All language subtitles for MASH.S10E12.Blood.and.Guts.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DD+2.0.H.264-AJP69_track3_[eng]

-Come on in, Klinger.

Yes, I know. I didn't
sign the morning reports.

Sir, it'd be easier
if you remembered to sign them

instead of remembering you
didn't sign them.

I'll remember that.

Wow! Look at you.

You must have dunked your
whole head in brilliantine,

to say nothing
of your shoes.

Just spiffed up a tad.
We've got company coming.

Don't I know it,
Your Beau Brummellness.

Boy, why would Clayton Kibbee
want to come here?

-Maybe he wants to
write about us.
-Gee, you think so?

-Wouldn't that be somethin'?
-Why, I can remember

reading Kibbee's "Report
From the Front" during
World War II.

Made it almost
like being there.

Of course, I was.

What a day for us.
I haven't been this excited

since Andy Varipapa
came to Toledo

for a trick bowling
exhibition.

-You met Andy Varipapa?
-Met him?

-He gave me an autographed
copy of his biography

-"Life Is a 7-10 Split."

Uh-oh. Must be Kibbee.
He's early.

How do I look?

Like Cesar Romero
on a rainy day.

Good.
Mildred likes him.

Now let's roll out
the red tarp.

Thank you, son.

It's been a long time
since I sat

behind the wheel
of one of these things.

Check the timing.
I think the engine
was missing

when we flew over
that last hill.

Mr. Kibbee?
Welcome to MASH 4077.

I'm Colonel Sherman T. Potter,
C.O. hereabouts.

How do you do, Colonel?
And just call me Clay.

Oh. Well, thanks, Clay.

-You can call me Sherman.

Oh, uh, this is
Corporal Maxwell Klinger,
our company clerk.

Sir, it's an honor.

Oh, that's Clay
to you too, son.

Wow. You're even nicer
than Mr. Varipapa.

You've had a long trip.
If you like,

Corporal Klinger can
show you to your quarters.

Fine. But I think first
we ought to get some
of my stuff on ice.

Oh, what do you got
in the hamper?

Six pints of blood

donated by some of my
loyal readers back home.

I thought it'd make
a good story, you know,

follow each bottle from
John Q. Public to G.I. Joe.

One six-pack
on the rocks comin' up,

and I'll put your suitcase
in the V.I.P. Tent.

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho,
that's for V.I.P.'s.

I thought, since I was
doin' a medical story

that I'd like to bunk
with some of the doctors.

Do you suppose they'd mind?

Well, I'm sure it's all right.
Well, why don't we ask 'em?

They're probably
in the Mess Tent.

I'll bet you'd love
a good breakfast about now.

I sure would, but I'll settle
for what you folks eat.

-These biscuits are
as hard as golf balls.
-And guaranteed not to slice.

Who'd have thought I'd have
a chance to meet a legend
like Clayton Kibbee...

-in a place like this?
-It seems only apropos.
After all...

the man is the consummate war
correspondent,

not to mention
the ultimate sportsman...

-confidant of kings...
-And so manly and rugged
and virile.

Remember, Margaret,
it's not nice to drool
on the first date.

And this motley crew
is the heart of a crack
medical team.

Folks, I'd like you
to meet Clayton Kibbee,

or Clay, as I like
to call him.

And this vision
of loveliness is...

-POTTER:
Major Margaret Houlihan.
-How do you do?

Margaret, it's a great
pleasure to meet you.

It certainly is.

He couldn't have
said it better himself.

Mr. Kibbee, B.J. Hunnicutt.
It's a pleasure to meet you.

As a kid, I lost
some of my innocence
reading your stories.

Ha! Well, I lost
all mine writing 'em,

and call me Clay.

Clay, Charles Emerson
Winchester III.

I've been reading your work
since I was yay high.

Well, that makes one of
us very old, Charles...

or can I call you Chuck?

Uh, you c-can.
Gee, I wish you wouldn't.

I'm Hawkeye.
I'm illiterate,

but B.J. reads
to me every night.

-Hiya, Hawkeye.
-How long are you gonna be
around, Clay?

Oh, just long enough
to finish my job.

While you're
patchin' up these soldiers,
I'm gonna write about it.

Clay is doin' a follow-up
for his readers on six pints
of blood they've donated.

-What a marvelous idea.
-I think so. It'll let
the folks back home

feel more involved
in this campaign, and
they'll donate more blood.

Listen, boys.
Clay thought he'd like to get
his medical info firsthand.

Okay if he bunks with you guys?

-Sure.
-As long as my snoring
is off the record.

I'd consider it a welcome
respite to share my tent

with someone who
actually appreciates
the finer things of life.

Ah, you betcha. And tonight,
you can all help me appreciate

a bottle of tequila
I picked up in Juarez.

It'll knock the clocks
right off your socks.

A man after my own liver.

Tequila. Heh, heh.
Oh, bueno.

And when that's all gone,
you'll love our bathtub gin.

It leaves a ring
around your throat.

-Oh!
-Come on.
Wanna see where we live?

Looks like work before play.

What's up?
Somebody run a light?

I found him
on the side of the road.

Both him and the motorcycle
got beat up pretty bad.

-How is he?
-Compound fracture, abrasions
and who knows what else.

-Goldman, get a litter.
-On its way, Doc.

What do you want me to do
with this heap?

Heap?
This old beauty?

Do me a favor.
Leave it here.

All you motorcycle nuts
are nuts.

This bike is a classic.
These and Sherman tanks

were the most important
vehicles in World War II.

-And the bikes were tougher.
-Is he gonna need blood?

Yeah, I think so.
Looks like you got
your first customer.

I guess I'm not much of
a motorcycle rider, huh, Doc?

Your riding's okay.
You gotta work on
your falling down.

Where'd you get
that bike, anyway?

I swapped a Korean
10 parkas for it.

Those things
are great hill climbers.

Very big on
the race circuit.

It's in pretty bad shape,
but you might be able
to fix it up.

Doc, I don't want anything
more to do with it.

-Are you kidding?
-Hey, that motorcycle
almost killed me.

Tell you what, I'll be happy
to take it off your hands.
How much you want for it?

It's on the house.
Consider it my thanks
for your help.

If you can fix it up,
more power to ya.

Great. Everybody
should have a hobby.

By the way, yours
should be resting.

What's the prognosis?

I predict complete recovery
if the carburetor isn't shot.

Uh, McKegney's
gonna be fine too.

-Hi, Doc.
-Greetings.

As winner of our falling
off the motorcycle contest,

you've earned a free interview
with Clayton Kibbee.

-How are ya, son?
-The Clayton Kibbee?

Shoot.
I've read your stuff.

Well, how come you
wanna talk to me?

Well, the blood you
just got was donated by
my readers back home.

I want them to know
what a fine young man you are.

-Who, me?
-Bet your buttons.

Hey, you've just
received a wound in
the service of your country.

That's news.
I wanna hear all about it!

Now what kind of
a mission were you on?

-Well, my C.O. wanted some
papers sent up to H.Q.
-Uh-huh.

I thought it would be fun
to take my bike for a spin,
so I volunteered.

And you went
into a dangerous area?

Heh, are you kiddin'?

If that area hadn't
been secured, I wouldn't
have volunteered.

Well, how did you get injured?
A sniper, infiltrator?

No. I hit a rock, and the bike
came down with me under it.

-Oh.
-Sorry, kid.

Sounds like the only place
for this story is in
Popular Pratfalls.

Don't worry.
I'll do somethin' with it.
What's your full name?

Thomas Anthony McKegney.

And will you mention
I'm from Livingston, Texas?

Yeah. Sure. You betcha.

Well, thank you, Thomas.
Good luck to ya.

-Hang in there, soldier.

So, uh, what's
the headline gonna be?

"I Was a Klutz
behind Friendly Lines"?

Hawkeye.

Ah, would you
excuse me for one second?

Uh, it's, uh,
a call to the wild.

Why, sure. Good luck.

Ah, Lieutenant Lacey.
No doubt curious about tonight.

I got it all planned.
We'll meet at the Motor Pool

at 8:00 and drive
each other crazy.

-Hawkeye, I'm afraid
I can't make it.
-Can't make it?

No. I'm gonna have to
take a rain check.

Your lips tell me "No, no,"
but there's "Please, please"
in my eyes.

I'm sorry, but Clay
invited me to have a drink
with him this evening.

Clay?

A drink?
Of what, prune juice?

Hawkeye, I figured
you'd understand.

I can go out
with you anytime.

Clay is only gonna be here
for a few days.

He is so charming.
He's known so many
famous people.

Oh, I know,
like Grover Cleveland,
Voltaire, Pocahontas.

-Don't tell me you're jealous.
-Jealous?

Please, I won't even dignify
that with a comment.

-Oh. Hoo!
-Marco Polo, Galileo,
Rasputin.

Does it say anything in there
about distributor points?

It's no use. These manuals
don't say anything

about choppers
except the ones that fly.

Well, you can close
the book on this motorcycle.
Stupid points.

Gentlemen,
it's a beautiful evening.
Why aren't you enjoying it?

Eh, this heap.
I fixed the gas tank,

trued the wheels,
jerry-rigged the clutch.

but it needs points.

I haven't noticed
an all-night parts store
in the neighborhood.

Looks like this is
one Indian that's headed for
the happy hunting ground.

An Indian Scout.
I rode one of those covering
the march into Berlin.

-Boy, was it fast.
-I'll bet.

-Had the same problem too.
The points were shot.
-No kiddin'?

Yeah. But I got
my story in on time.

-Had a little trouble
with the M.P.s.
-Tagged for speeding, huh?

No. They couldn't catch me.
Their jeep wouldn't start.

Seems they were missing
some distributor points.

-You see, this thing uses
the same kind.
-Klinger...

-Consider them kiped, sir.
-Now on your way, Klinger

would you try and reach
the press train at Munsan?

-I wanna file my story
on that first pint of blood.
-Done.

-Clay, I don't know
how to thank you.
-Ah, forget it.

When you get it runnin',
you can give me a ride.

I must confess
to feeling a bit left out.

Everybody in camp has met
Mr. Kibbee except me.

Oh, you'll like him, Padre.
A real man's man.

He can charm
the pants off anybody.

-Wouldn't you say, Pierce?
-Hi, guys.

Well, we'll soon see.

Get me another drink.
Make it a double.

My word.
That's him.

I wonder if I'd be intruding
if I just went over and
introduced myself?

Gee, I don't know, Padre.
I mean, uh, the man's sparkin'.

Oh, no. No. It's nothing
like that at all.

No. They just have mutual
friends back in the States.

Go ahead, Father.
Go on over.

Well, I would
like to ask him

about the Louis-Walcott
fight he covered.

What a terrific idea.
Colonel, why don't you
take Father Mulcahy over

and sit him down and just
introduce him to Clay?

Well, why not?

-Come on, Padre.
I'll do the "how-do's."
-Woman, my special bottle.

-It's not a drink.
It's an experience.

-Oh, Colonel.

Just happened to be
in the neighborhood.

Got someone here
who wants to meet you.

Father Francis Mulcahy,
this is Clayton Kibbee.

Well, this is a pleasure.

Um, no, no... a privilege.

Ha! No, the pleasure's
all mine, Father.

You know, I think we might
have a mutual acquaintance.

You know the Pope.

Oh, th-the Pope. Well, um,
only by reputation.

Ha-ha!
Well, he's a nice fella,

and he always
has good cigars.

-Sit down. Let's have a drink.
-Don't mind if we do.

Well, Mr. Kibbee--

Oh, Father,
please call me Clay.

Well, call me Francis, Clay.

You know, I've never
forgotten a wonderful
article you wrote

about the first
Louis-Walcott fight.

Thank you, Francis,
you Irishman.

I never met one
that didn't love God,

a good drink
and a good fight.

-In that order.

Ooh, having a good time,
or has the conversation
grown dull?

Oh, yes,
thank you, Doctor.

The four of us are
having a wonderful time.

Oh, that's nice.
I always love to see
the generations mingle.

Come on, Hawk. Sit down.
Let me pour you a drink.

No, thanks. I'm driving
through post-op later.

Wouldn't want to run
somebody out of his bed.

Thought Winchester
had the shift?

Well, Charles wanted
to go sleep early,

and since I had nothing
to do tonight, we traded.

Clay, I got hold
of your press train.

The phone line's
open for ya.

Thanks, Max. Thanks.
You folks, excuse me.

I'll be right back.

-Ooh, Hawk...
-Yes.

-You can show me
where the phone is.
-Right. Okay.

-I like you, Pierce.
You're a good kid.
-Gee, thanks, Dad.

"So there he was,
trapped behind enemy lines

"with information
that could save the lives

"of a company full of buddies

"he had been laughing with
the night before.

"Escape was impossible,
but 'impossible' is a word

"that has lost its meaning
for Thomas Anthony McKegney,

"because suddenly in the road
ahead there was a motorcycle,

"a two-wheeled, 30-horsepower
ticket to freedom.

"McKegney leapt aboard
and took off like a Sabre jet.

"Tommy dodged a rain
of enemy bullets

"except for the one
that found his rear tire,
sending him into a skid

that threw him
almost a hundred feet."

Wait a second.
Wait a minute.

"The injured boy was
taken to the 4077 MASH,

"where two doctors
who like to call themselves

"'Hawkeye' and 'B.J.'
put him back together,

giving him
a transfusion of your"

underline "your"..."blood.

"There's a pint
of new American type 'O'

"pulsing through
McKegney's veins today.

"He'll be back laughing
with his buddies in a week

"and don't bet
he won't volunteer for
dangerous duty again.

"For that first pint of your
blood, mission accomplished.

From the front lines,
Clayton Kibbee."
You got that?

Good.
Wire it out tonight.

And thanks.

I didn't realize
you wrote fiction.

Aw, come on. I just
enliven the facts a bit.

You enliven
through your teeth.

What are you
complainin' about?

I thought you came off
soundin' pretty good.

That's not the point.
You make this sound
like some glorious escapade,

something every American boy
should aspire to.

In case you haven't noticed,
this is ugly.

It is not exciting.
Underline "not."

Well, you got that wrong, son.
Back home is not exciting.

It's the war
they want to read about.

The romance, the heroics,
the glory.

-That doesn't exist.
-That's why I'm here.

I make it exist.

-I couldn't believe it.

Kibbee had that kid
yelling "Geronimo"

and crashing through
enemy lines

with Old Glory
clenched in his teeth.

Hand me that wrench.

I mean, he's...
he's writing this up
like it's an adventure story.

Makes Korea sound like
a Boy Scout jamboree.

Yeah, he's a heck
of a writer, all right.

Knows his way around
a motorcycle too.
Here, hold this.

I'm tellin' ya,
if he had his way,

he'd make every subscription
to Boys' Life

come with a 90-day trial
draft card.

-I don't believe it.
-Neither can I.

I think I got
a frozen link in the chain.
Hand me that screwdriver.

What?

So, uh, Beej, what
do you think of MacArthur

personally drinking the Yalu
dry and marching his troops
into China

and putting that screwdriver
where it'll do the most good?

That's got it.
Here you go.

-And then he says,
"Oh, don't worry, son."
-Pierce, enough.

I'm sure Clay included
only those elements
necessary to the story.

Oh, they were
necessary to the story.

Unfortunately
they never happened.

He doesn't tell you
how to practice medicine.

You shouldn't
tell him how to write.

I don't get this.
What are you taking
his side for?

I'm not-- Pierce, you're
imagining
things. I'm not take--

-Why would I take his side?
-Margaret?

-Oh.
-I have this special
bottle of Bordeaux

for us for tonight.

-How wonderful.

Yeah. Yeah.
Well, I have
a lot to do. I, uh...

Where are those...
medicine things?

Stop it.

Excuse me.

-Good mornin', Hawkeye.
-Hi.

I just heard you gave another
pint of my blood
to one of these boys.

-Yeah.
-I wish someone had told me
about it earlier.

Well, it's nothing serious.
It's Private Belson there.

According to the report,
he caught some shrapnel.

-Shrapnel?
-Yeah.

Well, now we're talkin' war.

-Hey, Private Belson.
-Yeah.

-I'm Clay Kibbee.
-The newspaper guy?

Guilty. Now tell me.
What happened?

Oh, yeah. Well...

Come on, son. You can tell me.
Don't be modest.

Was it an ambush?

Well, you see, my buddy
and I were tryin' to catch
some fish.

-And an enemy patrol found ya.
-Mmm, not really.

See, we go fishin' down
at this pond,

only we didn't have
any rods,

so we tossed in
hand grenades.

They explode,
and the fish float
to the surface.

Wonderful.
Fresh fish filleted.

Except my buddy slips
in the mud

when he throws the grenade,
and it--

Thing goes off next to me.

You were lucky.
You were the one who got away.

Hey, you don't have
to tell this

right down
to the last detail, do ya?

Oh, you don't have to worry.

I don't think the real story
has any chance of getting out.

You just let that blood
we gave you help you heal, son.

Thank you.

Dateline, Korea:
G .I. wounded in
amphibious attack.

Bites off entire school
of enemy frogmen.

Hey, that's pretty good.
You're gettin' the hang of this.

I don't believe you.
Don't you feel any

responsibility at all
for what you write?

Of course I do. Look.
I came here to cover a war,
and that's what I'm gonna do.

If I'd wanted
to do a fishin' story...

-I'd have gone to Wisconsin.

B.J.:
Yahoo!

-Hop on, Hawk.
I'll take you for a ride.
-No, thanks.

When I'm feeling suicidal,
I'll have seconds at dinner.

Ah, come on, Hawk.
Where's your gumption?

If you're offerin' rides,
I'm game.

That's right.
I owe you one. Hop on.

Thanks, but how about
lettin' me solo?

-Are you sure?
-I told you.

I rode one of those things
all through World War II.

Okay. Watch the brakes.
They grab a little.

Ah, well,
that won't bother me.
I never use 'em anyway.

How about that guy, Hawk.
Isn't he somethin'?

Yeah. He's too good
to be true.

-Here's to your
motorcycle, Beej.
-I'm for that.

Now that you've fixed it,
let's hope it doesn't kill you.

You have no spirit
of adventure.

Hmm. Call me pedestrian.

I've just never had the desire
to pull a handlebar out of my
ear.

Yeah. Then I went underground
with the French Resistance.

In Marseilles they gave
me the key to the city.

Didn't unlock a thing,

but I did use it
to pry open a wine cellar.

MARGARET:
You've led such
a fascinating life.

Somehow, it's just not
the same anymore.

-Why not?
-Oh, hell...

in the old days,
you had reasons to fight.

And when you went to war,
you meant it.

Not like this, uh, policeman's
tea party we're in now.

I thought all wars were
the same.

Well, let me tell you.

The other one certainly
gave me better stories.

Uh, listen up, folks.
We just got some good news.

They've confined the offensive
to one small area,

so for the time being,
there won't be any casualties
coming our way.

-All right.
-Good news.

-I guess my "No Fighting"
sign worked.
-Mmm.

Rise and shine, J.B.

or don't they do that
in this man's army anymore?

Who is that? Clay?
What are you doing?

-I'm offering you
a little nightcap.
-I'm asleep.

Make it an eye-opener.

I don't want an eye-opener.
I wanna be asleep.

-I want to talk.

I came all the way
over here to see a war.

And tell me,
what do I see?

-Dirty socks.
-Ah! Will you go to bed?

-You'll see things much more
clearly in the morning.
-I've got a better idea.

Why don't you and I
get on your motorcycle

and ride up
and see the real war?

Forget it.
I've seen the real war,

and if I could have, I would
have walked out in the middle.

-Now go to bed!
-Shh! Shh!

You'll wake up everyone.

Go to bed!

All right, then.
I'll go to bed.

Good.

Okay. Up and at 'em, tiger.
Gotta make rounds. Let's go.

When I'm president,
I'm gonna pass a law
against mornings.

It's gone.

-HAWKEYE: What's gone?
-My motorcycle. It's gone!

Well, you couldn't have missed
a payment already. Where is it?

I don't know.

Maybe somebody borrowed it.

-That lunatic stole my bike.
-Who, Kibbee?

He wanted to see the war,
and now he's done it.

Hey, we better find him
before something happens.

You're damn right.
I spent two days workin'
on that bike.

B.J.:
You know where we are?

I think Korea.

Great. We're out
in the middle of nowhere

goin' somewhere lookin'
for someone who's
who-the-hell-knows-where.

Well, look on the bright side.
You'll probably get shot too.

♪ Over there,
over there ♪

Uh, Hold it.
Hold it. Hold it.

-♪ Say the words
-I think I hear a battle cry.

If that doesn't make the enemy
surrender, nothing will.

B.J.:
Over there.

♪ And I won't be back

♪ Till it's over
over there ♪

Oh. Hi, guys.

Hi.

I'd offer you a drink,
but I ran out.

-Yeah.
-And I sat on my spare bottle.

What a waste
of good booze.

Yeah. I knew
somebody'd come along

sooner or later.

I was kinda hopin'
it would be the North Koreans.

Wouldn't that have
made a great story?

I'd have to let you know
after I read it.

Severe laceration
of the gluteus.

Yeah, I can see
his cheeks are flushed.

He's lost a lot of blood.

You got enough glass in your
butt to make a rear window.

Gonna have to remove it
before I can bandage you.

It'll hurt like hell.
I better give you some morphine.

-Nah.
- Nah.

-B.J.
-Hmm.

I'm sorry about your bike.

Oh, yeah.
Where is it?

Over there.

♪ Over there
God!

Uh, I think I got
my patient under control,

if you wanna check on yours.

Uh, as long as
you're not in any pain,

just try to
hold still, will ya?

I gotta get this
glass outta here

before it works
its way into an artery

in which case
you'll be in big trouble.

Right.

When we get back to camp,
you're gonna need a pint
of that blood you brought.

What kind of story you gonna
dream up for this one?

I got a real
fresh angle for you.

It's called "the truth."

Why don't you tell 'em
some drunken old daredevil
stole a motorcycle

and fell on his ass
while he was out tryin'
to get some glory?

Hurts, huh?

How come I never
read about that... pain?

Just once I'd like to
see you write about that

instead of wrapping
everything up in glory.

There.
That's the last of it.

What the hell is so glorious
about that, huh?

Ow.

I think I'll give you
the, uh, morphine now, okay?

"As for the last
two pints of blood,

"there's no big finale,
no heroes.

"They helped an old soldier
who'd had visions of glory

"but finally got it
through his thick head

"how tragic and inhumane
war can be.

"Maybe he'll know better
next time.

From the front lines,
Clayton Kibbee."

That's an ending
to a Clayton Kibbee story
I never would have bet on.

-What a guy.
-Indeed.

He broke my motorcycle.

Sounds like I actually got
through to him.

Wait. There's more.

"Next week, Clayton Kibbee's
inside story:

"The exciting reunion with
my valiant French comrades

in the jungles of Indochina."

Ah. Ah. There.