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caffiene-fueled-fuckery · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023 - Day 1: MASH (Radar H/C)

What if it hadn't been Henry that was trapped in the bombed out latrine that day? What if it had been Radar instead?

Rewrite of S3Ep15: Bombed

The ground shook as the shell hit the compound, knocking nurses and corpsman to the ground and the doctors nearly on top of their patients. Shards of shrapnel exchanged for shards of glass as the windows blew in, narrowly missing a medic’s exposed skin. Dust plummeted from the ceiling while dirt flew in the window, and it was all they could do to keep the patients from having debris lodged in their open wounds.

“Somebody give me a towel!”

“Somebody put a blanket over that window!”

“Kellye!” Margaret called, directing the nurse to use the blanket in her arms. Another nurse and a corpsman helped her cover the window as the screaming continued, only perforated by the exploding shells not 50 meters away.

Hawkeye’s voice broke through the din. “All right, keep calm, everybody. This can’t go on much more than forever.”

Frank sneered at Hawkeye, but it merely masked his panic—and poorly at that. “Come on. Give me that glove.”

“Doctor—” Sanchez tried to say, but Frank cut her off as he shoved his hand back towards her.

“Get it on! Come on!”

“Margaret!”

The woman turned back to Hawkeye, still leaned half over the patient. “Yes, Doctor?”

He held the patient down with a forearm across his chest, praying that he’d fall unconscious before the next shell hit a bit too close. “We’re gunna need a lot of sulfa.”

“We’ve got plenty.”

The door to the OR slammed against the wall, its noise nearly unheard under the booming of Henry’s voice. “Pierce, McIntyre, Burns—Anyone! Come quick!”

Frank’s head jerked up, voice tight and hands shaking. “What happened?”

“It’s Radar! He’s in the latrine!”

“Hooray for regularity,” Hawkeye joked, though it lacked its usual mirth.

“It’s been hit,” Henry bit. “He’s trapped!”

Hawkeye moved without hesitation, calling back to Margaret as he left. “Debride the wound.”

He jogged out of the OR behind Henry, Klinger and a couple of corpsman hot on his heels. Henry turned back to them outside the wreckage of the latrine, complete with snapped planks of timber and flaming sheet metal, the panic in his eyes quickly making its way to the rest of his body. “If anything’s happened to Radar, I don’t know what I’ll do. He’s like a son to me!”

“Henry, settle down.” Hawkeye reached for a piece of sheet metal, passing it back to Klinger. “Now, what seat did he normally use?”

“Uh, left, on the far side. Picture window. Here.” Henry crouched down, tugging at the splintered wood and tossing it behind him.

“Radar?” Hawkeye began calling for him, prompting the others to begin calling for him as well. “Radar!”

“Wait a minute!” Klinger stepped forward, holding his hands up. “Hold it! Shh. I heard a moan.” Silence fell over the group. Klinger crouched over the debris, the hem of his dress snagging on a nail. “Radar, if you can hear me, knock three times! If you can’t, knock twice!”

In the dragging silence that followed, Henry shot Klinger an incredulous look, only to be distracted by the shifting of metal. One knock. Two knocks.

Klinger gasped. “Oh Lord, he’s dead.”

“Radar!” Henry screamed, lifting everything within his reach to get closer to Radar.

“Radar, you alright?” Hawkeye shouted, passing some more metal to a corpsman.

The search continued, only halting for a moment when Henry froze, staring at something beneath a 2x4. He tugged at the fraying fabric until it became unhooked from the wood and flung into his lap. “Radar’s hat…” He looked up at the rest of them before diving back into the pile, heaving at the debris. “Radar!”

“I’m… here…”

Radar’s weak voice barely made it to their ears. Hawkeye and Henry got as close to the sound as they could, moving one more piece of sheet metal before one of the boy’s arms became visible. Henry grasped it and began pulling him out of the pile while Hawkeye waited another moment for his head to be visible.

“Don’t touch the other one,” he told Hawkeye, his glasses so cracked his eyes were obstructed from view. “Think s’broken.”

“Okay, alright, take it easy. Up we get.”

Hawkeye, careful not to jostle his arm, grabbed around his waist to pull him the rest of the way out. As soon as his foot came free, Henry guided him to sit on an overturned oil drum. “Radar? Are you alright?”

“‘M okay.”

“That’s convincing,” Hawkeye remarked.

“‘M fine, sir.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Henry, though his voice remained gentle. He reached forward and removed Radar’s broken frames, revealing glassy eyes that struggled to focus on him. Henry furrowed his brows. “Gee, kid, you took quite the beating. Let me see your arm.”

Radar hissed when Henry’s fingers so much as prodded at his skin, teeth clenching and eyes screwing shut. Henry stayed focused on examining his arm, but could still hear his laboured breathing. “Easy, Radar. You’re alright.”

“Actually, sir—”

“Just a small break.”

“Sir—”

“Nothing too serious.”

“Colonel Blake,” Radar tried once more, his voice wavering and small. “I don’t feel so good…”

“Hmm?” He looked up, taking in the ashen face before him. Henry released his arm, just in time to move out of the way as Radar’s stomach heaved and his lunch splattered to the ground between his feet. “Oh, geez…”

“Sor—”

Henry rubbed his back when his stomach cut him off with another heave. “No, it’s alright. This happens sometimes when you get knocked in the noggin.”

“It,” he panted, “it does?”

“Sure does. And you got hit real good.”

“Right.” Radar sat with his eyes closed for another moment before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He cradled his other arm close to his chest, wincing as he adjusted it. Then he jerked his head up, eye wide as he hopped down form the oil drum. “Oh!”

“Woah there!” Henry stepped back, watching as the boy swayed. “Careful.”

“‘M okay, sir. I won’t be a bother no more.”

“You’re not. But you shouldn’t move so fast when you’re unsteady.”

“‘M fine.”

Henry held up 2 fingers. “Radar, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Four, sir,” he said, eyelids fluttering. “But… you have a really big pinky finger…”

Henry lunged forward just in time to catch Radar as swayed too far and pitched to the left. He collected the boy in his arms, sitting him between his legs on the ground. Radar yelped when it jostled his arm. “Sorry, Radar!”

He could only hiss in response, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“Okay, kid, it’s alright.” Henry looked down when Radar shook his head against his chest. “It is, really. You’ll be okay.”

“‘S not that…” Radar forced his eyes open. “Father Mulcahy… He’s still under there…”

“What?” Hawkeye nearly shouted, still standing nearby. “Why didn’t you tell us this before, Radar?”

“‘M sorry. I forgot.” His voice trembled as he spoke. “I didn’t mean to forget.”

“Take it easy on him, will you, Pierce?” Henry snapped at Hawkeye’s back as he started digging again. “He’s probably got a concussion.”

“Well, where was he?”

“On my left,” Radar sniffed. “He was telling me about his sister.”

“Okay, alright, Radar,” Henry soothed. “It’s alright. Hawkeye’s not mad at you, he’s just worried about Mulcahy. That’s all.”

“I didn’t mean to forget ‘im under there. Honest…”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Ho-Honest… I didn’t mean to—”

“Radar, it’s alright.”

A sob bubbled up as Radar repeated himself again. “I didn’t mean to.”

Hawkeye glanced back at the pair over his shoulder with a frown. Henry gave him a pointed look.

“Here he is!” Klinger shouted, shoving another piece of metal out of the way.

Hawkeye took one of his arms, beginning to haul him up. “You alright, Father?”

“Come on, Father,” Klinger said, taking the man’s other arm. Together, he and Hawkeye pulled Mulcahy to his feet as he began speaking.

“Sis and I picked up these apples from under the tree…”

The two exchanged a puzzled look. Klinger steadied Mulcahy while Hawkeye kept one hand on his arm, using his other hand to check his eyes. He studied them both, watching to see how his pupils reacted to the light, which would have been easier if the man was looking at him. Instead, his unfocused gaze flitted all over the place.

“I remember I said, ‘You can’t make a pie out of crab apples…’”

Hawkeye felt his ribs for damage.

“…and she said, ‘I learned how in the Girl Scouts.’”

Hawkeye checked both of his arms before turning back to Klinger, who stared at him with a wrinkled brow and a more than confused stare. “He’ll be alright. He’s just a little dazed.”

“She used brown sugar,” Mulcahy continued, his blue eyes the only part of his body not caked with dirt and dust, “and the crust was just so crispy and nice.”

Hawkeye’s features couldn’t seem to decide between concerned and amused as he watched the Chaplain speak.

“Well, it was so good, we ate it all before dinner!”

Hawkeye turned to Klinger. “Get him back to his tent. Let him rest.” Klinger only nodded in response, pulling Mulcahy gently away as he continued to ramble deliriously.

“Mommy came into the kitchen and said, ‘What the hell’s going on in here?’” He turned then, taking in Klinger’s red dress. “I remember, Mommy. You know…” He looked Klinger up and down again. “That was the first time I ever heard you swear.”

Klinger squinted at him before giving a wide-eyed look to the ground. He wrapped his other arm around Mulcahy’s back and led him silently, or so he hoped, to post-op.

Hawkeye, on the other hand, headed straight back to Radar. He crouched in front of him, watching as Henry ran a hand over the boy’s hair in an attempt to comfort him. Hawkeye reached out and laid a hand on his uninjured arm, just under his corporal’s stripes. “Hey.”

Radar shook his head, causing him to whimper. He kept his eyes closed. “‘M really sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Is he okay?”

“He will be.”

Radar squinted at him. “He’s hurt?”

“It’s nothing major.” Hawkeye frowned, reaching out to wipe a tear from Radar’s cheek. “Hey now… What’s with the tears, hmm?”

“I’m—sorry—”

“Radar,” Henry sighed, tightening his arms around him. “It’s okay. Everyone’s going to be fine. What’s that?”

Radar tried again, though it was still difficult to hear through his sobs into Henry’s chest. “My fault.”

“Oh no it ain’t. You didn’t drop that bomb on the two o’ ya.”

“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of me!”

“Well, Hell, Radar,” Hawkeye tried to reason,” you’re hurt, too.”

“But… But…”

“No, not buts. No one here wants any butts, right, Henry?”

“Huh? Oh, right. No butts.”

“Exactly. See? No one is mad at you, Radar. I’m sorry that I snapped at you before.”

“S’okay.”

Hawkeye rose from his crouch and stepped back, chest aching from the way Radar’s kept hitching with suppressed sobs. He pursed his lips. “We should get him back to his quarters. let him rest.”

“Yeah, that’ll be for the best. Help me out, will ya, Pierce?”

With a nod, Hawkeye bent down to help Henry up. “Here, let me help carry him.”

“No, no, I got him.”

“But Henry, your ba—”

“I said I got him.”

Hawkeye opened his mouth to argue, but shut it just as quickly when he saw the look in his eyes. This wasn’t a request. It was an order.