Disclaimer: You wouldn't sue a 13-year-old with a life savings of 20 dollars, would you?

It was eleven o'clock at night and all was about to be not well. BJ and Hawkeye both perched on their cots, nodding meaningfully at each other. The Great Chocolate Heist was about to begin with Charles Emerson Winchester III's loyal bunkies at its head.

Kitty was lying in her basket observing the two would-be criminals' proceedings with wide-eyed interest. Before retiring to the Swamp, they had bribed Radar to send the major a telegram loaded with information that would be highly significant to Charles. BJ and Hawkeye had a lot of fun devising something that would leave their fellow surgeon's head spinning. They had discussed all sorts of different scandals at home to which Charles might react unfavorably, getting him out of the tent for just enough time for a thorough chocolate search. Finally Hawkeye had come up with the best scheme: a notice from Boston General informing Charles that his old med school nemesis (about whom Charles ranted from time to time) would be filling an important station at the hospital. That was sure to send the major into a tizzy in which he would probably immediately send a telegram to the nemesis informing him of his complete and utter disgust at the news. Perfect.

The message was sent and received by Charles who responded as expected by storming off to Radar's office. Once he was gone, BJ and Hawkeye continued with their plan of action. First they stretched a tripcord across the door so they would be alerted instantly if their bunkie returned prematurely. Just to be fair, they lay out some pillows in front of it so that their victim would have a soft landing. Then they progressed to shuffling through the area around Charles' bunk until it resembled a detonated mine field. BJ held a flashlight above his partner-in-crime's head as Hawkeye sorted through dark places.

"I found something!" he whispered, pulling a wooden case from under the cot.

"Pretty lax security considering he shares a tent with two crooks like us," BJ commented as Hawkeye examined their find.

"Not as lax as it seems," he said. "This has a heavy padlock on it. But that's only a minor inconvenience." He pressed his ear to the lock and spun it carefully, listening to the muted clicks and waiting for the ratchet to catch.

"Hurry up," murmured BJ urgently. "It's been ten minutes already!"

"Shut up, I've almost got it," answered Hawkeye. "There!" The lock popped open.

BJ inspected it. "Typical Charles," was his observation. "He couldn't have paid more than a few bucks for this. Only a three number combination."

"Here's the chocolate!" Hawkeye exclaimed, pulling out two largish boxes. "A box each."

"We have to give a few to the padre," BJ reminded him, taking his share. "What other stuff does he have in there?"

"Canned pheasant, pâté, some partridge…oh, gross, escargot."

"Whoaaahhhh!" cried a voice from the doorway.

The two burglars whipped around to see Charles sprawled across the pillows set in front of the tripcord.

"You thieves! Bandits! Highwaymen!" the floored officer bellowed, snatching the case from their hands.

"I can't believe we deserve such titles!" said Hawkeye, avoiding his enraged associates flailing fists. "I feel honored!"

"Quiet down or you'll scare the baby!" BJ exclaimed. His sentence was cut off by a high-pitched laugh. Kitty was smiling widely as she watched the squabble, squirming gleefully and acting as if the incident was the finest entertainment.

"Well, Klinger was right," said Hawkeye, neatly dodging Charles' fumbling kick. "You're a bloodthirsty little shark, aren't you?"

Kitty answered with a chuckle as she grabbed the dog tags around his neck, thrusting them into her mouth and beginning to suck noisily on them. Just then a crowd burst into the tent with Colonel Potter in the lead, clearly reacting to the commotion they had heard.

"What in tarnation are you three children doing in here?" the colonel demanded, attempting to look dignified in his stripey red and white bathrobe.

"My chocolates were about to be filched by those two purloining pilfering plunderers!" shouted Charles by way of an answer.

"You wake up half the camp because they were stealing chocolate?" repeated Major Margaret Houlihan, tucking her tangled blonde hair behind her ears. "What kind of juveniles are you?"

"Now, wait a second," protested Hawkeye, extricating his dog tags from Kitty's toothless grip. "We're just honest thieves. Charles here is the only one acting juvenile."

"Horse hienies," scoffed Colonel Potter. "You haven't been honest a day of your life, Pierce. All of you, listen up. It is 11:45 at night, all of us are tired, and this subject is officially dropped. Good night, gents."

"I demand that these ruffians be court-martialed!" said Charles.

"Court-martialed for stealing chocolate? I might just court-martial you for hoarding it away from the rest of us, anyway," answered the colonel, exiting the tent with all the other onlookers.

"The system of justice in this hellhole is appalling," gasped the major, whipping the chocolate boxes from the burglars' hands. He immediately began devouring the truffles to calm his nerves.

"Oh, come on, Charles," said BJ, "at least give us one for trying so hard. If you do, we'll tell you your rival didn't get a job at Boston Medical."

"He didn't?"

"Nope. We made that up to get you out of the tent."

"You fiends!" Charles roared. "This is the sneakiest, most underhanded…and possibly most brilliant scheme you've come up with."

"Why, thank you," said Hawkeye. "I'm glad you can recognize talent when you see it."

"Here's a reward for your deviousness," the major said, throwing them each a truffle. "Now, how would you like to help me plot against Colonel Potter for the serious malpractice of his disciplinary powers?"

Their answer was interrupted by a voice on the loudspeakers. "Incoming wounded. All personnel report for triage. Sorry, folks, bedtime's over!"

"When did it ever begin?" said BJ around a mouthful of chocolate.

"Who's going to watch Kit?" asked Hawkeye, pulling on his red bathrobe.

"There's no need," answered Charles, pointing at the baby. She was fast asleep and emitting tiny snuffling snores. BJ covered her with a blanket and headed out into the compound, his coworkers close on his heels.

Eight hours and well over thirty patients later, the senior staff of the MASH-4077 was sitting exhausted in the mess tent, hunched over cups of steaming coffee. Kitty's basket lay on the table, it's inhabitant now wide awake with Hawkeye's dog tags hanging from her mouth to keep her quiet. The sudden screech of tires outside warned the fatigued officers of a visitor. Colonel Potter opened the tent door, blinking in the morning sunlight as a jeep pulled up, bearing two soldiers and a passenger.

The civilian was a prim Korean woman in her thirties wearing a plain black robe and a solemn air. She bowed before the colonel and introduced herself. "I am Sang-mi," she said in a calm, accented alto. "I have heard you are keeping a Korean child here."

"Yes, we are," said the colonel. "Did you know her parents?"

"Quite well," she answered. "I am the girl's aunt."