Friendly Welcome

Jenkins had never seen an island quite like this. Then again, he lived his life at the sea, with an occasional trip to port. Privateers of this age had no time for finding and burying treasures on remote islands, or having a hidden fortress in the Caribbean.
“So, what exactly are we looking for, Captain?” asked one of his seamen. “We’re here, there’s an island. Survivors?”
“Buried treasure!” cried out another, eyes glistening with the thought of riches. Well, most privateers these days didn’t care about those things, though Jenkins.
“Survivors would be our most substantial evidence. We’ll need to chart this entire island and claim it for the Empire, however.” Jenkins led the pack as they climbed up the beach. With the sun directly above, he squinted to make out the trees ahead. He scanned the area, looking back and forth, then picking an arbitrary direction to wander in. He and his men strode on forward, guns in hand, and supplies on back.
“Tuez-les!” they heard someone cry. With barely enough time to find the source, they dropped to the ground as bullets tore through the air above them.
“Sir, we have no cover here on the beach! The damn French are going to get us!”
Jenkins tried to focus on the moment, ignoring the pessimism of his crewman. Without alternative he yelled out the first thing to mind.
“Don’t shoot! We mean you no harm!” He took a wild shot with his Enfield, hoping he was pointing in even the vicinity of his attackers. Putting his last wishes out to whatever higher being he didn’t believe in. He closed his eyes tightly. His companions told him it hurt less that way.
The shooting sounds stopped, and he opened his eyes to a bright, bright light. He looked over to his left, where Fry lay, also a bit confused.
“This isn’t bad. I’ll admit, a beach isn’t a bad place for heaven, even if it’s not what I’d expected.” He sat up, seeing his other crewmen lying on the sand, as well. He looked behind himself, slowly reacquainting himself with his life. Several figures in white began to walk towards him. Oddly enough, they had no halos, and they had enfields in hand as well. He considered this for a moment, then chuckled when he considered his luck. Perhaps death had given him a raincheck.
“Greetings, my friend,” cried out the lead figure in a deep voice. He had dark hair, and a light complexion, and extremely good English. “I’m sorry for that minor misunderstanding. The last ship that pulled up dropped off a bunch of dirty Americans; the French act gave them quite the scare.” Several of the men behind him laughed quietly, as he reached to help Jenkins up.
“Well, I’m glad that was resolved quickly. My name is William Jenkins, naval officer in the service of the British Empire. Might I ask where in the world you came from?” He considered reaching out his hand, then simply shook witht he hand helping him up.
“Of course, as is customary. I’m Tiberius, an optio in the service of the Modern Roman Empire, and welcome to the island of Atlantis.”

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