THE KOREAN

He was alone on a hill, betrayed by his own people. He fought, killed for them, and for what? To be branded a traitor. Shunned by his family he sat, the mountainous area spread out below him, the deep blue colors of the sea crashing upon the cliffs.

The cold steal of the gun in his hand. And he waited.

Almost all at once, he heard the rumbling, sputtering of the airplane, coming over the horizon, and it grew nearer. The cocking of the gun wasn't heard over the load engine and propellers.

Inaudible Korean words were mumbled to the man's self, the gun was aimed, fired.

And the plane burst into a cloud of smoke and flame, standing still for a moment, suspended in time, then barreled toward the looming water.

The man pitched the gun toward the sea, and walked away as the plane crashed into the ocean, and was lost in the blue emptiness.
And then, there was silence.

THE GIRL

There is a house in Bloomington, Illinois. In front of that house is a tree, and in that tree sat a girl.

Countless times her mother had tried to explain that Daddy isn't coming home. And try as best as her six-year-old wisdom tried to comprehend her mother's words, something lay beneath that.

It was a memory, the day so long ago. There was her daddy, in a funny brown suit, and the green hat covered with his sparkling toys. Her little sister was there too, silently standing by their mother. And inside her mother was little baby Andy, the brother who was no so big.

And after that, all she could remember was Daddy getting on the big, smoky train and leaving them.

But buried even deeper beneath the memory was a promise; the kind that could never be broken.

"Don't worry, Molly" then a wipe of the tear from her cheek, "I'll be back home soon, I promise. I'll always come home."
So later that night, when her mother had gently removed her from the tree in the front yard and carried her inside to her bed, she silently opened the door and went outside.

She climbed into the tree and waited, clinging to the limbs in the chilly night air, her nightgown blowing in the wind.
She waited because her Daddy had promised.
THE FRIENDS

Radar's head swam. His knees went week. The room blurred.

It's funny that so much heartbreak could come from a single piece of paper. One telegram, one note tapped out over a wire somewhere, by someone who had no idea the intensity of the feelings the paper would bring forth.

Margaret Houlihan didn't cry. She wept. Sitting in the solitude of her shabby tent, she curled in a ball and wept. No one could see her there.

The tears weren't just for Henry either. They suddenly, all in a rush became tears for everyone who had died, the Korean children, the soldiers, everyone who had to see the horrors she faced everyday.

And all in that rush, she didn't care how unmilitary he was. She didn't care that he let Pierce and McIntyre get away with whatever the wanted. She forgot the liquor cabinet in his office.

She remembered him, the man who would never get to meet his son, the man who would never see his daughters or his wife again, the man who was gone. Forever.

On the other side of the deserted camp, Hawkeye Pierce sat alone in the Swamp, a rare occasion on a Saturday night. He was finishing his third martini, not a rare occasion.

Pouring himself another, he sat back on his cot. It was funny, he didn't feel anything, and it wasn't the amount of alcohol in his system.

Of course he was sad, but he hadn't cried, he just, well, sat.

The rest of the day had gone by like a movie, where he was watching everything from a camera, not really living it. He wasn't so sure he wanted to be living it either.

What was the purpose, anyway? Why even bother trying when he knew all so well that it was going to come to an end sooner or later.

<The game of life is hard to play, I'm going to lose it anyway..>

All too many times in his dream-like state, Hawkeye had glanced at the gleaming row of scalpels, the morphine, the anesthetic, it would all be so easy..

<I realize and I can see that suicide is painless, it brings on many changes, and I can take or leave it if I please.>
"All I know is what they taught me at command school. There are two rules in war. Rule number one is that young men die. Rule number two is that doctors can't change rule number one." -Lt. Colonel Henry Braymore Blake