Hogan stretched himself across the bunk and was just finishing the last chapter of his novel when the door burst open and his four core men flooded the room.
"General Burkhalter's here, Colonel," Carter blurted out, "and he's got some really cool cargo with him."
Hogan cocked an eyebrow.
"Really? What is it?"
"Horses, mon Colonel," LeBeau explained.
"You're kidding! Live horses?"
"They ain't sculptures, mate!" Newkirk snorted.
"Why would the general bring horses to a prison camp?" asked Kinch.
"I don't know, but let's find out."
As he spoke, Hogan hopped down from his bunk and plugged in the coffee pot. After a second of static, General Burkhalter's voice rang through the speaker clear as day.
"Klink! Shut up and let me talk!"
"Yes sir! Of course, sir! Shutting up, sir!"
It was too bad the heroes couldn't see Burkhalter's icy glare which brought Klink sinking down in his chair. When the German colonel finally stopped sniveling, Burkhalter continued.
"These are not just ordinary horses. They are pure Andalusian mares from Spain, of the finest bloodlines. They are being shipped to the Russian front for use in the German war effort."
"That is a fine idea, sir. I always say, when all else fails, it's best to go back to…"
"Klink! What makes you think we are failing?"
"Oh, I never thought anything of the kind, General. I just meant that because we are using horses now…"
"We are using horses because they are the easiest form of transportation on the front!"
"General Burkhalter, I still don't see what this has to do with Stalag 13," Klink whined.
"Simple, Klink. I have to go back to Berlin tomorrow. While I'm there, I will order a cargo train to Dusseldorf to transport the horses to the front. In the meantime, the horses will be kept here."
"Here!" yelped Klink.
"HERE!" echoed the five prisoners in Hogan's quarters.
"That's right," Burkhalter continued. "Because this is a POW camp, I have full confidence they will be kept safe here. And with your perfect record, Klink, I can expect that none of the horses will be able to escape."
Klink straightened up proudly.
"Absolutely, sir! I shall treat those horses as though they were one of my prisoners. There will be no chance of escape."
"Klink, these are not prisoners, they are expensive cargo. Now be sure to treat them as such!"
"Expensive cargo, yes sir."
Burkhalter shuffled towards the door.
"I will have a paddock set up in your compound until the train arrives. One of my guards will inform you how to properly care for these animals, if you think you can handle it."
"Oh absolutely, sir. You can trust me, sir."
"I never trust you, Klink, which is why I'm still alive."
Klink chuckled nervously.
"Of course, General Burkhalter. What a marvelous sense of humor."
With a disapproving grunt, the general marched out of the office. Klink watched him leave and swung the door shut behind him. Confident he was alone, the colonel scowled and balled a fist.
"What does he think I am?" he grumbled, "an officer or a farmer?"
His words didn't fall on deaf ears, as Hogan unplugged the coffee pot a minute later with a chuckle.
"What are we gonna do about those horses, Colonel?" asked Carter.
"We're not gonna do anything," came the prompt reply.
"WHAT!"
The response was overwhelming, but Hogan stood firm.
"I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do. Those horses are bound for the front and that's where they're gonna go."
"You're not gonna let Burkhalter take those horses to the front," Kinch protested.
"Oui," LeBeau concurred, "If they go to the Russian Front, they'll be sure to starve, or get eaten."
"Or both," Newkirk snorted.
Hogan held his hands up to quiet the round of protests.
"Listen, I don't like it any more than you do, but we have to face facts. Right now, we have to focus on getting that code book to London. And in the grand scheme of things, saving a couple of horses isn't going to do much for the war effort. Sure, we save these horses then the krauts'll just ship out a trainload more in their place."
"Colonel, did you hear General Burkhalter?" asked LeBeau. "Those aren't just horses. Those are pureblood Spanish Andalusians. They must have some of the finest bloodlines in Europe."
"So?"
"So, would you take a Monet painting and shred it for kindling? Sending these horses to their deaths would be a tragedy."
"And besides," Carter joined, "you can't stand by and let these poor, innocent creatures ride to their deaths just like that. It isn't right."
"Alright," Hogan argued, "say we do try to save them. How do you suggest we make five horses disappear? Do we hide them in the tunnels? Slip them in German outfits and send them on their merry way? Or maybe we open all the gates and let them run out into the road to get shot by one of the guards?"
At this, Hogan's men lapsed into a sullen silence. Hogan sighed.
"I'm sorry, fellas. I'd love to save them, I really would. But I'm afraid it's just impossible."
The men nodded. After a minute more, they turned and filed out of Hogan's quarters, swinging the door shut behind them. Hogan leaned against his desk and stared at the door, somehow feeling like a father who'd let his children down.