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'but snowden kept shaking his head and pointed at last, with just the barest movement of his chin, down to his armpit. yossarian bent forward to peer and saw a strangely colored stain seeping through the coverall just above the armhole of snowden’s flak suit. yossarian felt his heart stop, then pound so violently he found it difficult to breathe. snowden was wounded inside his flak suit.


yossarian ripped open the snaps of snowden’s flak suit and heard himself scream wildly as snowden’s insides slithered down to the floor in a soggy pile and just kept dripping out. a chunk of flak more than three inches big had shot into his other side just underneath the arm and blasted all the way through, drawing whole mottled quarts of snowden along with it through the gigantic hole in his ribs it made as it blasted out. yossarian screamed a second time and squeezed both hands over his eyes. his teeth were chattering in horror. he forced himself to look again.


here was God’s plenty, all right, he thought bitterly as he stared-- liver, lungs, kidneys, ribs, stomach and bits of the stewed tomatoes snowden had eaten that day for lunch. yossarian hated stewed tomatoes and turned away dizzily and began to vomit, clutching his burning throat. the tail gunner woke up while yossarian was vomiting, saw him, and fainted again.'