Original subtitles

If it gets any darker in here,

we won't have to go to your place.

CHARLES: Now this one's going.

POTTER: Klinger, a light bulb, on the double.

If I can find my way outta here, sir.

-Ouch! -Gelfoam.

Easy on the Gelfoam, troops. We're running low.

We're running low on everything but customers.

Colonel, did those buffoons at headquarters give you

any reason why the supplies are late?

Yes, they said there's a war on.

There is? I can't see it.

I think they should call it on account of darkness.

That's subtracting some light from the subject.

Somebody must have shut the refrigerator door.

These are the most deplorable conditions I have ever seen.

I would operate in Braille if my fingers weren't frozen.

Sorry, Charles, we're all out of fur-lined rubber gloves.

Not to mention the chinchilla shorts.

A pity we are not out of juvenile prattle.

Sorry, I got carried away.

HAWKEYE: I'd like to get carried away to somplace warm.

-Got one, sir! Ow!

Klinger, in this light, you look just like Boris Karloff's sister.

Thank you, sir.

Where'd you get the bulb, Klinger?

From one of the tents, Colonel.

Good man. Somebody will just have to skip

writing home tonight.

Hope Mrs. Potter doesn't mind.

Oh, swell! What happened to rank has its privilege?

It went out with the bulb, sir.

-4.0 silk. -We're out.

-3.0 silk. -Out.

Well, what have you got?

Klinger's sewing kit.

All right, let me have some thread.

Anything in white. Hold the sequins.

Sorry, sir, the lab needs a bulb in a hurry.

Just a moment, Klinger.

Haven't I exhausted my quota of sacrifices for the day?

-Take his bulb. -Oh, of course.

We wouldn't want to inconvenience you.

After all, a man of your delicate sensibilities

can't be expected to function under deplorable conditions.

Please, take this one. Yes.

-Just a moment, Klinger. -Make up your mind, sir.

This climbing is murder on my hose.

Pierce, I hope you're not suggesting for a moment

that you're a better doctor than I am

under deplorable conditions.

No, just that your attitude is deplorable

under any conditions.

If that is a gauntlet you have just thrown down,

I take it up with relish.

One gauntlet with relish,

hold the mustard and onions.

Klinger, take my bulb.

-Do I hear a rebuttal? -Klinger.

He's captain, I'm a major, that's an order.

I'm a corporal, this is a ladder...

and that's the bulb.

MAN : Attention, all personnel.

Attention. Supply truck now in the compound.

-The supplies have arrived, Colonel. -Glory be!

I don't claim to know much about fashion, Klinger

but you look like the dog's dinner.

You try and color coordinate in the dark.

Ah. You, madam, if you can guess what this is

you win a lifetime supply of anchovy sherbet.

That's an ice cream churn.

Please, no prompting from the studio audience.

Those bird-brains. Talk about coals to Newcastle.

MULCAHY: At least coal we could burn.

Where are the light bulbs?

No light bulbs,

also no bandages, no Gelfoam,

no sutures, and no heating oil.

-No kidding. -What's in all the crates?

Salt tablets, mosquito netting, insect repellent,

probably a thousand gallons of suntan lotion.

Peachy. You realize somewhere in the tropics, an outfit has just opened

several crates of parkas, snow boots, and light bulbs.

Ship me there, sir. I'll get to the bottom of it.

-Freeze. -That's what I'm doing.

Driver, what ignoramus is responsible for this?

Any one of a dozen, sir. Would you mind signing this, please?

Sign nothing. We can't use any of this, Sergeant.

-It's all yours now. -Mule fritters!

You've got to haul it back to H.Q.

I'm sorry, Colonel. I'm not authorized for returns.

Would you sign this, please? I'm overdue at the 8063.

Let them get their inflatable pool

and swim fins an hour later.

Didn't you wonder why you were delivering ice cream churns

to a MASH unit in the middle of winter?

Yeah, I used to wonder about stuff like that,

but it was keeping me up nights,

giving me worry lines, so I cut it out.

-Very wise. -You know, Colonel, if I was you,

I would try and look on the bright side.

-There's a bright side? -Oh, yeah.

Summer is just six months away.

Ah, there's something we can use-- an empty mailbag.

Wrong, sir. There's a package in it.

-It's for you. -For me?

-Finally, an air conditioner. -No, it's a book.

-A book? -Yeah.

You mean a real book,

between covers, with words and everything?

I wonder if I still know how to read.

It's a mystery. The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.

"Another brain-teasing, spine-chilling whodunit

from the prize-winning pen of Abigail Porterfield."

-Dibs! Me next! -Come on, B.J.!

-Finally! -I beg your pardon?

It took you six minutes and three decks of cards to read that page.

Two pages, one on this side, one on that side.

That still comes out to 78 cards a page.

Nobody reads that slow.

I'm not reading, I'm savoring.

Savor faster. I'm desperate.

I'd trade my soul for a laundry list.

Go over to the mess tent, read the alphabet soup.

How would you like a club in the mouth?

Relax, I'll be finished with this, Tuesday latest.

-Tuesday? -Wednesday?

Look, I'm sitting here reading your shoe size--

and not believing it, I might add.

I'll never make it till Tuesday.

Hunnicut, what page you on?

-21. -21?

At the rate you read,

the murderer would have escaped to Venezuela by now.

Give him a break. It doesn't have pictures.

I could let Charles read it first, you know.

Beej, I'm begging you.

Here, chapter one.

Ho, ho, ho!

Reading!

This just might be better than sex.

Certainly takes longer around here.

How would you know?

Charles, please, I'm savoring.

Here, read a shoe.

Thank you.

"A sleepy spaniel ambled across the lawn

past the gardener dozing on his rake."

This is so exciting.

You don't understand!

We're running out of everything!

Somebody cut up my best petticoat to make bandages!

The colonel wants to know when do we get our supplies.

That's not good enough, bimbo.

Oh, yeah? Well, don't be surprised if you wake up

at the bottom of the Yalu River wearing a cement kimono.

Same to you, fish bait!

♪ When the lights go out again ♪

♪ All over the world

-Ow! Wow!

Open-toed shoes! Oh! Oh!

-Who's there? -It's Charles.

Oh, I'm busy, Major. What is it?

Are you too busy for chapter three of

The Rooster Crowed at Midnight?

No, no! Come in!

Whew.

Brought this over just as soon as I was finished.

-How sweet. Thank you. -Not at all.

It's going to difficult to read in this light.

Would you like me to read aloud to you?

-No, no. -No trouble at all, Margaret.

The Winchesters have always had extraordinary eyesight.

Particularly at night. I can see a cat before he sees me.

-I'll be happy to.

Of course. Here.

Well, all right.

Here.

"Chapter three, The Rooster Crowed at Midnight,

Abigail Porterfield."

Yes.

"As the wind howled through the stately old elms,

"Jessica's heart ached with longing for the young Randolph.

"She could best be described as a prize thoroughbred--

"swift, hot-blooded,

and highly responsive to the whip."

"And yet Randolph was her equal and a raging stallion.

"To call him merely virile

"would be to damn with faint praise.

"Jessica remembered that exciting interlude in his garden

"when he suddenly appeared through the hedge.

"'Wench, you make my blood boil', he whispered--

"He whispered passionately.

"'Ever since I first laid eyes on your silken limbs

"'and your ripe, golden bosom, I vowed to make you mine'.

"Jessica knew in her woman's heart that if it weren't

"for Lord Cheevers' cold-blooded murder

"she would at this very moment be standing before the panting Randolph,

"her flimsy black negligee in tatters,

"her nakedness a golden tinted paradise,

illuminated only by flickering candlelight."

That's just amazing

How much heat one of those things can give off.

Yes, it's amazing.

"Rendering unto this towering Caesar of the maiden's boudoir,

-that which is rightfully Caesar's--" -Major!

"in her mind's eye, Jessica saw him aflame with passion."

-Major! -"Unable to bridle his all-consuming lust,

he moved toward her nearer and nearer--"

-Major, stop! -What?

I'll read the rest myself.

But I'm not finished.

Oh, yes, you are.

But, Major, she's unbridled.

I think you'd better get dressed and leave.

-Dressed? -Your scarf, Major.

Hmm?

Oh.

Of course.

Good night, Charles.

Good night, Jessica.

Margaret.

Margaret.

What bozo got beet juice on page 42?

Are you sure it's beet juice?

What else could it be?

Well, since we don't get borscht,

even on Misha Auer's birthday, my guess is blood.

-No! -Guess isn't blood?

Oh, this is horrible. The last page is missing.

-You better be kidding, fella. -No, I'm not kidding.

Here. Look for yourself.

"A hush fell over the drawing room

"as Inspector Langley casually lit his pipe

"and announced, 'I can now disclose the identity

"'of the murderer.

The killer's name is--'"

It's that blasted Langley's fault.

If he didn't stop to light his pipe, we'd know who did it.

Okay, okay, hold it.

Don't panic. I've read hundreds of these things.

I had it figured out 40 pages ago.

Okay, Sherlock, who done it?

Elementary, Watson.

The murderer is...

the Reverend Homer Butterfield.

Holy Toledo!

How are we going to tell Father Mulcahy?

I gotta have proof, gumshoe.

He's not a real reverend.

Don't you remember how confused

he became on Scriptures the day of the fox hunt?

That was after he fell off the horse.

-Besides, he's nearly 90.

-He says he's nearly 90. -Aha!

But can you expect the truth from a madman

who's already killed 11 people, two pigs, and a canary?

Nurse?

I've a man in pain here.

I'll be there in a minute.

She'll be here in a minute.

It's a miracle any of you patients survive here.

I have to do it myself.

The nurses are insubordinate.

The doctors are lunatics.

It was never like this at Boston general.

Nurse?

-Nurse! -What's the matter?

Well, uh, this man was in pain.

I just gave him an injection of morphine.

Now he's hardly breathing.

There's a pulse, just barely.

-This is what you gave him? -Yes.

This is curare. Didn't you read the bottle?

Well, uh...

Oh, God. Bigelow, give me an ambu bag.

Kellye, prostigmin and entropine fast.

How was I supposed to know that was pure curare?

He's completely paralyzed. Move.

It's dark over there. This could happen to anyone.

Damn it. Charles. Will you stop worrying about yourself

and think about your patients?

I am, for heaven's sake.

You think I want this poor man to die?

It would be the worst thing that ever happened to me.

He's starting to breathe on his own.

His pulse is stronger.

He's going to make it. Nice going, Hawk.

-Beautiful job. -Anytime you need a masseur,

you bring the towels, I'll bring the rubbing alcohol.

All right, the excitement's over.

Let's get back to work.

I guess we're being dismissed.

Major Disaster has it under control.

Winchester, does your immense vocabulary

include the words "Thank you"?

Hunnicut, let's not get maudlin.

Bringing a dead man back to life is a class act.

Deserves some appreciation.

What makes you think that would have died?

Well, for openers, he was paralyzed and couldn't breathe.

Hunnicut, a few facts--

A: any first-year medical student

knows how to resuscitate a patient,

B: I know what you're thinking,

and C: it wasn't even my fault.

Who speared this guy with curare, a passing pygmy?

Hunnicut, I was goaded into relinquishing that light bulb.

If you'd only open your eyes, you'd see how dark it is here.

A: Less light is no excuse,

B: I know what you're going to say,

and C: if you say it,

you'll wake up in fat lip, Arizona.

I still don't buy your solution to the murder.

Reverend Butterfield was like a father to me.

Is anybody interested in a woman's opinion?

Interested? I could bite one in half.

The murderer has to be Lady Penelope.

The woman's scorned.

I knew a lady named Penelope once.

Everybody called her Penny.

Actually, I thought she was worth a lot more.

I agree with B.J.-- Reverend Butterfield did it.

-No, he didn't. -No, he didn't.

I completely forgot about Lord Armbruster's nephew Randolph.

I knew an Armbruster once. She had a--

Will you shut up? Go on, B.J.

It couldn't have been Reverend Butterfield.

You recall, he set sail from Australia

and didn't dock in Southampton

until two days after the murder.

Maybe he jumped ship.

And swam the last 500 miles?

Therefore, it had to be the nephew Randolph. He had motive.

He was in love with Cheevers' mistress.

But how did Randolph get into the locked library?

Ah, back to you, Sherlock.

Through the secret panel behind the bookcase.

-Come on. -You're just not used to deductive reasoning.

Randolph played in Huntley manor as a child.

Therefore, if there had been a secret panel in the bookcase, he'd have known about it.

Plus there was insanity in the family.

That's the part I like best.

-Case closed. -That's using the old brainpan.

Now if you could only solve the case of the short supplies.

Yeah, but hurry. The electric light bulb is becoming

a filament of my imagination.

-B.J.? -Yo.

It couldn't have been the nephew Randolph.

Why not?

Randolph suffered from vertigo.

He got dizzy if he stood on his toes.

So?

So he never could have climbed out on the roof

and dropped the gargoyle on Sir Winslow.

-You're right. -HAWKEYE: I told you it wasn't Randolph.

It had to be Maurice, the French accountant.

How you feeling?

Alive, they tell me, thanks to you.

My press agent gets ten percent of all of this.

What military madness brought you here?

I was out on patrol.

On the way back to my company,

I found another man's footprints in the snow.

That's good, you know. You walk in his tracks,

and you're safe from the mines.

Then the footprints stopped.

Stopped? What do you mean?

Where the snow turned to slush.

I stood there a while in his last clear step.

I was afraid to move.

But it was so cold,

anything had to be better

than standing there freezing to death.

I was wrong.

I took one, maybe two steps.

That was it.

Better get some sleep.

Thanks, Doc.

Well, Pierce?

Not one witticism about the criminal

returning to the scene of the crime?

Not that, uh...

not that you wouldn't be somewhat justified.

Look, I admit that what I did to that boy

-is totally inexcusable. -Uh-huh.

Well, perhaps not totally.

After all, I had been in surgery for 14 straight hours,

and it was dark in there,

but is that any excuse for misreading a label?

I said, is that any excuse for misreading a label?

Not really.

Look, if that man had died,

his blood would be on my hands.

But at least acknowledge that it takes a courageous man

to admit it when he's wrong.

You might at least say something.

What do you want from me?

At the moment, simple acknowledgement.

Look, Winchester, if you want to vacuum your conscience,

why don't you go see Father Mulcahy?

He's offering absolution right around the corner.

Why are you so unfeeling about my feelings?

I don't give a damn about your feelings.

A man almost dies, and all you can think about is how it affects you.

-Only you! -Now just a minute.

You know why you can't work in the dark?

There's no limelight. Without an audience,

a patient means nothing to you. You just don't care.

Care enough to be brilliant at what I do.

Okay, yeah, fine.

Technically, you're among the best around.

Ah! Now we're getting somewhere.

But if I were hurt,

I'd want Hunnicut or Potter to work on me.

But if you say I'm that good--

They'd bust a gut to save a life.

You wouldn't even work up a good sweat.

I was sweating when I saved that boy's life with my scalpel.

You didn't start to sweat

until after you'd used the hypodermic.

Envy, isn't it, Pierce?

Envy, huh?

It's envy. I saw it at the beginning.

You envy my skill, my expertise...

All I envy is your chutzpa.

Don't you spit at me!

You sanctimonious, back bait--

That's enough! Do you deny calling me a superior surgeon?

Not quite. I called you a superior sturgeon.

You're the biggest lox in Korea.

Will you forget about him? I finally found the solution

to The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.

-Charles did it. -Stop already.

This time I've really solved it.

I've had enough of your deductive reasoning.

All right, I admit some of my deduces were wild,

but no more guesses.

This time we go straight to the source.

We're being transferred to Huntley Manor?

I'll need new boots for the moors.

All we have to do is call the author.

According to the jacket blurb,

Abigail Porterfield has been living

in Sydney, Australia, for the past 60 years.

60 years? How old is she?

-97. -We better hurry.

Miss Porterfield?

She's alive!

Miss Porterfield, my name is B.J. Hunnicut.

I'm a doctor serving with the U.S. Army in Korea.

No, no, I've never met Dr. Sun Yat-Sen.

Well, because he's Chinese,

and he died over 30 years ago.

Yes, ma'am, it's a tragedy.

Oh, Miss Po...

No, I wouldn't know where to send flowers.

She's not getting any younger.

Don't keep us in suspenders. Ask her who did it.

Miss Porterfield, we've all been enjoying your book,

The Rooster Crowed at Midnightvery much.

Who's the murderer?

Yes, ma'am, your book, The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.

But our copy of the book is missing the last page,

and we were wondering if you'd pass on the solution to us.

-Don't say "pass on." -Quiet.

The American dentist?

-Oh, right. -Hallelujah.

Ma'am, there's no American dentist in the book.

Oh, not so right.

Yes, I'm sure of it.

This one takes place at Huntley Manor, remember?

11 people are murdered, starting with old man Cheevers?

Yes, yes, yes, that's the one.

The Rooster Crowed at Midnight,right.

Uh-huh.

Oh, really?

Really? Why?

Who? Who?

-Really? -Who is it?

-Why did he do it? -Come on.

Uh-huh.

I get-- oh, that's terr--

Thank you very much.

Thank you very much, Miss Porterfield.

It's been terrific talk--

No, no, ma'am.

No, ma'am, I've never met Pearl Buck, either.

Thank you, Miss Porterfield.

Listen, you take care of yourself. Yeah, please. Bye.

Who? Who? Who?

Mr. Cheevers' stepson Avery Updike.

I knew he wasn't the loving offspring he pretended to be.

You're right, sir. His eyes were too close together.

-That's a good motive. -It was the will.

He was going to eliminate everyone that stood

between him and the inheritance.

How was he going to kill 35 people?

-Easy-- send them to Korea. -Okay, we got that settled.

Now, if you can find your way to the door, scram.

And, Hunnicut, next time

you get a book, rip out all the pages.

Avery Updike, huh?

KLINGER: Hey, we know who done it!

The winning murderer is... Avery Updike.

-Who's Avery Updike? -The evil stepson.

What was his motive?

I'll come over later and explain it in detail.

I know your motive. What was his?

MAN : Attention, all personnel.

Here we go again, folks.

Supply truck in the compound.

What will it be this time?

Pith helmets and Bermuda shorts?

Or the latest in submarine wear?

Your guess is as good as theirs.

I'm sorry, fellas.

There's been a terrible mistake.

You got everything you asked for.

KLINGER: Gauze pads, rubber gloves,

boxes and boxes of sutures.

-We're a hospital again!

No light bulbs?

Let there be light bulbs.

You want light bulbs? You got 600 of them.

You know, there's a broken heart for every one of these.

: Attention. Colonel Potter speaking.

I hate to put a damper on your supply party,

but I've got bad news for you.

Avery Updike couldn't possibly have killed Sir Winslow.

-What? -He was locked in the linen closet with Jessica

when Winslow was beaned with the gargoyle.

Sorry, troops.

You know something? He's right.

Who did do it, then?

All right, I confess.

I did it and I'm glad.

I hated Sir Winslow. I hated them all.

I don't even remember their names, but I hated them anyway.

What about the two pigs?

I killed the pigs because they were going to squeal.

-And the canary? -He was going to sing.

He's mad, you know?

Yes, mad, mad, mad, mad, mad!

Yeah, you want to sign this, sir?

Yeah, sure. Thank you.

Bye-bye. Now, where was I?

Oh, yes-- Mad!

I got Sir Winslow first, and now you're next.

I'm going to nosh on your neck,

strangle your lips, chew on your ears,

and then we'll have some fun.

Would you like me to finish that, sir?

Thank you. No, I can manage.

How's that feel?

Well, it's still in one piece.

-Pierce? -Uh-huh?

Pierce, I've been thinking about what you said yesterday,

and I must agree...

You do have a point.

Perhaps I am more involved with my own problems

than with those of my patients,

but I assure you, from here on out

they will receive my constant and undivided attention.

Charles, you convinced me.

You certainly are attached to your patients.

You think you can find your way back?

Hmm?

Nurse, would you take care of this, please?