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Charles finished collecting his shower things and left the aptly named Swamp, choosing not to lay a few scathing comments on the miscreants playing poker there. He was a bit surprised to receive no sarcasm of his own from Pierce or Hunnicut, but he decided to accept small miracles.

As he crossed the camp in his robe, he noticed that many of the M.A.S.H. inhabitants were enjoying the pleasant weather that evening. Doors and tent flaps were open all around the camp, and many people were sitting outside in small groups, gossiping and playing juvenile games to amuse themselves.

Charles felt no need to converse with these people, as he had no doubt that he would be soon leaving them, despite the Colonel's protestations to the contrary. It was surely only a matter of time before the General realized his mistake, and then Charles would be back in Tokyo.

As he started his shower, Charles realized that he hadn't spoken to a single person, outside of the Post-op, since yesterday. It wasn't as though he was missing out on some sort of fascinating intellectual stimulation, but it was an oddity. Charles was used to being superior to almost everyone around him. He had no doubts that he was indeed superior to every other resident of this Korean hell-hole, but they refused to acknowledge this fact.

Back in Boston, Charles always had dozens of sycophants at his beck and call who were willing to support his every statement and firmly enforce the inferiority of whomever he was berating.

Here at M.A.S.H., however, Charles was the outsider. He had no sycophants or desperate colleagues willing to toady to him here. He was, in every sense of the word that mattered, alone here. Despite the fact that he was superior to all of these assembly-line surgeons and their insubordinate nurses, they refused to admit their inferiority. And they had far greater numbers than he, when it came down to it.

Charles finished his shower and collected his things. On the way back to his tent, he held his head high and proceeded with the 'ignore them first' principal of snobbery. He may be the solitary voice of reason and culture in this cesspit, but he didn't have to show his discomfort to these cretins.

After all, he was a Winchester, and if there was one thing Winchester's excelled at, it was being alone.