Read Online Cauldron of Blood by Leo Kessler - Free Book Online Page A

frantically gasping man aboard. And the next. He fired a last burst just as the final man reached the tractor and was hauled aboard by a half-score of willing hands. A moment later he had swung himself aboard and the tractor was beginning to rumble down the steep descent, gathering speed with every instant.
    Madly Matz swung the wheel from left to right, trying to dodge the rock outcrop which protruded above the snow. Behind them, the Cossacks swept out in an inverted V, each arm trying to outflank the tractor slithering down the slope, the steppe riders bent low over the flying manes of their galloping mounts, reins now clasped between their teeth, as they freed their hands so that they could pull their carbines from the side-buckets of leather and commence firing at the escapees.
    At another time Schulze might well have been thrilled by this brilliant display of fearless horsemanship, but now their lives were at stake.
    ‘ Matz,’ he cried above the racket, ‘for God’s damn sake, let out the clutch and try it! They’re gaining on us!’
    Matz shook his head, not turning, not able to speak, knowing that if he failed in the next sixty seconds, it would mean the end.
    The nearest Cossack fired. Schulze caught a glimpse of an angry bearded face that he remembered from the kolhoz and hastily ducked as the slug whined over his head. Behind him in the tightly packed tractor a Wotan trooper screamed shrilly and clapped a hand to a shoulder which was suddenly jetting bright-red blood.
    Matz suddenly let go of the clutch. It popped out. The tractor heaved violently. A black cloud of smoke shot from its exhaust. Matz caught his breath, the sweat streaming down his face in great pearls. The motor didn’t start, and the tractor’s speed slowed immediately. Behind him Schulze cursed passionately and fired a wild burst at the Cossacks who were now closing in for the kill.
    ‘ ROCK !... DAMN YER EYES ... ROCK !’ Matz’s desperate scream had its effect.
    The panic-stricken troopers, already able to make out the dark faces of the Cossacks on their flying mounts quite clearly now, as they leaned over the outstretched heads, weapons stabbing the grey air with scarlet flame, stamped their feet down.
    Once again the tractor began to gather speed to the accompaniment of the slugs whining off its steel plating everywhere. Another Wotan trooper was hit, and another.
    Now there were perhaps forty metres of slope left. Beyond lay the flat steppe. Matz knew this was the last chance, the very last chance. It was now or never. He closed his eyes, oblivious to the outcrop everywhere, and let out the clutch.
    The tractor bucked. There was a long low groan like the eerie dirge the Tommies played on those bagpipes of theirs. Matz’s eyes flashed open. In the mirror he could see the thick trail of black smoke that was pouring from the exhaust. On the dash, lights were beginning to flash. He hardly dared believe the evidence of his own eyes. It was working... It was working ! Yet as the Cossacks galloped through the smoke, the engine had still not started. Now the tractor was bucking and shaking as if it might break apart at any moment, the sound of its rattling tracks drowned by that unholy whine.
    Matz gripped the wheel in sweating hands, his knuckles a hard white, willing the son-of-a-bitch to start.
    Thirty metres left. The tractor was emitting a loud series of harsh backfires. It sounded to Matz like Schulze indulging himself in one of his famous farts after a litre or two of pea-soup. ‘Fart on, you son-of-a-bitch!’ he cried excitedly. ‘Fart on!’
    There were only fifteen metres left now.
    Suddenly, there was a tremendous burst of white smoke, completely obscuring the riders behind. The engine roared into life. Matz hit the accelerator. The tractor shot forward. The red ignition light flickered off and on wildly. Matz gunned the engine. It must not fail him now! And then he had it, and the tractor hit the steppe, engine running as