At The Swamp, their two colleagues were waiting for them, bottle open. By 11:00 a.m. they had gone over for the third time plans, which each secretly suspected would never materialize, for meeting in the States as soon as possible after Spearchucker and Trapper John gained their releases.
“Look,” Trapper John said finally, “aren’t you guys going to say goodbye to Henry?”
“Naturally,” Duke said. “We take kindly to the man.”
“Well, why don’t you do it now?”
“Yes, father,” Hawkeye said.
At 11:15 a.m. Duke and Hawkeye, still in their soiled fatigues but wearing scrubbed and serious looks, arrived at the office of Colonel Henry Blake. Hawkeye approached Henry’s sergeant, threw his shoulders back and stated, “Captain Pierce and Captain Forrest request permission to speak to Colonel Blake.”
The sergeant, who had known them for eight months as Duke and Hawkeye, was shaken.
“What kind of bullshit is this?” he wanted to know. “Don’t screw up now, for Chrissake.”
“Don’t worry,” Hawk assured him. “Announce us.”
The sergeant knocked on Henry’s door and announced: “Captain Pierce and Captain Forrest request permission to speak to the Colonel.”
Colonel Blake blanched. His knees shook.
“What are they up to?”
“Don’t know, Sir.”
“Well, let’s find out. Send them in.”
Duke and Hawkeye entered, saluted and stood at attention.
“Stop it, you two! Cut it out!” roared Colonel Blake. “You’re making me nervous. What the hell have you got in mind now?”
“Tell him, Duke,” Hawkeye, still at attention, said.
“You all tell him, I can’t.”
“Well, Henry,” explained Hawkeye, “we haven’t come to apologize for anything exactly …”
“Good,” Henry said.
“… but we wanted you to know that we know what you’ve had to put up with from us and that we appreciate it. We think you’re quite a guy.”
Duke stepped forward and offered a much-relieved but silent Henry his hand. Hawkeye also shook hands, and then they saluted, executed a perfect about-face and, solemn-faced and in step, departed.
Back at The Swamp, most of the outfit had showed up for a farewell drink. Ugly John, who would drive them to Seoul in the jeep, was there. So were Dago Red and the Painless Pole, Jeeter Carroll, Pete Rizzo, Vollmer, the sergeant from Supply and center from Nebraska, and the other survivors of the Thanksgiving Day Massacre, officers and enlisted men all milling around in a heterogeneous mass. Captain Leverett Russell thanked them for their patience during the past months. Radar O’Reilly presented them with his own version of their horoscopes. Mother Divine, who had just leased out the rowboat concession for the Central Park Lake, sent over a box lunch for them to take along, and Colonel Blake appeared just long enough to hand over two bottles of Scotch to be put in the jeep. Everyone wished them luck, pumped their hands, and gave them home addresses.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Hawkeye whispered to the Duke, finally. “I’m beginning to feel like Shaking Sammy.”
“Me, too,” the Duke said.
Hawkeye looked toward Trapper John’s corner. Trapper had a bottle and a glass. He sat on the edge of his sack, alternately taking large gulps of the liquid and letting his head drop almost into his lap. Hawkeye went over, took the bottle and glass and put them on the washstand.
“All right, you bastards!” he announced to the others. “Out! We leave in two minutes.”
The others pushed their way through the door, and the bottle was reclaimed from the washstand. The Duke poured four drinks, which were downed in silence. The Duke shook hands with Spearchucker and Trapper and left without a word. Hawkeye Pierce shook hands with Spearchucker, and then stuck out his hand for Trapper John.
“Hang in there,” he said.
“Get the hell out of here,” Trapper John said.
Outside, Ugly John waited at the wheel of the jeep, the others gathered around it. Hawkeye and Duke climbed into the back seat and, as Ugly John gave it the gun and they affected Nazi salutes, they made their turbulent departure from the cheering multitude.
“Don’t look back,” Hawkeye said.
“I ain’t,” the Duke said.
For five minutes the two did not look at each other, nor did they speak. Their first act to break the silence was to blow their noses.
“Well,” said the Hawk finally, “when you live in this sort of situation long enough, you either get to love a few people or to hate them, and we’ve been pretty lucky. I don’t know. I do know that nothing like this will ever happen to us again. Never again, except in our families, will we ever be as close with anyone as we were in that goddamned tent for the past year, and with Ugly here and Dago and a few others. I’m glad it happened, and I’m some jeezely glad it’s over.”
“Yeah,” agreed the Duke, “and y’all know what I’m thinkin’? We came in a jeep, half in the bag, and now we’re leavin’ in a jeep, half in the bag.”
In Seoul, the jeep carrying Captains Duke Forrest and Hawkeye Pierce and driven by Captain Ugly John Black found its way to an Air Force Officers’ Club.
“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe we’re actually goin’ home,” Duke kept saying, as they stood at the bar.
“You lucky bastards,” groaned Ugly. “I don’t know if I can hold out one more month.”
“You’ll make it, Ug,” Hawkeye said.
“Yeah,” the Duke said. “It’s good y’all came this far with us to see how it’s done.”
They had a supper of shrimp cocktail and filet mignon. Hawkeye, in fact, had two shrimp cocktails, two filet mignons, and pondered ordering a third round.
“You got worms?” Ugly wanted to know. “You hit those steaks like they’re going to bite back if you don’t swallow them fast.”
“You mean these appetizers? Jesus, boy, you oughta see the meal my old man and the valedictorian will have for me when I get home!”
Dinner finally over, they returned to the bar. As they sipped their brandies, the conversation, which had been lagging, came to a halt.
“Let’s finish these up and haul for where we spend the night,” Hawkeye said finally. “I’m tired.”
“Well,” said Ugly, “when am I ever going to see you guys again?”
“Ugly,” answered Hawk, “that’s a painful subject. I hope it’s soon, but I don’t know. If you come to Maine, you’ll see me. If we attend the same medical meetings we’ll meet. From here it sounds great to say we’ll all get together soon, but all I know is this: You can call me or the Duke fifty days or fifty years from now and we’ll be glad to see you.” “Right,” the Duke said. “Yeah,” Ugly said. “I know what you mean.” Ugly drove them to the Transient Officers’ Quarters at the 325th Evacuation Hospital, from opposite ends of which, more than fifteen months before, the two had emerged to meet for the first time. They watched the jeep disappear into the darkness and head north and back to the Double Natural.
They opened the door of the Transient Officers’ Quarters, walked in, stomped the snow off their feet and dumped their barracks bags on the floor. Looking around they saw a dismal but familiar military scene. A large room was almost filled with triple-decker bunks. The floor was littered with old copies of The Stars and Stripes and empty beer cans. There were two weak electric lights hanging from the ceiling, two bare wooden tables and a few flimsy chairs. In a comer, five young officers were seated around one of the tables talking earnestly, seriously, worriedly. Their clean fatigues and their general appearance indicated that they were coming, not going.