"Your bomber, then, is an instrument for peace?"
"Yes. And we also have a man we'll throw in," confided Milo, "who can produce heavy water for you internally."
"I want that man! At any price!"
"Absolutely, Dr. Teller?"
"Positively, Admiral Rickover."
"And our instrument for peace can be used to dump heavy bomb loads on cities too."
"We don't like to bomb civilians."
"Yes, we do. It's cost-effective. You can also arm our Shhhhh! with conventional bombs, for surprise attacks too. The big surprise will come when there's no nuclear explosion. You can use these against friendly nations, with no lasting radiation aftereffects. Will Strangelove do that?"
"What does Porter Lovejoy say?"
"Not guilty."
"I mean before his indictment."
"Buy both planes."
"Is there money for both?"
"It doesn't matter."
"I wouldn't want to tell the President that."
"We have a man who will talk to the President," volunteered Milo. "His name is Yossarian."
"Yossarian? I've heard that name."
"He's a very famous artist, Bernie."
"Sure, I know his work," said General Bingam.
"This is a different Yossarian."
"Isn't it time for another recess?"
"I may need Yossarian," muttered Milo, with his palm sheltering his mouth, "to talk to Noodles Cook. And where the fuck is that chaplain?"
"They keep moving him around, sir," whispered Colonel Pickering. "We don't know where the fuck he is."
This ten-minute recess turned out to be a five-minute recess in which six MASSPOB guards paraded in with a mulberry birthday cake for General Bernard Bingam and the papers promoting him from a brigadier general to a major general. Bingam blew out the candles on his first try and asked jovially: "Is there anything more?"
"Yes! Definitely yes!" cried the stout man from the State Department.
"I'll say there is!" cried just as loudly the slim one from National Security.
Fat and Skinny had a race to make the most of the fact that a number of features in the M amp; M Shhhhh! were identical to those of the old Stealth.
"Sir, your fucking ejection seats were originally in plans for the fucking old Stealth. Our reports show these fucking seats were shredding dummies in tests."
"We can supply you," said Milo, "with all the replacement dummies you need."
Fat fell down and broke his face.
"He was concerned, I believe," interposed the Dean of Humanities and Social Work at the War College, "about the men, not the fucking dummies."
"We can supply as many men as you need too."
Skinny was muddled, and Fat was struck dumb.
"We are inquiring as to their safety, sir. Your machines, you say, can stay aloft for long periods, even years. Our machines with men aboard must be able to come back."
"Why?"
"Why?"
"Yeah, what for?"
"Why the fuck do they have to come back?"
"What the fuck is wrong with all you fucking idiots anyway?" demanded Wintergreen, with a disbelieving shake of his head. "Our plane is a second-strike weapon. Colonel Pickering, will you talk to these fucking shitheads and explain?"
"Certainly, Mr. Wintergreen. Gentlemen, what the fuck difference does it make if the fucking planes come back or not?"
"None, Colonel Pickering."
"Thank you, Major Bowes, you fuck."
"Not at all, you bastard."
"Gentlemen," said Skinny, "I want the record to show I have never in my life been called a shithead, not since I was a young boy."
"We're not keeping a record."
"Shithead."
"Asshole."
"Prick, where would they escape to?" asked Wintergreen. "Most of everything here is gone then too."
"Permit me," snarled Skinny, leaving no doubt he was bitter. "Your fucking bombers, you say, carry nuclear bombs that will penetrate the fucking earth before exploding?"
"Your fucking missiles can't do that."
"Please tell us why the fuck we would want them to."
"Well, you fucking people, in your fucking assessments, always emphasize enemy underground bunkers for their fucking political and military leaders."
"Do we fucking emphasize that?"
"Does the President play Triage?"
"You should read what you write."
"We don't like to read."
"We hate to read."
"We can't read what we write."
"We have bombs that will go down a hundred miles before they explode. Your present depth of planning is to live forty-two miles underground. We can fuse our bombs to detonate so far past forty-two that they won't damage anybody on our side or theirs. You can wage a nuclear war that causes no damage to life or property on earth. That's humane, isn't it? That's fucking humane, I'd say."
"I'd call that fucking humane."
"Let me get one fucking thing straight. Please, Skinny, let me get a word in. These fucking units are for a second strike by us?"
"They will go after surviving enemy units that have not been used in their first strike."
"Why would they not use them in their first strike?"
"How the fuck should I know?"
"You guarantee your planes will work?"
"They've been working more than two years now. We've had models flying back and forth that long. You must tell us now if you want to go ahead. Otherwise we'll take our fucking Shhhhh! somewhere else."
"You could not do that," said Fat. "Excuse me, Skinny, let me continue."
"It's my turn, Fat. That would be against the law."
Milo 's laugh was benign. "How would you know? The planes are invisible and make no noise."
"Oh, shit, I can't believe these questions," said Wintergreen. "What the fuck difference does it make if it works or not? Its chief value is to deter. By the time it goes into action it has already failed."
"I still have a question. Let me proceed, Fat."
"It's my turn, you skinny prick."
"No, it isn't, you fat fuck."
"Don't listen to that shithead," persisted Fat. "If it's invisible and noiseless, what's to stop you from selling it to the enemy anyway?"
"Our patriotism."
And after that one, Bingam called a final recess.
"Wintergreen," whispered Milo, in the pause before they concluded, "do we really have a bomb that will go down a hundred miles before exploding?"
"We'll have to look. What about the old Stealth? Do you think they'll catch on?"
"They're not really the same. The Stealth was never built. So our Shhhhh! is newer."
"I'd say so too."
There were those on the panel who wanted more time, and others like Fat and Skinny who were insisting on a comparison check with the Strangelove B-Ware. They would need Yossarian, Milo grunted dejectedly, while the three senior military officers conferred in whispers. Bingam waited tensely. Wintergreen fumed visibly. Milo advised him to stop, since no one was watching. Finally, the rear admiral looked up.
"Gentlemen." His manner of speaking was unhurried. "We are after a weapon for the new century that will render all other armaments subsidiary and inconsequential."
"You need look no further," Milo advised hopefully.
"I myself," continued the admiral, as though he had heard nothing, "am inclined to put myself in the camp of General Bingam. Bernie, that's another feather in your cap. I want to recommend your Shhhhh! But before I put myself on record, there's a question of substance." He bent closer toward them, with his elbows on the table and his chin on clasped hands. "Your plane, Mr. Minderbinder. You must tell me honestly. If deployed in sufficient numbers, can it destroy the world?"