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- Джозеф Хеллер
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- Уловка 22
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- Стр. 324/452
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There
was
no
way
to
fight
back
.
He
could
not
even
see
McWatt
and
the
co
-
pilot
from
his
post
in
the
nose
.
All
he
could
ever
see
was
Aarfy
,
with
whose
fustian
,
moon
-
faced
ineptitude
he
had
finally
lost
all
patience
,
and
there
were
minutes
of
agonizing
fury
and
frustration
in
the
sky
when
he
hungered
to
be
demoted
again
to
a
wing
plane
with
a
loaded
machine
gun
in
the
compartment
instead
of
the
precision
bombsight
that
he
really
had
no
need
for
,
a
powerful
,
heavy
fifty
-
caliber
machine
gun
he
could
seize
vengefully
in
both
hands
and
turn
loose
savagely
against
all
the
demons
tyrannizing
him
:
at
the
smoky
black
puffs
of
the
flak
itself
;
at
the
German
antiaircraft
gunners
below
whom
he
could
not
even
see
and
could
not
possibly
harm
with
his
machine
gun
even
if
he
ever
did
take
the
time
to
open
fire
,
at
Havermeyer
and
Appleby
in
the
lead
plane
for
their
fearless
straight
and
level
bomb
run
on
the
second
mission
to
Bologna
where
the
flak
from
two
hundred
and
twenty
-
four
cannons
had
knocked
out
one
of
Orr
’
s
engines
for
the
very
last
time
and
sent
him
down
ditching
into
the
sea
between
Genoa
and
La
Spezia
just
before
the
brief
thunderstorm
broke
.
Actually
,
there
was
not
much
he
could
do
with
that
powerful
machine
gun
except
load
it
and
test
-
fire
a
few
rounds
.
It
was
no
more
use
to
him
than
the
bombsight
.
He
could
really
cut
loose
with
it
against
attacking
German
fighters
,
but
there
were
no
German
fighters
any
more
,
and
he
could
not
even
swing
it
all
the
way
around
into
the
helpless
faces
of
pilots
like
Huple
and
Dobbs
and
order
them
back
down
carefully
to
the
ground
,
as
he
had
once
ordered
Kid
Sampson
back
down
,
which
is
exactly
what
he
did
want
to
do
to
Dobbs
and
Huple
on
the
hideous
first
mission
to
Avignon
the
moment
he
realized
the
fantastic
pickle
he
was
in
,
the
moment
he
found
himself
aloft
in
a
wing
plane
with
Dobbs
and
Huple
in
a
flight
headed
by
Havermeyer
and
Appleby
.
Dobbs
and
Huple
?
Huple
and
Dobbs
?
Who
were
they
?
What
preposterous
madness
to
float
in
thin
air
two
miles
high
on
an
inch
or
two
of
metal
,
sustained
from
death
by
the
meager
skill
and
intelligence
of
two
vapid
strangers
,
a
beardless
kid
named
Huple
and
a
nervous
nut
like
Dobbs
,
who
really
did
go
nuts
right
there
in
the
plane
,
running
amuck
over
the
target
without
leaving
his
copilot
’
s
seat
and
grabbing
the
controls
from
Huple
to
plunge
them
all
down
into
that
chilling
dive
that
tore
Yossarian
’
s
headset
loose
and
brought
them
right
back
inside
the
dense
flak
from
which
they
had
almost
escaped
.
The
next
thing
he
knew
,
another
stranger
,
a
radio
-
gunner
named
Snowden
,
was
dying
in
back
.
It
was
impossible
to
be
positive
that
Dobbs
had
killed
him
,
for
when
Yossarian
plugged
his
headset
back
in
,
Dobbs
was
already
on
the
intercom
pleading
for
someone
to
go
up
front
and
help
the
bombardier
.
And
almost
immediately
Snowden
broke
in
,
whimpering
,
"
Help
me
.
Please
help
me
.
I
’
m
cold
.
I
’
m
cold
.
"
And
Yossarian
crawled
slowly
out
of
the
nose
and
up
on
top
of
the
bomb
bay
and
wriggled
back
into
the
rear
section
of
the
plane
—
passing
the
first
-
aid
kit
on
the
way
that
he
had
to
return
for
—
to
treat
Snowden
for
the
wrong
wound
,
the
yawning
,
raw
,
melon
-
shaped
hole
as
big
as
a
football
in
the
outside
of
his
thigh
,
the
unsevered
,
blood
-
soaked
muscle
fibers
inside
pulsating
weirdly
like
blind
things
with
lives
of
their
own
,
the
oval
,
naked
wound
that
was
almost
a
foot
long
and
made
Yossarian
moan
in
shock
and
sympathy
the
instant
he
spied
it
and
nearly
made
him
vomit
.
And
the
small
,
slight
tail
-
gunner
was
lying
on
the
floor
beside
Snowden
in
a
dead
faint
,
his
face
as
white
as
a
handkerchief
,
so
that
Yossarian
sprang
forward
with
revulsion
to
help
him
first
.
Yes
,
in
the
long
run
,
he
was
much
safer
flying
with
McWatt
,
and
he
was
not
even
safe
with
McWatt
,
who
loved
flying
too
much
and
went
buzzing
boldly
inches
off
the
ground
with
Yossarian
in
the
nose
on
the
way
back
from
the
training
flight
to
break
in
the
new
bombardier
in
the
whole
replacement
crew
Colonel
Cathcart
had
obtained
after
Orr
was
lost
.
The
practice
bomb
range
was
on
the
other
side
of
Pianosa
,
and
,
flying
back
,
McWatt
edged
the
belly
of
the
lazing
,
slow
-
cruising
plane
just
over
the
crest
of
mountains
in
the
middle
and
then
,
instead
of
maintaining
altitude
,
jolted
both
engines
open
all
the
way
,
lurched
up
on
one
side
and
,
to
Yossarian
’
s
astonishment
,
began
following
the
falling
land
down
as
fast
as
the
plane
would
go
,
wagging
his
wings
gaily
and
skimming
with
a
massive
,
grinding
,
hammering
roar
over
each
rocky
rise
and
dip
of
the
rolling
terrain
like
a
dizzy
gull
over
wild
brown
waves
.
Yossarian
was
petrified
.
The
new
bombardier
beside
him
sat
demurely
with
a
bewitched
grin
and
kept
whistling
"
Whee
!
"
and
Yossarian
wanted
to
reach
out
and
crush
his
idiotic
face
with
one
hand
as
he
flinched
and
flung
himself
away
from
the
boulders
and
hillocks
and
lashing
branches
of
trees
that
loomed
up
above
him
out
in
front
and
rushed
past
just
underneath
in
a
sinking
,
streaking
blur
.
No
one
had
a
right
to
take
such
frightful
risks
with
his
life
.
"
Go
up
,
go
up
,
go
up
!
"
he
shouted
frantically
at
McWatt
,
hating
him
venomously
,
but
McWatt
was
singing
buoyantly
over
the
intercom
and
probably
couldn
’
t
hear
.
Yossarian
,
blazing
with
rage
and
almost
sobbing
for
revenge
,
hurled
himself
down
into
the
crawlway
and
fought
his
way
through
against
the
dragging
weight
of
gravity
and
inertia
until
he
arrived
at
the
main
section
and
pulled
himself
up
to
the
flight
deck
,
to
stand
trembling
behind
McWatt
in
the
pilot
’
s
seat
.
He
looked
desperately
about
for
a
gun
,
a
gray
-
black
.
45
automatic
that
he
could
cock
and
ram
right
up
against
the
base
of
McWatt
’
s
skull
.
There
was
no
gun
.
There
was
no
hunting
knife
either
,
and
no
other
weapon
with
which
he
could
bludgeon
or
stab
,
and
Yossarian
grasped
and
jerked
the
collar
of
McWatt
’
s
coveralls
in
tightening
fists
and
shouted
to
him
to
go
up
,
go
up
.
The
land
was
still
swimming
by
underneath
and
flashing
by
overhead
on
both
sides
.
McWatt
looked
back
at
Yossarian
and
laughed
joyfully
as
though
Yossarian
were
sharing
his
fun
.
Yossarian
slid
both
hands
around
McWatt
’
s
bare
throat
and
squeezed
.
McWatt
turned
stiff
:
"
Go
up
,
"
Yossarian
ordered
unmistakably
through
his
teeth
in
a
low
,
menacing
voice
.
"
Or
I
’
ll
kill
you
.
"
Rigid
with
caution
,
McWatt
cut
the
motors
back
and
climbed
gradually
.
Yossarian
’
s
hands
weakened
on
McWatt
’
s
neck
and
slid
down
off
his
shoulders
to
dangle
inertly
.
He
was
not
angry
any
more
.
He
was
ashamed
.
When
McWatt
turned
,
he
was
sorry
the
hands
were
his
and
wished
there
were
someplace
where
he
could
bury
them
.
They
felt
dead
.
McWatt
gazed
at
him
deeply
.
There
was
no
friendliness
in
his
stare
.
"
Boy
,
"
he
said
coldly
,
"
you
sure
must
be
in
pretty
bad
shape
.
You
ought
to
go
home
.
"
"
They
won
’
t
let
me
.
"
Yossarian
answered
with
averted
eyes
,
and
crept
away
.
