Disclaimer: Nobody mine but Katharine.
Over the next month Kitty ingratiated herself into the daily life of the MASH-4077. One brisk morning Corporal Klinger was dishing out breakfast, wearing his usual natty printed skirt and a headful of bright pink curlers. Hawkeye and BJ wearily got into line and were greeted cheerfully by the corporal.
"Greetings, mon capitains," he sang. "How's our little kitten today?" He gently chucked Kitty under the chin from her vantage point in BJ's arms. The baby gurgled and squirmed happily, chomping down on Klinger's finger with a toothless yet sharp bite.
"You're raising a little shark there," the corporal commented, massaging the smarting digit. "How's she enjoying the new wardrobe I made for her?"
"She loves it," BJ answered, showing Klinger the powder blue dress the baby was wearing. "You have quite a sewing talent."
"Talent, you say? Wait till you taste my cooking talent!" answered Klinger, his olive-skinned features alight as he dumped a generous spoonful of slop onto Hawkeye's tray.
"What in Korea is this?" asked Hawkeye suspiciously, examining the slime with disgusted interest.
"Grits a la Klinger," said the corporal with a flourish. "Give it a try and you'll be begging me for seconds."
"Klinger, this looks like old oatmeal mixed with bits of spam," BJ commented, making a face.
"Whoever said it wasn't?"
"So much for seconds," said Hawkeye, surreptitiously shoveling his helping back into the serving container. "I think I'm going to be sick. By the way, what about Kit's formula? It's got to be better than this stuff."
Klinger pulled a full bottle out of his apron pocket and handed it to the surgeon. "Bon appetit," he said.
"In this place?" BJ answered. "Forget it. Let's get a seat, Hawk."
They settled down at one of their usual tables, tucking in to breakfast with their usual lack of anticipation. Charles sat across from them, picking daintily at his tray.
"Look, Beej, the God of Medicine has descended from on high commune with his mortal subjects," Hawkeye wisecracked, making a mock bow to his fellow surgeon.
"I will not waste my time with a sardonic reply, cretin," Charles retorted.
"By the way, Charles," said BJ, "me and Hawkeye have to be in Post-OP for a little while. Would you mind babysitting Kit in the Swamp while we're busy?"
Charles opened his mouth to answer as the baby was thrust into his arms where she lay gazing inquiringly at him. "Very well," the doctor grumbled.
"See you later," BJ said, getting up to leave. "I just burped her, so she won't spit up on you."
"Wonderful," Charles groaned, lifting the gurgling infant and heading out the door to his tent. There he prepared his record player and selected a record. "Now, Katharine," he addressed the baby, "that your two moronic guardians are gone, we can begin the process of your higher learning. Research has indicated that listening to Mozart assists in the assimilation of knowledge, therefore I shall read you some Shakespeare while the piece is playing."
As the first few notes sounded, Charles proceeded to read Kitty the opening lines of Hamlet. He did not notice that the child had dozed off until about fifteen minutes had passed. "Kitty," he asked, "don't you want to be like your Uncle Chuck? Kitty?"
"'Uncle Chuck'" repeated a voice from the doorway. There stood Hawkeye and BJ, both doubled over with silent laughter.
Charles placed the baby in her basket before shoving past his maligners to find solitude in the supply tent and read up on everything Shakespeare had to say on revenge. Meanwhile, the two other surgeons let Kitty sleep as they sought solitude in the Officer's Club to plot further practical jokes. Just as they sat down at the bar Father Mulcahy shuffled up to them, a worried expression on his face.
"What's troubling you, Father?" asked BJ, tucking in to a glass of cheap spirits.
"Kitty's formula is running out," answered the priest, wringing his hands. "I'll have to get some more from the black market, so I'm going around asking for donations."
"Donations of what?"
"Valuable items to trade. Do you have any?"
"I'm sure we could get some of Charles' more prized possessions," said Hawkeye. "I've been dying to sort through his foot locker. He usually has pretty good stuff…"
"Hawkeye! I will not condone stealing!" protested Father Mulcahy.
"Then ask him for his things before we relieve him of them," said BJ simply. "You still got those lock picks we made, Hawk?"
"They're in a place of honor," his friend answered villainously.
"I'll go ask Major Winchester before you do something foolish," said the chaplain. "Perhaps I can get him to contribute from his gourmet stock."
"Good luck with that, Father," said Hawkeye, toasting the priest with his scotch. "Put the fear of God in him."
Father Mulcahy found the major in the supply tent sniffling through the closing act of Romeo and Juliet. As he stated his request, Charles immediately refused.
"Give you my food for baby formula?" he scoffed.
"Why not?"
Charles sighed and relented. "I'll give you a few cases of caviar and perhaps, just perhaps, some boxes of Belgian chocolate truffles."
"You've been hiding chocolate?" the priest nearly shouted.
"Keep your voice down!" exclaimed the major. "Do you want Pierce and Hunnicutt to rob me blind?"
"What else have you got besides caviar and truffles?"
"I'm not giving you any more."
"Major…"
"Fine. I've got escargot from my mother last week, but you're only getting half!"
"Deal. Where is all this stuff?"
"I'll get it and bring it here. I don't want anyone seeing my hiding place."
In a few minutes he arrived loaded down with packages. He pushed them at Father Mulcahy and left the tent immensely overwrought at seeing his precious larder so depleted. The chaplain placed the boxes in a waiting jeep and climbed into the driver's seat. Within a few hours he was back with a truckful of formula containers.
"Ah, the milkman cometh," said BJ, who was sitting in a canvas chair outside the Swamp. He and Hawkeye beside him were sipping homemade martinis garnished with olives stolen from Charles' cache.
"I was most successful," Father Mulcahy told the doctors. "The men took one taste of that chocolate and I was sure I could have gotten all of North Korea for it."
"Chocolate, you say?" said Hawkeye, sitting up and spilling half of his martini. "That sly devil's been hiding real chocolate from us? He should share with the other kids, shouldn't he, Beej?"
"That's the first rule my mother taught me," his friend answered. "Did you see where he hid it, Father?"
"No, I didn't," said the priest forcefully, "and I wouldn't tell you if I had."
"Of course you wouldn't," Hawkeye coaxed sweetly. "But what if a box was in store for you if you did?"
"All Doctor Winchester said was that it wasn't in his foot locker. I didn't see where he got it from," said the father in a rush.
"We'll give you a couple pieces for that," said BJ. "All right, Hawk, what's our first move?"
Hawkeye leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands together fiendishly. "Listen carefully to Step One of the Great Chocolate Heist."
His companions gathered around as he explained his newest dastardly plot in a whisper.