Chapter Text
Corporal Klinger paced through the compound, on the lookout as was the duty of the night guard. With Hawkeye and Trapper away in Tokyo, the place was quieter and more boring than usual.
He looked up at the sky just in time to see a shooting star, and wished for something interesting to happen…
A jeep roared to a stop several yards away.
“Who goes there?!” Klinger shouted, taking a defensive stance with his rifle. However, the vibe was less intimidating than normal since the man was wearing a green silk dress.
His eyes went wide when he saw a barely conscious woman in the back seat, her Red Cross uniform soaked in blood, holding the limp body of a young Korean private across her lap.
“Oh, HELP! MEDIC! Get a stretcher!” He started hollering as he made his way over, reaching gently for the wounded soldier to help the driver pull him out. “I got him, miss. You just hang on, okay?”
The woman looked like she was going to speak, but the adrenaline that had kept her going finally gave out. Klinger caught her as she slumped forward.
“Hey, whoa, I got you,” he said, lowering her gently onto the jeep seat. “Don’t do anything too dramatic. That’s my job.”
His shouts attracted the attention of Majors Frank Burns and Margaret Houlihan. They emerged from Houlihan's tent dressed in their sleep clothes and bathrobes.
“What’s all the fuss about?” Burns demanded.
“An injured soldier, sir,” the Corporal answered. Margaret went to check the driver as two orderlies came over to help with the soldier. She finally noticed the woman passed out in the back and went to check her wounds.
“That’s a woman!” Frank never failed to point out the obvious…
“She has a gash on her lower back and right thigh. She’ll need stitches,” Houlihan informed the men. “Corporal, let’s get these two into OR.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“But, Margaret, what about our… ‘discussion’?” Frank whined.
“It’ll have to wait,” she asserted.
***************************
“Where exactly did this guy come from?” Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake asked as he stood across the table from Captain "Spearchucker" Jones, working together to take several pieces of shrapnel out of the wounded soldier’s stomach. At the next table, Frank stitched up the woman’s back in hurried, uneven movements. He’d wrapped the bandage around the gash on her thigh too tight.
“A civilian,” Frank complained. “This is what happens when we let tourists into a combat zone.”
“She’s not a tourist,” Radar piped up from the door. “She’s a nurse, Elizabeth Birch - civilian psychiatric consultant. Orders came through this morning. Attached to the 4077th by Army Medical Command under a joint Red Cross and Army mental health initiative.”
“A civilian psych nurse?” Henry blinked. “Didn’t think they’d send us one of those unless we cracked like an egg.”
“They said she’s here to help with ‘combat-related psychological distress’ along with translating when needed,” Radar read from the official papers.
Frank snorted and asked, “What, to make us all feel better while we’re being shelled?”
“Colonel,” Radar added, “her records say she worked with displaced Korean refugees in Seoul. The driver said they met up with an evac convoy when they got ambushed. She insisted on helping stabilize the survivors and brought the worst off with her. That’s the soldier you’re working on now.”
“Well, she picked a hell of a way to check in,” Henry said. “Frank, those stitches look like you did them blindfolded.”
“She’s not even officially in the Army!” Burns protested.
“Exactly, so we don’t get to court martial her if she complains,” Henry muttered.
*****************
Elizabeth blinked awake to the too-bright buzz of the lightbulbs. Her whole body throbbed–sharpest across her lower back and thigh–but the pain barely registered over the pounding worry in her chest.
The soldier.
She failed to push herself upright, instead craning her neck to scan the rows of cots. Wounded men lay resting or sedated in two neat lines, IVs dripping beside them. She spotted the Korean private she’d brought in–bandaged and unconscious, but alive.
A wave of shaky relief rolled through her, causing her to let out a groan.
“Easy now,” came a voice to her right. “You move too fast, and you’ll open up those stitches.” She turned to see a rumpled man in a doctor's coat and fishing hat sitting at a desk nearby. He had a kind, tired face and a mug of coffee that smelled like tar. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake, commanding officer of the 4077th MASH. You, miss Birch, have made quite the entrance. Most people don’t haul in their own patients on day one.”
“I couldn’t leave him behind,” she said, voice tightening.
“No one’s blaming you. Actually, we’re all a bit impressed. Hell of a thing, what you did.” His smile faltered for a second. “How’s your pain?”
“I’ll live.” She hesitated. “The soldier I brought in… he’s okay?”
“Stable. Took some shrapnel to the belly, but he’ll pull through, thanks to you.” Before she could respond, the sound of rapid footsteps approached, and Radar appeared, clipboard in hand. “This is Corporal O’Reilly, my company clerk,” Henry introduced the boy as he came over. “Although, sometimes it seems like he’s the C.O. instead of me,” he laughed.
“Well, the world runs on administrative assistants,” she said jokingly.
“You got her sleeping arrangements-”
“I got her sleeping arrangements set up, sir.”
“I’m guessing that’s why you call him ‘Radar’,” Elizabeth said with a quirked eyebrow and a wry smile.
“I just kind of know things are gonna happen before they happen. Uh, we’ve got an extra cot set up for you in the nurse’s tent, ma’am. We’re waiting for the supply truck to come in with another tent, so you can have your own space,” Radar explained.
“Thank you, Radar.” Elizabeth yawned, her body demanding more rest.
“Alright, we’ll let you rest up, Miss Birch. We’ll move you to the nurse’s tent when you wake up again.” Henry laid a gentle hand on her shoulder before ushering Radar away, leaving the woman to recover in peace.
**************
When she woke next, Elizabeth heard muffled voices through the door.
“Don’t worry. I got her,” came a familiar voice as a swarthy, olive-skinned man swept into Post-Op. He wore a flowing red chiffon gown with matching heels and feathered hat. His shoulders squared with determination, and a beaded clutch hung from one wrist.
“Klinger, just show her around and help her to the nurses tent,” Colonel Blake’s voice followed from around the corner, sighing in resignation. “Try not to trip over your hemline this time.”
“With pleasure, sir,” Klinger said, saluting crisply, turning on one heel to Elizabeth. “Miss Birch, may I escort you on a grand tour of this lovely mud-splattered resort?”
“Don’t tell me you wore that outfit just for me, soldier,” Elizabeth teased, one eyebrow raised.
“I was told you’re a psychiatric nurse,” he grinned. “I figured if anyone could get me a Section 8 discharge, it’d be you.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” she said, leaning on him as he helped her up from the cot. “I’m only a nurse with a psychology degree, not a military shrink. I don’t have the authority to give out Section 8s.”
“Tragic,” he sighed, supporting her gently. “Still, a guy can dream.”
As they walked through the compound, he kept a steady pace, introducing the Swamp, the Mess tent, the showers, and even pointing out which stretches of mud to avoid unless she wanted to lose a shoe.
“So, you actually sew your own dresses?” she asked, eyeing the intricate hem of his gown.
“When I can get real fabric, yeah. There’s a couple good shops in Seoul, and the nurses are pretty good about getting me the kind of stuff I need.” He led her to the nurses’ tent, finding three off-duty women lounging inside. One was curled up with a paperback, another played solitaire, the other sat painting her toenails. “Ladies, may I present Miss Elizabeth Birch; freshly arrived, already wounded, and a connoisseur of hand-stitched fashion.”
The nurses looked up, blinking at the vision of the Corporal in heels, then at Elizabeth, who offered a small wave.
“Hi,” she said.
“You’re the one who brought in that soldier last night,” Nurse Able said, slightly in awe as she put her book aside. “You okay?” she asked, noticing how Elizabeth still leaned on Klinger.
“Fine. Sore. Kind of embarrassed.” Elizabeth scratched the back of her neck. “And feeling like the last kid picked for kickball.”
“Don’t worry,” said Nurse Kellye warmly. “We all had a weird first night here. Mine involved tripping into a stack of bedpans.”
“You’re cot’s over there,” Nurse Bigelow pointed to the end of the tent where the spare cot was crammed in between two wardrobes. “It’s not much, but the roof only leaks on one side.”
“It’s a start,” she said gratefully, watching Klinger set her bags down next to her temporary bed.
“Well, there you go.” Klinger sighed as he approached the door. “If you need anything else-”
“I’ll look for the best dressed person in camp,” Elizabeth teased, shooting a fond smile at the crossdressing corporal. He sent a saucy wink back at her, and sauntered out the door. She winced as she shifted her weight. Her thigh throbbed, a tight, burning ache radiating down to her knee.
“You okay?” Kellye asked, noticing her discomfort.
“Yeah. Sort of.” Elizabeth hesitated, then gave a sheepish smile. “My leg’s just… weirdly numb. Like when your foot falls asleep.”
“Do you mind if I take a look?” Kellye offered.
“Sure, please.” She carefully pulled her slacks down as she sat on the edge of her cot. The skin around the bandage on her thigh was puffy and red.
“Yikes,” muttered Bigelow. “That’s way too tight.”
“Who wrapped this?” Kellye asked gently, already loosening the dressing.
“I was told that Major Burns did it. I guess he was in a hurry. I think I could’ve done it better, and I was unconscious .”
“No kidding,” muttered Able, earning a quick side-eye from Bigelow.
As the pressure released, Elizabeth hissed in relief. Her foot twitched involuntarily.
“Feel that?” Kellye asked, tapping the outside of her thigh.
“Yeah, it's better now. Still tender, but the numbness is easing.” After Kellye finished rewrapping her leg, Elizabeth let out a small sigh. “You all were great with this, but it does make me wonder how bad the stitches on my back are.”
“You didn’t see them?” Able asked.
“No mirror, and no good angle to check,” Elizabeth replied. “But if Major Burns messed up a basic pressure wrap…”
The nurses exchanged worried glances.
“Back wounds are tricky,” Bigelow said gently. “And with where it’s located, we really can’t re-do them ourselves. Technically, that’s a physician’s job.”
“Normally, we’d get one of the doctors,” Kellye added. “But Colonel Blake is in surgery, and Captain Jones is too hungover from partying with those Marines at Rosie’s last night.”
“Hawkeye and Trapper are due back from Tokyo in a few hours. They’ll take care of it,” Able asserted with a smile.
After a few minutes, Major Houlihan walked in, eyes cool and calculating as she surveyed the new arrival.
“Miss Birch?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She stood easier now that her leg was properly bandaged, and with a polite smile on her face. “Major Houlihan, I presume?”
“This tent is reserved for Army nurses. Civilians aren’t usually quartered here,” the Major said. Her tone was just as no-nonsense as her attitude. Paired with her pristine uniform, she made for a stern figure.
“Yes, ma’am,” Elizabeth nodded. “Colonel Blake told me it’s only temporary until another tent becomes available.”
“And what exactly is your role here? No one’s been able to give me a clear explanation.”
“I’m a psychiatric nurse. I’m here to provide mental health support to both staff and patients, assist with casualties, and I’m also a translator.”
“Mental health support? We’re a frontline surgical unit, Miss Birch, not a rest home.”
“I’m aware, but trauma doesn’t wait until things quiet down. If there’s a better place I can be useful, I’m open to suggestions.”
“So, you’re not part of the Army Nurse Corps. Then you don’t fall under my command.”
“I wasn’t planning to step on your toes, Major. I’m here to support your team, not interfere with it.”
Margaret studied her for a long beat, measuring her professionalism, watching for weakness. Finally, she gave a curt nod.
“Very well. You’ll keep out of the surgical areas unless requested. And keep your things tidy. This tent’s small enough as it is.”
“Understood. Thank you, Major.”
Margaret turned on her heel and left. The other nurses let out a collective exhale of relief, glancing at Elizabeth with a bit more curiosity than before.
“Well, you survived your first run-in with the Major. That went pretty well, actually,” Bigelow said with a chuckle.
“She’s… direct,” Elizabeth finally muttered.
“That’s putting it nicely,” Kellye corrected. “You were respectful, though. That’ll help.”
“So you’re not a military nurse?” Able asked.
“No, I’m a contracted civilian on temporary assignment, but I’ll be around as long as they think I’m needed.”
“A shrink nurse? We haven’t had one of those before,” Able noted.
“Don’t worry. I’m not here to diagnose you onsight. I’m mostly here to listen, and to help if anyone needs extra support,” Elizabeth explained.
“Well, you might have your hands full. This place’ll make you go crazy even without the bombs,” Kellye half-joked.
****************
The ward was quiet except for the occasional soft groan of a sleeping patient. Elizabeth walked slowly between the beds, her steps still cautious from her own injuries. She paused at the cot near the end of the row, where she found the young soldier she helped bring in.
He had bandages across the torso, eyes half-lidded but open. His uniform had been replaced with standard-issue pajamas, one arm hooked to an IV.
“Hey. You’re awake,” she whispered gently. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a truck full of grenades. But… you’re the one who found me?”
“I didn’t expect to be hauling around wounded soldiers in my jeep on the first day. I hadn’t even checked into my hotel room yet,” she joked. The soldier chuckled faintly, then winced. She softened, pulling over a stool and taking a seat beside the bed. “Don’t try to laugh. Just focus on breathing for now. You’re safe here.”
Off to the side, near the nurse’s station, Radar lingered with a clipboard. He wasn’t eavesdropping so much as… observing. Watching how this new person fit into the rhythm of camp life. He listened as Elizabeth continued.
“Do you remember what happened before the evacuation?”
“Some of it. We were helping get the villagers out. Then it all blew up. I thought I was dead when I hit the ground.”
“You were lucky. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard. When you’re stronger, if you need someone to talk to… that’s why I’m here. I’m a psych nurse, but you don’t have to be a patient to talk to me.”
The soldier nodded slightly, his eyes fluttering. He was drifting off again. She reached to gently straighten his blanket and rose.
“You’re good with people,” Radar said softly.
Elizabeth looked up, surprised to see him standing there. He offered a small, earnest smile.
“Thanks. It helps that I’m a good listener.”
“Colonel Blake’ll like that. Most folks don’t realize when guys like that need someone to listen.” He hesitated, then gestured toward her side. “If… if you’re okay, I can walk you to the mess tent. They’ve got peach cobbler today. Well, they say it’s peach.”
“Peach-adjacent is good enough for me.” Elizabeth chuckled, nodding.
The Mess Tent was half-full, a quiet lull between the dinner rush and the next batch of hungry soldiers. Elizabeth stood in line, holding her tray awkwardly, scanning the unfamiliar faces. Behind the serving line, a cook slapped mystery meat onto trays with the enthusiasm of a man already halfway to sleep.
“What is it today, Igor?” Radar asked the tall soldier behind the serving line.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Igor shrugged. He turned to Elizabeth. “You want the meat or the… other meat?”
“Surprise me,” she said with a dry, polite smile and moved on. Radar apologized as he was called away, handing his tray to a Sergeant down the line. As she searched for a seat, she spotted a half-empty table where Nurse Kellye and Nurse Able were finishing their meal. Elizabeth hesitated before approaching.
“Mind if I sit with you?”
“Sure, pull up a seat. We were just about to start the daily complaints,” Kellye teased.
“Today’s theme: gray meat and no clean socks,” Able began.
They chuckled, and Elizabeth sat, grateful for the bit of warmth. She shifted in her seat and winced as her leg protested the movement.
“You okay?” Kellye asked.
“Just my leg. Still adjusting from earlier.”
“I hope one of the captains looks at your stitches soon. Burns’ handiwork doesn’t usually hold up past lunch,” Able said dryly.
“They should be back from R&R any time now,” Kellye added.
“Oh, right. The two surgeons everyone talks about like they’re a two-man tornado,” Elizabeth said with a smile.
“That’d be Hawkeye and Trapper. You’ll meet them soon enough.”
Just then, a low rumble of voices and footsteps can be heard outside the tent, followed by someone’s laugh echoing across the compound.
“Speak of the devil…”
“I suppose I better meet them now before more wounded come in.”
Elizabeth stepped outside, tray in hand, lost in thought. The air was cooler, the golden-hour sun casting long shadows across the compound. She glanced over her shoulder, distracted by a shout from the motor pool—
THWACK!
She collided head first with a tall figure turning the corner. The tray clattered to the ground as Elizabeth stumbled back and landed hard on her rear.
“Ow—!”
“Whoa! You all right?”
Hawkeye Pierce dropped to one knee, immediately concerned, while Trapper stood nearby, raising an eyebrow and setting his duffel bag down.
“We’ve been back five minutes and already a new girl’s throwing herself at us. That’s got to be a record,” Trapper said with a grin.
“Trapper, please, have some compassion for the wounded.” He turned back to Elizabeth. “You know, normal introductions don’t involve causing bodily harm,” the dark haired man began.
“You forget, Hawkeye, we’re in a war,” Trapper reminded his friend.
“Oh, well then I guess it’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” the young woman apologized. Her hand, which she had pressed against her lower back, turned red with the wet blood seeping through her shirt.
“Woah, hang on, let me see that,” Hawkeye moved to see the wound. “What, did someone try to steal your kidneys?”
“It’s fine, I think I just ripped my stitches.”
“Looks like more than a few ripped. Here, let’s go over to the hospital and we can fix you up again.”
“No, no!”
“Listen, honey,” Trapper started. “We need to redo those stitches, or else that could get infected.” The two doctors both felt immediate satisfaction at the blush that appeared on her face.
Elizabeth’s face flushed a deep red as she tried to stand up, only to hiss in pain.
“Do we have to go to the hospital?”
“What’s wrong with the hospital?” Trapper asked.
“Frank’s probably been doing his General MacArthur impressions again,” Pierce joked.
“I just don’t want to take up any space in there, in case more wounded soldiers come,” she explained.
“Well, why don’t we go to our tent and we’ll take care of you,” Trapper offered.
“We’ll fix those stitches first, of course,” Pierce added.
The doctors each took an arm and helped her to her feet. She tried to walk but winced again.
“Something else wrong?” Trapper asked.
“Just my leg, but Kellye helped me fix that one. It just stings a bit.”
The doctors managed to corral the young woman into their tent. She lay face down on Hawkeye’s cot, allowing the men to pull her shirt up enough to re-stitch her wound. Their expressions shifted from light humor to incredulous disgust.
“I’d say this stitching looks like someone used a turkey trussing guide and a pair of salad tongs,” Hawkeye said with a dark tone.
“Is this dental floss?” Trapper asked. Elizabeth didn’t even want to know if he was joking.
“Frank must’ve been trying out his new embroidery technique, called ‘painful and ineffective’. That would match with the pressure bandage that cut off circulation to my leg,” Elizabeth said dryly.
“Well, lucky for you, Tokyo has renewed our ability to handle the walking wounded… and badly sewn,” Trapper sassed.
“So, what’s your name, Lieutenant?” Hawkeye asked as he began removing the stitches.
“Elizabeth Birch. Translator. Counselor. Currently unraveling at the seams, and I’m not a lieutenant.”
“Well, I’m Benjamin Franklin Pierce, but everybody calls me ‘Hawkeye’. This is my trusty sidekick ‘Trapper’ John McIntyre, and we’d like to not be captains, but our draft boards wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Yeah, I hear they tend to be like that.”
Then the door burst open as Frank walked in.
“Ah, I see our guests of honor have returned from their debauchery in Tokyo,” he said smugly.
“Frank, did you want to say hello, or are you just here to louse up these stitches again?” Trapper retorted, not looking up from Hawk’s handiwork.
“I was simply checking on my patient. Those are my sutures you’re messing with.”
“Yeah, and it’s a good thing we are. The surrounding tissue is in full rebellion,” Pierce sassed.
“Excuse me for trying to do my duty while you two degenerates were off carousing!” Frank bristled.
“I don’t recall you coming to check on me when I woke up,” Elizabeth piped up. “You tied the bandage on my leg so tight, it was going numb before Nurse Kellye helped me re-do it.”
“Well, if you’d been properly processed instead of dropped off with a wounded soldier like a bag of potatoes, we might’ve done things differently. I still don’t understand what a civilian is doing here,” Frank scoffed.
“Wait… civilian?” Trapper asked, interested and confused.
“You’re not Army?” Hawkeye questioned.
“Correct,” she nodded. “I’m a licensed psychiatric nurse. I was working at a hospital in Seoul when I got assigned as a translator and emotional support liaison for refugees. I got reassigned temporarily to the 4077th as part of a joint Red Cross and Army mental health initiative.”
“How’d you get injured?”
“I ended up helping field medics with an evac convoy that got ambushed. Most of the others were able to go on their way, but we brought a Korean soldier here that took some shrapnel to the belly.”
“Well, that explains the sturdy sense of calm and the fact that you didn’t scream when I started.” Hawkeye grinned.
“Also explains why you haven’t strangled Frank in his sleep,” Trapper mock whispered.
“She doesn’t belong here!” Burns nearly yelled.
“Neither do we.” Hawkeye turned to the woman. “That just makes you part of the gang.”
“This is outrageous!” Frank hollered.
“So was your stitching,” Hawkeye deadpanned, causing Frank to finally storm out in a huff.
“Is he always like that?” Elizabeth asked.
“Only when he’s awake,” Trapper said.
“Wound tight enough to set off landmines just by walking past,” Pierce snarked.
“And Margaret thinks he’s some kind of war hero. It’s like watching a golden retriever fall in love with a paperclip,” Trapper added.
A light knock sounded from the doorframe, before a young Korean boy walked in.
“Excuse me, Hawkeye? Here’s the gauze and suture kit you asked for.”
Elizabeth turned her head to look at the owner of such a light voice. The kid couldn’t’ve been more than 18 years old.
“Right on time, Ho-Jon. The suture fairy returns,” Hawkeye joked.
“With better timing than Radar,” Trapper continued. “Don’t tell him I said that.”
“I won’t,” Ho-Jon smiled. He politely bowed to Elizabeth. “I’m Ho-Jon. I help out around camp.”
“Elizabeth Birch. Civilian nurse and occasional obstacle,” she offered with a wry smile over her shoulder.
“Watch out for this one, Liz,” Hawkeye chimed in, the new nickname slipping in naturally. “He’s smarter than all of us combined.”
“We’re thinking of putting him in charge next week,” Trapper added.
“Then I want a raise,” Ho-Jon smirked.
They all laughed as Elizabeth sat up, readjusting her shirt.
“So… is this what passes for socializing around here?” Elizabeth asked.
“Welcome to the Swamp. Where all social standards go to die,” Hawkeye smirked.
“We’ve got a still, a poker table, and a deep commitment to avoiding unnecessary effort,” Trapper said.
“Sounds like a dream,” Elizabeth muttered, leaning back and getting comfortable in Hawkeye’s chair.
“That’s the spirit. We’re a little ragged around the edges, but if you’re stuck in a war zone, you could do worse than this circus,” Pierce snarked.
Elizabeth glances around the tent—worn but warm, chaotic but lived-in.
“Honestly? I think I needed a little chaos. Structure’s never been my strong suit,” she admitted.
“Then you’re in luck. This place is about as structured as Jell-O.” Hawkeye got up and poured a few inches of gin into three martini glasses. “To new recruits—especially the ones who don’t ask too many questions.”
“To good stitches and bad jokes,” Elizabeth added.
They drank. It burned like gasoline, but the warmth of it settled well. For a moment, there’s silence—comfortably so.
“So, shrink. You ever analyze yourself?” Trapper asked.
“Only on Wednesdays. Thursdays are reserved for denial, and Fridays are for rebuttal,” she said dryly.
“You’ll fit in just fine.” Hawkeye smiled.
“Well, I suppose I ought to get back to the nurses tent. There’s a spare cot that’s calling my name,” Elizabeth said as she stood up.
“Let us walk you back, make sure you get there without any more traffic collisions.” The boys also stood, ready and willing to act the gentlemen despite their reputations.
The camp had quieted down. The moon hung low as Hawkeye and Trapper walked on either side of Elizabeth, bracketing the injured nurse.
“So, how’d we do? Stitches holding up this time?” Hawkeye asked.
“They’re straight. I’ll try not to rip them again by crashing into any more sarcastic doctors,” she joked.
“You wound me… But at least it wasn’t in the thigh,” Trapper shot back.
They shared a chuckle. As they approached the nurses’ tent, a few of the women were still awake, lounging in nightclothes, reading or quietly chatting by lantern light. Heads turned when they saw Elizabeth returning with the two most infamous men in camp.
“Well, well. Look who’s getting the royal escort,” Bigelow teased.
“Did they offer you a permanent spot in the Swamp?” Leslie Scorch continued.
“We don’t let just anyone stay in our fine establishment. There’s a towel shortage,” Trapper shot back.
Elizabeth smiled faintly, enjoying the moment, even if she wasn’t quite sure how to respond.
“Ladies, try not to be too jealous. She got to see me sew something that wasn’t a hemline,” Hawkeye added.
“And I was very supportive. Emotionally and physically. There was gauze involved,” Trapper said.
“You two are shameless,” Able chuckled.
“That’s what my mother said. Right before she hugged me and gave me cookies,” Hawkeye said smiling.
The laughter starts to die down as the boys tip their imaginary hats.
“Goodnight, Florence Nightingales. And you too, Miss Birch,” Trapper said in an exaggerated southern accent.
“Goodnight, Doctors!” The nurses all said in unison as the boys finally left.
As they all settled down to sleep, Elizabeth thought over her first day in a war zone. Two injuries, two infamous doctors. She exhaled softly, eyes drifting to the canvas ceiling above her as the light dimmed.
I guess that’s one way to make an entrance. First impressions: war is insane. These people might be worse. But for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m just passing through. I might not be Army. But maybe I can help here.
She let her eyes close as the quiet buzz of camp life hummed outside.