The heavy steel door shut behind him with a thud.
Smoothly, without jerking or creaking, the armoured giant went into motion and steadily picked up speed.
The engine glided past, then the gun turrets.
Moscow was left behind.
Mist was rising.
The stars faded.
Day was breaking.
Finding both Timur and the motorcycle gone when he returned from town in the morning, George decided to send Timur back to his mother then and there.
He had just sat down to write the letter when he glanced through the window and saw a soldier coming up the gravel walk.
The soldier produced an envelope. "Comrade Garayev?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Please sign for this envelope."
The soldier left.
George inspected the envelope and whistled significantly.
Yes!
Here it was, what he had been waiting for so long!
He opened the envelope, read the message inside and then crumpled up the letter he had begun to write.
Now he did not have to send Timur home, but to send a wire to the boy's mother asking her to come out to them.
Just then Timur entered the room. At the sight of him George brought his fist down on the table furiously.
In Timur's wake came Olga and Jenny.
"Shush!" said Olga. "There's no need to shout or bang the table.
It's not Timur's fault.
It's your fault, and mine too. "
"That's right," said Jenny. "Don't you dare shout at him.
Olga, don't touch the table.
That revolver of theirs makes an awful noise when it goes off."
George looked at Jenny, then at the revolver, then at the chipped clay ashtray.
He began to see the light.
"So it was you who slept here that night, Jenny?" he said.
"Yes, it was I.
Olga, tell him all about it while Timur and I get some kerosene and a cloth and clean up the bike."
Olga was sitting on the porch the following day when an Army officer came in through the gate.
He walked with a confident stride, like a man returning to his own home. Olga, perplexed, rose to meet him.
George stood in front of her in the uniform of a captain of the tank corps.
"What's this?" Olga asked softly. "A new part in your opera?"
"No," replied George. "I've dropped in to say goodbye.
This isn't a new part—it's just a new uniform."
"Is this," Olga asked, pointing to his insignia and blushing slightly, "what you meant the other day when you said
'We strike through iron—and through reinforced concrete—straight to the heart'?"
"Yes, this is it.
Sing me something, Olga, something for me to take away on my long, long journey."
He sat down.
Olga picked up her accordion.
Airmen all and pilots!
Bombers all and fighters!
Now you've taken off for far away.
When will you come back to me?
I cannot tell when it will be Only—come back! Any time—on any day. . . .
Good luck, wherever you may be, On the ground, above the sea Or flying far aloft through foreign skies— Where'er you roam May your two wings bravely bear Their red stars so bright and dear And may they bear you back to me, Back home!
"There," she said. "But it's all about flyers. I don't know any good songs about tankmen."