An Englishman in New England

My darling M,

If you are reading this, I thank the gods that my communique has made it through the blockade. As you may have heard in the latest news telegrams from the front, the armed uprising against Finagle-A-Bagel hasn't quite gone according to plan. Three months in and I can see the strain, I see the look of defeat in my men's eyes. They know it as well as I, yet it is I who is denied the luxury of admitting it in even the hushest of tones in the corridors surrounding the War Room.

I haven't slept in days.

To the East, General Honey Grain is amassing his forces, aided by Commander Chunky Vegetable's relentless artillery corps. To the South and the West, the Cinnamon Raisin Hun raid our camps nightly, making off with at least two or three of our number each time. The North is home to the doughless heart of our foe, the feared Roasted Garlic and Parmesan Brigade, led by our nemesis himself, Brigadier Finagle.

To this day, I am still disbelieving of the treachery of the Cream Cheese Rangers at the battle of Baker's Field. To think that was the pivotal moment that diverted us to the point at which we find ourselves! Victory seemed to us all but assured and we salivated with the anticipation of tasting the spoils, of picking the oniony remains of our savage enemies from betwixt our teeth. In this soldier's hindsight it is easy to admonish myself for welcoming the supposed defector into our band of freedom fighters, forgiving the blood the Cheese had spilled, and to forego the unbecoming precaution of checking the "sell-by" date.

The horrors of that day shall not leave my memories voluntarily. Scores of bodies, doubled over with paralyzing cramps, the permeating smell of vomit and soiled uniforms mixed with Boston Kreme, whilst all around me men screamed and wailed in peristaltic agony. As I stood immobile, with my lieutenants all around me ordering a full retreat, I knew the traitors were watching - I caught a lone Cream Cheese's eye across the battlefield as it picked its merry way back towards the tyranny I thought it had forsaken. As I searched its mould-spotted face for some sign, some hint of remorse, the Cheese just laughed. . .

The ground shakes - they are advancing on our position, in preparation for the death-blow to our futile rebellion. . .it comes much sooner than I expected. Whilst my subordinates curse the sky and beg wretchedly for their lives in the face of the impending baked doom, I only wish I could gaze once more upon your sweet glazed visage.

Goodbye my love, and never forget that I am best kept in a cool dark place.

General Dunkin Englishman,
Rt. Hon. Commander of the Baked Armies