RHYKOV (Part 5)


By KATZMAREK ©


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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.


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The Maybach, six cylinder, 4 litre, gasoline engine poured columns of oily blue smoke into the chilly air. The fitful breeze carried it lazily into the  surrounding trees. The SdKfz 251 rocked over the rough, unsealed road, its tracks creaking and groaning with the effort.


Inside, six men sat rolling from side to side with the movement of the personnel carrier. They were dressed scruffily in variations of German Feldgrau police uniforms, all sported facial hair of some discription, and scraggly, unkempt hair poked from beneath their caps.


On the grating beneath their feet lay their weapons. It was a mixed collection of German and Russian guns, two PPSh 40 sub-machine guns, a Tokarev rifle, two Mp 40s and an Erma, a common police weapon in 1943.


The vehicle rolled out of the forest and rattled down a hill towards a group of farm buildings. Cattle peacefully munched grass in the nearby fields and some farm workers clustered around a fence-mending project.


The workers looked up at the approaching 3/4 track, then continued their work. Police vehicles often came past, it was no big deal.


The carrier ground to a halt outside the farmhouse gate. The fence was a crude affair, fashioned out of whole logs cut from the forest. The gate was no-more than a thin log with a brace and swung on an iron hinge.


A man emerged from one of the nearby sheds carrying a handsaw. He waved it in greeting at the yet unseen policemen. From the carrier an officer stood wearing a 'coal-scuttle' helmet. He scrutinised the farmer as he approached.


"Hi boys," the farmer said in German, "hungry?"


"In a hurry," the officer replied, "but thanks. Seen any strangers around here?"


"Not here. Haven't lost any stock either since they cleared that village. Lazy bastards, I don't know what else you can do with them?"


"True," the officer agreed, "how's your workers?"


"Stupid! Poles, what do you expect? No work ethic. You have to show them the smallest task and then stand over them, otherwise they just sit down and do nothing."


The officer looked carefully around before nodding to the other men. The rear door of the carrier swung open with a groan and the others began to alight.


"Mind if we take a look around?" the officer asked.


"Go ahead. I'm just in the workshop if you want anything."


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The name Belarus was transliterated into Russian as Byelorussia. From this word, the English mistranslated it as 'White Russia,' although more correctly it should have been 'White Ruthenia.' That mistranslation, however, was taken into other languages and to the Germans it was called 'Weissrussland.' In 1943, 'West Wiessrussland' had been opened up for limited colonisation by ethnic Germans with an ultimate view to incorporation into the Reich.


Belarus is rich in resources. 43% is covered in forest and pasture land abounds for the breeding of cattle. In addition, extensive industrialisation had occurred in the 1930s and, even then, the 'Byelorussian Soviet Socialist Republic' was considered a good example of socialism at work.


But the price had been heavy for the Belarussians. Collectivisation of agriculture had resulted in widespread famine and unrest. Belarussian culture and language had been suppressed and ethnic Russians moved in to 'strengthen socialist values' among the population. Consequently many Belarussians had been 'relocated' to open up farmland in other parts of the Soviet Union.


If many Belarussians expected a better deal from the invading Germans they were disappointed. Perhaps millions were transported back to the Reich as 'guest workers,' never to return. By 1943 it was obvious to the remaining population that the Germans hadn't come as saviours.


Hundreds of thousands of men and women had fled to the forests to avoid deportation and many linked up with groups of Red Army soldiers trapped by the speed of the German invasion. Moscow parachuted in some regular airborne units, the VLV, and a new NKVD organisation, called SMERSH, formed 'doctrinal units' and 'reprisal squads.'


Rhykov had been in Belarus since shortly after the invasion. His unit varied in size, but his core group of operatives were controlled by OSNAZ, the special forces of the GUGB. (Foreunner of KGB)


With so many organisations participating in the partisan effort against the German forces, it was a wonder that operations could be coordinated at all. But Rhykov's reputation enabled him to pull together the operations of the partisans, the VLV and OSNAZ into some sort of coherence. Moscow recognised this and STAVKA, General Headquarters, appointed him as overall commander in the Pripyat/Neman area with special authority over all groups.


Supplies, weapons and ammunition were always a headache. The groups armed themselves with whatever they could, captured from the Germans, parachuted in, or from prewar stocks kept at secret locations by the local defence committees.


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A policeman approached the Polish farmhands. In fluent Polish, he asked each of them their names and former occupations.


Eventually, in a low voice he said, "if you want to know what's good for you, fuck off!"


"What?" one said in astonishment.


"Do I have to spell it out for you? In five minutes I don't want to see your faces or I'll shoot you, understand?"


The Poles looked at each other, bewildered, then began to run. The policeman then took aim with his rifle and shot the first of the cattle.


"What are you doing?" the farmer yelled, running out of the workshop. His voice was cut off by a burst of machinegun fire. Rhykov leaned against the side of the carrier and watched as the rest of the men ran towards the buildings with molotov cocktails. These they hurled through the windows and the open doorway until the farmhouse buildings were well ablaze. Rhykov then lit a cigar and peacefully puffed on it while his men finished the work.


Eventually he waved his men back to the vehicle and it lurched off again. After half an hour the driver yelled, "spotter," and pointed to the sky. They all looked up and spied the aircraft, high and circling.


"A 'Storch'," Rhykov informed the others, while looking through his binoculars, "smile and wave, gentlemen."


"Hi Fritz," one said, "come lower so we can give you a proper Russian greeting."


"Leave him," Rhykov instructed, "we're too easily trapped in this district."


"Do you suppose they've seen the farmhouse?"


"It occurs to me, yes. We need to find somewhere we can ditch this crate and get back to the forest."


"A lake?"


"Perfect! Head over there then run this thing into the water. We'll head back to the rendezvous on foot."


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The tide was turning against the Wehrmacht in the partisan war behind the lines. The campaigning season was a particularly difficult time for the Germans as sorely needed troops had to be diverted from the fronts to protect supply lines and rear areas.


The civilian population had turned from indifference to outright hostility. Agricultural production had practically ceased in some areas as the locals fled for safety or joined the partisans. Those remaining in the villages risked reprisals by German police and SS units. Some three hundred Belarussian villages were wiped off the map and the remaining inhabitants slaughtered.


But those Belarussians who co-operated with the occupiers, through fear or preference, risked being executed by SMERSH after a 'tribunal.' Sometimes, such hasty trials were not bothered with. To be killed if they did or killed if they didn't, such was the fate of many of Belarussia's civilians.


Now and then, the Germans would arrive in company strength backed by tanks and armoured cars to clear certain 'troublesome' areas. Occasionally, pitched battles would ensue involving hundreds of soldiers. Normally careful about committing himself to such battles, on one occasion Rhykov collected enough forces together to take on a full scale German 'clearance' operation.


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It was January 1944 and the weather was bleak, cold, and the countryside blanketed in snow. The pine trees that had provided cover to Rhykov's men and women, were stripped bare of leaves. The wind had dropped and the blizzard abated as Rhykov and his staff observed the vehicles approaching.


They now had radios, parachuted in by VLV aircraft. STAVKA had demanded a showdown with the SS Division operating South of the Neman. Such a battle, they hoped, would prevent reinforcements heading towards the fighting East, where the Army was launching a major offensive.


Rhykov had some 2000 under his command. There was a VLV Company, his OSNAZ team of about 100, but otherwise, most were armed civilians sprinkled with Red Army soldiers. 


They had no artillery, but had a few rocket launchers and a Bazookas. Otherwise, nearly everyone was armed with the unbiquitous PPSh sub-machine gun and hand grenades. They were also equipped with two 12.7mm heavy machine guns and two mortars.


The SS was led by a PzKw III tank and three 'Puma' 4-wheel armoured cars. Behind them was a Panhard and about a dozen 3/4 track personnel carriers. The rest of their infantry were on lorries. All up, there were approximately 300 Infantrymen. It was a formidable force in anyone's book.


But one thing counted heavily against them. They were almost certainly confined to the road because of snow drifts on either side. Rhykov knew this and had picked his battlefield carefully.


If Rhykov had not been ordered to, he would've preferred not to have engaged such a force. Such operations were costly on equipment and personnel. Likely as not, the Germans would call in aircraft if they found the going too hard.


An OSNAZ team lay concealed near the road with a Bazooka. Their task was to immobilise the tank. Nearby was a low forested hill where teams of VLV airborne troops lay behind log barriers with heavy machine guns. Elsewhere, some crossfiring was possible from trees on the other side of the road. There, around 1000 irregulars lay in whatever cover they could devise for themselves. Rhykov had done whatever he could do, the rest lay up to the Germans.


Suddenly, the 20mm Automatic on one of the first carriers swung towards the forest and opened up. Clearly, the Germans had spotted some of Rhykov's irregulars. The whole convoy halted, well short of the OZNAZ team. Rhykov held his breath, hoping the Bazooka team would display some patience. The tank had to be disabled to block the road, but if they broke from cover too early, the SS would be alerted.


Some of the irregulars returned a sporadic fire. The last thing Rhykov wanted was for the convoy to halt at that point and disgorge the infantry. From there, the Germans would be able to work around the flank on his left while his specialist teams were too far away to attack the armoured vehicles. Things were in danger of unravelling, thanks to ill-discipline on the part of his soldier-civilians.


"Commander?" the anxious VLV Officer raised his eyebrows.


"Wait!" Rhykov commanded, "not yet! Your men would be butchered before they got within range. We must draw them on."


"That tank can't leave the road, Commander, a few of us might make it before..."


"I admire your courage, but not your common sense. We wait, tell your men to stay down." The VLV Officer crawled off. "If they suspect they're heading into a trap, Pavel, they will deploy their infantry. They must think there's only a few hotheads. Keep the Bazooka teams back, you must tell them to wait."


"Yes, sir!" The OSNAZ man crept away.


"Radio? Tell those fucking idiots to fall back. All partisans not engaged to hold their fire and stay under cover. The rest can fuck off, as far as I'm concerned."


'Their Officers are wary now,' he thought to himself, 'they will think to themselves that the terrain ahead looks to be a very good place for an ambush. What would I do? Would I delude myself that these people are merely scatter-brained peasants? Am I some arrogant newcomer fresh from Germany keen to make a name for myself, or am I an old hand who knows how these barbarian Russians operate? Hmm, my noncoms are begging my pardon and telling me it's a trap. But Hitler told me to be wary of cowardice and lack of resolve? C'mon, my brave lad, don't be distracted, press on with your orders.' But the convoy remained halted and fired into the trees on the left with their cannon. 


"Radio?" he called, suddenly inspired, "call the boys. We're going to play dress-ups."


"Sir?"


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SS Liebstandarte Division 'Adolf Hitler' had, indeed, freshly arrived from Germany.   Most of their armour, however, remained behind at their base near Minsk. Instead, they'd been lent some armoured cars and a tank from a local police unit. The police were to guide them, but soon they'd discovered that the Feldpolizei had a different way of operating from the SS.


Briefly, the SS preferred to blast away at anything and ask questions later. The Feldpolizei, from long experience at these operations, preferred patience. The Feldpolizei had developed a grudging respect for the Russians. The SS, by comparison, regarded them as 'vermin' to be cleared from the land anyway they could.


An argument had developed between the Feldpolizei commander and the SS, a fellow called Obersturmbannfuhrer Armin Reichenburg. Reichenburg was convinced the 'rabble' his men had seen were a 'provocation' and 'forlorn hope' by local Russians determined to save their village. The Feldpolizei, on the other hand, suspected they were being led into an ambush.


The objective was a village up ahead and their orders were to completely destroy it as a 'lesson' for past partisan raids. Rhykov, however, had already ordered the village cleared and some of the peasants had swelled the ranks of his irregulars.


Both German Officers were still arguing when they both saw a squad of Feldpolizei walking towards them from up ahead.


There were seven of them, led by a Hauptmann. Like many local Feldpolizei, they were scruffily dressed and weapons were a matter of personal preference. The Hauptmann put up his hand in greeting as the little group approached the first vehicle of the convoy, the tank.


"Hey," he called, "we ran our truck into a snowdrift. We could use a tow?"


"Who are you, Hauptmann, and where are you from?" the Feldpolizei Officer asked.


"The village... special detachment."


"I know of no 'special detachment' in my area," the Officer answered, "what unit are you from? Let me see your orders?"


"My velisse is in the truck, come, follow me. It's all clear up ahead. We're just around that bend in the road."


"You've left your orders behind?" the Officer said, aghast, "what kind of Officer are you?"


"Who cares?" the SS man interrupted. "Reprimand him afterwards, let's get going?"


Reluctantly, the Feldpolizei Officer ordered the convoy to continue. Rhykov and the other OSNAZ men broke into a trot as they heard the tank rattling behind them. It was still another 100 metres to where the Bazooka team lay in wait.


"Hey," the commander of the tank called, "hey, jump on board. We'll give you a lift." Rhykov's men continued as if they hadn't heard him. The German was growing suspicious, however, Rhykov could sense it. "Hey!"


It was still some 50 metres to the ambush. Rhykov decided it had to be far enough. "Run!" he yelled, and they broke into a sprint.


"Alarm, alarm!" Rhykov heard behind him, "open fire!"


The OSNAZ men threw themselves into drifts at the side of the road just as a machine-gun began rattling from the tank. Rhykov heard the whizz of bullets and saw the snow splash into tiny plumes as the lead smacked around him.


From up the hill, the VLV's heavy machine gun boomed, laying down covering fire. Rounds clanged against the turret of the tank, sending the machine gunners below. "Now," Rhykov yelled at the hidden Bazooka crew, "get the bastard!"


The forest suddenly rang with a cacophony of noise as seemingly every one of Rhykov's 2000 troops opened fire. German infantry began to spill from their vehicles amid shouting and firing. A mortar bomb landed near the second armoured car and a German 20mm gun cracked off a round.


At the rear of the convoy, a PIAT rocket round whizzed from the side of the road and struck a lorry. There was a flash, and black smoke began to pour from it. Rhykov's rear OSNAZ team had done their job and there was no turning back for the German convoy.


But at the front, the Bazooka team was pinned down by machine gun fire from the tank's hull gun and following armoured cars. Heavy Russian fire was coming from the other side of the road and the Germans were returning it with artillery from the cars. Under intense small arms fire, however, the tank began to move forward again. Its 50mm KwK came into action and fired on the VLV positions.


On his hands and knees, Rhykov scrambled to the Bazooka team's position. He saw some of his friends were wounded, but he had no time to worry about them. Bullets continued to spray all around. The noise was deafening and they were all shouting.


As if suddenly awake to the danger, the tank spun on its tracks until it was at right angles to the road. The car behind took a chance at maneuvre and rammed the snow bank in and effort to break through into the field. With its engine roaring it disappeared in snow flurries as it tried to climb up and over. A cloud of snow fog and powder drifted down towards the tank. With a clang, the turret hatch opened and one of the crew stood up.


"Let's go boys!" he called to his remaining OSNAZ team. Two leapt up and followed him as he sprinted forward. 'Boom,' another mortar round exploded among the armoured cars. More powder snow erupted into the air with the blast.


Rhykov glanced behind and saw he was alone. The man with the Bazooka was hunched over, wounded, and his weapon lay on the road. Instantly, Rhykov focussed on the open turret and ran, stumbling though the snow towards it.


As he arrived at the metal side of the monster, he lay flat as a wave of rounds banged against it, ineffectually. 'Damn,' he thought to himself, 'we Russians continually shoot each other rather than the invader.' After the firing had moved on, he grabbed a hand hold on the tank's hull and leapt up. Belatedly, the crewman spotted him and Rhykov silenced him with a burst from his sub-machine gun. Crouching, he then lobbed a grenade into the empty turret hatch.


'Whoomph!' At last the mortar crew found their target and landed a bomb on the rear of the first armoured car. It started a fire, which licked at the rear engine hatch of the vehicle. Rhykov threw himself into the snowbank at the side of the road as his grenade exploded with a dull thud. The first two of the armoured vehicles were down and the road would need to be cleared of the wrecks before the SS could advance.


Fighting continued around the trapped convoy until the middle of the afternoon. By then both attackers and defenders were running low on ammunition. Rhykov's irregulars had been steadily driven back in the fields. Even 1000 armed civilians had not proved an even match for the German infantry.


But if the partisans were losing in the fields, on the road was a different story. As Rhykov signalled a general retirement, burning German vehicles littered the road for a kilometre. From experience, however, Rhykov knew that the evening would bring the stukas, and there was no-more to be done here.


Back at the village, he ordered the force to disperse. The wounded and dead were to be left with the old women. Some who could still walk, however, went into the forest. The village would most likely be bombed soon, it was a sensible decision.


The OSNAZ teams and some of the VLV Airborne troops skirted the village and went deep into the forest to their secret bases. Rhykov holed up at an old logging camp. Already he was planning for the expected German reaction. There was always a reprisal, that's the way it was here. And following that the Russians would launch another major raid and the Germans would raid back again. He often wondered how this ebbing and flowing was all to end. Surely, though, the Germans must reach a point where they had no more troops to send. Often Rhykov doubted he would ever see that happy occasion. The odds of him lasting that long seemed impossible. He'd heard there was now a 20,000 Reichmark bounty on his head. He was 'the infamous bandit Rhykov.' It had amused them all when they'd found out.


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The logging camp consisted of a number of comfortable cabins well-insulated against the harshest Winter. They were grouped in a clearing surrounded by derelict milling equipment. There was only one way in and out, and that was a rough track guarded by pickets. Any attacking force who chose to leave the road risked being irretrievably lost among the snowbound trees.


The VLV men had withdrawn East, further into the forest. There was to be a resupply effort in two nights and they were to secure the drop zone. Rhykov was left with a dozen of his OSNAZ team and a few partisans who remained for protection. They made themselves as comfortable as they could. Operations were impossible without more ammunition.


It would be several days before the Germans returned, he figured. He was certain they'd be back. The SS never allow a humiliation to go unanswered. That reprisal would no doubt be visited upon some small village somewhere. Rhykov couldn't let his mind dwell on that. Sooner or later, he was sure, the perpetrators would be punished.


Rhykov preferred solitude. It was difficult, sometimes, because of the primitive conditions but, where he could, it was his custom to sleep away from the other men.


Risa and Katya would've preferred solitude, too, if they could have it. The two sisters had sought sanctuary at the logging camp but found a dozen men presented their own danger.


Risa, the older, was married to a villager who'd been taken by the Germans. She was short and stocky, but had a pleasant, if not pretty, face. Katya, by contrast, was slim with long legs, and gawky like a teenager.


Risa had begged Rhykov to allow them to share his quarters, a small log hut, because they didn't feel safe around some of the other men. They promised to cook and clean for him. Rhykov had relented, not being one to leave women in distress.


They came from a town with the evocative name of Slutsk, virtually mid way between Minsk and the Pripyat marshes. The Germans had taken the town in 1941 and in the ensuing months had taken many of the able-bodied men back to Germany. Risa's husband had been a die maker, a valuable craft, and a notorious drunk and bully. Rhykov suspected she wasn't too upset to be rid of him.


After her husband's deportation, Risa had tried to eck out a living for them both as a laundress. Her best customers were the Wehrmacht. However, some incident had occurred, apparently. Rhykov suspected that either she or Katya had been assaulted by German soldiers. They felt sufficiently threatened to flee into the forests to join the partisans. 


Many of these partisans had horrific stories to tell; of whole families being massacred and villages wiped out. Risa and Katya had rediscovered their patriotism amid people who'd lost everything. They found comradeship, even across ethnic boundaries. The Russians who'd, prewar, been aloof and looked down on the Belarussians, now regarded them as comrades.


They joined one of the women's units, learned to shoot, lay mines and set booby traps. The women were also taught how to ride, and Risa soon became a skilled horsewoman.


The women told them tales of the Russian heroines of the Great Patriotic War. The aviators, Maria Razkova, Lilya Litvak, Jana Ivanova, Bubenova, were inspirational and showed women were just as capable as the men in defending their homeland. They dubbed their unit, 'the Red Roses of the Pripyat,' in emulation of Litvak, the 'White Rose of Stalingrad.'


But the Red Roses had been shattered in a pitched battle on the Neman near Uzda. Nearly half the women had been killed and the remnants had joined some of Rhykov's VLV Airborne troops as they made to consolidate again in the forests to the West. Eventually the two women found themselves at the logging camp headquarters of none other than Rhykov himself and the men of OSNAZ.


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By and large, the women tried to be unobtrusive. Rhykov was in a restless mood, there being not much to do without supplies. The blizzard outside blew unabated. According to the locals, this would probably go on for several days yet. Despite their attempt at staying out of his way, he felt awkward in their presence.


Rhykov had rigged a DF loop antenae and had the receiver set up in one corner of the room. With this he searched for radio traffic from the Wehrmacht as well as monitor Russian frequencies. It didn't matter that enemy traffic was in code because he still could diseminate much from the strength and direction of the signal.


"Polkovnik? (Colonel)" Risa asked nervously, "are you receiving anything?" Risa seemed overawed by Rhykov's rank and standing, something that made him uncomfortable. His men just called him 'Rhykov,' and, apart from on operations, treated him as an equal.


"Nothing," he sighed, pulling off his headphones.


"You should sleep, it's unhealthy to..." she continued. That irritated him even more. The remark reminded him of Olga.


"Yes, yes, I'll sleep when I want to," he snapped.


"I'm sorry, Polkovnik," Risa continued, "I didn't mean to.."


"Quite all right, my dear. I knew a girl once, she always told me to sleep. You reminded me of her."


"I'm sorry, again. You were fond of this woman? Perhaps you loved..."


"A fine soldier," he answered, hastily, "bravest woman I've ever known. You ask if I loved her?" he considered, "I suppose I did.... still do. I am unworthy of such love. She is much better off without me... much better."


"They say such love is rare, and the most precious thing in the World. For love you gave this woman her freedom. I cannot think of any greater sacrifice."


"Huh!" he replied, "I knew a Chekist who thought like that. Retvizan was his name. The fool got himself killed so I could get out of a tight spot. Fucking romantic... used to say 'there's nothing more important than bringing two lovers together.' I don't know where people get these ideas."


"I wouldn't have connected the CHEKA to such notions," she told him.


"Me neither, but there you go. Everyone has a heart somewhere, I guess."


"And what lovers was he bringing together?" she asked, "you, and who... this Olga?"


"No, no, not me," he laughed, "a volunteer with the Spanish Air Force and his Anarchist lady friend."


"Tell me more?" Rhykov found himself telling Risa about John Greenhaugh and Benin; how they arrived in the Soviet Union and settled, how they had children, and how John went on to become an officer in the Soviet Air Force. "Fascinating!" she gushed when he'd finished the story, "and a happy ending?"


"So far. Unless the fool's got himself killed somewhere. Women like him, apparently. He'd have a string of mistresses if he wanted, but he only took the one, Jana Ivanova."


"I've heard of her!" Risa cried excitedly, "an aviator?"


"The same; on Viroshilov's staff and an occasional combat pilot. She's gorgeous, but she has only eyes for one man... a pity."


"You're in love with her?" 


"Me?" replied Rhykov, aghast, "I would save myself the trouble. She is much too fine a woman to be interested in the likes of me."


"You do yourself a disservice," Risa told him, "after all, there was this Olga?"


"True, and I could never figure that out. At first I thought she was just using me to get ahead..."


"Then?"


"Then she just hung around. Even when she'd earned her commissions fair and square, she still wanted to stick around me. I still don't understand why."


"It's obvious... she loved you. You are a fine man yourself, Polkovnik, any woman would be glad to have you as a mate."


"Bullshit! And stop calling me 'Polkovnik,' I'm Rhykov to everyone, save my Mother."


"And what does your Mother call you?"


"Nothing; never knew her... never wanted to." 


"That's sad!"


"That's life! And what of you and your sister? What love have you found in this wilderness?"


"That remains to be seen," she replied, cryptically. Rhykov looked at her questioningly but decided to let it drop. "Where would you like us to sleep?" she asked. Somehow, to Rhykov, the two subjects seemed to merge into one.


'Well," he thought, 'if she's offering, then he wasn't one to refuse a gift.' "You can sleep over here, beside me. That way, I can be ready to protect your virtue."


"My sister?"


"Bring her over as well," he said. 


Rhykov thought it looked like there was going to be a party.


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KATZMAREK ©







