Reverend-General Eldon Sluggard descended into the bowels of the Seaworthy Gargantuan to address his mighty host. They had passed through the Strait of Hormuz, soon, he hoped, to be rechristened the Strait of Griselda after that other ball-buster, his ex-wife.
Sluggard's heart pounded as he entered the long cargo area. Where viscous brown crude usually sloshed, phalanxes of soldiers in cross-embroidered tunics stood waiting. They were ready. Eldon Sluggard could see it in their feverish eyes.
Reverend-General Sluggard was ready too. He wore two pistols strapped, cowboy style, on his hips. An M16 hung from his shoulder. There were throwing daggers in each boot. And of course his Civil-War-vintage saber, which he was getting used to wearing. He hadn't tripped over it in almost an hour. The sword would be his last line of defense. If it looked like he was going to be captured, he was going to set it hilt-down in the sand and belly-flop onto it. Anything so those ragheads didn't take him alive.
"Ten-hut!" he shouted.
The Paladins of the Lord came to attention. And Reverend-General Sluggard grinned expansively. His grin was as false as a gold tooth, but he knew if he didn't keep them pumped up the mullahs would have him for dinner.
"We are in the Gulf. The Pershing Gulf," he barked.
"Named after that famous American, General John 'Blackjack' Pershing."
"Hallelujah!" they exulted. "Are we ready to fight?"
"For God and glory!" their voices echoed.
They were nearly six thousand strong. They were young, irrational, and ignorant, but best of all they had an objective. The Holy Nail. Nothing could stand against them.
"We hit the beach in speedboats," said Reverend-General Sluggard. "That way we take 'em by surprise. We establish a beachhead, dig in, and start capturing the oil fields. When we've choked off their economy, we storm our way to Tehran. And the Holy Nail!"
"Hallelujah!"
"The nail is our true objective. All of you remember that the relic of our dear savior's Passion is holding up a picture of the Ayatollah-may he burn in hell."
"Burn!" cried the Hosts of the Lord. Although he had repeated it a dozen times or more, they still broke out in angry indignation every time he reminded them of the nail's fate.
All during the voyage, the Reverend-General had kept churning their emotions. He had told them about what the mullahs were going to do to their Christian family members if they got their way. He told them the story of the original Crusades. They hissed at the story of the First Crusade, which captured, but failed to hold on to Jerusalem. They cheered the story of the successful Third Crusade. They wept and vowed revenge when he told them of the Children's crusade of 1212, when European children sailed into the Holy Land and were captured and made slaves of the heathen.
By the time he had gotten to the Eighth Crusade, they were whipped into a passionate fury. And then he promised them that this would be the Last Crusade. After this, the scourge of the evil Moslems would be eradicated from the world.
"In another minute Ah'm gonna lead you all up on deck. You know what happens next."
"Victory!"
That wasn't what Eldon Sluggard had in mind, but it sounded good so he went with it.
"Yes! Victory! Victory over Islam. God has called us to a sacred mission and we're gonna accomplish it. And there's one thing I want you to know when we get out there. When all holy hell breaks loose and the bullets are flyin', you remember that bullets are part of the natural world. But you and Ah are part of the spiritual world because we are fortified with the Holy Spirit. And everyone knows that bullets can't touch the Holy Spirit. "
"Praise be to the Lord," cried the Paladins of the Lord.
"All right, Reverend-Majors, get your units together! We're going to make Holy War!"
And Reverend-General Sluggard marched topside. The Knights of the Lord followed him in double rows, marching lock-step. He had made them practice the lock-step on the voyage. It was the only military skill he knew. He didn't know beans about guns.
The Persian Gulf air was salty and cool. It was night. A low dark line off the starboard bow was the coast of Iran. It looked foreboding. Here and there lantern-rigged dhows sat on the still water like resting butterflies.
"Start lowering the boats," Reverend-General Eldon Sluggard ordered.
Remo and Chiun arrived at the place marked on the map they had taken from the Christian Campground. It was a tree-covered rise overlooking the Gulf.
"Here," proclaimed Chiun, folding up the map. He slid off the donkey Remo was leading.
"I ride the donkey on the way back," Remo muttered.
"Done," said Chiun. who expected to leave Iran by ship. They emerged from a clump of olive trees. The water hissed on the sand below.
"Is that the ship?"
Chiun's eyes narrowed. "It says Seaworthy Gargantuan. It is the name of the ship we saw departing America. "
"Okay, now what do we do? Your great plan is out, unless you think the Crusaders can't read English."
"And I suppose you have a wonderful white plan of your own?" Chiun squeaked.
"Actually not," Remo admitted worriedly. His hearing had picked up sounds, low, disturbing sounds.
Out on the water, a flotilla of speedboats was coming from all directions. They were converging on the Seaworthy Gargantuan.
"Revolutionary Guards," Remo said. "They're going for the tanker."
"And land forces too," added Chiun.
Remo turned. Coming up the road were tanks, jeeps, and armored personnel carriers. In the lead was an open jeep, and standing in the back, clutching a copy of the Koran, was the Grand Ayatollah of Iran. Behind him General Mefki's glassy-eyed head bounced. It was perched on the end of a stick.
"Looks like there's been a power struggle with the military," Remo said drily. "Guess who lost."
The vehicles slowed to a halt. The Grand Ayatollah dismounted and walked to a vantage point where he could survey the Gulf.
"Marg bar Amrika!" he shouted shaking the Koran over his head. "Let them drown in their own blood." A screaming horde of Revolutionary Guards poured out of the vehicles. They wore red headbands with revolutionary slogans written on them in white script. Out in the Gulf, the booming voice of Reverend Sluggard reverberated.
"God is on our side. Let's whip them ragheads!" he shouted.
"Smite them! Allah wills it," returned the Grand Ayatollah.
"You see?" Chiun shouted. "You see, Remo? They call upon the Supreme Creator to aid them in their ridiculous quarrel. Because they call him by different names, fools are willing to go to their deaths."
"So what do we do?"
"You despise the Iranians, do you not?"
"Yeah."
"I make a gift of them to you. I will deal with the Sluggard."
"But-" Remo began. Before he could react, Chiun was running down to the water.