Catch-22(147)
“I don’t know anything about writing,” Colonel Scheisskopf retorted sullenly.
“Well, don’t let that trouble you,” General Peckem continued with a careless flick of his wrist. “Just pass the work I assign you along to somebody else and trust to luck. We call that delegation of responsibility. Somewhere down near the lowest level of this coordinated organization I run are people who do get the work done when it reaches them, and everything manages to run along smoothly without too much effort on my part. I suppose that’s because I am a good executive. Nothing we do in this large department of ours is really very important, and there’s never any rush. On the other hand, it is important that we let people know we do a great deal of it. Let me know if you find yourself shorthanded. I’ve already put in a requisition for two majors, four captains and sixteen lieutenants to give you a hand. While none of the work we do is very important, it is important that we do a great deal of it. Don’t you agree?”
“What about the parades?” Colonel Scheisskopf broke in.
“What parades?” inquired General Peckem with a feeling that his polish just wasn’t getting across.
“Won’t I be able to conduct parades every Sunday afternoon?” Colonel Scheisskopf demanded petulantly.
“No. Of course not. What ever gave you that idea?”
“But they said I could.”
“Who said you could?”
“The officers who sent me overseas. They told me I’d be able to march the men around in parades all I wanted to.”
“They lied to you.”
“That wasn’t fair, sir.”
“I’m sorry, Scheisskopf. I’m willing to do everything I can to make you happy here, but parades are out of the question. We don’t have enough men in our own organization to make up much of a parade, and the combat units would rise up in open rebellion if we tried to make them march. I’m afraid you’ll just have to hold back awhile until we get control. Then you can do what you want with the men.”
“What about my wife?” Colonel Scheisskopf demanded with disgruntled suspicion. “I’ll still be able to send for her, won’t I?”
“Your wife? Why in the world should you want to?”
“A husband and wife should be together.”
“That’s out of the question also.”
“But they said I could send for her!”
“They lied to you again.”
“They had no right to lie to me!” Colonel Scheisskopf protested, his eyes wetting with indignation.
“Of course they had a right,” General Peckem snapped with cold and calculated severity, resolving right then and there to test the mettle of his new colonel under fire. “Don’t be such an ass, Scheisskopf. People have a right to do anything that’s not forbidden by law, and there’s no law against lying to you. Now, don’t ever waste my time with such sentimental platitudes again. Do you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” murmured Colonel Scheisskopf.
Colonel Scheisskopf wilted pathetically, and General Peckem blessed the fates that had sent him a weakling for a subordinate. A man of spunk would have been unthinkable. Having won, General Peckem relented. He did not enjoy humiliating his men. “If your wife were a Wac, I could probably have her transferred here. But that’s the most I can do.”
“She has a friend who’s a Wac,” Colonel Scheisskopf offered hopefully.
“I’m afraid that isn’t good enough. Have Mrs. Scheisskopf join the Wacs if she wants to, and I’ll bring her over here. But in the meantime, my dear Colonel, let’s get back to our little war, if we may. Here, briefly, is the military situation that confronts us.” General Peckem rose and moved toward a rotary rack of enormous colored maps.
Colonel Scheisskopf blanched. “We’re not going into combat, are we?” he blurted out in horror.
“Oh, no, of course not,” General Peckem assured him indulgently, with a companionable laugh. “Please give me some credit, won’t you? That’s why we’re still down here in Rome. Certainly, I’d like to be up in Florence, too, where I could keep in closer touch with ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen. But Florence is still a bit too near the actual fighting to suit me.” General Peckem lifted a wooden pointer and swept the rubber tip cheerfully across Italy from one coast to the other. “These, Scheisskopf, are the Germans. They’re dug into these mountains very solidly in the Gothic Line and won’t be pushed out till late next spring, although that isn’t going to stop those clods we have in charge from trying. That gives us in Special Services almost nine months to achieve our objective. And that objective is to capture every bomber group in the U.S. Air Force. After all,” said General Peckem with his low, well-modulated chuckle, “if dropping bombs on the enemy isn’t a special service, I wonder what in the world is. Don’t you agree?” Colonel Scheisskopf gave no indication that he did agree, but General Peckem was already too entranced with his own loquacity to notice. “Our position right now is excellent. Reinforcements like yourself keep arriving, and we have more than enough time to plan our entire strategy carefully. Our immediate goal,” he said, “is right here.” And General Peckem swung his pointer south to the island of Pianosa and tapped it significantly upon a large word that had been lettered on there with black grease pencil. The word was DREEDLE.