All language subtitles for MASH.S10E09.Twas.the.Day.After.Christmas.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DD+2.0.H.264-AJP69_track3_[eng]

♪ Jingle bells,
jingle bells ♪

♪ Jingle all the way

♪ Oh, what fun
it is to ride ♪

Come on, everyone, sing!

♪ In a one-horse
open sleigh ♪

♪ Jingle bells,
jingle bells ♪

♪ Jingle all the way

Anybody else
for a vodka-sicle?

No, thanks.

Well, speaking for
the British contingent,

Sergeant Barnstable
and I have had
a smashing Christmas.

Thanks.
It's been a real hoot

breakin' bread
with you two.

Come back when
it's warmer.

Maybe we can break
the butter.

Last call for my
mouth-watering turkey!

A bird that gave its life

so that others
might be ill.

Merry Christmas
to you too, sir.

I didn't think
the dinner was so bad.

But then, I'm in
no condition to judge.

This is my fifth
powdered eggnog.

You better lay off.
Your stomach will
get powder burns.

Much obliged
for the gasoline,

or, uh, petrol,
as you boys like
to put it.

Should keep our
generators generating

till tomorrow's shipment.

Just consider it
our Christmas present.

Well, we'd best be off.

Yes, we don't want
to be late, do we?

After all, it's Boxing Day
tomorrow, isn't it?

Boxing Day?
Who's fighting?

Absolutely no one.

See, Klinger, in England,

a country of which you may
or may not have heard,

the day after Christmas
is called Boxing Day.

It is the custom
for the masters

and the servants
of the manor
to trade places.

And in the case
of the military,

the officers trade jobs
with the other ranks,

uh, your enlisted men,
for a day.

Hey, that's my kind
of tradition.

The only British tradition

that's harder to swallow
than mutton. No offense.

Does wonders for
the morale in our unit,

especially this time
of year

with the lads being
so far away from home.

From the long faces
I see around here,

you could do worse
than to consider
Boxing Day yourselves.

-Well, cheerio.
-Sergeant.

-Good luck, sir.
-Fantastic.

You know, Major, those
are the kind of ideas

that keep the sun from
setting on your umpire.

How quaint.
Well, thanks very much.

-Ta-ta.
-Ta.

-How about it, Colonel?
-I don't know.

I'm a little gun-shy
of any tradition that
hasn't been done before.

If I'm not overstepping
my underlingness,

what you're gun-shy of
is giving up

your cushy-tushy job.

Cushy-tushy,
my you-know-what.

I got the toughest job
in this whole camp.

Chock full of heavy
responsibilities,
big decisions.

Sure, like whether to nap
in your tent or your office

or whether
to read Zane Grey

or listen to Tex Ritter
records, or--

Or whether or not to bust
an insubordinate clerk.

Nothing personal, sir.

Would you boys

step over here
for a minute?

Come on. The weather
is better over here anyway.

-Sit down. Sit down.
-Thank you very much.

Klinger, there are those
who are meant to be led,

and there are those
who are meant to lead.

Which just goes to prove
that this Boxing Day idea
is absurd.

Is that so?

Of course.
Once the lower classes

have even a sniff
of the good life,

it's so hard to reconcile them
to their proper place again.

You know something,
Winchester?

Any idea you hate that bad

must be worth
serious consideration.

What do you boys think?

Trading places could be fun.

Trading places?

And a Christian gesture
at that.

Not unlike Christ washing the
feet of the apostles.

I'll trade places with
anybody who isn't sober.

I'm not washin'
anybody's feet.

One salient point
I think you've overlooked--

This is a medical unit.

Having a man from
the motor pool operate

on a patient could
be rather impractical.

Winchester, just how short
of smarts do you think I am?

We've got a Christmas truce on

and only a couple of patients
in post-op.

If you'll excuse me, doctor,

I'd like to get a couple
of other opinions

on this matter.

Folks, if you can hear me

over the sound
of your chattering teeth,

I'd like to ask you
a question.

It seems that the British
have a tradition

whereon the officers
trade places

with the enlisted personnel.

Now, how would you feel

if we did the very same thing

at the 4-0-double-7?

All opposed?

-Thank you.
-Well, folks,

I think you've made your
feelings pretty clear to me.

And so, as my Christmas
present to you, we'll do it.

As my last official act

as temporarily
deposed monarch,

I hereby appoint
Maxwell Q. Klinger

as official reigning
C.O. of the 4077,

which makes me
your new company clerk.

I can't believe you're
actually gonna trade
places with this jerk.

You heard these people.
This is gonna be great
for morale.

I think it's
a ridiculous idea.

Shh. We're about to hear
from the commanding jerk.

All right, listen up.
Listen up.

First of all,
I want to thank

our great and benevolent
former leader

for bestowing on me
the mantle of leadership.

I want all my loyal subjects
to be rest assured

that I will not let this
go to my head.

I will be fair but firm.

Enough of this baloney!

-So who's trading with who?
-Yeah!

Well, Colonel Corporal?

I'll have that decision,
uh, first thing in the morning.

Hey! I've made
my first decision!

Merry Boxing Day!
Rise and shiver!

Another fantasy interruptus.

I was just about to undo
the first snap on her parka.

Klinger's called
a meeting in my--

uh, his office
in 10 minutes.

A Winchester only recognizes
one 5:30 per day.

This is not it.

Klinger figures if he's
gonna be colonel for a day,

he wants the day to last
as long as possible.

I'm not goin' anywhere
until somebody

takes this tennis ball
out of my mouth.

We were all drunk.
You're not gonna hold us

to what we said last night.

It still is last night.

Sorry, boys,
but I gave my word.

This ain't no picnic
for me either, you know.

Last time I was up
this early,

it was to sit
on a milking stool

and grab me a handful
of Bossie.

If your fingers were
as cold as mine are now,

that cow would have
jumped over the moon.

Let's go, boys! Let's go!
Meeting in 10 minutes!

I'm sorry.
I know it's early,

but I wanted to get
a good jump on the day.

Up, up!

Now then, gentlemen,
I'm not gonna lie to you.

There's a war on.

Wake up, Hawk.
There's a war on.

So, gentlemen,

here are your assignments.

Your clipboard, sir.

Hey, I think
I'm gonna like this.

Thank you, Colonel.

Call me Corporal,
Colonel.

Thank you, Potter.

Now, we all know
what goof-offs

Doctors Pierce
and Hunnicutt can be

when they're together.

The man was born
to command.

And I think it would
be for the best

if you two were split up.

Former Captain Pierce,
you'll be an orderly

along with former
Father Mulcahy.

An orderly. That's a job
I can do in my sleep.

And I'm going to.

You'll both report

to current
head nurse Nakahara.

I'm sure she can use some help
with the cleanup detail.

Oh, nice. Godliness
will be next to cleanliness.

Former Captain Hunnicutt,

you will be on K.P.
with former Major Houlihan.

K.P.? I didn't
go into a kitchen
when I was married!

I'll watch.
You dry.

And that brings us

to Major Charles Emerson
Winchester, the private.

Yo.

As our resident gourmet
and lover of good food,

you will serve
as aide de chow

for our head cook,
Major Salvatore Pernelli.

Ah! This will be
a rare pleasure.

-Pleasure?
-For him.

This honor graduate

of the school
of Cordon Grease.

Let me get this straight.
I'll be commanding him?

-Exactly.
-Ah.

It'll be worth
a 24-hour demotion

if only to teach you

that soup is not
a solid object.

Gentlemen,
that's all I have.
Dismissed.

I have taken the liberty
of planning an evening repast

the likes of which

have never before crossed
your plebeian palate.

Can't wait.

Every course can be
made with ingredients

found in these pathetic
pantries.

The entree will be
chipped boeuf bourguignon.

How's that?

To you, chateaubriand
on a shingle.

Okay? Along with
potatoes Lyonnaise.

And for dessert, I'm
leaning toward a rhum baba.

-Mmm.
-You know what a rhum baba is?

Yeah, it's one of them
Desi Arnaz songs.

And you call yourself a chef.

No, I call myself a cook.
Chefs ain't got tattoos.

Now, if I may interrupt
your dinner menu-- --

in 20 minutes we're gonna
have company for breakfast--

Charlie company.

-You're the boss man.
-Thank you.

And I myself
have planned a menu--

oatmeal, eggs, toast.

Ah! The Triple Crown
of blah.

Keep your opinions to yourself
and bring me some eggs.

And exactly how many
will we be needing?

Two sacks.

You expect me to lug
these monstrosities

clear over to the stove?

Well, I'm reasonable.

If it'll make it any easier,

you can move the stove
to the eggs.

And after that we're gonna
need four sacks of oats.

Those are the big ones.

♪ Gloria

You know, it does a man's soul
good to do manual labor.

Is it sacrilegious
to beat up a priest
with a mop?

-Oh, orderlies.
-Mm-hmm?

Time to change the linens.

We just finished the floor
and vice versa.

What about breakfast?

Sorry, you'll have
your breakfast

right after
they have theirs.

Oh, of course.
How disorderly of me.

We'll start with Slater.

Don't worry, son.
We'll be careful.

Slater has nothing
to worry about.

I sewed a warranty
on his transverse colon.

Now, when changing sheets
with the patient in the bed,

the idea is to divide the bed
into two halves.

First they divide the country,
now the furniture.

What's takin' them
so long with the chow?

Maybe they're tryin'
to improve it with aging.

This keeps up,
Michelin's gonna take
away one of our stars.

It's not our fault!

We're still waiting
for the cook!

He probably ain't even
slaughtered the Spams yet.

You think they're steamed now?
Wait till they get the food.

Watch it.
You're sweating
in the oatmeal.

Who would know
the difference?

-Relax, Charles.

Tomorrow this'll
all be forgotten.

On the contrary.

I will have my truss
to remember it by.

One.

O-N-L...

Only one.

Y, space, O-P...

Damn!

Pretty good typing.

You're up to six "damns"
a minute.

Let's see how you're doin'
so far, soldier.

These DA-26s
are pretty simple.

"Requisition order,
4077 MUSH."

That was my first damn.

Eight letters,
seven of 'em right.

Not bad for an hour's work.

Don't worry about it, lad.

It took me a little while
to get the hang of it too.

-Where'd you get that?
-Out of my desk.

When you're through
with the requisitions

and the morning reports

and the casualty figures
and the duty rosters,

check on that shipment
of gasoline.

Sir, just one question.

Is this a normal day's work
for the company clerk?

-I'd have to admit, no.
-I thought so.

To make it
a normal day's work,

I'd have to add
running into Ouijongbu

for some oats
for the Colonel's horse.

Uh, thank you, sir.

And getting on the horn
to wheel and deal

for some cheroots
for the colonel's humidor.

That'll be all, Colonel.

When you get
your next word typed,

let me know,
I'll be in my office.

Hold all my calls,
unless it's MacArthur.

-Damn!
-Seven!

-How ya doin', Winchester?

-Splendidly.
-You look good.

Maybe you'd like
to dry your head.

No... 'kay.

Now that breakfast
has been served,

I thought
I'd go on back

to the Swamp
and relax a bit.

Relax? Lunch is comin' up.

You haven't even
scraped the grill,

scoured the pots,

or reamed out
the grease traps.

Don't you have someone
to do all that?

Today I do.

Say, I have an idea.

Since today's a holiday
and we're all so festive,

why don't we
have lunch catered?

You got a great sense of humor
for a working stiff.

Get busy while I'm
still so amused.

Right! Just get
that shipment out

as P.D.Q. as possible!

-Not bad.

You got the carbons in
backwards

on the motor pool
disbursements,

but I could read 'em
with the mirror.

I've just made up for that.

Pulled off a coup-de-scrounge

that even you'd be proud of.

We're next up
for gasoline delivery.

What'd it cost us?

Just 10 pounds
of peanut brittle.

What?

You know, the shipment
General Sawyer sent over

after we did the Caesarean
on his collie.

Do you have any idea
what the street value
of peanut brittle is?

In Tokyo, a half a pound
can buy you

eight hours of
top-of-the-line geisha.

Well, wouldn't you say that

keeping the lights burning
and the stove working

is just a little more
important

than satisfying
your sweet tooth?

True, we need gasoline
to keep us alive.

But gasoline is
a bush league finagle.

Two Archie comics
and a bag of Walnettos.

Next time, don't be
afraid to ask for help

when you're in
over your head.

♪ Gloria

♪In excelsis deo ♪

This country really knows
how to throw a winter.

I'm afraid you missed
a smudge there, Hawkeye.

The morning's almost
all shot.

Why don't we get it
first thing in July?

And why are you taking
this cleaning so seriously?

Look here, Hawkeye.
I am as much fun
as the next guy.

But this is a hospital,

and hospitals are supposed
to be clean.

You oughta know that.
You used to be a doctor.

Doctor,
I need to talk to you.

Remember,
I only do windows.

Slater is running
a temp of 102,

-and his hemoglobin is 10.
-Infection.

Get another C.B.C.
and start him on pen

and streptomycin
in the usual doses.

-Right.
-He's stable enough

to be transferred
to the 121st.

I'll see what's holding up
the chopper.

Uh, that is,
if it's okay, Major.

Don't tell me about snow.

I spent the winter
of'44 in the Ardennes.

Still got ice in my navel.

-Colonel?
-BOTH: Yes?

This requires
the genuine article.

I got a kid with a temperature
and a sinking hemoglobin.

I gotta get him
to the 121st

-before it gets any worse.
-Afraid not, Pierce.

Blizzard
just buried Seoul,

-and it's heading this way.
-Terrific.

They just told
me nothing's moving.

Only way a chopper's
gonna get out of there
is on a dog sled.

Oh, no.
The gasoline shipment.

Don't worry.
You'll still be able

to eat your peanut
brittle in the dark.

So what are we
gonna do now?

Well, Chief?

Gentlemen, I think...

we should first address
ourselves to what we know.

It's cold.

I got a boy in there
whose temperature
and hemoglobin

are having a tug-of-war.

If that should turn into
a full-blown hemorrhage

and then our lights go out,
so could his.

Why don't we address
ourselves to that,
gentlemen?

Don't get your knickers
in a twist, Pierce.

All we can do is sit tight

and try to maximize
our minimums.

We know we got two days'
supply of gasoline.

That'll buy us
a little time.

Thank goodness we've got
plenty of kerosene
for the heaters.

Of course,
I'm not saying anything

our C.O. here doesn't
already know himself.

Well, that goes
without saying.

Now, then, gentlemen,

it seems to me this is
just the kind of situation

when a good C.O.

turns to his company clerk
for suggestions.

Oh, no.
I would never presume.

Permission to presume,
Corporal.

First thing I'd do
is kill the generator

to make sure we have
enough fuel for emergency use.

-He's good.
-Let's hope so.

Of course, that leaves us
without refrigeration.

But then Mother Nature
is already giving us

all outdoors
as a deep freeze.

Last, I'd alert the kitchen

to go easy on the gasoline
for cooking

and to hand-pump the stoves.

You know, Potter, someday
you could make sergeant.

Thank you, sir.

This being an officer
ain't bad.

Yeah. It makes me sorry
I passed up

my appointment
to West Point.

It's times like this
I usually call the Auto Club.

It's not right!

When the mucky-mucks decide
to turn the freezer off,

they don't think
about us dogfaces

lugging the frozen
chicken wings outside.

All things considered,

we're a little better off
than the chickens.

I knew there was a hospital
around here someplace.

Back hurt?

And my front and my top
and my total bottom.

No, no, no!
I just made that bed!

Too late.

Oh, I sure hope peace
doesn't break out right now.

Jumping up would kill me.

How you doin'?

Well, the windows
are fine,

but I'm not doing
so well with Slater.

-Infection worse?
-No, it's under control.

But he's still bleeding
and his hemoglobin is nine.

-You gonna go back in?
-Not unless I have to.

Kellye, run another
hemoglobin on him

in a little while
and see how he's doin'.

Yes, doctor.

Aha! There you are!

If we're gonna
switch places,

you gotta be where
my place is.

Is it treason to refuse
to serve liver tartare?

It's the most noble thing
a man can do for his country.

-Dr. Corporal.
-I'm coming. I'm coming.

Well, I guess
I'll be getting up now.

How am I doin'?

-Colonel!

-Not now, Winchester.
-Colonel!

I've got it!
I'll burn all this paperwork

and claim I had to do it
to keep from freezing.

Sir!

Then I'll only have
to fill out

the "request permission
to burn paperwork" paperwork!

-Colonel!
-Let's come back later.

Only one man understands
this Daffy Duck system,

and he's been promoted.

Now, what are you
busting your buttons about?

Stated briefly
and with dispassion,

I have already prepared
two meals

for a mess tent full of
unappreciative simpletons.

And now the sergeant
of swill informs me

that I've got to pump up
the stove and cook dinner?

Let him do it! I want out!

Hold it. This is
a 24-hour deal,

-right?
-Right.

Well, my morale's only
two-thirds boosted.

Right, Colonel?

Oh, this is a toughy!

You need real wisdom
to handle this one.

Colonel Klinger!

What's all the racket?

Your C.O. can't get
a between-nap snooze.

Sorry, Colonel,
but Private Winchester here

has some prunes
in his poncho.

What seems to be the problem,
Winchester?

Is this a joke?

I refuse to take my case
to a lower species.

It's out of my hands,
Private.

Very well.

If I am to continue
this Boxing Day Kinderspiel,

I refuse to do so
under the command

of this itinerant lardmeister.

Major, I'm afraid
I don't quite understand.

What don't you
quite understand?

Everything after "very well."

Either he goes or I go.

Gee, well, I don't know.

This is the kind of decision

that's beneath a C.O.
to even think about.

Oh, contrary!

This is exactly
the kind of decision

a C.O. has to make every day.

Well, I don't care!

I hereby turn in my spatula
to whoever is in command here.

Not on your life,
Private.

I really could use
your help.

I had a feeling
it might come to that.

Now you'll see why
a good commander needs
so many naps.

Winchester, we're having
this Operation Boxing Day

because we needed
to boost morale.

And it seems
to be working fine,

except for one fly
in the ointment.

So buzz off!

Well, my morale
is at an all-time low.

And that is from a man
who has endured

four F.D.R. elections!

Well, if the rest of us
can get through

what remains of this day,
you sure can.

Now, why don't you get
back to that kitchen,

suck it up,
and pump it up!

And I want you to give him
the respect he deserves.

Yeah!

Well, never mind.
Just treat him nice.

Don't worry, Colonel.

I wouldn't interfere with
genius and his gourmet meal.

Well, well!
What do you got
in mind, Winchester?

We gonna live high
on the hog?

Only if the hog is in a can.

Thank you, Potter.

Klinger, we need you.

Me as me, or me as him?

-You as you.
-Oh, what a relief.

-Because that's who I am.
-Crank up the generator.

We need lights
in the O.R. Colonel?

He's spiked a temperature,
Colonel, 105.

And he's bleeding
into his belly.

Did you knock out
the infection?

Yeah.

What the hell
is causing this fever?

How'd he look
when he came in?

I didn't notice much
besides the hole
in his belly.

In fact, that's about
all there was of him.

Kid's thinner than 3.2 beer.

He is skinny,
and his heart's
goin' like crazy.

Maybe when you operated
on his wound,

you lit the fuse
on his thyroid.

Thyroid storm!

Bingo. A goiter.

Start a sodium iodide I.V.,
stat.

Get a gurney.

We've gotta go in right away
stop the bleeding,

or we'll be curing
that thyroid posthumously.

He'll never make it
through surgery with
that high a temp.

Empty the freezer.
We gotta ice him down
like a martini.

-There's no ice.
-We lost refrigeration

when we cut the generator.

You prep.
We'll try to push

the down button
on his temperature.

Where the hell is that
snow they promised?

♪ Gloria in excelsis--

-We've got an emergency.
-Can I help?

You may be the only one
who can, Father.

Why is it so hot in here?

Because it was
so cold in here.

Well, kill the heater.

The last thing
we need now is heat.

How about this, Beej?
Only in Korea, huh?

There I was mopping floors,

washing windows,
making beds.

A talent scout sees me
changing bed pans,

and, poof, I'm doing
abdominal surgery.

Now get out there
and knock 'em alive!

We're ready for you, doctors.

I need some more alcohol.

-Is he under?
-He's under.

-What's the temperature?
-104.

Damn it.
It's still too high.

I need a scalpel.

Shouldn't we wait
until he cools down?

Yep.

Forgive me, Father,

but I'm gonna get rid
of the smudges for you.

Okay, now let's go.

Get those doors open
and get some ventilation
in here.

Let's go. It's gonna be a
little cool in here for us,

but Slater can live
with it.

There's our snow, Pierce.

I was right there
in the O .R.,

and it never even occurred
to me to turn off the heat.

But it was the first thing
you noticed.

Flattery will get you
nowhere, Kellye.

Oh, all I want is
48 hours in Seoul.

Well, son, the next time

I dig in the spurs
a little too deep on you,

all you gotta do
is remind me

of the troubles
I had doin' your job.

You can count on it, sir.

But only the next time.
Then forget it!

-How's Slater?
-He's fine,

but I've got pneumonia.

-How are the pancakes?
-Same as usual.

If the weather holds,

we're gonna use 'em
as hockey pucks.

Actually, you know,
they're not so bad.