Tent Number Six, the home of Forrest, Pierce and McIntyre, became a center of social activity. It also became known as The Swamp, partly because it looked like the kind of haunt one might come across in a bog and partly because Hawkeye Pierce, while in college and unable to afford a dormitory room, had lived just off the campus in a shanty that his classmates had called The Swamp. The words, in big capital letters—THE SWAMP—were painted in red on the door of Number Six.

“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.”

A short, balding soldier, a corporal, wearing an army knit cap and GI wire-rimmed glasses, ducked beneath the rotor arc and opened the helicopter’s door.

“Welcome to the 4077th MASH.” He said. “Everybody but me’s in surgery, so this is all the welcoming committee you get.”

“Thank you for meeting me,” Father Mulcahy said. “About that cross, young man...”

“Oh,” the corporal said, “that’s where Hawkeye and Trapper John were going to burn Shaking Sammy, our last chaplain. Colonel Blake wouldn’t let them.” His disappointment was obvious.

Mulcahy recognized the symptoms of fatigue and depression and wasn’t at all surprised when Mclntyre finally looked up at him and snarled, “What the hell do you want, Holy Joe?”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Father Mulcahy asked.

“Not unless you’ve got a quart of gin in your little black bag,” Hawkeye said. “Don’t let the doorknob hit you on the ass on your way out.”

“We have an arrangement around here, pal,” Trapper said. “We don’t take up collections, and the religious fraternity stays out of the Swamp.”