Captain Wiley Harrington looked over the deck of his corvette, passing the time as they continued their journey overseas. It was another excellent day on the seas; the sun shined brightly across the sky, reflecting across the ocean with it's brilliant glare, and not a cloud was in sight. Captain Harrington sighed and began to pace across the deck; it was a shame the weather wasn't this nice everywhere his ship sailed.

Harrington was captain of the HMS Lerwick, apart of the Royal Navy, specifically of the Cape of Good Hope and West Africa Squadron. The name was quite a mouthful in his opinion. The HMS Lerwick was a Comus-class corvette, one of the Royal Navy's newest ships; Harrington had been lucky to receive command of it considering his lack of experience compared to other officers.

Currently, they were sailing to the Cape Colony along with two other ships: HMS Castor, and HMS Vernon, both merchant ships. Despite being merchant ships, they were well armed, and equally prepared for battle. All together they formed an imposing force, not that there was any threat in the first place; the Royal Navy hadn't faced any serious opposition since Napoleon was defeated.

Their task was to pick up men from the Cape Colony and sail then them to India. Recently the war against the Zulu had ended and now several regiments, who'd been shipped to Africa at the start of the war, needed to be transported back to their posts.

Harrington flicked open his compass to make certain they were heading in the right direction. Sailing to the Cape Colony wasn't supposed to take longer than a few days, yet they'd been at sea for three and land still hadn't been sighted.

"Damned winds, must have blown us off course…" he muttered to himself as he flicked the compass closed. They were headed in the right direction, that was for certain.

"I see something!" one of Harrington's men, the lookout in the crows nest, suddenly shouted out. "Some sort of structure off the port bow, Captain!"

Harrington looked up at the lookout. "Do you see sails?!" If there were ships it meant they were most likely getting closer to their destination.

"No, Captain!" he shouted in response. "I-I can't describe it, Captain! You need to look for yourself, sir!"

Drawing out his spyglass, Harrington looked towards the port side. At first, he couldn't see anything in the open ocean, but soon enough some sort of structure came into view.

Standing at least three times a tall and as the Lerwick's mast, Harrington looked in awe at the massive stone building emerging from the water. Built in a way that looked to be some sort of imitation of ancient Greek and Roman architecture, the structure opened into an ominous black void.

Having sailed close enough to spot it with the naked eye, Harrington's crew started to gape at the structure. None of them had ever seen anything like it.

"What do you reckon it is, Captain?" Harrington's first mate and close friend, Arnold Watson, asked while staring at the structure.

Shaking his head, Harrington muttered out his response, "I don't know… maybe some sort of port?"

"I've never heard of any port like that, Captain."

"Perhaps we've sailed to Greece and we're looking at the Parthenon."

"I don't thing so, Captain; the Parthenon doesn't lie in the sea," Watson whispered out. The man suddenly looked away from the structure and glanced at Harrington. "It looks like a doorway almost."

Harrington returned his gaze. "A doorway to where?"

"Atlantis perhaps?" the first mate suggested.

"Mhmm…" Harrington brought his hand to his chin, contemplating his next action. They had orders to report to the Cape Colony, but this was far more intriguing. Looking back, he saw the crews of Castor and Vernon equally perplexed as his own.

"Sails ahoy! Sail off the starboard bow!" the lookout's shout brought Harrington out of his thoughts.

Having been so focused on the structure, Harrington and his crew had neglected to spot an entire fleet of ships sailing off the starboard side. The other ships didn't have the same problem and were sailing straight at Lerwick and the two merchant ships trailing behind her.

Bringing up his spyglass once more, he took a closer look at the ships. From what he could see, the ships looked rather puny when compared to HMS Lerwick. They were skinny and fragile looking, with a combination of oars and sails for propulsion; it was almost as if they'd been transported from ancient counted at least twenty of the strange ships.

"Chinese junks, Captain?"

Harrington brought the spyglass from his eye and shook his head. "I don't believe so, Watson, the sails are all wrong for that."

Nodding his head slowly, Watson gazed out at the foreign ships. "I suppose we should greet them, shouldn't we, Captain?"

"Aye," Harrington agreed. He immediately yelled out across the deck, "Set a course for those ships, make sure we're flying British colors, and prep the guns with double common shells incase they try to pull anything on us!"

Several of his crew shouted back, "Aye, Captain!" And then immediately set to work changing the Lerwick's course towards the strange ships.

The Castor and Vernon both started to follow their course, and soon the two forces were sailing directly at each other. Drawing his revolver, Harrington checked to make sure it was properly loaded; it was a common pirate tactic to wait until the last moment to reveal their intentions, and he didn't want to be unprepared in the case of a boarding action.

Soon after they'd changed course, the foreign ships drew close enough for Harrington to see their crew. They clearly weren't Chinese, nor were they African, in fact they looked to be of European decent, maybe Italian or Spanish. Whoever they were, they still hadn't flown any colors to show their allegiance.

As the two forces came close to each other, Harrington ordered for the sails to be drawn in, so that they wouldn't end up colliding with the other ships. Soon enough, one of their larger ships, possibly the flagship, sailed up alongside the Lerwick.

Deciding to take the initiative, Harrington shouted out to the other ship, "Ahoy! I'm Captain Wiley Harrington of the Royal Navy, and this is my ship the HMS Lerwick! What nation do you hail from?"

In response to his call, a man dressed in strange armor called out back to him in what sounded to be some odd bastardization of Latin. Harrington, having studied Latin when he was a boy, roughly translated what the man had said to be a call for surrender.

It was either that or he'd just been asked to give up his trousers; Harrington's Latin wasn't very good and the man spoke in an incredibly odd accent.

Not willing to take any chances, he called out to his crew, "Man the guns! Prepare to fire the starboard side on my command!" His men immediately ran to their stations, ready for battle. "Signal at the merchant ships to prepare for battle!"

Having seen Harrington's men prepare for battle, or just simply getting impatient of waiting for their surrender, the enemy captain called out orders to his own crew. Harrington watched amused as several ranks of men with bows and arrows assembled on the enemy ship.

"It seems they wish to fight us, Captain," Watson mused.

"Aye, that they do." Harrington turned to his crew and uttered out a single command, "Fire!"

An eruption of smoke and deafening noise followed the command as all six of the Lerwick's starboardguns fired at once. The shells smashed into the side of their target and immediately obliterated it's hull.

Harrington had ordered double common shells to be loaded in the guns, shells that sacrificed accuracy in exchange for extra powder to add to their explosive potential. The result was the enemy ship's entire side being blown into splinters of wood.

He watched the ship sink into the water for a brief moment before returning his attention to his men. "Reload starboard side! Make ready to fire the forward guns!"

After watching their flag ship be blown to pieces, the remaining ships started to converge on the Lerwick. Apparently having no guns of their own, they were probably going to attempt and board in order to seize the Lerwick. Harrington didn't intend on letting that happen.

"Fire!"

The forward guns spewed forth another cloud of smoke and impacted one of the advancing ships dead on. Shortly after, the ship was dead in the water as its bow was completely destroyed.

"Reload forward guns!" Harrington shouted to his men.

It seemed that the adversaries they faced were either iron-willed or simply insane, as they continued to advance, despite having seen two of their ships get disabled in quick succession.

One of the smaller ships came up upon their port side, with its crew preparing grapples. Harrington could make out several of the men carrying spears and shields, weapons that would overpower his crew's simple cutlasses in the event of a boarding action. Of course, they'd have to actually board first.

"Fire!"

The command came once more, and once more the Lerwick's guns were let loose on the enemy. Harrington noted that, unlike its larger contemporaries, the ship was completely blown apart by the broadside volley with nothing but scattered planks left in the aftermath.

Abruptly, a barrage of cannon fire flew from behind the Lerwick. Harrington looked back to see the two merchant ships had begun to open fire with their own arsenal of guns. Two more of the foreign ships began to sink.

Another barrage from the Lerwick's guns seemed to be enough to convince their adversaries to retreat. Harrington smiled at the sight.

"They're running!" Watson yelled out in celebration. "They've set course for the stone structure, Captain!"

"Chase after them! Sink any ship that doesn't surrender!" If they allowed the enemy to escape, they could possibly regroup for another attack. This time they had the surprise of their guns, but he doubted they would get as lucky the next time around.

"Aye, Captain!" was the resounding cry from his crew. The Lerwick lurched forward as its sails were unraveled and gave chase to the fleeing ships.

Through a mixture of favorable winds and the use of the Lerwick's steam engine, none of the enemy ships had been allowed to escape. Unfortunately, all but one of the ships had refused to surrender and thus were sunk by barrages of cannon fire. The one that had surrendered was now being transported to their original destination of the Cape Colony.

That had been his first battle and it was a resounding success. While a good deal of the credit certainly had to be given to their vastly superior technology, Harrington liked to think that his quick thinking had saved them from a boarding action which could have costed them dearly, though some might disagree.

Regardless of what gave them the victory, all that mattered was that they had been victorious. Now with a great deal of foreign prisoners, Harrington would be seen as a hero and get knighted for his services, possibly by Queen Victoria herself; at least, that's what he told himself.

Harrington's Latin wasn't good enough to communicate effectively with the men they'd captured, but hopefully there would be someone at the colony who'd know proper Latin, at very least some of the priests would know.

Within a few hours of the battle they'd spotted land and soon they were on their way to Cape Town's port where they restock on supplies, offload prisoners, and report their findings. If all went well, Harrington hoped to join in on an expedition through the structure they'd found, the age of exploration was dying down, and this seemed to be an entirely new frontier. With any luck, his name would be marked down with the likes of Columbus, da Gama, and Magellan.

Zululand was a cavalryman's dream; the great wide open plains had few obstacles to trip up horses, and there were little signs of civilization. At the moment though, the open plains were becoming a source of annoyance for Captain Jack Campbell.

One of the men in his troop had deserted in the night, and now Jack had to find him before something went wrong; the Zulu had only recently been defeated, and he didn't want one of his men to be responsible for starting another war. While beautiful, the open land allowed the deserter to flee rather far.

Riding out with one of his two lieutenants, Bryant Roan, and his sergeant-major, Lawrence Bain, they searched for the missing cavalryman.

Jack was confused as to why the man had deserted in the first place. The trooper in question, Dee Galway, had never been any sort of trouble before, to desert was highly uncharacteristic of him. Of course, it wasn't just troublemakers that deserted, but there weren't any logical explanations for a desertion at this time.

They'd just recently beaten the Zulus, they were staying at a decent encampment, and soon they'd be heading back to India; none of the poor conditions that usually enticed men to desert were present. Jack shook his head and continued riding, it was best not to overthink things.

"It'll be a shame to leave this place," Bryant broke the silence that had settled over them.

Jack nodded in agreement. "Aye, it's almost hard to go back to India after this."

"I think I'd enjoy settling down here," the second lieutenant mused. "If it weren't for the Zulus and Boers of course."

"What about you, Bain?" Jack inquired. "You like this place as much as we do?"

"Too dry for my taste, sir." The sergeant-major maintained a stern face, as always. Jack supposed that type of thing was necessary for someone incharge of discipline.

Adjusting his pith helmet, Jack urged his horse to continue trotting forward. "Maybe that's why Galway deserted, he wants to settle down here."

Bryant snorted. "In Zululand? He'd find a spear in his back before he had time to blink."

Jack rolled his eyes at the statement. "Despite what you think, Bryant, the Zulus aren't just savages living like animals."

"Of course you'd think that. Fancy marrying a Zulu wife one day, do you?" Bryant retorted.

Jack's eyes narrowed. Friend or not, there was a line when it came to how you spoke to your superiors, and Bryant had crossed it. "Know your place, Second Lieutenant."

Bryant realized his mistake and quickly apologized, "Sorry, sir. I think the heat's getting to me, sir."

"Do it again and you'll lose your rank," Jack threatened.

"Yes, sir."

Urging his horse to go faster, Jack sighed. Bryant was a good officer and an excellent soldier, but at times he was a bit too… patriotic. Not that patriotism was a bad thing, Jack considered himself a patriot, but sometimes Bryant's ideals interfered with his discipline.

They continued on in silence through Zululand. The tracks they were following were faint, but evident enough that they could keep following them, albeit slowly. Jack yawned as they continued onwards.

After a little while of seeing nothing but hills and grass, Jack suddenly spotted the bright red uniform of an infantry patrol. Their red uniforms stood in great contrast to Jack's blue uniform. Riding forward, he galloped up to them, hoping to glean some information about Galway.

"Captain Jack Campbell, 17th Regiment of Lancers," he introduced himself to the man leading the patrol.

The man saluted. "Sergeant Early McGuire, 58th Regiment of Foot, sir."

Jack got straight to the point, "We're looking for one of our men, Sergeant McGuire. You wouldn't happen to have seen him, would you?"

"Blue uniform, like yours, sir?"

Jack nodded.

"Aye, we've seen him; he came riding past us a little while back, looked to be in a hurry," Sergeant McGuire said as he pointed towards a hill.

"Thank you for the information, Sergeant; we've got to get going though."

"Any time, sir."

Jack nodded and urged his horse forward. His two companions followed his and he rode off in the direction McGuire had pointed to. The infantry patrol faded into the distance as they continued on.

Thanks to their new directions, they were able to move at a much faster rate than they'd previously gone. Shortly after, Jack spotted the distinctive blue uniform of the 17th Lancers in the distance.

Galway was sitting on a rock with his horse next to him, neither moving; even as he saw Jack and his companions riding up, the deserter didn't move a muscle.

Trotting up to the man, Jack greeted him, "Trooper, you've given us quite the chase."

Galway looked down at his boots. "Sorry, sir. I didn't intend for that."

"The punishment for desertion is execution; I assume you're well aware of that?"

"Aye, sir."

Jack furrowed his brow. "Then why did you do it? And of all places to run, why out here?"

Galway sighed. "I didn't mean to desert, sir, truly I didn't."

"Explain yourself."

"A little while back, I lost my wife's locket while riding past around here. I thought it was gone forever." He rubbed his face before continuing, "Just yesterday, one of the locals claimed a man in a nearby village found it and was willing to sell it to me. He knew my name and everything, so I figured it must have been true."

"Did he have it?"

Galway held up a small silver locket in one hand. He sighed then murmured out, "I was going to get leave, but with us leaving for India so soon… it just wasn't possible."

Jack took a deep breath as he thought about what to do. While clearly Galway had noble intentions at heart, he was still a deserter, and letting him go would be disastrous for discipline in his men. Sergeant-Major Bain most likely would support an execution as punishment, so he couldn't just pass off the task to him.

"Trooper, you had a decent reason for leaving, but as Captain I cannot allow men to desert at will. As such, when we return to camp, you'll receive a lashing for your desertion. Understood?"

Galway nodded. "Aye, sir."

"Good. Mount your horse, our transport should be arriving any day now."

Alright so with Little Green Men I'll be honest I got some writer's block. This idea came to me a while ago and unlike a lot of my other ideas, this one stuck around. I think I'll be doing chapters of this for a little while before going back to Little Green Men to see if my writer's block has cleared. This is going to follow a much different path than the regular Gate story and from Little Green Men.

Some disclaimers: I'm not British and I don't claim to be British, so if I make any mistakes, please correct me. I've done a lot of research, but obviously I can't get everything right, so if something's not accurate then please inform me and I'll see if I can change it. This is going to be inspired by a couple things, mainly the Flashman Papers, which is an excellent book series for anyone interested in the Victorian era, and the movie Zulu which is a fantastic film about the Anglo-Zulu War, specifically the battle of Rorke's Drift.

Please review, share your thoughts, tell me if this is a terrible idea and I should stop.