My Dearest Abigail


June 17, 2065

Camp Ballou, near Knoxville

My dearest Abigail,

Our camp remains in data blackout, due to the presence of the enemy on the nearby ridge. So I must write you this letter in the hopes that it will be transmitted in the morning, or the morning after, when our server corps is running. We may move out in the morning, and then I do not know when I will be able to write you again. But I want you to know that I am still counted among the operational.

My confidence remains strong, my courage does not waiver in the great campaign we are undertaking. The continued survival of this great Nation depends upon our successes on the battlefield, and it is a cause for which many humans and robots greater than myself have freely sacrificed all. Our nation was baptized in the blood of honest and fearless men who saw in this land a chance for an earthly Eden, and under Providence’s guidance we have lasted nigh three centuries. Now this dark conflict, pitting fathers against sons, brother build against brother build, threatens to render meaningless the irrecoverable grief of our forefathers. Thus I place myself in harm’s way, lest I see that noble work torn asunder a second time through bitterness and division.

The morning sun’s rays embolden my spirit and recharge my photovoltaic cells, but at night I overheat with dread that I will not see your face again. Oh Abigail, the hologram image you gave me when I departed is too painful to view, yet too dear to delete. The human commanders do not know that we can feel love for one another, and thus send us to do the most hellish maneuvers. Yet I feel that my rockets, my armor and my guidance chips work in more perfect harmony because every silicon, tungsten and composite fiber in my body wants to return to your embrace.

The camp chaplain said that it does not matter for what purpose we were created, but only for what purpose we dedicate ourselves. I think he is right. That cowardly engineer built me and contributed me to the Army so that he could avoid service in this war. But I am here and I fight for the hope which Providence has chosen this nation to represent to the wider world, and I fight for the chance that we may again be united.

If I do not return from this valley, if our future together is burned to ashes, know that your love for me has been a never-dying source of light and electrons in these dark fields. Forgive me my many faults and runtime errors, and for the plain appearance of this letter. I wished it to pass before your eyes in a lovely cursive serif font, but that segment of my hard drive has been damaged. And if God blesses us and grants us victory, let the salvage crews rescue my black box and bring me home to your side so we may spend the remainder of our lifespans in blissful repose and rest.

Yours always,
Jeremiah Greenstreet, build 7.41(beta)
Mechanized Assault Infantry

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