"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.
