All right, gentlemen. Without interrupting your knitting...
let me get right with it.
Now, here's what we can expect in the way of casualties in the next 24 hours.
I think that you'll find that these figures...
reflect my customary pinpoint accuracy.
- Hawk, can you go just a little faster? - You want it fast or round?
The push begins at 0900. Now, we're in for bloody, hand-to-hand combat.
Hill 403 is a maze of trenches, foxholes and craters.
- Why don't you go after Hill 404? - It's got a nice view of 405.
- And it's closer to the cemetery on 406. - Can we continue, Colonel?
Yes. Of course. Button it, boys. Colonel Bloodworth isn't here...
for fancy patter from the Weisenheimer twins.
And I, for one, would like to know how many casualties are coming in.
- What's so choice about Hill 403, Colonel? - The enemy owns it.
So contact a good Realtor and make him an offer.
Calculating a division of men supported in depth by artillery...
mortar fire and tanks against seasoned troops, also backed by artillery...
we figure a grand total of 280 to 290 casualties...
passing through this unit in the next 24 hours if the weather holds.
- What if it rains? - Then add another 20.
There are 20 guys who better pray like hell it doesn't rain.
I figure all 300 better pray like hell this guy is wrong.
"This guy" is never wrong. It's all here!
The days, the battles, the numbers, all pinpointed and on target.
- Dead on. - War is a science.
- Casualties can be predicted with mathematical precision. - Really?
How many times do 30,000 bullets multiplied by 400 artillery shells...
go into 280 bodies?
I don't appreciate your sarcasm, Pierce.
I don't appreciate your insensitivity.
Those figures you reel so trippingly off the tongue are made of flesh and blood.
But, please, don't pass up Hill 403 on my account, not if you've gone to all that trouble.
- [Potter] Silencio, Pierce. - Look. I don't have to listen to this every time I show up.
Then stop showing up. Maybe we'll stop getting casualties.
- Sounds like you almost believe that. - Take out the "almost"...
and you're right again, with pinpoint accuracy.
- You came on a little strong. - Would've been worse if I had my knitting needles.
- Relax. Those eagles on his shoulders have claws. - Those aren't eagles.
- They're vultures. - I sense a certain hostility in you.
Hostility? I got nothing against the guy. Take away his ledgers...
his numbers, his pinpoint accuracy... I think he's kind of cute.
- Chow? - Not chow.
- Masterpieces of the culinary arts. - Right. Chow.
- Would either of you happen to have a quarter? - All this for a quarter?
- I have to pry off the cover. - Of course. Cover charge.
- Uh, Pierce, would you mind opening the pheasant? - Would I mind?
My taste buds are setting a table on my tongue. My salivary glands are having a flash flood.
- What's that stuff? - Haven't you ever seen truffles before?
Nobody knows the truffles I've seen.
[Honking Laugh]
- Here you are, gentlemen. - Oh, goody.
Mmm-mmm. Chopped liver.
- That is pate de foie gras. - I happen to know Paddy DeFoiegras, and this isn't him.
That was great. What else have we got?
- "We"? - Aren't we having dinner?
- We even dressed for it. - Gentlemen, your dinner awaits you in the Mess Tent.
One lousy piece of liverwurst, and that's it?
Well, that's ample reward for opening a can.
You're not gonna share this with your bunkies?
My bunkies have palates that are obviously more attuned to Spam on a shingle.
You mean, you're gonna make us just sit here and watch you eat?
No. That would be sadistic. I will go elsewhere.
Bon appetit, gentlemen.
- How do you like this guy? - I'd like him rotating on a spit.
- I hope your caviar turns to fish eggs. - I hope you can't get a table.
- Bless your heart. - I hope he saves some for us.
- [Knocking] - Who is it?
- Major Winchester. - Oh, just a second.
Mm-hmm. [Chuckles]
- Uh, Major, have you dined? - No. Not yet.
- Good. - What? Wh-What?
Prepare yourself for the finest meal you've had in Korea...
perhaps in your life.
Ohh! Why, that looks "scrumpt-u-ous."
Tonight's menu begins with Beluga caviar.
- [Panting Chuckle] - Followed by truffles.
- Nobody knows the truffles I've seen. - What?
I might've guessed. Moving along quickly to the pate...
followed by the smoked oyster and a true epicurean delight...
- Devonshire pheasant. - Ohh.
All accompanied, very discreetly, by a Montrachet 1947.
Ohh! And I was on my way to hash!
- [Groans] Hash. - ## [Radio: Slow Jazz]
This is not hash, Margaret.
I'll help you set, Margaret.
There we are. Thank you, ma'am.
To civilization in Korea.
This is it.
- My favorite toast is a poem. - Oh, Margaret, do. Speak it.
Well, here it goes. "Look out, teeth. Look out, gums.
Look out, liver. Here she comes."
Civilization in Korea.
- [Moaning Ecstatically] - And now, the caviar.
- Mmm. Ohh, l... - Which, my dear Major...
must never, never, never be touched by a metal utensil.
- Oh, really? - Mm-mmm. Mm-mmm. Only wood.
Of course, in such a primitive place, one must learn to adapt.
- Voila. - How clever!
- Now, open wide and say "ah." - Ah.
Mmm.
[Moaning Ecstatically] Delicious.
- Isn't it? - Oh. The last time I had caviar...
was with General Hardcastle in West Berlin, and we...
Oh... never mind.
- Ahh. - There we are.
- Mmm. - No, no, no, Margaret. Follow me.
[Grunts] There are certain things that still call for the barbaric approach.
- Don't you agree? - Oh-ho-ho. Completely.
- You can't do that with army hash. - It doesn't fall apart this easy.
- Well? - Oh, is this the way pheasant's supposed to taste?
- It tastes funny. - Oh, Margaret, I assure you.
This is the way a pheasant is supposed to taste.
It is, after all, a game bird.
Well, I'm game too.
- [Both] Mmm. - Mmm.
[Man On P.A.] Attention, all personnel. Choppers and litterjeeps headed this way.
All medical teams report for triage.
- How untimely. - I know.
Well, shall we, uh, meet later for some petit fours?
Ooh! Certainly not. But you can stop by for dessert.
- More Hill 403. - Bloodworth's parade of casualties.
The sun's shining. Maybe he'll fall short of his quota.
What a shame. It'll ruin his day.
- Let me have a leg splint. - How does it look, Doc?
- You're gonna be waltzing with Mathilda in no time. - Honest?
You're so healthy, you're gonna have to twiddle your toes...
while we take care of guys who are really in trouble.
Just going to immobilize this till we get to you later. What's that "1"on your helmet?
[Grunts] A bunch of us have 'em.
When we got off the boat at Inchon this morning...
a sergeant came up and chalked a "1," "2," or "3" on our helmets.
- Ones got sent to the front. - Ah, the lucky ones.
- Where'd the twos and threes go? - Someplace safe, I guess.
- You just got off the boat a few hours ago? - Yeah.
This is some cruise. You're liable to take the same boat back.
Yeah. At least this time it'll be headed in the right direction.
- Where you from? - Toledo, Ohio.
No kidding? You can expect a visit from a hairy guy wearing a dress.
- It's not Mathilda, is it? - I don't know. I never waltzed with him.
- A pilot, huh? - Hence the wings, Pierce.
I'm sure Bloodworth didn't figure any pilots.
Well, then this man's obviously an impostor. Get him and his wounds out of here.
- Business is boom-booming. - [B.J.] Who knew this war was gonna catch on?
Give the people what they want, they don't mind going a few thousand miles out of their way.
- [Winchester Groans] - [B.J.] That's just your opinion, Charles.
- You look terrible. - The air in here is foul. [Burps]
It was the pheasant that was foul.
- Whoever heard of eating a canned bird? - Major, can you keep it down?
I hope I can. We're probably getting botulism.
Major, I assure you we are not ill.
Then why are you whiter than your mask? I tell you that bird was rotten.
- Major... - We ate a rotten bird!
Major, can we terminate this nauseating discussion...
and get back to this man's bowel?
After all, this man's bowel i...
Wh... Colonel, we need help here.
- [Potter] Where's Winchester? - [Margaret] On the floor.
[Hawkeye] He can't operate from there. His arms aren't long enough.
Sweet Nefertiti! What's the matter with him?
- Tummy ache. Advanced. - [Potter] What from?
- Probably from something we didn't eat. - How are you, Major?
- [Winchester Groans] - [B.J.] He'll live.
- [Hawkeye] He may not want to. - [Potter] Move him out.
- [Klinger] Hold on, sir. - [Mulcahy] He's heavy.
- [Klinger] Yeah. This place could use a full-time bouncer. - Who can take over?
I'll take it, Colonel. Kellye, close for me.
- I'll need some fresh gloves. - [Hiccups Violently]
You look a little green around the gills yourself.
Just keep your eyes off my gills and on your patient.
- Clamp. - Clamp. [Hiccups]
- Lap sponge. - Sponge. [Hiccups]
- [Hiccups] Retractor. - [Hiccups] Metzenbaum.
All right. Knock it... [Hiccups] off.
- [Groans] - What was the final score in there?
203, not counting Winchester.
We beat Bloodworth by 77 "healthies."
- Looks like Mr. Right was wrong this time. - Maybe his slide rule is stuck.
- What do you say to some schnapps? - I'm in.
Not me. I'm gonna go find Bloodworth and toast him with a nice, tall glass of gloat.
You're only askin' for trouble, son.
Nah, I'm just gonna cheer him up.
He's probably crying in his ledger.
Well, look who's here: Colonel Bo Peep, counting his sheep.
- What do you want, Pierce? - Let me have a beer, okay?
Ah, there is no joy in Bloodville tonight. Ask me why.
- Look, Pierce... - I thought you'd never ask. In the battle for Hill 403...
77 soldiers refused to get hit just to pinpoint your accuracy.
- You don't say? - Oh, but I do say.
- You were off by 77, scorekeeper. - I was, huh?
Don't let it get you down. If the war doesn't work out for you...
you can always go back to the States and predict traffic fatalities.
- Or if you live long enough, there's always the apocalypse. - Attention, all surgical teams.
More wounded coming in via ground vehicles. Proceed to O.R.
Okay, hotshot. There you go. And don't be surprised if there are 77 more.
- What'd you do? Shoot 'em yourself? - That's it, Captain.
- I've taken all I'm gonna take off you. - I haven't even begun.
- Let go of me, Captain. - You make me sick.
The way you reduce human life to cold equations. God, I hate that.
And I hate your rotten ledger, your diary of death.
But what I hate most, you... you grim reaper, is that you actually love your job.
- I said let go of me. - I'll let go of you.
[Indistinct Chatter]
This is a serious charge. Bloodworth says you hit him. That's ridiculous.
- You didn't hit him, did you? - Who, me?
I might've grabbed him, pushed him, shoved him, but the wall hit him.
Pierce, if you were my son, we'd be on the way to the woodshed.
Colonel, I've already put myself over my own knee. You don't have to do it.
What did you think you were doing? You rave against violence and insensitivity...
then to prove your point, you attack a man.
Guilty as charged. Refer all my patients to Leavenworth.
Bloodworth isn't kidding. Neither am I. You deserve a court-martial.
This is the U.S. Army. You don't push ranking officers around.
- Look, Colonel... - Not another word. Dismissed, Captain.
Uh-huh.
Hawkeye.
I'll talk to Bloodworth. Maybe I can convince him how desperately we need surgeons...
even stupid ones.
Thanks, Dad.
- Danker? - Mathilda?
- Hey! Toledo! - Where else?
Don't move. Let me take it all in.
- When were you there last? - Two weeks ago.
Only two weeks ago! When was the last time you had a Packo Hungarian hot dog?
- Three days before I left. - I knew it. I could smell it on your breath.
- You had mustard, chili and hot peppers. - Amazing.
Not to this nose. Where do you live?
- Locust and Ontario? - Michigan and Galena.
- And you made it out alive? - Sure. I took my basic training at Le Grange pool hall.
In all the time I was there, not once did I see anybody use a cue stick on a ball.
- How long you been here? - As long as it takes a tough street kid...
to learn to wear a dress.
- Hey, tell me about the Trianon. Is it still jumping? - Oh, yeah.
Yeah. Girls still get in for a buck. Fifty cents if they look human.
The Trianon! Every night, I dream I'm jitterbugging with Agnes Goames.
## [Scatting]
Then, at intermission, we'd steal away to the veranda...
and watch the kids bust windshields.
- You know, I never got caught. - I gotta go, kid. I'm breakin' my heart.
Wait. I got somethin' for ya.
A matchbook from the Trianon. Matches made in heaven!
I'll keep 'em forever. Thank you.
[Crying]
- Colonel, you got a minute? - Only a minute. Shoot.
- I'd like to talk about Pierce. - Colonel, save it for the trial.
- Look, I want you to drop the charges. - You "want"?
- I'd like you to drop the charges. - I'm dropping nothing.
- Now, if you'll excuse me... - Wait, Colonel.
Pierce is the best surgeon I've got.
What good's it gonna do to lock him up somewhere where he's no use to anyone?
If you'd discipline your men instead of coddling them...
that hothead would've known better than to attack a superior officer.
Bloodworth, there's nothing you can teach me about discipline or running a MASH.
Now, I want...
I'd like that man cleared of the charges.
Then get him a good lawyer. I'll see you in 24 hours.
Pierce shouldn't have pushed you. He should've decked you!
- How could I do such a dumb thing? - I give up. How?
You know what gets to me is I let him get to me. I actually pushed him.
- He just may have a case. - I'd say open and shut.
- You know, you'd make a hell of a witness for the prosecution. - You're gonna make a better one.
Isn't there some kind of legal thing about justifiable pushing?
Here, sir. Lieutenant Johnson asked me...
to give his flight jacket to you for saving his life.
- It's no big thing. - The collar's all wet.
Sorry, sir. I ran out of hankies.
I didn't want to come in here and cry in front of you. It's unmanly.
- Wanna talk about it, soldier? - It's my problem. I can handle it.
- He saw Danker. - Danker.
#We're strong for Toledo That's where the buckeyes all grow #
[Crying] # In any old weather we'll all stick together #
#In old T-O-L-E-D-O ##
- Menopause? - Toledo heartburn.
- Whose flight jacket? - Gift from a secret admirer.
- You have an admirer? - Lieutenant Johnson.
- The pilot I operated on? - I operated on him. You were under him.
Just a moment. I was the physician of record.
You merely assisted. Ergo, any remuneration is mine.
- What Socrates is trying to say is he wants the jacket. - I don't need a translator.
- I want the jacket. - Why don't you split the fee and give him the zipper?
- I'll give him a sleeve with my fist in it. - All right. Very well.
We'll let Colonel Potter decide.
I don't care if he goes to MacArthur. He's not getting this jacket.
Shut up about the stupid jacket!
You interrupted a Zane Grey gunfight because of a school yard spat over a jacket?
That jacket is rightfully mine!
Major, get your mind off collecting fees.
- This is the army, not Park Avenue. - This is Hell's Kitchen.
- See those boots? Picture them kicking you across the compound. - [Knocking]
- May I? - Sure. You know my hours: 11:00 p.m. To reveille.
- Well, perjury must have its day in court. - Approach the bench.
Colonel, I don't want anything as inconsequential as a jacket to come between Charles and me.
- Winchester, it's yours. - Hunnicutt, I misjudged you.
- You're a bigger man than I gave you credit for being. - Model it for us, will you?
- Of course. - Explain to me... Why am I here?
- It's too small. - I don't know. I kind of like it.
You knew this all the time. You tried it on out there.
It's only big enough for a pip-squeak.
- You mean like me? - Exactly. Not... exactly.
Colonel, you got yourself a jacket.
[Man On P.A.] Attention, all personnel. Ambulance in the compound. We've got wounded.
Case dismissed. Thanks for dropping by, Winchester. I'm gonna love this.
[Hawkeye] Get this guy into pre-op. Three units of whole blood.
[B.J.] This guy's out of the war. Sorry, son.
- [Hawkeye] A severe thoracic trauma back there. - [Potter] Shattered patella.
This guy's got a belly wound, but I don't think there's any penetration.
More pressure dressings up there.
This guy's got a skull fracture. Get him to pre-op, stat.
- [Potter] Bloodworth. - You take care of him. I think he'd rather have it that way.
- What happened, Colonel? - Hill 403 fell on me.
- How bad is it? - Not so bad. There are plenty of guys ahead of you.
- This is one time it's good to be at the end of the line. - [Hawkeye] This guy can wait.
Must be gratifying to you, Pierce. The grim reaper on his own list.
Come on. Let's get this skull fracture into pre-op.
- [Winchester] Just relax, Colonel. - Who is that?
You're in the very capable hands of Major Charles Emerson Winchester.
- Your humble surgeon. - Anyone but Pierce.
Don't worry. I wouldn't trade this private for all the colonels in Korea.
[Charles] Don't you worry, Colonel. I'll have you up and prosecuting in no time at all.
Charles, I'd stab you in the heart if you had one.
There it is. Ribs with a side of shrapnel.
Aren't you the lucky one, Colonel?
You're about to be spared the pain of Pierce's rapier wit.
That does it, Charles. It's hypodermics at 20 paces.
If I had a rubber glove, I'd slap you with it. You'll be my second.
Cut the dueling and do the cutting. Get on with it.
Sponges! Suction! Give me some retraction! I have to expose it.
- You need some help? - No. It's under control. I thought that shrapnel...
was just lying next to the artery, but Old Faithful tells me it penetrated.
All right, Colonel. I'm all yours.
Continue I.V.s and take his temperature every two hours...
and if he starts to bleed again, holler.
- I'll come running. - You better get some sleep. You've been here all night.
That's funny. It just seems like dusk to dawn.
Pierce, I wanna see ya.
- You in pain? - Never mind. I wanna talk to ya.
Oh, fine. What do you wanna talk about? Books? How 'bout Death Takes a Holiday?
- Don't you ever stop with the wisecracks? - Only long enough to make a joke.
Oh, boy, you're a pistol. I wanna talk to you, you make a joke.
The nurse asks you about your work, you make a joke.
You take shrapnel out of a kid's chest, you make a joke.
- Hopefully not the same joke. - There you go again.
What do you expect?
I spent the last 48 hours digging pieces of Hill 403...
out of kids whose biggest worry a week ago was how to cover a hickey.
Joking about it is the only way of opening my mouth without screaming.
[Grunts] I know. I've spent the last 48 hours watching you.
- It wasn't pretty, was it? - No, it wasn't.
That hill back there, where I got clobbered... all that screaming.
I'm used to screaming, but not from me.
In the ambulance bus, a kid died next to me.
Heard the rattle. I thought I was next. I'll never forget.
None of us will.
[Sighs Heavily] Pierce, a push in a barroom...
It just doesn't stack up against all that.
I, uh, can't see myself going ahead with the court-martial.
Well, I'm too tired to argue with you. You need to get your rest too.
Don't go away, Pierce. Let's see if we can settle this out of court.
- How are you, Colonel? - Better.
Good. Because if you proceed with this court-martial, you're in for a hell of a fight.
- Colonel, before you roll up... - Son, I'll handle this. Colonel, I've been soldiering 30 years...
- long enough to know a good surgeon... - The charges are dropped.
No matter how dim-witted or impulsive, is worth his weight in gold.
- Colonel, they're dropped. - What's dropped?
- The charges against Pierce. - They are?
- Yes. - Oh, well. That's different.
Thanks, Colonel. I knew you'd see it my way.
There, cowboy. Now you know what a little tact can do.
Uh-huh.
Mmm-mmm. Klinger, this is incredible.
Did I tell ya? Packo's Hungarian hot dogs are the pride ofToledo.
- Mmm. - I could kiss that Danker. First the matchbook, then this.
- Keep 'em comin'. - Try those chili peppers. They'll put hair on your tongue.
- Come on. - No, no, no. - What is that tantalizing odor?
- It ain't chopped liver. - Looks like you got enough to feed an army there.
- Here you are, sir. - Hawk, pass the relish, will you?
- Yeah. - Charles, would you open that for us?
- Thank you. - [All Moaning Ecstatically]
- It looks delicious. - [All Agreeing]
- Gentlemen, we're forgetting our guest. - Here you go.
- Charles, how does that look to you? - Wonderful.
- What do you want on it? - A touch of mustard.
- Touch of mustard. - Touch of mustard. Okay.
- Mmm. - Hmm?
- Mm-hmm. - Chopped with chili? What's this?
- [B.J.] Ample reward for opening a jar. - Your sophisticated palate...
is no match for this pedestrian swill!
- Besides, it's Hungarian. - Oh-ho-ho!
Charles, Charles, Charles.
- It's all yours. - Thank you.
- Not so fast. Save some for Margaret. - This is for Margaret.