Eighth October, Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Seventeen.

Dearest Shelley,

The battle is over, the dust and powder has settled, the wounds have been tended, the turtle helmets and bizarre but visually compelling flags collected and disposed of, and I write to you victorious. It is my hope that by the time you receive this letter, I will be with you so that we may read it together, by the fireplace with Nicole, Gisela, and Nathan, as well as little Troy. There I might give you a more thrilling and harrowing account than what is possible in ink and paper. However preparations for the next campaign may waylay me, so in either case, may this letter serve as my testament.

The Army of Maryland approached the shadow of our fair city in the middle of yesterday afternoon. At their head a fine officer and leader of men in General Durkin, one who previously had served both under my command—as you may well remember—as well as under that perfidious but wily General Harbaugh of the Northern Wastes. With such tutelage, I could not afford to underestimate General Durkin.

However, while the general may have been a sharp strategist and motivator of men, his troops were poorly equipped and poorly trained, ill-prepared to face my forces. It is a testament to the quality of my army that even when our auxiliaries and support staff were committing all manner of errors, we still had little trouble in smashing our enemy. Once more ill-discipline and mental shortcomings have plagued our efforts, and once more it did little to change the outcome, though there may soon come the day that for want of a proverbial nail the proverbial kingdom will be lost. Before arriving at Columbus, General Durkin had already lost many of his most capable officers in previous campaigns, and such he was left with a green adjutant by the name of Bortenschlager. A spirited young man to be sure, but woefully outmatched in this battle. He too would be cut down before the fight was over, although not without some expense to our own forces: as in the same clash Corporal Arnette was put out of commission, and may not be ready for our next campaign. Sergeants Ward and Bowen also went missing during the fray, and while I’m happy to report that Ward will march with us to Nebraska, Bowen is too grievously wounded to even contemplate throwing into the fray, and must mend his wound. His loss will be acutely felt by all the men.

Although they were able to strike one final blow against us late in the battle by setting fire to one of our supply wagons, the forces of Maryland were unable to do much more than absorb casualties and crumple before the scarlet tide of our soldiers. Sergeants Bosa and Young were instrumental in the final encirclement and submission of the Army of Maryland. General Durkin and I had a long soldier’s talk after his capture, and whatever blood may have been shed between us, the hatchet has been buried (for now), and I sent him on his way, for we have common enemies in the likes of Generals Franklin, Harbaugh, and Dantonio.

One curious detail to report is that before the battle our scouts reported the approach of reinforcements, the so-called “Turtle Cavalry.” Such a force never arrived, and has not arrived even many hours after the battle’s end, which leads me to suspect the most outrageous possibility: that it was so-named because its troops quite literally ride on turtles.

With Maryland defeated, we turn our attention to the west, where that gentleman soldier General Riley of Nebraska is no doubt preparing for our arrival. I would not like to keep such a polite and punctilious man waiting.

In other news, you may have heard rumor of a great upheaval in the northern wastes. The rumor is true: General Dantonio has defeated General Harbaugh in battle. Such a development may radically change the complexion of this great struggle, this War of Fourteen Armies in which we find ourselves.

My love to you, may we see each other soon.

Yours forever,

General Urban Francis Meyer