Summary: Born and raised in the US to a French father and Native American mother, Qaletaqa (A LETA QWA) George Sherman is a member of the French Foreign Legion. After getting sent on a mission in Somalia, him and his men come under attack by Somali pirates and systematically killed one by one. France does not care for the Legion, it is better they die than real French soldiers. Somehow though, Qaletaqa survived, and is sent to another world. Now he must choose whether to fight and die for a purpose or forsake everything he has for wealth and pleasure.

This is going to be an interesting story I've had on my mind for a while. I really liked General RTS's Drifter series, at least the concept (Though the story itself was very good) and I wanted to do something similar. I want to focus on different themes, mainly the political aspect of forming a new country. So it will go through similar stages as his, starting with the revolution, then the forming of the country but unlike his it will focus more on politics and the problems of creating a nation. The military aspect will only really be there as a part of the political aspect. While normally politics can be boring (And a pain in the fucking ass) but I feel that I can make it work, especially amid the bigotry and caste of the ZNT/FOZ universe.

Obviously, if I owned the rights to ZNT/FOZ not only would I not be doing this, but I would have made it reach its potential (Or run it into the ground, which ever comes first).

Chapter 1:

March or Die

"Take Cover!" I shouted over the deafening sounds of gunshots and combat as an RPG propelled over the small stone wall that was currently protecting me from AK fire. The following explosion behind me made my ears ring and my stomach churn from the blast wave, disorienting me and making it difficult to stand on my own two feet. It's times like this I miss my time in the US Military when we had leaders who actually gave a damn about us.

"Commandant, we're getting hit from all sides!" My Sous LT. (Second LT.) shouted over to me, holding his arm with care as blood oozed from the open wound in his shoulder.

"Get a Sniper on the roof and an MG in the front, focus all fire there to break through the line and we'll retreat!" I yelled back. He nodded and began issuing my orders to the rest of my Battalion. We were stuck in Bakool, on the Western border of Somalia in a small stone structure just bordering a tropical like jungle. Unfortunately, the Jungle is where we came from, considering our mission became compromised and we're now being chased by a thousand Somali rebels.

Most of the rebels were unorganized, the only reason they're working together now is because they happened to have heard the commotion and wanted to spill American blood (While not realizing that we're FRENCH... Well, we earned French Citizenship through service.). Unfortunately though Command will only spare us minimal resources considering the Legion does not have nearly the respect in the National French Military and because of bullshit bureaucracy, no politician or citizen cares much for us.

"More incoming to the right!" My LT. yelled. He took a knee right next to me and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I don't know what we're going to do Qaletaqa, we're completely outnumbered!" He said loudly. Due to his French descent, the former small time offender had a habit of pronouncing my Native American born name incorrectly. He always pronounced it A LEHTA QWA with a thick accent compared to how my mother would and her tribe would say it.

"That's Commandant!" I yelled back, asserting my Rank. "And I get the fucking picture! Get a squad of men to reinforce the right Flank!" I said.

"Monsieur, we can't... if we pull anymore men from their positions our left flank will fall." He yelled back. From the moment he said that I knew that there was no way we were getting through this alive. A bullet impacted the corner of the wall that I hid behind and bits of concrete and debris blasted into my face, creating small scrapes along my right cheek.

"Than shut the hell up and die without any fucking ammo!" I screamed, intending for this to be my final glorious moment in combat.

I lifted up my FAMAS and laid down heavy 5.56 MM fire down range at the approaching rebels. I aimed down the ACOG sight which was mounted a little higher than I was used to thanks to the carry handle on the top of the gun, and began accurately acquiring targets. I'm not very good at distancing but I'd say they were no more than 100 Meters away, through the slightly zoomed scope I could even barely make out the whiteness of their eyes in contrast to their ash black skin.

One man fell down in a spray of blood after a round impacted his chest, hitting him right in the solar plexus and killing him almost instantly. Normally shots like those cause severe internal trauma that people loose contagiousness in under 15 seconds, which by many is considered instant death. Switching my sights elsewhere I aimed at another man, this one with long disgusting hair that looked like it was bathed in crude oil and left to dry in the baking sun. After pulling the hair trigger he went down like a rag-doll, the top of his head coming clean off from the bullet grazing his crown.

I took out an M67 Frag Grenade which I duct taped to a small stick to make a kind of stick Grenade, and moved my arm back, ready to throw. Taking a good judge of the distance I heaved the Grenade over my shoulder; the extra leverage of the stick gave me considerably more difference than normal. It got to around 80 to 90 Meters away, getting almost right in front of the advancing rebels. The following explosion covered the men in shrapnel but they were just far enough to survive the blast while also getting disoriented. Most of them fell to the ground, writhing in pain and agony but the ones behind them escaped the worst of it. The worst they got was disorientation from the blast and some even puked because of the blast.

"Monsieur, we're completely defenseless out here!" My Sous LT. said again. I grabbed him hard by the collar and told him straight out...

"If you don't have the Cock to die in combat than you're useless to me!" I yelled. I've always been told that I have a self destructive nature, but what can you expect from me? After all, I was a criminal before my time in the Legion, the only reason I joined was to get rid of my criminal charges and do what I do best... killing and debauchery.

I threw my Sous LT. back and he looked at me like one would a mad man. Normally, someone of my past wouldn't get this high into the ranks but the higher ups saw potential in me due to my past experience and reputation in the US Military.

"Either turn your guns on the enemy or turn them on yourself, either way if this is how we die than we die fighting!" I screamed. Discarding my now empty FAMAS I took out my MAC Mle 50 9MM pistol and charged into open ground, the rebels now within 50 yards of the compound. I grimaced as I felt a round or two impact my plated body armor (Which I knew was fracturing a rib or two) but the adrenalin I was experiencing made them nothing more than minor annoyances.

Taking aim I began to empty my magazine at the bastards, hitting a few of them in the torso and limbs before my 9 round magazine emptied. My training and experience completely dwarfed their pathetic excuse for skills and giving me a massive advantage, even with so many guns pointed at me. I quickly reloaded a new mag, in the back of my mind thinking I broke my personal record for speed, and continued firing.

I fell to my knees as a round grazed my outer left thigh, causing a deep cut but relatively low damage. I aimed again, this time on my knees and kept up my firepower. Unfortunately without a stable platform my accuracy was seriously lacking and I was missing, even as they got withing 20 Meters of me.

Another shot grazed my left shoulder, causing me to grunt in pain and hiss as another mag ran out. I could barely move my left arm to shoot anymore... which was a severe problem considering the fact that I'm left handed. The rebels saw that I couldn't reload an instead of shooting again they just began to run at me. Not wanting to give them the satisfaction of killing me up close I took out my second to last Grenade and pulled the pin. With a small gesture with my hand I motioned for the bastards to come close.

As they got closer they began to walk, seeing that I was no longer a threat and confident that what's left of my men probably were over run by now. Letting a smirk play across my face I let go of the Grenade and the lever came flying off, igniting the fuse. The men realized too late about my suicide plan and froze in complete fear. As the seconds ticked by I opened my eyes to see that the Grenade fell to the ground and did not go off, probably a dud.

"Fuck me..." I muttered, knowing that the rebels wouldn't give me nearly enough time to pull out another one. The last thing I remember of that day was an AK stock that nailed me right in my face. I didn't even feel any pain or register what happened at all.

Normally when you wake up from a head injury you remember next to nothing about what happened right before it happened, however for me it was a little different. As I slept I kept replaying what happened over and over in the form of dreams and nightmares. Apart of me knew something was a miss, like I was dreaming or something and I vaguely wondered if I was in Hell, being force to relive my death over and over again. Although I "Felt" everything I was dulled and did not really register any pain in the dream.

As I opened my eyes I knew that I'm either in Heaven; which was the most unlikely due to my past; Hell or still alive and in a torture chamber of the rebels. Considering my options I think I'd like Heaven a little better, then again I never really believed in Heaven. I myself believe in Native American Spirituality, due to my upbringing in my Mother's Tribe.

I knew that this place was far too good to be a place of torture or eternal torment due to the fact that it smelled like roses and other unidentifiable flowers. Normally I'm pretty good at telling specific plants apart by smell but these were unfamiliar to me, which made sense since I still didn't have a good lay of the land in Somalia.

For the next hour or two I was drifting in and out of sleep, occasionally feeling a strange silky golden hair brush against my mouth and face. I also occasionally heard small feet on a wooden surface, too light and delicate to be a man's foot and the strides were relatively small, implying that this person was on the shorter side.

Sometimes I felt a strange kind of calmness go over my wounds, making them feel much better and acting almost like a sedative, but not as numb feeling. I occasionally sighed at the feeling, hearing a small eep from whoever was tending to me.

Finally, my eyes opened and stayed that way, the darkness of sleep being shoved away from my own determination and will to find out where the hell I was. The first thing I saw was a very beautiful girl, who looked to be in her teenage years. She had long blonde hair under a white sunhat that looked modified to bend over the side of her head. She had on a very small green dress and some kind of strange ripped white leggings.

I knew this girl couldn't be a native here. White women, especially one as young and beautiful as her, do not stay that way for long in this kind of environment. Either they are brutally imprisoned, raped or killed by the Somali rebels. Another strange thing was here outfit, which matched nothing like what other Somali people wore at all. It was too bright, clean and vibrant to really belong in this dirt ball corner of the world.

She didn't even appear to notice me as she was just sitting at her table and was writing in what looked to be a journal or diary. She had her delicate legs crossed and her face was scrunched up in the kind of look that implied that she was focusing on what ever it was she was writing. Occasionally she leaned back a bit and giggled at whatever it was that she wrote on her journal.

After about a minute or two of staring at her, she finally noticed my presence. Slowly turning her head towards me, she locked her eyes with mine and smiled warmly, tilting her head to the side in a cute manner. She uncrossed her legs and stood up from the chair, making a small creaking sound from the wooden chair and floor. She came over to me and put a hand on my forehead, as if to check for my temperature.

"You seem to be fine now, are you feeling better?" She asked in a cute and innocent tone, putting me at ease with her presence. Something about this girl screamed the "Girl next door" and she seemed so innocent that it was impossible that she was anywhere near Eastern Africa. However, he most astonishing feature was he massive breast size, which looked almost ridiculous on her slender figure but at the same time seemed to work.

"Nice rack." I blurted out with a serious expression. Although I said that in English, she seemed to have understood me and replied in English as well. She smiled again before saying.

"Why thank you, it took me a few days to carve it out perfectly." She motioned to her shelf on the side of the room. I raised my eyebrow, laughing on the inside since doing the action would have been painful. I couldn't tell if she was this naive or being a smart ass about my comment. I was also surprised that she knew any English at all, again in this part of the world it would be rare to find any American or European speaking people who weren't trying to gut you.

"Where am I?" I asked, wanting to get an idea of my surroundings. I began to sit up but she gently pushed me back onto the bed while shaking her head.

"You can't get up just yet, you're still hurt and I've had a bit of trouble trying to heal you." She said with a stern expression, the kind a mother would give to her child when she was serious about something.

"I'm fine, I just need to get my blood flowing and some vodka and I'll be perfectly fine." I said, trying in vain to fight against her gentle strength.

"Forgive me sir, but you are far to hurt to move around. Sleep for another day and you''l be able to get back up with no trouble." He eyes narrowed in motherly determination as she fought against my own strength. Though normally overpowering a girl like this would have been child's play, something about her made me fall back down. Glad my father didn't see this, he probably would have disowned me... again.

"One day." I said finally, letting the oblivion of sleep overtake me and plunge my world into blackness once again. Though this time it was not nearly as bad.

"AHHH!" I jumped up from my bed as I heard a feminine scream come from outside of the building I was in. Unlike last time I did not remember what happened prior to falling asleep so I assumed the worst and looked around for any kind of weapon to use. In the corner I saw a small kitchen knife that looked like it would be used in a Colonial re-enactment. Taking it in a reverse like grip I ran outside of the small building and was amazed at what I saw.

Much of Eastern Africa is mainly jungle and desert area's with very few settlements, mostly small tribes and primitive cities unless you go to European occupied areas. There it almost looked like a forest you would find in the Isle of Britain, which looked more like the set to Robin Hood than on the African continent.

To my left I saw a blonde haired girl... wait, that was the same girl who healed me from yesterday. She was being attacked by 2 men in strange armor with green under clothes. They looked like something out of a renaissance fair than anywhere this far South.

"Listen woman, we have to confiscate your property for the Albion Military, failing to do so will risk execution by the courts." The man said, his voice slightly muffled by the plated visor on his face.

"Please forgive me, but this home was given to me by my mother." The girl said with tears streaking down he face.

Normally I don't get involved in these kinds of things, I've seen enough crap over the years that I really don't care what happens to other people anymore. They could kill her in cold blood and the most I would feel is a bit of annoyance from having my morning ruined. But... the girl did take me in and nurse me back to health, even though she probably shouldn't have. If anything I am honorable and service like that requires payment.

I ran up to one of the men and did a powerful front kick, knocking him on his ass and forcing his buddy to turn towards me. Before he could even react however, I turned and jabbed the knife into the gap between his chest and shoulder armor, taking away his ability to properly use his arm. With another move I lifted my foot and slammed it on the first guys face as he was down, awkwardly twisting his neck but luckily for him it did little damage other than a sprain.

The second guy drew his sword with his one hand, which was some kind of old Saber, and tried to slash at me. Thinking quickly i shortened the gap between us, blocking his arm with my own and stopping the blade. With a quick twist I snapped his elbow at the joint, removing his ability to use his other arm.

After I released him both men got away from me and looked at me with fire in their eyes. Deciding to cut their losses they turned tail and ran away like little bitches.

"Fuck you." I flipped them off as they ran. Turning my head to the girl who was motionless on the ground, I gave her a nod and began my trip back into the hut.

"Wait." She said in a small voice, still recovering from the assault. She grabbed at my bear arm (Which was exposed since I was in a short sleeve shirt) and looked up at me with grateful eyes. "Thank you sir." She said. I shrugged her off and went back into the hut. I took a seat at the table and motioned for her to take a seat, which she did so without question. She seemed a little intimidated by me but otherwise was ok with my forceful nature.

"As I asked yesterday." I began, recalling in perfect detail yesterdays events. "Where the hell am I? This place can't be Africa so who brought me here?" The girl looked at me curiously.

"Tiffania." She smiled and held out her hand.

"Where the hell is Tiffania?" I asked. She giggled and shook her head.

"That's my name." She said sweetly.

"Did I ask for it?" I replied harshly.

"No, but i felt as if you should know." Her smile was beginning to irritate me for some reason.

"Are you going to answer my question or should I find out myself?" I asked again.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" She asked innocently, to which I growled slightly. "Forgive my rudeness." She said. "You're in the Kingdom of Albion, I found you in the woods a few days ago."

"Albion?" I tested the name on my tongue. "Don't you mean Albania?" I asked but she shook her head. Standing up from her chair, she went to her drawer and pulled out a piece of paper that looked like a map.

"No, Albion." She pointed to an island on the North Western part of the map. It was crude but it looked vaguely familiar to Europe, if completely inaccurate. Granted, the shape of maps tend to be distorted because of turning a 3 dimensional image into a 2-D one, but this is borderline elementary school ignorance.

"That's the UK sweetheart." I said. She laughed at me, as if I was an ignorant child and told me...

"No, I've never heard of it called that. This is the floating Island of Albion, home to the Tudor line... or at least was." her voiced trailed away at that.

"Listen kid, enough with the fantasy shit, just tell me where I am right now." I said even more sternly, given off all my killer intent towards the young girl, who brushed it off like she was my own mother.

"You must have hit your head harder than I thought." She said in a condescending tone, though I could tell she didn't mean it to come out that way.

"Right..." I said, not being able to comprehend the girls stupidity. "I'm going to go wash my hands of this weirdness." I turned from the beautiful girl and stepped outside, satisfied that she did not follow.

Through all my debaucheries, drinking and carnal activities over the years, it's nice to just be surrounded by nature. Growing up in a Native American Reserve, the nature was as much a home to me as a Nazi in 1940 Germany. The smell of fresh pine and the sounds of bird chirping was enough to send me on a nostalgic trip to my childhood. I don't often get the time to just enjoy a place like this.

Using my superior hearing, I found a small river where I could wash up a little bit. I took off my clothes until I was naked and plunged into the water, which was about waste deep. My chocolate brown hair turned almost black as it got wet, which I always kept long even against normal regulation. Currently it was tied in a short ponytail. My crystal blue eyes, which I inherited from my father, burned as they came into contact with the water. My reddish skin, which could also be mistaken for white in the correct lighting, glistened from my sweat and the droplets of water. It was cold at first but this was nothing compared to all my years of training, both in the Military and as a child in the Reserve.

For some strange reason I saw 2 reflections in the water, which looked to be the moon. Even though it is dawn out, during certain cycles of the moon it can be visible during the day in the early morning and evening. The strange thing is, there were 2 lights, one blue and the other red. You don't need to grow up in a Native American Reserve to know that there is only 1 white moon in the sky, sometime yellow.

Slowly lifting my eyes to the sky, my jaw dropped at what I saw.

"What the fuck?" I muttered to myself... Either I'm high, which is not that unlikely, or I really am dead.

End Chapter 1

And there you go, Chapter 1.

Please Review, thank you.