Mirror M*A*S*H, part 4
Part one, part 2, and part 3.

The man’s hands on Hawkeye were tentative at first, but as he went on with his story, it was as if talking made him more confident: even though the story he told was –

“That’s got to be the craziest story I ever heard,” Hawkeye said.

“You don’t believe me,” the man said after a moment.

“Did you expect me to?”

“No,” the man said. “I don’t think I believe it myself.”

“Have you got anything that would prove it was true?”

“My dog-tags came through with me,” the man said after a moment. “And my cross. And my wallet. But when I was arrested…”

He had been arrested, according to his story, within an hour of “coming through” from the other world: it was hardly surprising, a Caucasian walking the streets of Seoul in army fatigues who lacked an identity card, who wasn’t chipped, who had no money – “I had dollar bills and scrip, but they weren’t interested – ” The arresting officers had taken most of what he had, including the wallet: the whorehouse to which he had been sold had taken the rest.

“You were a slave in the other universe?”

“No,” the man said after a moment.

“You said you wore dog-tags.”

“All soldiers wear them. Any rank.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” the man said. “I lost track of time. We didn’t always get to see daylight in that place. It wasn’t quite a month, I think. It was more than a couple of weeks. I don’t know.”

“You were at a MATH unit in this ‘other world’?”

“The 4077th,” the man said. “Major Winchester had just joined us, and Major Burns had just left.”

“I wish,” Hawkeye said, heartfelt. “Why’d he leave?”

“When Major Houlihan got married, he was… upset.”

“Houlihan got married?” Hawkeye laughed. “Who to?”

“Another officer,” the man said. “I met him only briefly when I married the two of them – ”

“What was his name?” Hawkeye interrupted. The man was washing his back: Hawkeye turned around and grinned at him. “Houlihan. Married. This could be good. Who is he? Someone in the 4077th?”

“No,” the man said. “I don’t think I ought to tell you his name.”

Hawkeye caught at his arms, careful to take grip below the bruise. He pulled the man in to stand closely against him, and bared his teeth. “I could make you tell me, you know.”

The man went still. He stared back at Hawkeye, and said nothing. He didn’t pull back or resist Hawkeye’s grip on his arms.

Mistake. Hawkeye let go. “Hey, calm down,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me. Don’t worry about it.”

The man was rigidly still. Hawkeye took hold of him again and turned them both so that he was under the main stream of hot water, such as it was, and held him there.

The man started to tremble. Reaction, Hawkeye figured. He switched off the water and pulled the man out of the shower. When handed a towel, the man used it. It was impossible to tell now whether he was shaking with cold or fear or both. Radar had come up with one set of clothing, and promised at least two more sets by tomorrow: Hawkeye handed the man the bundle. “Get dressed.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, once he and the man were both clothed. Radar had even found shoes that pretty much fitted.

The man gave him a strange look. “I’m sorry,” he said, with an odd, almost invisible smile. “I should have known you were joking. But that – was what I kept getting in trouble in – that other place for.”

Hawkeye looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Refusing to talk?”

“Saying ‘no’.”

Hawkeye grinned. “How many times did you try saying it?”

“I don’t remember,” the man said. He wasn’t smiling any more. “I know that eventually… I stopped.”

“Even if you weren’t a slave in this ‘other world’ you had to know that saying ‘no’ is not good practice when you are,” Hawkeye said.

“I didn’t have any direct experience,” the man said. “I do now.”

“Doesn’t seem to have taught you not to say no.”

The man glanced at him again. He said nothing.

“Don’t try it on the Colonel,” Hawkeye advised him, patting his shoulder. “You might get away with me or Trapper or Winchester. Especially me, because I’m a nice guy. And I’ll help you get away with it if you want to say no to Frank Burns. But if you try it on the Colonel, your ass is grass, and the Colonel’s got the biggest baddest lawnmower on the base.” He smiled. “Coffee. Breakfast.” He stood up, pulling up the man with him, and got, as he stood, the first sliver of an idea. He started to giggle. “Oh, Francis.”

“What?” The man looked at him, bewildered.

“I have an idea. Oh, boy, do I have an idea. Can you act like your arm hurts?”

The man glanced down at his right arm, and looked up, bewildered.

“No, really hurts. Like you can’t use it. Are you right-handed or left-handed?”

The man lifted his right hand.

“Okay. Better make it your left hand, I might have to do it for real – ” Even that couldn’t sober him. He took hold of the man’s left hand and undid one of the buttons on his shirt. “Tuck that in there,” he said, suiting action to word. “Okay, act like it hurts you to use it. But if anyone asks you if your arm hurts, just look at me and look kind of worried. Yeah, like that.”



Hawkeye escorted the man across the compound with an arm across his shoulders. He walked slowly: Houlihan would be finishing her breakfast about now.

She came out of the mess tent and stood glancing round the compound: Hawkeye steered the man neatly past her, and turned only when she said sharply “Who’s this, Captain?”

“Who?” Hawkeye turned, raising his eyebrows.

Houlihan frowned. “This – ” she said, nodding at the man, and then pointing, when Hawkeye still looked at her with an air of polite bewilderment.

“Oh, this,” Hawkeye said. He glanced down at the man, who was regarding Houlihan with visible confusion. “I bought him in Seoul. We’re calling him Francis. It’s a nice name, don’t you think?”

“Does the Colonel know?”

“Of course the Colonel knows,” Hawkeye said blandly. “So does Major Burns. So does Major Winchester. So does Captain McIntyre. We all know. Didn’t you?”

“Major Burns knows?” Houlihan looked startled.

“Yes. The Colonel says, by the way, I can keep him if his services are available to all the commissioned officers, so I guess he can do your laundry, too.”

“My laundry?”

“And the laundry of all your little Lieutenants, too,” Hawkeye added.

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, Captain,” Houlihan said. The edge of her voice was moderated. “Major Burns must have wanted it to be a surprise for me.”

“Yes, he must have,” Hawkeye said. “So, if you send round to the Swamp in an hour or so, I’ll let you have him for the rest of the day.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“You’re welcome, Major.”

Inside, Hawkeye picked up two trays and passed one to the man, carefully pushing it into his right hand. The man held it awkwardly, but he remembered not to take his left hand out of the improvised sling, all the way down the chow line and across to the table where Trapper was already sitting.

“What’s wrong with his arm?” Trapper asked.

Hawkeye pushed the man on to the bench next to Trapper, and sat down next to the man. Quietly, he said “Nothing, with that arm – but Burns left a bruise the size of his hand on our guy’s right arm, and a bad taste in his mouth.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Trapper said.

“You up for being rotten to Burns?”

“No,” Trapper said, and grinned. “I’m all in favour of being really vile.”

“Good,” Hawkeye said. “Just follow my lead.”

"I always do," Trapper said.

"What about last Monday?"

"That was slow dancing. Slow dancing, I lead."



A few minutes later, the Colonel came across the mess tent and sat down across from Hawkeye with his own tray of food. “Mind if I join you?”

“No,” Hawkeye said.

“No,” Trapper echoed.

The man looked up, and looked down at his food again.

“This coffee gets worse every day,” the Colonel said.

“I think they recycle it out of the mud in the compound.”

“I wish it tasted half that good,” Trapper said.

The man put down his fork, and picked up his coffee mug. He drank his coffee black and unsweetened.

“What’s the problem with this man’s arm?” the Colonel asked.

“What problem?” Hawkeye asked.

Trapper glanced at the man. “I think he’s groping his right nipple.”

“Are you?” Hawkeye asked.

The man gave him a bewildered look. “No – ”

“Then what are you doing?” Hawkeye asked. He took hold of the man’s left arm below the elbow and above the shoulder, his fingers resting just above the nerve cluster: he simultaneously drove his fingers in, and tugged.

The man yelled. Hawkeye let go of his arm. “Maybe he does have a problem with his arm. Hey. Why didn’t you tell me?”

The man’s mouth dropped open. He stared at Hawkeye.

“He was fine last night,” the Colonel said.

“Oh, good,” Hawkeye said.

“What have you been doing with him?”

“Me? Nothing. Woke up, scrubbed him, scrubbed me, came here, swilled him, swilled me. Armless enough for you?”

“Pierce, if he’s damaged, I’m holding you responsible.”

“That’s not fair. He was fine when I went to sleep, and I didn’t do a thing to him after Major Burns woke me up.”

“Burns woke you up?”

“He was wandering around the Swamp looking for our man here. He had some fun with him last night after the rest of us fell over, and he seemed to want more this morning.”

The Colonel looked sharply at Pierce, then at the man. “Who hurt your arm?” he asked.

The man looked at Hawkeye, looking quite worried.

“Hey, if he doesn’t want to say, why make him?”

“Was it you, Pierce?” the Colonel asked.

“I don’t think so,” Hawkeye said. “You had him after me last night – was he acting hurt then?”

“No,” the Colonel acknowleged justly. “Thought he might have had a mild concussion – he acted pretty dazed.”

“Don’t look at me,” Trapper said. “Apart from being all overcome by the wonder that is me, he was fine when I left him.”

“Who had him after you?”

“Burns,” Trapper said.

“Oh, come on,” Hawkeye said. “This is circumstancial evidence. Francis might have fallen over and hit his arm in the dark for all we know.”

“Francis?” The Colonel, unsmiling, looked grim.

“We decided to call him Francis.”

The Colonel stared at him, and the man, thoughtfully. “When you’re finished eating, Pierce, check the man’s arm. If it needs medical attention, see he gets it.”

“Okay.” Pierce went on eating his breakfast: the man seemed to have lost his appetite. Mess tent food tended to have that effect on inexperienced personnel.



Outside, Hawkeye put his arm round the man’s shoulders again, steering him towards the Swamp. Trapper followed after.

“What’s the plan?” he asked softly.

“You want to help?”

“Sure.”

“Go tell Houlihan I’m sorry, she can’t have her laundry done after all.”

Trapper gave Hawkeye a look. “You going to explain that?”

“All will become clear.” Hawkeye was grinning.

Rigging a proper sling for the man was easy enough. “Just remember, it hurts to use that arm.”

The man swallowed. “I think I can remember.”

Houlihan’s voice was audible for yards and yards. Hawkeye grinned. “Now stand there and look like your arm hurts.”

“That won’t be a problem,” the man murmured.

Houlihan had gone over into fizzing rage. She was never very far off it. “No laundry?” she yelled.

“Sorry,” Hawkeye said, kicking the Swamp door shut behind him.

“Why no laundry? I promised my girls – ”

“Because he needs two good arms to do laundry, and Major Burns was a little bit rough last night,” Hawkeye said.

“Major Burns?” Houlihan stared.

“Major Burns seems to think he was bought to be a punching-bag,” Hawkeye said.

“You’re lying,” Houlihan said. She shoved past Hawkeye, yanked the door open, and stared. Hawkeye glanced over his shoulder. The picture was effective: the man looked white as a Korean funeral in the shadows of the Swamp, and the sling looked businesslike.

“Sorry,” Hawkeye said.

“You can still have him to do your laundry when he’s not being used by Major Burns,” Trapper offered.

"You mean we'll have to do our own laundry?" Houlihan said.

"Yes, I'm afraid so,” Hawkeye said.

Houlihan snorted. She headed off in the direction of Major Burns’ tent: he and Winchester had a half-and-half on the other side of the compound, further away from both mess tent and latrines.

Hawkeye was still giggling softly to himself as he came back to the tent. "Isn't it great when you get someone else in trouble?"

Trapper laughed. He poured two drinks, and glanced at the man. “Now what do we do with him?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well, we can get him drunk, or we can fuck him.”

“Or both,” Hawkeye said cheerfully.


To part 5