“It’s a good thing I know you’re a concerned grandfather,” Horsey replied, blushing a little, “Let’s have a little snort to celebrate. A ten-thousand-barrel-a-day well ain’t much, but it’s a start.”
Chapter Eleven
“I’m Hawkeye Pierce,” Hawkeye said, entering his office. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, but I had a little trouble jerking a kidney, and then, of course, I had to shower and dress.” He was wearing a sweat shirt with a drawing of Ludwig von Beethoven on it and a pair of well-worn khaki pants. “I’ve always thought that it is very important to make a good first impression on a potential patient.”
“Charley Whiley, Doctor,” Colonel C. Edward Whiley said. “And this is my son, Cornie—Cornelius. Dr. Sattyn-Whiley.”
Trapper John came into the office, trailed by Esther Flanagan. She was in crisp whites, and Trapper John was wearing a blue-and-white polka-dot jump suit.
“I would like to apologize, sir, for the shameful appearance of my colleague,” he said. “I’m Trapper John McIntyre.”
“I would like to express my appreciation for your letting me come here like this,” Colonel Whiley said. “And let’s clear the air by saying I’ve known Aloysius Grogarty long enough and well enough to know when he’s clutching at straws.”
“I’m Dr. Sattyn-Whiley, Doctor,” Dr. Sattyn-Whiley said to Trapper John.
“We’re glad to have you here with us,” Trapper John said. “We have something very important for you to do.”
“Yes, sir?” Dr. Sattyn-Whiley said eagerly.
“Nurse Flanagan?” Hawkeye said.
“Right away, Doctor,” Nurse Flanagan said. She went to the bookcase, slid back a panel of phony books that concealed a refrigerator, and took from it a small plastic cooler. She placed this in Dr. Sattyn-Whiley’s hands. He opened it.
“It’s a six-pack of beer!”
“How perceptive our young doctors are getting to be,” Hawkeye said.
“Over the next three hours,” Trapper John said, “you are to administer at least two and no more than three of these to Student Nurse Barbara Ann Miller while you take a long walk along our picturesque mud flats with her. The other three are for you.”
“I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind,” Dr. Sattyn-Whiley said.
“And we’d rather you didn’t,” Hawkeye said. “We’ll clue you in on what we find when you get back, but I don’t want you breathing in my ear while we examine your father, got it?”
“Get out of here, Cornie,” Colonel Whiley said. He waited until his son and Barbara Ann Miller had left.
“That’s a good-looking female,” he said. “She looks familiar, somehow.” There was no reply to this. “Well, what happens now?”
Nurse Flanagan handed him a glass of clear liquid. “Drink this,” she ordered. He tossed it down.
“What was that? Something for x-rays?”
“As a matter of fact, it was a martini,” Trapper John said.
“Very light on the vermouth and without a vegetable salad,” Hawkeye added. “I’d like to have you as relaxed as possible.”
“In that case, I’ll have another,” Colonel Whiley said.
“When we finish,” Hawkeye said.
“Isn’t this sort of a waste of time and effort?” Colonel Whiley asked. “Why bother?”
“I have known Aloysius J. Grogarty long enough and well enough,” Hawkeye said, “to do what he tells me to do.”
“Touché,” Colonel Whiley said.
“We’re going to run another electrocardiogram and take a bunch of x-rays,” Trapper John said. “And since you confess to being a friend of Grogarty’s, we’re going to give you a blood test.”
Colonel Whiley chuckled.
“Let’s take a walk down the corridor,” Hawkeye said, “and give the patients’ visitors something to talk about.”
Radar O’Reilly was waiting in the corridor outside. “Radar! Just the man I wanted to see,” Hawkeye said.
“Is there something I can do?”
“In exactly one hour I want you to get in the swamp buggy and run it along the beach,” Hawkeye said. “Do so until you find the young doctor and Student Nurse Miller.”
“And?”
“If they should happen to be holding hands,” Hawkeye said, “or looking as if they would like to be holding hands, then you just keep driving. If, however, they are acting like total strangers, then pick them up and take them over to the Bide-a-While. Tell Stanley I said to give him some of that genuine Polish vodka.”*
When Radar had gone, Colonel Whiley said, “I had the same feeling about those two. And what a relief!”
(* Dr. Pierce here made reference to the Bide-a-While Pool Hall / Ladies Served Fresh Lobsters & Clams Daily Restaurant and Saloon, Inc., and Stanley K. Warczinski, its proprietor.)
“I beg your pardon?” Nurse Flanagan said.
“Cornie’s never shown much interest in girls,” the colonel said. “I was beginning to get a little worried.”
“Barbara Ann Miller,” Nurse Flanagan said, “is a very nice girl. I’m sure he sensed that.”
“I have the strangest feeling I’ve seen her somewhere before,” the colonel said. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance she’s from San Francisco?”
“Well,” Hawkeye said, “here we are at the x-ray room!”
An hour later there was a bulletin from Radar. “Where are you?” Hawkeye asked.
“At the Bide-a-While,” Radar replied.
“Oh, there was no magic, huh?” Hawkeye said, obviously disappointed.
“That’s what I called about, Hawkeye,” Radar said. “You didn’t say anything about crying.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I drove past in the beach buggy, they were sitting in a beached rowboat, hanging on to each other for all they were worth, the both of them crying.”
“So you brought them to the Bide-a-While?”
“No,” Radar said. “I figured the best thing to do was leave them be. I came here to keep an eye on them. You know, with that dime-in-the-slot telescope the guys use to watch the nudists?”
“You did the right thing, Radar,” Hawkeye said. “Stay right where you are. We’ll be in touch.”
And two hours after that, Hawkeye telephoned Radar and told him to get in the swamp buggy and bring Dr. Sattyn-Whiley and Student Nurse Barbara Ann Miller to the hospital.
“Can you see them, Radar? They still sitting in the beached rowboat?”
“No.”
“You mean you can’t see them? Where did they go?”
“You asked if they were still sitting in the rowboat,” Radar said. “They aren’t sitting in the rowboat, Hawkeye.”
“Well, then,” Hawkeye said, “be sure you make a lot of noise when you drive up, Radar. Clash the gears, or blow the horns. Sing, if necessary.”
“Gotcha,” Radar said, and he hung up.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Cornelius E. Sattyn-Whiley and Miss Barbara Ann Miller walked into Dr. Pierce’s office to find Colonel Whiley, Nurse Flanagan, and Doctors Pierce and McIntyre waiting for them.
Mr. Whiley was attired in a striped terrycloth bathrobe, across the back of which was stitched the legend, “Matthew Q. Framingham Foundation Whist & Pinochle Team.” He held in his hand what looked very much like, and what indeed was, a double martini.
They were holding hands. All of a sudden, they both seemed to suddenly, and simultaneously, become aware of this. Their hands separated as if they had been shocked.
“And how did you find our picturesque mud flats, Doctor?” Hawkeye said.
“Just beautiful!” Dr. Sattyn-Whiley said. “Gorgeous!”
“I think I’d better go,” Barbara Ann Miller said. Her face was flushed. Dr. Sattyn-Whiley’s face was pained.
“If it’s all the same to you, Hawkeye,” Colonel Whiley said, “let her stay.”
“It’s your party, Colonel,” Hawkeye said.
“Is that what it is?” Dr. Sattyn-Whiley
asked. “Then that is a martini in your hand?”
“That’s a martini, all right, but you don’t get one,” Trapper John said.
“Why not?”
“For the same reason that Hawkeye, Nurse Flanagan, and I are standing here with our tongues hanging out,” Trapper John said.
“Because we have just decided that tomorrow morning at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m., we are going to put on our green suits and cut a hole in your father,” Hawkeye said.
“You’ve decided his condition is operable?” Dr. Sattyn-Whiley asked.
“That’s a little too optimistic, Cornie,” Colonel Whiley said. “What they have decided is that it’s an operation, or, in Hawkeye’s quaint little phrase, a oneway trip to the marble orchard.”
“The x-rays are on the machine,” Hawkeye said. “Have a look. And take a good look at the EKG, too.” Dr. Sattyn-Whiley went to the illuminated board on which half a dozen large x-ray films were displayed. There were four or five times that many others in manila envelopes on the table in front of the display apparatus.
“Did I understand that correctly? Am I to be permitted to assist?”
“You’re going to be permitted to be in the operating room,” Hawkeye said, “against my better judgment. But, as the colonel pointed out, unless we play the game his way, he’s going to take his body and go home.”
“Your mother, Cornie,” the colonel said, “is going to raise hell about this no matter how it goes. If it goes the wrong way, I know she’s going to try to blame Hawkeye and Trapper John. The reason I want you there is so that she’ll have to push past you on her way to see her lawyer.”
“All right,” Dr. Sattyn-Whiley said. “Now what happens?”
“Well,” Trapper John said, “as soon as you finish looking at the test results, Barbara Ann’s going to take you to meet our gas passer. You’ll assist him, and you’ll have your hands full. He’ll tell you what he expects of you, and when that’s over, Nurse Flanagan has something she wants you to do for her.”
“What’s that?”
“She wants you to walk her dog,” Trapper John said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Three’ll get you five, Doctor,” Hawkeye said, “that if you found our mud flats beautiful and gorgeous by daylight, you’ve come to the conclusion that, presuming Barbara Ann was with you, they would really be something to see by moonlight.”
Both Dr. Sattyn-Whiley and Student Nurse Miller looked slightly uncomfortable.
“And when one of my girls goes out on the mud flats in the moonlight,” Nurse Flanagan said, “Princess goes along.”
“Do I get another one of these?” Colonel Whiley asked.
“One more, Colonel,” Trapper John said. “And then it’s beddy-bye time for you.”
“Miss Miller,” Colonel Whiley asked, “may I ask you a personal question?”
“Certainly,” Barbara Ann Miller answered.
“Have you ever been in San Francisco? Say about eighteen months ago?”
Barbara Ann Miller turned red, but she met his eyes and nodded her head.
“I thought so,” the colonel said with satisfaction. “It’s very nice to see you again.”
“What’s all that about?” Dr. Sattyn-Whiley said.
“When you get right down to it, Cornie,” Colonel Whiley said, “it’s none of your business, unless Miss Miller chooses to make it your business.”
“I don’t quite understand,” Dr. Sattyn-Whiley said.
“That runs in the family,” Colonel Whiley said. “We don’t understand things—important things—until it’s too late.”
He took the martini Nurse Flanagan handed him and then started for the door.
“Will you all excuse me?” he said. “It’s been a trying day, and I have a very important appointment in the morning.” Then he turned and went to his son. He gave him a hug and then looked at Barbara Ann Miller.
“We fighter pilots in the olden days of World War II used to have a custom,” he said. “We tried to kiss every pretty girl we saw. Especially when the pretty girl was so obviously a very nice girl.” He then leaned forward and kissed Barbara Ann Miller on the forehead.
“Thank you,” he said formally, and then he walked out of Hawkeye’s office.
At half past five the next morning, Dr. Benjamin Pierce, wearing what his wife would have described as “a fresh pair of dirty, rotten khaki pants” and a turtleneck sweater, walked down the quiet corridors of the Spruce Harbor Medical Center toward the room assigned to Colonel C. Edward Whiley.
He found Dr. Trapper John McIntyre, Chief of Nursing Services Esther Flanagan, Student Nurse Barbara Ann Miller, and Dr. Cornelius E. Sattyn-Whiley (the last two holding hands, the others sipping at plastic cups of coffee) clustered around the door.
“What’s up?” Hawkeye asked.
Trapper John pointed at the door. Scotch-taped to it was a note. It read: “Please do not disturb until necessary. Charley Whiley.”
Hawkeye looked at his watch.
“It’s now necessary,” he said. As he pushed open the door, Nurse Flanagan picked up the preoperative-procedure medication Colonel Whiley would be given.
There was no one in the bed. And the door to the toilet was open, showing it empty. The window opening onto the parking lot was also open.
“Over here, Hawkeye,” Nurse Flanagan said. There were two envelopes Scotch-taped to the mirror. One was addressed to Hawkeye and one to Dr. Sattyn-Whiley.
Hawkeye ripped them from the mirror, threw Dr. Sattyn-Whiley’s to him, and tore open the envelope addressed to him. It read:
Dear Hawkeye,
Nothing personal, of course, but I think I would rather be cut by Aloysius Grogarty. If you think it can be done, then I can get him to do it. This is less a reflection on your skill and Trapper John’s than it is the realization that if it goes the wrong way, Aloysius Grogarty, who has had thirty years’ experience dealing with Caroline, can handle her better than you can.
Would you please telephone him to let him know I’m coming? Presuming I make it all right, I think I would rather go directly from the airfield to the operating room, before I lose my nerve.
And please tell Radar that for legal reasons, he had better tell the authorities that someone has stolen his airplane, for that’s just what I’m about to do. Caroline kept me from flying for twenty-five years, and I figure that I’m entitled to one more flight, and stealing his airplane seemed to be the easiest way to do that. And just possibly the easiest way out of this mess.
Faithfully,
C. Edward Whiley.
Trapper John read the letter over Hawkeye’s shoulder, and when Hawkeye was through, he handed the letter to Dr. Sattyn-Whiley. Wordlessly, Dr. Sattyn-Whiley handed his letter to Hawkeye. It read:
Dear Cornie,
One of the reasons I ducked out of the grand opening here is that I didn’t want your first job to be a failure. Practice, they say, makes perfect, and you haven’t had much time to practice.
For what it’s worth, I like your Barbara Ann very much. I won’t offer any advice on how to handle the situation, because you’re a big boy now, but I will say this: Do what your heart tells you.
Love,
Dad.
Hawkeye handed the letter back to Dr. Sattyn-Whiley and reached for the telephone. “Get me Wrong Way Napolitano!” he said.
In a moment Wrong Way came on the line.
“Don’t ask any questions, Wrong Way,” he said. “Just keep anybody from taking off in Radar’s airplane. I’m on my way out there.”
He hung up and ran out of the room. The others followed him. He jumped into his car and raced toward the airport. The others jumped into other cars and followed him.
As they reached the airport, they heard the sound of engines. And as they turned onto the road that ran parallel to the runway, F-Model Learjet Double-0 Poppa came down said runway, going in the opposite direction. As it reached them, it became airborne, and they saw the wheels retract as
the plane gained altitude.
Hawkeye raced to the control tower, climbed the ladder, and accosted Wrong Way.
“I thought I told you to stop that airplane!”
“I tried,” Wrong Way said. “I even lay down on the runway in front of him.”
“So how come he’s gone?”
“He just taxied around me,” Wrong Way said. “I just got here myself. I was about to try and get him on the radio.”
“Well, get him!” Hawkeye said.
“Double-O Poppa, this is Spruce Harbor,” Wrong Way said into the microphone.
“Spruce Harbor, Double-O Poppa,” Colonel Whiley’s voice came back instantly. “Arrivederci, Wrong Way. Double-O Poppa out.”
“He drunk, or what?” Wrong Way asked.
“I wish that’s all it was,” Hawkeye said.
“My God, here he comes back!” Wrong Way said. Double-O Poppa had taken off out to sea. Now it was coming back toward the airfield. It was no more than two hundred feet off the ground.
“My God!” Wrong Way said. “He’s lost control!”
Hawkeye looked on with horror as the plane dipped one wing very low. But Double-O Poppa wasn’t out of control. Double-O Poppa was executing a maneuver known as a roll. Colonel Whiley rolled the plane down the length of the field, straightened out, and disappeared, at a very low level, over the horizon, heading due west.
“That wasn’t bad,” Wrong Way said, making professional judgement.
Hawkeye picked up the telephone.
“Get me Dr. Aloysius J. Grogarty at the Grogarty Clinic in San Francisco,” he said. “You’d better tell the operator that Hawkeye is calling, and we’ve got trouble.”
“Spruce Harbor,” the radio said, coming to life. “Air Hussid Eleven.”
“Go ahead, Air Hussid Eleven,” Wrong Way said. “But the answer, before you ask, is no. You can’t put a Le Discorde in here.”
“Air Hussid Eleven is a Sabreliner aircraft,” the radio responded.
“Go away, Air Hussid, whatever you are, we got problems.”
“Wrong Way, that you?” a fresh voice came on the radio.
MASH 11 MASH Goes To San Francisco Page 15