"Okay. Oil keeps you alive. Now somebody wants to destroy the oil."
"There's an awful lot of it. It'd be hard for them to do that," the general said.
"They've got a way. I've seen it work," Remo said.
"It'll destroy our oil?" Bull said.
"Right."
"No more money for salaries or new satellite killer systems?"
"Right," Remo said.
Bull pulled himself to his full height and hitched up his jeans again. "Winslow," he barked. "Scramble the air force. Get the tank divisions ready."
"Should I tell them to get the Mobile Nucotronic Army Decimator ready?" Winslow asked.
"No, don't mess with that crap. Just regular things ... you know, that go bang."
"Guns?"
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"Right. How many pilots are around?" the general asked.
"We gave all the Americans the week ofl, remember?"
"Oh, phooey," the general said.
"You don't have Hamidi pilots?" Remo asked.
"Son, there are no Hamidi pilots. The Hamidis think that planes are things that come with Americans inside them. The Hamidis are old slave traders. They buy people. They buy ambassadors. They've got some ambassador right now running around America on a speaking tour, warning about how officials might come under the pressure of the Israeli lobby."
"I read about that," Remo said.
"Sure, you would. That guy gets ten thousand dollars every time he makes that speech."
"For ten thousand dollars, I'd make that speech too," Winslow said.
"Well, I wouldn't," General Bull said. "I wouldn't because I believe in truth, justice, and the American way. And the free enterprise system, of course."
"Dear God," said Remo, shaking his head. "Well, skip the air force. We won't need it anyway."
"Who we going up against?" Bull asked. "I've heard that there's a chess club in Nehmad and the members are planning sedition against the government. They're voting next week on printing a leaflet criticizing the king. Are they the ones?"
"Not them. We're going against Arab soldiers."
"Come on. There are no Arab soldiers," General Bull said.
"Old-fashioned kind," Remo said. "Horses, swords, spears."
"Real swords?" Bull said.
"Yes," said Remo.
"They'll be no match for our tanks if we can get some running. Winslow will lead them into battle himself. I'll stay here and man the central command post. Let me know as soon as the fighting's over."
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"No," Remo said. "Winslow isn't leading. I'm leading. And you're coming with me."
"Up until now, son, I kind of liked you. But why do I have to go?"
"It'll make the troops feel good to know their general is there at their side, sharing the risks with them," Remo said.
"You know what I hate?" Bull said.
"What?"
"All that old bullshit tradition in the army. All those traditions, they're general-killers, that's what they are. General-killers."
"And so am I," Remo said.
'TU go," Bull said. "You know, I never did ask your name."
"Patton," Remo said. "George S. Patton."
"Is that Irish?" Bull asked. "Sounds Irish."
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Chapter Ten
General Jonathan Wentworth Bull assembled the entire Hamidi army the next morning at a.m. Two hundred of them showed up.
"This is it?" Remo asked him. "Two hundred men?"
"Well, there are more, but it's hard to get messages to them right away. And especially before noon. I think we should have a thousand by this afternoon."
"We'll need a thousand," Remo said. "Sheik Fareem's got a thousand men."
"If I get you eleven hundred, can I stay here?" Bull asked.
"No."
"Why not?"