"Okay, everyone knows the plan. I wonder if Henry will sober up in time."
Hawkeye said, holding a jar in his right hand. Trapper looked over at him,
struggling to get his costume on. "What's that ya got?"
Hawkeye tossed the jar up in the air several times. "It's greasepaint. What, you thought Groucho Marx GREW that moustache?" He nodded at Frank, who was sound asleep on his cot. "Thanks to that whopper of an appendectomy, the Lipless Wonder is now conked out and won't be trying to convert Koreans to Americanism for a couple hours." Hawk reached under his cot and brought out a bag. He opened it and took out a long, black cape. "Time for Operation: Silent to begin."
2 hours later . . .
Frank slowly opened his eyes. Now, being the self-believed deeply observant man that he was, he didn't notice anything different. Frank staggered to his feet and left the Swamp. A Lieutenant bumped into him just outside. Frank saluted and waited for the Lieutenant to return the salute. She simply smiled and nodded curtly. Frank noticed that her motions were slightly exaggerated. As she walked away, he took in her outfit. The Lieutenant was wearing a very old-fashioned dress, including a cloche. Frank stood there pondering for a moment, and then shrugged it off, deciding to reprimand her at dinner. He turned around, only to meet face to face with Radar. Radar saluted, and, pushing a derby over his eyes, quickly walked away. Frank now realized, looking around, that everyone was wearing a typical twenties outfit and exaggerating their movements. He decided to take action, and headed straight for Henry's office.
"Colonel Blake, something very strange is going on around . . ." Frank began as he barged in his office. " . . .here."
Sitting in the office were three people. Henry was dressed in a brown derby, white shirt, and pinstripe pants. He had his legs up on his desk and was smoking a cigar. In the two chairs facing the desk were a man and a woman. The woman, dressed in an outfit that Frank vaguely remembered Klinger wearing once, turned around and twirled her lace parasol. Frank gasped. "Major Houlihan? What are you doing out of uniform? Although, I must say, that's a beautiful dress . . .oh, what the hell am I saying?" The man turned around. He was dressed all in black, with enormous shoes and a toothbrush moustache. There was something about those blue eyes . . .
"Captain Pierce?"
The man nodded and grinned. Frank was genuinely confused; he had such an idiotic look on his face, Hawkeye wished he had his camera with him. He laid a hand on Margaret's shoulder, and she smiled serenely. They leaned close to each other, and kissed. This was too much for Frank to handle. He turned on his heel and half-strode, half-ran, to the Swamp. Hawkeye followed him, turning his feet outward so that he waddled like a duck. Frank reached the Swamp and gazed in the mirror. "Oh, my God!"
He had a moustache. Around his neck was a cape. Panicking, he started rubbing at his face, and was relieved to see that the moustache easily came off. Hawkeye, joined by Trapper, was still outside the Swamp, laughing his head off. "If there was a Nobel Prize for pranking, I'd be a shoe-in!"
Hawkeye started wiping off the greasepaint he had smeared above his upper lip. Trapper clapped his hand on Hawk's back. "You are the prince of pranks, my friend." "Don't you mean the KING of pranks?" A subtitle card popped up, reading,
OUR HEROS PREVAIL ONCE AGAIN.
Hawk and Trap stared blankly at each other, and then looked at the camera. "Um, Miss Author, lady, ma'am, sir?"
Zzzzz . . .hmm? Wha . . .oh, my cue!
A crude sign is shown, hand included, in front of the camera. It just says two words.
The End
Hawkeye tossed the jar up in the air several times. "It's greasepaint. What, you thought Groucho Marx GREW that moustache?" He nodded at Frank, who was sound asleep on his cot. "Thanks to that whopper of an appendectomy, the Lipless Wonder is now conked out and won't be trying to convert Koreans to Americanism for a couple hours." Hawk reached under his cot and brought out a bag. He opened it and took out a long, black cape. "Time for Operation: Silent to begin."
2 hours later . . .
Frank slowly opened his eyes. Now, being the self-believed deeply observant man that he was, he didn't notice anything different. Frank staggered to his feet and left the Swamp. A Lieutenant bumped into him just outside. Frank saluted and waited for the Lieutenant to return the salute. She simply smiled and nodded curtly. Frank noticed that her motions were slightly exaggerated. As she walked away, he took in her outfit. The Lieutenant was wearing a very old-fashioned dress, including a cloche. Frank stood there pondering for a moment, and then shrugged it off, deciding to reprimand her at dinner. He turned around, only to meet face to face with Radar. Radar saluted, and, pushing a derby over his eyes, quickly walked away. Frank now realized, looking around, that everyone was wearing a typical twenties outfit and exaggerating their movements. He decided to take action, and headed straight for Henry's office.
"Colonel Blake, something very strange is going on around . . ." Frank began as he barged in his office. " . . .here."
Sitting in the office were three people. Henry was dressed in a brown derby, white shirt, and pinstripe pants. He had his legs up on his desk and was smoking a cigar. In the two chairs facing the desk were a man and a woman. The woman, dressed in an outfit that Frank vaguely remembered Klinger wearing once, turned around and twirled her lace parasol. Frank gasped. "Major Houlihan? What are you doing out of uniform? Although, I must say, that's a beautiful dress . . .oh, what the hell am I saying?" The man turned around. He was dressed all in black, with enormous shoes and a toothbrush moustache. There was something about those blue eyes . . .
"Captain Pierce?"
The man nodded and grinned. Frank was genuinely confused; he had such an idiotic look on his face, Hawkeye wished he had his camera with him. He laid a hand on Margaret's shoulder, and she smiled serenely. They leaned close to each other, and kissed. This was too much for Frank to handle. He turned on his heel and half-strode, half-ran, to the Swamp. Hawkeye followed him, turning his feet outward so that he waddled like a duck. Frank reached the Swamp and gazed in the mirror. "Oh, my God!"
He had a moustache. Around his neck was a cape. Panicking, he started rubbing at his face, and was relieved to see that the moustache easily came off. Hawkeye, joined by Trapper, was still outside the Swamp, laughing his head off. "If there was a Nobel Prize for pranking, I'd be a shoe-in!"
Hawkeye started wiping off the greasepaint he had smeared above his upper lip. Trapper clapped his hand on Hawk's back. "You are the prince of pranks, my friend." "Don't you mean the KING of pranks?" A subtitle card popped up, reading,
OUR HEROS PREVAIL ONCE AGAIN.
Hawk and Trap stared blankly at each other, and then looked at the camera. "Um, Miss Author, lady, ma'am, sir?"
Zzzzz . . .hmm? Wha . . .oh, my cue!
A crude sign is shown, hand included, in front of the camera. It just says two words.
The End