This is a story that I've had planned for a while. As you may have guessed from the references in some of my previous stories, I am a fan of M*A*S*H, and wanted a way to have the Back to the Future characters end up in this environment. However, I had already established the M*A*S*H TV show to be just that in the BTTF universe - a TV show. So a direct crossover between BTTF and M*A*S*H was out. I therefore had the fun task of creating my own MASH unit, partly basing it on the 4077th, partly people I know.

"Verne! I'm not going to call you again!" Clara Brown called up the stairs to her son's room. "You're going to miss the bus!"

"Uh, I'm not feeling that good," Verne called back, adding a cough for good measure. "I think I have a cold or something!"

Doc Brown entered the room. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked his wife.

"Oh, Verne's trying to skip school today. And don't think I don't know he has that math test today!"

"Ah, trying to get out of a test," Doc smiled. "Marty did that once. Verne, we know you're not really sick. Come down, please."

Verne opened his door and peered out. "No, really, I am sick! Listen!" He "coughed" again. "I think I'm going to throw up!"

"Verne, no video games for a month!" Clara told him.

"And what do you know, I suddenly feel better!" Verne said before disappearing to get dressed. Doc turned to Clara.

"Nice one," he said to her.

"Thanks, Emmett," she smiled. "When you're a teacher and a parent, you learn all sorts of tricks."

Verne grumpily came down the stairs. "It's not fair," he muttered. "I play sick, and you make me come down. Jules says he's sick, and you don't accuse him of faking it!"

"Jules is sick?" Clara was suddenly worried.

"He's just faking it," Verne said as he headed for the kitchen. Clara looked at Doc.

"I thought he was in the lab with you!"

"He usually is, but I heard you yelling and thought he was with you!" The pair of them ran upstairs to their eldest son's room and opened the door.

"Jules, honey, is everything OK?" Clara asked. A cough came from Jules' bed.

"My head hurts," he moaned. Clara put her hand on his forehead.

"He's hot," she told Doc. "He definitely has a temperature." Then to Jules, she added, "Is it just your head hurting?"

Jules coughed again. "No, my throat....." He coughed again and stopped. Doc turned to Clara.

"I don't think he's faking it."

"No, nor me, although it is unlike Jules to fake illness anyway. I think we'd best call a doctor."

"I'll give Ritchie a call, perhaps he can come over before he starts his surgery at 8.30." Doc looked at his son. "Don't worry son, you'll be OK. Ritchie'll have a look at you."

"Thanks," Jules gasped before falling silent again. Clara was concerned.

"Your throat's still hurting?" Jules nodded his head. Clara held her son's hand. "Don't worry. Your brother's a good doctor, he'll have you up and running again very soon."

Jules smiled. Clara stood up.

"I'm just going to make sure Verne hasn't burnt down the kitchen trying to make his toast, and then I'll be back up, OK?"

Jules nodded his head as his mother left the room, smiling as he heard her exclaim, "Verne, what have you done to my kitchen.....?"

Ritchie arrived 15 minutes later. Letting himself into the house, he walked into the kitchen, where he found Verne cleaning up the worksurface.

"Woah, I hope I don't have to treat this!"

Verne turned to him. "Mom's making me clean this up. How was I supposed to know Dad had meddled with the toaster when it exploded everywhere?"

Deciding he'd be better off not knowing the whole story, Ritchie asked Verne where Jules was.

"The faker's in his bedroom."

"Your dad didn't think he was faking on the 'phone."

"He's just a good actor. I should take lessons from him!"

Ritchie left Verne to clean up the mess and went upstairs to Jules' bedroom. Doc and Clara were sitting beside him.

"Hey Jules," he said to his brother. "What's up?" Ritchie yawned. "Hey, I wish I could stay in bed all day."

"We are sorry to get you up here so close to your surgery," Clara apologised.

"That's fine, that's fine. You're family, after all," Ritchie said. "Right, let's have a look at you, Jules." He glanced at his watch. "A quick look."

Doc and Clara watched him examine Jules. Ritchie asked Jules to open his mouth, and took a look at his throat. Then, he took Jules' temperature. Doc left afterwards to make sure Verne didn't miss his bus, and Clara took a look at the thermometer.

"102?"

"A slight temperature." Ritchie assured them as they heard the front door slamming downstairs.

"We'd guessed earlier, his forehead was hot," said Clara. Ritchie looked at his watch again.

"Jules, it seems like you've just got a common cold," he said to Jules.

"Are you sure?" Clara asked. "I mean, I've had a cold before, and whilst I had a sore throat, it didn't stop me from talking like Jules."

"Trust me, it's a cold," Ritchie said. "The symptoms do vary from person to person though. You were probably a lucky one - when I was 10, I had a cold that left me unable to speak for nearly a day. My adoptive parents remarked on how quiet the house was."

"Oh right," Clara said, satisfied. Ritchie turned back to Jules.

"Jules, you just need to take some of these - take one tablet about 4 times a day. That should help your headache. Make sure you also drink a lot - I know it might hurt, but we need to keep you full of fluids. Try warm salt water - tastes horrible but should do the trick." He looked at his watch. "Right, I really must be off or else I will miss my first appointment. I shall check on you again this evening, OK?"

Jules nodded his head. "Thanks," he breathed as Doc came back into the room, out of breath.

"He just made it," he breathed. "We had to chase it to the next stop, but we made it."

"Good, good," Clara smiled.

"I'll be back this evening, make sure you drink lots, right?" Ritchie smiled at Jules, before looking at his watch. "Damn! I'll be late! See you all later!" And with that, he was gone.

It was nearly complete. When done, this would be one of his greatest ever creations. This thing, this work of art, could change his life forever.

Doc applied the peanut butter to his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then slowly sliced the sandwich diagonally in half. Standing back to admire his handiwork, he grinned when he realised just how good this sandwich actually was. In a way, it would be a shame to eat it.

Doc returned to his easel. Since Jules appeared to be asleep upstairs, Doc had decided to make the most of his time and finish his painting. He and Clara had joined an art class and had enjoyed it. Doc had now decided to paint Einstein. Because the dog could not stay still long enough, Doc had made him sit in position before taking a photograph of him. Einie didn't like cameras either, whenever he saw one he'd move so you couldn't take a picture, but Doc had managed to bribe him with a treat if he stayed still just for the photo.

He'd now painted Einie's head and had done a rough outline of the rest of him when he heard his walkie-talkie go off. No-one spoke, there was just some static before it signed off again.

Doc instantly put down his paints and ran upstairs. He'd given Jules the other walkie-talkie so they could keep in contact if Doc were down in the lab or in the kitchen for example. With Verne in school and Clara at work (he'd convinced her that her students needed her, and that he was more than capable of looking after their son on his own), it was just the 2 of them - or 3, if you counted Einstein.

"What is it, Jules?" he asked his son.

"I'm thirsty," Jules gasped. Doc looked at the bottle of juice he'd left by his son's bed. It was all gone.

"Hey, you really are thirsty," he said. "You must have a good bladder!"

"Not really," Jules managed to say, before getting out of bed and rushing to the bathroom.

"I'll get you another drink," Doc called as he went back to the kitchen. He was adding water to the orange juice when he heard a scream from upstairs. Quickly turning off the tap, he grabbed the juice and ran back upstairs.

"Jules? Is everything OK?"

"Dad!" Jules gasped. "Look!" Doc entered the bathroom and Jules turned to him. The boy had taken his shirt off and stood there, bare chested, facing his father.

"Great Scott!" Doc exclaimed. On Jules' chest was a rash.

"I took it off to wash," Jules managed to say before stopping. He looked at his father, frightened. "What's wrong with me?"

Doc stared at the rash. "Oh, please God, anything but that," he muttered. He looked at Jules' face. "Jules, stick your tongue out a second."

Jules did so, and Doc's face fell. The tongue was bright red, much redder than it should usually be. That, plus the rash, could only mean one thing...

"Scarlet fever!" Doc breathed in horror as he ran downstairs to the telephone.

Within half an hour, Doc and Jules were at the hospital. Jules had been admitted straight away and Doc anxiously awaited any news. He'd managed to call Hill Valley Middle School, where Clara worked, and she was on her way to the hospital. He'd thought about calling the elementary school so Verne could be told, but decided he didn't want to worry his younger son just yet. 

"You're lucky you bought him in when you did, Dr Brown," Dr DiMaggio was saying to him. "We should be able to give him first class treatment and stop it from getting worse." Doc listened to the rest of DiMaggio's speech, but it all seemed blurred. He nodded and said "Uh-huh" a few times, but was too preoccupied thinking about his son.

Clara arrived at that moment and ran towards her husband. "Emmett! Is he OK?"

"He's fine," DiMaggio told her. "He should be home in a few days. We've given him an injection of penicillin G." He repeated to her what the procedure would be, and what and when Jules would be given treatment.

"Can we see him?" Clara asked.

"He's asleep at the moment, but go ahead," DiMaggio said.

"Thank you Doctor," Doc said as he and Clara entered the room. Jules lay asleep in his bed. His parents sat next to him.

"Oh Jules," Clara said. "You gave me such a scare. But we know you're going to be OK."

An hour or so passed by. Jules' condition was stable, and his parents stopped worrying. Eventually Doc went home so someone would be there to greet Verne when he came home from school, as both Marty and Jennifer were busy at college and Ritchie was of course with patients all day - none of them could really be disturbed. When Verne had arrived home, Doc had asked him to take a seat.

"Oh man, did Mrs Gardner 'phone you about that incident with Jeffrey Boyd?"

"No. What incident with Jeffrey Boyd?"

"Oh, nothing!" Verne smiled sweetly. Doc decided he would find out later, so changed the subject back.

"No, it's about your brother. It turns out, Vernie, that he did not have merely a cold, but he has scarlet fever."

"Oh."

"You know what that is, right?"

"Oh yeah. Remember back in the West when Francesca Mitchell got it?"

"Yes, that's right, I do remember. The good news is though that your brother is doing fine and he should be home in a few days. The doctors at the hospital have given Jules the various drugs he needs and he is slowly getting better. So I don't want you to worry about him, OK?"

"That's fine, Dad." Verne paused. "He must have been feeling really rough though."

"He was indeed," Doc said. "Tell you what, since it's just us two, what say we go grab a pizza before we go to visit your brother?"

"Sounds good to me," said Verne as he grabbed his coat. Doc secretly admired his younger son. He seemed to be taking the news so well. Not like Clara, who had panicked right from the start. But she was his mother, that was understandable. Doc had to admit that even he had panicked slightly, but had managed to stay calm for Jules' sake. Verne though had accepted the situation with no problem.

"I'm proud of you Vernie. You're being really mature and grown up about this," Doc said to Verne as they got into the car.

"Thanks Dad," Verne said. "Hey, what pizza are you going to have?"

It was about half past six when Ritchie appeared at the hospital. Doc had telephoned him and told him the situation, and Ritchie had felt awful when he'd heard the news. What he'd dismissed as merely a cold had turned out to be something quite serious.

"I'm sorry!" was the first thing he could think of when he saw Doc. "I'm really sorry for not giving him a proper check-up."

"That's fine," Doc tried reassuring him. "We didn't notice ourselves for several hours. It was only when Jules took his shirt off that we discovered the rash."

"I should have checked though. I really should have."

"He's going to be OK," Doc said, "so there's no point beating yourself up about it. None of us were to know."

"I should have made more time though," Ritchie said sadly. "It was only because I was in a hurry. I didn't want to be late for my first patient." He sighed. "What kind of doctor am I that I can't even diagnose my own brother?"

"Stop blaming yourself," Doc said, but he knew Ritchie would not listen to him. He decided to try another tactic, something that usually helped him out when he felt bad. "Look, Jules is asleep at the moment, why don't you go back to my place for a while? Einstein needs a walk, maybe that will help you out. Help you clear your mind. And hopefully, it will help you realise that this was not your fault."

"It might do," Ritchie said. "I'll be back soon, I guess. If he wakes up, tell him I stopped by, and that I'm sorry." He turned around and walked off.

"Poor kid, he's beating himself up about this," Doc said to Dr DiMaggio who walked up beside him.

"Dr Chase? Yeah, I've heard he's like that about some people." DiMaggio sighed. "It's something all of us doctors do. Sadly, it's part of the job."

Ritchie returned from walking Einstein. The dog bounced happily into the kitchen and sat down by the biscuit tin.

"Here you go," Ritchie muttered, giving the dog a treat. Einstein gobbled it up quickly. Ritchie sighed again and sat down in front of the television. Idly flicking through the channels, he saw that an episode of M*A*S*H was on. It was the one where the whole episode was seen through the eyes of a patient. Radar O'Reilly was on screen, telling the "patient" how good the doctors were at the 4077th.

"I bet he wouldn't be saying that about me," Ritchie sighed. The walk had done no good. He still felt bad. His confidence as a doctor had plummeted to an all time low. Maybe it was the fact that it was his brother in that hospital, and not just some random person off the streets. The rest of the episode seemed to fly past, although Ritchie wasn't really paying much attention to it, lost in his own thoughts.

"If only I'd had more time," he said to Einstein. "Hey, wait! I can make more time!" He leaped off the couch and ran to the lab. He tried opening the door, but found it was locked.

"Drat," he muttered. Then he remembered the keypad next to the door.

ACCESS NUMBER PLEASE, it said to him via text on-screen. Ritchie typed in his access number - 7 - and then his passcode. Doc had set up this system so only certain people could go into the lab - this was to protect the time machines. He'd given everybody numbers - he was 1, Clara 2, Jules 3, Verne 4, Marty 5, Jennifer 6 and Ritchie 7 - so they could go in at any time.

The door opened. Ritchie descended the stairs into the lab, turning on the light switch as he went so he could see where he was going. He walked to the DeLorean and unlocked the car before getting in.

"If I make myself get up earlier, I can come over and give Jules a check-up," he said to himself. He was about to type in the numbers when he stopped. "No, that could create a paradox. If I get up earlier then I'd have no need to go back and wake myself up. Rats!" He stared at the keypad. "Where can a doctor in distress go?"

Ritchie suddenly thought of what Radar had said to that patient. About how good the doctors at the 4077th were. Now Ritchie knew that Radar, and the rest of the 4077th, was fictional, but the real doctors of the time must have been damn good ones.

"I could always learn from the masters," he though. He set the time circuits for South Korea, 1952, and took the DeLorean into the sky. Soon, it hit 88mph, and left for a trip that would take it half way around the world - and 35 years into the past.

At the hospital, Doc was trying to convince Clara that there was no point waiting in the waiting room, that they should go home and get some rest.

"Jules is asleep now, he won't be awake until morning."

"I know, Emmett," she replied. "I just feel I should stay here with him."

"I do too," Doc admitted, "but we would only be taking up space for people who would really need this room. Come on, let's go home. I'll tell the doctor we're off."

As her husband left, Clara looked at Verne. The youngster was actually reading something! A bit of Clara wished she had a camera with her, as this was an event that definitely did not happen that often.

"What are you reading, Verne?" she asked.

"Oh, some magazine on soldiers!" Verne said. "Look, doesn't this tank look cool?"

Clara looked at the article. There were a few photographs of tanks, aeroplanes, and helicopters used in the past few decades. Verne turned the page.

"Hey look, these guys treated a boxer! It says that famous boxer Federico de Rojo was treated at a MASH unit in Korea. September 19th 1952." Verne studied the article.

"Come on Verne, we're going home."

"Can I finish this first? It looks interesting."

"You can take it home with you if you like."

"Hey, this guy looks a bit like Ritchie. A lot like him! Do you think it could be his adoptive father or something?"

Clara studied the photograph. "No, he looks a lot like your dad than he did his adoptive father. That man could be a relat..." A sudden realisation hit her.

"Emmett!" she called to her husband. Doc suddenly appeared.

"Right, let's go," he said, before noticing his wife's face. "Clara, what's up? Has Jules taken a turn for the worse?"

"No, no," Clara reassured him. "But take a look at this!" She gave the magazine to her husband. "That photo, top right."

Doc gasped at the photo. "Great Scott!"

"Has Ritchie gone back in time?" Verne asked.

"By the looks of things, he has," Doc told him. "Look closer. That jacket he's wearing is the same jacket he had on today!"

"Why would Ritchie want to visit 1952 Korea?" Clara wondered.

"I don't know," Doc answered her. "If my guess is correct, he went back today. Hopefully he'll be at home where we can get some answers!"

The Brown family car pulled up outside their house and Doc, Clara and Verne quickly exited it. Doc put his hand on the door handle and turned it. The door opened straight away.

"The door's unlocked," he told the others.

"We haven't been burgled, have we?" Clara wondered.

The three entered the house. Einstein came bounding up to them happily.

"Einie!" Verne gave the dog a hug. "Have you been bored?"

"Where's Ritchie, Einie?" Doc asked.

"I'll try his house," Clara said. "He may have gone home and forgotten to lock the door."

"Right," Doc said. As Clara walked over to the telephone, he and Verne took a look around the house. Nothing was missing, there was no sign of a break-in - the only things wrong were that the TV was still on and the lights were as well.

"Hey, M*A*S*H is on," Verne noticed.

"Yes, they're showing a whole evening of it," Doc observed. "Perhaps that's why Ritchie went back." He ran to the lab. The door was open.

Clara came up to him. "He's not at home."

"Then he's in 1952," Doc deduced. The three of them walked down to the lab. "Look, the DeLorean has gone."

"So what do we do?" Clara asked.

"It's been a rule that whenever we travel through time, we always return no later than 5 minutes after we left. Ritchie knows and understands that rule." Doc sighed. "Unless he left just 5 minutes ago, I think something might have happened to him." He turned to Verne. "Verne, does that article mention anything else about that photograph?"

Verne flicked through the article. "No," he said. "It just says that the boxer was treated by the surgeons at the 1985th MASH unit. No mention of what happened afterwards."

"1985th MASH unit?" Doc said in amusement, before he turned back to his wife. "Clara, we need to do some research about this MASH unit."

"I think we have a book on the Korean War," she said. "You gave it to me to catch up on 20th Century History when we moved here. I'll go fetch it."

Minutes later she was back, with the book. Doc and Verne crowded round her as she looked through the index. "Ah, here we go," she said, turning to a page roughly in the middle of the book. "It says here that Federico de Rojo was touring Korean units on a morale boosting excursion. He was visiting the 1985th when he had a heart attack and collapsed. The surgeons there managed to save his life." She silently read through the next few paragraphs. "Of course, this made big news."

"I think I remember hearing about this in 1952 itself, now you mention it," Doc said to her.

"Reporters descended on the camp to talk to the surgeons, but days later the area was hit by heavy fighting!"

"Great Scott!" Doc gasped. "Ritchie could be killed. I'll have to go back and rescue him."

"You can't go alone!" Clara said. "You will need some help."

"True," Doc said, "but you two are not it. Clara, you need to stay here. It was unusual for a woman who wasn't in the Army to be around a base back then, and you need to stay here for Jules. And Vernie, you're much too young. There is no way I'm taking you back to a war zone."

"So what are you going to do?" Clara asked.

"There's only one man who can help me," Doc said as he walked towards the telephone.

"You've gotta help me!"

"Well, why should I? You're always nagging me! Don't do this, don't do that!"

Marty groaned. This TV programme was rubbish. He'd only caught it whilst channel surfing, and hadn't been impressed.

"I can't wait until we have digital TV next century," he muttered as the 'phone rang. Since he was the only one home - his parents had gone to the movies, and Linda was goodness-knows-where with her new boyfriend - he went to answer it.

"McFly residence."

"Marty? Is that you?"

Marty recognised Doc Brown's voice. He sounded worried. "Doc! Yeah, it's me! What's up? How's Jules?"

"Jules is fine, he should be home within a few days. No, Marty, it's Ritchie! He's vanished!"

"Vanished?"

"I think you'd better come over," Doc said. "Ritchie is half way around the world, 35 years ago."

Marty understood. "I'll be there in 10 minutes," he said.

"South Korea?" Marty couldn't believe it as Doc and Clara told him the whole story.

"We think he's been gone over an hour, so something must have happened that prevented him from coming back," Doc said. "We did some research and we have discovered the location of the 1985th MASH unit, the place where we think he is."

"We have a date, at least," Clara said. "September 19th 1952. That was the date Federico de Rojo visited the unit. It was on that day that Ritchie ended up being in that photograph."

Verne came downstairs with 1950's clothing and a couple of cameras from the time. "This is all I could find, Dad," he said.

"That should do nicely, thanks son." Doc turned to Marty. "Obviously we can't just stroll into a MASH unit, so I have come up with a cover story. We are reporters covering the de Rojo story, hence the cameras. This also gives us a time - the book said the first reporters had arrived by late afternoon that day. We shall turn up at 4pm - hopefully we will blend into the crowd by then. We find Ritchie, grab him, and get out."

"Right. Just one problem. You haven't finished the Destination Location in the train. How are we going to get to Korea?"

"Simple," Doc said. "We are first of all going to visit the future. We shall borrow the future train, which will by then have the Destination Location on it. Then we can go back to 1952."

"Won't that cause a paradox somehow?"

"Hopefully not. My future self should remember the events of the past few days, so he should be OK with us borrowing his train."

"Right..." Marty still sounded sceptical. Doc looked at Clara and Verne.

"I think we're all set," he said to them. "We'll be back within 5 minutes - all 3 of us."

"Take care," Clara said, kissing her husband. "I hope Ritchie is OK."

"He will be - until we get him home!" Doc turned to Marty. "Come on, Marty, let's get going."

Ritchie wondered if he had done the right thing coming back to this time and this place the minute he'd arrived. After all, he'd come here to "learn from the masters" - but he could always have done that at home. What if his being here affected the doctors somehow? This was the first time he'd time travelled on his own, without his father there for the ride to prevent any paradoxes.

"I must be mad," Ritchie said to himself. "I'd best be off." He reset the time circuits for the morning of January 15th 1987, intending to go with his original plan of making himself get up earlier. That might be safer - he'd just have to tell his past self to go back and make him get up earlier! That should prevent any paradoxes!

"I might as well take a quick look around though, since I'm here," he decided. "I can do that whilst speeding to 88."

Suddenly Ritchie heard a gunshot. Without thinking, he ducked, before realising that he was safe up in the air.

"There must be fighting nearby," he said. "I'd best get out of here now!" He started accelerating, before another gunshot flew through the air. This one hit the DeLorean.

"Rats!" Ritchie almost shouted. The DeLorean started slowing down, and then to Ritchie's horror it started falling to the ground.

"Damn!" Ritchie yelled, as he tried gaining control of the car. Luckily for him, the Emergency Landing System kicked in - this was a standard requirement for hovercars, in case they suffered mechanical failure whilst in the air. The DeLorean almost floated to the ground. Ritchie saw a cave down below.

"Easy, easy!" he said to himself as he fought for control. He managed to land the DeLorean right by the cave, turning the hover-conversion off just in time so that the wheels could touch the ground. He tried starting the car up again, but it wouldn't work. It had stalled upon landing, and wouldn't start up again

"Damn!" he yelled again, before hearing more gunshots. Realising that his life was in danger, Ritchie put the car in neutral, made sure the handbrake was off, and got out of the car. He managed to push it into the cave just in time.

He sat in the pitch blackness, listening to the gunshots outside. He was very frightened. He'd heard gunshots before, of course - living in New York for most of his life, they had sadly been a common occurrence in parts of the city - but this was the first time he'd been in an actual war zone.

Then suddenly, the gunshots stopped. Ritchie's heart started beating again. Was it safe to come out? He took a few steps forward, after making sure the DeLorean was secure. He froze again when he heard voices.

"Medic! Medic!"

The voice was American. Ritchie guessed the North Korean Army, or whoever the Americans had been shooting at, must have retreated, but wounded someone. The doctor part of him took over the rest of him.

"I'm a doctor," he said, running out of the cave. The soldiers looked at him.

"Who the hell are you?" a sergeant asked.

"Dr Ritchie Chase. I, er, got lost around here, but I heard your cries for help." He looked at the wounded soldier. "Chest wounds," he said to himself.

"What are you doing out here?" the sergeant asked.

"I, er... this boy needs hospital attention, pronto!" Ritchie yelled over the noise, before turning to the sergeant. "I am, I'm, er, with the Red Cross. I got lost around this area. Caught up in a sniper fire or something."

"Right," the sergeant said. A corporal came up to him.

"Sir, an ambulance is on the way. They'll take the wounded to a MASH."

"The 1985th is the nearest, just a mile up the road," the sergeant said. He turned to Ritchie. "I guess you'll be heading that way as well."

"Yes," Ritchie lied. "The 1985th. That's where I was, um, heading."

"Attention, all personnel! Incoming wounded!"

Captain Al Cooper cursed silently. He was having such a good time. He'd been in the operating room for 8 hours yesterday and had been looked forward to playing doctors and nurses with the beautiful Lt Anne Kelly.

"Sorry, Lt," he said. "The boss called, we've just been given overtime."

The two of them ran out to the compound where several ambulances were being unloaded. Al spotted his friend and fellow surgeon, Captain Shaun Percell, treating a patient. Al ran over.

"Chest wounds," he said to Al. "We need to get him into the OR at once."

Ritchie Chase stepped out of the ambulance. "Great Scott," he muttered. He felt as if he'd walked into an episode of M*A*S*H - only this time, it was all real. He watched as the doctors and nurses examined the patients. He knew he couldn't sit back and just watch. He'd already ignored one patient today, and had no intention of making the same mistake again.

"Dr Ritchie Chase," he said, introducing himself. "I'm from the Red Cross. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Al couldn't remember Colonel Morgan mentioning anything about the Red Cross visiting, but what all the hoo-hah about Federico de Rojo, then the reporters, he could forgive himself for not remembering. "Captain Alvin Cooper," he said. "Have you performed surgery before?"

"Uh, not really," Ritchie muttered. "I did, a while back, but I don't really feel confident enough." He sighed. "But I can assist you in any other way."

"Well, I don't think we have a table for you anyway," Al admitted. "Still, we could do with your help. Some of our nurses are on R&R. Think you can fill their shoes?"

The surgeons had been in the Operating Room for just under 2 hours. Ritchie had soon realised what he had to do and had leapt in with both feet to help the army surgeons. There were 5 of them altogether. Besides Captains Cooper and Percell, who were both in their late twenties and not long out of medical school, there was Captain Gerald Burnley, who reminded Ritchie of Dr Charles Winchester from the TV show. The mannerisms, the voice - it was if the scriptwriters of M*A*S*H had met this guy and based the character on him. However, unlike Major Winchester, Captain Burnley had slightly less of an ego to him. In his mid-thirties, he seemed to be in a world of his own - focused entirely on the patient and nothing else.

Major Marcus Duke seemed to have more of an ego than Captain Burnley, Ritchie observed, and seemed to be the Frank Burns of this unit. Duke was very insistent with military regulations and kept calling for quiet in the room. Ritchie wondered if, like Frank in the TV show, he was sleeping with the Head Nurse, Major Margie McDonald, who seemed a quite attractive woman. A very good nurse as well, Margie had the determination of Margaret Houlihan, but didn't seem as strict.

And then there was the Commanding Officer of the unit, Colonel Henry S Morgan. The Colonel was in his early forties, slightly balding, yelling orders one minute and then joking with the others the next. He was respected by all. Ritchie liked him. He was telling some stories about his adventures in World War II.

"They found me the next day. I'd had such a deep sleep, I didn't even realise the bombing had stopped!" The others chuckled, except for Major Duke, who snorted.

"I would have noticed," he sniffed. The others ignored him.

"So, Ritchie, tell us a bit about yourself," Al asked the newcomer. "I can tell from your voice you're from New York."

"Originally," Ritchie said, "but I now live in California."

"Our company clerk comes from there," Col Morgan said. "Clamps."

"I've been to Harvard, was top of my class, and moved to California to set up a practise before, er, volunteering to come out here."

"I volunteer we all go home," Al said.

"That's enough, Cooper!" Duke snapped.

"Leave him, Major. The stress is getting to all of us."

A man in his early forties entered the OR. "Sir, come quick! Federico de Rojo has collapsed!"

"Federico de Rojo?" Ritchie was confused.

"He arrived yesterday, touring camps to increase morale," Al explained. "Sam, where is he?"

"He's in the post-op room!"

Al looked at his patient. "Lt Kelly, close for me," he said. "I'll go attend to him." Al followed Sam out of the OR.

"That was our company clerk, from California," Shaun said. "Could you pass that over, please?"

Al soon returned with de Rojo. "He's had a heart attack," he told the others. "Nothing too serious. It looks like things are starting to quieten down here."

"You'd best see to him, Cooper," Col Morgan said. "We should be fine here."

News of the heart attack soon spread fast, and within an hour the first reporters had descended on the camp. When the tired surgeons finally managed to escape the Operating Room, the reporters instantly started asking them questions.

"How's the champ?"

"Will he fight another day?"

"Is it true he almost died?"

The questions were soon diverted to Al once it was revealed he'd operated on de Rojo. The others, Ritchie included, were able to make a quick getaway.

"Is there a lavatory around here?" Ritchie asked Shaun.

"The latrines are just down there," Shaun told him. "Don't just follow the smell though, or else you'll end up in the mess tent."

"Right," Ritchie said. He soon found the latrine. Luckily, there was no-one there - despite the swarms of reporters in camp. Whilst there, he thought about his situation.

"I'm trapped," he said to himself. The DeLorean wasn't working, and whilst he was good at fixing people Ritchie was useless at fixing cars. Indeed, he'd first met Marty and Jennifer when his car had broken down, and they'd helped him fix it. To make matters worse, no-one knew where - and when - he was.

"They should discover the DeLorean missing though," he said to himself, "and realise I've gone. But they won't know where." He thought about his family. He hoped Jules was doing OK. He wondered if his brother knew he had gone. He wondered if Clara and Emmett were still at the hospital with Jules. No, they would have gone home - they'd have known Jules would be OK and would have taken Verne home at least. Unless, Verne was staying with a friend and thus didn't have to be taken home.....

"I'll have to somehow let them know I'm here," he said. "How, I don't know, but my future depends on it." Outside, he heard the sound of a camera. "I think I might have the solution."

"I hope the sonic booms didn't attract any attention, Doc," Marty said to his friend as the train entered the past.

"Even if it did, we won't have to worry," Doc told him. "It seems that by 1992 I have installed an invisibility device on both time machines. I switched it on just before we arrived here. The force field that I've recently finished in 1987 is here as well, of course, so we are perfectly safe. Have you found a landing place yet?"

"There's a small clearing below us," Marty said, "but I don't know, Doc. People might not be able to see the train, but they could still walk into it."

"Not a problem either," Doc replied. "It also turns out that by 1992 I have installed a device that can disguise the train as something else. We will simply disguise it as a pile of rocks, or a tree, or something."

"How come I don't seem to know any of this, despite the fact I was there when your future self told you about it?"

"Perhaps you weren't listening?"

"So, that clearing's OK?" Marty asked, changing the subject. Doc took a look.

"That looks safe, let's begin our descent."

"Here's our exit," Marty muttered as the train began the landing procedure.

The reporters were taking photographs of Al, who although reluctant at first was now starting to enjoy himself.

"Just make sure you get my good side," he teased.

"Can we have a picture of all of you guys?" a reporter from the Chicago Tribune asked. "We want to show the folks back home the brave men who put our boys back together."

Ritchie seized his chance. If he could just get in the photographs, hopefully they would appear in the papers, and perhaps in 1987 they would be seen by his family. After all, this story was big news.

"I'll go get everyone," he volunteered. Soon, he, Shaun, Colonel Morgan, Gerald and Margie were all assembled with Al for a photo. Major Duke had refused to be in it for some reason.

The photo was taken. Now, Ritchie thought, I just hope it makes it to the future.

The 1985th MASH appeared to be in complete chaos when the two time travellers managed to get in. Reporters were everywhere.

"Excellent, we shall blend right in," Doc told Marty. "Stick together, but keep an eye out for Ritchie."

"Check, Doc." Marty started looking around. He kept expecting Hawkeye or Hot Lips to walk past at any minute. He was sure Doc felt the same way.

"There's a big crowd," he said to Doc. "Hey look, reporters!"

"Is Ritchie there?" Doc asked. "He may have posed as a reporter."

"I don't think he is.....no, wait, there he is! It looks like he's there with the surgeons."

Doc and Marty ran over to the crowd of reporters. Doc watched the surgeons posing for the picture. It looked very familiar.

"Of course!" he said to Marty. "They're taking the picture that will appear in that magazine in 1987."

"Cool, I guess," Marty said.

"We'll have to get Ritchie alone soon and find out what happened to the DeLorean, and then get everyone home!"

Soon Sam, the company clerk, came running up to Col Morgan and said something to him. Marty stared at Sam, who hadn't noticed him.

"What's wrong, Marty?" Doc asked.

"That's my grandpa, Sam Baines!" Marty whispered. "I didn't know he served here! Why do we always seem to run into my family members on these trips?"

"Don't worry," Doc reassured him. "He's never met you before. Hopefully we'll have left within a couple of hours."

Col Morgan cleared his throat. "Uh, gentlemen, we have just received word that we have more wounded on their way. An ambulance will be here shortly to take Mr de Rojo to a hospital in Seoul where he will be recovering." As shouts of "You can't do that!" and "The Champ needs a bed!" came from the reporters, Col Morgan had to raise his voice to continue. "We need the bed for our wounded soldiers."

As the reporters continued with their questions, Doc and Marty broke away from the group. They spotted Ritchie and called his name. Ritchie looked up, surprised.

"Emmett?" He walked over to them. The three of them crept into a corner where they wouldn't be overheard.

"Ritchie! What on earth are you doing here? And where's the DeLorean?"

"It had a bit of engine trouble," Ritchie said. "The car won't start. It got hit by a bullet....."

"Great Scott!" Doc gasped. "That means that someone has seen the DeLorean! Let us hope that history hasn't been too altered by that! But what are you doing here anyway?"

"Well, I felt really bad about Jules, I saw M*A*S*H on the television, they seemed such good doctors that I thought I'd come here and see the real doctors in action," Ritchie said. "I don't know what I was thinking, I somehow thought if I helped here that would make me a better doctor again."

"We'd best get you home," Doc said. "Where did you park the DeLorean?"

"I'll show you," Ritchie said. "Follow me."

Luckily for the time travellers, the route back to the cave followed a road, so it was easy not to get lost. Ritchie told them the full story about how he'd arrived, and how he'd ended up at the 1985th, as they walked. Half an hour after they'd left the camp, they found the cave. By now though, it was starting to get dark.

"The car wouldn't start," Ritchie explained, "so I hid it in here."

"Get the flashlight out of the car," Doc said. "I'll have a look at things." Ritchie passed the flashlight to his father, and Doc tried switching it on. Nothing happened.

"Damn!" Doc muttered. "The batteries are out!"

"I have some batteries in my pocket," Ritchie said. "Will they do?"

"No, this flashlight is from the future. Batteries from our time won't work, and the spare batteries are in the train, which is a couple of miles away. I daren't go out to the train in the dark."

"So what do we do?"

"We'll have to go back to the camp, and hope they have a place for us to stay," Doc said. "It's too risky to stay out here with the DeLorean, but it is hidden well enough, and this cave looks like it has been abandoned for years."

He made sure the car was locked and hidden once again, and then the three retraced their steps to the 1985th.

Doc and Marty had decided to use false names, purely because of the presence of Sam Baines in the camp. Doc decided it would not be good if Sam Baines recognised the names of "McFly" and "Emmett Brown", both of which he would have heard of back home in Hill Valley. The three had also come up with a cover story as to how they all knew each other. Doc was apparently Ritchie's uncle, which would explain why they looked like each other yet had different last names and accents. Marty was the photographer to Doc's reporter. Marty had convinced Doc to use the last names of Pierce and Hunnicut - "as a sort of joke, just to us."

"Marty, remember, just for this evening you'd best call me 'Emmett' rather than 'Doc'," Doc said to his friend. "Almost everyone here is a doctor and it might raise questions if they discover I am as well."

"Check, Doc, er, Emmett. Gee, that felt strange."

"It seems perfectly natural to me," Ritchie said.

"You call him 'Emmett' all the time," Marty said. "and he's your father. To me, he's always been 'Doc'."

"Ever since the day we met," Doc said.

"Which one? 1955 or 1982?" Marty chuckled.

Federico de Rojo and his assorted band of reporters had left the camp by the time the time travellers returned. Ritchie spotted Al and Shaun entering a tent, which he assumed was their living quarters. Deciding this would be the best place to start, he led Doc and Marty to the tent.

"Knock, knock," he said, opening the door. He peered in. Inside were 4 of the doctors - Al, Shaun, Col Morgan and Gerald Burnley. It looked like they were playing poker.

"Hey, look who's back," Al grinned. "Howdy, stranger."

"Howdy. Listen, these 2 reporters missed their connection to Seoul. A car won't be meeting us until morning," Ritchie told the poker players. "This is my uncle..."

"Emmett Hunnicut," Doc introduced himself. "I'm a reporter for the Elmdale Gazette. And this is Marty Pierce, my photographer."

Introductions were quickly made. "Well, I think we have room for you in the VIP tent," Col Morgan, "but just for one night. General Goldman is coming to the camp tomorrow and we'll need the bunk for him."

"Sure, we should be gone within the morning," Ritchie said. "I'm due back in Seoul tomorrow afternoon."

"Well, pull up a chair," Al told the time travellers. "Unless you're as bad a player as Shaun." Shaun lightly punched his friend in the arm, grinning.

"Says you," he grinned. "Just how many IOUs did you go through last month, Captain Cooper?"

"Not as many as you are now, Captain Percell."

"I'm afraid I don't know how to play," Marty admitted. "Never played it before."

"It's easy enough," Col Morgan said. "Take a seat, son. Everyone, let's just have a practise round to help Marty get the swing of things."

"Attention, all personnel! Incoming wounded!"

"Oh, not again," Col Morgan sighed. "Burnley, go help Major Duke in the operating room. Holler if you need some assistance."

"Right, Colonel," Gerald said. "I see ol' Weasel Features needs a superior man in the room again."

"Well Gerald, any one of could go in on those criteria," Al quipped. Marty tried to hold in a laugh. There was a knock at the door.

 "Sir, more choppers are on the way," Sgt Sam Baines told his CO. "I think they mean business."

"Right, thank you Baines. Sorry gang, game's over for now."

"Do you need a hand?" Ritchie asked.

"Uh, no thanks," Col Morgan said. "We should be OK. But we'll call if we do."

Once the surgeons had gone, Doc, Marty and Ritchie were left alone in the tent.

"Hey, who knew I had such a talent for poker?" Marty grinned, holding his winnings in his hand.

"You do know you can't take it back," Doc said. "As well as changing history, this is all military script. It wouldn't be worth much at home."

"I guess I'll have to lose the next game," Marty said. "I don't want another warped 1980's when we get home." He thought of Biff Tannen's 1985-A and shuddered.

"What shall we do now?" Ritchie asked.

"Well, we could go and check out our quarters," Doc suggested. "Make ourselves comfortable, we're going to be here a while."

Whilst Doc and Ritchie sorted out the beds, Marty watched the action in the compound. He saw the ambulances arrive, and the orderlies take the patients out. Shaun and Major Duke were giving them a quick examination and then sending some into the OR, where presumably the other surgeons would be operating on them. The whole operation was complete chaos, yet it also seemed to be running like clockwork. Marty was fascinated by the whole thing. He had a lot of admiration for these men and women.

"We're done," Doc said. "Luckily the supply sergeant got us a third cot." There had only been two in the VIP tent - presumably, Doc had thought, one for the General and one for his aide.

"What do you remember about the Korean War, Doc?" Marty asked. "Since, out of all of us, you would be the only alive now."

"I remember hearing about the fighting on the news, and in the papers," Doc said, "but to be honest I didn't pay much attention to it. 6 months ago, my parents had died, and world events just seemed blurry from that time."

"I'm sorry, Doc," Marty said, meaning it.

"What were my grandparents like?" Ritchie asked.

"They were wonderful people," Doc smiled. "You and your grandmother would have had a lot in common. But that does not mean you can gallivant off to 1952 again to see them! One Ritchie Chase in 1952 is more than enough. In fact, one Emmett Brown is more than enough, and there are currently 2 of me on Earth at the moment."

There was a pause. "So," Marty said, changing the subject, "what are you going to do when this is all over?"

The surgeons came out of the OR after a hour and a half, weary but happy that this session had been short. The time travellers joined them in the mess tent for something to eat.

"We apologise for the food here, or lack of," Al sighed as the cook poured something into his tray.

"Antique potatoes tonight," Shaun added. "Straight from World War II."

The hungry time travellers joined the officers at their table. Sgt Sam Baines was also with them. The enlisted men were on the other tables, laughing and joking. The officers were in the middle of a conversation.

"Anybody get any interesting mail this morning?" Col Morgan asked.

"A letter from my wife," Major Duke sniffed. "Everything is working normally at home. My daughter got an A in her spelling test."

"My fiancée said her dad was ill the other week," Shaun said. "Things are fine now though. God, I miss her."

"I think we all miss our significant others," the Colonel added.

"I know I miss my wife," Sam said. "My youngest is just a year old, he started walking the other day. Stella was so proud, but she wished I'd been there too."

"At least you were there for your other kids," Col Morgan said. "He has 4 children back home," he added for the benefit of the time travellers.

"Lorraine's 14, Milton, who is 9, Sally, she's 3, and Toby's one," Sam said proudly. "Hey, Stella sent me a photo of them as well." He got the photo out of his pocket and gave it to Marty. Marty stared at it. His mother was smiling, with her arm around Uncle Milton. Aunt Sally sat in front of them, and his grandmother was standing next to them with Uncle Toby in her arms. All of them were grinning at the camera.

"Hey, when you get back, you should make some more kids," Shaun quipped. "I know I will be, once I'm married."

Marty did some calculations. If the war ends in May '53, and Sam gets back then, add nine months.....1954, the year Uncle Joey was born! He pushed the thoughts out of his mind.

"Are you married?" Gerald asked Doc.

"Yes, I have a wife and 2 boys back home," Doc said, looking at Ritchie. "And another son, who's older and lives nearby." Ritchie smiled.

"I'm not married," he admitted.

"Nor me," Gerald admitted.

"The women of Boston had better be locked up when you return," Al added. Marty stared at him.

"You're from Boston?"

"Yes, of course. The Beacon Hill area. Do you know it?"

"Uh, yeah. Some friends of mine live near there. The Winchesters. Know them?" A small smile was on Marty's face. If only you knew.....

"I don't think so."

"They live near a bar. Called Cheers."

"Marty....." Doc warned, concerned as to whether these TV references could change the future.

"But back home, I have a girlfriend. Name's Jennifer. We're gonna get married at some point."

The table fell silent, every man thinking about their families and friends back home.

"At least you'll get to see your ladies again soon," Al said to Doc and Marty. "I presume you'll be heading back to the States with your report on the Champ."

"I think so," Doc said. "But we'll be thinking of you. This unit appears to be doing a bang up job."

"Finest kind," Al said as he took another mouthful of potatoes. "The unit, that is. Not these. Not these at all!"

Doc couldn't sleep. Despite it being September, the Korean climate was warmer than he was used to, and he was hot. He took a look at his bunkmates. Marty had managed to fall asleep straight away. Doc guessed that "time lag" had caught up to him - after all, it would be about 5am if they were still in 1987 Hill Valley. Ritchie had managed to fall asleep after a while, but he still looked troubled. Doc sighed. This trip to 1952 obviously hadn't restored Ritchie's confidence, despite his son helping out in the OR earlier - and doing a fine job, according to the surgeons.

Ritchie was a complex man, much like Doc himself. He was obsessed with simple little things. Doc knew that deep down Ritchie knew he was a good doctor, and always had been. He'd been in a rush that morning, to attend to his regular patients who needed him. Jules was OK, he would live, and Ritchie should be celebrating that like the rest of the family.

He thought of Clara. How was she coping? Would she be worrying if they hadn't come back by now? No, Doc decided she wouldn't be. H knew the time machines were working, they could stay here for a week and still arrive home just after they left. Clara would probably have gone straight to the kitchen to make them a hot drink for when they returned.

Doc sighed again. He felt thirsty. He grabbed the jar of water next to his cot and poured some into his glass. Taking a sip, he found that the water was warm. Not what he wanted.

Plus it had made me him suddenly need to use a latrine.

Taking care not to disturb the others, Doc left the VIP tent and walked towards the latrines. Luckily there wasn't a queue. Doc went inside and shut the door behind him. Humming a tune to himself, he did what he had to do and then exited, heading into the OR to use the sink there and wash his hands. Once that was done, he headed back to his tent.

BANG!

Doc didn't know what had just happened, but he felt a sudden pain in his side. Then suddenly, everything went black.

Marty and Ritchie had instantly been woken up by the bang. They looked at each other worriedly before realising that Doc's bunk was empty.

"Doc?" Marty called for his friend. "Doc, where are you?"

"Emmett?" Ritchie wondered. The two looked out of the door.

"Marty, look!"

Marty gasped in horror. "Doc!" He flung the door open and ran towards his friend. "Doc? Doc?"

The surgeons, who had also been awoken by the bang, were on the scene. "Gunshot," Marty heard Al say to Shaun.

"Is he OK?" Marty asked. Another gunshot flew through the air, just missing everyone.

"Damn, we have a sniper!" Col Morgan snapped. "Quick, get him inside!"

Two of the orderlies picked up Doc and took him into the OR, Marty and Ritchie following behind. Col Morgan was issuing orders.

"All non-essential personnel remain inside!" he yelled. A third gunshot was heard, and suddenly there was a groan from Major Burnley.

"I've been hit," he muttered.

"There's a whole bunch of them, sir," a corporal said. "We reckon there must be at least 4, 5 of these sons of bitches."

The Colonel looked at Gerald. "Get him inside," he ordered. "We have work to do."

Al and Shaun were setting up a table to treat Doc when Gerald was taken inside by more orderlies.

"Bad news, sirs," the corporal said. "There's a bunch of snipers out there."

"They shot the Major," the other orderly added.

"Damn, we're one surgeon down," Al muttered. As shout was heard. "Major Duke just fainted!"

"What happened to him?"

"He was almost shot at, and just fainted." Col Morgan entered the OR.

"Fine time for him to faint on us!" He looked at the casualties. Whoever these snipers were, they were very good at it. 5 members of staff had been shot at, as well as Emmett Brown. Luckily none of them had been killed, but they were losing blood fast.

"We're 2 surgeons down!" the Colonel suddenly realised as Major Margie McDonald arrived.

"Sir, you've got to do something!" she told him. "Half the nurses are trapped in their quarters!"

"Tell Sam Baines to call I-Corp, let them know the situation, and get who you can in here ASAP! And tell the others not to leave their quarters! We don't want any more casualties!"

"Yes sir," Margie said, before sending an orderly out with the orders. She put on a gown. "I think I'm needed here."

"We're still a surgeon down," the Colonel sighed.

"What about Ritchie?" Al suggested, looking over at the table where Doc was lying on. "He said he's done surgery before."

"We might have to use him," the Colonel agreed. He walked over to Ritchie, who along with Marty was watching Shaun and a nurse treat Doc. "Dr Chase, we're a few men down. Would it be possible to give us a hand?"

Ritchie looked at his father. He hadn't done surgery for years, but he was not going to fail another member of his family. Not today!

"I'll tend to him," he said firmly, pointing at Doc. "You sort out the others."

"Thanks, son," Colonel Morgan said gratefully. Ritchie looked at Doc.

"Let's hope you'll be saying that soon," he muttered to him.

Despite not having any medical knowledge whatsoever, Marty refused not to be involved somehow. He'd grabbed a mask straight away as soon as he'd entered the OR - like he'd seen non-medical personnel such as Radar or Father Mulcahy do numerous times on M*A*S*H. Partly to have something to do - but mostly to take his mind off the fact that his best friend lay in there, bleeding heavily - Marty had volunteered to help the orderlies, fetching and carrying various things for the doctors. His services were very much appreciated.

"Has Duke woken up yet?" the Colonel was yelling at someone. The answer was obviously a negative, as the Colonel muttered some not very friendly language afterwards. Marty turned his attentions to Ritchie. Ritchie was concentrating purely on Doc and ignoring anyone and anything else.

"Come on, come on!" he muttered to his father. "Clamps!" he yelled. A nurse passed a pair over.

"Is everything OK, Ritchie?" Al asked.

"Uh, yeah, everything is great," he replied. Ritchie applied the clamps.

Marty watched as Ritchie did something else. He couldn't see exactly what, and was sure he wouldn't know what even if he could. He looked around. Blood was everywhere. The surgeons were racing against time to put their own men back together. Not just injured soldiers, but injured medics. Marty knew they knew what they were doing, but the stench was appalling.

Some blood trickled down the floor. It was too much for him. Marty ran outside to the nearest bush and threw up.

Ritchie was getting annoyed now. It had been a while since he had performed surgery, and whilst it was something you didn't tend to forget, he hadn't realised just how rusty he was. Working in a family practise didn't usually require surgery, after all. He looked up for some inspiration and saw Marty running out of the room with his hand over his mouth. Instantly guessing what was happening, he decided to follow him.

"Finish this off for me, I'll be back in a jiffy," he said. "I just need a bit of air." Before anyone else could say anything, he ran outside.

"Marty? Marty? You OK?"

"I'm fine, it just got a bit too much for me....."

"Listen, it's OK!" Ritchie interrupted. "Plenty of doctors on the TV show vomited the first time, they weren't used to meatball surgery. Remember that episode where the Colonel and Major Winchester had the mumps?"

"That's right," Marty remembered. "They got a replacement surgeon who started off strong and couldn't do it at the end."

"And that's not gonna happen here," Ritchie told his friend. He stood up firmly. "It is my fault we're here, I'm going to fix things." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Eureka!" he yelled excitedly.

"I think you just got your confidence back," Marty smiled.

"I think you're right!" Ritchie yelled back. And with that, he disappeared back into the OR. "That's better, let's get back to work," Marty heard him say to the others.

"Hey, Pierce!" Marty was snapped out of his thoughts. "Take this inside!"

Marty picked up a box of some medical supply - he was unsure what it was, exactly, but guessed Doc or Ritchie would know - and re-entered the OR. Ritchie was now working frantically, but this time he looked like he really knew what he was doing. Marty quickly looked away. Like Ritchie, he needed to be strong. He decided he would be stronger by focusing on what he had to do, rather than thinking too long about the doctors.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Major Duke entered the OR. "What's he doing in here?" he asked, referring to Ritchie.

"He's doing your job!" Shaun snapped at him. "And doing a darn good one, too."

Thanks, Ritchie thought to himself. Just what I needed to hear. He smiled, for the first time in ages.

"I'm back, baby!" The others gave him slightly strange looks at that statement. Ritchie went slightly red. He hadn't jut said a future phrase not around in 1952, had he?

"Um, that is, I'm finished," he said happily. "Uncle Emmett's going to be fine!" As he said the words, he realised he'd just saved his father's life. He looked at the bullet he'd removed from his father's insides.

"Who'd have thought one tiny thing could cause so much trouble?" he wondered. As Doc was taken to post-op, Ritchie asked, "Is there anything else I can do?"

Luckily, by morning the snipers had been caught by the US Army. It turned out they'd attacked a medical unit so that the wounded Americans could not be saved and go on to fight again.

Equally lucky was the fact that the wounded had all been saved. Major Burnley was fine. So were the other personnel. And so was Doc.

Marty was sitting by his friend's bedside when Al came over to check up on him.

"How's he doing?"

"He's sleeping," Marty said. "He's gonna be OK though?"

"He'll be fine," Al said. "He'll need a couple days rest, but he'll be fine. I guess you'll have to stay here a bit longer than expected."

"Yeah, I guess so," Marty told him. "But where? Doesn't some general want our tent?"

"We'll find somewhere," Al smiled. "We have a spare bunk in our tent, since Gerald's taking a vacation in here for a while, so Dr Chase could sleep there, and I'm sure we'll find somewhere for you. In the meantime, I think Emmett needs some rest, and so do you. Why don't you go grab a bite to eat?"

"I guess so," Marty said, rising. "But let me and Ritchie know the minute he wakes up, OK?"

"Will do." Marty started walking away, when Al called him back. "Hey, Marty, how about another poker game tonight?"

"Count me in," Marty smiled. Finally leaving post-op behind, he wondered around the compound. Groups of men and women were sitting around, talking, laughing and enjoying the morning air. After the events of last night, they deserved a break like this.

"Heads up!" Marty turned to see a football heading straight towards him. He managed to catch it just in time.

"Over here!" an enlisted man called. Marty threw the ball back to him. "Here you go!" he called. He then headed into the mess tent. Grabbing a tray, he spotted Ritchie at the back of the queue.

"Hey," he said, joining him.

"Morning," Ritchie replied. "How's Emmett doing?"

"Captain Cooper says he's doing fine. He just needs a couple of days rest."

Ritchie smiled. "Excellent."

"You haven't looked this happy for ages," Marty said.

"I realised last night that I am a good doctor, and even good doctors can make mistakes," Ritchie admitted. "What happened with Jules was not my fault. I was in a rush, couldn't be helped, I had other people to see who needed me."

"I'm glad you've realised that," Marty said. "I just wish it hadn't taken this trip for you to realise it."

"Yeah, me too."

"We'll have to stay here a bit longer though, because of Doc," Marty told him.

"Ideally I'd like us to head back to the future at once," Ritchie said, lowering his voice so no-one else would hear. "Emmett might be taking up a bed that someone else is destined to use, plus he'd get better treatment in 1987."

"I thought so too," Marty said, "but what would we tell the doctors? 'Oh, thanks guys, we'll just take him home now.'."

"I know," Ritchie said. "I think we'd best stay here. But we'll ask Emmett when he wakes up."

"You two gonna order something?" the cook interrupted them. Reacting to the slight deja-vu of that statement, Marty gave his tray to the cook.

"I'll have everything except the lettuce," he said gratefully. When the two had got their meals, they wondered over to the officers' table. Colonel Morgan, Shaun, and Majors Duke and McDonald were there.

"Mind if we join you?" Ritchie asked.

"Pull up a seat," Shaun said, moving over slightly. Major Duke was complaining to the Colonel about a lack of procedure being followed. The Colonel retorted by saying that fainting before a shift wasn't either.

Marty and Ritchie watched, slightly fascinated by the bickering between the officers, before Colonel Morgan realised they had guests. "We'll talk about this later," he said to Major Duke. "Morning," he said to the time travellers.

As greetings were exchanged, Duke stood up. "Just wait until General Goldman hears about this!" he said pompously. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to relieve Captain Cooper in post off and show him how things should be done!"

Marty watched him exit.

"Jeez, what a.....butthead," he smiled slightly.

"Oh, ignore him, he's always like that," Margie told him. "He doesn't exactly practise what he preaches though. He may insist on correct regulations, but he made a pass at me the minute he arrived! He's married!"

"Calm down, Major," Colonel Morgan told her. "He's a good surgeon."

"When he remembers," Shaun quipped. "Which isn't too often. Luckily he's a god victim for practical jokes."

"Really?" Ritchie asked.

"Oh yeah," Shaun said, taking another mouthful of his breakfast. "One time, we managed to fly his underwear up the flagpole! And last week, we hid his footlocker, managed to convince him it was in the supply room, then put it back when he went to look for it!"

"That was funny," Al said, entering the tent. "We convinced him that it had been there by his bed the whole time!"

Marty and Ritchie laughed. "I'll have to remember that the next time my sister annoys me," Marty grinned. Al turned to him.

"Besides coming here for some, uh, 'food' - if you can call it that - I have news about one Emmett Hunnicut. He's woken up."

"Really?" Marty asked.

"You betcha," Al said. "You two can go and see him if you wish."

"Uh, Al, they're not here anymore," Shaun told his friend. Al looked around. The two seats were now vacant.

"Wow, they must have ran out of here at almost 90mph....."

Doc was looking around his surroundings. Had he been sleepwalking? This wasn't the room he'd been sleeping in. He turned his head slightly. A young man, slightly older than Marty, lay in a bed next to him. He was hooked up to something. He lay there, not moving. Was he dead? Doc looked closer. No, he was still breathing. Thank goodness.

Doc turned his head back and looked at his bed. Great Scott! He was in a bed just like that young man! That meant.....it was all falling into place now. He remembered going to the latrine. He'd been hot and thirsty beforehand. He'd then started walking back.....

And he remembered nothing afterwards.

"Emmett?"

Someone was calling his name. Doc looked around.

"Ritchie!" he managed to say. "Marty!" The two came over and sat by his bed.

"How's things?" Ritchie asked.

"I feel a bit woozy, but otherwise I'm fine," Doc said. "What happened?"

"You got shot," Marty told him gently. "By a sniper."

"I hope that isn't the start of heavy fighting in this area," Doc said.

"No, no, just a few snipers. They've been caught now."

There was silence for a few moments. Then Doc turned to Marty and asked him how long he'd been out.

"All night," Marty said. "But Ritchie operated on you."

"Really?"

"Uh, yeah." Ritchie looked at his father. "Everything went OK, eventually."

"That's good to hear. Thank you." Doc looked at his son. Ritchie seemed - happier. Something must have happened to him in the OR. Deciding he would speak to Ritchie privately on his own, he turned to Marty.

"Marty, what's the current date and time?"

"Uh, September 20th 1952, 10.04am." Marty and Doc chuckled at the time. Doc suddenly became more serious.

"It doesn't look like we'll be leaving for a few days," he whispered, so no-one else would hear them. "I want you two to go and check on the time machines if you can, make sure they're both OK."

"If we can, we will," Ritchie promised. Doc indicated for them to be quiet as Major Duke walked towards them.

"Ah, Pierce, there you are! Perhaps you can explain why our supplies were put in the wrong places?"

"Huh?"

"Those supplies you were 'helping' us with last night. Everything was completely in the wrong place!"

Al and Shaun came in just in time to hear this. "Hey, leave him alone," Al told Duke. "Marty did a fine job."

"Besides, he was only following orders," Shaun explained. "Why don't you take it out on the orderlies who should know to do?"

"We were under a lot of pressure last night, not helped by the fact that you had fainted," Al almost snapped at Duke.

"Watch how you talk to me, Cooper!" Duke raised his voice. Then, as if Marty wasn't even in the room, Duke continued. "That boy can't be trusted with anything! What I'd like to know is why a boy his age hasn't been drafted!"

"I have a medical condition," Marty lied. "I just take pictures instead." He smiled awkwardly.

"I'll be watching you lot," Duke said to the time travellers before storming off.

"I said it before, but what a butthead!" Marty muttered.

"Don't worry, we'll get back at him for you," Al smiled. "He won't know where to look!"

"Is it alright if I talk to Ritchie in private, just for a few minutes?" Doc asked.

"Yeah, that should be OK. I don't think you need to worry about Sleeping Beauty here waking up for a while," Shaun said, referring to the young man in the bed next door. "He'll be out for a while."

The two doctors started walking out of the room. Marty looked at the young man. He's about the same age as Linda, and he's been out here fighting for his country. He felt admiration for the man, yet also disgust at what had happened to him.

"Marty?" Al and Shaun stood by the door.

"Oh, uh, coming," he said, walking towards them. Once they were gone, Doc turned to Ritchie. "I see you did a good job operating on me. How serious was it?"

"Quite serious at first, but we pulled through. I correctly diagnosed you and was able to do what needed to be done to get the bullet out of you."

"I'm guessing it hit me in the back."

"That's right. If it had been an inch further right, you'd be paralysed."

Doc took the news in. "Great Scott," he muttered.

"As Marty would say, pretty heavy stuff."

"True." Doc paused. "You seem a lot better though."

"It was operating on you. I don't know how to explain it, but having to operate on you, and reassure Marty, make him feel better - it somehow made me regain my confidence in myself. I managed to treat family and friends and everything went OK."

"I think I know what you mean."

"I'm sorry I made you come here though. I still don't know what I was thinking when I hopped in the DeLorean. I guess irrational feelings make you do irrational things."

"That's alright, I guess, although Clara might kill you when we get home," Doc chuckled. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Same here."

"Oh, I've got one. I once bought a very old and very large bureau. Whilst cleaning it I must have pressed a secret button and a large panel popped open on the back. 3 people fell out, each shouting "Where am I?" Turns out I'd bought a missing person's bureau!"

Al, Shaun and Marty were standing outside the company clerk's office enjoying the morning air. They had gotten into a joke contest, to see who knew the worst joke.

"That's really bad, Al," Shaun chuckled. "Know any lousy jokes, Marty?"

"Not really," Marty said. It was a lie, but most of his jokes belonged in the 1980's and he wasn't sure if he could get away with telling them here in the 1950's. "I'll leave it to the professionals."

"Hey, he's got the hang of it!" Shaun laughed.

"I've got a bigger joke," Al sniggered. "Major Duke!"

The three chuckled as Sam Baines, the company clerk, opened the door and stepped out of his office.

"We just got a memo from General Goldman," Sam said. "Turns out he's heard about our snipers and for some reason is insisting on air raid shelters being built in the camp.

"Air raid shelters?" Shaun asked.

"We don't question things, sir, we'd just end up more confused. Have you seen Maj....."

He was interrupted by Major Duke shouting at someone. "Stand up tall, men! You're in the US Army, not a pack of wild animals! McKenzie, tuck that shirt in! That response isn't polite, soldier!" Duke spotted his audience and walked over.

"What are you looking at?"

Sam saluted the Major.

"Uh, sir, this memo just arrived for you," he said. "General Goldman wants air-raid shelters in place for his visit, just in case."

"What does he want those for?" Duke wondered. "We haven't had an air raid here for some time."

"We wondered the same thing," Al said. "I guess what I heard is true. They do make stupid people into Generals to get them out of harm's way."

"General Goldman is a fine leader and I will not have you speaking of him in that way!" Duke snapped.

"You're in charge of making sure these shelters get built, sir," Sam Baines told the Major.

"Digging holes in the ground," Duke chuckled evilly. "Just the job for that hooligan McKenzie and his friends. This will teach them to disrespect an officer!" He ran off.

"You're right, he is a joke," Shaun said.

"I think he's just won our contest single handedly," Al added.

Ritchie left his father after a while, after deciding Doc needed some rest. He wondered around the post-op ward, chatting to some of the other wounded. Most of them had been operated on the previous day, in the OR session that Ritchie himself had helped out with yesterday afternoon.

"Are you a doctor?" one man, Private Johnson, asked.

"Yep, Dr Ritchie Chase, Red Cross," Ritchie said. "I'm just checking up on you men. So, what happened to you?"

"I was caught in the middle of shelling," Johnson told him. "I only survived because my buddy fell on top of me."

"Did he make it?" Ritchie asked, already knowing the answer.

"No," Johnson sighed. "But he's gone to a much better place than this hell-hole. I mean Korea, not this hospital."

"I guessed," Ritchie chuckled.

"You from New York, huh?"

"Originally. I now live in California."

"A friend of mine lives in New York. Leonard Chase. He related to you?

Ritchie froze at the mention of the man who would later become his adoptive father.

"Uh, no, I don't know anyone by that name," he lied. "But then again, New York was a big place."

"You're right, sir."

"Ritchie, please. I'm not in the Army."

"Count yourself lucky."

After chatting with Johnson for a bit longer, Ritchie walked over to the next bed. A young man of about 23 was laying there.

"Good morning, I'm Dr Ritchie Chase. How's things....." he looked at the man's chart, "Corporal Simmonds?"

"Oh, I'm feeling a lot better now," Simmonds grinned. "You guys did a good job."

"Thank you," Ritchie said gratefully. "So, how come you decided to pay us a visit?"

"I tripped over my bootlaces and broke my leg," Simmonds said, sheepishly. Ritchie chuckled.

"Hey, don't worry, I did something like that when I was 9," he said. Simmonds smiled. Ritchie glanced over at Doc. Doc was in his bed, smiling.

You've still got it, son, he was thinking. Ritchie guessed what he was thinking and gave a thumbs-up to his father.

Once he had eaten lunch, Marty had been left on his own. The children from the local orphanage had arrived at the camp for some inoculations, and the doctors had gone to attend to this. Marty took yet another look around the camp. He still had trouble believing this was all real. After seeing the 4077th on TV for all those years, he was now seeing the real thing.

He looked inside the mess tent. The nuns who ran the orphanage had taken the children inside where the doctors were treating them. The children were laughing and joking, and Marty guessed that times of happiness had been far and infrequent in their lives. Some of the children started crying when the needles were inserted into their arms, but the nuns were there to comfort them straight away. Marty remembered when he'd been injected when he was younger. His mother had taken him to the doctors, but he'd screamed so loudly Lorraine had spent most of her time apologising to the other parents, who had had to reassure their own children that the screams wouldn't mean their injections would hurt them.

Everything seemed to be going OK inside, so Marty turned his attention to the air raid shelter being dug outside the doctor's tent. The hole being dug would only form part of an air-raid shelter, Sandbags would be placed around the hole when it was deep enough and this would form the rest. The enlisted men were busy digging the small trench. They didn't appear to be happy at this, especially in the heat, but more so that Major Duke was "inspecting" the holes.

"Not deep enough. Do you want to live through an air raid?" he snapped at someone.

Marty entered the post-op ward and walked straight to Doc's bed. His friend was pleased to see him.

"Afternoon, Marty."

"Hey. How's things?"

"I'm feeling a lot better. It'll be good to get home though."

"You're telling me. Any idea when we'll be leaving?"

"A couple of days, I guess. Obviously I can't move for a while, but there's something I need you to do. You're quite good with cars, aren't you?"

"Yeah, slightly. I mean Biff has taught me a few things." This had been an advantage of changing the past in 1955. When Marty had arrived home in the "new" 1985, he'd discovered that Biff had taught his other self how to fix cars. Marty wasn't the best, admittedly, but he'd managed to learn a few things. Doc had also taught him some other things, just in case the DeLorean broke down whilst they were in another time.

"I want you and Ritchie to go to the DeLorean and take a look at it. See if you can fix it."

"Will do."

Lt Ann Kelly walked towards Doc. "Mr Hunnicut, time for a check-up," she said.

"Thank you," Doc said to her.

"I'll go find Ritchie," Marty said to his friend as he got up.

"Thank you, Marty," Doc told him. "See you soon."

Marty soon located Ritchie, and half an hour later the two were standing outside the cave where Ritchie had hidden the DeLorean.

"We've still got a few hours of daylight left, hopefully I should be able to have a look at the DeLorean and see what I can do," Marty said. He got into the car and turned on the ignition.

"The car stalled when I landed it," Ritchie said. "I was concentrating so much on trying to land the thing after it got hit that is stalled and now won't start."

"That's not the only problem," Marty said. "Take a look at the fuel gauge."

Ritchie peered into the car. "It's empty! But it was full when I left 1987!"

"Doc always makes sure it's full, after the problems we had in 1885," Marty told him. He got out of the car and walked around, checking for any damage.

"Ah ha. Here we are, here's our problem!"

"What is it?"

"I'm sure deja-vu is having a field day today! It's the fuel ingestion manifold once again. Just like in the West, except instead of an arrow or bumpy terrain, this is due to that bullet."

"Can you fix it?"

"No, sorry. Doc probably could, but I don't know how long it would take him."

"It would take me a few hours, but I'm still bedridden until tomorrow at least," Doc told the other time travellers. After making sure the DeLorean was secure, Ritchie and Marty had made their way back to the 1985th. "However, there is a 'first-aid kit' for the DeLorean, so to speak, in the trunk - thus tools won't be a problem for us this time. There's also some equipment in the train if need be."

"That's a relief, since I doubt there are any steam trains or storms around here," Marty added.

"Hopefully I should be able to get out of bed tomorrow, assuming the doctors permit it. We shall borrow a jeep and drive out to the DeLorean - we'll need to come up with a cover story of course, I'll let you two work on that. Hopefully I should be able to fix the manifold."

"There's hardly any damage," Marty told him. "It shouldn't take too long to fix."

"Good," Doc smiled. There was silence for a few minutes as the three thought about Hill Valley and their familes and friends back in the future.

"Boy, I can't wait to go home," Marty said to the others.

"Me neither," said a voice. The time travellers turned around. The young man next to Doc had woken up. "I can't wait," he managed to say with a smile.

The nurse on duty ran to the door. "Doctors, come quick! Private Adams has woken up!"

Al, Shaun and Colonel Morgan ran into the room. "Hey, Private, welcome back!" Al said to the young man. "We're the doctors who operated on you."

The time travellers watched as the doctors did a few tests on Private Adams, whilst explaining to Marty (who knew nothing about medicine) and Doc (who was interested) what they were doing.

Afterwards, Marty followed Al and Shaun out of the ward, while Colonel Morgan attended to Adams - he had been the one to operate on him. Major Duke was outside, bellowing once again at someone.

"What is he doing?" Marty asked.

"Duke's giving the men an air raid drill," Shaun answered. Duke was instructing the men on what to do if the words "air raid" were yelled.

"Run to the nearest shelter and jump straight in," he was saying. "We'll be doing this as a drill tomorrow in front of General Goldman, so I expect you all to be at your best!"

"What a kiss-up," Al muttered. Colonel Morgan joined them, followed by Ritchie.

"Good news, boys, Major Burnley has made a good recovery and should be back on his feet with the next day or so."

"Thank God," Shaun said. "We've done so much overtime to cover him I think we should take the week up to make it up to him."

"General Goldman is due here at 1900 hours, so we'll have to start getting ready for his visit. Uh, would you two mind sleeping with the surgeons tonight?" he asked Marty and Ritchie. "One of you can use Major Burnley's cot, and we'll try and find another cot - there should be enough room."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Ritchie said.

"Sounds OK to me," Marty added.

Whilst the rest of the camp prepared for the General's arrival, Marty and Ritchie had been left with nothing to do. They'd offered to help, but there were more than enough men to take care of things. In the compound, the enlisted men were being given preparation drills, and Major McDonald was doing triage practise with the nurses.

"We're not normally this formal," Colonel Morgan had explained, "but the General is. He wants to see us in action with a practise patient."

"Its not as if we need the practise," Al had added.

Marty and Ritchie had wondered into the clerk's office where Marty's grandfather-to-be was working on paperwork.

"Damn paperwork," Sam Baines muttered. "I swear, the Army must grow it on trees."

"Well, in a way, they do," Marty replied. "I mean, paper does come from trees after all."

Sam Baines looked at the visitors. "It's been bugging me ever since you got here, but you do look familiar," he said. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

Oh no, The question I'd been dreading, Marty thought. "Uh, no, I don't think so."

"Oh."

"I do have a rather large family though," Marty said. Which was the truth, particularly on the Baines side of the family. Whereas the McFlys had traditionally only had one or two children, big families were the norm for the Baineses. "Including some people I've never actually met," he added, just in case Sam asked "Calvin Klein" in 1955 if he'd met him in Korea three years earlier. "Some of my cousins probably don't even know I exist."

Sam snorted. "At least you don't have to spend lots of money on Christmas presents and the like. We've got 4 kids so far, and I'm one of 3. My brother and my sister both have kids, and when you take into account my uncles, aunts and cousins.....it's one hell of a list for people we don't see too often." He sighed. "I do kinda miss it though. Last Christmas at home was Christmas of 1950. I was drafted this time last year. Hopefully I won't have to miss another one this year."

Marty didn't know exactly when his grandfather would be sent home, but tried looking on the positive side. "Trust me, this war won't last for much longer."

"How much longer?"

"Oh, about another 8 months at most," Ritchie answered, quickly doing the calculations.

"I hope you're right," Sam said. "I wouldn't like to miss my daughter's wedding through being here."

"Your eldest daughter Lorraine, right?"

"No, my younger daughter Sally."

"How old is she now?" Marty asked, despite already knowing the answer.

"Three!"

Suddenly the phone had rang, and Sam had answered it. "Yes, sir," Sam Baines kept saying down the phone, before hanging up. "That was the General's aide. He'll be here in half an hour. I'd best go tell the Colonel."

Half an hour later, and right on schedule, General Goldman arrived at the camp. All personnel were standing on parade in the compound, and Marty and Ritchie were standing, watching, by the post-op ward. When the doctors and nurses started their medical drills, the two went back inside and back to Doc's bed.

"How are things going out there?" Doc asked.

"Fine, although I think it's hard work for Captain Cooper to bite his tongue!" Marty chuckled.

"Well, the Colonel gave me another check-up earlier, just before the General arrived, and the good news is I'll be allowed out of bed tomorrow. We're going to fix the DeLorean!"

"Cool," Marty said.

"Have you come up with a cover story?"

"Uh, yeah. We're pretending we're going out to one of the local villages for the day. With Ritchie's 'Red Cross background' and our 'reporting skills', we were able to pull it off."

"Good," Doc smiled. "You two had better get some rest before the General arrives. Remember we must not interfere with this event! We don't want to ruin the fine reputation of this unit. Besides, I fear we may have altered the history of the 1985th just by being here."

Ritchie looked down at his shoes, saying nothing. Doc and Marty ignored him.

"Don't worry Doc, we'll be fine," Marty reassured his friend.

Some time later Shaun Percell entered the OR.

"How'd things go with the General?" Marty asked him.

"He was very impressed with the triage," Shaun told him. "He said our nurses were excellent. Especially Nurse Wilde."

"Isn't she that blonde one with the big.....?" Ritchie started asking him, but stopped when Shaun nodded his head.

"That's her."

"Can't imagine why the General liked her!" Ritchie chuckled.

"Well, we're off the hook for the evening, fancy a game of poker?" Shaun asked the time travellers.

Marty and Ritchie both nodded, Doc shook his head. "I'll stay here," he said. "I have some things to do ready for tomorrow."

"Right," Shaun said. "I'll check-up on you later. Come on, guys. Let's go play poker." He led Marty and Ritchie out of the ward. None of them noticed Major Duke, who had walked past them on his way to the supply store, muttering to himself.

"Poker, eh?"

"I guess it was beginner's luck the other night, eh Marty?" Al chuckled as he took more of Marty's money.

"I guess so. I don't know what hit me this time," Marty sighed. But, underneath, he was feeling pleased with himself. So far he'd managed to lose most of his winnings from the previous night, and a lot of it had gone back to the hands of the men he'd won it from in the first place. Hopefully any changes he'd made to history by taking the money in the first place would be un-made now by the fact that they were getting it back.

Marty had also been reminded of that world where Biff Tannen had been his stepfather through gambling and had shuddered at the thought. This had also made him eager to lose the money.

"I fold," Marty said, putting down his cards. Two 2s, a 3, a 6 and a Jack. Just one pair - and a lowly pair as well.

"I guess the money's all mine!" Shaun said happily, as he pulled the pile of chips towards him.

"Not yet, sir," Sam Baines said. He laid down his hand. "Four aces and a King. Correct me if I'm wrong, sir, but I believe my hand slightly beats yours."

Shaun looked at his collection of Kings and Queens. "I guess you're right."

"Thank you, sir," Sam smirked at him. Shaun smirked back. Sam was collecting his winnings when the door to the tent burst open.

"See, a poker game! That's illegal!"

The players turned around to see Major Duke standing by the door. Next to him was General Goldman.

"I see." Goldman took in the scene. The players had been caught in the act. The cards were there, the money was there, the players were looking guilty, yet angry at Duke as well. "You do realise that I don't like men - " he stared at Marty - "or boys, who gamble?"

No-one said anything.

"I am very disappointed with all of you," Goldman snapped at them. "I despise gamblers and don't want any of my men to participate. I thought I'd made it clear with my memo prohibiting the practise."

"Uh, sir, the Colonel lets us play as long as we don't bet too much money," Shaun said to the General.

"Plus, we do it mostly for fun, not for financial gain," Al added. "We have limits on how much to gamble, we often bet food or stuff like that instead of money."

"I'd better have words with the Colonel then," Goldman said. "We could do without men like you in this man's army! I demand respect!" And he stormed out, followed by a smirking Major Duke.

"I'm going to get Duke for that," Al muttered.

"Do all Generals act like that?" Marty asked.

"No, just him," Al explained. "Lots of soldiers play poker. We need something to take our minds off this war."

"Why did we play tonight if we knew he was coming?" Ritchie wondered.

"Normally by now he's drunk in the officer's club," Al told him. "Hypocrite. He bans poker, then gets flat out."

The players had cleared away the poker game by the time Colonel Morgan arrived.

"Sorry boys, game's over," he said sympathetically. "You know the rules. No gambling when he's around."

"If it wasn't for Major Duke....." Al muttered for probably the 5th time.

"It's worse than that," the Colonel sighed. "The General's writing a report on us, and this incident is the main bit of it. We could all be in a lot of trouble here."

"I'm sorry if I helped get you guys in trouble," Marty said.

"Me too," Ritchie added.

"Don't worry, wasn't your faults," Shaun said. "Our faults for starting the game, really."

"And, and one more thing. From now until tomorrow evening, you guys have to best behaviour. Full regulations must be met, no jokes or snide comments, especially from you, Cooper."

"Moi?" Cooper said in mock astonishment, causing a chuckle from the others.

"We need to show the General just how good this unit can be. Understood?"

"Yes sir," everyone said.

"Good." Colonel Morgan turned to leave. "Oh, if you guys want a game tomorrow when the General has gone, count me in."

"It feels good to be back outside," Doc Brown sighed happily. He was riding in the back seat of a Jeep. Ritchie was driving, Marty in the passenger seat.

"Here, yes?" Ritchie asked.

"Yep," Doc told him. They stopped behind a pile of rocks.

"I don't see the train," Ritchie said. "Nothing's happened to it, has it?"

"No," Doc chuckled. "That pile of rocks is the train. I disguised it, remember?"

Ritchie then remembered being told about it. "Silly me," he blushed.

Doc went into the train and had a quick inspection. "Everything seems to be OK," he called to the others. "It's not been touched." He jumped back out. "I had a quick chat with Sam Baines this morning. The cave where we've hidden the DeLorean is now firmly in US hands. There aren't any soldiers in that area at the moment. Therefore, it is safe to fly the train over to the cave and leave both time machines together. Hopefully, they should both fit inside the cave."

"Right," Ritchie said.

"I'll fly the train over to the cave - I'll make it invisible so no-one sees it - and you two follow in the Jeep. You know the way?"

"Sure thing, Doc," Marty said, getting out the map Doc had drawn - not to scale, of course.

Half an hour later the time travellers were by the cave. The train was safely inside, and the toolkits had been taken out from both train and DeLorean to fix the DeLorean.

"It's pretty simple," Doc said. "This shouldn't take too long to fix. If it hadn't been for my getting shot, we could have fixed it and gone home days ago."

"That's a relief," Marty said with a smile.

The three were distracted by a helicopter flying overhead.

"Looks like the gang will have some work to do," Marty told the others as it flew towards the 1985th. Suddenly a gunshot flew through the air.

"I hope that was just a figment of my imagination!" Marty gasped.

"Attention, attention, all personnel! Incoming wounded! Reserve your place on the front row!"

General Goldman looked up from his report. It had not been very flattering for the 1985th. He was about to make his recommendations for the unit. But the footsteps from outside were distracting him. Accepting defeat for the time being, he opened the door of the VIP tent and observed the goings-on.

The chopper had landed and the wounded soldiers were being bought into the compound. The nurses were performing triage. The doctors - including a now recovered Gerald Burnley - were making the correct diagnoses. Then the orderlies were taking the patients into the OR whilst the doctors and nurses scrubbed up ready for the next few hours of work.

Goldman grabbed a mask and entered the OR about 20 minutes later. He was instantly impressed with everybody in the room. The doctors and nurses were doing their jobs in an organised, efficient way.

"More wounded on the way!"

"I thought you said this was firmly in US hands, Doc?" Marty asked. The three had ran into the train, now disguised as a pile of rocks, so they wouldn't be seen. The fighting was getting quite heavy out there, causing the wounded that the 1985th were treating. The Jeep borrowed by the time travellers, which had been parked outside, had already been destroyed.

"The Army can't be correct all of the time, Marty!" Doc answered him.

"Thank goodness we moved the train," Ritchie said. "It could have been hit out there."

"Yes, thank goodness," Doc agreed with his son.

"Look!" Marty whispered in horror. Some North Korean soldiers had entered the cave!

"Damn!" Doc gasped. "If they discover the DeLorean....." The DeLorean did not have an option to be invisible, it was hidden behind the train but could be found if they looked hard enough.

"Or us," Ritchie added. "We'd never get out."

"We'll have to scare them away," Doc said, looking around. An idea hit him. "Eureka!" he smiled. "I've got it!" He ran to the train whistle and pulled it. The train's whistle echoed throughout the cave.

The soldiers turned and ran with fright.

"It worked!"

"Let's just hope they don't come back with reinforcements," Ritchie muttered.

Luckily for the time travellers, this was not the case. The fighting continued for another half an hour before everything fell silent once again, but no-one else entered the cave. The time travellers waited a further half an hour, not daring to move in case any soldiers were still around. When they were sure it was safe, they exited the train and went over to the DeLorean.

"Is everyone OK?" Doc asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Marty replied. "Man, I haven't been that scared for a while!"

"I don't think I've ever been that scared," Ritchie said. "And I lived in New York for nearly 3 decades!"

"How's the DeLorean, Doc?" Marty asked.

"It's fine," Doc said with a smile. "It was completely unharmed, thank goodness. I think we'd best repair it as soon as possible."

Marty and Ritchie nodded in agreement.

"Well, Colonel, I must admit my view of this unit has changed drastically in the past few hours," General Goldman said to Colonel Morgan. The weary Colonel had just come out of surgery, where he along with the others had spent the past 5 hours. "The way everybody here got to work, and efficiently - you lot have saved a heck of a lot of lives today."

"Thank you, sir," the Colonel said with a smile.

"We aim to please," Al Cooper added.

"The various hijinks yesterday did make me think that this unit was full of idiots, but after seeing them in action today, I've changed my mind. Congratulations, Colonel."

"Thank you, sir,2 the Colonel said again. "Even though we might not be a strict here as other military units might be, and I must admit I'm not as hard on these doctors and nurses as I should be at times - I think they deserve a bit of fun and games, after what they go through."

"You're right," Goldman said. "Well, I'm due back in Seoul in a few hours. All the best." He got into his jeep and after more goodbyes, was driven away from the camp.

"Thank goodness that's over," Al said as the weary surgeons walked to the mess tent. "How about a drink, Colonel?"

"You're buying," the Colonel grinned. As they walked in, they spotted Marty, Doc and Ritchie entering the camp.

"Hey look, the travellers have returned," Al quipped. "How'd the report go?"

"Huh?" Marty asked.

"The report you've been working on," Al asked.

"It went fine, but we got caught up in the fighting. We took shelter in a cave nearby," Doc told them. "We, uh, lost the jeep though. It was blown up."

"Not to worry," Morgan said. "Plenty of vehicles have suffered the same fate today."

"Looks like you guys got back just in time," Al said. Doc and Marty looked at each other at the words back and time with a grin. Repairs to the DeLorean had gone as planned and they were going to head home the next morning. "It's just started to rain."

"We got word from our editor," Doc said. "Marty and myself are going home tomorrow."

What about you, Dr Chase?" Colonel Morgan asked.

"Me too," he replied. "The Red Cross need me elsewhere." The three had worked on the cover stories whilst fixing the DeLorean.

"It'll be a shame to see you go," the Colonel said. "You three have livened the place up over the past 3 days."

"Hey, before you do, how about one last game of cards?" Al asked.

The travellers agreed. "One for the road," Ritchie agreed.

The rain did not dampen anyone's spirits that night. Colonel Morgan opened the Officer's Club to the enlisted men for the night and invited everyone in as a reward for the past few days' work. It was also a farewell party for their guests. After a few too many beers had been drunk (both Doc and Marty had stayed sober ready for the trip home, although Ritchie had had a couple of beers), the game of cards went ahead, where Marty found himself winning despite his attempts not to.

"You taking all that home with you?" Shaun had asked.

"Um, no," Marty decided. "I'd like to donate this lot to the orphanage. The one whose kids you jabbed yesterday."

"That is a wonderful idea, Martin," Gerald Burnley said. "I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

And so it was that Al and Shaun accompanied the time travellers back to the now vacant once more VIP tent after the party had ended. On the way, they'd passed the air raid shelter.

"I didn't realise how much rain we'd had, Shaun," Al said. "Looksie."

"It's about half full," Shaun said. The small hole that the air raid shelter consisted of was half full of water. "Anyone fancy a swim?"

"I have a better idea," Marty chuckled. "I can help you get your own back on Major Duke." He whispered something to the two captains. They roared with laughter afterwards.

"Great idea!" Al laughed. "We'll do it tomorrow just before you leave."

"Is everything ready?" Al asked Shaun.

"Yep," Shaun told him. The two captains, plus Marty, had awoken quite early. After doing their rounds, Al and Shaun had gotten hold of a hose and filled the air raid shelter with water until it was completely full.

"Just as well this is quite close to your tent," Marty said.

"You don't think Duke wants to run too far, do you?" Al quipped.

"Ready?"

"Yep." Marty crept towards the door of the tent, where Duke was still sleeping. "Air Raid!" he yelled at the top of his voice. "Air raid!"

Duke flung the door open in a panic. "Air raid?" he almost yelled. "Oh my God! Everyone, take shelter!" He ran to the shelter and without thinking jumped right in.

Splash! Duke realised he'd jumped straight into a pool of water. He pulled himself out, dripping wet, and noticed Al, Shaun and Marty laughing hysterically.

"Marty, where did you come up with an idea like that?" Shaun laughed.

"I saw it on TV," Marty smiled, thinking back to that M*A*S*H episode where BJ had pulled the same joke on Frank Burns. "On a rerun," he chuckled to himself.

Duke looked angrily at Al and Shaun. He stood up and snapped at a passing enlisted man to fetch him a towel. Just as he was about to yell at the two captains, who were still laughing, Colonel Morgan walked past.

"Ah, Major Duke. Good to see you're helping to reduce the queues at the shower. Good man."

Duke stood there, drying himself, saying nothing.

"Marty!" Doc called.

"Looks like it's time for you to be leaving," the Colonel said to him.

"I guess so," Marty said as they walked over to Doc and Ritchie. "You know, despite the hell we've been through in the past few days, I'm really going to miss you lot."

"We'll miss you too," Al said. They were joined by Margie McDonald and Gerald Burnley.

"Thanks, for everything," Ritchie said. "You lot have helped me in more ways than you can imagine."

"You're a good doctor, we could do with you here," Margie said. "Ever thought about enlisting?"

"I have people who need me elsewhere," Ritchie said, thinking of Jules back home.

"Just answer me one thing," Al asked Marty. "Are you sure you've never played poker before?"

"Sure," Marty smiled.

Just as further goodbyes were being said, Sam Baines came running up with a memo.

"Sir, sorry to spoil the party, but more wounded are on the way. ETA, about 5 minutes."

"Here we go again," Shaun sighed.

"We'd best be off and leave you to it, we have a deadline," Doc said. "Good luck."

"You too," Colonel Morgan said with a smile. As the sound of helicopters could be heard in the distance, the surgeons gave a quick salute to the departing visitors, who saluted back.

"See you in the future," Doc said.

As the helicopters got closer and closer, Doc, Marty and Ritchie took one last look and started to walk away, waving as they did so. After a shout of, "Take us with you!" from Al, the surgeons went back to work.

The time travellers walked towards the cave.

"I hope everything turns out OK for them," Marty said to Doc. "I'd look them up, but I'm worried that the news would be bad."

"The book Clara did her research in suggested they all lived to the end of the war," Doc reassured him. "They'll be fine, they'll go home next May and resume civilian lives."

"I wonder how Jules is," Ritchie said thoughtfully.

"He's the same as when we left," Doc said. "I'm glad we knew he was OK before we left, we had enough to worry about."

"I'm sorry I dragged you two into this," Ritchie said. "I guess I was just so worried about Jules that I over-reacted and started blaming myself. I mean, I knew he was OK and that it wasn't my fault, but I kept thinking, what if it had been fatal? What if Jules had died because of me?"

"That's perfectly natural, I guess," Marty said as they arrived at the cave. Both time machines were safe and unharmed.

"OK, here's what we do," Doc said. "I will take this train back to 1992 and use our train, currently in 1992, to get back to 1987. Marty, you take Ritchie directly back to 1987 in the DeLorean. Set your destination time for January 15th 1987 at 9.30pm - that's 5 minutes after we left. I'll arrive back at the same time."

"Check, Doc," Marty said, opening the DeLorean door. "Hey, what about the co-ordinates?" He was referring to the Destination Location, which required a time traveller to type in the longitude and latitude of their required destination.

Doc quickly typed them in. "I have them to memory," he explained.

"See you in a few minutes," Marty said, as he shut the door.

"Will do!" Doc said as he stood back. Once the DeLorean had taken to the air and disappeared, Doc breathed a sigh of relief. Marty and Ritchie were now back home where they belonged. Now all he had to do was do the same.

"Let's go home," he said to himself as he got in the train.

The two time machines arrived over Doc's house right on schedule, and once they had been put away, Doc, Marty and Ritchie joined Clara and Verne in the kitchen. They had told them the story of their adventures in 1952.

"Are you sure you don't want to get that bullet wound looked at?" Clara had asked Doc worriedly. "Have it seen to in a proper hospital?"

"We were in a proper hospital," Doc said. "A very good one. Plus, I had a good doctor look me over. He said I'm doing fine." He smiled at Ritchie.

"I'll give you a quick check-over at the surgery tomorrow morning, and this time I'll make sure I'm not rushing anything," Ritchie said to Doc. "Just to make sure."

"Come on Verne, you'd better get to bed. You still have school tomorrow," Clara said.

"Do I have to? My brother's sick, my dad's been shot in the past, and I still have to go to school?"

"That's right," Doc said to his youngest. "Go and wash up, we'll be up shortly."

"I'd best be off as well," Ritchie said as Verne went upstairs. "I have patients tomorrow. Do you want a lift, Marty?"

"No thanks, I have my truck outside," Marty said. "Thanks anyway. I'm off too, I just want to get home, relax, and put MTV on."

"You deserve a rest," Doc said. "Thanks, Marty, for everything."

"That's alright," Marty smiled. "Let me know how Jules gets on. Jen and I'll come see him tomorrow after college."

"Will do," Doc told him. "See you both tomorrow."

Once Doc and Clara were alone, they sat down at the kitchen table.

"I was really worried about you two," she confessed. "I could have killed Ritchie for putting us through this, but when I saw all of you come into the kitchen, I knew there was no point in that. I'm just glad you're all OK."

"Me too," Doc smiled. "The doctors and nurses we stayed with, they made sure we were OK."

"They sound like good people, Emmett."

"They were." Doc looked out of the window. "They've lived through a worse hell than we have over the past day."

"I can only imagine," Clara said, putting her hand on his.

"Hopefully, an imagination of it is all you'll ever have."

"I second that," Clara said. There was silence for a few minutes as they both thought about the surgeons. Clara then asked Doc, "So what was the food like there?"

"Oh, it was horrible," Doc managed to smile. "Truly awful."

"Thought so," Clara smiled back. "Cookies?"

"Love some," Doc said. "But first, I want to say goodnight to Verne."

"OK," Clara smiled. "I'll sort out the kitchen." As she watched her husband leave to tuck in their son, Clara smiled. Her family was OK, they were going to be fine. Jules would be home in a few days, then everything would be back to normal - well, as normal as things could get for a time travelling family.

And Clara, for one, was very relieved.

Last Revised: July 14th 2005

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