"All
Turns Into Yesterday"
by Jimaine
— who feels like
she'd just written a history paper
Pairing: nothing
specific
Archive:
mash-slash and at http://tostwins.slashcity.net/jimaine.htm
Disclaimer: Don't
own any of the characters, historical or fictitious, and no money exchanged
hands. More is the pity
Author's notes:
(1) Some things
in the MASH-characters' (appearing courtesy of 20th Century FOX)
biographies aren't canon but the results of my own attempts to make sense of
the multitude of (sometimes contradictory) information given over the course of
the show.
(2) I'm neither
American nor a student of history. It's just a hobby. I did my best to research
the conflicts given and provide accurate information, but in some cases, the
sources are consulted disagree and sometimes it's not clear whether the date
corresponds to a ceasefire or definite treaty, or, for that matter, to the
first shot being fired. Don't lynch me for it. It's not that relevant to the
essence of the fic anyway. What I want to say, is said, and that's that. And if
anyone thinks that I'm being too critical, feel free to express your dismay – I
have my fire-extinguisher standing by.
Just be glad that
I didn't include *en detail* the Turkish Wars, the Thirty Year War, the French
Revolution, the Napoleonic Wars, everything that went on in Russia, or even
something as early as the Trojan War J I was tempted…but then I didn't have the
energy.
*********
September
14th, July 9th, New Year and Christmas. Columns in a ledger, numbered squares
on a calendar, graphic representations of 24-hour units. And human lives.
***1339
– 1453***
Before the great explorers, before the discovery of the New World That's Not So Brave, the notable wars are limited to Europe.
England
and France fight for supremacy and territory, two kings ascending on either
side over the hundred (and fourteen more, actually) years of conflict this war
is named for.
Centuries
later, some William Shakespeare would pick the Battle of Agincourt for one of
his histories. (("O now; who will behold/ The royal captain of this ruined
band/ Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,/ Let him cry, 'Praise and
glory on his head!'"))
It
will look comparatively tame and civilized on stage.
They
fight at Crecy, Poitiers, all over France. English archers are pitched against
French cavalrymen. A new weapon, the powerful longbow, wreaks as much havoc
among the French knights as will in later days machine-guns and mortars. The
bloodshed is interspersed with various treaties and brief periods of peace
during which the two parties regroup, raise more funds from the starving
populace, settle revolts back home, or agree, with the Church's blessing, to
burn a teenaged peasant girl at the stake.
When
peace finally arrives, most of those who are suffering on both sides can't
really tell the difference.
***June
16th, 1775 – September 3rd, 1783***
Like
so many things in life, the one spark that sets off the hostilities, is money,
the eternal, and arguably the best motivator. The conflict between France and
England is barely over, when new issues trouble the colonies.
The
colonial war has severely drained England's resources and in order to pay off
his debts, King George III enforces new tax-laws.
The thirteen
colonies won't stand for it.
Fifty
bales of tea are set afloat in Boston Harbor and a year later, on a September
day in Philadelphia, George Washington is named commander of the new
Continental Army.
When,
after months of small-scale engagements and skirmishes, the fighting starts for
good, the ranks of the colonists are reinforced by thousands of volunteers.
On
July 4th, 1776, the declaration of independence is the ultimate sign for King
George to end this revolution by any means necessary, but the reinforcements he
sends encounter heavy resistance.
The
winter of 1777 at Valley Forge becomes the final and greatest trial for
Washington's troops. No battle is fought during their six-month encampment there,
the only struggle is against the elements, disease and low morale.
With
French support, they eventually force the English army to surrender at
Yorktown; the last of His Majesty's troops leave American soil in 1783.
Years
of postwar problems follow, the new nation struggling for recognition as a
sovereign state, and Washington, in his Farewell Address, warns of 'foreign
entanglements', a view which is to influence the foreign and domestic policy of
the U.S. for the two centuries and well into a third…
'Foreign
entanglements' – a term open to interpretation.
***April
12th, 1861 – April 9th, 1865***
One of
the first instances of North against South, a nation, one *people* torn apart
in a battle of brother against brother. The nation's split in half, severed at
the waist, and as the blue arms, head and torso battle the gray pelvic region
and legs, God watches in confusion; He hears the cries for help on both sides
and doesn't quite know in whose favor he should decide.
Soon,
the war isn't just about the end of slavery or difference in lifestyles
anymore.
After
the Confederacy's unconditional surrender at Appomattox, a nation has to deal
with financial losses in excess of eight billion dollars and rebuild the
devastated South.
But
the loss of life weighs the heaviest. The figure at the bottom of the bill is
staggering, a death toll the likes of which America has never known and never
will know again. Unbeknownst by all, a new record has been set: the fatalities
of these four years will continue to surpass the added totals of all other
American wars, past and future.
***June
28th, 1914 – November 11th, 1918***
It's the Golden Twenties. The Great War, the so-called War To End All Wars, has been over for years (Johnny came marching home, hurrah…) and the last fires are being put out. The world is slowly recovering. As the nations mourn their dead, heal their wounded and rebuild their economies, people start looking towards the future with hope again, and in a bed in Crabapple Cove, Maine, a newborn baby boy is falling asleep in his mother's arms. His little world consists of voices, loving touches, warmth and safety; the lullaby that fills his dreams never mentions the possibility that among the future days of his brand-new life there'll be other dates he has to worry about aside from birthdays, graduations and his wedding.
He is
but one of an entire generation that's to be disillusioned soon enough.
***September
1st, 1939 – September 2nd, 1945***
In an Officers'
Club at Anderson Air Force Base on Guam, the radio crackles ominously, a news
broadcast interrupting the gentle crooning of Sinatra to announce that a few
minutes ago, General MacArthur has signed Japan's unconditional surrender.
Sitting
at his table, Lt.-Col. Sherman Potter closes his eyes and lets out a sigh of
relief. It's over, at last it's over. He raises his glass in a toast to peace
(the men, officers and noncoms alike, readily join him, hear, hear) and his
voice in a song.
They
are celebrating all day and on into the night, but his heart is heavy with
thoughts of home and Mildred and how he will never be able to balance the
checkbook of their marriage.
Their
years apart will always be greater in number than their years together.
Stepping
outside, he feels the effect of the one too many drinks he's had and smiles up
at the sickle of the waxing moon, compares it to the Grim Reaper's scythe
that's finally being granted a respite after years of continuous use.
Just
like his scalpel.
It's
early September, as warm as late July here in the Pacific, and in the thick,
humid air, the smell of diesel-fuel and steaks mingles with the sweet fragrance
of exotic blossoms. Today doesn't smell any different than yesterday.
His
second war, his second peace, but then they say this bit about the third time
being –
He
doesn't finish the thought.
Maybe,
he muses, he should take those two weeks of leave he's been postponing since
Easter. Fly home to Hannibal, Missouri, and fix the door to the garden-shed. Lend
a hand in picking apples and cherries…a peaceful Sunday on the front porch,
coffee and fresh apple-pie and Mildred sitting next to him, the two of them
just being silent together.
Yes,
it certainly sounds like a good idea.
Peace
has come again, a soldier is thinking about home, and halfway around the world,
in California, Maine and Massachusetts and every other part of the One Nation
Under God, young men graduate from medical school and start their first year of
residency. They are eager and idealistic and think that some day they will
change the world.
***June
25th, 1950 – July 27th, 1953***
Sunlight
is streaming through the stained glass windows of the church, creating
multicolored patterns on wood and stone and the ivory canvas of a bridal dress.
It's a beautiful morning in late May, and in the eyes of the groom the only
thing more beautiful still is his wife-to-be.
They
have waited long enough to take this next step in their long relationship.
His joy
as he repeats the vows is shared by friends and family who have come to bear
witness to this union. Not a lot of people, only thirty, maybe forty, counting
the priest and the bridesmaids and the impossible prankster he's picked for a
best man.
It's a
small and simple wedding – Peggy Hayden and B.J. Hunnicutt, MD, soon to enter
into his last and hopefully final year as a resident, can't afford much more.
They
exchange the rings, golden bands as light as air – it shall be in another
country, thousands of miles away, that the precious metal shall grow heavy with
guilt, doubt and misplaced (are they, really?) emotions – and speak the
forever-binding words ("I do." – "I do.") and he lifts the
veil to seal his vow with a kiss.
In
sickness and in health, for the best of times and the worst of times…and the
definition of those is up to the politicians.
It is
the United States' debut as 'world police', the first Crusade (to use the right
wrong word) and it turns out to be more complicated than anticipated, for the
enemy isn't just one people with one name to it.
It's
an idea they mean to keep from spreading ("…support free peoples who are
resisting attempted subjugation by armed minorities or by outside
pressures", nicely put, Mr Truman), but in reality that idea is made up of
faces that are just as human and just as scared. This idea bleeds the same
color as democracy, can likewise be hurt and killed by bullets and shells.
It
nurtures a xenophobia that will continue for half a century; incidentally,
Greece (also a recipient of Truman's anti-communist aid) is among the many xenoí nations 'policing' Korea.
In
Korea, they fight with guns and heavy artillery.
Meanwhile,
in the States (home, bittersweet home), another war rages. These soldiers wear
suits and their weapons are pens and paper as they follow the orders of their
Supreme Commander McCarthy.
In Korea, the wounded are rushed from the front to the five MASH-units where young doctors, who are deficient in age, experience and training, do their best to save them using what little they have and know. Meatball surgery, they call it, quick stitches, nothing fancy, on their particular assembly line they build Model-T patients in 24/48/72-hour shifts.
And then
late at night, their fingers trembling and weary, they rebuild each other,
patching up the holes with tender touches and whispers. The glue – the liquid
equivalent of 3-0 silk – is high-proof moonshine.
In the
States, the casualties are rushed to prison, but even if they make it back out,
their reputations rarely recover.
For
three years, the fighting seesaws back and forth over the 38th
parallel, and the only difference between Hill (Pick a number! "C"
for Calvary, C 35 – Bingo!) and Hell is a letter.
Young
men and women meet, and on the anvil of suffering, lasting friendships are
forged.
Even
love is found and lost and, occasionally, retrieved.
For
some it's the worst of times, for some it's (in spite of all) the best.
And it's
golden rings, photographs, letters and memories stowed away in footlockers
under army cots that cause some seals ("I do, I do…don't I?") to
crack.
Many of those who return home are wasted and broken in body and soul, and many don't return at all.
***August
7th, 1964 (actually,
much earlier than that, but who's crazy about detail?) – 1973***
As it is the case in many armed conflicts, no specific dates exist for its beginning or end, you can only say that an existing situation suddenly heats up and rapidly evolves into open warfare. Later it will not end but dwindle to an indecisive 'something', dissipate into the steam rising from the jungle that's Southeast Asia.
What
has begun as background noise to Korea (after all, the French had the situation
in Indochina well in hand – or so they claim up to the day of their
withdrawal), becomes a full-fledged, independent crisis.
There's
other kids doing the fighting now and other doctors treating them. Vietcong,
Agent Orange and terrorist bombings, My Lai and other 'mistakes'…
Their
predecessors read about it in the papers, shake their graying heads in
horrified confusion – don't they ever learn? And at night, when the demons of
blood and naked bone are pounding on the gates of memory, trying to claw their
way inside (Or is that 'out'?), they hold their loved ones, be they male,
female or a deity, and continue the fight that has never really stopped for
them.
Dien Bien Phu, the Tet Offensive…relentless fighting from the Delta to the DMZ, convoluted politics (Vietnam's a hot potato no one wants to handle) and the Hippie movement, all overshadowed by the fire in the jungle that burns on and on and on.... Fifty-eight thousand lives later, it's over.
They
stand in front of a black wall of stone in Washington, D.C. and read the names
of those who perished in this new 'Police Action' (at least, after a while,
they had the decency to officially call it a war) after barely having survived
the other. Some of them they recognize as people they put together and who now had
gotten killed (*switch on the sarcasm*) at a more convenient time.
***Past,
Present and Future***
Everybody's
an aggressor at some point or other in history. Italy, France, Great Britain,
Germany, the Soviets...China, Japan, the U.S... Imperialism and expansion (be
it for territory, ideologies or plain profit) tempt and corrupt, exempting no
one, and the political map of the world remains in a state of constant flux.
Dictators,
unpopular regimes and oppression of minorities continue to provide a healthy
turnover in the defense-sector and headline news of "Civil wars, Uprisings
and Terrorism". There's always a gun firing somewhere, a shell exploding,
always someone riding a bus and setting off the six pounds of C-4 hidden in his
rucksack.
Bosnia, Kosovo,
Chechnya.
Somalia, Rwanda,
Ethiopia.
Liberia, Congo,
Sudan.
The
powder-keg that's Israel and Palestine.
Northern
Ireland, the Basque Country, Algeria.
Pakistan,
India, East Timor.
And
don't forget Colombia, please!
Kuwait,
Iraq, Afghanistan...
And
then, of course, of *course*, there's the much-hailed War Against Terror, the
Battle Against the Axis of Evil.
An odd
terminology, considering that war – in any incarnation, on any scale – is evil
by definition, and in itself the greatest terror of all. The greatest threat to
life. Two wrongs don't make one right, not in this case. War isn't about
mathematics.
A
disembodied voice hovers over the battlefields, headstones and mass-graves like
smoke, the words a death-knell for millions.
//But
it doesn't end. It's continuous. When it finishes here, they take it on the
road. I can catch it anytime, anyplace.//
And in between, not as overt and aggressive, there's doctrines and pacts and plans of "support", agreements made in public or secret between allies and enemies – sometimes these two terms are interchangeable and vary on a daily basis. War is a reliable institution, a constant in all political and economical equations.
The Hundred Year's War.
The Thirty-Year War.
The Six-Day War.
The Hundred-Hour War aka Operation Desert Storm.
One could be led into thinking that there was a tendency towards shorter, more efficient and 'cleaner' wars, pardon the euphemism. That smoke-screen of modern technology and tactics doesn't conceal the aftermath which is still the same as thousands of years ago when two tribes of Neanderthals fought over a particularly cozy cave, clobbering each other to death with sticks and stones, weapons that would break bones as easily as a smart-bomb dropped from an F-14.
The end result is blood and pain. Nothing modern or civilized or clean about that.
It's
all about influence and power.
It
always is.
Never
simply about "living life for life's sake".
Dates
of birth and death, of beginnings and endings. Alphas and Omegas.
Never
of war, though, only of peace.
FINIS