MASHED: Life in the 8099th
An Actual Play
February 2017
Soldiers
Michael - CO
Cam - Major James Lampert, Chief Surgeon [Cutter] / [Misanthrope]
Cam - Major James Lampert, Chief Surgeon [Cutter] / [Misanthrope]
Craig- Major Archie Crow, Executive Officer [Doc] / [The Sky Pilot]
David - Corporal Clarence Wayne, Quartermaster Section [Corpsmen] / [The Operator]
Cpl. Wayne [The Anticipator: 5; Miss. CO Holds 1)
April 30, 1951
The flow of casualties has slowed to a trickle in the days that followed the Battle of the Injim River. The 99th has settled into a comfortable routine. The ceaseless threats of war continues to flavor every moment of every day, yet somehow it still manages to fade to a dull background noise. There are of course times where more important matters take precedence over the grind; co-ed mixers come to mind.
The scene opens on a wide shot of the camp, alive with activity. The crackle and pop of an off screen record player comes in. A familiar tune strikes up. "How much is that doggy in the wind --" cut off by a chorus of off shouts, protests and jeers, "give it a rest!" The scratch of the needle drags across the record," sorry boys, we don't got nothing else to play." The tune starts up again to a round of boos and hisses.
[Flashback]
Corporal Wayne stands in a simply appointment apartment. Across from him, a man in his late 30s, with short light brown hair and a hook nose sits on the edge of a couch. The man shakes a small vial milky solution between his thumb and index finger, "You reckon this will clear the old," as he gestures lewdly to his crotch. The man, Nigel Davenport a British expat staying in the town of Pocheon a half days ride from the 99th's current location, takes Wayne's assurances and thanks him. As Cpl. Wayne leaves the small apartment with the record player under his arm, Nigel calls out to him, "A moment! I figure you'll make better use of this than I," and he tucks a colorful record sleeve under Wayne's arm. Clarence looks down at the record -- How Much is that Doggy in the Window? and Other Children's Favorites.
We now see Cpl. Wayne standing outside the shower tent back at camp.
"C.J. I don't figure why ya need my 'scrip. If you've got the 'itch' than you know all you got to do is talk to doc Crow. He'll getcha right. Matter of fact, if you're lucky you might just get yourself a physical from LT O'Brian. She's a piece, I tell you -- ", Wayne cuts off PVT Randazzo before he can say another word. The corpsman knows he's got a buyer for the lice shampoo if he can just get Randazzo to part with the stuff [Influence: 10]. Wayne holds up a straight razor and a can of lather in exchange for the prescription shampoo. "Christ C.J. You best hope this look goes over well with the dames."
We fade back to present to the off screen playing of, "" -- the one with the waggly tail."
Major Crow sits at his desk reviewing the chart of the deceased CPL O'Rielly. He didn't want to believe it. Kellogg told him, but he didn't want to believe her. There it was in back and white all over the chart. One of his doctor's had blatantly prescribed a criminal dosage of morphine to the soldier. There had been rumors as of late from the nurses of 1LT Massey being careless with his paperwork. And now a man was dead as a result.
Maj, Crow sets out to track down the absentminded doctor for further questioning.
We see a group of local men and one officer standing calf deep in the rushing waters of the nearby river; lobbing their arms high over their heads in exaggerated arcing motions. The fishing line spooling out into the water in front of them. As Major Crow arrives on the they're sharing a laugh.
Major Crow interrupts the moment and calls Massey over. The smiling man sloshes out of the water, fishing pole in hand. Crow confronts Massey on the matter of his former patient and presses him for answers [Eyeball: 7; +1 Hold]. The lieutenant fumbles for an excuse for his fatal mistake. Major Crow finds him culpable of gross malfeasance but not duplicitous [Spent 1 Hold]. The Major informs his subordinate that he'll be filing a full report with the C.O. Both men understand that this adherence to duty will bring a whole heap of heat down on the unit.
Lieutenant Colonel Richard Cockburn, looks up from his desk as the flap opens and Major Lampert enters the C.O.'s tent. The balding LTC Cockburn, who shows little appreciation for the humor the men of the 99th find in his unfortunate name, beckons the Major to take a seat. "Major," he starts in, "you've done a hell of a job in the short time you've been here. Frankly, I haven't seen that O.R. run so efficiently since the start of this whole mess. The 8042nd must lament ever losing you. But, their loss is our gain." Lampert deflects the obvious praise and after a cordial exchange he looks to excuse himself from the conversation. "On thing,' Cockburn continues, "I've got word from the clerks down in processing that some of the more tedious administrative paperwork is getting lost in the shuffle. Promise me you'll get this matter squared away with our Company Clerk, Cpl. Blankenship. He's a good kid. Give him a chance."
The doctor excuses himself and isn't halfway back to his tent when he's intercepted by Cpl. Blankeship. A young and squirrely boy, he sways under the stack of charts and documents that he's balancing in his arms. "Major Lampert. Have you had a chance to speak with the the LTC? I trust he spoke to you. I hope you'll be making some time in the clerks station to address the backlog -- "
Maj. Lampert plucks a file off the top of the tall stack of binders and strides past the corporal. "I'll be taking this in my quarters, thank you very much."
The exasperated clerk is left standing in the dusty wake of the dismissive surgeon. "But. But, sir --"
The dull din of the mess hall only slightly masks the melodious sounds of the "-- I do hope that doggies for sale."
Cpl. Wayne sits across from two of his supply clerk compatriots, CPL Chester Rose and CPL Eric Gates. Rose was a large but handsome enough man with piercing blue eyes. Gates was more of the forgettable sort. Gates leans in, "C.J. buddy, you got to get us into that mixer with the nurses. We know you got an in with Lt. Thompson." Cpl. Wayne knows his in to this officer's mixer is based solely on his ability to supply the goof juice. These two mooks are liable to upset the apple cart. But he can't hardly pass up an opportunity when it presents itself. He draws the two into the conversation before bilking them for a half dozen cartons of cigs and three days of shifts at the supply tent.
Pleased with fleecing his friends, he excuses himself. He's not got to make good on the hooch for any of this to come together.
Wayne knew that his best bet for a lot of booze on short order (and on the cheap) would be the locals. He seeks out one of his contacts, a local man by the name of Mae Ye-Jun, one of the chaplain's contacts. What Cpt. McCoy doesn't know is that Mae's wife makes some mean bathtub moonshine. The Koreans called it, soju. Fermented cabbage or some other. Wayne didn't care much. He just knew it'd pass for the nurses' May Day mixer. Around the unit the mix had gained a colloquial name, "Red Label" on account of the red taped handle used to mark the jerrycan for booze and not fuel. All the boys in the motor corp knew the routine.
Don't let the simple farmer act fool you, Mae knew how to haggle [Scrounge: 3; Miss]. He put poor Wayne through his paces and ended up with a few more boxes of cigs than the corporal expected to part with. But Mrs. Ye-Jun came through, five gallons of Red Label just in time for the party.
Under the yellow glow a desk lamp, Major Lampert is staring blankly at the packet of paperwork. Two of the other surgeons, Martain and Langford, stop as they pass by his tent. "Jimmie, you coming with? We're heading over to the nurses tent now." Their familiar tone gives the Major pause. He waves them away and returns to his paperwork. After some time spent trying to stare a hole in the papers he gives. He flings the file to the side and heads off to the festivities.
Before Wayne is ready to escort his two eager companions to the social event of the season, he tells them he's got one more stop to make.The corporal, never being one to shy away from taking the extra step, seeks out a special gift for tonight's gracious hostess.
Stopping at supply, he finds just the man he was looking for. CPL Rick Foley, of the Canadian Army detachment stationed with the 99th. He knew Foley was good for some libations from his beloved homeland on account of Canada's liberal policies on alcohol for her enlisted [Scrounge: 11]. The ever creative was on his way with a couple of cases of Molsen and a bottle of Canadian whiskey; a prize to behold with 1LT Thompson's name on it.
Seldom are the nurses bunks open to the perusal of the men of the 99th. Yet, here they were. Some thirty officers consorting under the lamp light on a warm May evening. When the trio of corporals from supply arrived a mighty cheer went up from lad and lady alike. For these were the men with the booze. Wayne gladly passes the Red Label off to the waiting arms of one of the doctors. He presented his tokens of fealty to Beatrice and negotiated the terms of his good fellows Rose and Gates to be permitted to consort with the officers for just one night. She was gracious enough to welcome the three into the tent. However, much to the surprise of his wing men, Cpl. Wayne opted to skip the socializing and return to his bunk. Rose and Gates thought him a fool and made for the Red Label.
The party goes seldom noticed the absence of one lowly corporal.
Carrying the weight of the his encounter with Massey earlier in the day, Maj. Crow didn't feel much like socializing. He excused himself and spent some quiet moments alone outside of the tent, in the night, illuminated by the glow of a hot cherry.
Major Lampert did his best to remain unseen at the party but a familiar face had other intentions. As the Major kept to himself in the corner, he was approached by Janet Moss, drinks in hand and a smile beneath her nose. She struck a different cord with Lampert in this light. Her dark hair, normally up in a surgical cap, now bounced in a playful bob. Her warm smile, normally hidden beneath a mask, now on fully display. Never mind the fact that she was thrusting a tumbler of whiskey into his empty hand. Neat, just as he preferred.
The lieutenant was not shy to make her intentions known. She was flirtatious, playful and all together charming. The Major usually didn't go for this sort of cliche fraternizing but Miss Moss sure beat Cpl. Blankenship's paperwork. Before long she was taking him by the hand and leading him out into the warm night air to find someplace exciting [Maneuver: 4; Miss]. The coupled moved across the darkened camp towards the motorcade.
Their giggles were stifled when they were caught red-faced by Cpl. Wayne coming out of the showers. The couple reminded Wayne of all of the privilege and freedom that he'd never be afforded. Though he was clearly outranked, he excused himself with a parting jab [Pierce: 7]. The Major was unabashed at being caught but his ego [gained Condition: Conceited; +1 Forward against Cpl. Wayne] wouldn't permit this enlisted man to get the better of him. Lampert openly mocked the sour corpsman as he and Miss Moss went about their evening. Wayne went back to his bunk seething [gained Condition: Jealous].
Outside of the nurses' tent, Major Crow sat in quiet reflection. A swell of yells and laughs erupted from the party as the tent flap swung open. "Get him out of here. He's gonna be sick!" Cpl Gates came stumbling out of the tent, catching himself with his hands before going face first into the dirt. The Major watched as the man doubled over wrenching from too much to drink.
Then the sound of another party-goer, vomiting inside the tent alerted the Major to a mounting emergency. Within moments men and women were pouring out of the tent doubled over in pain. He was surrounded by officers in distress [Diagnose (General): 5; Miss]. In its haste, the Red Label had been improperly prepared. Half of the camp's officers and medical professionals were now suffering from methanol poisoning [Hard Move from the missed Scrounge].
Cut to a short staffed crowded recover tent with Major Crow a a handful of nurses left to tend to those poisoned by Cpl Wayne's Red Label.
Major Crow flies around the room tending to patients while giving directions to what able bodied nurses are left in the unit [Press Your Luck: 5; Miss]. The chaos builds. Without the necessary antidote available the next best thing available to treat methanol poisoning is an ethanol drip [Prescribe (General): 9; patients gain the Condition: Incapacitated].
The situation goes from bad to worse when a conceited Major Lampert barrels into the room looking for an opportunity to validate himself. He calls Major Crow's diagnosis into question [Pierce: 4; Miss]. He pulls the chart of one of one Joan Rodriguez, looks it over, and demands she be prepared for exploratory abdominal surgery. Maj. Crow insists that the Chief of Surgery is out of line and to stop this madness but before he knows it Cpl. Wayne is wheeling LT Rodriquez back to the O.R. [GM Spending hold from Missed Anticipator move].
As Maj. Lampert scrubs in for an operation spurned on by his own hubris, the nurse looks painfully at Cpl. Wayne. Her eyes pleading with him to do something. As the doctor turns towards the sterile field prepared to begin, the corpsman speaks up with a desperate plea for the doctor to stop. Wayne admits to Major Lampert that these people were poisoned as a result of the alcohol he provided; surgery would be reckless [Influence: 7].
The surgeon gives pause. Wayne has given him an out of the situation his ego had gotten him into. He snaps off his gloves and berates the corpsman as he storms out of the O.R.
Back in the holding tent, Cpl Blankenship charges in with a handful of papers. "Sirs," he stutters looking between the two majors. "Word from Command. We're moving north. LTC Cockburn has us moving at 0400!"
[Bug Out]
To be continued...
Actual Play by Michael Siebold
MASHED a roleplaying game by Mark Plemmons. © 2017 Brabblemark Press
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