“So don’t afford it,” suggested Hawkeye.

“Pierce, you don’t like me, do you?”

“For Christ’s sake, Colonel,” exploded Hawkeye, “why don’t you go to bed? Right now I don’t even like myself, and all I need to set me off is to be bugged by a Regular Army medical officer.”

The Colonel went to bed. There wasn’t much else he could do.

Two days later there was no work at all. The heat per­sisted. It was too hot to drink. It was too hot to sleep. It was too hot to play baseball. It was too hot to play poker. The Swampmen made a halfhearted effort at rehabilitation. They’d been reading some Somerset Maugham stories about Malayan rubber plantations. At 9:00 a.m. they got their ice cube tray out of the refrigerator in the laboratory. Soon they were sitting in chairs in front of The Swamp holding tall glasses of Pimm’s #1 Punch and making believe they were Malayan rubber plantation foremen. Whenever a Korean houseboy came into sight, they yelled at him to get to work and start turning out the rubber, and they were thus laco­nical­ly passing the time when Colonel DeLong sauntered by.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he greeted them.

“You just out from home?” asked Trapper John.

“No, I’ve been in Tokyo for some tune.”

“Y’all married?” asked the Duke.

“Yes.”

“Bring your wife with you?” asked Hawkeye.

“Of course not.”

“I say, I wish I knew how you fellows get away with it,” said Trapper. “We three have our brides along, and it’s pure grief. They can’t stand the beastly climate, and they won’t let us commingle with the native girls. You don’t know how lucky you are!”

“I believe I’ll wander down to the pool for a dip,” said Hawkeye. He got his air mattress from the tent and headed for the river. The others followed, leaving the Colonel standing with his mouth open.

“Oh, I say, Colonel,” Trapper called back to him, “perhaps you’d join us for a set or two of doubles later, after the heat has abated?”

So they went to the river, swam a little and slept a little. By 3:00 p.m., Hawkeye Pierce was awake, pensive and bored. He lay belly down and naked on his air mattress, peering into the murky water below.

“Hey, Duke,” he asked, “whadda ya know about mer­maids?”

“Nothin’,” Duke assured him.

Trapper John, a leading authority on many subjects, joined the conversation. “In my opinion, there are mermaids in this river.”

“I’m forced to keep an open mind on that,” said Hawkeye. “Certainly if there are mermaids in this river, we’d be just plain foolish not to grab a few of them.”

“How y’all gonna catch a mermaid?” asked Duke.

“In a mermaid trap, naturally,” said the Hawk.

“How do you make a mermaid trap?”

“Just like a lobster trap, only bigger.”

“Let’s get goin’ on it.”

“OK”

They paddled ashore, dressed, went to the supply tent, where a cooperative sergeant provided material and tools. Hawkeye Pierce, in his boyhood, had built many lobster pots. For a man of his experience and background, the construction of a mermaid trap didn’t seem to present a major problem, and the next morning found the Swampmen well along on their project when again Colonel DeLong dropped by.

“What are you doing here, gentlemen?” he asked.

“Buildin’ us a mermaid trap,” Duke informed him. “Y’all want to help?”

The Colonel was trying to blend into the environment. “I see,” he said. “Where do you expect to catch mermaids?”

“The river’s alive with them,” answered Trapper.

“I see,” said the Colonel again. “Assuming that you are able to catch one of these creatures, what do you propose to do with it?”

Hawkeye gave the Colonel a look of impatience and scorn. “We’re gonna screw the ass off her,” he stated.

The Colonel was desperately trying to hang in there. “Do you have reason to believe that mermaids may be effectively utilized for that purpose?”

“Oh, Finest Kind,” Hawkeye assured him.

“Numero Uno,” said Trapper John.

“Yeah,” said the Duke,

Colonel DeLong retreated to his tent to think. Colonel Blake, before departing for Toyko, had deliberately and perhaps maliciously not briefed him on the Swampmen.

Meanwhile, Hawkeye had words with the Duke and Trap­per John, which went something like this: “I haven’t built a lobster trap in years, and I’ve lost the touch. This mermaid trap has already become bigger than I am. Let’s change the game. We got this guy DeLong buzzing anyhow. Let’s con­vince him we’re nuts, and maybe he’ll ship us out for awhile until Henry gets back and catches on. They got psychiatrists in Seoul, and we’ll be close enough to get back if business picks up.”

Trapper took the cue. He went to the next tent and spoke to Rafael Rodriguez, a lieutenant in the Medical Service Corps.

“Rafe,” he said, “we’d like a little help. Would you be willing to go tell Colonel DeLong we’ve flipped and suggest emergency psychiatric care?”

Rafael Rodriguez had been on The Swamp’s list of nonsur­gical good boys for several months, and now he justified the faith bestowed upon him. He went to Colonel DeLong’s tent, knocked respectfully and was bade to enter.

“Sit down. Have a beer, Lieutenant,” the Colonel urged him.

“Thank you, Sir. Sir, you look troubled. Perhaps I could be of help. I’ve been here for some time, you know.”

“Perhaps you could, Rodriguez,” the Colonel said. “I’m new. This is a strange and unusual situation for me. I’m very worried about three of our surgeons: Pierce, Mclntyre and Forrest. Their work, in the little time I’ve been here, has impressed me, but the last day or two their general behavior has caused me considerable concern.”

“Sir, I don’t blame you. In fact, that’s why I’ve come to see you. I’ve known them since they came. They have been good men, but I’m compelled to say that I’m disturbed about them. Sir, I know them intimately. Something has happened. Sir, I think they need psychiatric care.”

“That’s all I need to hear,” said Colonel DeLong. “I thought so, but I needed the confirmation of a reliable observer who’s been on the scene longer than I. I’ll take the responsibility of telling them about it.”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Rafael Rodriguez. “I don’t think I’d be able to do it.”

“I understand, Lieutenant,” said Colonel DeLong.

Rafe took a back route to The Swamp, poured a Scotch and gleefully informed the occupants that they were to under­go psychiatric evaluation. He left after one Scotch, lest the Colonel catch him there. Half an hour later, Colonel DeLong entered The Swamp.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I’ll come directly to the point. I am informed that your work here has been of exceptional quality. However, my own observations, confirmed by others, indicate that now you need help. Apparently prolonged responsibility in this situation, along with the heat and the isolation, has taken its toll. I’ve arranged for you to go to the 325th Evac tomorrow for a few days rest and to be seen by the psychiatric service. They will determine what happens next.”

Hawkeye Pierce looked at Trapper John. “I always knew you was foolish,” he said.

Duke Forrest whined, “I cain’t go to no hospital. I gotta get me a mermaid.”

Trapper John rose from his sack. “Colonel, if I could catch a mermaid tonight, you’d let me take her to the hospital with me, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course!” said the Colonel.

“Colonel,” said Hawkeye, “I’ll go along with this for only one reason. A few days down there will give me a shot at the epileptic whore, which has become one of my life’s ambitions, and in this general geographical location that’s the only thing that interests me more than a mermaid.”

Colonel DeLong desperately, all of a sudden, wanted to ask about the epileptic whore but restrained himself. “Transporta­tion has been arranged,” he told them. “You’ll be picked up at 0800 hours.”

“Finest Kind,” agreed Hawkeye, as the Colonel left. Duke and Trapper turned to Hawkeye.