COMMANDER PENS HOLIDAY CHEER.

Byline: Daily News

Daniel Winkler, a Santa Clarita graduate and Hart High School graduate, is in the U.S. Army Special Forces in Fallujah, Iraq, under the command of Jason Sabatt. This week, Sabatt penned this note to the families of soldiers under his command, including Winkler's family, who passed it on:

``We would like to thank the incredible number of people all across the United States who continue to support us with mail. I am constantly disbursing letters and packages sent from elementary school children, church groups, business staff groups and past Currahees (Winkler's Special Forces company.)

``The amount of support is phenomenal and I am making every effort to reply to each and every one. As the shopping days before Christmas dwindle down, the days between shipping and arrival of packages increase. I trust that you all understand the postal workers here in the country are doing the absolute best job and truly are making an outstanding effort.

``God bless each of you for your continual commitment to supporting men and women committed to a cause bigger than themselves. Your seemingly infinite hours of waiting, despair, anger, and fear are not forgotten. You keep us tied to the hope and reality of a family eager for our return. I wish you all the peace and warmth throughout the holidays with family and friends. We are not alone here and continually lean on each other. I would like to close with a Christmas poem by an unknown author.

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS 

He lives all alone in one-bedroom house made of plaster and stone.

I had come down the chimney with presents to give, and to see just who in this house did live. I looked all about, a strange sight did I see, no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.

No stockings by the mantel, just boots filled with sand, on the wall hung pictures of far-off distant lands. With medals and badges, awards of all kinds, a sober thought came into my mind.

For this house was different, it was dark and dreary; I found the home of a soldier, once I saw clearly. The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone, curled up on the floor in this one-bedroom home. The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder, not how I pictured a United States soldier.

Was this the hero of whom I'd just read? Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?

I realized the families that I saw this night, owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.

Soon around the world, the children would play, and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas Day. They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year, because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone, on a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home. The very thought brought a tear to my eye. I dropped to my knees and started to cry.

The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice, ``Santa, don't cry, for this life is my choice; I fight for freedom; I don't ask for more, my life is my God, and my country, nothing more.'' The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep, I couldn't control it; I continued to weep.

I kept watch for hours, so silent and still, we both shivered and shook from the cold night's chill. I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark night from this guardian of honor willing to fight.

Then the soldier rolled over, and said with a voice soft and pure, ``Carry on Santa, it's Christmas Day, all is secure.''

One look at my watch and I knew he was right, Merry Christmas, my friend, and to all a good night.