There was no word about Orr the next day, and Sergeant Whitcomb, with commendable dispatch and considerable hope, dropped a reminder in his tickler file to send a form letter over Colonel Cathcart's signature to Orr's next of kin when nine more days had elapsed. There was word from General Peckem's headquarters, though, and Yossarian was drawn to the crowd of officers and enlisted men in shorts and bathing trunks buzzing in grumpy confusion around the bulletin board just outside the orderly room.

"What's so different about this Sunday, I want to know?" Hungry Joe was demanding vociferously of Chief White Halfoat. "Why won't we have a parade this Sunday when we don't have a parade every Sunday? Huh?"

Yossarian worked his way through to the front and let out a long, agonized groan when he read the terse announcement there:

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