M*A*S*H

Mm. Hmm. (clicks tongue)

No. No.

Um... Ah, move.

Ahh!

Ahhaha, the infamous Yankakovich gambit.

Oh, yeah?

Yankakovich perfected the strategy

of making the most moronic move possible

in order to lull his opponent.

Well, I'm not gonna fall for it.

Ah.

Perhaps I should have tried the Jesse Owens gambit

and run to Berlin.

For chess lessons.

Hunnicutt back from Seoul yet?

No, he just left about an hour ago.

He's probably just getting to the barber shop now.

With his feet, the shoeshine alone

could take until tomorrow.

Nuts. I knew I shouldn't have let him go.

But he was so het up on getting that deluxe treatment,

I just didn't have the heart to say no.

What's up?

Just got word from ICorps.

Battalion Aid needs a surgeon on the double.

And as I recall, it's Hunnicutt's turn.

It certainly isn't mine.

I made that miserable sojourn last time.

Three days and two nights

nestled in the bosom of Pork Chop Hill.

These are hard times. You nestle anywhere you can.

Well, seems you just drew the short straw, Pierce.

Oh, come on.

Can't wait for Hunnicutt on this one.

Damn! Ah!

Well, at least the day's not a total loss.

Yes, it is.

Checkmate.

Eat that. That's roughage.

Wow! Lookee here!

Is this a beautiful person!

Phew! Smell the cologne.

You better stay away from open flames.

When the Armistice was signed in '18, I was in Gay Paree.

I celebrated in an allnight business establishment

that smelled a little classier than you do.

It's only aftershave.

It's clashing with my liver and onions.

Personally, I'm pulling for the liver and onions.

You're all just jealous 'cause I'm

the only little petunia in the onion patch.

Wait a minute. You got a manicure!

I hope you manage to stay beautiful

till Pierce gets back to see you.

Back from where?

Battalion Aid was short a surgeon.

I had to send him in your place.

Hawkeye had to go to the front

because I was getting a haircut?

Well, you might have broken a nail.

Knock it off, Charles.

I'm gonna give you something for that pain, son.

Thanks, doc. (groan)

Boy, I hope you're a doctor.

Well, it's just a hobby.

My real profession is raising orchids.

Hawkeye Pierce, 4077. Bob Rackley.

He's all yours. Right.

I guess you've been hearing a lot of that.

Shelling?

Well, it's got to be a lot closer than that

for me to notice.

Pressure bandages, sir.

Yeah, good.

How long you been working alone?

Since last night.

Where's your other surgeon?

He was killed.

Oh, God. What happened?

Mortar.

Right out there where you parked your jeep.

MAN (on P. A.): Attention, all personnel.

The express has arrived from Battalion Aid.

Grab a knife and save a life.

Here's your first customer, doc.

One thing about MacArthur. He makes the blood run on time.

You're gonna be okay, pal. Thanks, doc.

Not much fun up there, huh?

Real bad. I even heard a doctor bought it.

Wait a minute, wait a minute. What?

A doctor. Battalion Aid. Which one?

I don't know. I never even saw him.

Did you catch a name? Anything?

Nope.

Klinger, get on the I'll call Battalion Aid.

Klinger, over here! As soon as I can, sir.

Okay. Let's go.

Go fast, but don't bump him. Be careful.

Is this the last one for the 4077?

Yeah, for now. But drive carefully.

His chart says no potholes.

When's the last time you got some sleep?

What's that?

If you want to go sack out for a while,

I'll watch things out here.

Come on. Thanks.

I, Benjamin Franklin Pierce,

being of sound mind and endangered body,

hereby decree this to be my last will and testament.

I bequeath to my father all my worldly possessions

with the exception of the following.

To B. J. Hunnicutt, my best friend

B.J.

B.J.

To Charles Emerson Winchester III,

during the dark days of war, made himself available...

Then the third cowboy looks at the orangutan

sitting next to him, turns to the bartender,

and says, "Give me what he had."

Pretty funny, huh, Winchester?

Charles!

Yeah?

That highpriced cognac sure put your lights out.

On the contrary.

They never even dimmed.

Then how do you explain your head back, your tongue out,

and your eyes on separate circuits?

They I was merely lying back,

contemplating what Michelangelo would have done

with the ceiling in this place.

Come on, Major.

You had checked out with no forwarding address.

Rubbish. A Winchester never loses consciousness.

If you will excuse me, gentlemen. (grunting)

Ooh, ooh. I guess he sure told us.

Haha.

Sure, he was awake the whole time.

You've been the victim

of a ceaseless stream of dumb jokes.

Though we may have wounded your pride,

you've never lost your dignity.

I therefore bequeath to you

the most dignified thing I own:

my bathrobe.

Purple is the color of royalty.

They got our phones!

Where the hell is Klinger?

Keep your lid on, Hunnicutt.

How long could it take to make one lousy phone call?

Klinger's got his hands full

with this SRO crowd of casualties. Suction.

There's nothing to be gained by expecting the worst.

Bad news. The phones are out at Battalion Aid.

There's no way to reach him.

Damn. Sorry, sir.

What's going on up there?

I did get through to ICorps.

They say there's pretty heavy shelling in that sector.

Wonderful. Yeah.

Oh, B. J., there's no reason to assume

that the dead surgeon is Hawkeye.

No reason to assume that it isn't.

You've got to stop tearing your hair out about this.

Nobody plans his own destiny.

The best thing we can do is hit what's pitched.

Clamp.

To Father Francis Mulcahy, I leave five cents.

I want to eat something.

What's going on here, Father?

For some reason, they don't seem to be serving.

This food is bad enough without having to wait for it.

Hold my place back there.

Please don't start on me, Captain.

I know. You're waiting for your soufflé to rise.

As a matter of fact, you're not far off.

Our cook can't get near the oven.

General Kratzer's personal chef

is using it for his Baked Alaska.

Baked Alaska?

Hey, wait. I have two questions.

Who is General Kratzer?

And what size ladle does he wear?

General Kratzer's here to visit some of his wounded.

He brought along his own cook.

On the way over here, he bagged a pheasant,

and now he's in the VIP tent dining on it.

This guy is eating pheasant and Baked Alaska

while his men are in postop dining on I. V. solution?

Every gourmet knows

one should always clear one's palate between courses.

Hawkeye, now don't do anything rash!

Leave me alone, Father.

If I think about this, I'm liable not to do it.

Hawkeye, don't!

Father, what the hell's the matter with you?

Wait!

Listen, Hawkeye, you let me handle this,

or I swear I swear I'll flatten you.

What's going on out there?

General, I'm Father Francis Mulcahy.