fastened uniform and still-tied boots, Blake managed to catch the petite figure just as it slipped into a half-faint. He noticed that blood was liberally mixing with the running water on the floor.

Emil opened pain-filled eyes, arm wrapped over a nasty slash across her abdomen.

'Her?' Stunned, Henry realized that the body he held was indeed of a very petite, very injured, woman. “Holy Toledo! Radar, get me a medical bag! Stat!” He wriggled out of his undershirt as he held together the doctor’s flesh with his other hand.

“Yes, Sir!” Radar grabbed his own shirt, pulling it own as he ran towards the Post-Op tent.