Author: Sam

Story: I Spy With My Little G.I.: 12 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

Humming softly to herself, brushing out her shoulder-length hair, Major Margaret Houlihan was having an absolutely beautiful day. The nursing staff was running smoothly, no reported problems so far that day. Doctors Pierce and MacIntyre had apparently been too busy on duty to bother the ladies, so Hot Lips, as she was not-so-affectionately known, hadn’t needed to intervene or write them up. And above all, that young Doctor Standish hadn’t even looked twice at the nurses… no flirting, no groping, nor any other annoying behavior. Now if she could figure out a way to get him reassigned from the front, they could have a second real Army Doctor in the 4077th, Major Burns being the other one in her estimation.

A rattling at her door interrupted the Head Nurse’s musings. With a happy chirrup Margaret called out in a rather sing-song trill, “Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

“Me who?” she smiled at the word game she always played with Frank Burns.

“Me me.” Frank’s voice sounded worried and desperate. Naturally, he was often worried or desperate, sometimes even both. But this time, instead of waiting for her to call out, he opened the door and slipped inside.

Margaret’s mouth dropped open and she whirled around in shock. “Frank! You can’t just barge in here! What if I wasn’t dressed?”

“That hardly matters, does it?”

“What! How…” Margaret was incensed that he would even think that she was that easy, “how dare you! Get out!” She stood and lifted her brush to toss it at him.

Frank ducked before it could leave her hand, instincts honed to a fine edge from years of being a walking punching bag. “Margaret! This is important!” The Major glanced up. His attempt at explanation merely got him a brush in the face, however. “Ow! What was that for?”

“You know what that was for, Major Burns! Get out!” She grabbed another item from her dressing table without registering what it was. “How dare you think you can just waltz in here as if I’d welcome you with open arms... I’m not that easy you... you... philanderer!”

“I would never, Margaret!” Frank ducked the next object, and the next. “It’s Standish!”

The name sunk in but only made her angrier. “You dare accuse that sweet boy of…”

Needing to think on his feet or risk another brush in the face, the Major hit the ground and covered his head, screaming the only thing he could think of, “Colonel Flagg!”

She stopped, arm raised above her head. “Start talking, Frank. And you better have a very good story.” She kept her hand ready, waiting for she-knew-not-what.

From his crouched position, Frank glanced up and whimpered out, “Colonel Flagg is here looking for a spy.”

Down the hand went, slowly. “A spy?” Margaret watched Frank in hesitant interest. “All right, Frank. I’m listening. Why does he think there’s a spy here… and what does this have to do with Doctor Standish?”

Frank glanced up again, then relaxed when he saw the danger was passed. With his traditional sick grin, he pushed himself from the ground and slid over to the nurse. “He was talking with Colonel Blake and Captain Pierce…”

“Standish?”

“Huh? No… Flagg!” He started dusting himself off, not looking at the woman. “He’s looking for a dirty Commie.” He glanced up, hands still running over his chest and pelvis. Turning his eyes back to his work, he was thrilled when a pair of soft, feminine hands joined his own in cleaning him off. “Uh... and... well,” he giggled a bit. “Captain Standish is a bit off, don’t you think?”

Her hands stopped. “That nice boy? Oh, Frank...” She frowned at him.

Major Burns nodded and whined, “Yes, Margaret, I caught him. He’s odd. I know it’s hard to believe, but...” with a triumphant grin he exclaimed, “He’s awfully young for a Captain, isn’t he?”

“Frank, really...”

“Margaret, He can’t be any older than nineteen. No one is a Captain that young… even if he did save a General’s life.”

Major Houlihan was stunned. “Saved a General’s life? Oh... how can anyone like that be a spy?”

“I know. I could hardly believe it myself, Margaret.” He moved towards the tent door, looking through it as if suspecting they were being eavesdropped on. Finding no one listening in, he turned back to his companion. “I heard him telling Father Mulcahy about it. And…” he looked around quickly and leaned closer, “Father asked him what his kind of…” Frank nearly choked on the word, as if it were painful to associate it with the young doctor, “man is doing in the Army.”

“His kind of man? But...” she was a bit shell-shocked... “the Father knows?”

“Yes, I heard him say so! Standish is a Communist and... and...” he leaned in even closer, “one of those.”

She gasped, a hand going to the front of her shirt, pulling it even further closed than the buttons had been holding it. “Frank, we need to do something... now.”

“Of course we do, but I already told Colonel Blake. He’s useless, as always.” Frank’s eyes trailed down to Margaret’s fingers and a small smile played around his thin lips. His mind wanted very much to wander in that direction. “He *ordered* me to stay away from that pervert!”

Margaret started putting her hair up, hands moving quickly and smoothly. “Then we’ll do what you should have done in the first place, Frank. We’ll go to Colonel Flagg. He’s looking for the spy, and we’ve found him.” She straightened her uniform and nodded. “Let’s go.”

Frank followed the other Major from the tent, smiling as he watched her hips sway. He let her rhythm soothe his injured feelings. Margaret always made everything all right. He’d love to take her home with him after the war; having Margaret around would make living with Louise a heck of a lot easier. When Margaret stopped short, Frank nearly ran her over, so engrossed in her figure was he. “What…”

Klinger raised his rifle and stood in front of the VIP tent, feet spread, prepared for anything. “Halt! No one is allowed beyond this point without proper authorization.”

“What are you talking about?” Major Houlihan’s voice was hard as steel, years of Army life backing her up.

“No one’s allowed to see the prisoner without proper authorization, Major.” He didn’t let down his guard.

“Oh... shoot! They already know!” Frank whined, seeing an imagined commendation for catching the spy go up in smoke.

The Corporal shook his head in apparent wonder. “How could we not? When he attacked Father Mulcahy and...”

“I knew it!” Frank interrupted. “I knew the Father shouldn’t have trusted that man! His sort can’t be trusted.” Then, he seemed to realize he was talking about this with a man in a dress and heels. With a frown, Major Burns stiffened and asked, “Why are you the guard? I thought Sergeant Zale and Private Straminsky had guard duty today.”

“They do. That’s why I’m guarding the prisoner.” Klinger smiled at the pair. “Dangerous as this man might be, I am not afraid to stand the duty, Sir. Crazy, huh? Maybe crazy enough for that Section Eight?”

Margaret glared at the enlisted man. “Don’t count on it, Corporal. Where’s Colonel Flagg right now?”

“Margaret, he’s going to aid and abet the prisoner. They’re of the same type!” The annoying whine didn’t go unnoticed by a passing soldier.

In fact, the man passing by, dressed in the uniform of a Captain, complete with a medical caduceus emblem, was Colonel Sam Flagg, himself. He looked conspicuous, mainly because he looked so cagey. Apparently, the Intelligence Agent was trying to appear non-significant while still checking out the entire compound like an inept shoplifter on a heist.

Flagg gave Burns and Houlihan and intense look shifted his eyes towards the back of the Latrine then started off in the exact opposite direction. He walked directly over to the Mess Tent, glanced around, then slipped inside. He was more obvious than he realized, as several people who had been passing by where stopped and staring at the door of the tent in confusion or amazement.

“Come along, Frank.” Margaret tugged her companion’s sleeve discreetly and turned back to Klinger, who watched bemusedly. “We’ll discuss this later, Corporal.” Her frown made him smile and salute enthusiastically.

“Yes, Sir, Ma’am!”

With that, as people headed back along their own affairs, Margaret and Frank headed into the Mess Tent, finding Sam Flagg sitting by himself in a not-so-shadowy corner. Major Houlihan whispered to her companion, “Get us some coffee, Frank, or we’ll look conspicuous.” She headed over to the good-looking, though more-than-a-bit loony Colonel.

Loudly, she greeted him, “Good afternoon, Captain.” At his narrowed gaze, she sat down.

The poorly disguised Colonel leaned forward. “Can I trust you, Major?”

“Always… Captain.”

“You trusted us before, Sir, why wouldn’t you now?” Burns slipped two mugs on the table and frowned down at the Intelligence Officer.

Flagg glared up at Burns and slowly spoke, as if weighing every word; “People change. When I first came here, you rightly refused to operate on a CID man without another present. Good work, Soldier. Next time, you were proven to be a Communistic Fascist with a triple life. Then, you helped me…”

“Uh, we get the picture, Sir.” Frank was confused, flustered, and nervous. He sat down, toying with his mug, trying to see if they were being watched without trying to look too obvious. He was doing poorly, but as only the three of them were in the tent, it didn’t matter.

Suddenly, Flagg stood, almost as if he couldn’t be still for too long. “Let me level with you two.” He whirled on them so fast Margaret gasped. Frank nearly wet himself, eyes bugging. “I’m not here on a social visit.” Flagg fell silent.

A very long moment passed before Margaret elbowed Frank who gulped out. “Yes, Sir. There’s a spy in camp.”

The impressively built Colonel was around the table before the Major could finish his complaint. “Who said anything about a spy? What makes you think I’m here for anything more than a social visit?”

Frank Burns’ mouth gaped open and he nearly choked. “But, Sir, you said…”

“Never mind what I said. You can’t trust every rumor you hear, man. Now, tell me everything. I want to know every last detail. And if you leave anything out, I’ll know it.” Sam Flagg slid onto the bench next to the Major, leaning so close he was making the already paranoid man even more nervous. Frank could only whimper, eyes locked with Flagg’s, like a deer in the headlights.

Margaret smoothly came to his rescue, as always. “Major Burns overheard the alleged operative discussing his mission with someone in camp. Doing the correct thing, Major Burns then reported it to Colonel Blake, but was rebuffed. We were on our way to report it to you, knowing how vital this information could be to the defense of American interests.” She smiled.

The Intelligence Officer jumped up and circled around to the woman’s side, leaning over with one hand on the table. He was so close, Margaret’s pulse raced, reminding her just why people called her Hotlips. “And who was this spy talking to?”

“He was talk…”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s critical. After all…”

Flagg stood. “If you cover up the identity of the subversive’s accomplice, you’ll be aiding and albeiting. Uncle Sam doesn’t look kindly on aiders and albeiters, Major and Major.” He slid his glance over either in turn. “Spill. Give me the name, or you’ll find…”

“Father Mulcahy.” Frank didn’t even want to hear what his punishment might be. “It was Father Mulcahy… the camp Chaplain. He was hearing confession and Doctor Standish told him. I was inspecting the tent for any repairs that might be needed,” when necessary, the man could think faster than a weasel, though not always as well as he imagined, “and heard him say it.”

“Who is this Doctor Standish?” Flagg pulled out his notebook and pen, slipping onto the seat next to Margaret and leaning forward. “Don’t leave out a single detail. I want everything.” Jumping to his feet in another unexpected maneuver, Flagg called out, “Better yet, I’ll requisition his file. I look through it tonight, then ask for access tomorrow. We’ll see how many people are in on this little Communist plot.”

“It’s worse, Colonel.”

“Captain.”

“Huh?” Frank frowned, puzzled out of his train of thought.

“It’s Captain. Do you see a Colonel’s rank on this uniform? No. I’m Captain Myers, Proctologist.”

Margaret was suddenly tempted to make an off-hand and colorful remark, much like Hawkeye or Trapper might, but refrained. After all, she was a professional. Instead, she cut in, “There’s a high possibility that the doctor may also be a sexual deviant, Captain Myers.”

“He said so.” Major Burns had relocated his train of thought.

Sam flipped his notebook closed with a dramatic wave of the hand. “I see.” He stood and tucked away the small book. With one last glance at his cohorts, the man ground out, “And he probably isn’t a real doctor, either. Let’s go. There’s a lot of work we need to do, and I have to make a phone call… I’ll need the latrine.”

Neither Major dared ask what the latrine had to do with phone calls, or even if it did. Both were too familiar with the very off-color officer by now. Rather, they allowed him to leave the tent, then slowly followed five minutes later, discussing the patients in Post-Op and Frank’s high expectations for a full recovery for his patient, Sergeant Mathius.

Neither was aware that it was Sergeant Mathius, not Captain Standish, being held prisoner in the VIP tent.