"I hate to bother you with this simple stuff, Colonel... but... this seems like a special case," Radar said sheepishly, as he poked his head into Post-Op.

"Oh?" the Colonel replied, looking up from his seat as he checked a patient's chart. He was used to slipping back and forth between the roles of doctor and commanding officer. It was no trouble.
He called over a nurse, and indicated that he would be back in just a few minutes.

"Well, sir, we just got a delivery from the 8063rd."

"This time of night?" The colonel was suspicious. Not only was the hour late, but two mail calls from the 8063rd seemed very odd.

"You'd better come and see, sir." Radar led his C.O. back to his office. "It seems they got some of our mail. And since it's Christmas, they probably wanted to make sure we got it in time. You know. For the holiday."

"Oh." His suspicions faded away. It seemed there was a lot of misplaced mail this holiday. The Colonel nodded his head.

"Yes, sir. They got one of our mail bags this morning. I guess when they tried to send it up here earlier, but... well... somehow it got caught in the middle of some crossfire, and..."

"Never mind, Corporal," the Colonel interrupted with a sigh. He had heard every story in the book, most of them strange and inexplicably complex. This one promised to be no different.

"Well, it seems that the bag got beat up real good."

"How bad?"

"Real bad. And it caught on fire! Anyway, I thought the C.O. should take a look at it first. You know..." He shrugged. "I thought there should be a witness and all, in case there was anything important."

"Good thinking, son.."

Radar picked up the very dirty, scorched, torn and tattered mail bag. A few burnt Christmas cards fell out of a hole on the bottom of the bag. A few ash covered pink feathers floated away.

"Well... Flaming Phillies...would you look at that." The colonel sighed, thinking about how disappointed the men and women under his command would be. "Well, no use crying over spilt milk and cookies."

Radar chuckled, understanding the Christmas reference. Colonel Sherman T. Potter stood up,
ready to take charge of this important task.

"Let's see what we have, then..."

Radar cleared off his desk a bit, and they placed the bag on top.

"Aw... geez, Colonel," Radar moaned, as they opened the bag. "So many gifts, and cards... most of them ruined."

The first thing they pulled out was the small crate. The brown paper was burnt, and the address label illegible. "Go ahead" the colonel indicated, as Radar pried open the top and pulled out several records, protected by large amounts of newspaper. The colonel read the first one,
frowned, and placed it back in the crate.

"Looks like Major Winchester's. They seem to be ok, though. Probably not a scratch," the old man said, as he reached in for the next package. Radar placed the crate on the floor, mumbling something about how upset Captain Pierce was going to be.

"This looks like it was for B.J." the colonel said, shaking his head sadly, as he saw the singed edges of a photo of two beautiful blondes -one woman and one child- peaking out from the wrappings of a burnt package.

The two slowly picked through the Christmas cards and packages which had been water logged with alcohol, burned, and then dried. Every so often, a pink feather floated by.

"Poor Klinger..." the corporal said, sympathetically.

They placed the packages and cards that could be identified in one pile. The others which were ruined beyond recognition, or had been separated from their original packaging and labels, were placed in another.

"Ok, look here, Colonel. This looks like Mrs. Potter's handwriting." Radar pulled out some plain brown paper with the remnants of a packaging label. Nothing was inside. He handed it to a confused colonel. Radar then reached inside towards the bottom of the bag and pulled out a pair of knitted gloves.

"I guess this is what came in it, colonel." Radar offered them to him. Although slightly singed around the edges, they were relatively undamaged.

"Well. I'll be..." The colonel chuckled, as a large lump began to rise up in his throat. "I don't know what to say!"

"Those really are swell, Colonel," Radar said with a big smile on his face. "Mrs. Potter is swell,
too."

"You know, Radar, I couldn't ask for any better." He looked at his company clerk, and smiled.

"No, sir..."

The old surgeon reached over to the young man. He loved his company clerk as if he were his own son. Maybe even more. He placed a hand on the short corporal's shoulder.

"No. I certainly don't deserve..." He paused, as he held back the emotion swelling up in his throat. "I don't deserve this, at all..."

"Yes, you do, sir." Radar smiled at his C.O. He also tried to hold in the emotion as he looked up at the father he never had. "It's just too bad there's no letter, or card. Gee..." Radar looked in the bag again, then surveyed the mess on his desk.

"That's ok, son. I couldn't ask for anything more. You don't need a letter to know how much you mean to someone." The colonel sighed deeply, looked at the pair of gloves and smiled. "I'll be! Hand knitted, too! But, you know what, son? Every year, she sends me the same darn thing!"

"Sir?"

"Gloves! I guess she figures I can never have enough gloves over here. But I have another pair,
back in my tent, that she sent me for my birthday. Brand new, and they're just waiting to be worn!"

"I wouldn't say that too loudly, sir." Radar chuckled nervously. "There are a lot of folks out there who are pretty cold."

"I guess so, son." The colonel looked at his young corporal. "Well, anyway, if you'd like these,
Radar, I bet you'd get more use out of them than I will." Colonel Potter held the gloves out in front of him, offering them to a surprised corporal.

"Sir?"

"Go ahead. Take them, son..."

"Sir, I couldn't." Radar shook his head and began to back up slightly.

"Corporal. That's an order."

For a moment, Radar almost thought he saw the colonel wink at him. He couldn't be sure. It may have just been a twinkle in his eye.

-The End-