Samuel Cromwell, Elizabeth Martin, Donald Bisby, Marcus Freeport, Sharon Canter; these are the names I was told not to repeat. I was told to put these names in the darkest corners of my mind and let them die there. These weren't people I should care about, they told me. That made it easier for me to pull the trigger. Each one a traitor to this land, sentenced without a formal judge or jury, to death. We need not worry ourselves with trials. Trials come later, right now only the revolution is important.

We fight this great battle because in a last ditch effort we hope to free the minds and hearts of the generations to follow. We are fighting more than men. We are fighting ideals and rules that breed oppression and tyranny. Yet, in the chaos of war, we hand out the exact same ideals to our enemies from which we are rebelling. Revolutionary justice is said to be just against those who are unjust.

The men and women who died by my hand did so because they simply chose the wrong side. To them it was right, but to us and the revolution, it was a decision that proved fatal. I tried keeping them out but alas, they tear to the forefront of my mind's eye. Each face was an individual. Each face was a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, taken from the face of the Earth by my hand because of my ideals.

Even as I note down each curve of each letter another one of our boys falls victim to the hand of eternal darkness, taken too soon because of man's uncanny ability to not live together in harmony. They call this a 'gentlemen's war,'� but trust my word when I tell you there is no such thing. Gentlemen exist only in our fantasies, not on the battlefield. There could never be a 'gentlemen's war,'� only a murderer's war. For it takes the ability of oneself to shut down emotion and feeling before sending another to his or her death. Sympathy on the field of battle breeds hesitation and hesitation breeds death.

I write this not for my own sake. My own sanity has fallen behind and I never looked back or tried to retrieve it. It was a weakness that I cannot afford to have if I value my life. I write this for tomorrow. I write this for the youth of latter generations who will undoubtedly be fighting another war all too soon. I urge you not to be mystified by the romanticism with which they promote such evil. Do not hastily grab your belongings and head into the meat grinder without reason. Adventure and courage, although you may be courageous, do not await you here. Only death and the devil him-self await you.

Samuel Cromwell, Elizabeth Martin, Donald Bisby, Marcus Freeport, and Sharon Canter stay with me now always. With the next day comes the reality that I may be with them and not the other way around, as it is now. It does not sadden me to know that today another name will be added to the list. What saddens me is that I care not. The revolution must carry on. We must be victorious for the very sake of those I am trying to save with this letter. Hold these words in your heart. Pray for a free and united American nation.

No regrets, only hope,
Jonathan Liberus, 1775.

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