The M.A.S.H. Unit 3055

[Ran Yoko]

somehow, this must be some alternate version of the Korean War? Also, if I even partially offend anyone with the way I refer to African-Americans or Koreans, I very deeply apologize! I didn't know how to phrase it any other way. but I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

THE M.A.S.H. UNIT 3055

 

Dedicated to my grandfathers, who were both soldiers. One is still with us, while the other is gone. Thank you.

I felt someone shaking my shoulder and swatted at him with one hand then rolled over, pulling my blanket up over my head. He continued shaking one shoulder.

I mumbled almost incoherently, “If ye ain’t bloody outta ‘ere by th’ time I count t’ 2, I’m gonna take yer tonsils out through yer ear an’ yer appendix out through yer fat mouth.”

“Boy, Brit, are you sure your parents weren’t drunk when they named you?”

It’s a well-known joke around camp that my parents must have been drunk when they named me Angela. The reason being: with my attitude, mouth and temper, I am definitely no angel.

Which brings me back to the jerk who kept trying to wake me up. I cracked an eye open and let the face of Ryan O’Brien come into focus. He’s a good kid, but he can be really annoying when he wants to be. 19 years old, 5’9”, and a Sergeant, he’s got brown hair and eyes, not to mention a job as the Commanding Officer’s Secretary.

“Colonel Smith wants to see you in his office right away,” he said.

“Tell ‘im t’ take a number an’ get in line,” I muttered into my pillow. “I’ve got at least an ‘alf dozen dreams waitin’ fer me, an’ I’m givin’ ‘em first priority.”

“Please, Brit, he says it’s urgent.”

I growled and threw off my blanket, managing to hit Ryan right in the face. Considering my eyelids felt like lead, thus my eyes being half-shut, I had to feel for my boots. Ryan found them and handed them to me.

As I shoved my feet into socks I had left in my boots, then pulled on the boots themselves, I muttered, “Ye know ye’ll prob’bly be finding’ something soft an’ squishy in yer cot soon.”

If Ryan heard me, he ignored it. When I stood up, he stood waiting with comb and jacket.

“Don’t glare at me like that,” he protested. “It’s cool outside, so you’ll be wanting your jacket. And if you comb your hair, that’ll be one less thing for Major Packard to yell at you about.”

“When does Moneybags not complain ‘bout one thing or ‘nother?” I walked to the mirror that was on the central post that held the tent up. Bloodshot eyes stared back at me. I dragged the comb through the tangles in my short blonde hair, one or twice. I dropped the comb back onto a shelf and pulled my jacket on, then stalked outside. A blast of cold air hit me, immediately reversing my attempts to straighten my hair.

“Told you it was cold out here,” Ryan remarked.

“Gee, I wonder why.” I always felt sarcastic when tired. “It’s only eight in th’ morning in April.”

I marched off to the C.O.’s office, dodging holes in the ground, jeeps and the other members of the 3055 M.A.S.H. unit. Upon reaching the office, I stormed in, barely noticing the young man sitting in the outer office by Ryan’s desk.

Colonel Alan Smith almost always wears a plaid golf cap to cover the large bald spot on the top of his head, surrounded by a fringe of graying hair. At the moment, he was polishing a gold club.

“Hiya, Brit,” he said, blowing off a speck of dust. “What do you think of my new driver?”

“I could bloody care less,” I growled, dropping into a chair. “What d’ya want?”

“Well, we’ve got a new surgeon, Keith Olsen,” Alan said, setting his club down. “And I need someone to show him around, introduce him to everyone.”

“No bloody way!” I almost shouted. “I’ve gotten five ‘ours o’ sleep after two ruddy shifts! I’m not gonna give a tour o’ this blasted place t’ some wet-be’ind-th’-ears rookie!”

“He’s the nephew of Brigadier General Moore,” Alan began, but I cut him off.

“Then let Moneybags show th’ kid around! ‘E’s always tryin’ t’ get closer t’ th’ ‘higher-ups, let’s give ‘im some ‘elp!”

“He could get you discharged!”

“’Allelujah!” I hollered, jumping to my feet. “I’ll go get ‘im right now!”

“Brit, sit down!” Alan said loudly. I glared at him, but sat down. He took a deep breath and began again.

“Lieutenant Olsen has only worked in a regular hospital, before he was drafted. This is the first place he’s been assigned.”

“Oh, joy,” I muttered, closing my eyes and leaning back.

Alan nodded. “Exactly. You’re the only person I can think of who won’t build up the kid’s ideals. If he’s going to survive, he needs to get used to things here and fast.”

“Moneybags would just give ‘im some speech about us bein’ ‘ere t’ stem th’ tide of th’ advancing’ enemy army.”

“So you see my problem,” Alan said with relief.

“Naturally, but I don’t see why it ‘as t’ be me,” I replied. “Quite frankly, I think that Crow could do just as good a job.”

He smiled. “Crow is on shift.”

“O’ course.”

“Brit, I’m ordering you to do it!”

“In that case, I must refuse.”

Ryan picked that moment to stick his head in and announce, “Lieutenant Olsen says he’s getting hungry and is asking if you could hurry it up.”

I stood up, marched into the outer office and got my first look at Lieutenant Keith Olsen. He’s about 5’6”, with auburn hair and big brown eyes that made me think of a puppy.

“Where’s yer baggage?” I barked.

He blinked, surprised. “In my tent.”

“Brit, hold up a minute!” Alan called, stepping into the office. “I don’t need you scaring away the new guy. Lieutenant Keith Olsen, this is Captain Angela Howard, known around here as Brit, because of her British accent.”

“I’m stuck wi’ showing ye around, so let’s go,” I said, starting towards the door.

“Be nice, Brit,” Alan called after me.

Once back out in the cold, I started over to the mess tent, to be perfectly honest, not really caring if Olsen was following me or not. Then I passed two people I recognized, but ignored, until one of them called to me.

“Howard! Get back here!”

I turned around but made no move towards ‘Moneybags’ Rick Packard or ‘B.B.’ Bianca Brown. Moneybags’ hair was graying elegantly and his beard might also, except that he shaved almost constantly. B.B. always kept her light brown hair in a tight braid and was quite attractive, despite being in her early thirties.

“Captain Howard, you didn’t salute us,” B.B. said.

“So?” I inquired.

“We are Majors, and you are only a Captain!” Moneybags snapped. “Military protocol says. . .”

“Captain Howard!” The menace from Rookieland had caught up with me. “I almost lost you for a minute there.”

“Howard, who is this?” B.B. asked.

I inwardly sighed as I did the introductions. “Lieutenant Keith Olsen, th’ new surgeon ‘ere, this is Majors Packard and Brown, th’ pair that ‘ell itself spat back out.”

At this statement, Moneybags’ face turned pure crimson. For a minute, I thought he might breathe fire.

“Lieutenant Olsen, I would suggest that you stay away from Captain Howard as much as possible,” B.B. said in a tight voice. “Her behavior might rub off on you.”

“Her behavior?” Olsen asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Moneybags said in a strangled-sounding voice. “Almost continuous lack of respect for superior officers, continuously being out of uniform. . . “

I cut him off. “Y’know, Moneybags, I could bloody care less if ye wanted all o’ us t’ wear cocktail dresses and prance around in ‘igh ‘eels drinkin’ martinis! Tho’ I daresay ye might look good like that.” His face turned even more red. I hadn’t thought that possible. “I’m only ‘ere because I opened a letter from th’ government that I ‘oped was my income tax return. I ‘adn’t paid my taxes yet, but I can still dream, can’t I?”

Olsen looked as if he might burst out laughing, while the other two glared at me.

“Th’ only ones ‘o care anything’ about ‘military respect’ are you two, so get used to it,” I finished.

“When we finish our reports to General Moore, you will be discharged,” Moneybags said. “We’ll see how smart your mouth is then!”

“Bless ya, sah,” I said with my best Southern accent. “I could give ya a big ole kiss!”

Moneybags scurried off, shuddering, B.B. following him. Olsen burst out laughing as soon as they were out of sight. I glared at him, then said, “C’mon, Puppy.”

“Puppy?” he said.

“Yeah, every time I look at ye, I’m reminded o’ a puppy. So, c’mon, Puppy, I’m hungry.”

We arrived at the mess tent, where the not-quite-so delicious smells of cooked slop reached our nostrils.

“Hey, Brit!” Maxine Huddleston called. African-American, she was a Lieutenant and one of the nurses.

“I thought you were gonna sleep for a week?” Hank Beddoes teased. A Sergeant, he grew his reddish-brown hair shaggily, just to annoy the Majors.

“Duty calls,” I replied. “This’s Lieutenant Keith Olsen, th’ rookie. Puppy, this’s Sergeant ‘Ank Beddoes an’ Lieutenant Maxine ‘Uddleston.”

“Hello, “ Puppy said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get me some food.”

“Get me some too, Puppy, “ I said, flopping down next to Maxine.

“Puppy?” Maxine asked as he moved to the chow line.

“Doesn’t ‘is eyes remind ye o’ a puppy?” I asked. “Al stuck me wi’ th’ job o’ showin’ ‘im around.”

“Never figured you for a babysitter,” Hank grinned.

“Why don’t ye go poison yerself on th’ food?” I suggested rudely.

“Nah, I’ve eaten so much of it that I’ve grown immune to it.”

Puppy returned with two trays of slop. I took a bite, grimaced and reached for the salt. The door to the tent opened, letting in a blast of cold air, along with another person.

“Close th’ bloody door!” I yelled, past the point of caring who I offended. Then again, when did I care?

“Thought you were going to sleep for a week,” said Su Young, sitting down across from me. Korean and petite, she was a corporal, and much stronger-willed than she looked.

“She got stuck with baby-sitting duty.” Hank cut in before I could say anything, jerking his thumb at Puppy.

“Lieutenant Keith Olsen,” he said, shaking her hand.

“Corporal Su Young Kim.”

“Did you just get off duty?” Maxine inquired. She had gotten up and got a cup of coffee. Su Young accepted it with a grateful nod.

“Yeah,” she said, stirring in a large amount of sugar. “Crow and Cheryl should be here in a bit. Jethro got stuck with the Major Horrors.”

Everyone groaned, except for Puppy, who said, “Who?”

“Moneybags and B.B.,” I answered, finishing my food.

“I take it no one likes them.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Maxine said.

“Where did they get their nicknames?”

“We call him ‘Moneybags’ because he’s actually very rich,” Hank said. “Though where he got it with all the malpractice he puts in is beyond me.”

“B.B. thinks her nickname is from her initials, Bianca Brown,” Su Young said, smiling. “But actually, it’s from the initials of Beauty and the Beast.”

Puppy grinned widely as the door opened again. In came two more people, Captain Jack ‘Crow’ Thompson and Lieutenant Cheryl Goodwinter. Crow was 6’3”, skinny as a rail and looked like a scarecrow, with black hair, high cheekbones and brown skin that came from his Cherokee heritage. Cheryl was slightly on the plump side and blonde, with a smile and attitude that could charm an alligator. (Maybe that was why the Major Horrors didn’t yell at her very much.)

I introduced them to Puppy as they sat at our table with their trays of slop.

“Where’d you get your nickname?” Puppy asked.

“It’s short for ‘Scarecrow’, because that’s what he looks like,” Cheryl answered.

“Before I forget, me and Jethro got the still going again,” Hank said quietly. “Anyone want to join us tonight?”

“Still?” Puppy said.

“Distillery,” Hank clarified.

The rookie still looked lost, so Crow said, “In other words, they make booze in their tent.”

Puppy’s eyes looked like they were going to bulge right out of their sockets.

“Get used t’ it, kid,” I told him. “Th’ 3055 is made up mostly o’ th’ people ‘o were considered too lazy, crazy or drunk t’ serve anywhere else. We’re stationed close to th’ front, so we don’t ‘ave t’ worry about bein’ perfect wi’ our surgeries, just enough t’ keep ‘em alive an’ t’ let someone else do th’ finishin’ touches. So we’re bound t’ ‘ave some weirdness here.”

There was a short pause, then Hank said, “Brit, I never knew you were one to make speeches.”

I glared at him and said, “Drop dead.”

Over the speakers, we heard Ryan’s voice, along with the sounds of helicopters. “All personnel, report immediately to surgery. Incoming wounded on choppers. I repeat. . .”

Everyone sighed and stood up, heading out to the surgery.

“C’mon, Puppy,” I said, turning up the collar of my coat. As Crow left the tent ahead of me, I heard him say to Hank, “Puppy?” A blast of cold air drowned out Hank’s reply.

 

We were about an hour into surgeries. Puppy was holding up fairly well, Moneybags and B.B. were doing their usual malpractice, and Maxine was assisting me with a patient. All around us was the chatter of the operating room.

“Gimme a scalpel.”

“Scalpel.”

“Clamp and suture.”

“Clamp and suture.”

“I asked for 3-oh silk, not cat’s gut!” Moneybags bellowed at Jethro.

Corporal Jethro Shaw is a tall African-American, with a Southern accent and a sense of humor. His sense of humor disappears whenever the Majors are around. They have that effect on people.

“Why don’t ye use t’ sew Moneybags’ mouth shut?” I called. “I need some suction, Max.”

“Colonel Smith, did you hear that!?” Moneybags demanded. “Direct insubordination!”

“Give me a lap sponge, Su Young,” Alan said. “Packard, will you just ignore her for the time being? We’ve got a lot of wounded soldiers out there.”

I huffed softly into my mask as I finished my patient. “Direct insubordination, my foot.” A new patient was wheeled in as I got clean scrubs. I glanced around. “Jethro, give me a hand here with the local!”

Jethro hurried over and prepared to give the man anesthesia, when the man jerked away. “I don’t want any darkie touching me,” he snarled.

Puppy’s new patient glared at Su Young, who had come over to help. “And I don’t want any gooks near me.”

Puppy snapped, “Sucks to be you. They’re the nurses here, so deal with it!”

“I don’t care,” his patient said.

“Ye’d better care!” I said.

“Why?” my patient argued.

“They are soldiers and people just like you. They are trained nurses, and without them, a lot of people would be dead,” I told him, staring him in the eye.

“Your point being?”

I then saw the pained looks on Jethro, Su Young and Maxine’s faces. I exploded, slamming my fist against the gurney, almost causing it to collapse.

“I don’t bloody care if ye’re a soldier or th’ President hisself!” I yelled. “While ye’re here, ye will shut up an’ treat these people wi’ courtesy! That goes fer alla ye! Now either shut yer yaps an’ take th’ bloody anesthesia so we can work, or I’ll load yer sorry butts back onta th’ chopper an’ dump ye right inna ongoin’ war zone!! Got it?!”

The two soldiers reluctantly took the local. I held my hand out to Maxine. “Gimme th’ ruddy scalpel.”

“Colonel-” B.B. began.

“Stuff it, B.B.,” I snarled. “Ye can worry about th’ court martial or whatever later. Let’s finish these idiots first. Pickups.”

She chose to be quiet as she handed Crow the long fingers.

Maxine leaned over as she used the suction. “Thank you,” she whispered. I smiled slightly under my mask as I pulled out some shrapnel.

 

I was able to eat a late supper in the mess tent. Puppy sat down across from me.

“Nice speech back there,” he commented.

“Shut up,” I said as I devoured something that might have been a chicken of turkey leg at one point. “Speakin’ o’ which, I’ll admit to bein’ a bit surprised when ye snapped at th’ one jerk. I thought ye were th’ quiet type.”

“Normally, yeah,” he answered, snitching one of my peas. “I guess I just acted without thinking. I’m usually more polite, because that’s how I was raised, plus the fact that I like to be on people’s good side.”

“Ye think too much,” I told him bluntly. “I was also surprised at ‘ow well ye ‘eld up.”

“Every break I had, I went outside and threw my guts up,” he said wryly.

“Still, you waited until you were outside to do so,” Crow said, dropping into the seat next to him. “That’s better than I did.”

“I thought ye an’ Cheryl were ‘aving a rendezvous in th’ supply tent,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“She wanted to take care of something first,” he answered, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got five minutes.”

“’Ank’s invitation sounds good, but I feel ready t’ drop,” I said, finishing my coleslaw.

“Just hope we don’t get another rookie tomorrow,” Crow grinned.

I groaned. “Ye get th’ next one.”

Alan came in. “You better be grateful, Brit. I just barely kept Packard and Brown from pressing charges against you for your earlier behavior.”

“An’ ‘ere I thought I could finally go ‘ome,” I complained, taking a sip of my coffee.

Alan sat down next to me. “Although, quite frankly, I think you did the right thing.”

“She’s all heart,” Puppy teased.

I drained my coffee mug and stood up, feeling the beginning of a blush on my cheeks. “Just shut up,” I said, and headed to the door.

“See you tomorrow. . .Brit,” Puppy called.

I raised my hand as I headed to my bed. Good night, Gracie.

FIN

[Wyvern]

I've never watched M.A.S.H before (though I've heard it's a very good show), but I take it that the characters of this particular Unit were spawned through your imagination. I found them to be quite a distinctive and likeable cast, particularly Brit with her humorous attitude and accent. Moneybags and Puppy also stood out to me for their short-tempered nature and calmness respectively, and the dialogue between the characters was great throughout. I also like how you manage to show the slightly more serious and professional side of the characters through the emergency treatment scene, though the OR action of the piece feels a bit cramped near the end and extending it might be something to consider in future revisions. The wide cast of characters also made this feel sort of like an introductory piece to a longer series of stories revolving around these characters... are you planning any sequels?