'--way. Come a--'
'--again some oth--'
'--er day. Little Yo-Yo wants--'
'--to play. In--'
'--the meadow, in--' Chief White Halfoat missed the next turn in the road and ran the jeep all the way up to the crest of a steep embankment. Rolling back down, the jeep turned over on its side and settled softly in the mud. There was a frightened silence.
'Is everyone all right?' Chief White Halfoat inquired in a hushed voice. No one was injured, and he heaved a long sigh of relief. 'You know, that's my trouble,' he groaned. 'I never listen to anybody. Somebody kept telling me to put my headlights on, but I just wouldn't listen.'
'I kept telling you to put your headlights on.'
'I know, I know. And I just wouldn't listen, would I? I wish I had a drink. I do have a drink. Look. It's not broken.'
'It's raining in,' Nately noticed. 'I'm getting wet.' Chief White Halfoat got the bottle of rye open, drank and handed it off. Lying tangled up on top of each other, they all drank but Nately, who kept groping ineffectually for the door handle. The bottle fell against his head with a clunk, and whiskey poured down his neck. He began writhing convulsively.
'Hey, we've got to get out of here!' he cried. 'We'll all drown.'
'Is anybody in there?' asked Clevinger with concern, shining a flashlight down from the top.
'It's Clevinger!' they shouted, and tried to pull him in through the window as he reached down to aid them.
'Look at them!' Clevinger exclaimed indignantly to McWatt, who sat grinning at the wheel of the staff car. 'Lying there like a bunch of drunken animals. You too, Nately? You ought to be ashamed! Come on--help me get them out of here before they all die of pneumonia.'
'You know, that don't sound like such a bad idea,' Chief White Halfoat reflected. 'I think I will die of pneumonia.'
'Why?'
'Why not?' answered Chief White Halfoat, and lay back in the mud contentedly with the bottle of rye cuddled in his arms.
'Oh, now look what he's doing!' Clevinger exclaimed with irritation. 'Will you get up and get into the car so we can all go back to the squadron?'
'We can't all go back. Someone has to stay here to help the Chief with this car he signed out of the motor pool.' Chief White Halfoat settled back in the staff car with an ebullient, prideful chuckle. 'That's Captain Black's car,' he informed them jubilantly. 'I stole it from him at the officers' club just now with an extra set of keys he thought he lost this morning.'
'Well, I'll be damned! That calls for a drink.'
'Haven't you had enough to drink?' Clevinger began scolding as soon as McWatt started the car. 'Look at you. You don't care if you drink yourselves to death or drown yourselves to death, do you?'
'Just as long as we don't fly ourselves to death.'
'Hey, open it up, open it up,' Chief White Halfoat urged McWatt. 'And turn off the headlights. That's the only way to do it.'
'Doc Daneeka is right,' Clevinger went on. 'People don't know enough to take care of themselves. I really am disgusted with all of you.'
'Okay, fatmouth, out of the car,' Chief White Halfoat ordered. 'Everybody get out of the car but Yossarian. Where's Yossarian?'
'Get the hell off me.' Yossarian laughed, pushing him away. 'You're all covered with mud.' Clevinger focused on Nately. 'You're the one who really surprises me. Do you know what you smell like? Instead of trying to keep him out of trouble, you get just as drunk as he is. Suppose he got in another fight with Appleby?' Clevinger's eyes opened wide with alarm when he heard Yossarian chuckle. 'He didn't get in another fight with Appleby, did he?'
'Not this time,' said Dunbar.
'No, not this time. This time I did even better.'
'This time he got in a fight with Colonel Korn.'
'He didn't!' gasped Clevinger.
'He did?' exclaimed Chief White Halfoat with delight. 'That calls for a drink.'