Originally, I had only the letter and answer written as an entry to the original "Letters" story, but I procrastinated, and by the time I actually had it finished to my satisfaction, the story was marked "complete." It worked out well, though, as I had fun making up a little something to go along with the letters. And – bonus! – I finally posted a story on my own profile.

In memory of Papa. I'll always remember your wit and wisdom,

your faithfulness to God, family, and country,

and that time you shot Aunt M. in the back with a Super Soaker.

I miss you.

Nov 1922 - Nov 2016

"Hey, Addison, toss me one of those wet rags!" A soggy shred of fabric sailed over several heads and slapped into Sergeant Carter's face. "That's not exactly what I meant," he said as he peeled the offending item away and began wiping down the wall behind his bunk.

Kinch looked up from folding blankets to watch the younger sergeant carefully clean the plywood. "Being a little thorough, aren't you, Carter?" he asked with a half-grin.

"You can never be too careful with these inspections," Carter replied, continuing his cleaning routine without pause. "Especially with those top brass kinds. You know, there was this sergeant back in basic training who took a magnifying glass to our uniforms..."

LeBeau, heavily smudged with ash from cleaning the stove, sneezed and sent a small cloud of black into the air. A mumbled chorus of "bless you" followed. "It could be worse," he said, over Carter's rambling story.

"Yeah, Klink might'a actually surprised us." Addison agreed, a note of sarcasm touching the last words.

"I dunno, with all those 'hints' he kept dropping, he might as well have told us straight up that he was expecting a 'surprise' visit." Kinch's comment was met with a few dry chuckles, but most went on cleaning without pause.

From the floor, Newkirk sat back on his knees, wiping his forehead with the back of a grimy sleeve. "Doesn't make any difference, it's work either way."

And plenty of work, too. Half the residents of Barracks Two used rags on any surface flat enough to catch dirt and grime; lockers, shelves, lights, and – in Carter's case, walls. Two wiped down windows. LeBeau worked at the stove, and Kinch and Baker had charge of the bedding. Colonel Hogan, of course, had his own quarters to clean.

That left just one job for the unfortunate few remaining men – the floors. Snow melt had slowly but steadily soaked the grounds, turning the top half-inch of dirt into sticky mud. Fifteen pairs of boots tracked the muck into the barracks multiple times a day, making the concept of a clean floor more of a nice theory than a reality.

"Look on the bright side," Baker grunted, pulling a lumpy mattress from its frame. "We get new mattresses for the occasion." The mattress in question sagged, like a tired sack of apples left too long in the cellar.

"What's that?" Carter, from his eagle's-eye perch, pointed to where the mattress had been moments before. A white envelope lay on the board. On the front, carefully formed but uneven letters spelled, A Soldier, Stalag 13, Germany.

Baker picked it up. "Well, I'll be..."

"It's one of those letters from my sister's school!" O'Brien tossed his rag onto the table, eager to see the discovery for himself.

"It must have gotten lost when we were reading all of the rest of them," Olsen said through the clamber, as everyone crowded around to get a better look.

Several cries of "Open it! Open it!" rang out.

"Open what?" Heads turned towards the familiar voice. The noise had drawn Hogan from his quarters, unnoticed until he spoke. The men parted to let their CO through.

"It's a letter from a student in O'Brien's sister's class." Baker handed the scuffed envelope to Hogan. "We found it under a mattress."

Hogan turned the paper over in his hands, then handed it back to Baker. "Well, go on. Read it," he said.

Baker unfolded the letter and began to read.

Dear Soldier,

My name is Suzy and I'm ten years old. Teacher told us to write letters to you, because you are far away and can't come home. I think that is very sad. I went to summer camp for a whole month, and I missed my family a whole lots. But teacher says you has been gone even longer. I hope you gets letters from your family so you won't feel so lonely. I'm writing you a nice long letter just in case you hasn't gotten any mail for a long time.

"Gee, that's nice," Carter piped up, thoroughly enjoying the letter.

I has four big brothers. Three of them is fighting. Sometimes we gets letters from them. Will is somewhere [CENSORED]. We don't know where, because his letters is all cut up. One day, we got a letter from him saying that the ship he was on sunk! Don't worry, he didn't die.

"Lucky girl," someone muttered.

He got to come home for a while, but he's back on a ship now.

Sometimes it's scary that my brothers is in a war. But my family is very proud of them. My brother Oliver was in the Navy, too. He went to boot camp and everything. He was going to learn how to work radios, but he didn't get to, because he got sick. Mother says that it were because of all the shots that they gave him. Now he is blind in one eye, so he can't go fight. Mother called it medikal discsharge. He's in a hospital right now. I hope he gets to come home soon. Some boys at my school says Oliver wasn't in the Navy at all, because he didn't go fight. Are they right?

I'm very thankful for how brave you are, because even though you isn't fighting anymore, I think you would have to be very brave to be in prison from the Nazis. Are they scary, like in the newsreels?

Several men began talking at once, each voicing what they would personally like to say about their captors, many of those comments not being suitable for a letter to a young child.

I see them when I go with my friends to the movies, if I saves my movie money enough. I like the cartoons the best! What's your favorite?

My mother is calling me to come set the table, so I have to go. I will pray for you every night when I says my prayers.

Your friend,

Suzy

Several conversations began at once, making Baker have to shout to be heard. "Wait! Wait! There's a post script." The talk died down enough for Baker to read,

P.S. Mother read my letter. She says that I need to spend extra time on my grammar.

As the laughter from the post script died down, Hogan pushed himself up from leaning against a bunk, hands in his pockets. "So, who's going to answer this one?" he asked. "Now come on," he prompted, after several blank stares. "I told you all that every one of these letters would get an answer."

"I'll do it," Baker volunteered after a few moments of silence.

"Good man," Hogan clapped the sergeant on the shoulder. "But don't think that gets you out of cleaning."

Later, Baker sat on his bunk, a new mattress shifting slightly as he looked over his finished letter.

Dear Suzy,

Thank you for your nice long letter. It's always good to hear from people back home, and to know you haven't forgotten us. It can sometimes get a little lonely here, but with a thousand other men all in the same camp, it doesn't happen very often. We all miss our homes, though. Getting letters means a lot to us. You should have heard the noise in the barracks when we got your school's letters. It made it hard to write letters back, I'll tell you that! We tried to answer every letter your school sent us, but this one fell under a mattress. The rest of the letters we wrote are already on their way. I hope you don't feel left out because yours didn't arrive with the others.

I'm sorry to hear about your brother. You should be very proud of him, and tell him so when he gets home. Just because he didn't ever go overseas doesn't mean he didn't serve his country. Nothing those boys at your school say can change that. You might try telling them so next time they start giving you trouble. You know, I'm a radio operator, like your brother was training for. That is, I was before I got shot down. The men here in Barracks Two send him our best.

I read your letter out loud when we found it, and everybody had something different to say when you asked if the Nazis are scary. Corporal LeBeau (he's French) he calls them [CENSORED]. And Colonel Hogan, who's the head prisoner here, he gets "visits" from [CENSORED] and sometimes [CENSORED], and it almost always means trouble. Everyone here has had some run-ins with some pretty nasty characters, but the Kommandant (he's in charge of the camp) and the guards don't treat us too badly. Mostly they leave us in our barracks, except at roll call and sometimes when we get to go outside and play ball. The rest of the time we play cards or read the books the Red Cross sends us. Sometimes there's food in the packages, too, but the guards usually get to it before we do. You can tell that the head guard gets to the cookies before anyone else – he looks like Santa Clause, but without the beard and red coat! Not all Germans are bad, you see. But the Nazis, they've done really evil things, and that's why we're fighting them.

It's been a long time since I've gone to the movies. I used to go with my friends all the time, just like you. I like the monster movies, like Dracula and Frankenstein. Don't tell anyone, but I also liked to watch Fred and Ginger. Never mind, Corporal Newkirk just read it for the whole room to hear. I should know better than to try and keep secrets here.

Thank you for your prayers. I know that God is watching over us because of them. My prayers are with your brothers as well.

Your friend,

Sgt. R. Baker

P.S. The second letter is for your brother, Oliver. Would you make sure he gets it when he gets home?

Below the neat signature, several notes in different hands filled the bottom of the page.

Remember, the military doesn't discharge men who weren't in service to begin with. Don't ever believe that what your brother did was anything less than brave.

Best,

Col. R. Hogan

English grammar is hard. I had to work hard to learn it, too. Keep trying!

Bien à toi,

Cpl. L. LeBeau

Thank you, too, for being brave while your brothers are away. Keep fighting the battle of the home front.

Take care,

Sgt. J Kinchloe

I was only having a bit of fun with my friend there. I always liked a bit of Gilbert and Sullivan myself. We've even had some dances here. It doesn't work too well without any girls, but there you have it.

Cheers,

Cpl. P. Newkirk

Next morning, wrapped up in an envelope, the two letters for got sent by way of the Stalag 13 Express Post, bound for America.

Many weeks later, many miles away:

Suzy sat at her desk, a little pout on her face. She was supposed to be paying attention to her teacher, who was about to call another student up to read a letter. You see, everyone in her school sent a letter to a soldier in prison in Germany, and everyone got a letter back. Everyone except Suzy.

Two weeks after the winter term began, Ms. O'Brien announced that she had a special surprise for everyone. Her smile was so big, it squeezed a few tears out of her eyes. Her surprise must really be something. The whole class leaned forwards in their seats, so as not to miss any of the excitement.

Ms. O'Brien held up a box. "The soldiers in Stalag 13 in Germany got our letters you all sent last year, and they wrote everyone a letter back!"

Excited whispers broke the suspense. Ms. O'Brien cleared her throat for attention. "Now, when I call your name, you will come up and get your letter. You may read them when you get back to your seats. Please, no talking while you read. You'll all have a chance to share your letter with the class later."

What a treat! Not one of Suzy's classmates could sit still. Her friend Lela turned around in her seat to whisper to Suzy. "What do you think? Letters all the way from Germany!"

"I can't wait to see what mine says," Suzy whispered back.

A sharp tug on her curls made Suzy spin around in her chair. Ronald, round faced and ruddy, pulled a face at Suzy. "Probably that you're the biggest ninny in the whole school."

"Settle down, children," Ms. O'Brien said, calming the commotion threatening to explode in the room.

Suzy turned back around, but not before sticking her tongue out at Ronald quickly, so that Ms. O'Brien wouldn't see it.

Suzy waited and waited as one after another, her friends got their letters. Soon, the rest of the class sat quietly reading, but Ms. O'Brien didn't call any more names.

Suzy raised her hand. "Ms. O'Brien?"

Ms. O'Brien looked up from reading her own letter. "Yes, Suzy?"

"Do you...would you happen to have a letter up there for me?"

Ms. O'Brien looked a little surprised. "You didn't get one?"

Suzy shook her head, a stray curl brushing her cheek.

"Well, it must be around here somewhere," Ms. O'Brien said kindly. She looked around her desk and in the box. She even asked the teachers of the other classes if Suzy's letter had been placed with theirs by mistake. At the end of the day, Ms. O'Brien told Suzy that sometimes letters just didn't get all the way through to the right place.

Suzy shuffled home with less enthusiasm than usual. Her mother noticed, but Suzy wouldn't tell her why when asked about it.

She wanted a letter, like her friends. She wanted to read what her new friend wrote to her, and read it to the whole class. She wanted a letter because it would almost be like getting a message from her brothers. Almost.

Every day, Suzy expected to find her letter waiting for her when she sat at her desk. But three weeks passed, and she just had to sit and listen to others read their letters.

Just as Ms. O'Brien started to call the class to attention, a knock at the door interrupted her. Mr. Allen, the custodian, stuck his head in the door.

"'Scuse me, I have a special delivery here. Principle Morris told me to go ahead and bring it to you." Mr. Allen held out an envelope to Ms. O'Brien, who smiled and thanked him.

Suzy held her breath. Could it be? She didn't dare hope, but a grin crept up anyway.

It took forever for Ms. O'Brien to read the envelope. Suzy felt sure she could have read the letter itself faster than her teacher read the address.

Ms. O'Brien finally looked up and smiled, "Suzy, would you like to be our next reader?"

A/N The events described in Suzy's letter were inspired by and based on the true stories of my grandpa and his brothers, only slightly modified in order to fit the time-frame of these letters. I knew for years that my grandpa was in the Navy, but it wasn't until I went to Grammy's genealogy books to get the whole story that I found newspaper clippings and hand-written accounts about both Papa and his brothers' adventures. The oldest served on the USS Lexington, surviving its May 8th, 1942 sinking. The youngest but one served for several years until retiring to civilian life. The youngest died while in the service in 1948, and Papa was officially discharged for the aforementioned medical reasons in October of 1945. They've all passed from this life, but their stories live on.