Lt. Gage: “Can I get a hernia?”
Hawkeye: “Certainly. But rent one first, see if you really like it.”
Lt. Gage blinked, unsure if the doctor standing before him in a blood-stained Hawaiian shirt was actually being serious.
“Rent one?” Gage asked, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “Doc, I just want to go home. I hear a hernia gets you a ticket to Tokyo, maybe even stateside. Just write it up. Please.”
Hawkeye leaned against the nearest wooden post, crossing his arms and shaking his head in mock disappointment.
“A hernia? Oh, Gage, Gage, Gage. You lack vision. A hernia is so… pedestrian. It’s the tourist class of medical discharges. If you’re going to fake an ailment to escape the sheer joy of freezing your toes off in a foxhole, you need something with panache.”
Just then, B.J. Hunnicutt strolled into the tent, casually tossing a clipboard onto a nearby cot. “He’s right, Lieutenant. You want something with a little more flair. A touch of the exotic. Have you considered a trick knee? Very dramatic when it rains. You can predict the weather and avoid guard duty all at once.”
“Or a mystery rash!” Hawkeye chimed in, his eyes lighting up as if he were selling luxury cars. “We have a lovely assortment of undiagnosable dermatological wonders in stock right now. They itch, they scale, and best of all, they completely baffle the brass.”
Gage looked between the two surgeons, his desperation morphing into sheer bewilderment. “I don’t want a rash, Doc. I just want to stop getting shot at.”
Hawkeye’s smile faded just a fraction, the heavy reality of the war briefly cutting through the vaudeville routine. He let out a quiet sigh, dropping the salesman persona, and clapped a gentle hand on the young lieutenant’s shoulder.
“We all do, kid,” Hawkeye said, his voice softening. “But unless you can figure out how to catch a highly contagious case of world peace, the army says you’re perfectly healthy. You’re stuck here with the rest of us.”
Hawkeye grabbed a stethoscope and gestured toward the examination table.
“Now, hop up there, drop your trousers, and cough. Let’s see if we can at least find you that starter hernia. If not, I’ve got a coupon for a two-for-one flat foot special.”
