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that all was well and that he’d be home soon. It had been written with no investigation of his surgical situation. The nurse had managed to see the letter, and she told Duke and Hawkeye. They escorted Shaking Sammy out of the hospital and, as he left, they shot all four tires of his jeep with their .45’s. That was the last of Shaking Sammy for a while.
    “Guess I’ll have to stick with the bead-jiggler,” said the Duke that afternoon. “Do you suppose we could convert him?”
    Discussion of conversion was cut short by the arrival of a chopper with two seriously wounded soldiers. One of them, it seemed clear from the wound of entrance, the distended abdomen, and the severe degree of shock, had a hole in his inferior vena cava or possibly in the abdominal aorta. Since the inferior vena cava and the abdominal aorta drain blood from and supply blood to the lower half of the body, he was not long for this world.
    Hawkeye, Duke and Trapper John went to work. They got blood going, and they gave him Levophed to raise his blood pressure. Ordinarily they would have waited for things to stabilize, but now there was no time.
    Ugly John Black, the anesthesiologist, placed the tube in the trachea, through which he gave and controlled the anesthesia. Hawkeye Pierce was at the knife, and in they went. They tied off the vena cava faster than would have been considered proper in civilian surgery. Hawkeye jammed a large bore needle into the aorta so that they could pump blood through the real main line.
    “Get Dago Red quick,” yelled Hawkeye at the first lull.
    Father Mulcahy was already entering the OR.
    “What will it be, boys?” he said.
    “All the Cross Action you got, plain or fancy, but make it good,” said Hawkeye.
    With continued blood replacement and with Levophed, hope began to emerge from what had been desperation and chaos. The patient’s youth and vigor, plus rapid surgery and the remarkably effective Cross Action from Dago Red, added up to a virtual miracle.
    Duke and Hawkeye were off duty the following Saturday night, and they had, perhaps, a few more than were necessary.
    “We got to do something for Dago Red,” said Duke. “I mean to show our appreciation for all the good fixes, bead jiggling, and skillful Cross Action.”
    “There’s no doubt about it,” replied Hawkeye. “Did you have anything in mind?”
    “Ain’t nothing jelled exactly, but it’s gotta be something impressive.”
    “How about a human sacrifice?”
    “Hawkeye,” said the Duke, “y’all are purely a genius. Let’s get Shaking Sammy.”
    “A wise choice,” replied the Hawk. “You get a jeep, and I’ll round up Trapper John.”
    Within minutes they were streaking through the darkness down the road toward the engineer outfit where Shaking Sammy made his home. Sammy was taken in his sleep, bound, gagged and tossed into the back of the jeep.
    At six o’clock on Sunday morning, as Dago Red appeared at the chaplain’s tent to conduct early Mass, a frightening sight confronted him. He saw a cross. Lashed to it was his Protestant colleague, Shaking Sammy. Surrounding him on the ground was a pile of hay, assorted flammable junk and a couple of old mattresses. Lying on the mattresses were Captains Pierce, Forrest, and McIntyre.
    “What’s going on here?” asked Father John Patrick Mulcahy.
    “It’s something we gotta do,” answered Trapper John.
    “You guys are drunk!” the Father bellowed.
    “We had a drink or two,” the Duke said.
    “Break this up before you get in trouble,” the Father said, and then he saw the fifth ‘in Duke’s hand. “Give me that bottle, Duke.”
    “This ain’t no bottle, Red,” said Duke, showing him the rag stuffed in the neck of the bottle. “I’m chairman of the Fiery Cross Committee, and this here’s a Molotov cocktail.”
    “This is in your honor, Red,” said Hawkeye. “Step back and enjoy it. The time has come.”
    He lifted a gasoline can and poured the contention the debris