My sons,
I do not know if these words will ever reach you, but I must write this. The guards tell us that Rome grants no mercy, not even in letters, yet still, I write this in secret. If nothing else, may these words outlive me, scratched in ink instead of blood.
The day they came still haunts me. I remember the invasion as if it were yesterday. They could not have chosen a better time to attack, as our nation was still reeling from years of civil war. We were divided and weak, though we tried to stand together again. And when Rome struck, we did fight, and we fought hard.
I was barely two weeks out of basic when they hit our eastern shores. It was early September in Miami when the bombs began to fall. We even joked about how the hurricane in the Atlantic might shield us. But it didn’t. Before long, their legions were on the beaches, their tanks grinding forward, infantry swarming, banners overhead, and the skies theirs alone.
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But they did not know we were waiting. My unit was dug in among the city ruins, hidden so well it felt as if the destruction itself sheltered us. I remember gripping my machine gun, my hands slick with sweat, and my heart pounding so hard I thought I’d faint.
I saw them get within range of my gun, and I was eager to start shooting, but my sergeant told me to hold until they were close. It felt like a lifetime, but when the order finally came, I squeezed that trigger and the first burst of tracers tore through the lead squad beside the APC. Moments later, that vehicle went up in flames, and Miami became hell itself.
I cannot say how many I killed that day, perhaps it was dozens, maybe more. It did not matter. What mattered was that we fought. For hours we held our position, at least until my sergeant was shot through the head and the rest of my squad was either dead or wounded. Eventually, I was out of ammunition, so I tried to run, but I ran straight into them. I had no choice but to surrender.
I want you both to remember this. One day, when you are men and have sons of your own, tell them what happened here. Let them know that we fought. Our nation fought until the very end. Our blood will always be American, not Roman. Rome may have crushed us beneath its legions, but it was Rome that united us in defiance. Liberty is never truly lost. It waits, it smolders, and one day it will burn bright again.
The ashes of liberty will never be forgotten.
— The letter ends abruptly, the signature lost to time.
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Would you like more Preludes?
