Sergeant Olsen's face paled in horror when the strange, dark cloud flying above his and Captain Reiger's truck got closer, and revealed it was composed of pigeons. Very angry-looking pigeons, led by one huge pigeon covered in scars, missing an eye, and wearing a busted monocle of Colonel Klink's that had been stolen nearly a year ago.

"We gotta get out of here," Olsen breathed.

Reiger, a vampire who had been rescued from an SS experiment, gave Olsen a look. "I think it would be safer if we stay here and roll up the windows."

"The truck's got an open back! Those pigeons aren't stupid! They'll get in!" Olsen grabbed his radio. "Papa Bear! Come in, Papa Bear, this is Little Bo Peep!"

"I read you, Little Bo Peep? What's the situation?" Colonel Hogan responded.

"Little Bo Peep is about to lose her sheep to a flock of angry pigeons! I repeat, Little Bo Peep is about to lose her sheep to a flock of angry pigeons!"

Hogan was quiet for a moment. "Is that code, Little Bo Peep?"

"No! There really is a flock of pigeons about to attack! It's the same ones that mobbed us last spring!"

"How can you tell?"

"One of them is missing an eye and it has a monocle!"

"Oh. Sit tight, Little Bo Peep, we'll figure something out. Papa Bear out."

Reiger had opened a map. "We are several kilometers away from the drop-off point, Olsen, and it appears this shortcut is not going to help us."

"Boy, did we ever make a wrong turn!" Olsen slammed on the gas just before the pigeons could descend on the truck. "Isn't there something you can do?!"

"Not really." Reiger was thrown back into his seat. "Easy, there, Olsen. A truck can outrun a pigeon."

"You've never met these pigeons, have you?"

"Fortunately, no, and I would rather we not lead them to Augsburg to become Commandant Westheimer's problem."

"Honestly, he could probably solve this much quicker than we can."

A shadow passed over the truck. A flapping, cooing shadow. Olsen put the gas pedal to the floor, practically gluing Reiger to his seat.

"Well, this is a predicament," Reiger said when a tearing sound was heard. "They are trying to get in through the canvas!"

"We can't lose those blood donations! The Underground needs them!" Olsen shouted.

"I doubt the pigeons have much use for them. What could they possibly be after?"

"Does it matter?!"

"I suppose not." Reiger looked over his shoulder, seeing many beaks poking through the truck's canvas covering. One of them tore a huge hole in it, and suddenly pigeons began pouring inside. "Oh, dear."

Olsen spun off the road and into the dense forest surrounding them when a pigeon smashed through the windshield, miraculously without a scratch. The truck bounced in a ditch, sending Olsen flying upward and hitting his head on the top of the vehicle. The next thing he knew, the truck was wedged between two trees, preventing the two men from opening the doors.

His mind was fuzzy and all he could hear was furious cooing and Reiger shouting and hissing at the pigeons. When things became a bit clearer, Olsen unbuckled himself from his seat. "There's too many of them, Reiger."

"I can see that!" The German vampire swept away the broken glass. "Through the windshield! Go!"

"What about the blood?" Olsen asked.

"That is no longer important! Run!" Reiger let out a shout of pain when a pigeon pecked his shoulder.

Olsen scrambled out through the broken windshield. "Reiger, come on!"

"I am trying!" Reiger shoved a pigeon out of his way. "Move, you feathered beast! I will turn you all into pigeon pie!" He crawled out of the truck, and shouted again when a particularly daring pigeon raced down to peck him in his right buttock. "Ow! Really?!"

Olsen helped him stand, and the two took off into the woods. The pigeons abandoned the truck entirely and began following them. Olsen's blood froze when the sound of cooing became louder. "They're after us!"

"Oh, wonderful!" Reiger said.

"And I left the radio in the truck!"

"Great."

"I thought we dealt with the pigeons, Colonel," Sergeant Carter said.

"I don't think anyone ever truly 'deals with' those pigeons," Hogan replied. "That doesn't matter. All that matters is that Olsen and Reiger are in trouble, and we need to get that blood to the Underground and fast."

"The one positive to this is that as a vampire, Reiger's blood has a vastly extended shelf life if the iceboxes get damaged," Sergeant Kinchloe explained. "We can afford to leave it, but we can't afford to leave the people who need it."

"No, not a chance."

"What do we do, then?" Corporal Newkirk asked.

Hogan paced the room for a moment. "How long ago did Olsen and Reiger leave?"

"About an hour, sir."

"So they're about halfway to the drop-off just outside of Frankfurt. That puts them…" Hogan looked over a map spread out over the table, "near this little town. Rechtenbach."

"They're in the middle of bloody nowhere. Look—it's all woods."

"How do we even know that the pigeons will slow them down?" Corporal LeBeau asked.

"We don't. Let's ask." Hogan picked up his radio. "Little Bo Peep. Come in, Little Bo Peep, this is Papa Bear. Do you read?"

There was static at first, then angry cooing.

Hogan maintained a stoic expression, then looked at the others. "That's not Olsen."

"No, sir," Kinch said. "That's a pigeon."

"The pigeons took over the truck!" Carter said in horror.

Hogan repeated his message, but got the same response—angry cooing.

"How does a pigeon know how to operate a radio?" Kinch asked.

"I wish I knew, Kinch," Hogan replied, "but we have a problem, and that problem requires a shockingly simple solution."

"What is it?"

"Gentlemen, Colonel Klink is going to become a traveling performer, with his little violin."

Olsen's lungs felt increasingly raw as he struggled to keep pace with Reiger. Then again, trying to keep pace with a vampire in a run is impossible. He could still hear cooing behind him, and that was reason enough to keep running. At times, his head would hurt from whacking it against the truck ceiling. His vision faded occasionally, but somehow, he was still going.

Reiger paused to allow Olsen to catch up. "Come on, Olsen, you can do it."

"Just go, Reiger!" Olsen said, pushing his friend ahead. "Don't worry about me."

"You are hurt. We need to find somewhere to stop so you can rest."

"We can't rest with those damn pigeons after us!"

"We have to!"

The cooing became louder. Reiger shoved Olsen in front of him. "If anyone is going to fall behind, let it be me. I can take hits better than you can."

Olsen wanted to argue, but he knew Reiger was right. "Alright."

So they kept running. And running. The cooing was a constant, droning companion, but there were times where Olsen wondered if the pigeons had lost them and he was hallucinating. He didn't even realize he was falling behind until Reiger would push him.

A dull, gray blanket of clouds was draped over the sky. Olsen was already losing energy and staggering around whenever a headache flared up. His heart was pounding like a hammer against his ribcage, and he could no longer get a full breath of air in his lungs. Rain landed with hard taps on the leaves of trees around them, rolling off and slowly drenching the two men. They kept going, uncertain of where they were going. Losing the pigeons was all that mattered. That was what Olsen kept telling himself until his vision blacked out again, and he felt himself falling into the leaf-littered grass.

Reiger swore in German before crouching down to pick Olsen up. He put the American sergeant over his shoulders, and continued jogging. When the rain grew heavier, Reiger muttered to himself that they needed to find shelter. He adjusted his grip on Olsen, then started looking around for something they could hide in. Eventually, he found a cave in the side of a hill, partly concealed by the dangling roots of an ancient, gnarled tree above. He pushed the roots aside, and set Olsen down, propping him up against a large rock with dirt packed around it. "We should be safe, for now," Reiger said. "Hopefully, the rain will drive the pigeons off, even if it is only temporarily."

"Better than nothing," Olsen muttered. He tried sitting up. "We lost the truck and the blood, didn't we?"

"No, I doubt it—well, the truck, yes. The blood should be fine. The trouble now will be retrieving it."

"Did the crash break any of the iceboxes?"

"I do not know. Even if it did, we have well over 24 hours until the blood becomes unsafe to use." Reiger sighed. "I hope that does not become the case. It took me forever to prepare those. I cannot just make that all again. It would take months."

"The people in the Underground don't have months."

"No." Reiger shook his head. "They most certainly do not." His already pale face paled even further. "Hopefully, the Nazis do not find those boxes. If they find out where it came from—"

"Hey." Olsen reached over to gently squeeze Reiger's shoulder. "They're not going to catch you. You're safe. We'll get through this."

Reiger let out his breath. "Thank you." He relaxed a little, then looked at Olsen's head. "Let me check your injury. Do you remember where you hit your head?"

"Vaguely. I think it was the back, nearly my scalp."

Reiger nodded, then began inspecting Olsen's head. Sure enough, he found a red lump on the back of his head, just under his scalp. "That is quite big, but there is no bleeding, thankfully. I sense you have a mild concussion. You will need to use caution."

"Is there anything you can do for it? I can't afford to be out of action."

"Without the proper equipment, no. All of which is back in the truck."

"Well, darn."

"I am very sorry, Olsen."

"No, no, don't apologize. It's not your fault. I'm the one who suggested that stupid shortcut anyway. This is my fault."

Reiger gave him a look. "Did you know the pigeons would come?"

"No—"

"Then this is not your fault, either."

"If you say so."

"I say so."

Olsen smiled a little. "At least neither of us are alone. I would've become pigeon feed without you, so I owe you one."

"Do not worry about it. This… is far better than being used as a tool of destruction. I still feel as though I owe Colonel Hogan for getting me in a better place, out of the hands of the SS."

"We're just doing our job."

"And you do your job well. Extremely well." Reiger sat next to Olsen, creating a barrier between him and the mouth of the cave, just in case the pigeons showed up.

"This is going to sound crazy, but what if we try going back to the truck now?" Olsen asked.

"Why?" Reiger gave him a concerned look.

"The pigeons are waiting out the weather, like we are. They probably assume that we won't try to go back now."

"If they are lying in wait, they will see us and mob us. Besides, you are in no condition to go back out there."

"We have no idea how long the rain's gonna last. It could be more than 24 hours."

"That is a fair point. Surely, Hogan can get to us in time. We are only an hour away from Stalag 13."

"For all we know, Hochstetter has shown up and no one can leave the camp. He's got a knack for really poor timing."

"Also a good point." Reiger sighed. "Let us give Hogan one hour. If he or his men do not show up by then, we will go to the truck ourselves. Get some rest. I will be on guard."

Kinch gave Corporal Kielholz a look when the young guard made his list of demands in exchange for taking one of the camp's trucks apart to turn it into a traveling stage. "So, you want a package of sandwich cookies, two chocolate bars—"

"With nuts," Kielholz said.

"With nuts, and six pairs of socks."

"Yes."

"It'll take forever to get the sandwich cookies."

"I will accept the chocolate and the socks for now, but do not forget the sandwich cookies."

"Alright." Kinch held out his hand. "You got a deal."

"At least this is one less truck I will have to repair," Kielholz said. "These modifications are permanent, correct?"

"Very permanent. Klink is going to become a traveling performer."

Kielholz raised an eyebrow. "With his violin?"

"Yep."

"Sergeant, that will be extremely cruel for everyone you drive by."

"Trust me, no one is looking forward to this."

"I am not even going to ask what this is for." Kielholz gestured to the motor pool. "Take the truck and do as you please."

Kinch selected a truck, and drove it around to the back of Barracks Two. Within seconds, prisoners were swarming around it, taking off the canvas covering, removing the seats in the back, and repainting the truck bed a bright and rather obnoxious blue. Kinch didn't think it was possible for blue to ever be an ugly color, but somehow, Hogan made it possible. After all, they had to make sure Klink didn't actually become a traveling performer.

The traveling stage was shaping up nicely—well, as nice as it could get. Newkirk and LeBeau were painting, "Wilhelm Klink, the Traveling Violinist" on the side in gold. Garlotti and Carter were hanging red ribbons and flowers on it. Even the truck's cab was being painted. It was a truly awful-looking mess, but it would do the job.

Hogan strolled over with Klink in tow, talking about the monstrosity before him like it was a piece of art. Klink looked a bit intimidated by the steadily uglifying truck at first, but Hogan assured him it had everything it needed for him to be the greatest traveling violinist in the entire Third Reich. There was even a megaphone being anchored into it.

Kinch tried not to imagine the sheer horror this would bring to everyone along the way to Rechtenbach. Surely, this was too cruel. This was too far.

And Klink was all too happy to try it out. A tour through the countryside would be a perfect start.

Kinch remembered Reiger saying that his senses were heightened now as a vampire. He began hoping and praying that the violin—through a megaphone—wouldn't be too harsh on him.

Olsen's head was throbbing painfully when he awoke. He looked to his left to see Reiger was still seated next to him, sitting cross-legged and facing the exit of the cave. "How long's it been?" he murmured.

"Close to an hour," Reiger replied. "No sign of Hogan, or the pigeons."

"So we—" Olsen tried to sit up, but felt like a lead weight had been tied to his head, "go back to the truck."

"Yes. How are you feeling?"

"Same as before. Bit of a headache."

"Do you think you can stand and walk?"

"I'll try. Could you help me, please?"

Reiger helped Olsen stand. Olsen felt blood rush from his head, and he clung to Reiger as he struggled to regain his bearings. It took a moment, but eventually, Olsen said, "Okay. Let's go."

Reiger poked his head out of the cave. The rain hadn't stopped, and they were both hoping that would keep the pigeons away. When nothing appeared, Reiger went out ahead, and motioned for Olsen to follow him. The way back to the truck had become treacherous with mud and loosened soil. A gentle creek they had passed by earlier had become swollen, and the sound of the rushing water drowned out all other sounds to Olsen—but not to Reiger.

"We have to run." Reiger picked up Olsen and put him over his shoulders.

"Why?" Olsen asked with a grunt.

"I heard a coo."

As they got further away from the creek, Olsen could hear the cooing, too. It grew louder, and was soon accompanied by the mad flapping of wings. The sky over the woods darkened, and he looked up to see the cloud of pigeons approaching. Instinctively, he covered his head, and heard a whoosh as a pigeon flew down to peck his hand. "Can you go any faster?!" Olsen shouted.

"Not unless I drop you, and I am not doing that!" Reiger kept going, and shouted curses at the pigeons as they dive-bombed both men. "Shoo, you wretched demons!"

Olsen wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not to see the truck—but it was swarming with pigeons. The big pigeon with Klink's monocle was in the driver's seat, with the radio next to it.

"Go on! Get out of here!" Reiger hollered. He bared his fangs in an attempt to scare the pigeons off, but it seemed the pigeons weren't afraid of vampires—two of them flew at Reiger, pecking him in the face. A third swatted him with its wing.

The pigeons seemed to work as one single, chaotic unit. They managed to push Reiger and Olsen to the ground. Reiger was cursing and flailing his arms, while Olsen screamed in terror and tried to keep his head covered, no matter how many times the pigeons pecked his hands.

A horrible screech pierced through the incessant cooing, and the cooing itself stopped. The pigeons ceased their attack, and hundreds of little gray, feathered heads all looked up and turned at once.

The screeching continued, and Reiger was covering his ears, grunting with pain. "What is that?! What is that?!"

The awful sound got closer, and Olsen realized what it was. "That's Klink's violin."

"That is a violin?! Make it stop!"

A hideous blue truck came rolling down the road, with the words, "Wilhelm Klink, the Traveling Violinist," painted on the side. Klink himself was standing on a podium, playing his violin, and Hogan and the others were seated around him. Sergeant Schultz was driving the truck, wearing huge earmuffs.

"Holy cow," Olsen said, staring in horror and confusion.

The pigeons flew off in a panic, flapping and cooing and sending feathers everywhere. Soon the only sound was that violin, echoing through the forest. Crows and ravens took off from the trees, calling as loudly as they could. Deer, foxes, weasels, and mice all made mad dashes to get as far away from the sound of the violin as possible.

The truck disappeared, and eventually, the violin could no longer be heard. Reiger uncovered his ears. His face and hands were covered in blood from where the pigeons had been pecking him. "Olsen? Are you alright?"

"I think so, aside from the headache," Olsen replied. "That… was Hogan's plan to get the pigeons off of us. Klink's violin. It worked last time."

"Oh, it worked alright. That was the worst violin-playing I have ever heard!" Reiger sat up.

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

"No, it will be alright. It got the pigeons away. That is all that matters." Reiger held out his hand to help Olsen up. They were both covered in pecks. "That was certainly an adventure."

"Not a very fun one. Exciting, though. I'll give it that."

The truck's canvas was shredded and speckled with pigeon droppings, almost like a warning for whoever dared to cross the pigeons. Reiger climbed into the back to inspect the iceboxes. "It does not look like anything was broken open," he said. "That is a relief. The truck is history, though."

"We can't carry all those," Olsen said.

"No." Reiger sighed. "I do not want to leave the blood here, or destroy it."

Olsen ducked to hide when he heard the sound of a vehicle's engine coming toward them. Reiger stayed where he was, but then called out to Olsen, "It is just Hogan! We are saved!"

Olsen came out of his hiding place, seeing Hogan and the others piled into a car, disguised as civilians. "Colonel! Are we glad to see you! Thanks for saving us."

"Looked like we arrived in time, too," Hogan said. "The pigeons were on top of you."

"They were," Reiger said. "Where is that hideous truck with Colonel Klink's violin?"

"In town. Klink is giving a performance."

"Oh, those poor people."

"It's a bunch of local Gestapo agents."

"Well, they cannot work if they go deaf, so—" Reiger shrugged.

"We came back when we saw the truck in the trees. Figured you'd need a lift. Did any of the iceboxes get damaged?"

"No, thankfully."

"Good." Hogan turned to his men. "Alright, boys, let's load 'em up."

The blood was safely delivered to the Underground contact outside of Frankfurt. When the men returned to Stalag 13, Olsen stayed with Reiger as he waited for his ride back to Stalag VII C in Augsburg.

"Looking back on it now, maybe that was a little fun," Olsen said. "We should do missions like this more often."

"What, missions where you and I work together, or missions where we deal with demon pigeons?" Reiger asked.

"Where we work together. It is lonely, being the outside man, and you're good company."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I have a purpose at Stalag VII C. It is best that I remain hidden anyway."

"I know." Olsen drew his knees up, and gave a quiet sigh.

Reiger turned to him. "I do understand how you feel. The work you do is important, but lonely. Nothing can change that, and I imagine… forming attachments is not exactly encouraged anyway."

"Not really. That's not something anyone can help, though."

"It is all part of being human."

"Yep. Still, I don't want to pass up the chance to work with you again."

"I will ask for you if I am ever sent up this way for another assignment."

"Thanks."

The two turned around when Kinch jogged up behind them. "We got a slight problem with getting you out of here, Reiger."

"Oh?" Reiger asked.

"Come look."

The three climbed up the ladder into the barracks. Olsen's jaw dropped upon seeing hundreds of very angry pigeons descending on the hideous blue truck—just as Hochstetter's staff car was pulling into the camp. The guards had already scattered. Pigeons had knocked over Schultz.

"Are we safe in here?" Reiger asked.

Pigeons landed on the windowsill.

"I suppose not."

"This is certainly a dilemma," Kinch said. "Klink's probably already barricaded himself in his quarters."

Above the cacophony of cooing, a high-pitched voice could be heard shrieking, "What are these pigeons doing here?!"