[Baby Crying]
Peg, it's your turn, honey. I need to sleep some more.
[Crying Continues]
Hawk?
- Hawkeye, wake up. - What? What is it?
- [Crying Stops] - You hear that?
[Bird Singing]
That's called a bird, Beej.
And there's really nothing to worry about...
unless your pet worm hasn't come home yet.
You dimwits!
I do not know whose ill-mannered infant that is...
but if I go out there and silence the din...
will that ring down the curtain...
on this sunrise vaudeville routine?
[Sighs]
[Baby Crying]
Come on, now. Easy. No, no, no. That's all right.
Aha. Gentlemen... [Chuckles]
At the risk of making an irresponsible accusation...
- I may have located the source of the crying. - That does it.
Somebody call Selective Service and tell them this time they've gone too far.
Oops, oops. Hello.
The plot thickens. Thank you.
Something tells me that's not a set of operating instructions.
"This is my baby. She is..." What is that?
- "Good baby." - "Good baby.
"Strong, beautiful. Father American G.I.
"Gone now. Baby...
[Together] "American too.
- "Please... - "Doctors."
Doctors, care for her. L..." What's that?
- "I cannot." - "I cannot, but I love her."
[Cooing]
[Murmuring]
Be careful with her, Pierce.
- That's not a bag of laundry. - I know what I'm doing.
She loves me. Look at that smile.
- Gas. - Gas, my foot.
How come it wasn't gas when she smiled at you?
I don't know, Hawk. Some people inspire love. Some people inspire gas.
Move it over. Gangway. The milkman cometh.
- Cometh right here, milkman. - Here you go.
Ah.
Klinger, this thing looks ridiculous.
Ridiculous is in the eye of the beholder, Major.
Give the lad his due. This bears a striking resemblance...
to the business end of a Guernsey.
- [Laughs] Works like one too. - Precisely. I'm no fool.
Here, Pierce. Give a little squirt to the little squirt.
Ah, one of the great whites... Chateau Moo, '51.
Oh.
That's a good girl. That's a... [Babbling]
It always amazes me how a baby can take an otherwise normal adult...
and turn him into a babbling idiot.
Aha. How's our itty-bitty little tent-mate? [Babbling]
- Amen. - I've talked to everyone at camp...
which, by the way, is a first for me...
and no one saw or heard a thing...
a fact confirmed by our ever-vigilant sentries and their seeing-eye dogs.
Pierce, as soon as the little tyke finishes breakfast...
and, uh, any other necessities, she ought to have a physical.
- Excellent idea, Colonel. - Then I shall take over.
- Since when is she your patient? - Hunnicutt, my expertise...
is not merely limited to brilliant surgery.
I happen to be one of the finest pediatricians extant.
Poop on your extant. I've got a kid of my own. I know where all the parts are.
Poop on both of you. It's feeders keepers.
I am about to make a Solomon-like decision.
I'll cut Winchester in half, ignore you two...
and do it myself.
- [Burps] - Ah. There, now that's gas.
- Fit as the proverbial fiddle. - Yeah.
Got to hand it to her mama.
This child may have been abandoned, but she sure wasn't neglected.
Yeah, and it's no cinch getting up in the middle of the night...
for the 2:00 bombing.
I ransacked the laundry and found some stuff the kid can wear.
Thank heaven for skinny nurses.
How about that Klinger? He'll give you the shirt off somebody else's back.
And I cut up some sheets and pillowcases for...
you know... unmentionables.
Very thoughtful, Klinger. Probably not a moment too soon.
Well, sir, I understand babies.
It's the gypsy in my soul.
- Let me hold her. - All right, but just for a minute.
She doesn't like strangers.
[Cooing]
Hey, you do that very well, Klinger.
- Fair. - Of course I do, sir.
Desert dwellers are very affectionate people.
- I come from a long line of long lines. - Klinger.!
- Uh-oh. - Shh, shh. - Shh, shh.
I heard about what you did, you lowlife.
There's nothing sicker than a laundry thief.
- It was for a good cause, Major. - It better be.
This pervert swiped my best pajama shirts.
Pull in your horns, Margaret.
Klinger commandeered your jammies for the papoose.
Oh, well. For her I can sleep in my bottoms.
And if you're not warm enough, call me. I'm the tops.
- Forget it, "tops." Give me the baby, Klinger. - Come on, Major.
- I just got her myself. - That's an order, Corporal.
Klinger, present baby.
It's enough to drive a man to Officers' Candidate School.
Oh, my goodness gracious.
There you are, you little...
Oh, my goodness.
Hello there, sweetheart. I'm your Auntie Margaret.
Why, Auntie Margaret, I had no idea you were so maternal.
I can just see you with a house full of little teeny majorettes.
Any word about who she is or where she's from?
- Nary a clue. - Captain Hunnicutt and Major Winchester...
are checking the local villages.
I think they're whistling up a rope.
Her mother's too cagey, slipping in and out with nobody seeing her.
Didn't even leave us the child's name.
Why don't we keep her till she's old enough to talk?
- Then she can tell us herself. - You know, we should name her something.
- That's a good idea. - She's mysterious, like the shifting sand.
Let's call her Scheherazade.
Seems a tad exotic. Let's keep working on it.
In the meantime, we've got to find a place for the little lady to bunk.
- She'll stay in my tent. - No fair, Margaret.
Who put you in charge of guest accommodations?
Oh, Pierce. Look around.
This place is warm. It's pleasant. It's a home.
That gutter you're in is a festival of old sneakers...
dirty laundry, and yesterday's booze.
That's what makes it perfect. She can't mess it up.
I understand the stork dropped off a package while I was gone.
Good morning, Padre. This little lady seems to be alone in the world.
Do you think the good sisters at the orphanage can help out?
I'm sure they can, Colonel. The first rule of orphanages and Irish families is...
"There's always room for one more."
[Margaret] Isn't she lovely?
- Oh, yes. Yes, quite nice. - Nice? She's gorgeous.
Doesn't she deserve at least a "Wow," or a "Holy smoke"?
Where's the oohs and ahhs?
Is this child of mixed parents?
All we know is that there was one of each. Is that mixed enough?
Her father's an American, and her mother's Korean.
- I was afraid of that. - What's the problem?
We want to get her into an orphanage, not a country club.
The orphanage will take her, of course, but that won't help her much.
The problems faced by the children of American soldiers...
and Korean women are very serious.
When the people of the villages find out about them...
the lives of the children and mothers become a horror.
They're outcasts.
Little boys have been emasculated...
and little girls killed outright.
My God.
Even in the orphanage, the other Korean children will be very cruel to her.
And when she grows up, she'll be ostracized...
by every segment of Korean society.
This child has no future here, none at all.
She'll end up a virtual slave... or worse.
- There must be somebody who can help this kid. - I'm afraid not.
Her only hope... and that's slim at best...
would be sanctuary in one of the old Catholic missions.
We'll take it. Slim is better than none.
- What do we do? Where are these places? - There's one not too far off.
Armies, for centuries, have fought around it, left it untouched.
The monks will keep her cloistered, educate her...
and in 15 or 20 years...
working with their other monasteries abroad...
perhaps they can get her out of Korea.
With all due respect, Father, that doesn't sound like much of a life.
It isn't. But it's the best we can do.
No it's not. She's half American.
We'll send her to America and get her a room at the Statue of Liberty.
I just hope that Red Cross lady will appreciate the fact...
that I'm wearing my Sunday-go-to-court-martial clothes.
The coat and tie are bad enough, but these shoes are killing me.
How would I look in Class A's and sneakers?
Stupid. Would you two just hurry up? You're gonna be late.
And no funny stuff. The Red Cross ain't exactly headquarters for rib-tickling.
Yes, Dad. Take good care of the baby.
Don't try to slip her any spinach while we're gone.
- I don't trust them. Let's take her with us. - Ah, ah.
- Babies love jeep rides. - Leave her be, you lunatic. She's just now dozing off.
Don't rile them, Beej. You know how vicious they get...
when they're protecting their young.
- Another doughnut? - No, thank you. Five's my limit.
Could we just get back to the baby?
Fine, gentlemen.
Why not just accept the facts? There is nothing the Red Cross can do.
Our areas of responsibility...
[Together] Are very specific.
[B.J.] We know that, Miss Harper.
You folks do a barrel of good for G.I. S, refugees...
God knows we appreciate the blood you send us.
Our patients can't get enough of it. But why stop there?
Why don't you do something about the Amerasian babies?
- There are more of them every day. - It's out of our hands.
We have enough trouble dealing with what we're responsible for.
And while I agree that this is serious...
Oh, terrific. A kid's entire life is at stake, and you agree it's serious.
Sarcasm isn't going to help, Captain.
Then maybe we better leave, Hawk. All I got left is sarcasm.
Me too. See you. Thanks for the use of the hall.
Look, Captain.
I think what you're trying to do is admirable... naive, but admirable...
and I'd like to help, but there is nothing the Red Cross can do.
- Then who do we talk to? - I recommend your next step be the army.
Oh, great. The army and I are just like this.
- [All Laughing] - This happens to be a family secret...
- handed down from father to son. - Pay attention now.
The "popo" must be placed dead center.
- "Popo"? - Yes, the "popo." Notice the neat folds...
- and the snug fit in the hips and the legs. - [Nurses Exclaiming]
Guaranteed not to slip, slide, or blow off...
during the most violent desert storm.
- [Laughing] - Comes in handy.
There you have it, my dear.
You're the proud wearer of a Lebanese serape.
That was a wonderful job, Klinger. You're gonna make a marvelous father.
Maybe someday, Major...
after I get out of here, get back home, make a few bucks.
It'll be a son... Not that I have anything against girls.
- I married one once. - [Laughing]
But it'll be a boy... somebody I can take to the Mud Hen games...
shoot a rack of eight ball with, go bowling.
Then again, I could get very attached to a little girl.
And I got a footlocker full of hand-me-downs.
[Laughing]
You must believe me. There is no way we can help you.
- The closest we can come is this. - What's this?
That's a D.F., C-139. That's a disposition form.
- Ah, a form. Now we're getting someplace. - I don't know.
Is this a good disposition form or a rotten disposition form?
It covers marriage to, or adoption of, indigenous personnel.
With that, you must have a complete personal history of all the involved parties.
You have to have a letter from the chaplain.
The company commander then recommends for approval or... or rejection.
- He wouldn't dare. We'd hide his horse. - Pardon me?
Never mind. You were saying about the...
Oh. Yeah. Um, if the company C.O. Approves...
it gets bucked to Battalion...
then to Division, then to "l" Corps.
Any one of whom could reject it for any reason.
Roger. But if it... If it passes "l" Corps...
- God gets it. - Nope, the 8th Army.
- Same thing. - Who can endorse for approval...
reject for insufficient information...
return without any action at all...
or for further investigation...
and you start all over again.
All right, look. Let me see if I got this straight.
Let's say just for the fun of it that we want to adopt her.
Our doctor told us we can't have children of our own.
We fill out this D.F. Form. We buck it all the way to MacArthur.
- Would that get her out of Korea? - Not a chance.
Major, why is this so tough?
All we want, somehow, is to send a baby to the States. How do we do that?
- How about parcel post? - Very funny.
Look, Captain, when you first got here...
I explained to you that this is covered under Korean civil law.
This is not an army matter.
Not an army matter? You jackass!
Where do you think that child came from?
You've got people in American soldier suits...
running around out there making babies... and then making tracks.
Don't you think it's about time it became an army matter?
Captain, there is a war going on out there.
We cannot be responsible for what happens when a soldier gets lonely.
Why the hell are you two so steamed up over some kid anyway?
One of you guys the, uh, daddy?
[Chuckles] Oh, it's a good thing for you we're doctors...
'cause I'm gonna break every bone in your body.
So what do you think? Not bad, huh?
She's doing great. At least she had a good day.
Klinger, my compliments to Zale on making that cradle.
Hey, the handle part was my idea.
Congratulations, Klinger. This might mean a Nobel Prize.
You have invented the "stick."
If you'd invented it earlier, it might have helped us reason with Major Spector.
Damned if you two eight balls don't tarnish my brass.
Hold it down, Colonel, please.
You go to talk to some people about a baby...
and you practically wind up in a fistfight.
Sir, could you rock a little slower?
- You're gonna flip her right out of there. - Oh. Sorry.
I don't blame them for getting angry. I wish I'd been there.
Well, I don't. They got into enough trouble on their own.
They guy had it coming, with that "daddy" stuff.
Besides, we didn't hit him or anything.
- All we did was intimidate him a little. - A little?
Threatening to file the A.G.'s top aide under "D" for "Deceased"...
is not your every day howdy-do.
- Sir, the baby. - I know, I know.
Colonel... Colonel, perhaps I might accompany you on your next visit.
Certainly I possess the dignity and the sensitivity necessary for such occasions.
Mule muffins. Tomorrow is that South Korean government official...
and I'm not trusting anybody's damn sensitivity but my own.
Hunnicutt, you're staying home. Pierce, I'm going with you.
Aw, Colonel, you never take me anyplace.
We're already at war with half of Korea.
I don't want to wind up fighting the whole country.
Gentlemen, it is truly not a matter for my government to deal with.
This kid has a label that says "Made in Korea."
- Who do we talk to, Yugoslavia? - I am sorry.
What about the terrible stories we hear?
Mutilating babies, killing them?
Sadly, Colonel, in some cases they are true.
- My God. What kind of a place is this? - Easy, Pierce.
We're just visitors in this country.
It's all right, Colonel. The captain asks a valid question.
Then how about a valid answer?
This is an ancient land, Captain.
Its culture goes back many, many centuries.
It has survived many wars. Our people are of one race.
It is their feeling that an intrusion of a mixed-race child...
into such an ordered society represents disorder.
- Such a child is hated here. - Yeah, so I've heard.
I do not deny that they are treated with terrible cruelty.
Korean law barely acknowledges their existence...
and protects them not at all.
- Swell. - This may seem harsh and inflexible...
but such attitudes are not unique to my country.
- Oh, who is it now, Bolivia? - No, Captain...
Your United States. Americans are not the only ones fathering such children...
but they are the only ones who ignore them.
France, Great Britain, the Netherlands...
acknowledge a responsibility for these unfortunate babies of their military.
They will support and help them, offer them citizenship...
but the United States...
where all men are created equal...
refuses to do this.
You reject the children of your own people.
[Clock Ticking]
I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so.
Perhaps you'd like to reconsider my suggestion...
that we leave the child at the monastery.
Pierce, you've been toting this banner higher than anybody.
- What do you think? - I don't know, Colonel.
I think we ought to take another shot at it.
I'd like to go to the U.S. Consulate in Tokyo.
Okay, Pierce. Nothing much medical going on.
One fly in the ointment, let's face it.
- You're packing a full load of rude. - Flatterer.
These are consulate people, the kind of folks...
who put skivvies on lamb chops.
This calls for sophistication...
for the kind of person who speaks fluent hoi polloi.
Pierce, take it easy.
[Laughing] I do apologize for these constant interruptions.
Well. Well. [Clears Throat]
- You gentlemen appear to have a most perplexing problem. - We certainly do.
Mr. Prescott, can you see your way clear...
- to help us through some red... - [Buzzing]
Excuse me. Prescott here.
No, no, not at all. Just a minute. I'll be right in.
I'm terribly sorry. Busy, busy day.
Why these people cannot take care of some...
of these matters themselves, I fail to understand.
If he tries to leave the room one more time...
he's gonna be a diplomatic corpse.
You see, Pierce? This is precisely the reason that I am needed here.
Your pugnacious attitude will accomplish nothing.
Ooh, but it'll make me feel so good.
You're clearly out of your element here.
This is a time for civility and graciousness. There is no room for rancor.
How about just one bolo punch?
Look, if you wish to accomplish our objective, you will leave this to me.
I'm well-versed in the art of verbal thrust and parry, give and take.
- Kick and gouge. - Sit there, keep your mouth shut.
I will orchestrate these proceedings to a successful...
Well, so much for that.
- Delightful of you to drop in on us again. - Can you imagine?
Those cretins were actually going to seat...
the deputy charge d'affaires next to a sumo wrestler.
- Oh! How gauche! - Yes.
- Yes, these are trying times. - Yes, they certainly are.
They take one's attention away from the important issues at hand.
For example, the disposition of the unfortunate child we were discussing.
- Yes, the child. - The one we want to send to the States. That child.
Yes.
Well, the answer's no.
- No? Just like that? No? - Pierce, please.
Mr. Prescott, surely you will agree that this is a decision...
that should not be made in haste... there must be some discussion.
Actually, none whatsoever. We cannot admit...
an unattended juvenile with no resident relatives to the States.
- But... - And no application...
for such admission can be processed without authority...
from a blood relative in the child's country of origin.
- Now, see here... - Look, Prescott, this "unattended juvenile"...
you're so blithely dismissing...
could conceivably be murdered in the name of racial purity.
You got space on your application for that?
Pierce, I'm handling this, remember?
There is nothing to handle. The Immigration and Naturalization Service...
by statute, has strict quota restrictions.
- My hands are tied. - Now, there's an idea.
Just a moment. Mr. Prescott, there are always alternatives.
Not in this case, Major.
Mr. Prescott, I have friends of considerable influence...
- Gentlemen, you are wasting my time. - Congressmen...
- senators, cabinet members... - Please believe me, this is departmental policy.
There can be no immigration under the circumstances you have set forth.
- Captains of industry. - Good day.
There is nothing good about it, Mr. Prescott.
We are discussing a little girl...
a human being who is facing a life of misery...
an issue infinitely more important than you...
- and your stupid seating arrangements! - Charles...
- Shut up, Pierce! - [Buzzing]
Mr. Prescott is in conference. Let them eat out.
- How dare you! - You smarmy bureaucratic microbe...
you're going to that dinner breathing through your fly.
Run for your life, Prescott. It's a wild bore!
- We'd best be off. - I hope we're doing the right thing, Father.
I'm not too crazy about a monastery...
that you have to visit in the dead of night.
Major, it has to be done this way to preserve their secrecy.
You better get going. It's a long ride.
So long, honey. Take good care of yourself.
- I'm gonna miss you. - We all are.
Bye now, little one.
For somebody who passed through so fast...
you sure turned this place upside down.
Thanks.
Okay, Beej. Let's go... and don't hurry.
Here it is. The revolving cradle, just like I told you.
Why can't we just use the front door like ordinary people?
The monks want no contact with anyone.
The child must be left in complete secrecy, or she'll not be accepted.
It's a tradition that goes back many generations.
[B. J.] Okay, let's just do it.
[Hawkeye] This is the final irony.
I feel like we're making a bank deposit.
- Well? - Well...
Well?
Well.
Good-bye, small one.
So long, angel. Thanks for coming by.
Go in peace, my child. In nomini Patri et Fili et Spiritu Sancti.
[Cooing]
You brought a little light to a dark and dismal place...
and you'll never know what you've meant to a bunch of tired people...
stuck in a very strange time.
Be happy.
Suction, please.
Clamp. Thank you.
- Ten more sponges, Doctor. - Thank you. Retract that, please.
Okay. I got it.
It's funny. All we do here is fight pain and death...
and suddenly we had a small life.
Well, I don't care where she is.
A little piece of her is gonna go home with each one of us.
Sponge.