He resolved to remain binocular and specified to Doc Daneeka that his eye patch be transparent so that he could continue pitching horseshoes, kidnapping Italian laborers and renting apartments with unimpaired vision. To the men in the squadron, Major —— de Coverley was a colossus, although they never dared tell him so. The only one who ever did dare address him was Milo Minderbinder, who approached the horseshoe-pitching pit with a hard-boiled egg his second week in the squadron and held it aloft for Major —— de Coverley to see. Major —— de Coverley straightened with astonishment at Milo’s effrontery and concentrated upon him the full fury of his storming countenance with its rugged overhang of gullied forehead and huge crag of a humpbacked nose that came charging out of his face wrathfully like a Big Ten fullback. Milo stood his ground, taking shelter behind the hard-boiled egg raised protectively before his face like a magic charm. In time the gale began to subside, and the danger passed.
“What is that?” Major —— de Coverley demanded at last.
“An egg,” Milo answered.
“What kind of an egg?” Major —— de Coverley demanded.
“A hard-boiled egg,” Milo answered.
“What kind of a hard-boiled egg?” Major —— de Coverley demanded.
“A fresh hard-boiled egg,” Milo answered.
“Where did the fresh egg come from?” Major —— de Coverley demanded.
“From a chicken,” Milo answered.
“Where is the chicken?” Major —— de Coverley demanded.
“The chicken is in Malta,” Milo answered.
“How many chickens are there in Malta?”
“Enough chickens to lay fresh eggs for every officer in the squadron at five cents apiece from the mess fund,” Milo answered.
“I have a weakness for fresh eggs,” Major —— de Coverley confessed.
“If someone put a plane at my disposal, I could fly down there once a week in a squadron plane and bring back all the fresh eggs we need,” Milo answered. “After all, Malta’s not so far away.”
“Malta’s not so far away,” Major —— de Coverley observed. “You could probably fly down there once a week in a squadron plane and bring back all the fresh eggs we need.”
“Yes,” Milo agreed. “I suppose I could do that, if someone wanted me to and put a plane at my disposal.”
“I like my fresh eggs fried,” Major —— de Coverley remembered. “In fresh butter.”
“I can find all the fresh butter we need in Sicily for twenty-five cents a pound,” Milo answered. “Twenty-five cents a pound for fresh butter is a good buy. There’s enough money in the mess fund for butter too, and we could probably sell some to the other squadrons at a profit and get back most of what we pay for our own.”
“What’s your name, son?” asked Major —— de Coverley.
“My name is Milo Minderbinder, sir. I am twenty-seven years old.”
“You’re a good mess officer, Milo.”
“I’m not the mess officer, sir.”
“You’re a good mess officer, Milo.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll do everything in my power to be a good mess officer.”
“Bless you, my boy. Have a horseshoe.”
“Thank you, sir. What should I do with it?”
“Throw it.”
“Away?”
“At that peg there. Then pick it up and throw it at this peg. It’s a game, see? You get the horseshoe back.”
“Yes, sir. I see. How much are horseshoes selling for?”
The smell of a fresh egg snapping exotically in a pool of fresh butter carried a long way on the Mediterranean trade winds and brought General Dreedle racing back with a voracious appetite, accompanied by his nurse, who accompanied him everywhere, and his son-in-law, Colonel Moodus. In the beginning General Dreedle devoured all his meals in Milo’s mess hall. Then the other three squadrons in Colonel Cathcart’s group turned their mess halls over to Milo and gave him an airplane and a pilot each so that he could buy fresh eggs and fresh butter for them too. Milo’s planes shuttled back and forth seven days a week as every officer in the four squadrons began devouring fresh eggs in an insatiable orgy of fresh-egg eating. General Dreedle devoured fresh eggs for breakfast, lunch and dinner—between meals he devoured more fresh eggs—until Milo located abundant sources of fresh veal, beef, duck, baby lamb chops, mushroom caps, broccoli, South African rock lobster tails, shrimp, hams, puddings, grapes, ice cream, strawberries and artichokes. There were three other bomb groups in General Dreedle’s combat wing, and they each jealously dispatched their own planes to Malta for fresh eggs, but discovered that fresh eggs were selling there for seven cents apiece. Since they could buy them from Milo for five cents apiece, it made more sense to turn over their mess halls to his syndicate, too, and give him the planes and pilots needed to ferry in all the other good food he promised to supply as well.