Uh. "It's a root. Old Chinese remedy." Sam lies pretty well when he's too preoccupied to think about it. Indeed he is preoccupied, because Al just told him why he's here. He bows his head and speaks sotto voce, as if to himself. "And just how am I supposed to do that now?" He doesn't resist the sleeve snag, and goes where led, stripped to the waist of all but his undershirt. It's a root. Okay. Hawkeye jogs to the door and peeks out. Please let nobody come along right now. "If anyone asks, you don't know who you are. Can you still fake amnesia or have you forgotten how?" Heh. Beej lets a smirk flit across his features, finishing scribbling on the chart, which he hangs off the rack on the end of the bed. "Under the covers with you, too. And whatever you do, try not to speak Chinese. At all." A beat. "Oh, boy. His dogtags." Sam squints at Hawkeye. "What day is it?" No, really. Al answers, and 'Dong' does some mental math. Too much of the war left. Too many men still to die. Including a platoon of soldiers headed straight for a mine field. It looks like the only way to get out of here in time to save them is by playing along with these guys. Sam pulls off his dogtags and holds them up. "I could swallow them, but then you'd have to take them back out of me anyway." He tosses them at BJ, then climbs into the bed. Time to look weary and disoriented. He doesn't even have to try. "Thursday." Hawkeye neatly misunderstands. "Do you know how long ago you hit your head? Any idea at all?" Because if we have to keep him awake all night this is going to be yet trickier. But then, is he honestly concussed? BJ catches the dogtags and stuffs them in his pockets. He glances at Hawkeye, leaning against the end of the bed, frowning slightly. "Should he...he should be Joe. Half the people in the compound must've heard us." Then he flashes Sam a grin. "I hope you're decent at comedy." "All I wanna know is, who's on first?" Sam allows himself a smirk. Looks like he's stuck here for a while, so he might as well relax and figure out what he's gonna do when he gets out. He puts on his professional serious face and feels his head for a moment, then looks to Hawkeye. "It feels a couple of days old. No fracture that I can feel. And if I *had* been concussed, which I wasn't, I'd be better by now." Doctors do, indeed, make the worst patients, though Sam's not trying very hard. It feels a couple of days old? Hawkeye glances at BJ. This guy isn't a medic, to know that, but he surely can't be a doctor. Surely. "Say...how did you get separated from your unit, anyway?" Hey, what do we know? is the look BJ gives Hawkeye, with a light shrug. Maybe this guy tried to dodge the draft and miscalculated or something. If he speaks American English as well as any of the Americans here, there's absolutely no telling. Hell, he could -have- amnesia, maybe he was out doing field surgery or something. "And what posessed you to come -here-? Other than the sign that says 'Best Care Anywhere'."