Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. 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)