Chapter 6

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..."