‘Scheisskopf?
The man’s a moron!
I walked all over that blockhead, and now he’s my superior officer.
Oh, my Lord!
Cargill!
Cargill, don’t desert me!
Where’s Wintergreen?’
‘Sir, I have an ex-Sergeant Wintergreen on your other telephone.
He’s been trying to reach you all morning.’
‘General, I can’t get Wintergreen,’ Colonel Cargill shouted,
‘His line is busy.’
General Peckem was perspiring freely as he lunged for the other telephone.
‘Wintergreen!’ ‘Peckem, you son of a bitch—’
‘Wintergreen, have you heard what they’ve done?’ ‘—what have you done, you stupid bastard?’
‘They put Scheisskopf in charge of everything!’ Wintergreen was shrieking with rage and panic.
‘You and your goddam memorandums!
They’ve gone and transferred combat operations to Special Services!’
‘Oh, no,’ moaned General Peckem.
‘Is that what did it? My memoranda? Is that what made them put Scheisskopf in charge?
Why didn’t they put me in charge?’
‘Because you weren’t in Special Services any more.
You transferred out and left him in charge.
And do you know what he wants?
Do you know what the bastard wants us all to do?’
‘Sir, I think you’d better talk to General Scheisskopf,’ pleaded the sergeant nervously.
‘He insists on speaking to someone.’
‘Cargill, talk to Scheisskopf for me.
I can’t do it.
Find out what he wants.’
Colonel Cargill listened to General Scheisskopf for a moment and went white as a sheet.
‘Oh, my God!’ he cried, as the phone fell from his fingers.
‘Do you know what he wants?
He wants us to march.
He wants everybody to march!’
Kid Sister Yossarian marched backward with his gun on his hip and refused to fly any more missions.
He marched backward because he was continously spinning around as he walked to make certain no one was sneaking up on him from behind.
Every sound to his rear was a warning, every person he passed a potential assassin.
He kept his hand on his gun butt constantly and smiled at no one but Hungry Joe.
He told Captain Piltchard and Captain Wren that he was through flying.
Captain Piltchard and Captain Wren left his name off the flight schedule for the next mission and reported the matter to Group Headquarters.
Colonel Korn laughed cahnly.
‘What the devil do you mean, he won’t fly more missions?’ he asked with a smile, as Colonel Cathcart crept away into a corner to brood about the sinister import of the name Yossarian popping up to plague him once again.
‘Why won’t he?’
‘His friend Nately was killed in the crash over Spezia. Maybe that’s why.’
‘Who does he think he is—Achilles?’
Colonel Korn was pleased with the simile and filed a mental reminder to repeat it the next time he found himself in General Peckem’s presence.
‘He has to fly more missions. He has no choice.
Go back and tell him you’ll report the matter to us if he doesn’t change his mind.’
‘We already did tell him that, sir.
It made no difference.’