It was somewhere around 1815, in Roscoff, a Commune of the once powerful First French Empire now reduced to ruin. Following the outbreak, the majority of the city's residents and French soldiers either fell victim to the Blight, went into hiding, or died of other causes. Outside an old church, a shambler with bloodshot eyes wandered aimlessly, moaning lowly as the rain fell onto the bloodied and desolate streets. Suddenly, its head sprayed over the pavement after a US Marine shot it with his Springfield musket.

"Vampire down!"

Several more Marines hurried out of the ally and headed towards the old church as those words were spoken. These Marines were here in search of and to rescue William H. Crawford, the US Secretary of War and Secretary of the Treasury. A Marine was asked to open the church entrance by an officer who tapped his shoulder and pointed to it. With a nod, he hurried over and attempted to open the doors. Then there was a voice from inside. It was in French.

"Qui est la? Uh... Allez-vous-en..."

"Let us in! We're soaked!" The Marine responded with an annoyed yet polite tone of voice, guessing the person inside was either a French soldier or maybe a local priest. The voice responded, his tone was harsh and angered.

"Non! Sales porcs anglais, dégager!"

The US Marine let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head as he leaned his hand on the wooden Church doors. He glanced at some of his fellow marines, trying to see if anyone understood what the person inside was even saying.

"God... You'd think Ol'Hickory would send someone who spoke a lick of French...?"