The rain poured down, turning the Dongducheon alley into a river of mud and shattered hopes. Hawkeye slowly raised his hands, the cold reality of the situation washing over him. The plan had failed. Frank had actually, for once in his spectacularly incompetent life, successfully executed a tactical maneuver.

“Well, Beej,” Hawkeye muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Look on the bright side. I hear the food in Leavenworth is slightly better than the slop Igor serves us.”

“I’m going to kill him, Hawk,” B.J. said quietly, glaring daggers at Frank Burns. “I’m going to break my Hippocratic Oath, and I’m going to strangle him with his own stethoscope.”

Frank strutted forward, flanked by two towering, helmeted Military Police officers. He looked like a peacock strutting through a warzone.

“Arrest them, Sergeant!” Frank crowed, pointing a dramatic finger at Hawkeye and B.J. “Arrest these treasonous, thieving… oh, and arrest the Koreans too! They’re all in cahoots! A massive, anti-American syndicate operating right under Colonel Potter’s nose!”

Cho Jung-ho, the smuggler, didn’t panic. He simply raised his hands, a bored expression on his face, knowing his expensive lawyers in Seoul would have him out by morning.

An MP sergeant stepped forward with heavy iron cuffs. Hawkeye closed his eyes, preparing for the cold bite of the metal. He had risked everything—his career, his freedom, Colonel Potter’s trust—and he had lost.

“Hold on, Sergeant. Belay that order.”

The voice cut through the rain and the idling engines like a scalpel. It wasn’t Potter. It wasn’t an MP.

From the passenger side of the lead MP jeep, a figure stepped down into the mud. She wore a waterproof poncho, her blonde hair perfectly pinned back despite the weather.

Major Margaret Houlihan walked into the circle of light.

Frank’s triumphant grin faltered. “Margaret? What are you doing here? This is an official CID raid! I called them from the swamp!”

“I know you did, Frank,” Margaret said coldly, not looking at him. She marched straight past Frank and handed a heavily stamped folder to the MP Sergeant. “Sergeant, you’ll find the authorization orders right there. From General Hammond himself.”

The Sergeant opened the folder, shining a flashlight on the documents. His eyes widened slightly. “Yes, Ma’am. Orders are in order.”

“Margaret, what is going on?” Hawkeye asked, lowering his hands an inch, utterly bewildered.

Margaret finally turned to Hawkeye. Her eyes were hard, but there was a flicker of something else—respect, perhaps, mixed with profound irritation.

“You are an idiot, Pierce,” Margaret said clearly. “A reckless, insubordinate, bleeding-heart idiot. But you’re our idiot.”

She turned back to the Sergeant. “Sergeant, arrest Mr. Cho and his associates for the theft of U.S. military property. Secure the warehouse. Captain Pierce and Captain Hunnicutt are here under my direct authorization, conducting a covert recovery operation approved by General Hammond.”

Frank let out a strangled gasp, sounding like a deflating bagpipe. “What?! Margaret! No! They’re the thieves! I found the forged requisition! Pierce forged my name!”

Margaret slowly turned to face Frank. The look she gave him was so withering it could have wilted a plastic flower.

“Major Burns,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “You came to my tent this afternoon and gleefully informed me that you were going to destroy the best surgeon in this unit. You were willing to let American boys die on the operating table just to satisfy your petty, childish vendetta against a man who, frankly, has forgotten more about medicine than you will ever know.”

Frank shrank back, his bravado entirely crushed. “But… but the rules, Margaret… the regulations…”

“The regulations are there to save lives, Frank. Not to stroke your ego,” Margaret snapped. She looked back at Hawkeye. “When Frank ran to the radio tent to call CID, I made a call of my own. General Hammond owes me a favor. A very big favor from Tokyo. I explained the situation. I explained that a vital shipment of penicillin had been intercepted by the black market, and that our top men were trying to recover it.”

Hawkeye stared at her. “You… you covered for us? You risked your own rank?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Pierce,” Margaret said sharply, though a tiny smirk played at the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t do it for you. I called the orphanage in Uijeongbu. Sister Theresa told me about the pneumonia outbreak. I did it for the children. Because despite your appalling lack of military discipline, your medical instincts were correct. They need that medicine.”

She gestured to the MPs, who were now forcefully handcuffing Cho and his men.

“The MPs will escort the crates directly to the orphanage tonight,” Margaret ordered. “Under armed guard. No more detours, Captain.”

Hawkeye swallowed hard. The collapse of trust he had initiated had been caught, completely unexpectedly, by the very person he thought despised him the most.

“Thank you, Margaret,” Hawkeye said quietly, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the rain.

Margaret nodded once, sharply. “Don’t ever do it again, Pierce. Next time, I’ll let Frank hang you.”

The ride back to the 4077th was quiet. B.J. drove, Hawkeye sat in the passenger seat, and Margaret rode in the back. Frank had been forced to ride back with the MPs, sulking in the corner of a truck.

When they walked back into Colonel Potter’s office, dawn was just beginning to break over the Korean hills, painting the muddy camp in shades of pale gray.

Potter was exactly where they had left him, a half-empty bottle of scotch on his desk. He looked up as Hawkeye, B.J., and Margaret walked in.

“Well?” Potter rasped.

Hawkeye stepped forward. “The penicillin is en route to the Uijeongbu orphanage, Colonel. Escorted by Military Police. The black-market ring has been arrested.”

Potter looked at Margaret. She nodded in confirmation.

The old cavalryman let out a long, heavy sigh, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out three extra glasses. He poured a generous measure of scotch into each and pushed them across the desk.

“Drink,” Potter ordered.

They took the glasses.

“Pierce,” Potter said, looking him dead in the eye. “You are the finest meatball surgeon I have ever commanded. And you are the most aggravating son of a bitch I have ever met.”

“I aim to please, Colonel,” Hawkeye said softly.

“The trust is broken, Pierce,” Potter said, the firmness returning to his voice. “You don’t get that back overnight. You don’t get it back with a single successful cowboy stunt. From now on, every requisition, every scalpel, every bandage you touch goes through my desk. Understood?”

“Understood, sir,” Hawkeye agreed. He meant it.

“And,” Potter added, a wicked gleam appearing in his eye. “For bypassing the chain of command, forging signatures, and giving me an ulcer… you and Captain Hunnicutt will be performing latrine inspection duty. Every day. For the next month.”

B.J. groaned. “A month? Colonel, I’m an innocent bystander!”

“Guilt by association, Hunnicutt,” Potter said cheerfully. He raised his glass. “To the 4077th. Where the only thing crazier than the war is the staff.”

Hawkeye raised his glass, clinking it against Potter’s, then B.J.’s, and finally, gently, against Margaret’s.

“To trust,” Hawkeye said, taking a sip of the burning scotch. “And to the people who are brave enough to put it back together when we inevitably shatter it.”

Outside, the camp began to wake up. The loudspeakers crackled. Another day in Uijeongbu had begun.