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Subject: {ASSM} Rhykov (Part 3) By Katzmarek (Slow,Hist, Rom? MF?)
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 Part 3

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<1st attachment, "Rhykov3.txt" begin>

RHYKOV (Part 3)

   By KATZMAREK (C)

   --------------------------------------------------

   AUTHOR'S NOTE.

   Some of the events and personalities in this story are real, other's
aren't.  Please don't Email to tell me that X was with Y in Z and not in Q.
This work is Fiction.

   As always, it remains my property and may not be reproduced for profit
without my express permission in writing.

   --------------------------------------------------

   Rhykov and Sergei strode casually up to the cluster of small hovels. 
White troopers paid them no mind as they watered their horses and checked
their gear.  Some lay sprawled on the ground, basking in an unusually hot
day for this time of year.

   Nearby, and completely ignored, were some of the former inhabitants of
this farming community.  They'd been shot and their bodies dragged out of
the way and left in the hot sun.  Rhykov felt nothing.  He knew
Tukhachevsky's 8th Red Army was doing the same thing in the Don Cossack
lands.  It was a fact in this type of warfare, retribution and
counter-retribution.  It was dirty, but he could do little about it.  He
preferred to devote his mind to the living than waste tears on the dead.

   A guard approached them.  Like them all, he wore a white band around his
peaked cap as a 'field sign.' It was important, when both sides wore
similar uniforms.

   "Advance and be recognised."

   He was such a boy, Rhykov thought, typical.  They get the youngest and
stupidest to do the most boring duty.  "Captain Andropov, soldier, to see
Sub-Colonel Afansiev of the 25th Brigade?"

   "This is the 6th Cavalry, Captain, sir.  The 25th is over on the other
side of the road."

   "Oh, I see.  And they would be part of the advance Corps?"

   "No, sir.  The 25th is digging in once they reach the river.  The
advance Corps is occupying Orel."

   "Ah!  Thank you." 'It was too easy,' he thought, 'like shooting ducks in
a barrel.'

   The two men hastened back the way they came until they were out of
sight.

   "So, it's Orel.  They're not turning?" Sergei said.

   "No, so it would appear.  We'd better get back to our lines. 
Headquarters will want this information."

   ------------------------------------------

   Meanwhile, from the 13th of October, 1919, Red soldiers began crossing
to the North bank of the Oka and its tributary, the Seym.  Units of the
14th Army were digging in to nervously wait for the White assault they felt
sure was coming.

   Deniken's advance corps stormed into Orel on the shirttails of
retreating Red forces.  The defenders were low on ammunition, but
nevertheless, it was a bitter hand to hand struggle.  In the afternoon,
Ovseenko pulled the rest of the Orel troops out as they were exhausted and
had suffered heavy casualties.

   His 8th Infantry Division deployed across the road to the North of Orel
while to the West, from down the Bryansk road, came the first of the Moscow
Divisions, the 3rd Cavalry.

   Kamenev's 14th Army also began to deploy, coming down from the direction
of Bryansk via the railway, which linked up with the Orel line South of the
town.

   At the same time, on Deniken's Right flank, seven Red Army Divisions
from Tukhachevsky's army began assaulting Voronezh.  They were initially
repulsed with heavy losses but the writing must have surely been on the
wall for the Volunteer Army.

   Deniken held back three of his infantry Divisions at a place called
Zmiyeva on the railway South, as well as probably the best unit in his
Army, the Kadet Guards, nicknamed 'the Eagles.' Ironically, the name for
'eagle' in Russian is 'orel.' 'Kadets' were not trainee Officers in this
case, but the name of a centrist, Democratic party who formed their own
militias and sided with the anti-Bolshevik movement.

   To further confuse, the 'Kadets' had a strong base among the Officer
Corps of the old Tsarist Army and many of the 'Eagles' had been serving
Officers in some of the Tsar's top regiments.

   The core of Deniken's infantry was the 'White Guards Corps,' so-named as
a jibe at the 'Red Guards.' They had taken a battering over the previous
Month.  This unit had repelled a determined amphibious assault by Red Army
Forces against the Crimean peninsular.  Following that, they'd undergone an
almost continuous series of attacks as they made their way North from the
Ukraine.  These Red attacks were inexpertly coordinated by one Bolshevik
General Krasov, whom Trotsky later sacked for incompetence.

   Soviet historians frequently exaggerated the size of the White Volunteer
Army, no doubt to enhance the reputations of the Red Generals.  Later,
Josef Stalin was placed as the architect of the victory, although there's
little contemporary record of him ever having the least bit to do with it.
However, when the Volunteer Army set out from the Ukraine it probably had a
little less than 100,000 soldiers.

   That number, though, fell to less than 80,000 by the time it reached
Orel.  Desertion, casualties, exhaustion, and the need to garrison certain
towns in a hostile countryside, sapped a great deal of its strength. 
Deniken had a preponderance of cavalry, who became a liability as Red
firepower increased the further they got into Bolshevik territory.  By the
time they arrived at Orel, too, they were running low on ammunition,
particularly shells for the artillery.

   There is little doubt, though, that Deniken was continually outnumbered
by his opponents the moment he set foot in Russia.  Krasov's Army numbered
around 120,000 and Tukhachevsky's couldn't have been much less.  Above
Orel, Kamenev and Ovseenko mustered around a quarter of a million soldiers
bolstered by an uncertain number of independent Brigades sent down from the
Moscow region.  The lowest of estimates, therefore, put the Red Forces as
at least 500,000 with more becoming available once Iudenich was disposed of
in the Baltic States.

   -------------------------------------------

   "What in the name of the seven Saints are those things, Sergei?" Rhykov
asked.  He'd seen automobiles before, but nothing like these.

   There were four of them.  Instead of wheels, they ran on tracks and atop
their armoured, box-like body, there was a revolving turret with a heavy
machine gun.  Rhykov had come across the first tank he'd ever seen, a
British-built Whippet, and he didn't know what to make of it.

   Sergei was open-mouthed in shock.  To someone who hadn't seen one
before, a tank was awe inspiring.  Both men immediately saw the offensive
potential of these armoured wagons and imagined dozens of them leading
infantry into the attack.  What they couldn't know was that these four
tanks were all the armour Deniken possessed, unless one counted the six
Rolls-Royces of a British Armoured car squadron operating in the Don
region.

   However, already Rhykov was figuring out how to disable them.  They were
closely guarded, it would be difficult.

   On the Don, General Tukhachevsky also saw the shock effect of even a
squadron of armoured vehicles.  It is possible this future creator of the
Red Army's Armoured Brigades was already thinking to himself.

   Meanwhile, the two spies lounged a little way away from the tanks
sharing the last of their precious tobacco and conspiring.  After awhile,
an officer approached them.  He wore thick goggles around his peaked cap.

   "You boys look like you've never seen one of these before?" he said, in
rough Russian with a distinctive French accent.

   "Nope," Rhykov answered, "just arrived."

   "Shoulda seen the Bolshies scatter when these came along," he chuckled,
"ran away, shitting their pants." Rhykov agreed he was sorry he missed it.
"I'm Captain Duchesney of the French Expeditionary Force," he continued,
"these are my pets." Rhykov noted the man was proud of his unit, as indeed,
a good soldier should.

   "Andropov, Captain, 1st Guards," Rhykov told the man, "and this is my
Sergeant, Mryeshishev." Sergei scowled briefly at his chief, having been
'demoted' a couple of grades.  "Could we take a look?"

   The Frenchman shook his head.  "I'm sorry, no-one goes near them but my
crews.  We are the only ones with the skill and knowledge to operate them,"
he boasted, "no-one else in the Volunteer Army has the least idea how to
drive them."

   "That right?" replied Rhykov thinking, "perhaps you and your boys might
care to have a drink with us?  Your pets are under guard, they are safe
enough for half an hour.  I have some good Bordeaux back in my tent?"

   "Bordeaux?" the Officer said, licking his lips, "perhaps just for a
little while?"

   "Of course," smiled Rhykov, oozing charm.  Beside him, Sergei was
grinning evilly.

   -------------------------------------------

   Meanwhile, the three Red Armies deployed against the Volunteer Army/Army
of the Don were grouped administratively as the 'South Front,'
headquartered at modern day Serpukhov.  Tukhachevsky was Kommissar,
although he rarely appeared at his headquarters.  The Kommissar was busy
urging his Divisions against Voronezh.

   Kommissar for War, Leon Trotsky, arrived about the 20th of October in
his armoured train.  He brought with him a Brigade of Cavalry from General
Budennyy's Petrograd Corps, all he could spare at the moment.  With some of
these horsemen he briefly toured the frontline before hastening back to the
campaign against Iudenich in Estonia.  He, apparently, was satisfied that
the South Front would hold.

   Indeed, the Red South Front had more than enough troops.  What it
lacked, however, was adequate supplies of ammunition, a common complaint in
the first half of the Russian Civil War.  Because of this, Tukhachevsky
felt the 13th and 14th Army were not capable of a sustained offensive
against Deniken.  He ordered them to dig in and hold, while he diverted
surplus Brigades South to his Army against Voronezh.  Likewise, all
available ammunition was sent to the 8th Army.  Tukhachevsky believed that
the seizure of Voronezh must compel the Volunteer Army to retreat.

   The Whites, too, were in no shape to force the Oka or move against
Ovseenko North of Orel.  Instead, they waited for salvation from elsewhere.
From the 18th to the 21st, Iudenich launched his campaign against
Petrograd, in concert with British Royal Navy attacks against the Red
Baltic Fleet based at Khronstadt Naval Base.  The heavy guns of the Russian
Battleships made an assault on Petrograd problematic.  Wrangel and Deniken
hoped the success of this operation would compel the Red Armies facing them
to withdraw to protect Moscow.  Similarly, they were confident Voronezh
would hold and bleed Tukhachevsky white.  (My pun.  Author)

   ---------------------------------------------------

   When Rhykov and Sergei finally arrived at their own lines, they found
the Corps had a new interim Komcor.  When Rhykov found Olga Berezkokova,
she was sitting atop a horse, wearing one of his uniform jackets five sizes
too large, and surrounded by 'her Kombats.' He stood for awhile, amused. 
Part of him didn't want to interfere.  She was in her element, he thought,
at least as efficient a Komcor as he.

   Inadvertantly, he had deputized her when he'd gone off spying.  Rhykov
only intended that she report back to Ovseenko her observations, but he'd
gone so long that she'd wound up running the Corps.  His men looked for
someone to lead them, and had assumed Olga was now Komcor.

   The Red Army was such a new creation, as was the Bolshevik State, that
all traditional ideas seemed up for revision.  'Why can't a young woman
that shows talent lead men into battle?' It would be another year before
traditional military roles and chains of command would reassert themselves.

   It wouldn't be until 1935, however, before 'positional ranks' were
disposed of and a return to traditional Officer grades and ranks
reinstated. For a time, the 'proto-Red Army,' the RKKA (Worker's and
Peasant's Army) elected their own commanders.  However, in late 1918,
Trotsky put a stop to the practice.  In 1942 the 'Red Army' officially
ceased to exist, it would be called the 'Soviet Army,' until dissolving,
with the Soviet Union, in 1994.

   "Olga!" Rhykov called, "in my tent, now!"

   ------------------------------------------

   Oleg, Sergei and Rhykov talked exhaustively into the night, as she went
over every detail of the retreat over the river and the Corps' subsequent
deployment on the North bank.  She asked him searching questions about 'the
other side,' but he was reluctant to share too much specific detail.  As
the evening wore on, Rhykov produced a bottle of Vodka, he said, was 'a
prize of war.'

   However, while the Komcor was out relieving himself, Sergei, now a
little drunk, revealed a side of his boss Olga had never seen.

   "Such a thief!" he told her, in wonder, "I have never seen the like of
it.  He got himself a tent near one of their camps, which he used to store
the booty.  He is quite brazen, moves about among them like one of their
own.  I tell you," he pointed, "he could steal the gold fillings out of
Deniken's teeth without him knowing...  this I know as a fact!" he laughed.

   "Tell me more?" urged Olga, excited.

   "He stole a case of wine," Sergei continued, "he tell the Frenchmen it's
Bordeaux, but Rhykov, he wouldn't know one wine from another."

   "What?" asked Olga, "what Frenchmen?"

   "Tank crews, a dozen of them plus their commander.  13, it's an unlucky
number, don't you agree?"

   "Yes, yes, what about the Frenchmen?" Just then, Rhykov returned and
eyed the pair suspiciously.  "What this about 13 Frenchmen, Rhykov?" she
asked him.  He shrugged, glared at Sergei, but she persisted.

   "Is nothing," he told her, "Deniken has some tanks, but I don't think
he'll be able to use them."

   "Why not?"

   "They cannot swim the river and they seemed to have misplaced the
drivers," he answered, ruefully, "absent-minded of them, don't you think?"

   Sergei, however, didn't hold his drink as effectively as Rhykov.  "I
tell him," he laughed, waving his finger in Rhykov's direction, "I tell
him, I'm not sure if I set the fuse at 10 seconds or 8."

   "Sergei, shut up!" Rhykov, snapped.

   "No, go on!" continued Olga.

   "See?" Sergei went on, "Rhykov, ha ha, Rhykov, he give me the signal. 
'Sergei,' he said, 'Sergei, you come and help me get more wine.' That was
the signal to put the grenade in the box, among the others."

   "Sergei, this is not important!" Rhykov told him.

   "But then..." he went on, oblivious to his chief, "then we walk away and
we count down the seconds.  1,2,3, until we get to 5, then I tell him I'm
not sure whether it will go boom at 8 or 10.  You should have seen Rhykov's
face?  White as snow!  8, 9, drop, and we hit the ground.  No more
Frenchies, eh?  It was 10 after all, I wasn't sure.  I'm glad it was 10
seconds otherwise we'd have been blown up with the Frenchmen."

   "Sergei?" Rhykov said, "you may be skilled with bombs, but you're an
idiot!"

   To Olga, however, it seemed so adventurous and exciting.

   ---------------------------------------

   The news swiftly spread around the Army of Rhykov's escapade with the
French tankmen.  The stories grew in the telling and now it was 'common
knowledge' that the Komcor had 'blown up a dozen White tanks with their
crews.' All this, it was claimed, with 'a box of hand grenades.' With
little cheer through the Army at that moment, the men loved the story and
began to cast Rhykov as a hero.  He hated all of it.

   Rhykov was naturally reticent about his 'other activities.' He had a
side to him that was secretive and furtive, and now he believed he'd been
exposed.  He wanted to run away and hide, but his Army-instilled sense of
duty prevented him from deserting his post.  He blamed Olga for 'blowing
his cover,' being certain she'd spread the news around.

   Olga, though, was equally adamant she'd kept his confidence.  Sergei,
too, was equally innocent, he claimed.  But Rhykov constantly complained
about 'the violation of his privacy,' and began to talk about resigning his
position as Komcor.

   It was a period, though, of tense inactivity while the armies waited for
something to happen.  Under such conditions tempers flared and small
problems became large ones in the views of the soldiers.  Rhykov and Olga
both felt the tension in the air and knew that their dispute would affect
the men under their command.  For the time being, they went about their
duties trying to keep their arguments under control.  To Olga, though,
Rhykov seemed sullen and resentful and she found him difficult to cope
with.

   But on the 23rd of October, the news filtered through the Army that
Trotsky had won a stunning victory against General Iudenich in Estonia. 
With the aid of the Khronstadt sailors, the Red Army had smashed the
Latvian Whites below Petrograd and driven Iudenich completely from the
field.

   This news coincided with that from Voronezh.  Tukhachevsky's 8th Red
Army had finally recaptured that city for the Bolshevik cause, fighting
street by street.  Deniken's right flank had been dislocated and surely now
he must order a general retreat or risk being encircled?

   However, they waited another week and still Deniken remained dug in.  He
seemed slow to make up his mind, or perhaps he was wishing for some
miraculous change of circumstances for the anti-Bolshevik cause?  The 8th
Army had ground to a halt among the marshes of the Don basin and, in any
case, were exhausted.  Supplies of ammunition began to arrive, however, for
the 14th and 13th Armies at Orel and an air of expectation began to gather.

   Conferences of commanders were called and a strategy outlined.  But,
while this was going on, the Cossacks of General Krasnov attacked.

   From Yelets on the river Don, the Cossack Army moved up the left bank of
the river towards Yefremov.  They struck at the junction between the Red
13th Cavalry and the 42nd Division of 13th Army.  Their objective was the
eastern railway line that ran up the Don basin towards Moscow.  The Reds
were driven out of their positions and began to retreat North.  However,
the 42nd remained in relatively good order.

   Ovseenko's 8th Division, stationed North of Orel, reacted swiftly and,
by the afternoon, were in action against Krasnov's left flank.  Similarly,
the 55th swept down into open country between the Volunteer Army and the
Cossacks, the country Krasnov was supposed to be protecting.  The result of
Krasnov's rash move, was that the White Forces were split in two.

   Two White Brigades tried to recover the situation, but were driven back
by Red Infantry of the 8th Division.  Fighting died down that evening, with
Krasnov practically surrounded.  He would fight his way out the next day.

   However, the next day the initiative fell to the Reds.  Rhykov's entire
Infantry Corps of three Divisions forded the Oka at the crack of dawn and
fell on the opposition in overwhelming numbers.  The White defenders
quickly cracked and fell back in disorder towards Zmiyeva.  By the close of
day, Rhykov's Corps was in possession of the Railway South, cutting off
Orel.  Gradually, the entire left flank of Wrangel and Deniken's army began
to disintegrate.  Ovseenko's 3rd Infantry and a Brigade of Cavalry entered
Orel the next day to receive the surrender of 2000 of Deniken's soldiers.

   At Zmiyeva, Deniken's Kadet Guards, the 'Eagles,' stood their ground
against spirited attacks.  This sacrifice, against increasingly poor odds,
allowed the bulk of the Volunteer Army to withdraw.  Krasnov, in the
meantime, had taken his horsemen back to the Don, leaving the Volunteer
Army to fend for itself.

   Casualties had been surprisingly light on both sides.  It had been more
of a battle of movement than the slugging match, that mostly characterised
the Civil War.  Probably not more than 800 had been killed in the fighting,
but the result was as decisive as it could get.  The Whites were in full
retreat and wouldn't stop until they returned to their bases at Sevastopol
and a thin bit of the Northern shore of the sea of Azov.  There, the French
Expeditionary Force protected the Volunteer Army from further deprivations.

   Upon the Don and Kuban Cossacks fell the weight of Tukhachevsky's 8th
Army and, following behind, the troops of the CHEKA.(Forerunner of the
NKVD) They would lay cruel hands on the Cossack lands, massacring, some
claim, up to 700,000 people.  Even by Russian standards, this seems an
extravagantly high body count, but the fact remains, the Cossacks were
knocked out of the picture for good.

   Thus ended what is regarded by historians as the second phase of the
Russian Civil War.  The third phase was about to begin in the Western
Ukraine and Byelorussia with what is sometimes referred to as the
'Russo-Polish War,' or 'The Polish War of Independence.' In any case, by
that time, Rhykov had resigned his commission.

   Stardom had never been easy for him.  His 'heroism' in the eyes of many
of his soldiers had aroused jealousies and conflict.  Since his 'exposure'
he'd hankered to be back to the obscurity with which he preferred to live
his life.  He wrote a long letter to Ovseenko, and a shorter one to Olga,
then disappeared.

   But there may have been other personal reasons for his disappearance.

   -----------------------------------------------

   Rhykov's Corps had been instructed to rest and re-arm at Kharkov.  The
unit was now known unofficially as 'the 1st Ukrainian Guards Corps,' a
Tsarist-style honour that had temporarily fallen out of favour with the
Bolsheviks as being, too 'elitist.'

   It had been an arduous trek through deepening snow.  The railways had
been comprehensively wrecked by Deniken's men and most of the Red Army had
been forced to walk.

   When they arrived in Kharkov, they were hungry, tired and hyperthermia
was becoming a problem due to inadequate clothing.  But Kharkov had been
looted blind by the Whites and the population, there, were also suffering.
Nevertheless, it was temporary home to the Kiev Soviet and their supporters
welcomed 'their boys' home as returning heroes.  Actually, fewer than a
third of the Corps were actually Ukrainian, but that didn't seem to matter.

   Booze was produced from somewhere by the population and, in next to no
time, most of the 25,000 or so soldiers were well-plastered.  Most of it
was a fiery rye-grain spirit known as 'Kvass-Brandy' and was distilled in
people's cellars.

   Rhykov and Olga had taken refuge in a modest town house from the
disorder of the street.  He couldn't show his face anywhere in Kharkov
without some well-meaning soldier or citizen wanting to drink him under the
table.  The house was private, down a back alley, and it was well-suited as
a hideaway.

   Supporters had given the pair gifts of food and tobacco.  A town tailor
had offered to repair their battered uniforms for free.  In the stable
behind the house, two horses munched on fresh hay, the gifts of some
peasants, who, no doubt, had 'expropriated' them in the first place.

   Rhykov had had a little wine with their simple meal, but he was sober,
relaxed, and tired.  A straw mattress had been produced by their hosts and
a comfortable bed made up in the corner of the room.

   Although he and Olga had slept often together on the march, they had
never made love.  In fact, they'd hardly been alone together in any case.

   He was resting in a battered chair by the fire.  Although his eyes were
closed, his senses were alert, a skill he'd developed.  He sensed someone
entering the room and opened his eyes.  The sight he saw made his jaw sag.

   Olga Berezkovkova, at 18, had developed into a beauty who turned many
men's heads.  Her long, dark hair was usually wound up tightly under her
uniform cap.  This night, however, it was loose, and flowed freely down to
her waist.  Her brown eyes and alluring smile brightened Winter nights and
she used this frequently to persuade men to do her bidding.  She was aware
there was a coterie of admirers in the Corps who would happliy die in her
service if she asked them.

   However, as Rhykov's eyes drifted down below her smile, he saw she was
as naked as the day she was born.  Unlike that happy occasion, however, she
had the body of a young woman.

   Her young breasts jutted out from her chest and jiggled as she walked
across the room.  Her hips flared invitingly and she had the legs of a
dancer, fine, strong and very feminine.

   Her skin glistened with tiny droplets as if she'd just bathed.  They ran
down her flat stomach and caught in her tuft of brown hair between her
thighs.  On the wall was an old, cracked mirror and Olga stood in front of
it, her back to Rhykov, and shook out her mane.  He was speechless, and he
felt his body tingle with sexual arousal.

   She began to attack her hair with a carved, ivory comb, one of her few
possessions from her days as a Tsarist Administrator's daughter.  Rhykov
watched spellbound as her upper body strained with the effort.

   Her apparent nonchalance notwithstanding, she knew exactly the effect
she was having on him.  She caught glimpses of his face in the mirror,
wide-eyed with shock and trembling with emotion.  It took all the control
she had not to run to him then, but she wanted him to make the first move.
It had to come from him, it was the only way he would accept her.

   When he stood, her hands began to shake with nervousness and
anticipation.  Would he be offended and throw a robe over her in disgust?
She still didn't know how he would react.  Unlike her many admirers, she'd
never managed to predict or control him.  His self-discipline was strong
and it had left her brimming over with frustration, many times.

   She sensed him walk quietly up behind her.  He stood there for an
uncomfortably long time, just looking, while she pretended to groom
herself. Silently, he touched the back of her hand and took her comb from
her.  Displaying surprising gentleness for such a big, strong man, he
caressed her hair with the comb, removing tangles in such a way that she
scarcely felt it.  When he grew tired of the exercise, he laid his chin on
the top of her head and wrapped his arms about her shoulders.

   His chest heaved with emotion, then he gently took her by the chin and
turned her around.  Boring into her eyes for a while, he then brought her
lips to his and kissed her, passionately.

   Olga was barely conscious of being carried and laid carefully on the
bed. Her skin tingled where he had touched her and her mouth moist from
when he'd fused himself to her lips.  Rhykov would later tell her that he
was being controlled by his prick, but Olga knew better that night.  She
was one of the few people who'd had the privilege of holding ajar the door
to the man's heart, she'd always believe.  She was left helpless by its
incandescence.

   She watched him struggle out of his clothes.  His body was solid, but
without an ounce of lard.  His big cock was hard already and Olga was a
little nervous about what that thing would do to her.

   But he was gentle, caring, and lapped and caressed her body to a frenzy
of lust.  He smothered her face in little kisses as he gently drove himself
up inside her.  Disciplined in life, Rhykov was the same in the art of
lovemaking.  He moved against her steadily, driving her to orgasm after
orgasm, each more intense than the last, until, finally, when she was all
but exhausted, he exploded within her.

   Olga couldn't recall a word he'd said, but he didn't need to talk.  She
remembered how he communicated solely with his eyes and his body.  He'd
brush a lock from her face and kiss the place where it'd been.  He traced
her face with his fingertips and nibbled her own fingers.  Most of all, she
would later remember, he loved her with all his considerable heart, of that
she was sure.

   --------------------------------------------
   KATZMAREK (C)

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