Hatched

"I can't believe someone just left them!"

"Tell me about it! They're probably kickin' 'emselves right now."

"I think I'll have mine poached. No – scrambled, on toast."

Radar leaned in closer to the small crate of eggs that Hawkeye and Trapper had brought back from Seoul. He picked one out, rolled it in his palm, held it up to the light of his hurricane lamp. Then he chose another. And another. "Oh boy…" The doctors had been delighted when they'd found the eggs abandoned under a stall after the daily market had packed up, but now Radar was about to cancel their breakfast plans. "I don't think you will, Sirs. These eggs have got chickens in 'em."

Hawkeye stared at him. "Chickens? Real live chickens? Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure! I live on a farm, don't I? When I'm not livin' here, I mean."

"Damn." Trapper snapped his fingers. "I could'a killed for an omelette."

"No – wait!" Hawkeye grabbed Radar. He had that manic gleam in his eyes that Radar had learned to fear. "This is perfect! We could have a limitless supply! No more powdered eggs! No more rubber omelettes! Radar, you're our expert here. Could we hatch them?"

Radar frowned and studied another egg. "Gee, I don't know, Hawkeye. I mean, I guess it depends how long they were out there. They might not even be alive. But it was a warm day for spring an' all, so maybe."

"YES!"

"But we'd have to build an incubator, on the double! Keep 'em warm, y'know." The doctors looked at one another blankly and Radar rolled his eyes. "Lucky for you guys, I know how."

Hawkeye was positively vibrating. "Radar, I could kiss you! Imagine! Our own chicken farm turning out fresh eggs. Fresh, perfect and delicious!"

Trapper shrugged. "Or they will be until Igor gets his hands on 'em."

"The nurses won't know how to thank us!"

"I'm sure you'd be glad to give 'em some pointers."

Radar ignored the raucous conversation and gathered up the crate, wondering how long it would take Colonel Blake to notice that his two top surgeons had starting moonlighting in poultry farming. He headed out the back, and Trapper shot Hawkeye a knowing look. "You're really serious about this, aren't ya?"

"Well, why not? You said yourself, you'd kill for an omelette!" He grinned and grasped Trapper's arm excitedly. "And not just that – think how cute they look when they first hatch! I can't wait until those little shells start to crack!"

Trapper shook his head. "Somethin's cracked around here, for sure – and I don't think it's the eggs!"

By that very evening, Radar wandered into the Swamp with what looked like a tiny wooden dresser, about two feet tall and with little drawers in the front. Each one housed several eggs, and a hot water bottle in the bottom section provided the warmth.

"You gotta rotate the drawers so they all get even amounts of heat," he was explaining. "And change the hot water as often as you can, or they're gonna get too cold."

"I'm not gettin' up in the middle of the night!" Trapper piped up from his cot. "I had two kids – I'm not losin' any sleep over this crackpot scheme of yours!"

"Spoil-sport!" Hawkeye stuck his tongue out. "Thanks, Radar. I can't believe you threw this together in a few hours!"

Radar shrugged. "I built one before. Actually I built about a dozen. We lost all the power in the barn one year and looked it up in this real old book Uncle Ed had. Where do you want it, anyway?"

"Just over here by the still."

"Hawk…" Trapper spoke up again. "If Frank finds that, he'll kick our butts. I'm not goin' on report for your chicken farm!"

Hawkeye sighed. "He's right. I'll empty my footlocker. They can live in there."

Trapper huffed and sulked and rolled over to focus on his book as the other two rearranged Hawkeye's side of the swamp and set the incubator down in its new home and Radar continued to advise Hawkeye on egg care, reminding him to turn them regularly and warning him that not all of them would hatch. At last, the locker was closed and Radar had gone to catch up on his actual job, and Trapper looked up to find Hawkeye standing at the foot of his cot with an armful of clothes and other junk. "What?!"

"Got any room in your footlocker, Trap? Mine's kinda full."

Trapper sighed and opened the lid.

It was three in the morning when Hawkeye woke up. He thought it a little odd – he wasn't a light sleeper – and he sat listening for a few seconds for the sound that had stirred him.

There it was again.

A smile spread across his face and he crept out of his bed, careful so as not to wake Frank. It had been three weeks now since he had installed his very own incubator in the Swamp, and the excitement at what he had just heard simply had to be shared. He nudged Trapper awake. "Wake up, honey! The contractions have started!"

Trapper gasped and his eyes flew open. "Don't worry, Louise! I'll make the call!"

Hawkeye had to try not to laugh and wound up rolling on the floor, clutching his sides. Finally getting his bearings, Trapper scowled at him and hit him with a pillow. "Don't do that! I've had two kids! My nerves are shot!" Giving the giggling Hawkeye an extra smack with the pillow for a good measure, he turned over.

"Trapper – the eggs!"

"I'll have mine on toast."

"How could you even joke about that? As if I'd let you eat our babies!" He tossed his head back in mock disdain.

"You really have lost it…" Trapper muttered, finally allowing himself to be pulled out of bed.

They crept over to Hawkeye's footlocker and lifted the lid. Trapper fumbled with a torch and Hawkeye gently pulled open one of the drawers. A tiny, damp ball of yellow fluff wriggled in the remains of its shell, blinked its little black eyes at them, opened its beak and cheeped. Hawkeye grinned and squeezed Trapper's arm. "I'm a mommy!"

Trapper narrowed his eyes at him. "How come you get to be the mommy? I found 'em too!"

"Because they hatched in my footlocker. You can have the next ones."

"Funny. My wife said the same thing."

Another egg shifted in its bed of shredded paper, and Hawkeye tugged at Trapper's sleeve frantically as the shell cracked. "Look! Look there's another one!" He was practically shaking with excitement.

"Will you calm down? They're only birds for Christ's sake!"

Hawkeye clutched his chest. "I'm sorry – I had no idea childbirth was so exhausting."

Trapper rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. "Hawkeye?"

"Hmm?"

A tiny smile threatened to appear at the corner of Trapper's lips. "Just shut up and watch, would ya?"

And so they watched. They watched for quite a while.

A creak from Frank's cot broke their trance, and they slammed the locker closed and sat on it. Frank's light flicked on, and the Major glared at them from under its harsh glow. "Why are you two out of bed?"

Trapper piped up first. "Uh… I told Hawkeye a scary story and he wet his pants."

Hawkeye turned to protest but then thought better of it.

"Yeah, right," Frank sneered. "Real likely!"

"Oh yeah?" Trapper tilted the torch up to his face and pulled an evil expression. Frank recoiled and squeaked in terror.

"Would you mind, Frank? Some of us need to change our shorts."

Frank grimaced, but shot both Captains a glare. "You two are up to something," he deduced, "and I intend to find out what."

Trapper smirked. "Good luck with that, Frank. We're sure you'll crack it sooner or later."