Free Shadow Pass by Sam Eastland Page B

to you”—he raised his arms, as if to encompass the T-34, along with the vast and filthy basin of its proving ground—“is paradise to us.”
    Pekkala breathed out. “How can men work inside those things? What happens if something goes wrong? How can they get out?”
    Ushinsky’s lips twitched, as if it was a subject he did not feel safe discussing. “You are not the only one to have considered this, Inspector. Once inside, the tank crew are well protected, but if the hull is breached, say by an anti-tank round, it is extremely difficult to exit.”
    “Can’t you change that? Can’t you make it easier for the tank crew to escape?”
    “Oh, yes. It can be done, but Nagorski designed the T-34 with regard to the optimum performance of the machine. The equation is very simple, Inspector. When the T-34 is functioning, it is important to protect those who are inside. But if the machine is disabled in combat, its life, effectively, is over. And those who operateit are no longer considered necessary. The test drivers have already coined a name for it.”
    “And what is that?”
    “They call it the Red Coffin, Inspector.” Ushinsky’s voice was drowned out by the tank, as Gorenko fired up the engine.
    Pekkala and Ushinsky stood back. The tracks spun, spraying a sheet of muddy water. Then the treads found their grip, and the T-34 began to crawl up the sides of the crater. For a moment, it seemed as if the whole machine might slide backwards, but then there was a crash of gears and the tank lurched out of the hole. When it reached level ground, Gorenko set the motor in neutral, then switched off the engine again.
    The cloud of exhaust smoke unraveled into the sky, and the silence which followed was almost as deafening as the sound of the engine itself.
    Gorenko climbed out and jumped down to the ground, his mud-smeared lab coat flapping behind him like a pair of broken wings. He joined Pekkala and Ushinsky at the edge of the pit. In silence, the three men stared down into the trough’s churned-up water.
    The crater’s surface was goose-fleshed with raindrops, obscuring the surface of the water. At first, they could not see the body. Then, like a ghost appearing through the mist, the corpse of Colonel Nagorski floated slowly into view. Rain pattered on his heavy canvas coat, which appeared to be the only thing holding his body together. The broken legs trailed like snakes from his misshapen torso. With the bones snapped in so many places, the limbs seemed to ripple, as if they were reflections of his body instead of the actual flesh. His hands had swollen obscenely, the weight of the tracks having forced the fluids of his body into its extremities. The pressure had split his fingertips wide open, like a pair of worn-out gloves. Some curvature of the soft ground had preservedhalf of Nagorski’s face, but the rest had been crushed by the tracks.
    Ushinsky stared at the corpse, paralyzed by what he saw. “It’s all ruined,” he said. “Everything we worked for.”
    It was Gorenko who moved first, sliding down into the crater to retrieve the body. The water came up to his chest. He lifted Nagorski in his arms. Staggering under the weight, he returned to the edge of the pit.
    Pekkala grabbed Gorenko by the shoulders and helped him out.
    Gently, Gorenko laid the colonel’s body on the ground.
    With the body stretched out before him, Ushinsky seemed to wake from his trance. In spite of the cold, he took off his lab coat and laid it over Nagorski. The drenched cloth molded to the dead man’s face.
    Now Pekkala caught sight of a tall man standing at the edge of the proving ground, half obscured by veils of rain which swept across the space between them. At first, he thought it might be Kirov, but on second glance he realized the man was much taller than his assistant.
    “That’s Maximov,” said Ushinsky. “Nagorski’s chauffeur and bodyguard.”
    “We call him the T-33,” said Gorenko.
    “Why is that?” asked