## [Singing Christmas Carol]
Come on, everyone, sing!
- Anybody else for a vodka-sicle? - ## [Continues]
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.
[Shudders]
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.
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.
It does wonders for the morale in our unit...
especially this time of year with the lads being so far away from home.
From long faces I see here, you could do worse than to consider Boxing Day yourselves.
- Well, cheerio. - Sergeant.
- Good luck, sir. - Fantastic.
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. - [Chuckles]
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?
[Cheering, Chattering]
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.
[Cheering]
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.
[Cheering, Applauding]
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 ofleadership.
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! - [Shouting, Cheering]
[Wind Whistling]
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.
[Groans, Sighs]
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!
- [Wind Whistling] - [Both Gasping]
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. - [Grumbling]
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. [Giggles]
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 rum baba.
- Mmm. - You know what a rum 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.
[Sarcastic Chuckle]
[Grunts]
And after that we're gonna need four sacks of oats.
- [Groans, Panting] - Those are the big ones.
##[Singing Christmas Hymn]
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. 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, divide the bed into two halves.
First they divide the country. Now the furniture.
- What's takin' them so long with the chow? - [All Muttering]
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.
[Shouting, Chattering]
- Watch it. You're sweating in the oatmeal. - Who would know the difference?
- [Grunting] - Relax, Charles.
- Tomorrow this'll all be forgotten. - On the contrary.
I will have my truss to remember it by.
One.
O-N-L... [Grunts]
Only one.
Y, space, 0-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.!
- [Clank] - How ya doin', Winchester?
- Splendidly. - You look good.
- Maybe you'd like to dry your head. - No... 'kay.
[Groans]
Now that breakfast has been served...
I thought I'd, uh, 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.
[Groans]
Right! Just get that shipment out as P.D.Q. As possible!
- [Chuckles] - 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 Gen. 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.
##[Singing Christmas Hymn]
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 121 st.
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 Respond] Yes?
This requires the genuine article.
I got a kid with a temperature and a sinking hemoglobin.
- I gotta get him to the 121 st 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 day's 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.
[Gasping]
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! - [Groans] 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'?
- [Wind Howling] - 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.
[Wind Whistling]
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.
- 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 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 is that snow they promised?
## [Singing Christmas Hymn]
- We've got an emergency. - Can I help?
- You may be the only one who can, Father. - [Heater Whirring]
- 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.
[Wind Whistling]
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.
[Margaret Shuddering]
[All Shuddering, Groaning]
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!
- [Wind Howling] - [Shuddering]
- 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.