Here is the initial post idea. Please PM me if interested.
Ted had gotten lost...the sun was high and one dune looked like the next. Plus his water was running low.
Leaving the legion had seemed like a good idea at the time. He had done his duty, it was 1905, his term was up.
And he got to keep a new nationality and some incredible weaponry.
"leave if you want to." They said.
"No one will follow." They said.
Of course, why would anyone follow into the desert? Why did he go into the desert? He guessed the old adage, 'one road is good as another', had been disproved.
His desert horse mounted the dune. Ahead was a stirring spectacle.
Two bands of nomads had drawn up in battle lines. A third and larger group was approaching...Only, that group were desert slavers.
The two bands were not there to fight each other...at least not now. They were facing a common enemy...
Well dammit, he was American, and he hated slavers too.
He got off the horse and tethered it. Then set up the BAR. Thank you Mister Browning for your wonderful invention!
He loaded the clip, and sighted at the wall of slavers approaching down the opposite dune.
What he was doing was not fair to them...they didn't deserve fair.
He began a fast rotation as he fired; hitting perhaps every second or third of them. But the 45 caliber bullets, aimed at high chest height, continued onward. the second rank were pierced through the center abdomen, the third row through the groin and thighs.
In 15 seconds, over seventy of perhaps 200 slavers were on the ground, dead or wounded.
He reloaded, and began firing again.
It was two much. Their broken lines could not hold and they began a frantic retreat.
This was answered by the shorter range weapons of the two waiting tribes, who awoke from their stunned inactivity.
When all was done, there were only dead, dying and wounded slavers on the ground.
Not a single nomad was dead.
He quenched the barrel in the relative coolness of the hot sand, then took his horse's reins and slowly descended the dune.
People from both tribes bowed and urged him to enter their tents, according them the honor of hosting him, but he knew of their ways.
He rode to the center of the meeting place and tossed his reins to a young boy.
Dismounting,he strode up to the two men who must be the leaders.
He doffed his hat, and lightly bowed, then spoke in the trace tongue, "at your service. The enemy is gone. Who wishes to be my closest friend?"
He had to look up at them. At 5'9", he was much shorter than either.
The two men looked at each other, then at him.
The younger, a middle aged man of amazing width, and bright red silks under his sand colored robes, bowed and said. "I give you my sword, 600 camels, and my beautiful niece, Gamara."
A thin, jet-skinned girl with flawless face, dressed light robes that left little to the imagination, stepped forward.
"I, Gamara, shall be your wife. Each day, you will wake to my great beauty, and to my touch upon your manhood! Take me and let us go to my uncle's tent. For the day will soon be too hot for love!"
The elder man had waited patiently. He was dressed in reserved black and white robes. He was thin as the desert adder is thin, and his skin was as leathery. A well worn saber hung at his side. As Ted turned to him, he spoke softly. "I have not such riches in camels... I offer you a place at my side, my loyal friendship, half of all I own, and the hand in marriage of my eldest daughter."
A tall girl. swathed in robes. stepped forward.
The loose clothing could not hide her large curves, wide-hipped and heavily bosomed, her tummy curving out slightly. She gave a demur bow.
Ted caught his breath. She was so unlike the American girls of his time. They only wished to be flat as a board. Her piercing eyes, so dark compared to his blue ones. He had not seen her face, but he knew she had poise, and was the kind of girl who would not embarass him. One who valued loyalty. How he would love to be lost under all those curves.
"I am Ted. Tell me your name girl. And is it your will to be my wife?"
He was astounded when she answered him in a lilting British English.
He is lost. And only rudimentally knowledgable in the customs and politics of the people he has just joined.
She is more educated than he, and (I hope) wants to buck the system where women only speak through their men.
He is a combat force, but lacking political savvy that she has in abundance.
alone, he'd be assassinated in a week. With her? Perhaps an empire could be carved. Her father is old and wants a strong heir. Only with her could he be a strong heir.
As conversations that seem simple swirl around him, she is there to whisper the hiddne political alliance meanings and subtle threats that he misses... perhaps she neglects or adds to these to further her own agenda? He won't know.
All he knows is that she is backing him up and offers herself so sweetly and politely, that he is unable to be mad...even when she defies him...
Although the society is male oriented and he may publicly direct her, she is the voice and mind that guides his innocent actions.