The Sniper
The day was stiflingly hot and humid. The personnel of the 4077th M*A*S*H mostly lounged in various attitudes around the compound. There was a half-hearted game of basketball going on and Father Mulcahy was gardening, but the overriding mood was lethargy, apathy. It was simply too hot to bother with anything.
Hawkeye Pierce was lying under a jeep. He wasn’t simply trying to get cool, although the little shade that the jeep afforded did help. He and BJ, in a very hot, bored moment, had made a bet on how many bolts were on the underside of a jeep. Hawkeye was counting, or trying to count. He felt as if he would fall asleep at any moment.
Margaret Houlihan sat at the little desk in her tent, trying to read a book. Her attention kept wandering, though, and she had been on the same page for almost ten minutes. It was a boring book, anyway. She felt her eyes drifting closed and decided, just for a moment, to put her head down on the desk. The surface was cool to the touch. Margaret felt herself drifting away...
‘Twenty-two...’ Hawkeye mumbled to himself. ‘Twenty-two...twenty-two...’
If he could just remember how far along he was, he could close his eyes for a moment, just to rest them. He glanced up at the twenty-second bolt and his eyelids drooped shut...
Suddenly there was a deafening crack, then a voice bellowing: ‘Sniper! Sniper!’ and the sound of running feet and yelling and another crack. Something pinged off the ground inches away from where Hawkeye’s feet poked out from the end of the jeep. Hawkeye sat up, cracking his head on the undercarriage of the jeep, and scrambled out from under it to dash headlong across the compound, chased by bullets. One whistled past his head and he ducked and stumbled, looking up to find the nearest tent. He heard another shot just as he dived into the tent and rolled to a stop.
‘Hawkeye!’
Margaret sat curled up on the floor under her desk, staring at him.
‘Sorry to barge in, Margaret, but there’s a sniper out there, and your tent was closest...’
He trailed off as he noticed that Margaret was staring at his side, just as the pain there began and he saw the blood that was blossoming through his vest.
‘I’m shot!’ he gasped. ‘Margaret, I’m shot!’
‘I know that.’ She said, reaching over to tug the sheet from her cot and swiftly tear some strips off it for bandages. She crawled over to Hawkeye to inspect the wound.
Hawkeye winced as she tore his vest from around the bloody hole.
‘Is it bad?’ he asked.
‘Well, there’s an exit wound.’ She said. ‘That’s something, at least it isn’t still in there somewhere.’ She began to roll up one of the strips of sheet into a thick pad.
‘Great, so I have two holes in me.’ Hawkeye’s voice sounded slightly hysterical.
‘No, just one that goes all the way through.’ She tried to smile calmingly. ‘Here, do you think you can put some pressure on that?’ she put the wad of cotton into his hand and pressed them both firmly down onto the wound.
‘Margaret, there’s blood all over your hands.’ Hawkeye said, shakily, as Margaret wadded up another strip of sheet.
‘I know, it’s all right. Don’t worry about it. Now, can you put pressure on this one too, just for a moment?’
He obeyed, staring at her as she reached for another bandage to wrap around to keep the pads firmly in place. Once she had finished she rubbed her hands on the blanket to get rid of the worst of the blood.
‘Margaret, am I going to die?’
‘No! Of course not!’
‘But there’s so much blood. I know I need some of it.’
In her brisk, professional manner, she lay him down and got some cushions from her cot to raise his head and legs, crouching on the floor the whole time to avoid casting a shadow that might attract the sniper. They were by her desk, which was big enough to cast its own shadow and conceal them.
‘Well, look, it’s not going to bleed so much now I’ve bandaged it all up. And as far as I can tell, it didn’t penetrate any major organs. The sniper will go soon and we can go and get help. You’ll be fine, I promise.’
‘How can you promise?’
‘I just can. Hawkeye, would I lie to you?’ She held his gaze and he nodded.
Searching for something to talk about to distract him, she noticed that he was dusty all over.
‘Hey, what were you doing to get so covered in dust?’ she asked, cheerfully.
‘Counting the bolts on the underside of a jeep.’ He explained. ‘Stupid, stupid thing to do.’
‘Well, you might have needed to know someday.’ She said. ‘How many did you count?’
As he talked she watched him, and it made her nervous to see that his face was pale and when she touched his throat to feel his hammering pulse his skin was clammy. She knew he was going into shock through loss of blood, and the extreme heat increased the risk, but what could she do? There was no way they could risk leaving the tent with a sniper outside. All she could do was talk to him and keep him calm until help arrived.
‘So,’ she began, more brightly than she felt, ‘What will you do after the war is over?’
‘I don’t know.’ He said, not rising to the bait. ‘I’m tired, Margaret, let me sleep.’
‘Don’t be silly, it’s the middle of the afternoon.’ She said briskly. ‘Now, what would you do?’
He grinned. ‘I’d take you on a date, Margaret.’
‘Uh-huh? Just any old date?’
‘No…I’d take you to…Paris, maybe…’ She could tell from his voice that he was becoming disoriented.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘You tell me, Margaret. I like to listen to your voice.’
She relented, scooting across the floor to nestle closer to him and squeeze his hand to make sure he was paying attention.
‘Well, first of all you take me to dinner. We’re dressed up all smart and you take my arm and we sit at a little table outside the restaurant, where we can see the water and listen to the sounds of the evening…’
‘Flowers.’ He said.
‘Oh, thank you for reminding me. You give me the most beautiful bouquet of flowers I’ve ever seen, and I kiss you on the cheek and give you one of my flowers for a buttonhole. Then the waiter takes us to our seats and says: “Welcome, Madame, Monsieur.”’
Hawkeye snorted at Margaret’s outrageous French accent.
She continued, smiling a little. ‘And while we’re looking at the menus, we talk a little, and laugh because neither of us understands the French names of the dishes, and we decide to pick our starters with our eyes closed using a pin. And we order the champagne with the silliest name, and when the waiter brings it for you to try you inspect the bottle, and try a little bit, and thank the waiter in a silly voice.’
He raised his eyebrows at that but made no comment. It worried her that he was so silent, but at least he seemed to be listening, so she knew that he was still conscious.
‘And when they bring our starter, we have some fun trying to figure out what it actually is. Then they bring our main course, but the waiter slips and our food flies all over the place, and the Maitre’ D tries to apologise but we’re laughing too hard to talk to him.’
‘So we skip right to dessert?’ Hawkeye said in a suggestive voice.
‘Yes, we skip right to dessert, which is profiteroles.’ Margaret said in a reproving voice. ‘They’re covered in cream and chocolate and you end up with cream on your nose and on your chin.’
As she described the profiteroles, she leaned over to take another strip of sheet from the cot and wind it around where the blood was beginning to seep through Hawkeye’s bandages. His eyes followed her every move. He was losing too much blood – she knew it and he knew it, even though he wasn’t thinking straight. But neither of them mentioned it. Margaret just tied the new bandage tightly over the other one and continued.
‘After the dinner, we decide to go dancing, and we find a smoky little Parisian club with a jazz band playing. You say: “Miss Houlihan, may I have this dance?” and we dance and dance and dance until our legs are wobbly and then we run outside, laughing, to get some of the fresh, night air.’
‘Eiffel Tower?’ he suggested, in a low voice.
‘Yes, of course.’ Said Margaret. ‘We decide to take a walk and reminisce about old times. Our walk takes us to the top of the Eiffel Tower and we look down at the lights of Paris below us, and the Seine curling its way past. It’s a starry night and we look up at them and try to spot constellations, but neither of us is very good at it, so we decide to make up our own names instead.’
‘I call one Margaret.’ He said. ‘Because it’s nearly as beautiful as you are.’
‘Oh, Hawkeye, that’s so corny.’ She said, blushing.
‘And then I kiss you.’ He said, squeezing her hand.
‘If you like.’ She said. ‘You kiss me on the cheek…’
‘No, Margaret. I kiss you and I tell you I love you, because I do.’
‘Oh, Hawkeye, that’s sweet, but you aren’t thinking straight…’
‘Margaret, it’s true. I don’t want you to ever leave me. Will you stay with me for always? Please?’
His voice was anxious and even as he looked at her his eyes were less focused than they had been before. She kept glancing at the door, hoping someone would come to tell them that the sniper had gone, that they were safe. After a moment she crawled over the floor and peered through the window in the door, looking out for someone to help them. But the compound was still eerily quiet. She just had to trust that whoever had access to the telephone was trying to get them some help.
‘Margaret!’
She ducked as something burst through the canvas and rushed past her head, exiting the tent on the other side.
‘Margaret, are you ok?’ Hawkeye cried.
‘I didn’t even hear the shot.’ She said dazedly. She shook her head to clear it. ‘Yes, I’m ok. I guess we know the sniper is still here. He must have seen me looking through the window.’
She crawled on her belly back over to where he was lying. He was shaking, and sweating profusely. He was getting worse. She mopped some of the perspiration from his face and drew a hand over her own sweaty forehead. Why did it have to be so hot?
‘Someone will come for us soon.’ She said, stroking his hair reassuringly. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’
She had her doubts, but she kept smiling as she made him talk about trivial things.
Hawkeye felt as if he was drifting off to sleep, listening to Margaret’s voice, occasionally adding a comment, but finding it more and more difficult now to lift himself above the fog in his mind and make the words come out of his mouth. He thought he must be dying, but it was all ok, because she was holding his hand, and she would make everything alright.
He thought he was imagining the sound of shouting, it seemed to be coming from very far away, but he knew it was real when Margaret broke off her talking and shouted too. There were heavy footsteps, more shouting, but he was missing it all, he was falling asleep…
Hawkeye awoke slowly. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He felt warm, and comfortable - he was in a bed. The sounds of the Post-Op ward began to filter through to him and he realised that someone was holding his hand. He squeezed their fingers.
‘Hawkeye, are you awake?’
‘Margaret?’ he managed, opening his eyes with an effort. There seemed to be two of her, looking down at him with a concerned smile, but that was fine by him. As he blinked, they coalesced into a single Margaret, with a BJ rapidly approaching from the other side of the room.
‘You had us worried there for a while.’ BJ said with a grin.
‘So, I’m not gonna die?’ said Hawkeye.
‘It was touch and go for a while,’ said Colonel Potter, arriving from a nearby bed where he had been checking a chart, ‘You lost a lot of blood, and you would have lost a good deal more if it hadn’t been for Margaret here. So anyways, we’ve filled your tank up again and you’re going to be back on your feet in no time.’
‘Margaret, you saved my life.’ Hawkeye said. He wiggled his eyebrows at her. ‘Pretty romantic, huh?’
She laughed and looked at her watch.
‘That was, what, within two minutes of regaining consciousness?’ She said. ‘Pierce, you have a one-track mind.’
‘Thank you.’ He said, not at all abashed. ‘So, what do you say we go for dinner on Saturday night, to celebrate my cheating death? Pick you up at eight? We can have profiteroles for dessert, and if you like I’ll even throw our meal all over Igor. Then we can go to the O Club, and afterwards we’ll climb to the top of the flagpole and look at the stars.’
She smiled at him. ‘How can I say no?’ she said.
The End
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