"His real name's D- uh." Uh huh. Hawkeye swallows, frowns. Benjamin Franklin was a dead geezer, Daniel Pierce was not. It was pure, unadulterated paranoia to think it and Hawkeye feels a tug of shame once more. But he wouldn't utter a name outside his own if only for the small, insane possibility that there were records scattered about, that there was a committee somewhere hidden in between those concrete halls he was led through that picked and chose the unlucky bastards to fight based on who said what. In which case, he'd like to get to know the fink that ratted him out. Like he figured- paranoia.

"Rhode Island?"

Because like hell he wasn't going to interrupt. For what it was worth, he shut up for the remainder of her tale. Because that's what it was, a tale. The caveman and the... those people, the judges in the scoring room. They were a world apart, sure, but.

Well, so what? Everyone in Korea was from all over, too.

"Who knew they'd hit it so big, the little buggers."

Oh, he's just talking for his own God damn sake.

"Look-" He should believe her, maybe. He didn't want to. Want, need, could, should- why was there always a conflict between them? "Christ, why can't anything be simple?" He murmured, more to himself. Then louder so Holiday could hear clearly, "Look, Becky. I'm not sure I believe that. So are we near the foodthings or what? This is a fun little scavenger hunt but what's really keeping me going is the idea of sinking my teeth into something that's not made out of World War II surplus powder."