You May Have Already Won

"What is this, Hawk?"

"What is what?"

"This telegram," B.J. says, waving it in Hawkeye's general direction.

"Well, you tell me, Beej. You're the one who's holding it."

B.J. eyes him warily. "It's a trick, isn't it?"

Hawkeye practically falls onto his cot and absently pulls off a boot with a weary sigh. "Beej, I'm tired and all I really wanna do is go to sleep. Why don't you cut to the chase, huh?"

B.J. debates how to proceed, and eventually says, "All right, I'll play along." He takes a seat on his own cot, facing Hawkeye. With immense patience in his voice, he explains, "While you were in post-op, Radar came along with this telegram. It says, and I quote, 'Congratulations, Dr. Hunnicutt. You have won a 1952 Harley-Davidson Hydra-Glide motorcycle! To claim your prize, all you need to do is send us a reply by telegram within 24 hours, with your full name exactly as it's written on your driver's license and your current address.'"

Hawkeye shrugs. "Congrats, Beej. Sounds great. If I weren't halfway to dead, I'd be a lot more excited for you."

B.J. stabs his finger at the telegram. "With my full name, it says. 'Exactly as it's written on your driver's license.'"

"Yeah?"

B.J.'s starting to get more and more agitated the longer Hawkeye plays dumb. "This is your doing, isn't it? This is something you cooked up so that I'll write a return telegram that will—according to your master plan—reveal my so-called full name."

"Beej, I have no idea what you're talking about—"

He interrupts with a hearty laugh. "Oh you don't, huh?"

"No, I really don't."

"Sorry, Hawk, I'm not buying it. It's a trick… though I admit, a pretty clever one. But nope, I'm not gonna fall for it."

His eyelids drifting shut, Hawkeye slowly falls sideways onto his cot, looking about as indifferent as he's ever looked. "Whatever you say, Beej. But it's no trick… at least, not one that I have anything to do with. You're throwing away a free motorcycle, I hope you realize. Seems like a real shame."

B.J. stares at the message in his hand, and when he looks over at Hawkeye again, his friend is asleep.

He continues to contemplate the telegram and its offer for a long time as Hawkeye sleeps peacefully a few feet away. Finally, he picks up a pen and composes a reply. With one last semi-suspicious look at the unconscious Hawkeye, he takes his correspondence over to Radar in the office.


"Well?" Hawkeye says with an expectant smile as he steps into Radar's office the next morning, looking left and right to make sure nobody else is around.

Radar hands over the telegram that B.J. had given him. "Here you go. Read for yourself."

Dear Hawk, stop. My full name is B.J. Hunnicutt, stop. Give it a rest already! Stop! Love, B.J.

Hawkeye pretends he doesn't see the smirk on Radar's face as he rips up the telegram and tosses it into the trash. He strides out of the office without another word.