The crew of the Golden Exmo boiled over its bow and swept across the stern of the J.$.$. Morgannic.
The Mormon Elders, true to their reputation of being a unified and well disciplined fighting force, stood stoically in ranks ready to receive the apostates. Looking very smart in their uniform white short sleeved shirts and ties, with their bayonets and nametags affixed – they made an imposing impression.
The experienced apostate warrior’s eye however discerned amber-colored pools of liquid gathering at the feet of the Mormon Elders as the apostates rushed forward.
Years later, as the tale of this battle was retold, many a young apostate would rue that they were not there to share in the glory. Their imaginations would grasp at the notion of having their monikers listed beside those famed worthies now enshrined in the RfM hall of heroes. There are neither books enough nor the time to tell of the constellation of champions who exemplified their unique martial arts in fighting the good fight against the scourge of Mormon despotism that fine hour.
Get Her Done led the way. As he dropped to the deck of the J.$.$. Morgannic wearing only a green temple apron, his “lucky” boots and a crown of thorns and screaming “GET HER DONE”, many terrified Mormon Elders simply dropped their weapons and ran.
Stray Mutt and Skunk Puppet swinging their swords in giant arcs, hacked their way forward through the enemy ranks, pausing only to pry a recalcitrant blade from the blubber of some unfortunate Mission President.
Almost immediately, a pile of incapacitated Mormon Elders began to accumulate around Moniker who stood atop the growing heap slashing with her cutlass in one hand and firing her shotgun at point blank range with the other.
Susan I/S used an ancient Nephite halberd to pole vault over the heads of stunned Church Security Officers and fought her way to take control of the LD$ ship’s radio control room.
Makurosu grabbed a line from the rigging and giving a Tarzan yell, swung over the heads of the Mormon Elders and deposited himself near the helm of the J.$.$. Morgannic where he was soon joined by Get Her Done.
Matt was a blur of motion a he cut through the Mormon ranks like a buzz saw giving garment wedgies to the Elders and knocking their heads together. As they struggled to readjust their magical undergarments, he would trip them so that they fell overboard. When he tired, he would tag Timothy sitting on the rail who took his place in the fray while Matt rested himself.
As the undrawn sword is the mark of the master swordsman, Captain Steve Benson strolled casually among the carnage completely unarmed. Occasionally he would stop to poke a Stake President in the eye or knock an apologist sniper from the rigging with a well aimed empty soda bottle. Although he was the intended target of numerous attacks, somehow he was never harmed.
SL Cabbie and GayLayAle stood shoulder to shoulder, cutting and chopping their way through the mass of Mormon Elders. SL Cabbie fought with his left hand and GayLayAle with his right. With the beauty and timing of a well choreographed Bruce Lee movie, they would work their way to the opposite rail, wheel, turn, switch their sword arm and work their way back through the Mormon ranks.
As the battle swirled around them, SL Cabbie felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned his head for a moment to find Ziller nervously chewing on a large burning cigar and taking long pulls from his silver flask of Oklahoma moonshine, his tailored seersucker suit ringed with sweat.
"What do you want, Ziller?" asked SL Cabbie without interrupting his business of hacking and slicing.
"Something's wrong," Ziller answered. "I fear we are losing this battle yet I cannot say how. I believe we should withdraw and return to the Golden Exmo."
GayLayAle and SL Cabbie were awestruck.
It was not that Ziller had suggested retreat. That alone was odd enough. But that he had actually referred to himself in the first person!
"The heat of this battle has scrambled his brains," GayLayAle whispered to SL Cabbie.
"Protect him, SL Cabbie," implored GayLayAle. "Fight your way back to the Golden Exmo."
SL Cabbie made no reply. No one told him what to do in a fight! But the fate of all, he knew, meant more than the pride of one.
With one hand SL Cabbie gripped Ziller tightly by the arm and with the other he raised his cutlass. He stepped back into the fray, this time fighting to retreat.
GayLayAle scrambled into the lower rigging of the J.$.$. Morgannic. With the flat of his hand he shaded his brow from the sun now quickly rising in the East and scanned the Golden Exmo.
Her foredeck was deserted. Lurkers hung in the rigging, watching the battle and cheering every apostate blow. Her helm turned emptily. Her pacifist crew members were busy hanging out laundry and preparing a champagne brunch on the lido deck. There was no threat that GayLayAle could determine.
GayLayAle swung his gaze to the J.$.$. Morgannic. Below his feet he could see that the apostates had almost gained the length of the deck, including the wheelhouse of the huge LD$ ship and the base of her rearmost mast. Yet their progress seemed to be stalled. The apostates were in fact hemmed in, and more and more Mormon Elders poured out of the hold even as GayLayAle watched.
The reinforcements, GayLayAle suddenly realized with shock and horror, were not the real problem. The problem was the changing wind. As GayLayAle stood in the rigging, ten feet above the battle, the doom of the Golden Exmo was played out before him and he was helpless to act.
The bowsprit of the Golden Exmo was hopelessly tangled in the stern rigging of the larger LD$ ship. The new wind, which blew across the bow of the J.$.$. Morgannic, pushed it toward the stern of the Golden Exmo. The wind increased as GayLayAle watched, and the two ships began to form a large “V”. Soon the Golden Exmo would swing into the sights of the massive gun batteries of the J.$.$. Morgannic.
GayLayAle searched the deck quickly. None of his fellow apostates could see over the enemy before them. None understood what was happening. None grasped the threat borne on this freshening breeze.
The horror that GayLayAle felt as the two ships drew nearer was nothing compared to the fear which smote him when he beheld what next emerged from the bowels of the J.$.$. Morgannic.
GayLayAle raised his voice in a mighty shout, one which swept over the battle and caused every participant to rest his sword arm, if only for a moment. "Captain Steve Benson!" he shouted, as he pointed to the foredeck.
Captain Steve Benson followed GayLayAle’s pointing arm to the foredeck cabin door.
Captain Steve Benson’s heart sank with forebodings of doom. He planted his palm on his forehead. He should have known.
Out of the shadows stepped a figure surrounded by a dozen Church Security Officers carrying machineguns - the dread Admiral Thomas S. Monson.
… to be continued …
Ziller
P.S. – For entertainment purposes only. Ziller apologizes in advance for using your moniker in vain. (Ziller is reposting this Chapter 4 cuz it didn’t get archived)
Link to Chapter 1:
http://www.exmormon.org/boards/w-agora/view.php?bn=exmobb_recovery&key=1282837548Link to Chapter 2:
http://www.exmormon.org/boards/w-agora/view.php?bn=exmobb_recovery&key=1282940096Link to Chapter 3:
http://www.exmormon.org/boards/w-agora/view.php?bn=exmobb_recovery&key=1283351179Enjoy,
Ziller