Disclaimer: The parent franchises do not, obviously, belong to me. If they did, I would TOTALLY have made this into an episode of MASH.

Mulcahy's Miracle

By Madam aurantia and Veneficus Heterocephalus

There were so many bodies in the truck... so many. Mulcahy pushed his glasses up and began work. It really was discouraging sometimes. He had already given the last rites to several in the OR that day, as Pierce and Hunnicut's best efforts failed one after another. The few who had survived the day were in horrible shape, all burns and blood. It had been so bad that Colonel Potter had called Sydney to come counsel the staff.

Mulcahy moved methodically, one body to another. After a few bodies, the prayers were just coming out automatically. He didn't even remember the last couple of men that he had prayed over. He felt useless. He hadn't been able to help the doctors save these kids. He hadn't been able to help anyone through the trauma. He paused between bodies, and sank to the floor with his head in his hands. God didn't seem to be answering anyone's prayers this year anyway.

Why was he even here, if he wasn't doing anything worth doing? The round of phosphorus grenades had turned all of these youthful lives into so much carbon, and seemed to render his own faith useless. Goddamned phosphorus. Goddamned war! Father Mulcahy stopped, shocked at himself. He was a priest, for crying out loud! He stood up again, wiping his hopeless tears on the edge of his mantle and trying to convince himself that the prayer was worthwhile.

The next body was wearing a Canadian dog tag, though that was about all that was left of him. He was one big cinder, still smoking in a couple of places. Mulcahy read the tag and shook his head, knowing that every one of these charred faces would be visiting him tonight as soon as he was unfortunate enough to drop off. Wait, what was that? He leaned in, thinking for a moment of insanity that something had twitched.

He shuddered and began to pray, thinking that maybe Sidney's presence wasn't such a bad thing after all. He made it about three lines in when the shuffling sound broke his train of thought. Mulcahy opened his eyes, mid-word, and screamed. The cinder was sitting up, staring at him with a blackened scowl. Mulcahy staggered back, stumbling over something, and ended up sitting on some other poor sod staring up at Lieutenant Howlett. The sheet that had been covering him was torn, dangling from three white bone claws that retracted into his wrists to let the cotton fall.

The Lieutenant swung his legs over the edge of the stretcher and stood up, stretching his neck as if he were just getting out of bed in the morning. Flakes of ash fell off of him as he moved, revealing new pink skin underneath. They stared at each other for a moment, before Howlett spoke.

"Save it, Bub. I need a cigar more than a priest."

Mulcahy stammered something unintelligible, and fainted.