Author's note-

I am listing these three stories in 'The Never-Ending Battle' first, as they are the seminal pieces needed to understand the cycle. Stories after these three will be listed in chronological order. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy this AU look at our favorite medics.

Dear Connor

By Rob Morris

May 1st, 1952, Korea - A Hundred Quickenings Ago...

A medic began to write a letter home to someone he held dear, in this case the closest thing he had to a blood relation. While this was hardly a unique situation in the KTO, the medic in question was quite unique. Born three-hundred and sixty years before in the Highlands of Scotland, he was still alive and quite youthful-looking. He was an Immortal (Called a Sword-Immortal by some, to differentiate his kind from such creatures as vampires), mostly unable to die, and in this he was not wholly unique. There were others like him. Some good, some evil, and all engaged in a deadly game in which the winner took his enemy's head, and with it, his power. What this power actually gave to its recipient is not at all certain. Indeed, the only certainty in all Immortal life was the truth known to very few: In The End, There Can Be Only One. He was Duncan Macleod, one of two master swordsmen of the same clan to go by one evocative name. He was The Highlander.

The place he was writing from was, on the other hand, wholly unique. Indeed, there was no place on Earth in any era quite like the 4077th MASH. As had been said on many occasions, the people of the 4077th were not the sort you'd want riding with you into pitched battle. But by and large, even to its least skilled members, they would be your first pick to treat the wounded after that battle was done. Only one was unacceptable to them. They wanted ninety or better out of a hundred, and that was on their bad days.

This is the story of what happened and what began when the two war-weary objects met and collided and decided to have drinks and a few laughs about it afterwards. They had the drinks at Rosie's, though. Even Macleod knew better than to go near the Swamp's still.

-----

To: My Kinsman and Mentor,

Connor Macleod of The Clan Macleod

From: Your Kinsman and Student,

Duncan Macleod of The Clan Macleod

Dear Connor:

I have arrived at the MASH 4077th. If what I hear around is true, then this is where I can contact your old dear friend. May he quickly alleviate that concern of yours, when you should next meet. Do not worry though, kinsman; At no time will I betray your location; My word as a Macleod. When you are ready, I will arrange that you find him. I know that you trust him, Connor, but even I, outside the Game these many years, know better than to extend explicit trust to anybody.

I know. I can hear your raspy, over-Gallicized voice saying, *Anybody except a female body, Duncan. Heh, heh, heh, heh.* I'm getting better on that front---really.

At least I haven't let that little thief Amanda rope me into anything of late-I have to get points for that. Anyway, when I first arrived, here at the 4077th, I was quickly reminded of the immortal, who, in the end, will outlast even the Claimant to the Prize-Its Name Is War. For many, it is a breaker of faith. For others, though, it is a chance to live that faith to its fullest and, in so doing, oppose death in a way even Immortals might do to learn from.

-----

"Lord, I am grateful that these young men - if they had to be taken - were taken quickly. You-might want to listen to their families with a filtered ear, though, for a time. I fear their gratitude may be a while in coming. A wiser man than myself once said..."

At that,some unintentional eavesdropping was revealed as Duncan interrupted Father Mulcahy's coda to his prayers of extreme unction for the fallen.

"Ah, Johnny. Ye cannot see God's Plan because, in the end, it is all God's Plan. Trust is the basis of Faith. Now on to cook Dinner. And Johnny? Fewer potatoes, please."

Francis Mulcahy was a trifle upset at being interrupted. But he was more intrigued by who would know that exact quote, from his year learning at a small church in Paris.

"Only one person ever called me Johnny. You Know Father Darius?"

Macleod nodded.

"I am, you might say, one of his less successful students. I could never learn to believe in peace as he does-in my heart. Hello, Father. I am a medic from Her Majesty's Army, assigned for a time to your unit. My name is Duncan Burns."

------

At the time, Connor, I thought, where's the harm? Burns is a good, Scottish name, held by a great poet. Little did I know that, at the MASH 4077th, the name was held by a great twit. I've dealt with many a burden, Connor, but none in recent memory quite so noisome as this nervous little man following me about, pestering me with questions. Even Hugh Fitzcairn yaps not so much when he's drunk--and that man can yap.

------

"Major, I mean no disrespect. But Burns is a very common Scottish name. I am near to certain that we are not related."

"But Sergeant, all Burnses are related. My mother said so. We have a great and noble tradition, men of many great accomplishments."

"Ye mean like Robert Burns?"

"Who? No, I meant the great warrior Benwick Burns, scourge of the Highland Barbarians."

-----

Frank Burns had nothing in the way of real friends at the 4077th. Although he saw clearly the fact that I just wanted to sit down and eat my meal at the mess table, he must have figured he had nothing to lose. On the off chance that he and I were related, he had to pursue it. In his *mind*, having family at the 4077th put him in a stronger position. In reality, he was coming dangerously close to being the first mortal I considered beheading in a very long time.

My sword was in my duffel bag, Connor. I was honestly contemplating how minced Frank would taste in the evening soup. Other people in the tent moved away from the look on my face. Off a row back, Burns' fellow doctors, Benjamin Pierce and BJ Hunnicutt, watched with a mixture of concern and delight. Concern that I actually would kill Frank Burns, delight that he had glommed onto someone else that day. You'd like Pierce, Connor. Has your kind of trudge-along, get through it, rest later attitude. Calls himself *Hawkeye* after the Last of the Mohicans. I call him Doctor Pierce or Ben, if it's called for. I won't bother you again with the pain that American Indian names bring me. Until the day I find Kern and take his miserable head, that pain burns in me like the fire he roasted my family alive with.

But back to Burns. He felt compelled to tell me the story of the *Great* Highlander-killer, Benwick Burns. Figuring it good for a calming laugh, I listened. BJ later told me that was probably my first mistake. Smart man, that Hunnicutt.

-----

"So, unwilling to concede our clan's rightful claim to Glenfinnan, they called up this big bruiser. Get this-heeheh-they said he had come back from the dead. Sacrilegious and stupid both, those Highlanders. We had successfully nixed three of their best, and this fruitcake wanted revenge.

We-hell, let me tell you. Benwick faced him upon the field of battle, and shouted out his war-cry : *It's Clan Burns or this land burns.* Catchy, huh?"

----

Since this was a bit before I met you, Connor, allow me to explain. After besting my father's killer, the one as called himself a Viking, my mother insisted that I at least try to rule the Clan. Those who had known me as a boy acquiesced grudgingly for a few months. Then the Burnses came.

Their forged historical documents claiming much of Glenfinnan-Town might have stood an even chance in the Clans' Council, had they merely bothered to actually pay the forger. As it went, he denounced them as debt-skippers and liars. They, in turn, denounced him with their traditional clan cry of 'Niarts'. I've checked with dialogue experts, and no one is quite sure of the derivation. In fact, we're nae sure of where in blazes this Burns Clan even came from. Ben Pierce tells me they were forged in a volcano in Indiana. That seems not too far off.

The three Macleods as were supposedly 'nixed' were 3 skinny-dipping lasses the Burns boys' came upon one summer day. There were charges of assault spoken of, to be sure, but the girls backed each other up, and the boys could never prove a damned thing. It was not wise to violate our girls' privacy. Ye may have felt like a man while gawking, but they were known to make a lady out of you, were you caught holding the wrong cards, so to speak. So it was that Benwick Burns challenged me.

-----

GLENFINNAN, SCOTLAND, 1615

Looking a good deal less than manly in his kilt, Benwick Burns pointed his saber at the Highlander. Fearful of this man rumored to have returned from the dead, he felt the chill beneath his garb that everyone said he wasn't supposed to feel.

"I don't care what anybody says. I'm freezing in this thing."

Macleod called his foe to battle. He felt deeply embittered, and made no attempt to disguise it. His clansmen had read the coming of the inept Burns' clan as a sign of bad fortune, and had once again asked him to leave. It was a request he had no choice but to honor.

"Get on with it, Benwick Burns. I've heard it said that any man you cut into dies rapidly, and I'd like to find out for myself."

It was true. For some reason no one could figure, the warriors of Clan Burns were not men you wanted cutting into you. Burns taunted his opponent. Just not very well.

"Be not so anxious, Connor Macleod. Our swords mettle--and errr, their metal--will clash soon enough."

"I'm Duncan Macleod. Connor, if he lived at all, did so a century gone."

Burns looked away at his fellows and gulped.

"How many of these people come back from the dead, anyway? Must be some good water in Loch Glenfinnan."

He turned back, and then issued a war cry laced with the stellar competence that was his birthright.

"This Clan Burns My Clan Or My Clan Burns My Clan. Er-That is, uh-We declare war on Clan Burns."

Duncan stood there for a moment, wholly dumbfounded..

"Ye great fool. Ye are Clan Burns. Ye just declared war pon yourselves."

Seeking to maintain his facade of defiance, Benwick cried out, again proving that he was a true Burns.

"And dinnae think we willnae follow through. A Macleod's word is as good as our doom."

Duncan waited till he caught himself on that one, before starting the very short battle.

-----

1952

"So, Duncan old cousin, guess what that yellow-bellied Highland hillbilly corpse said to Benwick?"

----

Connor, at that point, I no longer cared whether or not he was a Major. My face blood-red, I looked Frank directly in the eye as I responded. I meant to have this sick strange little man off of me, and that in perpetuity.

-----

1952

"Ye have ruined my chance to peacefully rule over my clan, Benwick Burns. For that, I'm going to cut out your spleen and eat it in front of ye."

-------

Burns then turned white as a sheet-just like his ancestor. He fled-just like his ancestor. There was a faint whiff of ammonia as he went-again a family tradition. I sat down and ate the chipped beef. It was a lot like Burns. Though it didn't talk, I will swear that I saw it move. My efforts to pry off Doctor Burns had gained a happy audience in Doctors Pierce and Hunnicutt.

"Y'know, Beej? I think I'm gonna like this guy."

"That's all well and good for us, Hawk, but what about Jesse Owens? Thanks to our friend over there, Frank nearly broke his record. Or was that the wind he broke?"

"He can break it all he likes--just so long as he's gone with it. Hey, ladies. Hey--ladies?"

"Hawk--it looks to me like the nurses want to get some Scotch--instead of the usual ginned-up rummy."

"Ahhh--let them stray for greener pastures. But I sincerely hope our new friend realizes - this just may mean war."

"Don't you mean a police action?"

------

A group of the nurses walked in, and nearly to a one, they sat by me. My first day here, Connor, and already the Doctors have taken note of me. Pierce's eyes have been looking swords at me all day. So has the beauteous Head Nurse, who for some reason-is apparently an item with Frank Burns. Kinsman, war is hell.

With my promise to write more soon,

Duncan

PS - The ugliest, hairiest woman I have ever seen just passed in front of my tent. For some reason, they have the poor homely thing on sentry duty. Well, at least she appears to have good taste in the dresses she wears. And I'll have to ask her about those cigars she smokes.

------

Dear Connor:

Well, it's been a full week since I arrived at the 4077th. The Colonel, Sherman T. Potter, has assigned me triage duty - that's the prioritizing of patients due to their wounds, not their nationality. A far cry from when we left enemy soldiers to rot, and they us. Maybe mankind is seeing real progress, despite pigs like Kern, Kurgan, Kirin, and Drakov....say, did you ever notice how many of our foes have "R" in their names? Something to ponder, when I have time.

Right now, this letter is begun in the midst of hideous 36-hour marathons, all run in the blood of young men. it's nothing I'm not used to, nor is it anything I think I'll ever get used to. Colonel Potter has been eyeing me askance, and for good reason. Back in what we thought would always be called "The Great War", I met a soldier who had lied about his age. A soldier named Sherman T. Potter.

1917 ,WORLD WAR ONE, THE ARDENNES

"Jehosophat, it's comin' down. Hey, Mister Macleod. Have ya fixed up Ferdie yet?"

Duncan looked over at young Sherman and shook his head. Ferdinand Johansen, a boy Potter knew from basic, was beyond help. Ironically, he and his friend had been well hid from the shelling ; a stray had hit the ammo dump, shredding young Ferdie, but entirely missing Sherman. For Potter, it was his first real taste of death. Sadly, it would not be his last.

"WELL, That's just great. What are you, a doctor or a quack?"

"Neither, Potter. I am a Medic. There are no doctors out here. Living ones, anyway. Your friend and yourself got lost, along with me. We found each other, and if you don't keep quiet...Oh, damn."

In the door stood a German officer named Krause, and his soldiers. Macleod had known of him since he was a soldier in the Prussian Army of Frederick the Great. A man of honor toward other immortals, but ruthless toward mortal enemies. Sherman Potter was beaten silly and shaved bald. Macleod eventually escaped, along with other prisoners, including Potter. But that was not all there was to it. Not by a damned sight.

MASH 4077th, The Korean War

It has been so long, Connor, I cannot believe he remembers me. His treatment at the POW camp left him in sorry shape, for a brief time. Still I see that young man's angry face, hateful because I could not do for his friend what my body does for me just by keeping my head.

The Goddess I mentioned? Her name is Margaret Houlihan. Oh, kinsman. She is THAT sort. I want her merely by way of wanting her. But I have three serious obstacles to the affections of our beauteous Head Nurse. One is Major Houlihan's annoying paramour, Frank Burns, whom I have described previously. He still jumps at the sound of my voice. Another is Ben Pierce, whom I have declared a truce with in our bids for female companionship. Once my novelty wore off, things were a bit more even, anyway. A third is my retrograding as Sergeant. The Major likes to date men of equal or higher rank only.

Still, if I see an opening, I'm moving in. Burns is married, and has offered her no commitments. Pierce dances around her with dumb remarks. I would like to see the long path their relationship takes. As to my rank, I have been known to fetch the affection of noble women. As Ben Franklin once said, *Once negotiations have begun, neither a fortress nor an unsure woman will last very long.* I always liked him. Of course, he should never have put up that kite near an Immortal duel, but that was our Benny.

Since Burns cringed at my approach, I decided to ask Ben Pierce what he thought about my chances with Major Houlihan. He was guardedly optimistic.

"Your chances, Duncan? Slim, None, Fat, Uh-uh, No way, and snowball in hell. That, of course, depends on whether Hot Lips is in a good mood."

"Ah, don't sugar-coat it, Man. Give it to me straight."

As I bantered with Pierce, offering my opinions of his opinions and vice-versa, I noticed something odd. Father Mulcahy--Darius' student, here, was watching the Swamp, jotting notes. He later explained that the Swamp- Doctor's Quarters - was kind of Sin Central here at MASH. He liked Ben and BJ, and even Frank, but wanted to use it as an example to show what not to do. Given some of the stories I've heard, that's probably not a bad idea. Still, if it had not been the Priest saying this, I would have said it had the feel of a cover story. But it was the Padre, so I'm probably worrying too much again.

My real worry remained Margaret Houlihan. Pity she's not one of us--but, for how I scared Burns, she nevertheless wanted my head. For a last look into those eyes, I might've let her have it. As it stood, she let me have it -with both barrels.

"All I'm saying, Sergeant, is that Major Burns is your superior officer. What you did bordered on a threat. That could be construed as willful insubordination. Now I think you should march into his quarters and apologize, or do I have to make this a direct order?"

Pierce and The Padre listened in, wanting to see how Macleod might squirm out of this.

"Major Houlihan, did anyone not tell you that you are beautiful when you become angry?"

Margaret looked over, directly at Pierce, and said: "Yes, but not so well as you, Sergeant Burns. How about you calm my temper at the Officers' Club, over a few drinks you'll buy me?"

As we left, Father Mulcahy seemed to follow. Other nurses looked hatefully towards their superior officer. Ben Pierce stood dumbstruck.

"You mean that line actually works? Who'dve thought.?"

Dear Connor:

For the past three days I have enjoyed the company and attentions of the beautiful Margaret Houlihan. Apparently, she and Burns had something of a falling-out, so her words on him were brief. Tellingly, though, she went on for an hour as to why Ben Pierce was the sort of man she could never love.

"Well, Duncan, if you must know, he's just far too undisciplined. Always a joke, never a serious comment. Always gawking, never admiring. Do you know he once scammed me into looking at his behind? The nerve. It wasn't even good-looking--much."

"Margaret, how did he scam you into such a thing?"

"There were these flu shots. I took mine in the arm. But he insisted on having it placed into his rump. I mean, what an ego. Did he really think my staring at his terrific behind was going to undo all the lousy stuff he's pulled?"

"I thought you said it was nae memorable?"

Without missing a beat, she downed another part of her drink, and said, "It wasn't."

I had bad news for Ben Pierce, Connor. If he was content to play out this dance between himself and Margaret, I wasn't. Her boiling Celtic manner had me entranced. Hot and cold running love. Mortals think they have forever to decide these things. Oddly, we all know better. When an Immortal sees the chance, they---- seize the chance. Not now, but soon I will tell the Major of my true feelings.

Perhaps inevitably, something interrupted our little afternoon together--the voice of young Walter O'Reilly-another expatriate fellow Celt as calls himself Radar. A nice, shy young man I've yet to meet. But I hear his voice near everyday -informing us that the unpleasant business of the MASH 4077th has arrived. It rarely goes on less than ten hours.

At the end of it, Colonel Potter called over to me. Given the awkward nature of my ill-chosen surname, everyone has taken to calling me Duncan, or Sarge. I didnae mind. I am here to help the wounded, and to undertake your contact, not to work my way through the ranks. Potter's words to me were shocking, indeed. But at first they seemed somewhat innocuous.

"Excellent tracheotomies, Duncan. I fact, anything that seems to involve minor cutting you just ace like nobody's business."

"Thank You, Colonel. I've had enough practice to last me several lifetimes."

Sorry, Connor. But sometimes you just have to say it out loud, or you'll crack.

"Y'know, Sergeant? I lost a lot of buddies back in WW One. But the one that hurt the most was Ferdie Johansen. I'd seen men, even pals, die before, but that was the first time I'd lost somebody I was sure was gonna pull through. Damn stupid kids. We thought we were gonna live forever, never grow old. You know who I blamed for his death?"

Hoping against hope, I merely said "The Kaiser?"

Vain hope, that one.

"No, I blamed the British medic. Poor guy was only doing what he could, but I shouted my damn fool head off. Clued a German patrol as to our location. They--used Ferdie's body for target practice. Kraut officer was a pure SOB. Had us POW's beaten regularly. Except for the medic. I still hated him at the time. I was still suspicious when he helped us to escape. Guess what happened then?"

Oh, Connor, I knew where this might be leading, but I could not let my fear rule me. A wrong move either way could expose us all to the worst of it.

"Well, I guess maybe he was a collaborator and betrayed you back to the Germans. Am I close?"

Colonel Potter's eyes betrayed his impatience with me.

"Not even. He dueled with the German officer using some fine Prussian cutlery. He told us to run for it, but I watched it all. As I said, I was suspicious."

If you'll recall, Connor, I sent you that saber as your 400th birthday present. In the Game or out, I believe such milestones should be observed.

"Well, then, the man gave his life to save yours. Redeemed himself, in your eyes."

"You wanna know WHAT HAPPENED? Or do you wanna finally tell me?"

He had me. Only the truth, now. Any half-measures could destroy all chances of earning his trust.

"I finished Krause. Before that, I offered him his life, and he laughed. Reached for his pistol, saying something about sheep and wolves. They all say something like that. I cut off his head. The lightning which we call the Quickening-shot out a stray bolt that caught you in the back. I was hoping you wouldn't remember."

The Colonel just stood there, dumbfounded. I'd just broken the rules, Connor. Told our truth to a man with old friends in high places in the US Military. But I had one edge-he had not expected so straightforward a confession. Sensing advantage, I moved in to solidify my position.

"Colonel--Sherman-my life, and the lives of a good many others like me, are now in your hands. We're just like other people, some Pierces, some Burns. I know an amazing woman who has none of Margaret's morals but all of her fire. I know another, cloying, possessive, and dangerous, despite her beauty. I have a sworn foe with no sense of honor whatever but who once had the voice of the gathered Angelic choir. For all we do, we are just people."

Potter's voice was steel and his face was stone.

"People----don't shoot lightning from their necks when they die, Duncan."

I thought I was done for, Connor. I would have to kill Colonel Potter. To protect us all, I would have no choice. I wondered if I could do it, nevertheless.

Then, Father Mulcahy motioned for the Colonel. Potter told me we would talk later. When we did, he apologized and said he was never really thinking about telling his superiors. While it seemed an honest choice he came to of his own free will, I wondered if he had not spoken to Father Mulcahy. He's a good man, the Padre. Had the Church more of him and fewer Borgias, the Reformation might not have occurred.

"Padre, make it quick. I have an important call to make to one of my pals in DID. Suffice it to say that this is a big one."

"Colonel, please do not make that phone call. It could prove disastrous."

"Now, Padre, I...Wait a darn minute..You don't even know why I'm calling."

Mulcahy gathered himself, then spoke again.

"This regards our friend Duncan being an Immortal."

Potter was silent. But not for long.

"Blast it, Father. That was a private confab. I don't go listening to your confession sessions."

"Colonel, hear me out..."

"If you're gonna play Father Flagg, then I'm gonna have to show you out. Where in Bloody Blue Blazes do you get off..."

"SHERMAN. I didn't listen in. I've known about Duncan since long before he came here."

At that, Potter fell silent again. He bid his friend sit down and explain himself.

"Thank You. Now, when I was at Father Darius' Paris church, I helped him catalog his many, many books. One day, I fell over the upper banister. He broke my fall-with his own body. I crushed him. Weeping, I then saw a miracle."

"He came back?"

"Indeed he did. Just as he had many times since before the Fall Of The Roman Empire. He entrusted me with that secret, then. As I now entrust it to you. As Duncan-Macleod, I believe his real name is-has also done to you. Can you imagine the public outcry at their revelation? Darius told me of his many students. I didn't let on to Duncan that I knew because of my other secret."

"Padre. You tellin' me you've reserved a box seat for the Second Coming?"

"Me? Oh, my, No,no. Though I do want to be in that number. Besides, Duncan-like any other of his kind- can sense another Immortal. No, my secret is that I was approached by individuals who take it upon themselves to record the activities of Immortals throughout their varied lives."

"Sounds to me like a bunch of peeping Toms."

"Not...Peeping Toms, Colonel. More like Watchers. I've already failed at one of my duties, by telling you the truth. But I could think of no other way to prevent your phone call."

Potter looked at his friend with sorrowful eyes.

"Francis, I am so sorry. But I am regular Army. I like Duncan, and I've never known a more pious man than yourself. But I have to include everything you just told me in my eventual report. Please understand, this is just too big. I can't whitewash it."

"Even though this exposure could also affect Nicholas? You recall Nicholas, our daylight-challenged friend?"

"Back off Padre. To me, Nick Knight is family. He and his keep quiet. Duncan and his are noisy, and someone needs to keep their peepers set on them."

Mulcahy grabbed a pen and pad. He wrote two names, and then threw it back to the Colonel. His eyes were not angry at his CO for wanting to do his duty. But the Father's resolve was unyielding. Potter's evaporated.

"Padre. These two people. It can't...HIM?. Oh, my...Did Henry Blake know?"

"Colonel Blake...more than knew. You see, it was Henry that I was sent to watch. Each Watcher is assigned someone to keep track of."

Sherman T. Potter had blood pressure medication he rarely used. He would use it today.

"You mean Blake was an Imm...Wait a sec...Are you sayin he's still alive?"

"No. I am afraid the plane crash quite effectively decapitated him. I checked, of course. I was then reassigned to the two names you see before you. One awake, one asleep."

Potter was no longer going to call anyone; But his mind raced with questions.

"Can it be passed on to your kids?"

"Immortals are barren, I'm afraid. Like many other immortals, Colonel Blake had arranged with a friend to give his wife one child of her own. The others were adopted."

Not wishing to doom the two people on the Padre's roster, Colonel Potter relented after a battery of more questions.

Whatever the reason for Potter's decision, Connor, it was a relief. After waiting to see if he would again change his mind, I went back to the Swamp, where I am staying while Frank Burns is in Seoul for the week. Realizing my filth from the long OR session, I undressed, got on my robe, and went to the showers. Luckily, everyone else had come and gone, and there was a goodly amount of hot water to be had. I would need to be alone with my thoughts upon Margaret, and whether or not to stay under the circumstances.

At first, seeing the nurses on the move made me think there were more wounded. Assured that this was not the case, I went in and showered. The only stall that was working was one that had no door. But it was on the inside of the tent, so I could have my solitude. I thought.

After the Presence of Another, the first thing an Immortal senses is eyes upon him. You either learn to feel their heat quickly, or end up dead. At first, I thought mere paranoia from my encounter with the Colonel was the culprit. But still I felt eyes upon me in the shower. Grabbing my robe, and the Jim Bowie knife I kept in my kitbag, I ran out and confronted my foes-the nurses of the 4077th.

The shower-tent had more view-holes in it than a battleship. They were all loving smiles and predatory grins. I felt like a piece of meat - the kind that is served in links. I should have been flattered, Connor, but those women didnae want me for my mind or exotic accent.

"LADIES. Do you mind?"

One called Kelly cooed: "No, we don't mind at all. If you wanna lose that robe, we won't tell."

"Lose It? I say we take it from him. Can't leave the whole package to Hot Lips."

"I'm for letting him keep it if he just goes in and finishes showering."

"I'm for taking it, AND sending him back into the shower."

"Ladies, let's be reasonable. We're being unfair to poor Duncan. We should ALL go in the shower, and lose the clothes-and anything else we can figure out to lose."

Sensing it might be time to withdraw-er, to pull out, er-to interrupt this-I got the hell out of there.

"Ooh, look at those cheeks blush."

"Which Pair?"

I found out that what had happened to me was something of a camp tradition-I suppose I should have been grateful that I was one of a few men that the nurses excercised their option on. But I now understood the Burns' boys a bit better.

A bit later, Pierce brought me my dinner. I felt a trifle unsafe in the mess tent.

"Thanks, Ben. It's not that I fear those ladies. But all at once I felt like I was facing a pack of wolves."

"Two pieces of advice, Duncan. When you're in that position-FEAR those ladies. They once got like that on me. My ego still hasn't recovered."

"What could they have possibly done?"

Ben whispered it to me. My eyes grew wide.

"That HADDA hurt."

"It was the most painful pleasure I've ever experienced. I get a warm feeling when I think about it-before the chills and nausea kick in. Sidney Freedman-he's our traveling shrink-had to talk me back to relative normalcy."

"I've heard of Dr. Freedman. Will he be here anytime soon?"

"Sure. Next Thursday's our monthly poker game. Why?"

"Oh, no reason. My--cousin knows him, asked me to say hi. What was the second piece of advice?"

"When you eat that meal, keep your Bowie knife handy."

So it was Connor, that, for the third time today, my well-being was placed in jeopardy.

More soon,

Duncan

Meanwhile, in Seoul....

"Its not that I suspect him of being a spy, you understand, but if he is, weeeellll, he'll have to be shot, won't he?"

"Burns, I decide who's shot and who merely has their life ruined. REMEMBER THAT."

"Of course, sir. I-I-I just meant that he's gotten awful chummy with everyone really fast. That's a sure sign of a confidence man."

"Little Man, you are soooo transparent. He took your squeeze, and now you want me to put the squeeze on him. Well, I've been after this *Duncan Burns* for some time now. It'll be a pleasure to cut him off-WHACK. where it counts."

"Oh, what an interesting tattoo on your wrist, Colonel Flagg. I'd never seen it before."

"And you didn't see it today."

"And I didn't see it today."

Dear Connor:

Well, Frank Burns is back, but Colonel Potter is allowing me use of the VIP tent.

"Listen, Duncan. I'm sorry I behaved like a yahoo. You've nothing but help people since I've known you. It's just seeing a duel like that back in 17'-Whew. I used to have nightmares of you coming for my head. Not that anybody would really want the fool thing."

"No apology is necessary, Sherman. What Immortals like myself do in pursuit of our prize should ideally not affect mortals. Invariably it does, but that does not diminish you. You saw something, and you thought the army should know."

"You think they'd really come after you? Maybe they'd just want to use you folk to help catch up on old times."

"They'd use us, Colonel. But not in a way I'd like, I'm afraid. But you are a good and gracious man, with aught to apologize for, as I've said."

Another friendship I've struck up, Connor, is with BJ Hunnicutt. He thinks he bores me with his talk of family. But to me, his wee lass, Erin, seems the most beautiful thing in the world, as your adopted little one is for you. But to have your own, to achieve that other kind of Immortality--well, you know, kinsman.

"And, here she is falling into the cake AFTER blowing out the candles-you know what, Duncan?"

"No, what is it BJ?"

"You are a good friend. Even Hawkeye, my very best friend, can't go through more than one shoebox worth of pictures before giving up. But you've humored me and sat through five. So, you got any of your own?"

"Who, me? Oh, no, not possible, I'm afraid. An old complaint."

"Well, pal, according to the nurses, Everything on You is where it should be. Sorry, small camp."

"So I've noticed. It seems I've left a mythic impression with your nursing staff."

"Well, with one of them, anyway. I've never seen Hot Lips Houlihan so loosened up."

"Hot Lips? BJ, yeve told me you're faithful to your wife, but you carry on with Margaret?"

"Whoa, time-out. Hot Lips was her nickname long before I got here, Duncan. And, as a rule, I don't stray."

"I'm sorry, BJ. I shouldna presume about ye. Its just sex flows as freely as death around this place."

"Yeah, I've kinda noticed that, too. How serious are you and Margaret?"

"When I have my courage, Hunnicutt, I'll ask her the same, and let ye know."

I have more sympathy with Ben Pierce's unconscious dance around Margaret than I did. She is so beautiful, but is quick to build walls around herself, so that she will not be hurt. Before leaving for three days in Tokyo, she made some vague mention of my rank. I'll push down this barrier, Connor, but will she choose to replace it? If so, what then?

As I walked out from the Swamp and BJ, I noticed a commotion. A man named Max Klinger is forever seeking to leave this place by way of Section 8 - mentally unfit to serve. Usually, this manifests itself in transvestite behavior. Today, though, was something special.

"I AM from Toledo. Toledo, Spain. I am not this Max Klinger, but rather Juan Ramirez, swordmaker to Charles V. I have been alive for---a really, really long time. I was drafted as Klinger, but have served in many wars-so's I don't have to serve in this one anymore. I am an IMMORAL. er-I mean an Immortal. I cannot be killed. C'mon, anybody wanna try? After all, only an immortal--or a crazy man--would ask such a thing."

The man was dressed in a poor bullfighter's outfit, Connor. Except for the affront to your teacher, whose legend apparently reached Lebanon, it was a hilarious spectacle. It was a spectacle that Colonel Potter did not approve of, though.

"Hey, Duncan? Would you kibosh this Spaniard for me?"

I smiled at the old man, and came back, sword in hand.

"Juan Ramirez of Spain. I too was in disguise. I too am an Immortal. I am Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod. I have come to take your head in fair combat."

Connor, I couldnae believe I actually got to say all this in public. But Klinger, making his declaration by a single wooden post, was not swayed.

"I have no quarrel with you, Duncan Macleod. Besides, if I hurt ya, Major Houlihan would kill me."

Too late for poor Max. I was having fun, now.

"Immortals must fight til such time as there be only one. Have at ye."

Merrily, I chased Klinger around the compound. When I sliced through the post he was standing near, he ran off.

"Colonel, get THIS guy a Section 8. He's CRAZY. GetthatswordawayFROMME. Yeaaah."

Connor, there was much rejoicing.

As I finished a previous letter to you, though, my mission became somewhat more grim. I finally met Radar O'Reilly.

"Is it too late to drop off the mail, Corporal?"

"Just drop it off and leave, Sergeant."

"Now that's a fine attitude, O'Reilly. What did I do to you?"

"You didn't do nothin', sir. You're just one of them."

"One of them what, Corporal?"

"One of those people makes my head all buzz. It's like when I know somethings gonna happen, only alls that happens is, I get a headache."

"I'm sorry, Radar. I'll clear out."

"I'm sorry, too sir. Everybody likes ya, here. Specially the nurses. Only, they get kinda into it when they talk aboutcha. Makes me blush."

Starting to walk out of Radar's office, I knew something. He wasn't an Immortal, but he would be. And if he could sense me, having not been awakened yet, that meant he was destined to be quite powerful even before his first head. Then, both of us felt it.

"Can't talk now, Sarge. Major Doctor Freedman is here."

"How do you know that, Radar?"

"Oh, well, he makes me have that buzz, too. Only I can tell it's him. Each buzz is a little different. Some make you feel giddy, others make you sick. Gotta go."

Unbelievable, Connor. The ability to differentiate between the sensation caused by the Presence Of Another would give this boy an advantage unheard of in the annals of the Game. I had to digest all this. Then in walked the one I had come to see.

"I am Doctor Sidney Freedman, also known as the Kaballa-Master of Prague. I forged the Great Golem, as Siddig-Ben-Moshe. Are you here for me? You better not be here for the boy."

"I am Duncan Macleod of The Clan Macleod, kinsman to Connor, who fought to protect your people in Prague, alongside you. I am not here for anyone. Connor is plagued by dreams of a dead world, a red sky, and a crazy General."

"Duncan, this is the MASH 4077th. We got all those in abundance, here."

I then spoke with him of many things, including your troubles, Connor. But now I must go.

Loyal Student,

Duncan

OFF IN THE DISTANCE...

"Hail, Hail, The Gang's All Here. Get a few Hunters, take out the entire nest. Mulcahy will object, but no one's going to wonder why we took them when it's learned they killed a Priest. Besides, the Watchers has too many sympwimps like him as it is."

A little too happy for his own good, Colonel Flagg picked up his binoculars and continued his surveillance.

Dear Connor:

I have made up my mind, after these 3 weeks here at the MASH 4077th, to tell Margaret Houlihan that I love her, and let the chips fall where they may. For all my hesitation, for all of Ben Pierce's dancing around her, and for all of Frank Burns' cowardice toward this fine woman, I will know if there is a future to pursue. In her eyes, I can see the love you felt for your wife, even as the years sharpened her features.

But I also cannot help but see the pain this place has brought to that beautiful face. When I finally pressed her to stop using our ranks as a shield for her lovely heart, she threw up another, this one quite a bit more legitimate.

I could not trade war stories with her, Connor. I've lost women who I have told too soon. Plus, there is the risk run by lovesick fools like that poor Scalper I relieved of his misery. How many Quickenings have been lost because an angry mob of mortals cried witch at the word of a shaken lover? The number might be staggering. But who keeps such accounts?

Margaret told me of her arrival, and her instant dislike of Pierce, whom she again went on about for 15 minutes. Ben, ever the topper, had spoken on her for hour and a half, then again for 30 minutes. Once again, his loss.

She spoke with great passion about the distance between herself and her nurses. How a woman not truly older than the people she stood over was forced to play busybody Auntie to a group of girls, who, as I have mentioned, were as wild as any men could hope to be. She hoped to find a third path with them, but feared she could not see it.

Before we made love that evening, she told me a grim story that near turned my stomach, for all the wars I have seen.

"There they weren't, Duncan. Six people, having a good time. A wilder time than I usually like, but still all in fun. Then---something happened. They were exposed--somehow-to, I don't know--some biological warfare agent. By morning, their bodies were already...."

I held her, Connor, and let my secret love know that she could tell me anything, even on a subject so painful as this. Her proximity did not go unnoticed by either of us.

"We were ordered never to say their names. They never served here. Those were our orders. But I'm telling you, Duncan."

I had run her gauntlet, Connor, and earned her respect. But she still had one more surprise for me, this one unintentional, though.

"There was my friend, Charlotte Cunningham. We called her Chuckie. There were her friends, Bennie Martin and Julia Winslow. I didn't really get to know them. The doctors were Duke Forrest, a sweet guy who never ran around the way Trapper did, "Ugly" Black, an Australian, and Gerald "SpearChucker" Jones. Jones was a Negro, but when the color you see so much of is red, those kind of things tend not to matter so much. They were all good people. Their families were told they got killed en route to their assignments."

She then told me of the horrible day her first Commanding Officer had been killed. She spoke of how an odd, cold young man with breath that stank from tobacco had warned them all not to ask questions of it. When I heard how the young thug had caressed her cheek, I carressed it in turn, to heal the old wound. We then were together for the night, and I was reminded of one of the reasons I had come to love Margaret Houlihan. She never enters into any venture halfway.

Staring at her sleeping form in the afterglow, I felt a jolt as I was reminded of her first Commanding Officer's name. Poor Henry Blake. Befuddled as always. But a good man. But he chose poorly when it came to some of his ladies.

NEW YORK, OCTOBER, 1908

"Tell me where she is, Macleod."

"First, man, declare yourself. Second, are you here for me?"

"I am Henry Braymore Blake, adopted of the Braymores who were Glenfinnan's original residents, before the Plague came and our lands were ceded by treaty to Clan Macleod in 888. Before that, I was Bedwyr, First Knight Of Artus, Dux Bellorum. Now, where is that lying, thieving, rub-up-against you and pick your pocket witch?"

"I don't know where she is, Henry Blake. But what exactly did Amanda do to you? I, by the way, am Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod."

"I know that. But how did you know I was talking about Amanda?"

Henry realized what his own description had been. Befuddled, and now broke after the 1908 Stock Market Crash, thanks to his investment counselor, he sat down and had a drink with another of Amanda's sometime dupes.

"Maybe I should just go into medicine, Duncan. There's money, and it only takes 20 years to get established. Hell, I spent more time than that in King John's dungeon. You know, it was really him who was the nice guy. Robin of Locksley himself told me Richard Couer De Lion was a big jerk."

MASH 4077th, 1952

It was a good thing he did not challenge me that day, Connor. Amanda had taken his sword, as well.

Quietly, I kissed my sleeping love, who I did not mean to wake.

"Duncan?"

"I have Post-Op mop-and-bucket duty at 5, Margaret. I have to go now, so no one will see me depart your tent."

"I don't mind if they see you leave. No, strike that. A head nurse has to be discreet. I'll talk to you tommorrow."

As I finished dressing, I blurted out words I would come to regret.

"And every day thereafter, I hope. I Love You, Margaret Houlihan. Truly and deeply, though we've had no true time together."

A hellish pause awaited me. At the end of it- a hellish answer.

"I don't know if I'm even capable of true love anymore, Duncan."

I should've taken my sword to my own head, Connor. That way, I could've spared my beloved Margaret the harsh look that made her cry, after I was gone out the door for the night. The pressure of the night weighed upon me. How many more obstacles would she throw at me? Did I have spirit enough to fight them all down? The chips had fallen off the table and into the sewer. A loud boom then occurred. I have pieced together some of what happened next.

Apparently, the humid night air presses upon the land mines that are supposed to protect the camp from an enemy advance. They were no protection for me, though. I saw Ben, and Margaret standing over me. A piece of debris had all but taken my heart, though only I could tell that. But all could see that I was mightily wounded. These wounds would heal soon enough, but I was finished at the 4077th. Soon I would die from my heart wound, and be forced to move on when I revived. Or so I thought. I awoke in the Post-Op. Since the war's wounded come as feast or famine, the place was empty but for me-and Ben Pierce.

"Duncan, just what in the hell are you? People, especially shapely Major people, are telling me what a swell doctor I am. But ego or no, I'm just not that good."

The secret was getting around, Connor. But for now, I managed to leave Ben Pierce with naught but his suspicions. Still, his frenetic efforts to save me, when all else had given up hope, would allow me to stay at the 4077th-and have another chance to win Margaret. I would repay this debt somehow.

"Maybe you've made me into Superman, Ben. Should I try and fly off? WHOOOSH."

"Wise-Guy, huh? First he steals all the nurses, now he's stealing my lines."

We had a good laugh at all that, Connor. Tomorrow, I would speak with Sidney Freedman, at your behest. For this new night, I talked with Ben of loves lost. He had suffered as I had, when his one true love, a woman named Carlye, had rejected him again of late, for the priority he gave his medical work. Like BJ, he thought to bore me with talk of his family. But I could not hear enough about a man named Daniel Webster Pierce who would welcome him back with open arms, at war's end. Not all sons are so lucky of their fathers. He even suggested a tiny bit of playful revenge I could have, if I were well enough. Begging off Pierce's questions about my healing, for now, I went to exact it.

"Well, hello, Ladies. My, but you're looking radiant tonight."

"DUNCAN. We're showering. What're you..."

"Ah, here's where I left ma dime. I knew I'd find the bloody thing. Well, I'll be seein' you chassies-er, lassies. Honest mistake, there. Kinda. Well, hate to leave you all-BEHIND."

Truth be known, Connor, their lovely hands were moving so fast, I could not see very much. But I felt more at ease, for returning the nurses' earlier favor. They did not see it that way, at first, though.

"YOU JERK. The guys do that to us all the time, with that peephole."

"Yeah. Fair Is Fair."

"Aye, ladies. Fair Is Fair. I am flattered by yuir attentions. But perhaps if Fair Is Fair....Then wrong remains wrong. Post a guard, if ye must, but let the fellas know ye don't care for it all. Boys'll be boys til the girls kick their sorry arses into shape. Just keep them out of yuir privacy. And - don't mention I was the one that told you that."

After we all apologized, Connor, I realized again the fact that these were women who knew what they wanted-very few of them had donned towel or robe for my speech. It wasn't these beautiful princesses, I was after, though. It was their Queen, alone in a tower of her own construction.

Bumping into Max Klinger at the mess door, I decided to offer another apology.

"Don't worry, Sarge. I don't even do those things really expectin ta get out anymore. But I have to tell this place NO somehow. I just have to oppose it. Otherwise, I'm not Max Klinger. By the way, do you like this?"

"Aye, Max. That I do. It's not every man can wear a backless with any real style."

Another apology I attempted, my last of the day, did not go so well.

"You think you're so great. Welllll, JUST YOU WAIT, PAL. He-hee."

I am honestly beginning to wonder whether Frank Burns really exists or not, Connor. I think he's a changeling.

With Care,

Duncan

MASH 8063rd

"Listen up, Dupree. If this Doctor Adams should return, you call me. He is a Commie symp-or worse."

"Sure thing, Colonel Flagg. God Bless America......What a complete collection o' dog doody he is."

"Is he gone, Roy?"

"He's gone. Now, look, Adams. Flagg may specialize in what the horse left at the fair, but he's mean as a polecat and dangerous as a weekend citified hunter. Get on out of here, boy. And you don't come back, ya hear? Shame we gotta lose a damned good cutter cause of that Yahoo Flagg, though."

Thanking his friend for his help, Methos The Immortal did what he did best-survived-in this case, by leaving Korea. But his interest was piqued. How did so learned an organization as the Watchers now include someone like Colonel Flagg?

"One of these days, maybe I'll sign up and find out what the boys from Voyeur up to these days."

He said this completely to himself, but the promise would prove to be real enough.

PRAGUE, 1650

Connor Macleod looked up at the 20-foot tall monstrosity that had torn through the Emperor's elite, called Christ's Avengers. They were called this for a reason. Their mission was to depopulate Jewish ghettos-with extreme prejudice. But some Jews reminded the soldiers that Christ himself was a Jew. Their resolve to keep their lands was firm. The bigotry of those charged with punishing the wrong people for the Crucifixion, though, was stronger.

A common hate-rallying cry for these types was that Jews used the blood of Christian children in obscene rituals. But when the Elite came, anyone who looked too Mediterranean was beaten for sport. Siddig-Ben-Moshe, Immortal Kabballa-Master of Prague, didn't need any one type of blood. He used all the blood, and hate, that had been cast upon his people. From this he forged the Golem, to avenge them. He then remembered why his teachers, one of them Simon Magus himself, had said never to do this. The thing was uncontrollable. It did not discern between holy house or any other house.

"Siddig, how do we stop it? I came here to correct my debt to Ramirez, whose broken sword you re-forged. But I didn't sign on for this."

"I'm sorry, Connor Macleod. You kept the avengers back from the ghettos these past six months - till now. Then, I felt like I needed something more. My God, what have I done? There's no way we can get on top of it to re-write its secret name."

Connor had seen the thing re-grow limbs, and reattach its head. Thinking quickly, he ran up a flight of steps, and made a slicing jump, cutting the Golem through its trunk, neatly in half. The Highlander then dismembered it, scattering the parts about. With four powerful chops, he decapitated it, and tossed the head to the man who would one day be Doctor Sidney Freedman.

"Write quickly, Sid. It's already beginning to reform."

"I then cast a spell to make everyone forget the role of kabbala in it all. It became a legend that no one believes, like the Scotsman honor-bound to fight alongside Jews. We became good friends, Duncan. He even introduced me to Sigmund Freud, in the 1880's. Changed my life."

"One type of sorcery changed for another, eh, Sidney? But tell me-why hasn't anyone taken note of the boy, Walter O'Reilly? With a feeling that powerful...."

"A favor for Henry Blake, Duncan. He knew the dogs would be after Radar like a piece of meat. It's a minor spell of security. Except for me and Henry, resting in Abraham's bosom, he instinctively avoids our kind, and they him, till he is ready. Easily broken, but first an enemy would have to know it was there. Walter may take it all, Macleod. But for now, he's quite vulnerable."

"What of Connor's problem? The visions of this planet, Zeist, and General Katana?"

"Powerful Immortals like your kinsman sometimes see alternate realities. Other worlds, like in that Jimmy Stewart movie. I may have to send him there, to resolve it, someday."

"I know nothing of other worlds, Doctor Freedman. I hope to keep it that way. *It's A Wonderful Life* may have been a Christmas movie, but that part scared me silly."

As they talked, and Duncan began to write his next letter to Connor----death was stalking Father Francis Mulcahy.

Dear Connor:

I hope that the Eternal Life promised by the Good Book is full of happiness and unrestrained love. Because the one posessed by our kind often stinks so high as to affront that selfsame Paradise. For me, though, if I were to find it, I'm not sure I could see it for my self-involvement.

But I digress. My last letter, though brief, told you that I had informed Sidney Freedman of your concerns. He says he can lift these burdens from your heart, take the Red Sky and the Reborn Ramirez from your visions. By his odd accounting, he has told me that you two are to meet once a decade on the decade til 1990 or so. How he knows both of you will survive til that point is unclear to me; but he says that by that time, Juan Ramirez will rest easier. For fear of a jinx, I will not voice the obvious meaning to that casting. He says, in an odd coincidence, that only a combination of psychologist and sorcerer could see you through this "Alternate Reality". Heh. Tween' Science Fiction, Kabballic sorcery, and Freud, I think I fear dear Sigmund the most. I'm not sure I want to know what goes on in my mind---I heard that, Connor.

At the Officers' Club, I sat and shared awkward drinks with Margaret Houlihan and with Ben Pierce. She does not wish to be alone with me. She fears her own sweet heart so much, that my truthful declaration of love swept her back. Margaret actually asked Frank Burns to sit with us, but he just walked off and laughed, that odd, nervous laugh so notable of Clan Burns.

As the dance between Ben and Margaret reached fever pitch, I'm afraid I did not acquit myself very well. It's just that Ben was not enough of a gentleman to stand aside in the face of one who wanted the woman he was content to play 3rd-grade games with. The problem, as always, was that Margaret was just as much a schoolgirl. Content to stand and look indignant when Pierce would raise her skirts, but never following through or asking him to do the same. It started out civilly enough

"So, uh, you two----happy?"

"Of course we are, Pierce. Why wouldn't we be? Are you trying to imply something?"

"Truce, Margaret. I'm just glad that you and Duncan are, ya know, getting along. I mean, the camp is buzzing about your romance, except for the nurses, who'd like to sting you both."

"Well, thanks...Hawkeye. I'm...sorry that you and Nurse Breslin..er, Walton, couldn't work things out. Duncan, they were old sweethearts. But, as usual, something got in the way."

"Now who's implying something? Are you saying my ego shot things down with me and Carlye? Huh? Duncan, you should know, if I'm King Ego, then you should know who the Empress is."

Connor, an Immortal knows when to keep his mouth shut. This was one of those times.

"Who just declared a truce? I only meant that happiness is, ya know, elusive, Pierce. Besides, your ego is the size of Texas."

"All right, I'm sorry. It's just that I'm touchy about Carlye. My one real shot at love, and she can't bend for me, as I would for her. I'm never gonna find anyone like that, ever again--even if live to be 400."

"Don't lose your head, Pierce. Like a bolt out of the blue, love'll find you again. There's someone out there for you, somewhere. Maybe right in front of your nose. Just gather your broken heart pieces together, and make it stronger as a result. What do they call that process, Duncan?"

I was staring hard at both of them, Connor. Some conversations just should not take place.

"I've heard that process referred to as a Quickening, Margaret."

"So, Duncan, what you're saying is, I should just charge off, sword in hand, and get back into the Game? I don't know. I mean, I like female company, obviously, but I like an interested party to maybe come to me first."

"Be a man, Pierce. Only the Hunters bag the heads of deer. You go your way, you're begging to be cut off at the shoulders."

"I suppose you're right, Margaret. I mean, time is precious, and none of us is going to live....Hey, Duncan, you all right?"

"Yes, Duncan? Why On Earth are you banging your head against the wall like that?"

Frustrated with their stupidity, Connor, I threw in the towel. I was up against it, with these two. I felt I was getting in the way. But I would try one more time.

"My problem is, Margaret Houlihan, that I Love You, with all my heart and all my soul. I can easily see asking you to change your name to mine...although, after all this, I may choose my Mother's maiden name of Macleod, you understand."

The look on her face, that of a deer in the headlights, told me all I needed to know. Ben's face was contorted in a panic he would never admit to. I was trying to steal his playmate. Who would punch his arm, then?

"Duncan--NOT here."

"Yeah, Pal. take it from someone who knows. Putting the vise-grips on does not clear a lady's head. You've got something terrific going with a terrific someone. Don't move so fast."

"Listen to him, Duncan. He's talking sense. He's had enough relationships to know how to go in these things -That wasn't a shot, Pierce. I think we should listen to Hawkeye on this."

"That's enough of the two of ye. I've had it. You two tell me listen to the other, but ye do not listen well at all. Does it not strike ye that two persons of such differing temperament agree so heartily on waiting and avoiding? Do ye not see that all yuir dumb jokes and all yuir Iron Maiden discipline are defenses against yuir own hearts? I'm a relative stranger, and I kin it. You two are waiting for death to surround ye before it's gathered that you're crazy about one another?"

"You're out of line, Mister."

"Yeah, Duncan. Just what do you want from us, buddy?"

"ACh. I want ye to invite to me to your damned wedding, when you are through passing by each other, that's what I want. You call yourself, Hawkeye, Ben, but you are painfully shortsighted. And, "Hot Lips", I know who it is those lips run hot for, and it's nae me or Frank Burns."

I then walked away, having said enough.

"Nice fella."

"I think so."

"Too bad he knows nothing about relationships."

"No. Nothing at all. I mean, seriously, Pierce--You and me?"

"Seriously? It'd be fun for three days before we went at each other with pick-axes."

"Exactly. I mean, we'd be....I have to go. I have to mention something to Major Burns. A project we'll be resuming."

"Yeah, uh, we'd never work...Would you know it, I gotta go, too. Arrogant Scotsman. Who the hell is he to say when true love hits."

"My Auntie Amanda always used to say it came at you like a buzz in the back of your skull. She --wasn't really my Aunt. She was a klepto. Good night, Captain."

"Good night, Major."

Under his breath Pierce muttered, "Sweet Dreams, Margaret."

Under her breath, Houlihan said, "I don't love either of them. And if I keep saying that--I just might believe it."

As I left, I saw BJ Hunnicutt by the door. He was graciously trying not to smile.

"So-horry, Duncan. But if you want to see those two married, I got news. None of us are gonna live that long."

At that, I merely threw up my shoulders and thought, "Must everyone utter something like that this evening.?"

I must stop my letter for now, Connor. Pierce and I are needed in OR. Myself, as a blood donor, and Ben as a surgeon. Our patient--the Padre.

Connor, someone had stolen my Bowie knife and stabbed Father Mulcahy. I was in the Officers Club, but since someone tried to make it appear that I did it, an Intelligence Officer is conducting an inquest. His name is Colonel Sam Flagg, and his name seems to strike a sour note with all but Frank Burns. Upon his arrival, I felt as though I were being regarded--and Sidney and Walter with me.

More later,

Duncan

"I will find him. He'll not get away with this."

Hearing the wall in Radar's office being punched, Hawkeye Pierce emerged from Post-Op.

"Hey, Duncan. Ixnay on the all-way. I got a saintly patient who almost made it into Heaven early. One, he needs rest. Two, that's my favorite punching wall you're punching."

"You're a surgeon, Ben. Ye should nae be beating walls."

"Geez, you're upset. The only time you really get an accent is when you're flustered. By the by, Macleod, is your blood going to affect Father Mulcahy? His sermons are long enough without being eternal. Nah, I'm sorry I said that. It's just...who the hell would stab a Priest? And why with your knife?"

"I do not have an accent. It's the lot of ye that does. As to my knife, I will find the murderous scum. Wait-you called me Macleod?"

Pierce then held up a letter. It was addressed to Duncan's kinsman.

"Ye slime. Ben, you read my mail. How could ye?"

"I'm a funny kinda guy, Duncan. When a patient heals up from having his heart torn apart by shrapnel, I want to know why. Also, you could have saved a lot of dancing around by telling me you were related to Connor. How is old mister "Heh. I don't think so."? "

"You know Connor? You know about our kind?"

"Sure. I mean, it was a loan from the guy that put me through med school. I worked in his antique dishware shop, to work it off. Some jerk named John Koeranthos came around, brandishing a sword that makes yours look like a steak knife. Connor---helped him lose some unsightly neck protrusion, and I kept quiet. He pulled out though, when the Kurgan came around. Said he wasn't ready."

"Small camp, isn't it?"

"Aye, Mockleod. Thot Eet Ees."

"Ben?"

"Yes, Duncan?"

"As far as imitations go, stick to surgery."

Just then, in walked Margaret Houlihan. She looked nervously at the two men, one who she had admitted feelings for, the other she was only beginning to realize she cared for.

"Ah, Duncan. Good Morning. Pierce-Amscray."

"Glad to, Major. Just keep Sargeant---Burns here from doing a Dempsey on these walls anymore. Padres need rest, too. Especially their pitching staff-strike that, that was bad."

With Pierce gone, Margaret moved slowly closer to Duncan, whom she kissed lightly on the lips.

"Is that all I get, Major? I'd like a wee dram more of that particular brew."

"Duncan, I'm going to Tokyo in a few days. I'll be gone two weeks. There's a certain Lieutenant Colonel I've met previously, and I think he may pop the question this time. I just wanted you to know, our time together has been special to me. But now that time is done. I'll be leaving just as soon as Colonel Flagg's investigation into the attack on Father Mulcahy is over."

A thousand comments, insults, and curses raced through Duncan Macleod's mind. He gave voice to not even one of them.

"So long as you are happy, Margaret."

With that, a woman to whom The Highlander had offered to pop the question hugged him and left. An odd calm descended on him, far away from the rage he thought he would feel. Duncan sat at Radar's desk and began another letter to Connor Macleod.

Dear Connor:

As before in my life, that damned jealous Romany girl spoke true. Margaret has left me, for a man she did not even care enough about to name. If it were Ben I lost to, at least I could feel she was being true to her beautiful heart. But, after a month of trying to break down her walls, I am exhausted. I feel she is worth a hundred times that effort, kinsman. But even an Immortal must see hope. I can get her to come out from her tower, and I can get her to invite me in. But I cannot make her admit the grim Tower is there, or get her to tear it down. Against such an obstacle, I cannot win. It is fast becoming time that *Duncan Burns* went missing, presumed KIA.

It is not merely for my sake that I pull out, though. My presence is not masked by Sidney Freedman's spell, as is that of Radar O'Reilly's. I do not wish my enemies to find the boy while searching for me-he is too great a prize, with his weird abilities. Also of concern is Father Mulcahy. Someone tried to frame me for the attack upon him. While I've sensed no one about, I must think that I have a foe who is willing to strike at the good folk of the 4077th to get at me. Kalas, and about 100 others, spring to mind unbidden.

So it is, Connor, as soon as this Flagg has questioned me, and departs, I shall go soon after. There is nothing for me here, and I may be a danger to my new friends. Your arrangements with Sidney are secure, so I have done what I came to do. I will miss them all, though, and not merely Margaret. I must pay my respects to the Padre, though. I will speak to him under the sanctified code no Priest may speak from, and let him know that I will be all right. May we speak before the Gathering, kinsman.

My debt to you partially paid,

Duncan

Depositing the letter in Radar's bin, Duncan turned and felt a sharp blow to his head, this was followed by an ether cloth over his mouth, and the feel of a needle in his arm. A sack was placed over him, and his still form joined that of two others in Colonel Flagg's jeep. The forms were those of Major Sidney Freedman and Corporal Walter O'Reilly. The Hunter was trying to take out the entire nest.

Sam Flagg was out of camp before anyone knew the three were gone. When Duncan awoke, he was bound, hands and feet, on an empty stretch of road. Groggily, he heard Sidney Freedman shouting, but he could not make out all the words.

"Dammit, Flagg. Watchers are supposed to stay in the background. Your kind watches mine. Hence the name."

"Nice try, Sidney, or Siddig. But besides being a commie-symp-wimp, you are a stinking abomination. I'm just takin' out history's trash."

"It's not just that, is it, Colonel? You serve that twisted little cadre of Hunters, don't you? Flagg, when you had your tattoo altered, did you incant anything?"

"I don't know what your game is, Relic, but let's say there was some mumbo - jumbo about Arman, or somesuch. What of it?"

Sidney's eyes grew wide.

"You poor fool. You've signed your soul over to the Millennial Destroyer. That "Arman or somesuch" is a Babylonian demon. It's called many names, but it's still the same evil enemy of life. Didn't you wonder how even you could sink low enough to attack a Priest?"

Flagg just laughed. Those who had recruited him had chosen well, and trained him well. He was a Hunter- a hunter of Immortals. Radar was stirring, but Flagg would be done with them all soon. The Hunters who had helped Flagg kidnap them stood by with machine guns at the ready.

"Boy, they said you'd beg for your pathetic life, and damned if they weren't right. Anything else, like how you know about the Watchers?"

"Just two things : One, you don't want to kill me, here. Too much blood. My magical wards will cause my death-throes to raise up a Golem. You don't want that, trust me. Two, Methos the Immortal told me about you. Simon Magus told me about---your demon. He lost his soul to it, too, shortly after Simon Peter cast him out of Yeshua-Ben-Yossef's early Church. He, too, wore your tattoo. I'll say this : Simon Peter did not greet him at the gates of Heaven."

"Hey, a good Golem, aimed Northward, might be just the shot in the arm ol' Uncle Sam needs. Plus, I didn't attack Mulcahy. It'll be discovered that Macleod was responsible. Before disappearing, he killed you and O'Reilly. Tch. How tragic. But hey, that Methos bit? Good one, head shrinker. I'll remember that joke."

Duncan finally awoke from his stupor. He had heard nothing of Watchers. He hadn't heard much clearly, at all. Radar, who awoke as Flagg was chopping through a watermelon for practice, heard something in the distance. As Flagg held the sword above Sidney Freedman, all heard the sputtering sound.

"Oh, geez. Not him. It can't be---HIM."

Just then, a bomb fell near Flagg's jeep, badly injuring the Hunters and sending Flagg flying. Duncan undid his ropes, then Radar and Sidney's. Flagg saw this, but was slow in getting up. Radar was utterly confused, but said one thing before falling back asleep, seemingly at Sidney's direction.

"Of all the luck. Saved by 5 O'Clock Charlie. And it ain't even 3 yet."

The most luckless, unskilled pilot in the history of air warfare then flew back to North Korean territory, having unknowingly changed the course of Immortal history. Flagg got up, and pulled his pistol, but an enraged Duncan knocked it out of his hand, and into the brush.

"It's not gonna be like that, ye great bully. Fight like a man, if such as ye know how."

Flagg then pulled a knife-Duncan's knife. Angrier than ever, Macleod took it away from him. He then began to pummel the would-be master spy mercilessly. After seven punches, the Highlander roundhoused him. Flagg stood for a moment like a cartoon character, then fell.

"Maniac. Ye were not facing a Priest, then."

Sidney whispered some words in a powerful, booming voice into Flagg's ear. He couldn't tell Duncan this, but both Radar and Flagg had been made to remember the day's events differently. Cassandra had been another of his teachers.

"It's a good thing he wasn't facing a Priest. Father Mulcahy is a former Golden Gloves champ. With you, Duncan, he got off easy."

A bit more subtly this time, Freedman used his ability-a draining one to employ- to make Duncan forget Flagg's role in the day, except for his usual Inquisition-like questioning. He would only remember if accosted by another Hunter.

The injured were brought to the 4077th for treatment. One got a treatment he would never forget.

"No, Colonel Flagg. I have not reported you to our superiors. But another attack upon me or harassment of my charges will find you before the Watchers' Council. I'd prefer they not know about your Dark Altar-oh, yes, I know. But the Bible tells me the fate of your Fallen Master, so for the sake of our great organization, I'm willing to let you go hunt more Communists. But cross me again, little man, and I will crush you like a sacramental grape. Don't mistake forbearance and mercy for weakness, for you do so not at my peril, but your own. Another such attack and I will not only report you to our Watchers' Council, but to the one that deals with demons like yours."

"I am—more than you know, Priest. I serve a power even beyond Ahriman. Flagg is a name I use—one I've found useful. We could bring chaos your way such as has not prevailed since the universe was formed."

Mulcahy leaned close. He felt as though a higher power spoke directly through him

"Bring it. For I am more than you could imagine."

As the recovering Father Mulcahy walked away to say goodbye to Duncan, he would swear he heard the injured CID man gulp. Francis chastised himself for enjoying that moment as much as he did.

"Well, Mac, it's been fun. Now maybe I can get a date."

"Who says the ladies wanted you in the first place, Ben? They were just waiting for me to arrive. Now that I'm gone, they might be willing to settle. Take care, my friend."

"Damn shame, losing you, Mac. Kinda made me full circle, about poor Ferdie."

"Some things are stronger than death, Sherman. Friendship is one of them."

"After the war, Sarge, I'll show up to your antique shop, in that Seacouver place."

"You do that, Walter. I think I might have something for you that once belonged to Colonel Blake."

"You sure you want this, Sarge? Your lady friend may have better taste than me."

"The dress is fine, Max. I'll carefully neglect to mention its previous owner, though."

"Duncan, this is too much. A doll for a kid you don't even know?"

"BJ, children are precious. Treasure yours always. Give her and your sweet Peg my best."

"Help others, as you always have, Duncan. And, uh, watch your head."

"Er, I will, Father. Glad to see you're recovering. Father Darius will be pleased."

Having said his goodbyes, Duncan left a note in Margaret Houlihan's tent. He had carefully trimmed it of all bitterness, and left only what he had felt for her.

Finding Sidney, who was both his ride out and the arranger of his "transfer", he went to get in the jeep.

With all skin shown and blood spilled and wounds healed, Duncan Macleod, Immortal of the Highland Clan Macleod forever departed the 4077th MASH - but not the people. The future held much.

Britian, 1957

"Oh, Duncan. This dress is lovely. I--kinda thought you'd be upset, after that whole Stone of Scone thing, and try to get even."

"Perish the thought, Amanda. This dress, from the famous Klinger collection, is just what you deserve. Exactly what you deserve."

"Klinger collection? Never heard of it."

"You've never heard of Max's Of Toledo? And It's famous designer, Jean de Tutel? Oh, Amanda. Everybody, who's ANYBODY...."

"OHHHH. Max's of Toledo. I was there for the Spring show."

"Bet it was interesting"

AUGUST 22, 1965

THE SAN FRANCISCO HOME OF

PEG AND BJ HUNNICUTT

"May I kiss the Bride?"

"Where do you get off...DUNCAN.?"

"Aye, Mrs. Pierce. It's me. Your new husband Ben remembered your promise, even if you did not."

"Oh, Duncan. You were right. But whod've thought-me and Hawkeye. But we're so happy."

"I always knew that, if you two stopped dancing around one another, you'd have to dance together. Congratulations, Margaret."

"Oh, Duncan...You are so..."

Margaret Houlihan Penobscott Scully Pierce then kissed her one-time love on the cheek, just as her new husband walked in.

"Boy, you leave some people alone, and, before you know it...."

"Connor sends his best, Benjamin. I am so happy for the two of ye."

"I just took your advice, Macleod. Grabbed the brass ring, and got the Prize."

As the newlyweds left to begin their lives together, Duncan asked Sidney Freedman a question.

"Sidney, why have those two not aged? They're not like us, but--I'd swear they had not a wrinkle or a line, nor signs of surgery."

"Sorry, Duncan. That's a whole nother' story."

Duncan saw a woman named Samantha and her husband, a man named Darrin, chatting with Ben Pierce, and moved to be sociable, questions aside.

1984 - At a secret Watcher training center

"So, boy. You got in because of your connections. Well, they won't help you here. Forget all the nice-nice stuff about these monsters. That soft-hearted romantic garbage is for fools. There must never be a Prize. The only good Immortal-is one that just killed another, to save us the trouble. Now, are you with us, or are you gonna worship them like your Brother-In-Law?"

"I'm with you 100%, General Flagg, sir."

"Good. Good. What was your name again, kid?"

"Horton, General. James Horton."

After the Hunter's oath and incantation, James Horton felt any lingering doubts disappear. General Flagg would show his pupil the way.

1990 - Father Darius' Church, Paris

"Father Darius?"

"Yes, my son?"

"I am Sean O'Brien. My grandmother's brother was Bishop Francis Mulcahy, once your student. He--told me of you, sir."

"I am sorry to hear Johnny is gone. I must ask you to keep my secret, as did he."

"Oh, no doubt of that, sir. Great-Uncle Francis put the fear of God in this wild boy. He left us late last year. All his old friends attended, including another of your students, a Duncan Noel."

"Ah, yes. Sean, are you here for a reason?"

"Yes, Father. He asked that I give -not mail- this package to you. I must leave, now. It's been an honor, Father Darius."

The two-millennium Priest opened the package from his late student. He thought of potatoes, and smiled. Inside was an ancient book, which told Darius of an organization called the Watchers. In three years time, he would send this book in turn to Duncan Macleod. Not long thereafter, James Horton would kill Darius.

Las Vegas, June, 1994

Sidney Freedman had already felt the Presence Of Another. Thinking quickly, he killed his protégé long enough to keep his presence masked from the intruders.

He drew his sword, but hateful young mortals brandishing Uzis rendered that moot. He knew the Immortal who approached him as he was wounded.

"Sorry, . But The Fugitive's been cancelled. Richard Kimble caught up with you, remember?"

Xavier smiled and said nothing as he pulled back his good arm. Before he died, Sidney Freedman heard someone say, "Compliments of General Flagg, Golem-Boy."

Luckily for all, no Golem appeared.

Within six months, both and James Horton were dead at the hands of a vengeful Duncan Macleod.

June, 1998

The Barge Of Duncan Macleod

Fighting off an old enemy and a soul-eating despair, Duncan Macleod now celebrated with his rescued friends.

"To our friend, Duncan, reborn, after too damned long a wait."

"I'll second that, Joe. This Rotten Old Goat knows how precious friends are. "

"Well, Methos, so do I. But for right now, this little thief is ducking in back to take herself a shower. Those terrorists smelled. Good to have you back, Mac."

As Amanda ducked away, Macleod and Methos felt the Presence Of Another.

"Oh, please. Not tonight. Macleod, don't you ever run out of vengeance - seekers? You're only 400."

"Vengeance-seeker? Me? I Don't Think So."

"Connor."

"Yeah, I was just passing through, and ran into someone who was looking for you. I heard about the boy, Richie Ryan. Sorry, Duncan. But just maybe you'll let this one keep his head."

"Heyya, Sarge. Long time no see."

"Radar?"

The young Immortal spoke of times past, friends still here, friends gone, and of his reasons for coming.

"So, willya do it? I been around, but I don't know the Game. By the way, didja know that yer friend here is over 5,000? Wow. That's old."

"Duncan, I think, that if he can discern my age---then he needs proper training."

"Yeah, and I can tell who's who, too. Only I got no one to show me nothin'. They all just want me for my head. I kinda grown attached to it, don't ya know."

Duncan considered. A chance to start over. To avoid his mistakes with Richie, where he had made them. To train someone destined to be very powerful indeed.

"Radar-Walter, when did you die?"

"Ah, Hawkeye sent me Seoul to have a good time. I got hurt, and it really messed him up. We fought, but we got to be friends again. Friends'r the Real Prize."

Connor smiled.

"A toast then, to all who have fallen, and all who are left. In the end, there can be only one, but til then, keep the wine flowing."

Methos raised his glass.

"To your kinsman, Duncan, who seems a hell of a lot more fun than you. To your new protégé, who seems to need to be loosened up, himself."

"Here, here."

"Thanks, guys, I mean, I got some heads, but those were all jerky Quickenings. I want to know what I can really do."

Duncan brought out Henry Blake's sword, and gave it to Walter. He looked at it with a sense of wonder.

"It isn't gonna be easy, Radar, but I will teach you. Welcome to the family."

The spirits of fallen friends watched this new union with joy.

*Think they'll be alright, Colonel?*

Henry Blake nodded.

*Yeah, Richie—I kind of think they will. So, Mister Ryan—the spirits don't get automatic R&R*

*What are you getting at?*

*In the work I have ahead of me---I could use a good company clerk*

*Sounds good—but I have a pretty high standard for bosses.*

*S'okay, Richie—I have the highest one for clerks.*

He is 66 years old, and he is apprenticed to Duncan Macleod—The Highlander. Though he goes by the name Walter O'Reilly, in the end---There Can Be Only Radar.