"I must remind myself a hundred times each day that what I am I owe to the lives of other men, . . . and that I must exert myself in order that I may give in the same manner that I receive." - Brigadier General Anna Mae Hays, 13th Chief of the Army Nurse Corps. (She had used Albert Einstein's quote as her philosophy of service to her country).

Sergeant Frank Woods wasn't normally the type of a guy to give a man the cold shoulder upon first meeting, but seeing as how Hudson was with the CIA, he couldn't really help it. The CIA were his employers, true, but it didn't necessarily mean he had to kiss their ass whenever he saw them. He didn't really like them for his own personal reasons.

Save for Mason, of course.

Perhaps dismissing Hudson throughout the day had gone a bit too far. A small frown came about his face, and it was then he decided that he would treat the guy a bit better next time they ran into each other.

He picked up another manila colored folder just as his left hand had tossed the other back down. He grimaced when the table had shifted just as he had placed his arm upon its top. As he turned the front of it towards him he caught sight of the thin white strip just above it reading Margaret M. Caffrey in bold calligraphy. Frank's fingertips drummed along the crease in his forehead as he debated on whether or not to read it for the umpteenth time. Releasing a low grumble of mixed curses, he placed it down in front of him and opened the folder to reveal her dossier.

He remembered reading it for the first time three years ago; a year before she had been stationed to stay with them. The first thing that had caught his immediate attention was her family background. Her father had been some kind of scientist, perhaps not even that. The sources were mixed up, and he couldn't be bothered to go through them all.

"Late night?"

Frank glanced up and was surprised to see that Mason had walked into the room that he had made into a makeshift home away from home.

Alex took a seat opposite from Woods, the un-sturdy table separating them while serving as Woods's makeshift desk. His eyes swept over the countless sheets of paper scattered across the top before he looked back up to see that his friend had just closed a folder and placed it beneath a pile of others.

"Never mind, that's an understatement."

"You're damn right it is," Frank said while pushing some of the sheets of paper aside. "I have to look over all this when I could be sleeping."

"So why don't you?" Alex inquired as he picked up one of the papers. "Paper-pushing isn't in your line of duty."

Woods shrugged as he watched him read the descriptions. "Yeah, but I can't sleep. Haven't been able to for years now."

The younger man allowed the paper to fall from his hand. He pursed his lips in thought before he leaned back in the chair with his hands folded neatly over his torso.

"Why don't you get that checked out?"

"No, I rather go out with the biggest fucking bang ever rather than being cut off over some small condition."

"Yet," Mason stressed, "it can be life threatening. What if you fall asleep while leading us through a Viet Cong infested jungle?"

An arch of Frank's eyebrow gave some indication that he was uncomfortable with spilling his guts about a minor condition. "Nice to see where your faith in me lies." His tone had been teasing of course, albeit there was some hint of irritation in his voice as well.

"You know what I mean," Alex clarified.

"I've been fine so far; I manage to get in four hours of sleep before getting up." Woods explained, while resting his face against his knuckle. "Change the topic?"

It might have seemed like a question at first, but Mason was more than sure that Woods wanted the topic of his sleeping disorder to be long forgotten.

"Alright. I was thinking about something the other day." A nod in his direction urged him to continue. "Remember the Kennedy assassination?"

"Who doesn't?" He replied, the day suddenly coming back to him as though it happened yesterday.

"I've been mulling over that before coming to Khe Sanh. It feels as though I had a direct part in that."

"This isn't the time or place to even suggest that you were," Woods had quipped almost immediately, aware that Mason making such claims would attract any kind of attention.

The younger man nodded in agreement. "I know. It's just something that I can't shake off," he sat upright in his seat with his fingers still entwined together in front of him. A smirk claimed his face as he threw a glance in Woods's direction. "Like your insomnia."

A grin broke out upon Woods's face at the flippant remark. "Sometimes, I think you're asking for an ass-whooping." Although the grin had slid off his lips, his tone was still just as lighthearted as Mason's current mood. "If there's one thing I know, it's that you're not that kind of person. That nut-job Oswald acted alone, just like what the higher ups concluded. It had nothing to do with you then, and it has nothing to do with you now."

He didn't know whether or not Alex took his opinion of him to heart. The kid wasn't exactly the type of guy who went around fishing for compliments, and even then he didn't think highly of himself. He never was the same after the incident in Vorkuta. It changed him, and to what degree, Woods didn't know. Even though Mason still had his joking nature intact, it sometimes appeared forced.

"Alright, let's change the subject, again," Woods prompted as Alex nodded in agreement. "Thoughts on Caffrey?"

Almost immediately Mason's expression went from solemn to one of curiosity upon the mention of the corporal. "General? Or...personal?"

"Both."

"She's a decent medic. You told me she tried to save that Fontaine kid, right?" Woods nodded. "Yeah, she knows her stuff but she seemed to blank out a couple of times during our fight through the trenches."

"So, I wasn't the only one who noticed that," the sergeant flipped through the countless folders on the table before bringing up her dossier once again, "I haven't got the faintest clue why she does that. All I know is that it's going to end up getting her killed."

"Are you planning to tell her about it?"

"I gave her a warning already. Besides, I get the feeling she'd rather be back at a field hospital then go out on the front lines again." Woods tossed Mason the folder before deciding to tilt back in his chair.

A thoughtful look came across his face as he focused on the current objective. Khe Sanh hadn't been the main goal, but hell, he wasn't about to let those bastards take out the compound. They lost both Rosebyrne and Fontaine among other good soldiers who didn't deserve that kind of shady attack. The more Woods thought about it, the more he compared it to Pearl harbor. He had been a boy then, no more than eleven at the time, and yet he had remembered his father's reaction to it. Low down shitty dogs. Those exact words.

Ironic how he remembered his old man's behavior and not his own at times.

Frank was brought back to the present when he heard the folder being tossed back upon the pile of papers. Alex's face remained a blank slate. Frustrating at times, but hell, it was his advantage.

"Her old man sounds like a piece of work."

"A smug bastard seems more appropriate." He rotated in his chair with his lips pursed and his elbow perched upon the arm of the seat. "We all have our sob stories. I'm just trying to figure out if hers is responsible for blanking out at the crucial moments."

Alex nodded in agreement; his attention now fixated on trying to somehow force the table to remain mounted. "I know this may sound crazy, but have you tried asking her about it?" His hands were on either side of the contraption. His face now contorted into a look concentration as he attempted to move it, hoping that that would somehow fix it.

"Not in full detail. She seems like the type to keep to herself. It's frustrating as fuck, but I'm not about to force her to cough up the details."

Alex had seized his current actions in order to look around the area that Woods had claimed as his own. His eyes fell upon a cardboard box perched upon a filing cabinet that had been left there from God knows when. He got up from his seat and proceeded to walk over to it. He managed to tear part of the lid off before folding it in half and walking back towards the troublesome piece of furniture. He bent down on one knee and had placed the piece of cardboard under the shorter leg of it.

Woods had watched this while musing at the fact that Mason was so bothered by something so trivial.

Once he was sure that it would seize from moving around, Alex claimed his seat again with a dull look of content on his face.

"Thanks for fixing the table, it was really bugging the crap out of me."

"Oh, sarcasm. Gotta love it."

Both friends shared a collective laugh. It was refreshing in a way; it eased his mind off of what was going on in the outside world. Sure, it had been something as pointless as this, but Woods wasn't about to be like one of the higher ups. It was moments like these that made him feel as though he didn't have important things to take care of. Albeit, the moment would have to come to an end.

The older man rose up from his seat and walked around the table and headed towards the door. "Enjoy the time off while you can, Mason. Not long from now we're gonna have to endure more shit."

Margaret's fingers were pulling the needle through the skin as the thread began to piece it back together. Hudson had been absorbed in a dossier for the past half hour, moving only when he had to turn the page. She continued working on his laceration just as he closed the manila-colored folder and had tossed it beside him on the cot.

An audible, frustrated sigh was heard from him as he continued to sit still.

"So," she decided to begin seeing as how an uncomfortable silence befell on them. "Are you going with Woods and Mason to Hue City?"

"No," he replied swiftly.

She nodded while dabbing at the wound with a antiseptic soaked gauze. She had a feeling that Hudson wasn't up for keeping a conversation with her, and that didn't bother her. She continued to work on closing it up, only looking up whenever he shifted beside her. After ten minutes of enduring the cleaning, she had informed him that her work on him was done.

"Just be careful...I suppose."

He nodded before rolling down his sleeve. Without another word Hudson had stood up from the cot and had made his way to the doorway. Margaret began removing the latex gloves while eying the various utensils that would need to be sterilized right away.

"...Thank you, Caffrey."

She looked up in time to see the door close behind him, leaving the Corporal to sit there in surprise at his small token of gratitude. If she recalled correctly, it wasn't that long ago that Hudson had insisted that his laceration was of no serious importance, and that it would heal over time. Alas, however, he had decided to allow her to treat his wound.

A smile was evident as the medic turned back to the tray, now tasked with cleaning up the station.

She was suddenly startled upon hearing the door to the barracks open. When she turned, she almost expected to see Hudson coming back in. Instead, she found Woods walking over to where she sat. His shoulders were squared back as his brisk walk oozed with the usual confidence of that of a renowned soldier.

"Sergeant," she greeted, smile still present upon her lips.

"Caffrey," he took a seat opposite of her before giving her a half-smile. "How's your ankle?"

Margaret had almost forgotten about her own injury, even though it had been a minor one. The blond woman glanced down at her ankle before looking back up at him. "I'm pretty sure it'll be fine, I mean, it might be swollen but I didn't rip any tendons."

Although he had given her foot another glance, Woods had seemed to take her word for it.

"So you can walk on it," more of an assertion than question, it seemed.

"Oh definitely," she agreed, "...But jumpin' and climbin' over stuff? Gonna-"

"Hurt like hell," he murmured.

It was almost like a game with Woods finishing her sentences. As though he sensed her slight hesitation during her pauses. Did she want to go on? No, not really but it wasn't up to her where she went. If Woods wanted her somewhere, then she would follow and perform her duties without resistance.

Woods had leaned forward with his elbows on top of his thighs. A look of solace was upon his face and it gave her some reassurance. Margaret had seen him drilling a squad before back at base, and it was a sight to see whenever the sergeant would inform a soldier of his mistake. The entire squad would endure the consequences.

Perhaps this was why he was here.

"Do you prefer to go to a field hospital rather than go back on the front lines?"

Margaret had then diverted her attention to cleaning off the tray that had become her station. Of course she would rather go to a hospital, but she couldn't shake off the feeling that perhaps she would be most needed on the front lines with Woods and his team. Although she knew it was dangerous for her to be there, maybe she should just suck it up.

She frowned once she was aware that Woods was still watching her; awaiting her response. "I'll go where I'm told."

"What do you prefer?" He asked again with authority coming into his tone.

She seized her movements and turned to look at him. "I believe I would be more useful to a field hospital."

"Alright then," Woods gave her a cordial smile, but his face became serious once more as he held her gaze. "I actually want to ask you something. All I want is the truth; don't worry about me blabbing this to the CIA or your superiors, I just need to know..."

Margaret could already predict what Woods was about to ask. She knew that he would notice sooner or later and she would have to divulge everything to him. Sure, she could lie, or she could just refuse to tell him but what good would that do? None. That's what. The blond woman folded her hands in her lap as she awaited his question.

"...What is it that makes you become distracted? You know that if one of the other higher ups saw that shit they would have your ass for it."

Well, shit. She didn't think anyone else had noticed, save for Woods who had brought it to her attention during their run through of the base. The front of her teeth grazed over her bottom lip as she tried to offer a good explanation. She could tell him her story, divulge her past to the man in front of her, but then again, a lot of soldiers had their own sob stories. What made hers so different from theirs? Some probably had it worse, but the thing was, most of them were men. They usually sucked it up and carried on with their priorities. Margaret wasn't use to doing that. When she was younger, she had been basically treated like a princess by her mother and father for being their first born. In other terms, she had been - Dare she say it? - spoiled.

The only reason why her life had suddenly turned upside down was because of her father. She uncovered the things he did, shady things too, and suddenly he had fallen off his pedal-stool. He was no longer the resilient man she had thought he was. Oh, but when her father had found out that she had been snooping around in his office, he had then turned into the wicked man he truly was.

Thus, forcing her to leave Ireland for America. On her own terms of course.

However, that didn't mean she didn't fear him. She knew what he was capable of, and so, she chose to leave her family behind.

Woods had coughed, though it sounded like it had been forced.

"I'm sure you've read my file, Sergeant. Although, some things were left out of it. Everyone has their sob story, mine's no different. Basically, my thoughts just go to my father and family back in Ireland. That, and I tend to analyze and think things over when I'm busy doing something."

"It's not a bad thing," he interjected right after. "Though during battle, it's a stupid thing to do. You could've gotten your ass killed, or even your fellow soldiers." Margaret nodded, guilt beginning to seep in as her green eyes became fixated on her hands. "I'm not trying to make you feel like shit; all I'm saying is that you need to understand the kind of danger around you and to not let yourself get distracted. It will cost lives, Caffrey."

Her eyes glanced up to look him in the face. It was the least she could do; to show him that she understood his point. "I understand, Sergeant. And I'll take full responsibility if it happens again."

"No," he said sternly, "It won't happen again. The next time it does, a nice big stack of paperwork will be waiting for you back at Fort Drum." He had used both his hands to give her a better understanding of how tall the stack would be. The distance between his hands was enough to make her grimace, but once she heard Woods mention Fort Drum, she became all the more eager to not let it happen again.

"Oh, Fort Drum," Margaret muttered under her breath.

"Yeah, I know about Fort Drum. I've even had a few drinks with Colonel Hays too."

Woods couldn't help but allow a small smile to come upon his lips at the memory. He remembered the meeting with Colonel Anna Hays, the 13th Chief of the Nurse Corps. She had paid them a visit in order to see how her officers were holding up. She was just as strict and serious as everyone made her out to be, and she had made sure he and the others knew it. Sure she had been barely appointed the Chief position early last year, but hell, Hays didn't play around. Though once Woods and her got talking, he found that she had interesting stories to tell.

"I don't have a problem with Colonel Hays, she's a remarkable woman," Margaret said as her posture slowly eased into relaxation. "I just don't care much for being put behind a desk with paperwork to do."

"It's really not that bad."

Somehow Margaret found that hard to believe. "You enjoy doing paperwork until your hand cramps, Sergeant Woods?"

"Who doesn't?" Woods countered, and the two shared a collective chuckle.

She noticed that he hadn't said anything after she mentioned her father. Who knows, maybe he already knew that was the case and had just wanted her to admit it. Still, she was glad he didn't bring it up, and instead he had let it slip by without notice. It suited her fine; she wasn't completely ready to tell Woods about her entire back story just yet. She needed a little more time to go over it.

"The boys and I were planning to play a round of poker," he began while giving a casual glance over his shoulder. "Wanna join in?"

"What will we be playing for?"

"'D-1' cans."

She raised her eyebrow at his nonchalant answer. "'D-1' cans?"

Woods nodded, while musing at her visible disbelief. "Yeah, you know, the cans they serve up with the MCI rations."

"No, I know what they are. But...you guys are practically playing for fruit cans. I thought at least you guys would go all in with money." With a small shake of his head he had then stood up before making his way over to the barracks' exit.

Woods released a low, husky chuckle before opening the door with one firm hand on the handle. "Army punks these days."

Great. Why did she feel as though she had insulted the man? She too had had MCI rations, and although they weren't exactly a classy meal, it did the trick in satisfying her hunger.

"I'll still play!"

He turned to look at her over his shoulder; a small smirk turning up the corners of his mouth before he motioned her to follow. "Then let's go."

I feel bad for not getting this chapter out sooner, but alas, here it is. I hope you guys are still enjoying this story. I'm still very much interested in finishing it.

Footnotes:

-Although the quote has her as Brigadier General, Anna Hays didn't actually become the designated rank until June of 1970. And so, her rank before 1970 was that of Colonel.

-MCI rations: Basically, they were meals that came in different cans and these were around before being replaced in 1980. Meat (M cans), bread (B cans), and dessert (D cans). D-1 cans consisted of fruit, as mentioned in the story.