M*A*S*H

File this under "done."

Oh! (groans)

‐(sighs) ‐(Hawkeye yawns)

I'm gonna go back to the Swamp

and hang tags on my eyelids

that say "Do not open until Christmas."

I'm gonna stay right here

and sleep for three straight days.

Then I'll feel strong enough to get up and pass out.

Next time I operate, I want to be assisted by Dr. Scholl.

My, my! Down on your luck, fellow?

Well, you stay right where you are.

One of the sisters will be by momentarily

with a blanket and some hot soup.

Please don't talk in my sleep.

Or in my wake, for that matter.

You saying you're not tired?

Of course I am. But I treat myself

far better than you Bowery denizens.

My body's a temple.

Yours are a mortuary.

Watch it, Major.

The last time somebody spouted off that much,

he got a harpoon in his starboard.

Sorry to disturb you, sir.

Word just came in, the fighting shifted.

So your meeting of the 38th Parallel Medical Society

that was postponed until next week

has been unpostponed till tomorrow.

Always glad to get together with my colleagues

to discuss the latest advances in medicine.

Don't forget to pack a couple of bottles

of my finest Kentucky sippin' medicine.

Right, sir, and am I then to assume that I will once again

forward all your commander's correspondence

to Chief Surgeon Pierce?

Oh, spare us! Not Pierce. Not that derelict.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

In the immortal words of the Duke of Windsor,

I abdicate my office for the pillow I love.

Since you're so worried about this derelict

being derelict in his duties,

the job is yours, temple body.

Me? What's wrong with Pierce?

Sir, it is a rare moment that I get down on my knees

without holding a pair of dice,

but Major Winchester thinks the chain of command

is for beating enlisted men.

You know what they say, Klinger:

it's loony at the top.

The job is yours, Winchester.

I am officially appointing you topkick pro tem.

Very well, sir. Since you insist

on thrusting the mantle of leadership on my shoulders,

I graciously accept your challenge.

I shan't let you down, sir.

I know you shan't, lad.

'Cause I don't expect nothin' of ya.

I'm sorry, Jost.

There doesn't seem to be anything in here

that applies to your situation.

You just rest, Private.

Captain Pierce, do you have a moment?

Certainly. You don't mind if I check into Bedside Manor?

Captain, Private Van Liter has a serious problem.

Tell Dr. Pierce what you were just telling us.

‐Well, you see‐‐ ‐This is his second Purple Heart,

and he's got two Bronze Stars as his company's point man.

‐But‐‐ ‐But before Jost is discharged

and gets back home,

his mother will be deported, and he won't get to see her.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

Servicemen are welcome in this conversation.

Thank you. I come from Holland.

Two years ago, my mother married an American,

and we moved to the United States.

Right after that I joined the marines

because I wanted to serve my new country.

Now his mother's just gotten a divorce,

and because she's not married to an American anymore,

they're deporting her.

Oh, wonderful. She comes to America

and gets run over by the welcome wagon.

Well, so what‐‐ what can we do?

Hawkeye, you don't understand.

He's due to be discharged in three weeks.

All he wants is to leave a week early

so he can see his mother

before she's sent back to Holland.

Did you talk to your C. O. About this?

Yes. He told me to talk to the Red Cross.

‐And? ‐Well, I told them my story,

and they told me to tell it to my C. O.

Yeah, I see. The old one‐two.

A right cross from the Red Cross

and Montezuma's revenge from the marines.

Klinger, get me the C. O. Of the 1st Marine Division.

I'm afraid you need a clerk to do that, sir.

Excuse me, Grumpy. I'm afraid you're not afraid enough.

You see, I dwarf you in rank. Aren't you a company clerk?

I, sir, am the personal attaché

of our own commanding officer

Charles Emerson Winchester III.

Or, as we in liege like to call him, King Charles I.

Wait a minute. Yesterday, when the colonel put him in charge,

you wanted to volunteer for a kamikaze school.

Yesterday I was young and foolish.

Today I'm older and busier.

Now, if you'll just excuse me,

I have to get moving on Major Domo's personal requisition list.

Let me see that.

"A dozen tins of rolled anchovies.

"A deluxe set of silk bed linen.

Complete recorded works of Wagner."

That's "Wag‐ner." That must be the major's handwriting.

You see I need the phone.

This is at least a day's worth of wheeling and stealing.

Something smells fishy here,

and the anchovies haven't arrived yet.

How come you're suddenly his personal caterer?

Loyalty. As company clerk, it is my sworn duty

to serve him who wears the mantle of command.

Your duty to serve does not include hors d'oeuvres.

Ah, yes, but how can one refuse a leader so kind and benevolent?

‐How much is he paying you? ‐Ooh, a bundle!

Klinger, any luck with the Wagner recordings?

That's "Wag‐ner." Can't you read your own writing?

So far I've gotten two Homer and Jethro albums.

But don't worry, I'm trading up.

You could hardly do otherwise.

Excuse me. May I have an audience

with Your Royal Heinie?

Sure, I always have time for the little people.

Let me ask a little question.

What are you doing appropriating government property?

He's our company clerk.

He's not your man Friday or any other day.

Silence, soldier boy!

This camp is being run with the utmost of efficiency.

‐Max, have I not seen to the daily reports? ‐Yes, Sire.

‐Max, have I not seen to the monthly inventories? ‐Yes, Sire.

As you can see, it's 10:00 and all's well.

Therefore, as long as he has the time and I have the money,

why should I not enjoy a few of the basic necessities of life?

Silk linen?

Pierce, you may have been swaddled in burlap,

but a Winchester does not rub elbows with mattress buttons.

Listen, silky, there's a Dutch kid in post‐op right now,

who has a hell of a lot more to worry about than chafed elbows,

and I need Klinger to call his C. O.

Well, then you shall have him.

Max, please place the captain's call.

I'm such an old softy.

Oh, thank you. A million thanks, Your Softiness.

Always ready to do a little something for a big nothing.

Max, as soon as you've placed the call,

I'd like to see you in my chambers.

There are boots to be blacked.

Ah, here you are, sir.

Max!

Uh, coming, Your Most Imperial Majorocity.

And remember,

in case you're planning a palace coup,

‐I can be bought. ‐Uh‐huh.

This is Colonel Mulholland.

What can I do for you, Dr. Pierce?

I'm calling about your Private Jost Van Liter.

Oh, yes, Doctor. When will I be getting him back?

Well, that's what I want to talk to you about.

His wound is healing nicely,

but I'm afraid I can't say the same for his spirit.

Hold on. This wouldn't happen to be

about his mother, would it?

Well, yeah, now that you mention it.

Oh, now I see he's working on you

with that sob story.

I'm sorry you had to get involved.

I thought I made it clear to him that the Marine Corps

is not about to grant an early discharge to every pantywaist

who wants to go home to see his mommy.

Colonel, this kid is no pantywaist.

He just wants to get out a week early.

I mean, let's face it.

He busted his, uh, his arm for the corps.

In other words, he's done his duty, no more.

Apparently, you doctors get all choked up over a Purple Heart,

but to the marines, it's what we're here for.

It's our job. You get the picture?

Oh, yeah. In black and blue. Look, if memory serves,

we're all supposed to be on the same side in this thing.

Why don't we try to help each other?

Good idea. You send that kid back here soon,

I'll see to it you get an empty bed.

I knew you'd understand.

And then this harebrained colonel,

whose crew cut I could hear,

has the nerve to hang up on me.

Well‐‐ (chuckles)

That's when I really told him off.

Helping out a Dutch boy is perfect for you, Hawk.