M*A*S*H (MASH) s10e12 Episode Script

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.
- 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 - 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.
- How long are you gonna be around, Clay? Oh, just long enough to finish my job.
While you're patchin' up 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 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? - 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.
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.
And 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.
- Get some rest, huh? 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? No, 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.
It needs points.
I haven't noticed an all-night parts store in the neighborhood.
Looks like this is one Indian 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 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? 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.
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 ya 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.
L 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 Well, you see, m-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.
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.
- 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 all through World War II.
- Are you sure? - I told you I rode one of those 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.
Yea, all right.
- 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.
You've led such a fascinating life.
Somehow, it's just not the same anymore.
- Why not? - Oh, hell in the old days, ya had reasons to fight.
And when you went to war, you meant it not like this 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.
- 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.
- 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.
Uh, Hold it.
Hold it.
Hold it.
I think I hear a battle cry.
If that doesn't make the enemy surrender, nothing will.
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.
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.