For those too cheap to buy the book it can be read online at https://archive.org/stream/CampOfThe...aints_djvu.txt

If nothing else read Chapter 24. An absolutely hilarious description of the organized airlift of supplies to the turd world invaders (and their gratitude) by a varied gaggle of guilt ridden do gooders. It is honestly laugh out loud hilarious! Raspail absolutely nails it and it is priceless!

"What happened after that was like something from a nightmare, or at least a bad dream. The long-awaited encounter took place two
miles off the coast of Sao Tome. But it soon became clear that the Ganges fleet had no intention whatever of stopping. The India Star
even seemed to change course, heading straight to ram one of the barges! Indeed, the Knights of Malta owed their lives to the presence
of mind of their pilot, who was able to throw the engine into emergency reverse practically under the steamer's prow. For a moment the
old duke imagined he was back in the days of the Order's intrepid galleons, doing battle with the Turk. As for the "poor dears" the
princess was after, the only thing she saw, as she thought herself doomed, was a hideous, misshapen, convulsive dwarf, with a sailor's
cap, and two stumps outstretched, as if ready to open the gates of Hell. She murmured a mea culpa and fell forthwith into a graceful
swoon. At this point, since none of the mercy-mongers would dare to imagine the impossible -- to wit, an openly hostile act on the part of the Ganges armada -- they assumed it was an accident, happily avoided, and sent their barges off once more to pull alongside the ships
and board with their provisions. Attempt abandoned no sooner than begun. Three boxes of rice, deposited somehow on the low-slung
deck of a rusty old torpedo boat, lasted less than ten seconds, as hundreds of arms sprung up and flung them back into the water. And
little doubt this time that the act was deliberate. On another ship, one of the French secret agents was received in a forest of fists, some
brandishing knives. He had hoisted himself up on deck by a cable dangling over the side, and managed to save his skin thanks only to
his commando training, with a fancy jackknife flip back into the water. Meanwhile, English fireworks fell thick and fast on the pop
group that had so generously supplied them, thwacking the drummer square on the head, and cutting a gash in the lead singer' s shoulder.
Persistent, the papal barge held out longer than the rest, like a stubborn sheep dog prodding the flock. Abreast of the Calcutta Star, she
was making her third attempt to board, when a naked cadaver, hurtling down from the deck, fell with a heavy, sickening thud at the feet
of the Dominican friars. It was still soft and warm. White skin, blue eyes, blond beard and hair. The man had been strangled. When they
loosened the rope eating into his neck and took a good look at his face, they were stunned at the sight: it was one of the great Catholic
writers of the decade, lay member of the Council of Vatican III (at the Pope's own invitation), outstanding reformer, and religious
intellect par excellence, known far and wide."...continued at https://archive.org/stream/CampOfThe...aints_djvu.txt