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It was Day 1639. The location was just on outskirts of London, England, in a farmer's field.

There were 12 of us that day.

My 2nd in Command, Andrew Chuckleton.

Our unit's captain, Xzar.

And nine other, faithful, valiant soldiers: Sara Droz, EZstreet, Mythacat, Auk Rest, Kathy Bates, Lionel Llama, Spartanlord007, mcnasty, & DCVS.

We gathered together, in the farmer's barn. Andrew and I went over our battle strategy once more, before we shared it with our unit, just to ensure we were on the same page, and had gotten all the details ironed out.

I then stood there with pride, as Andrew shared our plans with these soldiers. Watching the looks of excitement and fear on their faces, knowing that their adrenaline was flowing through their veins, and anticipating with them the great effort we were about to put forth. For our country. For Canada.

It was vital, our Commander in Chief, Sperry, had told us, to close this war with Britain. To take their final region. It wasn't about humiliating the enemy. It wasn't about trying to embarrass them. No, no honourable soldier takes pride in that. It was to end the war, to close our Natural Enemy with them - and that was accomplished by seeing that they held no more regions.

So, under the cover of darkness - the sunrise was still almost two hours away, we stole out from that barn, the owner likely unaware he had unwanted guests. We ran quickly and quietly to the top of the hill, more than a kilometer away. At the peak, we could see the lights of that great city. Already, we could see many, many other units - Canadian, American, French, Irish, Croatian, Romanian - just to name a few. A few were just entering the conflict as we were - but most were already engaged.

The fighting was fierce. The Brits - along with their allies - were not about to lie down and allow us to do as we wanted, unopposed. The sound of mortars was deafening, and the air support we were receiving was quite obvious to all involved. Screams were heard, men and women, breathing their last. War, in all its glory and grotesque ways - we were a part of it.

At the conclusion, men and women of many different uniforms and tongues, stood in Piccadilly Circus, a central & famous place in London. Me and my unit were there, and we were celebrating a victory for Canada and her allies. Among the masses, 12 men and women with the Praetors insignia on their shoulders stood or sat together, reveling in their success - we had accounted for 771 kills! What glory!

I must say, I am proud of my soldiers. When called upon by our Commander in Chief, we responded. And we responded well.

Never before had we had so much success as a unit on one Day, on the battlefield.

On that Day, in the future, when it is looked back upon, I believe we will be able to point to it and say this is the Day when the Praetors came of age.

The Day when we pulled our weight, fought beyond what might be expected for one day's fighting for twelve combatants, and took down 771 of the enemy.

The Day, of which it might well be said, the Praetors made a name for themselves, and contributed significantly to the war effort of our beloved nation.

To the Praetors, I say, "Well Done!"