Doc Daneeka’s “death” is humorous but even closer to serious events; it also extends the satire beyond the war zone and into civilian life. Among other self-contradictions, Doc is a flight surgeon who hates to fly. For that reason, McWatt usually adds Doc’s name to the passenger list, filed with his aviation plan, so Doc can draw his flight pay without having to board a plane. When McWatt flies into a mountain after buzzing the beach and killing Kid Sampson, Daneeka is actually standing on the beach, beside Sergeant Knight, watching. Within the context of military logic, however, he is on the plane, does not parachute out, and therefore must be dead. Forget the fact that he is still walking around, trying to convince people that he is alive. According to military procedure, he is officially dead. Back in the States, his wife receives a War Department telegram stating that her husband has been “killed in action.” Heller has a little fun with the idea that she grieves woefully for “almost a full week,” hypocrisy being what it is on both sides of the ocean. Despite letters from her husband, Mrs. Daneeka is assured by the government that Doc is dead. Soon, her prospects brighten. The money starts pouring in—more than $200,000 in life-insurance policies alone—and men begin paying attention. When another desperate letter arrives from someone claiming to be her husband, she almost complies with his wishes. But life is looking pretty good to the widow Daneeka. After receiving one of Whitcomb’s form letters of condolence, she packs up the kids and heads for Lansing, Michigan, leaving no forwarding address. Here, again, the result is more comic than tragic—unless, of course, you’re Doc Daneeka. The comedy plays off the horrible deaths of Kid Sampson and McWatt, but in contrast rather than direct revelation.
The story of the dead man in Yossarian’s tent is grimly ironic rather than amusing. The distorted logic of the Army explains its mystery. Upon arrival at the squadron, a replacement pilot named Lieutenant Mudd initially entered the operations tent, looking for the orderly tent where he planned to check in. Because the squadron was temporarily short of men, the lieutenant was immediately sent on a bombing mission. He was killed over Orvieto within two hours of his arrival, his body blown to pieces and never found. Because the lieutenant never officially signed in, the military’s position is that he was never there. The dead man’s belongings, not the dead man himself, are in Yossarian’s tent. They cannot be processed because the young officer—and thus his possessions—never officially arrived. The story is revealing and ironic but not even remotely “funny.” It is sobering, a little frightening, and deadly serious.
Heller’s satire often is comic. But sometimes it exposes the horror of situations as well as their irony. Clevinger’s trial before the Action Board features some very entertaining dialogue; after we finish laughing, though, we’re left with the unamusing fact that he is found guilty because he is accused. Yossarian’s friends are dying because Colonel Cathcart keeps changing the definition of a tour of duty. The numbers are abstract, but the deaths are real. The author’s passionate indignation reveals horror and corruption and sometimes tragedy as well as comedy.
