A rousing knock on her door woke Nellie the next morning. She clawed herself out of bed. Grabbing her purple nightgown, she opened the door. Klinger stood before her.

"Hey Major, sorry it's early. Colonel wants everybody in his office, ASAP!"

"What for?"

"Some high and mighty Colonel's coming." He shrugged and went to leave. But then he turned back and lowered his voice. "Thanks for that clothes delivery."

Nellie grinned. "It went well?"

"Oh yeah. I had Goldman switch them out while the Padre showered. He looked absolutely beautiful wandering across the compound in a nearly see through nightgown." They both chuckled. He started leaning against her doorway. "By the way, who's was it?"

"That I can't say. The lovely young woman swore me to secrecy. Just leave it on my bed and I'll make sure it gets returned."

She smiled as he left her, hurrying next door to wake Margaret. Quickly she changed into her fatigues. As Nellie walked beneath the basketball hoop, she saw the other three surgeons arguing in the Swamp. Her eyes narrowed as she thought about her missing Vodka. Maybe she'd be able to recruit Klinger for help. He owed her a favor for getting the sexy nightgown from Shelley Lacey for his prank on Father Mulcahy. She could use that.

As Nellie entered the hospital through Klinger's office, she found Colonel Potter. He slammed the phone down. Nellie stopped.

"Damn!"

"What's wrong, sir?"

"That'll have to wait for the whole herd. Go on in and pick a chair, Major."

Nellie did as she was told. The gentle hominess of Colonel Potter's office caused her to smile. Sophie's saddle glinted in the lights, newly polished. Paintings of the various members of staff and another young man she'd never seen, decorated the walls. Behind the desk, horse art hung neatly.

Nellie chose a chair to the right of the desk. She hadn't been seated for even a minute when BJ, Charles, and Hawkeye entered. As Hawkeye came in, she noticed his gait seemed off. He put less pressure on his right side. A limp?

BJ sat himself in the remaining chair next to Nellie. She noticed his jaw was clenched and his eyebrows furrowed. When Charles moved the extra chair beside BJ, she noticed the same thing.

Nellie looked over to BJ. But as she went to ask about it, Margaret and Colonel Potter came in. His eyes narrowed at her smiley entrance. The air seemed to freeze. When Margaret joined Hawkeye on the crates along the wall, all the surgeons sneered.

"Right. I want you all to listen up. Pierce."

Potter pointedly looked over at him. Clearly Nellie wasn't the only one noticing Hawkeye's furious fixation with Margaret.

"I'm listening, Colonel."

"Good! Because I've got some bad news, folks." He folded his hands behind his back. With a small pause, he let them sit in anticipation. "Tomorrow we'll be getting an inspection from some brass. Colonel Daniel Webster Tucker, of the Surgeon General's Office, is coming here."

Margaret shrugged. "We pass all our inspections, sir."

With a quick nod, Colonel Potter continued. "Word is, this Tucker hombre is tougher than beef jerky and harder to swallow. He's as stiff as a board. So for the sake of me, and my eagles"-he pulled on his collar-"there will be nothing, nada, in the way of larks, antics, or shenanigans while he's here." Potter let the words sink in, then turned to Nellie, BJ, and Charles in the chairs. "Understood?"

"Of course, sir."

"Got it."

"Loud, and-or clear sir."

"Pierce?"

"Thanks, for the room service Margaret. I did always love breakfast in boot."

She couldn't help but smile as Margaret feigned innocence. Clearly, Nellie realized, she hadn't been the only one with revenge on the mind. The irritation of the other surgeons suddenly made sense. Nellie grinned. After some banter, Hawkeye reluctantly agreed to Potter's terms.

"I'll follow your instructions to the letter."

As the room grew more serious, with Colonel Potter stressing his fire and brimstone predictions, Nellie felt her throat tightening again. Her palms became clammy. Thoughts of this Colonel Tucker reacting poorly to her presence filled her mind. Any and all desire for revenge for the vodka disappeared immediately.

The Colonel dismissed them. With a skip in her step, Margaret left the hospital, the three other surgeons hot on her tail. But Nellie waited a bit longer. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. 0832 hours.

With a deep breath in to calm her nerves, she stood. Her pulse raced; she could feel her heart pounding. Breathe in, hold for four, breathe out, hold for four. Nellie pulled on her white coat and stethoscope. She decided to visit the wounded.

Twelve of the beds in Post Op were full. Her breath hitched for moment as she saw their faces. Black, white, asian. Young, middle aged. They were all different, but somehow lying in those beds, they were the same. Wounded, hurting soldiers. They were just like her brother.

Nellie forced a small smile on her face. Gwen sat at the Nurse's Desk and they said quick hellos. For about twenty minutes she checked in on the casualties. Without meaning to, she put off speaking with Private Stevens. But at last she came to him.

His light brown hair lay messy on his head. He sat propped up quietly, picking at his eggs and cold cuts. The fork scratched at the metal tray. With a quick smile, Nellie stood at the foot of his cot.

"Good morning, Connor."

"Hi, Major." Stevens tried to push himself up further.

"You're fine there," she assured him. Nellie took his clipboard off the hook and sat down next to him on the foot locker. "How do you feel? Aside from the terrible food that is."

He gave a tiny, humorless laugh. "Honestly the food isn't that bad! It's worse up on the line."

"Our cook, Pernelli, always whips up the best for the wounded. Lots of powdered eggs."

He flashed her a genuine smile. "Well, I appreciate it regardless."

Nellie checked the dressing on his leg wound. Little discharge, clean sutures. The scraped skin around it had also calmed down from the fiery red to a more wholesome pink. "You know, you look great."

"Thanks, Major."

"Is there anything else I can do for you," she asked. Seeing Connor there, wounded in bed with a forced smile, broke her heart.

"I just wish I could stop thinking."

The confession came quietly. Suddenly before her on the bed lay Jack. Bloodshot blue eyes, sweaty face. Consumed by exhaustion from sleepless nights, from screams only he could hear. Her heart raced again. Her throat and hands clenched. She could taste iron as she bit down on her tongue. The emotion she tried hardest to quench, fear, filled her body. Never knowing if Jack would be there the next day, never knowing if he'd give up the alcohol, never knowing what would set him off. Never knowing... Nellie stopped herself. Breathe in for four, hold for four, breathe out for four, hold for four.

"Connor." Her voice hitched. "I can fix your physical wounds. Your leg, that's easy. That's a wound we can see." Tears filled her eyes. But she refused to let them fall. She tried to swallow despite her painfully sore throat. "But war, it does more than to you than physical, visible wounds. Maybe it's worse, the silent, invisible suffering. But I know, I know you can get through it. You can't let fear stand in your way of getting better."

He crossed his arms. Through gritted teeth he muttered, "I'm not scared."

"You're a fool then." Nellie sighed audibly. She hesitated, and then put her hand on his arm. "Connor, everyone is scared here. You should be attending college, or starting work. Not fighting a war. But you are. Being scared is a healthy response to keep you safe. I'm just saying you can't let it control you. Not here, and not when you go home."

"Am I going home?"

Nellie frowned. She looked at his leg and then met his gaze. "Not yet. The wound isn't severe enough." When she saw him clam up, she continued. "You'll get there. I promise."

Leaving Post Op didn't calm her nerves. She could feel her right hand shaking. All thought of breakfast was gone. Nellie sighed.

After getting her journal, she took a walk. Stress filled her body. She could feel the tension in her muscles, her clenched jaw. She had promised her brother to stay away from day drinking as a coping methods as much as she could. So far she'd done alright with that promise, as most day drinking had been social, not self medicating. But man if her mouth wasn't watering for a beer at least.

Nellie set herself up on the chopper pad again. Solitude, yet able to watch everything. Below her, she saw a group of nurses and orderlies heading to Rosie's. She spotted Klinger heading to the Motor Pool. Doubtless the laid-back Sergeant Rizzo was hanging there somewhere.

Moments later, the quiet lilting of music from Charles' record player made its way up to the top of the pad. She couldn't stop herself from smiling as she imagined how BJ and Hawkeye were going to react.

Time seemed to stand still as she turned to her sketches. The fear fell away. Her beating heart faded into the background. Nellie focused on the ink spilling from her pen, which took its cue from her mind. But she confined the memories. She only allowed herself to picture happy times, to picture good times.

When she let herself back into focus, out of the gentle escape, she saw Colonel Potter shooting basketballs. His feet stayed in one place, pointed towards the basket. Every time he prepared for his shot, he hunched. Clearly this was not his first time. When he made the basket, he didn't cheer. He just nodded to himself and retrieved the ball.

She couldn't see either Hawkeye or BJ. But the fact that she could still hear Charles's record led her to believe they weren't there. She supposed they could've gone to Rosie's. Her watch read 16:47 hours. Dinner time.

Pain shot up her legs as she stood. Nellie stumbled a bit. Clearly sitting for half a day had been the wrong choice after hours in surgery. She stood still. The pain faded. Still, her body ached and stiffened as she walked down the stairs into the covered laundry area.

"Major!"

She turned at Klinger's voice. He waved to her with a smile from the bench outside post op. At his feet was Irving. Who could resist a puppy? Certainly not her.

"Hey there, buddy."

"Never knew you cared."

Nellie chuckled. But she just knelt down, ignoring the dirt and rocks pressing into her knees through the pant fabric. "I meant Irving, but you're great too."

The small white and dark brindle dog had fur like velvet: short, but pleasant on the skin when pet correctly. Irving's hot breath on her skin tickled. Despite the horrors of the landscape around them, he still loved people. So much trust was dangerous, Nellie could help but feel. But this dog relied on trust for survival.

"The Swamprats are catching dinner in a minute," said Klinger. "And Major Houlihan just went in. If you're hungry? We didn't see you at lunch."

Nellie pulled herself away from Irving as the dog seemed to realize it was time. He bounded off, leaving her to stand. "Yeah I am pretty hungry. Not that the food is going to fix anything."

Klinger snorted in response. When they wandered over to the Mess Tent, Roy, Kellye and Shari were leaving. They all exchanged pleasantries. As Nellie walked inside, she spotted Fr. Mulcahy at a table with Margaret. With a tray in one hand, she used the other to grab utensils and coffee. Green beans, corn, and meatloaf seemed to be the delicacies that night. Sniffing it, her nose scrunched up.

Gently, she placed her tray on the table beside Margaret. Both she and Father Mulcahy nodded to her with their mouths full. Nellie swung her leg over the bench and sat herself down.

"Been busy today, Major?"

Nellie smiled. "Just a bit, Father."

"I had laundry to do today," Margaret said. "Too much to do and too little time for it. You've got to use every minute you can."

"I suppose, though silence and solitude is important. The Lord knows I might lose my sanity if I had to plan every moment of my day. No time for prayer, no time meditation. Such a shame."

With a nod, Nellie agreed immediately. "Sometimes I just need to relax."

Margaret just scoffed. "If I had time to relax I'd love to! I tell you though, there's too much relaxing around here. Orderlies not doing their jobs, nurses a few minutes late for shifts."

She had zero interest in engaging Margaret in a philosophical debate of work versus play, so Nellie kept her mouth shut. She focused on the food. It took all her effort to load her fork and take a bite, it left little time for arguing anyways. In the end, Nellie couldn't get the feeling of impending doom to leave. So as Hawkeye and BJ entered the Mess Tent ten minutes later, she bid them all goodbye.

The showers weren't occupied when she passed them. Nellie decided to shower and then write a letter to her brother. So that's what she did, after mucking around in her tent.

When her shower ended, it was 18:32. The sky was starting to darken, and a chill filled the air. The walk across camp felt oddly pleasant. Wind nipped at her skin, whatever had been exposed by wearing only a bathrobe. Her neck especially gave her shivers, with her damp hair tied up in a towel.

After changing into her Hawaiian shirt and fatigue pants, she settled into her desk. For an hour, she stared at the paper. All she had written, Dear Jack, taunted her. After a while, she poured herself some scotch. Nellie smelled it first.

Still, the words wouldn't come. What was she supposed to say? Hi Jack, hope you're doing alright, I don't want you to kill yourself while I'm in Korea. Hi Jack, I know we decided your brain problem wouldn't be enough to stop me from taking this position, but now I'm here and feeling guilty? Hi Jack...

The clock read 19:56 hours. Nellie set her pen back into its holder and sighed. Fatigue weighed her down. Her shoulders felt heavy, and her arms weak. Private Stevens's face wouldn't leave her mind whenever she wrote Dear Jack.

When she opened the door to the compound, the sound of cicadas echoed through the hills nearby. A billion stars shined above them. Nellie paused for a moment. But before long, the low light flooding the area from Post Op brought her back to reality.

Kellye sat on duty. Most of the lights in Post Op had been turned off, but Nellie could see clearly enough from the lamp on her desk. She scribbled away at reports. But Kellye looked up when Nellie walked in. They both waved silently.

Her heart beat faster with every small, quiet step she took. Nellie looked at each of the wounded. They all lay silent, asleep and at peace. Again she came last to Connor Stevens's bed. The fact that he didn't even have a single chin hair made her want to scream. This was a child they'd sent to war.

Jack had been twenty two when he'd volunteered. She remembered saying goodbye, just as she had been leaving for Cornell. Neither of them knew what that goodbye had meant. Connor's family would face the same, when he eventually went back home.

In the dim light, she watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath the sheets. She closed her eyes, tuning into the breathing around her. She heard Kellye's pencil scratches, too, and on the edge of hearing, the cicadas.

Then she heard some shouts. Laughter followed. Both Kellye and Nellie looked at each other. Nellie motioned for her to stay put. As she opened the door, she found Margaret yelling at the laughing BJ, Hawkeye, and Charles.

"You- you crumbs!"

Margaret grabbed Hawkeye by the robe. While she pulled it off, she whacked him with a pillow.

BJ just cackled, dodging out of the way. Her fury missed him by mere inches. "We have it to a dog! Now it's a pup tent!"

"You idiots!" Margaret went after the laughing Charles, and pounded him several times with the pillow. Feathers flew.

Nellie just stood there, watching with a small smile on her face. But moments later it was gone, as light from Jeep headlights filled the compound. The roar of the engine died along with their laughter. When the lights turned off, and their temporary blindness fixed itself, they saw the infamous Colonel.

His whole body was large, made more of fat than muscle. But he stood a good few inches taller than Nellie, and had a permanent snarl engraved in his features. The Colonel didn't even try to hide his scorn when he stepped from the Jeep and up to the lightly chuckling surgeons. He stepped on a handful of feathers as they floated to the ground.

"What's going on here?"

Margaret stuttered. But drawing herself up, she gestured to the three men. "These crumbs stole my tent."

Nellie had to swallow a laugh, despite the tension. That certainly was a prank. But the Colonel hardly looked amused. As Hawkeye rambled on about being called a crumb, his face only more stern.

"This is absolutely disgraceful."

"Yeah they sure don't make pillows the way they used to," BJ added.

Charles straightened up, brushing a feather from atop his balding head. "Please forgive our antics, sir. A bit of harmless fun."

When they got no response, Hawkeye jumped in. Be stuttered, momentarily lost for words, but finally continued on. "I uh, I take our feathers don't tickle your fancy."

With identical eye rolls, both Margaret and Nellie grew tired of his antics. But there wasn't time to apologize as the man looked them over. He growled audibly.

"I am Colonel Daniel Webster Tucker, Surgeon General's Office, here to observe your medical staff in action. Now who the hell are you people."

"Actually, we're - uh - we're just the medical staff." BJ shrugged helplessly, sending a pleading look at the others.

Tucker snarled. He looked them all over, and when his gaze met Nellie's, his nose wrinkled. He turned back to the others. "I want to see your commanding officer, immediately."

Before he could say any more, Colonel Potter raced from his tent. His red and white striped bathrobe flashed in the light of the compound. He balled his fists and yelled, his voice cracking. "What in the name of Marco blessed Polo is going on here!" He stopped suddenly, seeing the new Colonel. "Oh, ah. You must be Colonel Tucker?"

"And you have to be Colonel Potter. My God, man. What kind of place are you running here? Between surgeons and nurses who pillow fight, and a woman playing doctor dressed like she's at the beach!" Tucker shook his head. "Don't you have one competent man around here?"

Nellie's heart sank. She could feel the blood warming her cheeks, and her chest tightened. Pretender, dollface, spinster, sugar. The nicknames came back as she saw his anger boiling. In medical school, she'd have ignored them, or proved herself their better. But in the Army, like at Johns Hopkins, there remained a chain of command.

As the others continued talking, Nellie blocked them out. She'd have to take whatever Colonel Tucker threw her way. Survival mattered. That was all. She had to stay in the fight, stay here for herself and for all the women she could perhaps open the door for.

When Tucker left with a strangely eager, well dressed Klinger, she let herself refocus on the conversation. The other four started to leave, but Potter called them back.

"So despite my direct order who all decided to put be stupid first on your list of things to do!" Potter looked about ready to hit someone. He glared at them. As Margaret and Hawkeye protested, he shouted for them to be quiet. "The senior inspecting officer in all of the Far East comes in here at full boil, so you jokers turn up the heat!"

"Leave Major O'Hara out of this at least, sir. She had no part in our antics." Charles gestured over to her.

Nellie shrugged, silent, in response. She couldn't find the will to speak. Silence was more comfortable.

"Then she has more sense than the rest of you basket of kittens! This guarantees that no matter how spiffy we carry on tomorrow, it won't be good enough."

As he stomped away, Nellie hugged her arms closer to herself. She pulled Jack's Hawaiian shirt closer to herself. Without appearing to run, she made her way as fast as she could to her tent. Solitude was all she needed. Quiet, comfort. She would need that to get through the inspection.