Civilization had been thrown into havoc with the outbreak of an atomic war in 1964. By 1974, one town had been surviving using the wisdom of “The Old Man in the Cave” in matters of what to eat and what to grow and other matters of survival. The peace of the town was disrupted by the arrival of soldiers claiming they were trying to unite the survivors and rebuild society. The lead soldier came into conflict with Mr. Goldsmith who was the only one who had been talking with the old man in the cave. To create discord, the lead soldier, named French, convinces the town’s people to eat canned food that the old man in the cave said was dangerous. To further distance the people from Mr. Goldsmith, French learned and revealed to the people that the Old Man in the Cave was actually a computer. However, the soldiers and the people of the town all died of food poisoning leaving only Mr. Goldsmith. ("The Old Man in the Cave", The Twilight Zone, TV)
It's been ages since I wrote in this au verse. I have this fic half done. It's from a prompt, and I don't remember what the prompt was exactly except that it requested angst.
M*A*S*H au has now also become M*A*S*H crossover, with characters from the tv show making their appearance. There will be more of this story, but this seemed like a good stopping point.
II
“Colonel.” Henry ran into the office so fast that the swinging door hit the file cabinet and bounced back, almost hitting the boy on its return. “It’s the 4077 on the line for you.”
“Tell Radar if it’s about the cockroach race we’re not participating this year. They cheat.” He took the boy’s hurry for enthusiasm; things always got interesting when the 4077 had a reason to call. Potter’s group was, if possible, more eccentric than his own camp. “If he’s calling to remind me about the poker championship on the tenth tell him I remember, and that Winchester better wire home for more money if he plans on opening his mouth.”
“It’s not that, sir. It’s Major French calling.” Gold blinked, and took a closer look at the boy. What he’d thought was excitement was, on closer inspection, agitation.
“She said it’s really important.” Henry didn’t wait, but was halfway out the door now that the message was delivered. It took Gold a moment to collect his cane and follow. Henry was waiting next to the desk, waiting for him. “Would you rather I waited outside?”
“There’s no reason, son. It’s not like anything’s secret in this place.” Henry knew something about secrets, though; he had managed to keep one for almost a year, before they’d gotten proof of his age and the fact that it was a number less than eighteen. Gold picked up the receiver. “Missing my voice, dearie?”
“Lew, you have to get over here.” The line crackled, and though he made out her words the tone was difficult to guess at.
“Glass and Mills are on R&R.” A coincidence, they’d said, that they happened to be gone at the same time. Regina, of course, was a cool customer but Sidney was as transparent as his name. Still, it suited him to have them both gone for a few days. The whole camp could breath easier. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to me to...”
“Not a couple of hours. You need to get here as soon as you can.” Even through the crackles of the poorly strung line he could hear the stress in her voice.
“Are you hurt?” It was a knife to his gut, the idea of her being among the wounded. He knew that she sometimes went to the front line with patients, and hated the idea.
“I’m fine. I just need you to trust me, alright. Get here soon?” There was a pop and a fizz, and the line went dead, leaving him with a host of unanswered questions.
“Colonel?” Henry asked nervously.
“I need you to find Nolan and send him to my tent. Tell him it’s not a joke and he has three minutes to get there, or else.” He had a bag to pack. “Then find Jefferson and tell him to get a jeep gassed and have it in front of my tent in ten minutes. A minute later and he’s wearing nothing but his regulation uniform for a month.”
“Yes sir.” Henry ran, almost tripping over Whale in the process. Gold took one look at his office door, decided that there wasn’t anything there that couldn’t wait, and headed for his quarters.
II
He left Nolan in charge of the camp which was, he told himself, less frightening than it sounded. Despite the jokes he and Humbert played and the amount of alcohol they drank when not on call, Nolan was a good man. Far better than Glass, that was certain. Blanchard and Swan would keep an eye on them as well. And Henry, well Gold was pretty certain the kid could run the office on his own better than if Gold was sitting at his desk.
It should have been a two hour drive, from the 6828th to the 4077th. Gold made it in just over an hour and a half.
“Can I water your pony for you, sir?” asked the man who could, perhaps, give Jefferson a run for his money. In fact, considering the hat the man was wearing they could have a nice tea party together.
“You can set fire to the damn thing, for all I care. Where’s Major French?” he demanded.
“With Colonel Potter in his office, Colonel. Shall I...”
“Do something with the damn jeep,” Gold snapped. It had been an hour and forty minutes of not knowing what was wrong and imagining the worst. “I know the way.”
“Yes, sir.” The man saluted, but Gold was already on his way to the command tent that was virtually identical to his own.
“Sherman.” He acknowledged the man because it had been drilled into him to seek out the highest in command first. Under other circumstances he might had exchanged pleasantries; Potter was a good man and a decent conversationalist.
“I’ll let you have the office, Major, and tell Pierce you’ll coming shortly.” Potter seemed to sense his mood, speaking only to Belle. Gold barely noticed what he said. “Very shortly.”
Belle waited only until the door stopped swinging between the inner office and the outer. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to sit down?”
“No.” Her presence was usually a calming one. Lately he’d even taken to calling her for mostly made up reasons, just for a few minutes of her voice. Today, though, his hand hurt from how tightly he was holding onto his cane, and if he didn’t learn what the emergency was he was going to start smashing things.
“I didn’t think so.” Her eyes were clouded with worry. It was an expression that was all too familiar; she poured her heart and soul into caring for the boys that were as damaged mentally as they were physically by the ravages of war. “I was here today when the helicopters arrived. They needed all hands, so I scrubbed in. A village a few miles from here had been hit; there weren’t any soldiers, but a group of Americans volunteers were there, teaching the villagers new agriculture techniques. They were from IVS.”
“He’s in Cambodia.” He’d had a letter, just two weeks ago.
“I was helping with the triage. I saw his ID.” It was only when he looked down that he realized that her hand was on his arm. “I’m not going to tell you the details now, because I know you’re not making sense of any of this. He made it through the surgery, and that’s what’s important.”
“There has to be a mistake.” As short as his nails were, he still managed to dig them into the palm of his hand, the biting pain giving him something to focus on. He needed to get out of the damn tent, and preferably back to his camp. This was a waste of time.
“It’s not a mistake.” He shouldn’t have been surprised by the strength in her hands; she was a capable surgeon even if she did chose to spend most of her time on minds rather than bodies. It confused him, though, when she pried his hand open and covered the red marks on his palm with her fingers. “It’s Bae. He’s hurt, but he’s alive. I’m going to take you to him right now. We’ll figure out the rest later. Right now he needs you and you need to see him.”
She squeezed his left hand gently, and he began to believe.
His worst nightmare had come true.
II
IVS is International Voluntary Services, a nonprofit group that works in third world countries.
