"Murdock."

No reply; the pilot is fixed on the half-devoured package of cookies on the mess-hall table before him.

"Ah, Murdock, what're you doing?"

He looks up, grinning. "Eatin' Oreos, Colonel. Got 'em in a care package."

Hannibal sits, gestures with his cigar. "You're leaving the best parts, Captain."

"Nossir." The pilot shakes his head, adds another pair of de-creamed black circles to a rapidly-growing pile. "Middles're the best part."

Before Hannibal can reply, BA and Faceman join them.

BA scowls; first at his chow and then at the pilot. "Whatcha doin', man? Y'leavin' the best parts!"

Hannibal just chuckles.