Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 RHYKOV (Part 6)

   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.

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

   Slutsk was predominantly a Jewish town of about 15 to 20 thousand in
1900.  In 1920, near Slutsk, Belarusian Nationalists had fought losing
battles against the Red Army's Omsk Brigade in the Civil War.  Many of the
inhabitants had fled to Poland who'd, traditionally, a relaxed attitude to
Jews compared to many European countries.

   The countryside was one of the poorest in Belarus, but the citizens had
been adept for centuries at looking after themselves.  Any arable land was
used for cultivating vegetables and most citizens kept pigs and chickens.

   Slutsk's population had swelled with Russian immigration during the
twenties and the Jewish population declined sharply in consequence.  When
the Germans arrived in 1941 any Jew who had not fled were gathered up and
transported to camps in Poland and Germany.  Any Communist Party Official
who was foolish enough to let themselves be captured was executed
immediately.

   As the months rolled on, men who had a useful skill were rounded up and
transported West to work in German factories by Organization Todt.

   Slutsk, itself, eventually ceased to exist as a useful town.  Its few
factories had been comprehensively destroyed by the Red Army.  The Germans
had attempted to restart the brewery, something of a landmark in the area,
but, in the end, had given up.  Hops, in any case, were impossible to be
had as the Red Army had poured diesel oil onto the fields as they'd
retreated.

   The remaining inhabitants had carried on, trying to make a living as
best they could.  Some hired themselves as servants to the German garrison
and, generally, these Wehrmacht troops didn't treat them too badly.  But,
over time, things began to change as the partisan war intensified.  German
reprisals on the population got heavier and heavier and, for the few that
remained in Slutsk, life became intolerable under occupation.

   Risa explained all this to Rhykov, even though it all had a ring of
familiarity about it.  True, because of Slutsk's Jewish influence, the
Nazis had been particularly savage in the area, but such things were
happening all over occupied Russia.

   The sisters lay beside Rhykov in his small cabin on simple straw
palettes.  They each were encased in woollen blankets as impenetrable as if
there was a wall between them.  If he believed they were going to have a
'party,' Rhykov was quickly disillusioned.

   Her husband, she explained, had been 'insistant' and cruel to her. 
She'd married young, as was the custom, in an arranged marriage.  Her
husband had been much older and, having lost his first wife, the community
thought it 'proper' that he marry again.  His alcoholism was well known
and, it was thought, a new wife would divert him from the bottle.

   But it hadn't worked out that way and he continued drinking heavily
during their life together.  Risa described him as 'a bitter man' plagued
with 'inner devils.' In one of his rages, he'd knocked one of her teeth out
and broken a rib.  Despite these injuries, she still had to continue with
the household chores or risk another beating.  A year later, she'd
miscarried, having suffered another beating.

   The Community Council had told her to 'be patient,' but, if the war
hadn't intervened, she was certain she'd have to leave him or be killed.

   When the Germans arrived, everyone was required to 'register' and the
Jews were promptly taken away.  Ostensibly they were being sent to
'Colleges' to be educated and to farming communities in Germany.  The
Germans explained how life was to be so much easier for them and many of
them were singing with joy as they were loaded onto buses and lorries.

   Risa's husband was picked up soon after by the Todt Organisation because
he was a skilled craftsman, a die maker.  The fact that he'd been unable to
carry on his craft for some years due to his drinking wasn't told to the
Nazi Officials.  Her husband had been happy to go.  The Nazis had promised
him a fat wage packet and idyllic accomodation in one of their new workers'
hostels.

   Risa had moved back to her parents' house.  However, German soldiers had
been billetted on them and she found her Mother had to cook and do their
laundry for them.  Soon, Risa found that they looked on her and her sister
as 'available' and she was afraid that one night they'd be raped.  It was
then she decided to take her sister and go into the forest.

   Rhykov, however, suspected some more serious event had taken place
before they made the decision to flee.  He didn't push the questioning,
being content to allow them their secret.

   He listened to the sisters' breathing until it was shallow and rhythmic
with sleep, then went back to the radio monitor.

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

   Rhykov was turning himself into something of an amateur radio expert. 
At first it had just been a hobby, an interest, sparked when he was
initially shown the latest generation of sets developed before the war.

   The surest way to establish the location of a signal was by
triangulation, using two monitors at different fixed locations.  That was
not always possible, so the next best thing was by using 'signal
attenuation.'

   But the strength of a signal depended as much on transmission power and
atmospheric conditions as distance so Rhykov used a great deal of
intelligent guesswork when trying to figure out the location of an enemy
signal.

   Large German transmitters were based at Minsk and some of the main
bases. He'd plotted these on a map, then compared other signals in relation
to these known values.  Thus he was able to build a rough picture of German
units in the area.

   German radio discipline was good, but entirely predictable he found.  A
flurry of signals usually heralded a major operation, overlaying routine
situational reports.  By attenuating the signal as it moved he could
roughly calculate the distance and direction of a column on the move.  What
was more difficult, however, was to estimate the size of the enemy force.

   South of the Neman, near the railway North to Lithuania, was the small
town of Novogrudok.  For several days Rhykov had been tracking a number of
converging German columns in the area.  He was now sure what their
objective was.

   Novogrudok was an important strategic position protecting a German
supply line.  It had been the subject of partisan raids for some months,
and Rhykov figured the SS were launching a major clearance operation.

   The Red Army had only recently crossed the line of the Desna, and thus
were too far to provide air support.  Novogrudok was beyond his operational
area and, in any case, Rhykov was in no position to intervene in the coming
battle.  He radioed STAVKA with the information, however, they'd been
monitoring the operation already.  The Novogrudok partisan Brigade was
ordered to hold on.  Rhykov thought it suicidal and condemned the fighters
to destruction.

   The whole point of guerilla warfare was to strike when you're strong and
retreat when you're not.  Russian partisan forces were singularly
ill-equipped for pitched battles against major German ground forces backed
by aircraft.  Stalin and Viroshilov were asking the partisans to take on
costlier and costlier operations against vastly superior forces.  Any small
success was seized on by STAVKA as an excuse to demand even greater
efforts.

   The partisans had no heavy weapons and their only transport was the
horse.  STAVKA seemed to regard them as regular units.  Rhykov thought it
criminal.

   He listened to the drone of an aeroplane overhead.  By the sound he
concluded it was a Heinkel He-177 on a reconnaisance flight.  The plane had
a very distinctive exhaust note and whine from its two massive propellers.
It didn't alarm him, there was nothing to see below.  His men were a true
guerilla force who knew how to remain invisible.

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

   "Polkovnik...  I mean, Rhykov?" came a small voice behind him, "you've
been up all night?  Would you like some breakfast?"

   "Please," he replied, pulling off his headset, "there is some mutton
stew from last night, I believe."

   "Won't the smoke from the fire..."

   "It's foggy outside, dull and grey.  The smoke will not go anywhere."

   "Y'know," Risa said, as she busied herself with the fire, "I don't think
I've ever eaten so well."

   "We take care of ourselves out here.  In this climate you must eat well
or you cannot survive the Winter.  A good layer of blubber is an asset...
insulation!"

   "You don't appear to have much blubber?" she laughed, "rather the
opposite.  You are tall and strong...  well-muscled.  Unlike my husband
who..."

   "Let's not talk about your husband," Rhykov replied, "after what you
said last night, I think I've heard enough of the man."

   "Rhykov, I'd like to thank you for last night.  It was a relief to
unburden...  to tell someone about my life and to have someone listen.  It
was important someone understands."

   "Quite all right."

   "I know you...  perhaps was thinking I'd...  we'd, um..."

   "You'd what?"

   "That we'd...  entertain you, as a woman entertains a man.  Thank you
for not being insistant."

   "Madam, I have no need of 'insistance,' nor am I a rapist.  You came to
me for protection from such things.  I made a promise, I don't break
promises."

   "My sister Katya, she's never laid with a man.  I want to spare her that
until..."

   "'Spare her'?" Rhykov replied, looking up from the radio, "it doesn't
have to be an ordeal.  Perhaps if you two find some good men who will treat
you properly, you won't find it such an ordeal?"

   "My husband was cruel," she sniffed, "he hurt..."

   "Your husband, madam, is a poor example of a man.  A good woman deserves
a good man with whom she finds it a joy to sleep with."

   Risa came up to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek.  "Thank you for
saying such things," she told him, with moist eyes.

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

   The daily routine involved the necessities of living.  Rhykov collected
firewood, some went hunting, and others took mules down to collect meat
from one of the small forest communities.

   The two sisters helped Rhykov split the firewood and stow it in the
shelter.  It was wilderness law that the firewood should always be left
well-stocked.  It was hard work in the freezing conditions and Rhykov was
blowing gusts of foggy air as he returned inside.

   Risa and Katya had got a roaring blaze going in the stove.  He
immediately began to sweat, so Rhykov doffed his overcoat and uniform
jacket.  Risa saw he wore the uniform of a Polkovnik of the VLV.  She asked
him about it.

   "Convenience," he explained, "OSNAZ has no uniform to wear in battle,
only for parades and such other bullshit."

   "OSNAZ?"

   "OSobovo NAZnacheniya [Special Purpose].  It means nothing, just a name.
We come under the administrative control of the GUGB but the operational
control of the NKVD.  In action, we fight as part of the VLV Airborne
Brigades.  [Sometimes called the 'VDV,' Vozdushno-Desantnye Vojska: Auth]."

   Risa shook her head in confusion.  "So many different departments and
organisations.  It's a wonder anything gets done."

   "I've often thought the same thing," he laughed, "but we Russians are
fond of our bureaucrats.  Lately STAVKA have been directing our operations.
That is a pity because they treat us like any regular Brigade.  They expect
us to conduct regular operations, which, of course, we are ill-equipped to
do.  We are a guerilla force, not an Infantry Brigade.  It is unreasonable
to expect us to sacrifice ourselves against superior forces.  It is waste
of valuable resources."

   "You must explain it to them."

   "I have and I will till my last breath.  They tell me of the great
battles, the sacrifice, being made by our soldiers at the fronts.  That is
probably true, but we must learn to fight smart, not by depending on the
size of our armies.  We are winning the war of technology over the Germans,
but still they send young foot soldiers against armour.  The Germans have
Panther and Tiger tanks.  You cannot disable such machines with infantry
weapons."

   "You did such a thing?"

   "Aye, against an old model, obsolete.  No side plates on the hull or
turret, weak mantlet and poor internal protection.  It was simple."

   "That's not what I heard."

   "Exaggerration!  Soldiers always bullshit, you must get used to it."

   "They are not the only ones who bullshit."

   "Listen," Rhykov told her in frustration, "don't start the hero stuff
with me, okay?  I bleed like the next man, I'm mortal, a man, and I'm not
exempt from fear.  Everything I do, and order others to do, is calculated.
I've been a soldier a long time.  It is a science."

   "You're a scientist?"

   "Some say an art.  Perhaps I'm an artist?" he grinned.

   "Then you must paint our portraits?"

   "Perhaps?  But I see you're wearing too much clothing.  I couldn't
possibly do you justice.  I'd need to view the female form," he teased.

   "I'm sure you need to!" she grinned back.

   Rhykov was pleased with himself.  The woman seemed much more relaxed
around him.

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

   It was late, perhaps after midnight, but time had little relevance out
here.  'Daytime' was short and dull, the sun being low on the horizon.  It
barely penetrated through the perpetually grey skies in any case.  The wind
was a constant moan outside and the men of OSNAZ only moved about if it was
strictly necessary.

   The pickets had been drawn in for their own safety.  It was hovering at
thirty below outside, one of the coldest Winters on record, and no-one
could remain outside without shelter for long without risking frostbite, or
worse.

   The horses had been sent South, to be stabled in the outlying villages.
Rhykov had sent instructions that they were not food and expected to find
them well and uneaten when the weather eased.

   The German mechanised columns converging on Novogrudok appeared to have
stalled.  Rhykov imagined they were waiting for the weather to clear before
recommencing their clearance operation.  Flying was impossible and
visibility was being measured in metres.

   With the monotony, depression was a constant companion.  Rhykov, like so
many others inured to the climate, focussed on the detail and minutae of
living as he waited.  As usual he stooped over his radio monitor most days,
or charged the batteries using a hand-cranked generator.

   His cabin was double-walled with the cavity between the two stuffed with
straw and other insulating materiel.  The iron wood stove was always kept
stoked and radiated a ferocious amount of heat.  Consequently, it was
possible to walk around naked inside.

   The two sisters were bundled up, apparently asleep in the corner. 
Rhykov, at last, grew bored with the radio and decided to get some shut
eye. He went and lay down beside Risa.

   She turned over, eyes blurry from sleep.  She greeted him wearily and
said she was glad he was now being sensible and getting some rest.

   "I need very little," he explained, "I have trained myself."

   "Are you receiving anything?" she asked, but it was in such a way that
didn't display any real interest.  It was just a question to ask to signal
the need to talk.

   "Routine stuff," he sighed, "the odd regular report.  Perhaps telling
their headquarters the radio operator hasn't frozen to death."

   "Y'know something?" she said, her voice low.  She checked behind her to
see if her sister was asleep and, apparently satisfied, continued. 
"Y'know, I used to see this boy.  Before I married my husband, of
course..."

   "Hmm?"

   "He was Jewish so, naturally, I couldn't marry him."

   "I guess not," Rhykov shrugged, "but you were fond of him, just the
same?"

   "Yes, fond!  I was very fond of him.  The Germans took him when they
came, but then he had married someone else, from his religion."

   Rhykov wondered where this was leading, but decided to let her continue.
He was very tired and hoped she would be brief.  "You must have been... 
disappointed?" he suggested.

   "I suppose so.  He was a nice boy, but we both knew it couldn't lead to
anything.  We used to sneek out...  often we'd just talk, dream.  He was a
special friend.  Sometimes, though, we'd...  play a little, y'know?"

   "Play?" Rhykov asked, suddenly more interested.  "Like doctors and
nurses?"

   "Heh," she giggled, "more like mother and fathers.  I hope he's all
right.  The Germans will look after him, won't they?"

   "Probably," he shrugged, although he'd heard some things he preferred
not to pass on to her.

   "Anyway.  He was very kind to me, not like my husband who..."

   "Risa, I have heard anough of this man, your husband."

   "Sorry," she whispered, "Levy, this boy, liked to watch me.  I was only
14 but I was quite well-developed, up here." She indicated her chest.  "He
liked to look at them, touch.  Would you like to see?"

   Rhykov was already catching the drift of the conversation.  "Risa," he
said, "there's no need."

   "I don't mind," she replied, "I want to repay you a little...  for your
kindness." With that she shuffled down her blanket.  Her shirt was
unbuttoned and she pulled it aside.  Her face displayed embarrassment and
uncertainty.  "Are they all right?"

   Rhykov smiled, reached out with his hand and encircled her head.  Still
smiling he drew her to his face.  Risa shut her eyes as he kissed her.  As
he kissed, his fingers touched the silky soft skin of her breasts and
explored.  It had been a long time since he'd felt a woman's skin.  His
cock stirred and he reached down to caress her bottom.

   Risa sucked in her breath and begged him to be quiet lest he wake her
sister.  She told him she trusted him and was confident he wouldn't 'take
advantage.' Tentatively her hand reached down to the front of his trousers.

   "Levy liked me to touch him here," she said, "do you know Jewish boys
have their thing cut..."

   "Yes, I know," Rhykov told her, hastily, "I don't think there's any need
to elaborate." Tough as Rhykov was, the thought of introducing a sharp
object to his genital area made him uncomfortable.

   He managed to insinuate his leg between her's.  At first Risa pressed
her knees together, but slowly she relaxed.  She paused manipulating him
and looked at him questioningly.

   "You can't...  I can't..." she started to say.  Rhykov reassured her
that he wouldn't do anything to her she was not comfortable with.  After a
while, he felt her press her pelvis perceptably harder against him.  He
watched her face harden in concentration.  Deftly she undid his fly buttons
and grabbed him by the penis.  Her hand was soft and exquisite.  Rhykov
bent and sucked on her nipples as she pulled on him.  "Is this...  all
right?" she asked, her voice husky.

   "Like this," he gasped, and guided her hand in the way he liked to be
stimulated.  With just the right amount of pressure, it wasn't long before
he was ready to come.

   Risa watched him as he rose to clean himself up.  His dick was a little
raw and he thought he needed to use some grease or oil if this was going to
become a routine event.

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

   On July the third, 1944, STAVKA unleashed the greatest single military
operation of the War.  Against the German Army Group Centre, the Soviet
Army attacked with 120 Divisions, over 2.3 million troops, against a
denuded front held by fewer than 800,000 German soldiers.  Within ten days
the German forces collapsed and soldiers of Marshal Zhukov's 1st
Byelorussian Front stormed into Minsk trapping over 50,000 Germans.

   Soviet losses were typically heavy, some 700,000 men and just under 3000
tanks lost.  But the German army group was extinguished, losing over
600,000 of 800,000 men engaged.

   With Soviet Army Groups already inside Poland and Romania as a result of
operations the previous Winter, the War appeared to be drawing to a close.

   As German forces were withdrawn West in the months leading up to the
Normandy landings in France, Russia's partisan groups inside Belarus had
established control of wide areas behind German lines.  Commanders like
Rhykov became de-facto military governors, responsible for thousands of
square kilometres of liberated territory.

   Administration in these areas had become non-existant.  Food production
had practically ceased and much of the infrastructure in the towns and
villages had been destroyed.  Rhykov found himself with a situation beyond
any one person's control.  Millions of civilians were on the brink of
starvation, were homeless, and drifting from place to place looking for
salvation.

   In April, Rhykov led a 30,000 strong semi-regular partisan force against
Baranovichi between the rivers Neman and Pripyat.  With nowhere to go, the
Germans had surrendered and Rhykov established the town as his
headquarters. The irregular war behind the lines was quickly becoming
conventional, with headquarters, supply lines, front lines, Police and
SMERSH units, chains of command and military districts.

   There was no counter-attack forthcoming.  German Army Group Centre had
been stretched to breaking point and there were no units available to
protect the rear.

   Baranovichi was an important railway junction.  The Western line from
Minsk cut through there and the line from the Ukraine North to Vilnius in
Lithuania intersected with it.  It had been a reasonable size town of
around 50,000.  Like much of the town, the railway marshalling yards,
however, had been bombed to a wreck.

   Rhykov set the townspeople the task of filling in the holes at the
nearby airfield so urgent supplies could be flown in.  Arms and ammunition
were a priority, but Rhykov also needed grain to feed the many hundreds of
civilians.

   Among the first planes to land, though, were those carrying SMERSH teams
to vet the newly liberated people.  Apparently those who had suffered
occupation first needed to be cleansed of corrupting influences before
being fed.

   What the news that Soviet Army Administrations were being set up behind
them had to the morale of the exhausted German soldiers can only be
speculated upon.  That to retreat meant having to fight their way through
their very own rear areas must have tested the most disciplined of Hitler's
soldiers.  As it was, Soviet Tank Corps were being matched against depleted
German Divisions and, overall, the Wehrmacht was outnumbered by over three
to one across Soviet Union.

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

   SMERSH was a name made famous by Ian Fleming in his James Bond novels.
Unlike the Western spy agencies' Cold War, fictional protagonists, the real
SMERSH only existed between 1943 and 46.  It did very little spying, in
fact, being mainly concerned with weeding out alleged traitors from the
millions of displaced people and Russian ex-prisoners of war.  It had all
the hallmarks of an Inquisition, complete with three-man Tribunals, ala
CHEKA of the Civil War era.

   The definition of a traitor had always been wide in Russia.  In Tsarist
times, insurrections and dynastic struggles had been prolonged and bloody.
The Civil War body count, flowing on from Great War losses, had been
catastrophic and almost uncountable.  Nationalist rebellions among Russia's
200 or so ethnic minorities were a constant headache for Russian
Governments.  Stalin, a Georgian, knew only too well how quickly
Nationalistic passions can spill into a bloodbath.

   Apart from Stalinist policies, such as shifting whole populations around
and suppressing National dress and languages, the Soviet Government clung
for many years to the object of creating the 'Socialist man.'

   This man put the welfare of the people before himself.  This man saw his
labour as creating a new World and was an example for others to follow. 
This man viewed the individualism of the West as corrupt and exploitative.
The Soviet Union was the first in a new World order which saw the
international working class as on the forefront of the 'great change,' Karl
Marx's vision for the next stage in economic, social and historical
evolution.

   The last thing the Soviet Government wanted was for Western
individualist notions infecting its citizens and spreading into violence
against the State and its institutions.

   Rhykov had already decided he wasn't going to like the man from SMERSH
when he first set eyes on him.  He was impeccably dressed in an NKVD
uniform with blue trimmings.  His jacket was buttoned stiffly to the neck
and sported the rank badge of a Captain.  His moustache was a pale
imitation of Stalin's and his chin had only recently been scraped clean of
other facial hair.  Rhykov never trusted a man who shaved too often, he was
quoted as saying.

   Rhykov was now nominally a General and entered the man's office still
with the acoutrements of combat draped about him.  His quilted VDV flak
jacket carried no badge of rank; he didn't need any, everyone knew who he
was.  On his head was a sky blue beret with the parachute emblem of the
airborne troops.  He wore it on the side, then common practice in the
Soviet Army.  He unslung his PPSh 42 sub-machine gun and placed it on the
desk in front of the Captain.  He then sat down while the SMERSH man stared
at the gun as if mesmerised.

   "Never seen one before?" Rhykov asked, sarcastically.

   "Of course, General," the man replied, grinning like a cheetah, "I was
just wondering whether you'd come to shoot me?"

   "Why, do you deserve it?"

   "Some would say that," he shrugged, "but I'm only doing my job, you
understand."

   "Y'know," Rhykov said, leaning back in his chair and lighting a
cigarette, "out there are thirty thousand good soldiers.  Everyone of them
would say the same thing.  And everyone of them would be correct.  Not one
of them, I'd hazard a guess, would think about questioning the motives or
courage of their comrades, let alone putting them on trial.  That's the
difference between your job and mine.  I trust with my life everyone of
them, yet you distrust those who risk their life so you can fart safely.  I
have been a spy, and probably will continue to be after the war.  Even so,
my enemy is clear and numerous.  I don't have to go looking for more
enemies among my own men."

   "I have," the Captain coughed, "the reports of your unit political
officers.  They say you are a brave and uncompromising officer, loyal to
the Party and Government.  I have never read such nonsense, did you write
them yourself?  How did you persuade these officers to file such
sycophantic garbage?"

   "My political officers fight in the front line.  They don't skulk in the
rear.  They understand me and the task.  I didn't have to dictate any
report to them."

   "See here!" the Captain said, visibly getting angry, "Zhukov, himself,
wouldn't receive such accolades from his officers.  These reports are... 
just too unrealistic.  I happen to know you are...  cohabitating with a
couple of young women, sisters.  Why isn't that in the report?"

   "You'd prefer if I was cohabitating with a couple of young men?" Rhykov
grinned maliciously.

   "No, but we must be told such things."

   "Why?  Who are you fucking?  Do I want to know?  Of course not.  I don't
give a shit and neither should the Party, NKVD or anyone else."

   "See?  You are an individualist who puts your own passions before the
good of the Motherland."

   "Captain," Rhykov grinned, "if you are now going to outlaw sex between
consenting adults then I suggest you start building many more prison camps,
many more.  Shit, I suggest you just build one small enclosure for the
law-abiding.  Then put yourself in it, for you won't have much company."

   "These girls could be foreign agents?  We don't know.  You're putting
yourself into a compromising position..."

   "My positions are no business of your's, Captain."

   "And you have a radio set.  They could be using it to send messages
to..."

   "Oh, come now," Rhykov laughed, "is this the best you can do?  Sending
messages to the enemy?  In clear, or do you suppose they've devised a
secret code?"

   "It's not unheard of."

   "If so, how come the enemy were taken by surprise by the Byelorussian
offensive?  Surely the girls would've tipped them off?  And why weren't the
Germans in this sector better prepared when we attacked, hmm?  My
companions must be playing a very clever game to keep us so fooled.  And
the Germans must be equally clever to not alert their soldiers of a coming
offensive so expertly revealed.  I wonder what tricks the Germans have in
store for us, now that they're been told of our intentions and movements?"

   "You must take this seriously!"

   "Why?  Say something serious and I'll consider it.  Otherwise, you're
wasting my time.  Listen, I'm an intelligence officer and a soldier.  I
know all the tricks and some you've never heard of.  If these girls are
spies I'll gladly turn myself in.  No, I'll shoot myself and save you the
trouble.  Now, have we finished with the bullshit?"

   "One moment, please, General," the SMERSH man said, "I understand you're
friends with a Britisher?"

   "I am?  Who?"

   "One Colonel Greenhaugh of the V.V-S?"

   "He's not my friend, he's my assignment.  You should know this.  He is a
combat pilot and from New Zealand, not Britain.  He is also now a Soviet
citizen and has done more for the defense of this country than most native
Russians.  If you try and impeach this man you'll not only have the Air
Force to contend with but the GRU.  And, I will add, you will be lucky to
leave here in one piece."

   "It sounds like," the Captain looked sly, "that you have a great deal
of, if not friendship, then respect for this individual?"

   "Of course.  Should we not respect our heroes?"

   "And he has a wife, a Spanish Anarchist?  You...  'respect' her as
well?"

   "Idiot!  You have not read the reports very thoroughly, have you?  You
turn on Benin and you'll lose Greenhaugh.  He will not be coerced and is a
dangerous man to make an enemy of.  Do you seriously want to initiate a
rift in the armed forces at this time?  You wish to be responsible for
causing mutiny?  I am not the only one who has 'respect' for John.  He is
greatly loved and admired by even Viroshilov himself.  You wish to anger
the Kommissar of Defence, now?  As well as the only Russian intelligence
service worth a shit.  Even Stalin thinks highly of him, and you want to
interrogate his wife?  How would you like to spend the rest of your life in
the Arctic?  Y'know, those Siberians are short of women, I hear.  They'll
fuck anything, including an effete prick like you."

   "See here..." the man started to say, visibly shaken.

   "I presume this examination is over.  I've work to do!" With that,
Rhykov took his gun and stalked out leaving the Captain staring after him.
Rhykov grinned evilly to himself.

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

   Rhykov chuckled as he returned to his quarters.  It had been so easy to
monster that idiot, he thought.  He wondered whether the SMERSH Captain
would have the balls to check what he'd told him with his superiors.  He
doubted it and, in any case, sexual 'misconduct' was of little interest to
the hierarchy unless it impacted on unit discipline.  Clearly that was not
the case, nor, he thought, were the sisters spies of any kind.

   He strode back to the former Gestapo headquarters that he'd made his
own. The Germans had looked after themselves well, and he'd found the
premises well-stocked with booze and delicacies.  It also featured an
immense wooden bath with running water fed from a coal-fired boiler.

   When he entered, he could hear faint giggling coming from the rear of
the building.  Rhykov licked his lips in anticipation.

   In the main office, a couple of Officers were wading through paperwork.
They looked up and grinned as Rhykov walked in.

   "The girls?" he grinned.

   "In the tub," one of the Officers smirked salaciously.  "You think we
may be excused?  We have some urgent business in town."

   Rhykov had no-doubt what that 'urgent business' was.  Some of the
taverns had been doing a roaring trade as liaison venues for the local
women.  Most, he remembered, were without their menfolk.  He nodded to the
men and they dashed out.

   As he made his way towards the giggling, he couldn't remember ever
having such luxury, certainly not in the midst of a war.  It was like he
was a Viking warrior and he'd arrived at Valhalla, complete with maidens
for his pleasure.  He opened the door, noting it'd been left unlocked. 
There, amidst the steam, were the two sisters, splashing and giggling in
the tub.

   "We couldn't wait for you," Risa smiled, "I hope you don't mind?"

   "Not at all!" Rhykov felt the familiar urge.  It had been some months,
now, since he'd last had the pleasure of these girls.  He quickly shed his
uniform until he was as naked as them.

   Risa's large breasts floated just below the surface of the water.  She
knew they excited him and wore a mischievous grin.  Her had moved furtively
in the dark thatch between her legs.

   Her sister, Katya, too, grinned at Rhykov as he looked down on them. 
Being the taller of the two girls, her smaller breasts were clear of the
water and jiggled as she shook with laughter.  Her hand, too, slyly played
with herself.

   Although a married woman, Risa was barely out of her teens.  Her sister
claimed to be 16, but Rhykov suspected she was younger.  They had come so
far, he thought, since those tentative explorations back in the forest.

   His cock already at half mast, he stepped into the large tub as the
girls made room for him.

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

   KATZMAREK (C)