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WITH AUTHORITY
By Lianne Burwell
January 2002
Originally published in Even Less To Hide
-------------------------------------

"I'm bored," Hawkeye said, flicking a playing card towards 
the hat lying open end up on the ground. He didn't even 
smile when it landed inside. "Bored, bored, bored. Are you 
bored, Trapp?"

Trapper, fellow surgeon, best friend and one of the few 
good things about being in Korea, looked up. Trapper 
casually flicked one of his own cards at the hat. It went 
in. He didn't celebrate the score either. Of course, the 
large pile of cards in the hat and the tiny handful on the 
ground around it spoke volumes about how much time they'd 
spent at this particular activity. "Yep," he said. "I'm 
bored." Another card landed in the hat. "Want another 
drink?"

Hawkeye shook his head. "I've had too many already," he 
said regretfully. A surgeon in an army MASH unit couldn't 
afford to get drunk very often unless he was on leave. Of 
course, that hadn't stopped him before. Then he added "And 
we're out."

Trapper glanced over at the still in surprise. "Oh, right." 
The collection beaker only had a few drops collected in the 
bottom. They sat and watched as another drop formed, 
trembled and... they held their breath.

It dropped.

They both exhaled, then snickered. "Well, it's one step up 
from watching paint dry or grass grow," Hawkeye said with a 
grin. Then the grin disappeared. "I'm bored."

"You already said that," Trapper pointed out.

"So I'm *still* bored."

"Then find something to do. Seduce a nurse or something." 

Hawkeye shook his head, knowing that he was becoming 
maudlin. "I'm tired of using sex as a distraction. Hell, 
I'm tired of being a distraction for someone else. I want 
to do something *new*."

He wasn't the only one tired of the usual. He hadn't seen 
Trapper doing more than chasing the occasional nurse but 
not bothering to catch them. For the first time in God only 
knew how long the ward was just about empty. The current 
cease-fire had lasted almost a month now, so they didn't 
even have the hell of twelve hour shifts in the OR to keep 
them busy. Not that he wanted that to change, Hawkeye 
hurriedly assured anyone or anything listening in. He much 
preferred boredom to that.

"So," he said, going back to the card toss. "Got any 
ideas?"

"Nope," Trapper drawled, hitting the bullseye again.

"Damn."

* * * * *

The next day, Hawkeye and Trapper were heading for the mess 
tent to see what sort of mess the camp's so-called cooks 
had whipped up for them.

"Bet it's liver."

"Nah," Trapper said. "Fish."

"And instant mash with lumpy gravy."

"Might be some fresh vegetables. It is harvest time."

"Dream on, pal. Anything fresh goes straight to the brass. 
It'll be canned peas, already turned to olive-green mush. 
Matches the uniforms, after all."

"Not that either of *you* ever bother with uniforms," a 
sneering voice said from behind them. They turned and found 
Major Frank Burns standing there in proper military dress. 
He was glaring at their bathrobes, which they hadn't 
bothered to take off before leaving the Swamp, as they 
affectionately called the tent they shared with the man.

"Morning, Frank," the two men chorused.

"It's twelve oh five," he pointed out. "It's not morning 
anymore."

Hawkeye sighed. "All right then. Afternoon, Frank."

The man just sniffed and walked past them, heading towards 
the chief nurse's tent. Both Hawkeye and Trapper made rude 
faces at his back, then snickered. It was a pity he wasn't 
heading for lunch too. Frank-baiting was one of their few 
pleasures these days.

"What do you think she sees in him?" Trapper said, watching 
Frank knock on the door and wait to be allowed in.

"Someone who does *everything* she tells him to," Hawkeye 
said as he watched Frank run a hand over his hair to make 
sure it was smooth, before he opened the door and 
disappeared inside.

"Well, she is a woman."

"Huh?" Hawkeye said, slightly confused.

"Well, the Brits call women 'birds.'"

"I don't get it."

"Birds go after worms!" Trapper said, beaming brightly. 

Hawkeye groaned. "Bad, very bad," he said, waggling a 
finger at the other man.

Lunch turned out to be meatloaf, and neither of them was 
willing to ask what *kind* of meat. They were probably 
better off not knowing. Instead, they doused it and the 
unpleasant looking vegetables that came with it with a 
double-dose of instant gravy, which was never mixed well 
enough to get rid of the lumps. Coffee that could double as 
battery acid washed it down. In other words, typical army 
food.

"Look at that, would you," Hawkeye said, waving his fork 
towards the lineup. Frank and Chief Nurse Margaret Houlihan 
-- affectionately referred to as Hot Lips for obvious 
reasons -- had arrived for lunch. Frank was carrying the 
tray while Margaret served for both of them.

Trapper shook his head. "He can't even pick his own lunch? 
Not that there's much to pick," he added.

"What do you think makes a man roll over and play dead for 
a woman that way?"

Trapper shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe his dad was the same 
way. Maybe his mother was overbearing. Maybe his older 
sisters pushed him around when he was a kid and he expects 
it."

"Does he have sisters?" Hawkeye asked, distracted by the 
idea.

"Who knows? Anyway, if you really want to know these 
things, ask Sydney the next time he stops by."

Hawkeye was still watching Frank dancing attendance to 
Margaret and managed to down several forkfuls of lunch 
without tasting them. Suddenly he grinned, a thought 
occurring to him, one he'd had before. "Or maybe he just 
needs a good man," he said brightly, then shut up.

* * * * *

The afternoon rounds -- such as they were -- were finished, 
and they even helped with the latest inventory, forms done 
in triplicate to make the bean-counters happy. Hawkeye and 
Trapper headed back for the Swamp. The still had produced 
just enough moonshine for them to each have half a glass. 
It wasn't much, but it was raw and potent.

"So, Hawk. What exactly did you mean earlier?"

"Earlier, when?"

"Lunch. When you said Frank needed a good man. You can't 
seriously be suggesting that Frank is *gay*."

Hawkeye shrugged. "Why not? He's always been a little, you 
know," he said, flapping a hand in the air to illustrate 
his point.

"He's married! With three kids, no less."

"So? Maybe he's hiding it. Maybe he's pretending he isn't. 
Maybe he just doesn't realize it yet."

"But, Frank? Gay? He hates gays."

"So? Maybe he just hates himself. Actually, I *know* he 
hates himself. This is just another reason for it. Besides, 
he kinda reminds me of a guy back home. Heavy into denial, 
he was."

Trapper paused to think about it. "So what did you mean by 
a good man?"

"Well look at him. Look at what he responds to. Command, 
presence, forceful personality. Hell, Hot Lips is 
practically a man, if you ignore the figure, the hair and 
those lips."

It was a good point. Margaret had more balls than a platoon 
of men and more command than a five-star general. "So she's 
a substitute for what he really wants?"

"Exactly! Sooo, maybe we should *get* him what he really 
wants."

Trapper's jaw dropped. This conversation was starting to 
get even stranger than Hawkeye usually got. Speculation was 
one thing, but this was getting serious. "You cannot be 
serious. Do you know what that could do to him? He gets 
*caught* in a gay relationship, he gets a dishonorable 
discharge, a divorce and a ruined career."

Hawkeye sighed. "I suppose you're right. Ferret-face may be 
annoying, but I wouldn't do that to him."

But he still had that thoughtful look on his face. Trapper 
eyed him suspiciously, but decided to drop the subject. If 
*he* dropped it, then maybe Hawkeye would.

Still, it was an intriguing thought. Frank Burns, by the 
book military man, a closet case.

* * * * *

Two days later, the intercom flared to life in the middle 
of the night. "Incoming wounded! Looks like the cease-fire 
is over. All doctors report to triage."

Trapper pushed himself upright, reaching for his clothes 
even before he opened his eyes. He caught Hawkeye's eye as 
he tied his boots. "Looks like you don't have to complain 
about being bored anymore," he said.

Hawkeye's mouth twisted into an almost bitter grin. "I 
think I preferred being bored," he said.

Trapper sighed. "You and me both, pal," he said. Then they 
headed for where they could see the ambulances already 
arriving.

* * * * *

Three days later, Hawkeye was exhausted. He was beginning 
to regret ever saying that he'd been bored. As usual, the 
resumption of hostilities had resulted in even hotter 
fighting, resulting in a near constant stream of wounded 
passing through the 4077 and all of the other MASH units in 
the area. When the last of the wounded had been treated and 
either shipped off to another unit or moved into the ward, 
he and Trapper showered, then stumbled towards the Swamp, 
doing their best to keep each other propped up.

They came through the door and collapsed onto their 
respective cots.

Then Hawkeye froze. There were more than two people in the 
tent. That wasn't right. Frank was pulling first shift in 
the ward, so it should be just him and Trapper.

He rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows, then 
groaned.

"Pierce, McIntyre."

"Please tell me I'm hallucinating, Hawk," Trapper pled from 
the other cot.

"If you're seeing General McArthur, you're hallucinating. 
If you're seeing our favorite spy and all-round nutcase, 
Colonel Flagg, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to 
disappoint you."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Trapper said 
with a groan.

"So, Colonel," Hawkeye said. "What brings you to our neck 
of the woods. Or 
are you someone else today?" Flagg, from past encounters, 
was just a little too enamored with undercover games.

The man stared at him stonily. "I am here to investigate an 
important lead."

"Of course you are."

"National security could be at risk."

"Naturally," Trapper chimed in from where he was lying on 
his cot, eyes shut as if he could deny anything was 
happening because he couldn't see it.

"Important information, crucial to the war, is passing 
through this MASH unit."

"Which war?" Trapper asked.

"This one."

"Who's sending it?" Hawkeye asked, not bothering to point 
out that technically, it wasn't a war.

"Unknown."

"Who's it going to?"

"Unknown."

"What's it about?"

"Unknown."

Hawkeye flopped back down onto his pillow, groaning. "So 
you're here to find a conduit of information that you don't 
know anything about except that it exists."

"Exactly. And I expect the two of you to cooperate."

"Cooperate with what?" Hawkeye asked, exasperated.

"The only thing I'm cooperating with is getting some sleep 
before the next batch of wounded starts arriving," Trapper 
added, his voice fuzzy with fatigue. Hawkeye knew just how 
he felt.

"Fine," he said, before Flagg could say anything else. "If 
we hear anything about sensitive information about anything 
coming through, we'll give you a shout. Now, will you go 
away and let us get some rest?"

"Very well. But remember, I'll be watching you."

There was silence for a moment, then Hawkeye heard the door 
swung open and shut, followed by the sound of someone 
careening into a garbage barrel. A few muttered curses made 
him snicker to himself.

When he opened his eyes, Flagg was mercifully gone.

"I wonder what Sydney would make of *him*," he asked. The 
only answer was a soft snore.

Well, whatever chaos Flagg was about to inflict on them, he 
wanted to be well-rested for it. Hawkeye pulled his blanket 
up around his ears and followed his tent-mate into blissful 
oblivion.

* * * * *

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, not too hot and 
not too cold. In short, as close to a perfect day as you 
could get when you were stuck in the middle of a war half-
way around the world from home.

Of course, one side-effect of being stuck in a war-zone and 
coming off of more than forty-eight hours on duty were 
weird dreams, and last night's had been a humdinger, 
Hawkeye thought to himself as he headed for the showers.

"Oh! Pardon me, Captain Pierce."

Hawkeye stopped, having run into a pint-sized roadblock. He 
finally gave up and opened his eyes, forced to admit that 
he was awake. "Morning, Radar."

"Good morning, Captain, sir. Well, sort of good. Kinda."

Hawkeye frowned at the flustered young corporal. "What's 
wrong? One of your pets sick or something?"

"Oh, no sir, of course not. I would have come to see you if 
they were." Hawkeye smiled. He was a sucker when it came to 
this innocent kid, and if keeping him innocent included 
making house calls for rabbits and goats, so be it.

"Then what?"

Radar glanced around, checking to see if anyone was close 
enough to hear, then leaned forward. "Colonel Blake had a 
visitor last night."

"And?" Hawkeye prompted.

"He wanted information about something he didn't know 
about, but because he didn't know what it was he couldn't 
tell the Colonel what the Colonel was supposed to tell him 
about, and even if he did know what it was about, he 
wouldn't be able to tell the Colonel anyway." 

Hawkeye blinked, trying to make sense of the run-on 
sentence. Then he remembered his dream from the night 
before. "Please don't tell me that it was Colonel Flagg," 
he pleaded.

Radar's eyes went wide. "How did you know?"

Hawkeye groaned. "It came to me in a dream," he replied, 
then kept heading towards the showers.

Five minutes later, Trapper staggered in carrying a towel 
and a tin cup with his toiletries in it. Hawkeye waited 
until Trapper had turned on the water and started soaping 
up. When he was reasonable sure that the other man was 
awake, he said, "So, Trapp. Any interesting dreams last 
night?"

Trapper shuddered. "Just a really strange nightmare."

"It wouldn't have starred our favorite military 
unintelligence officer, would it?"

Trapper stared at him suspiciously for a second, then 
groaned. "Flagg?"

"Bingo."

"Shit."

Hawkeye laughed. "You said it, I didn't. Apparently he's 
been pestering our not so fearless leader."

"Refresh my memory: What is he after this time?"

Hawkeye shrugged. "Who knows? He doesn't, and if he did, he 
wouldn't tell anyone."

"Great. That means he's going to stick around and make our 
lives miserable."

"Doesn't he always?"

Trapper rolled his eyes. "And besides, there's nothing to 
find."

Hawkeye stopped in the middle of brushing his teeth. "How 
so?" he asked around a mouthful of toothpaste, then spat. 
"Not that I'm saying you're wrong, but we're talking Flagg-
logic, or lack thereof."

"Simple. If there was anything in the least bit suspicious 
going on around here, Frank would have the MPs here poking 
into every nook and cranny."

Hawkeye brightened up. "Point taken. Anything Flagg would 
be interested in would be just the sort of thing Frank 
would notice." Namely, anything useless. Frank Burns 
dragged the MPs out for everything, including a Korean 
family burying a bomb that turned out to be a Kimchee pot.

"Right, so there can't be anything going on."

Hawkeye laughed, then picked up his bar of soap. "That 
makes a weird sort of sense, you know." He started running 
it over his chest, then stopped as a thought occurred to 
him. He grinned, then went back to what he'd been doing.

"What?" Trapper asked, staring at him suspiciously.

"You know, I was just thinking."

"Uh-oh. I know what happens when you get that look in your 
eye. It can't be good. Give."

Hawkeye glanced around to make sure that no one was 
listening to them -- which wasn't likely, since they were 
the only ones in the showers -- then leaned in closer. 
"Remember what I said about Frank?"

"You've said plenty of things about Frank."

"Besides that. I mean what I said about him and Margaret."

Trapper blinked confusedly for a few moments, then frowned. 
"About Margaret being a substitute? You aren't suggesting 
what I think you're suggesting, are you?"

"Well..."

"Frank and Flagg? Are you nuts?"

"Come on! He's everything Frank goes for. Forceful, 
authoritarian, higher rank. If Flagg said jump, Frank 
wouldn't even ask how high, he'd just start jumping until 
he was told to stop."

Trapper was beginning to look a little nauseous. "Yeah, 
but..."

"Flagg would give Frank the orders he so obviously wants 
and Frank would feed Flagg's ego. A match made in heaven."

Trapper turned on the water again, long enough to wash off 
the soap. "The scary thing is," he said, wrapping his towel 
around his waist, "that actually made sense."

"Of course it does. Come one, let's go see what horrors are 
disguising themselves as breakfast."

As they left the tent, neither one of them noticed the pair 
of feet under the partition of the last stall.

* * * * *

Frank Burns moved through the MASH 4077 camp, unwilling to 
head for his tent to face his tent-mates, pitiful excuses 
for officers that they were. Neither one of them had any 
respect for rank or military discipline. They might be all 
right surgeons, but they were disgraces to the uniforms 
that they never wore.

He nodded to the sentry as he passed the man, but made a 
mental note to put him on report. The private looked 
reasonably alert, but he hadn't challenged Frank. He also 
hadn't saluted him. The first could be forgiven, since he 
would have recognized a superior officer, but not the 
second.

But even the thought of the soldier's punishment couldn't 
cheer him up. Margaret was gone, off on a three day pass to 
Tokyo. Worse, she was ignoring him. She was angry because 
he hadn't yet told his wife that he wanted a divorce. She 
just didn't understand why that wasn't possible. He'd 
married Louise to get his own father out of a bind, and if 
he tried to get a divorce, her father would...

No, best not to think of what might happen. His father-in-
law was not someone you wanted to cross. Frank stopped and 
took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm himself. 
Margaret was just going to have to understand.

But what if she didn't? He *needed* Margaret. She was the 
only one who'd every really understood him, understood what 
he needed. He couldn't lose her. The thought of it made him 
wanted to curl up and die.

He went back to the deep breathing.

Once he had himself back under control, he looked around. 
He found that his wanderings had taken him almost full 
circle, back to the hospital tent. He was standing right 
outside one of the tents that served as VIP quarters when 
they had VIPs to host, which wasn't very often. Looking at 
his watch in the glow of a nearby bulb, blurred by a light 
mist, he realized that the night was half-over. If he was 
going to get any sleep before they played reveille, he 
needed to go to the Swamp now. With any luck, Pierce and 
McIntyre would be asleep.

He turned to do that when he heard a soft noise. He whirled 
around, ready to tear a strip off of whoever was creeping 
up behind him, when something impacted his skull, right 
behind one ear, and everything went black. 

* * * * *

Frank groaned, wondering when they'd replaced the morning 
tape of trumpets playing -- certainly better than asking 
Radar to do it -- with one of drums. Then he came to enough 
to realize that it wasn't morning and the drums were 
playing *inside* his head.

He opened his eyes, but that didn't do him any good. Where 
ever he was, it was pitch black.

Frank shifted slightly, and it got even worse. He was 
sitting on a chair, his arms and legs tied to the cold 
metal. He could tell that the metal was cold because his 
clothes were gone. In fact, he was naked except for two 
strips of cloth, one over his mouth and the other over his 
eyes. That was why he couldn't see anything.

Frank whimpered, tugging at the knots restraining him. It 
was North Koreans, he knew it. They'd snuck into camp and 
grabbed him because he was an officer. Now they were going 
to torture him for information, then kill him. He would 
never see home again, or his kids. Margaret would never 
have the chance to forgive him, take him back. 

He heard a door open, and footsteps coming closer. He 
pulled at the ropes, frantic now. He didn't want to die 
like this; like a pig trussed up for the slaughter. His 
stomach clenched, and he squeezed his legs together to keep 
from pissing himself.

He flinched as a hand grabbed the back of his blindfold and 
ripped it off, taking a hunk of hair with it. He yelled 
into the gag in pain. The light from the bulb hanging over 
his head blinded him for a moment. A moment later, the gag 
came off too.

"I don't know what you think you'll get from me, but I'll 
tell you *nothing*!" he blustered, blinking furiously to 
clear his watering eyes even though he wasn't sure he 
*wanted* to be able to see what was coming.

"Are you sure about that, Major?" a familiar -- and 
definitely *not* Korean -- voice said. Frank sagged in 
relief as the speaker came into view.

"Colonel Flagg, thank heaven you found me," he said. 
"Quick, get me loose. We have to get out of here before 
they come back."

"Before who comes back?"

"The North Koreans, of course."

Flagg was smiling, sort of, and something in the expression 
made Frank shiver. "There are no North Koreans in the area. 
Or do you know otherwise?"

Frank blinked, confused. "Then who hit me?"

The corner of Flagg's mouth twitched slightly, and Frank's 
eyes went wide. But why would the Colonel want to kidnap 
him. "I don't understand," he said, shifting uneasily. His 
eyes were adjusting to the dim light, and he realized that 
he was inside one of the VIP tents he'd been walking past 
when someone... when Flagg had hit him over the head.

Flagg was frowning now. "And here I thought you were a 
smart man. A soldier who let nothing escape his notice. The 
man to talk to if you want to know what is going on in this 
area."

Frank's chest puffed up: something that was a little 
difficult to do with his hands tied behind his back. "I 
am," he said proudly.

"And you haven't noticed anything? Nothing suspicious? 
Nothing that you should have reported to military 
intelligence?"

Flagg was right in his face, bent over, leaning with his 
hands pressing down on Frank's thighs. His breath, smelling 
strangely of fresh toothpaste, was hot in Frank's face. His 
expression was hard, his demeanor forceful. In fact, Flagg 
reminded Frank of Margaret. Yes, very much like Margaret. 
That's why he was starting to tremble with... No, it was 
fear. It had to be fear. And yet, why would he be fearful 
of the Colonel? The man was an American. One of the good 
guys. A man who risked his life daily in the name of his 
country. Strong and muscular and clean-cut handsome in his 
uniform. He looked like he should be on a recruiting 
poster. Of course he couldn't be, it would endanger 
national security, but he should be.

Frank licked his lips, trying to work up enough moisture to 
speak. "No," he said, flinching when his voice broke. He 
took a deep breath and steadied himself. "No, nothing. And 
I watch for *anything* suspicious. In fact, it's been so 
quiet that that is almost suspicious in itself."

"Are you sure of that?" Flagg said, leaning in even closer. 
He sounded disappointed, but no matter how much Frank 
searched his mind, he couldn't find anything to take that 
disappointment away. And he wanted to, he realized.

Flagg backed off a little, and Frank found himself 
strangely disappointed. "But if you did notice something, 
you would contact me?" he asked.

"Of course," Frank said immediately. "At least, if I knew 
how to," he was forced to add. He knew that the Colonel's 
work took him all over Korea, and no one knew where he was 
at any given moment.

"Well then, we'll have to make sure that you can contact 
me," Flagg said, straightening up. He stared at the canvas 
wall behind Frank, a thoughtful expression on his face. He 
was so close that Frank had to look up the length of the 
man's body. It made him look even more impressive.

Then Flagg looked down at him, a small smile -- a rare 
expression for the man -- on his face. "I will give you a 
number. If you uncover anything, you will call it and leave 
a message. As soon as I receive the message, I will come 
here for the details. As well, I will visit from time to 
time. You will meet me when I contact you with a complete 
report ready. You will tell no one of these visits. You 
will tell no one that you are reporting to me. This is 
national security. Do you understand?"

"Of course, sir," Frank said automatically, staring up. 
Flagg nodded. He looked almost proud of Frank, and Frank 
responded eagerly. This man was a true hero, and he wanted 
to please the man.

"Very good," Flagg said, still towering over Frank. "You 
are a true patriot, Major Burns. A credit to flag and 
uniform, and you will be rewarded for it."

"I don't need to be rewarded for doing my duty," Frank 
protested.

"But I insist," Flagg said, resting his hands on Frank's 
shoulders.

He was leaning closer now. His height and Frank's seated 
position meant that Frank was eye-level with his...

Frank gulped as the crisp, clean fabric of the man's 
uniform rubbed against his cheek. Behind it he could feel 
the firm, hot mass of the man's... Frank shuddered. His 
head was spinning, trying to figure out was going on. The 
man hadn't needed to abduct him to get him to agree to 
report to the man. And this talk of rewards...

The colonel's hands lifted and went to his fly. Frank's 
mouth dropped in confusion as the man undid the buttons, 
one by one, then reached inside to pull out... Frank's eyes 
tried to cross as he stared at the penis. He'd never seen 
one this close up, especially one that was... partially 
erect and getting more so as its owner stroked it slowly.

"I..." I don't understand was what he was going to say, but 
his mouth was suddenly blocked.

"Take it," Flagg growled. "You know you want it."

Frank almost choked as the man started moving, but Flagg 
backed off slightly so that he could breathe. But why was 
the man doing this? He couldn't possibly be... He couldn't 
think that *Frank* was...

And yet he could feel a throbbing in his own pants. The 
position was very familiar, one of Margaret's favorites. 
She would tie him up, make him please her, and if he did it 
well, she would do the same for him. If he didn't, though, 
she would leave him restrained and aroused, unable to do 
anything about it.

A groan from above his head brought him back to his current 
position. Flagg was enjoying this, he realized, and 
something about that was very exciting. Experimentally, he 
pressed his tongue against the underside of the man's penis 
as he pressed forward, and Flagg groaned again, a little 
louder. *He* was making the man groan.

Suddenly emboldened by the realization, he cast caution to 
the winds. He was a patriot. He was credit to his uniform. 
He was pleasing a true man.

* * * * *

When Frank came to, the sky was getting light and he was 
alone in the VIP tent. Flagg had untied him and left him 
lying on the cot, which was surprising, since he didn't 
remember passing out.

Frank sat up and stretched. He was covered in scrapes and 
bruises, but other than that, he felt surprisingly light 
and relaxed. Better than he had since his last fight with 
Margaret. His clothing was scattered around the tent and 
his watch, when he found it, confirmed that it was a half 
hour until dawn. It had been less that three hours since 
he'd been knocked out while walking the camp. A careful 
check to the back of his head found the lump. He winced, 
but it didn't seem too bad. As near as he could tell, he 
didn't have a concussion.

He dressed quickly, the cracked the tent door open just 
wide enough to check to see if anyone was around.

The coast clear, he slipped out, heading for his own tent. 
On the outside, he looked as calm and cool as ever, but 
inside he was reeling. Colonel Flagg had done things to 
him, things that no one, not even Margaret, had ever done. 
And he'd promised more if Frank found things out for him.

Frank stopped in the middle of the pathway, a thought 
occurring to him. If anyone found out what had happened in 
that tent, It could kill his career. His marriage. And if 
it happened again, the chances of getting caught would 
grow.

But if he *didn't* go along, would Flagg report what had 
happened? Flagg could expose Frank, get him dishonorably 
discharged. But could Flagg do that without getting himself 
in trouble? Did he want to take that risk?

Realizing that he was going to attract attention just 
standing there, Frank started to walk again. His shorts was 
chafing slightly under his uniform, and it reminded him of 
Flagg's hands, Flagg's mouth, making him cum again and 
again. He'd never cum so many times in the space of two 
hours. No wonder he'd passed out the last time. Even his 
lips were still swollen, the taste of the other man in his 
mouth, and he knew he wasn't going to refuse. No matter 
what the risk, he wanted it again. He wanted more, all the 
things Flagg had promised to do to him.

With that thought in mind, he started planning. To get the 
promised rewards, he needed to find information that would 
interest his Colonel. And find it he would, because he was 
a patriot.

* * * * *

Hawkeye had the morning shift, so when reveille started 
playing, he forced his eyes open and sat up. A pleasant 
breeze was blowing through the netting of the tent walls, 
it being that brief, perfect spring weather between the 
cold of winter and the heat of summer. If it could just be 
like this year round, being in Korea would be like a 
camping trip.

Well, except for the periodic bombings and the constant 
flow of wounded.

Hawkeye stretched and yawned, trying to keep quiet. Trapper 
had been stuck with the late shift, and he needed his 
sleep. Then he paused, frowning at the third cot. It was 
empty. No Frank. And it didn't look like it had been slept 
in either. That wasn't like Frank.

Then the tent door creaked open, and Frank came in, as if 
he'd been summoned by the thought.

"Up early, Frank?" Hawkeye asked. He was a little 
disappointed when the man who had been looking over his 
shoulder as he came in didn't jump out of his skin. In 
fact, for Frank, that was pretty unusual. The man was 
usually a little more nervous, especially when Hot Lips was 
away and he wasn't getting any.

"Hmmm?" Frank blinked, then shrugged. He stumbled towards 
his cot and flopped on it in a most un-Frank-like way, 
already half-way asleep, confirming to Hawkeye that he 
hadn't been anywhere near a bed all night.

But he didn't look like he'd been doing his usual "Margaret 
is away" or "Margaret is angry at me" pacing either. His 
uniform was wrinkled, his shirt un-tucked, and he had a 
dazed expression on his face. In fact, he looked a lot like 
he did after a night with Margaret. Maybe the head nurse 
was back in camp a day early and they'd made up.
 
Frank started snoring, and Hawkeye shrugged as he started 
getting dressed. Whatever the cause, if Frank had gotten 
laid, he would be much easier to deal with. And better yet, 
no one had seen Flagg in a couple days.

Sneaking out the door, making sure it didn't slam behind 
him, waking to the two sleeping doctors, Hawkeye headed off 
to start another exciting day in South Korea.

END STORY