Maybe it's still Father's Day somewhere in the world?
Okay fine it's a bit late. But instead of thinking "It's two days late", think "At least it's not three days late!" or maybe "Hey, it's 368 days early!". Yeah, I googled how many days until next Father's Day.
Barnes and Davis appeared in the season 6 episode "Reservations are Required"
Anyways, enjoy.
There were days when Barry Davis felt like his eyes were glued shut, and there was an elephant laying on top of him, and his thin, pilled, swiss-cheese esque blanket was akin to a goose-down comforter. And he did not want to get up.
He heard Barnes jump down from the bunk above him, and he heard the others beginning to wake up and get ready, but shoot, he did not want to get up.
"Hey, Davis, it's almost time," Someone nudged him and he groaned.
"Fine," He sighed, pushing himself up, feeling every sore muscle.
Barnes, leaned up against their bunk with a mug of coffee in each hand, grinned, "One of those days?" He held out the mug.
"Uh-huh," Davis reached for the mug and downed half of it in one swig. Then he quickly got dressed - it was too cold to be sitting in just his long underwear for too long - and drank the last half.
About the time the warmth was beginning to reach his toes, the door opened.
"Ach-tung!" He bellowed. Davis winced.
"Good Morning, Schultz," Carter said, apparently unfazed by Schultz' hollering.
"Good-morning to you too, Carter, now Achtung!"
"But you said good morning already," Newkirk feigned confusion.
Davis groaned softly. It had been funny the first few times. But the joke was getting old.
After another few agonizing minutes of repetitive back-and-forth with Scultz, Colonel Hogan exited the quarters, somehow looking like he'd gotten a full night's sleep and hadn't been out wiring a bridge with his men the night before.
"Morning, Schultz," He said, "Aren't we going to get roll call over with?"
"I am trying to, Colonel Hogan," Schultz begged, "I tell them Achtung, but they are not coming!"
"Well I don't know what you're trying to get done by telling them good morning, Schultz. Come on, fellas, let's get going," Hogan waved everyone forward, raising an eyebrow as his eyes landed on Davis, "Doesn't look like a very good morning for you?"
"Mmmm," Davis muttered, "Sir."
Hogan snorted and followed them out.
Again, Hogan's men dragged out the teasing and sniping way longer than they should have, but finally Schultz got the count done, giving Davis an odd look.
What, what's wrong? Wasn't his fly done? Davis looked down and realized he still held the coffee cup in his hand, a few pitiful drips rolling around in the bottom.
Klink came out, and Schultz gave the report. Klink rubbed the German victory at Köhln in a little bit - well, a lot, actually, pretending not to notice the death glares he was receiving. Then, finally, they were dismissed.
Davis set down the coffee mug in the sink, noting offhandedly that even though he was certainly awake now, he was still exhausted. Oh, well.
"Cards?" Barnes asked.
He shrugged. "Sure."
They sat down on his bunk, and Barnes dealt.
Barnes won the first game.
They tied the second.
Barnes won the third.
Davis won the fourth.
Partway through the fifth - Barnes was winning that one - the barracks door opened.
Schultz poked his head in, and then stepped inside.
"If you're trying not to be noticed, Schultz, it won't work, you take up half the room," LeBeau said.
"I am not trying not to be noticed," Schultz said, "That's crazy. Why would I do a thing like that?"
Newkirk leaned over the edge of his bunk, "I don't know, maybe because you've got the mail bag behind your back?"
"Mail!"
The prisoners leapt forward. Schultz, for once making a smart move, quickly handed the bag off to Newkirk, who, safe on his bunk, quickly began to pass out mail.
"Addison - Baker - Carter - Davis -,"
Davis stopped listening to the names as Newkirk handed him a thick envelope. He sat down on his bunk and looked at the handwriting. It was shaky, but carefully sculpted, the lettering comically large.
"It's from the kids," He said, mostly to himself, with a half-smile, and opened the envelope.
In the letter, it was clear that marking the envelope had used the extent of their decent penmanship and spelling, but slowly Davis pieced together what the letter was supposed to say.
Dear Dad,
This is Christopher.
Mom is making me write this letter. She dos not want me to tell you that. I sayed that thar is nuthing noo for me to tell you, and I cood be playing outside like you always sayed in sted of riting. Eksept that I braked my little toe playing baseball with the uther kids but Mrs. Potts rapped it up for me. Emily still crys all the time. Do you think that if you come home she mite stop? I think so. I droow you a nice eskap tunnle in cas you neeeded ideas.
Love,
Christopher
Paperclipped to the letter was a drawing, and it did indeed appear to be an escape tunnel. Davis was surprised it had gotten through the censors, complete with the unsuspecting black-and-red clad guards, labeled "Nozees", with a carefully drawn dozen-armed swastika, and two men going through a tunnel from a prison camp to a small, quaint townhouse labeled "home". The two escapees were marked "Dad" and "Sargint Barns" respectively.
Then the postscript:
PS I only had space for Sargint Barns but if you want you can bring your uther frends two.
Davis read the letter over again, grinning, and then pulled out the other one.
This handwriting was much better, in small, gentle loops.
Dear Daddy,
This is Tabitha, not Christopher.
Since I don't know how to spell or write yet Mom is writing this for me. Just the words I say. No other words, so it's just me talking to you. And since I'm learning to read I can tell if she writes something different than what I say.
I love you, and I hope you're safe, and I think it would be great if you were at home right now, because Mom made the casserole with the little potato tots on top and green beans inside, that's your favorite, and if you were here you could eat all of it because Christopher and I don't want it, and Emily's too little to eat it yet. She's getting her new tooths in and she cries a lot and chews on everything.
But if you can't come home, that's okay too. Because you're a long ways away, and Christopher says you could dig a tunnel, but we're trying to dig one right now, too, and it's taking forever. We wanted to go to China but we decided that maybe we would just make it to John and Lizzie's house because it's taking longer than we thought. John and Lizzie are digging on their end, and once we meet up we're going to make it to England to visit their daddy, but Mom says we can't go to Germany because it's too dangerous. So you should be sure to stay safe. But if you do dig a tunnel, get a friend to dig the tunnel with, like Sergeant Barnes or Colonel Hogan. It's less boring then.
Mom says I'm running out of page and she can't write any smaller, so I have to be quick. I learned to read some more books, and I can write my whole name now, even the one in the middle, and I can write Emily's, and yours, and Moms, and I can almost write Christopher but I keep messing up the 'p'. I can also write some animals and stuff. I planted a bean and it's in the windowsill, it's almost as long as my thumb and it has two leaves. I named it Freddie after that story you made up about the chimp, and I can write his name too.
Love,
Tabitha Anne Davis
PS I drew you a picture
She'd written her name in the biggest, lopsided lettering, in bright green crayon. And attached to the letter was a big, multicolored butterfly, adorned with hearts and happy faces and smiles.
Davis stared at it, and the other letter, for a long minute. There was another letter inside that he assumed was from his wife, but he could get to that in a bit.
Gosh, but he missed the kids.
"Kids doing okay?" He heard Barnes ask.
"Yeah," He grinned and held out the pictures, "You're in this one."
"Really!" His eyes lit up and he held the drawings carefully, "Hey, I am! How about that!" He looked back up at Davis, "I love your kids."
"I'll let them know," Davis smirked, "Didn't you get any mail?"
He shook his head, "Naw. My folks don't write."
"Oh," Davis looked down, "I'm sorry."
He shrugged, "I'll live," He handed back the drawings with a crooked smile, "They're sweet."
Davis looked back down at the papers, "They are. They're the best."
End.