As the crowd surged forward the Molotov sizzled and went out.

Pouring three shots, Hawkeye said, "You know, the silly bastard really thought it was gasoline we poured on him. After that letter and God only knows how many others he's written, I'm kinda sorry it wasn't."

"This is going to mean trouble," said Trapper John. "Nobody will put up with that kind of crap."

"Not ordinarily," said Hawkeye, "but we'll get away with it."

"Why?" asked Duke.

"Because at seven o'clock tonight three companies of Canadians are going for Hill 55. When they do, this place will be flooded with casualties. Personally, I don't plan to work if I'm under arrest."

"Who says?" said Trapper.

"The Canadian colonel told me last night."

"Well, we'll see," said Trapper. "Barricade that door, and let's go to bed."

When they awakened at four o'clock in the afternoon, all was quiet. Duke peeked out the door and closed it quickly.

"What do the initials M.P. stand for?" he inquired.

"Shore Patrol," answered Trapper John.

Hawkeye peeked through the rear of the tent and saw that the back was unguarded. He washed, combed his hair, put on clean clothes, a hat, captain's bars and all the appurtenances of military costume he had hardly ever worn. He went under the rear tent flap, and his tentmates quickly tied things back in place. A few moments later, a smiling Captain Pierce approached the two M.P's and returned their salutes.

"Colonel Blake says you can go back to your outfit, boys," he told them. "It's all blown over. You'd better get going before it's too dark."

The day was cold, and they took off gratefully. An hour later, after one leisurely martini apiece, the men of The Swamp strolled into the mess hall and sat down. The Colonel stared at them, spluttered, and pounded his fist on the table.

"Where are those M.P.'s?" he screamed. "You guys are confined to your tent until they come for you from Seoul."

"Y'all mean the Shore Patrol?" asked Duke innocently.

Henry shook. His mouth moved but no words came.

"What M.P.'s, Henry?" inquired Hawkeye. "Somebody screw up? We been in bed all day. Bring us up to date."

"Grab them!" yelled Henry, forgetting in his frenzy that no one else was present at the moment except nurses.

Nobody moved.

"Y'all heard your Cuhnnel," said Duke to the nurses. "Grab us."

"I'll try anything once," said Trapper John.

"I'm hornier than a three-balled tom cat," agreed Hawk-eye. "Clear the tables for action."

At this point Dago Red walked in.

"Come with me," he ordered, pushing and shoving them out of the mess hall and herding them back to The Swamp. There, disillusioned and disappointed, he scolded, pleaded and insisted that they apologize to Shaking Sammy.

"Red," said Hawkeye, "I'm perfectly serious now. I'm not going to apologize to Shaking Sammy. I despise quack doctors, and for the same good reasons I despise quack sky pilots and all the screwballs on the fringe of the do-gooding business. So forget it."

Before the discussion got any further, the rumor of Canadians attacking 55 was borne out. Ambulances and helicopters disgorged dozens of wounded. The Swampmen forgot the problems arising from human sacrificial ceremonies and went to the OR. To no one's surprise, no one tried to stop them. For the next four days they worked with little letup, and no mention was made of the sacrificial ceremony of the previous Sunday.

After five days the worst was over, the preop ward was cleaned out, and no new casualties were coming. The Swampmen had a drink at nine-thirty on a bright warm morning and put on their cleanest clothes.