In the old Russian Army the national question scarcely existed. Among the soldiery the representatives of the races inhabiting Russia experienced somewhat greater hardships in the service, caused by their ignorance or imperfect knowledge of the Russian language, in which their training was carried on. It was only this ground—the technical difficulties of training—and perhaps that of general roughness and barbarism, but in no case that of racial intolerance, that often led to that friction, which made the position of the alien elements difficult, the more so that, according to the system of mixed drafting, they were generally torn from their native lands; the territorial system of filling the ranks of the Army was considered to be technically irrational and politically—not void of danger. The Little Russian question in particular did not existat all. The Little Russian speech (outside the limits of official training), songs and music received full recognition and did not rouse in anyone any feeling of separateness, being accepted as Russian, as one’s own. In the Army, with the exception of the Jews, all the other alien elements were absorbed fairly quickly and permanently; the community of the Army was in no way a conductor either for compulsory Russification or for national Chauvinism.
Still less were national differences to be noticed in the community of officers. Qualities and virtues—corporative, military, pertaining to comradeship or simply human, overshadowed or totally obliterated racial barriers. Personally, during my twenty-five years of service before the revolution, it never came into my head to introduce this element into my relations as commander, as colleague, or as comrade. And this was done intuitively, not as the result of certain views and convictions. The national questions whichwere raised outside the Army, in the political life of the country, interested me, agitated me, were settled by me in one or the other direction, harshly and irreconcilably at times, but always without trespassing on the boundaries of military life.
The Jews occupied a somewhat different position. I shall return to this question later. But it may be said that, with respect to the old Army, this question was of popular rather than of political significance. It cannot be denied that in the Army there was a certain tendency to oppress the Jews, but it was not at all a part of any system, was not inspired from above, but sprang up in the lower strata and in virtue of complex causes, which spread far outside of the life, customs, and mutual relations of the military community.
In any case, the war overthrew all barriers, while the revolution brought with it the repeal, in legislative order, of all religious and national restrictions.
With the beginning of the revolution and the weakening of the Government, a violent centrifugal tendency arose in the borderlands of Russia, and along with it a tendency towards the nationalisation,i.e., the dismemberment, of the Army. Undoubtedly, the need of such dismemberment did not at that time spring from the consciousness of the masses and had no real foundation (I do not speak of the Polish formations). The sole motives for nationalisation then lay in the seeking of the political upper strata of the newly formed groups to create a real support for their demands, and in the feeling of self-preservation which urged the military element to seek in new and prolonged formations a temporary or permanent relief from military operations. Endless national military congresses began, without the permission of the Government and of the High Command. All races suddenly began to speak; the Lithuanians, the Esthonians, the Georgians, the White Russians, the Little Russians, the Mohammedans—demanding the “self-determination” proclaimed—from cultural national autonomy to full independence inclusive, and principally the immediate formation of separate bodies of troops. Finally, more serious results, undoubtedly negative as regards the integrity of the Army, were attained by the Ukrainian, Polish, and partially by the Trans-Caucasian formations. The other attempts were nipped in the bud. It was only during the last days of the existence of the Russian Army, in October, 1917, that General Shcherbatov, seeking to preserve the Roumanian front, began the classification of the Army, on a large scale, according to race—an attempt which ended in complete failure. I must add that one race only made no demand for self-determination with regard to military service—the Jewish. And whenever a proposal was made from any source—in reply to the complaints of the Jews—to organise special Jewishregiments, this proposal roused a storm of indignation among the Jews and in the circles of the Left, and was stigmatised as deliberate provocation.
The Government showed itself markedly opposed to the reorganisation of the Army according to race. In a letter to the Polish Congress (June 1st, 1917) Kerensky expressed the following view: “The great achievement of the liberation of Russia and Poland can be arrived at only under the condition that the organism of the Russian Army is not weakened, that no alterations in its organisation infringe its unity.... The extrusion from it of racial troops ... would, at this difficult moment, tear its body, break its power, and spell ruin both for the revolution and for the freedom of Russia, Poland, and of the other nationalities inhabiting Russia.”
The attitude of the commanding element towards the question of nationalisation was dual. The majority was altogether opposed to it; the minority regarded it with some hope that, by breaking their connection with the Council of Workmen’s and Soldiers’ Delegates, the newly created national units might escape the errors and infatuations of democratisation and become a healthy nucleus for fortifying the front and building up the army. General Alexeiev resolutely opposed all attempts at nationalisation, but encouraged the Polish and Tchekho-Slovak formations. General Brussilov allowed the creation of the first Ukrainian formation on his own responsibility, after requesting the Supreme Commander-in-Chief “not to repeal it and not to undermine his authority thereby.”[41]The regiment was allowed to exist. General Ruzsky, also without permission, began the Esthonian formations,[42]and so forth. From the same motives, probably, which led some commanders to allow formations, but with a reverse action, the whole of the Russian revolutionary democracy, in the person of the Soviets and the army committees, rose against the nationalisation of the Army. A shower of violent resolutions poured in from all sides. Among others, the Kiev Council of Workmen’s and Soldiers’ Delegates, about the middle of April, characterised Ukrainisation in rude and indignant language, as simple desertion and “hide-saving,” and by a majority of 264 against 4 demanded the repeal of the formation of Ukrainian regiments. It is interesting to note that as great an opponent of nationalisation was found in the Polish “Left,” which hadsplit off from the military congress of the Poles in June, because of the resolution for the formation of Polish troops.
The Government did not long adhere to its original firm decision against nationalisation. The declaration of July 2nd, along with the grant of autonomy to the Ukraine, also decided the question of nationalising the troops: “The Government considers it possible to continue its assistance to a closer national union of the Ukrainians in the ranks of the Army itself, or to the drafting into individual units of Ukrainians exclusively, in so far as such a measure does not injure the fighting capacity of the Army ... and considers it possible to attract to the fulfilment of those tasks the Ukrainian soldiers themselves, who are sent by the Central Rada to the War Ministry, the General Staff, and the Stavka.”
A great “migration of peoples” began.
Other Ukrainian agents journeyed along the front, organising Ukrainiangromadasand committees, getting resolutions passed for transfers to Ukrainian units, or concerning reluctance to go to the front under the plea that “the Ukraine was being stifled” and so forth. By October the Ukrainian committee of the Western front was already calling for armed pressure on the Government for the immediate conclusion of peace. Petlura affirmed that he had 50,000 Ukrainian troops at his disposal. Yet the commander of the Kiev military district, Colonel Oberoutchev,[43]bears witness as follows: “At the time when heroic exertions were being made to break the foe (the June advance)I was unable to send a single soldier to reinforce the active army. As soon as I gave an order to some reserve regiment or other to send detachments to reinforce the front, a meeting would be called by a regiment which had until then lived, peaceably, without thinking of Ukrainisation, the yellow and blue Ukrainian flag would be unfurled and the cry raised: ‘Let us march under the Ukrainian flag!’
“And after that they would not move. Weeks would pass, a month, but the detachments would not stir, either under the red, or under the blue and yellow flag.”
Was it possible to combat this unconcealed care for their own safety? The answer is given by Oberoutchev again—an answer very characteristic in its lifeless party rigour:
“Of course, I could have used force to get my orders obeyed. And that force lay in my hands.” But “by using force against thedisobedient, who are acting under the Ukrainian flag, one risks the reproach that one is struggling not against acts of anarchy, but against national freedom and the self-determination of nations. And for me, a Socialist-Revolutionary, to risk such a reproach, and in the Ukraine too, with which I had been connected all my life, was impossible. And so I decided to resign.”[44]
And he resigned. True, it was only in October, shortly before the Bolshevistcoup d’état, having occupied the post of commander of the troops in the most important district next the front for nearly five months.
As a development of the orders of the Government, the Stavka appointed special divisions on each front for Ukrainisation, and on the South-Western front also the 34th Army Corps, which was under the command of General Skoropadsky. To these units, which were mostly quartered in the deep reserve, the soldiers flocked from the whole front, without leave asked or given. The hopes of the optimists on the one hand and the fears of the Left circles on the other that nationalisation would create “firm units” (counter-revolutionary in the terminology of the Left) were speedily dispersed. The new Ukrainian troops were permeated with the same elements of disintegration as the regulars.
Meanwhile, among the officers and old soldiers of many famous regiments with a great historical past, now transformed into Ukrainian units, this measure roused acute pain and the recognition that the end of the Army was near.[45]In August, when I was in command of the South-Western front, bad news began to come to me from the 34th Army Corps. The corps seemed to be escaping from direct subordination, receiving both directions and reinforcements from the “General Secretary Petlura” directly. His commissary was attached to the Staff of the corps, over which waved the “yellow-blue flag.” The former Russian officers and sergeants, left in the regiments because there was no Ukrainian command, were treated with contumely by the often ignorant Ukrainian ensigns set over them and by the soldiers. An extremely unhealthy atmosphere of mutual hostility and estrangement was gathering in these units.
I sent for General Skoropadsky and invited him to moderate the violent course of the process of Ukrainisation and, in particular, either to restore the rights of the Commanders or to release them from service in the corps. The future Hetman declared that a mistaken idea had been formed of his activity, probably becauseof the historical past of the Skoropadsky family,[46]that he was a true Russian, an officer of the Guards and was altogether free of all seeking for self-determination, that he was only obeying orders, for which he himself had no sympathy. But immediately afterwards Skoropadsky went to the Stavka, whence my Staff received directions to aid the speedy Ukrainisation of the 34th Army Corps.
The question of the Polish formations was in a somewhat different position. The Provisional Government had declared the independence of Poland, and the Poles now counted themselves “foreigners”; Polish formations had long ago existed on the South-Western front, though they were breaking up (with the exception of the Polish Lancers); having given permission to the Ukrainians, the Government could not refuse it to the Poles. Finally, the Central Powers, by creating the appearance of Polish independence, also had in view the formation of a Polish Army, which, however, ended in failure. America also formed a Polish Army on French territory.
In July, 1917, the formation of a Polish corps was assigned to the Western front, of which I was then Commander-in-Chief. At the head of the corps I put General Dovbor-Mousnitsky,[47]who is now in command of the Polish Army at Poznan. A strong, energetic, resolute man, who fearlessly waged war on the disintegration of the Russian troops and on the Bolshevism among them, he succeeded in a short time in creating units which, if not altogether firm, were, in any case, strikingly different from the Russian troops in their discipline and order. It was the old discipline, rejected by the Revolution—without meetings, commissaries or committees. Such units roused another attitude towards them in the Army, notwithstanding the rejection of nationalisation in principle. Being supplied with the property of the disbanded mutinous divisions and treated with complaisance by the Chief of Supplies, the corps was soon able to organise its own commissariat. By order, the ranks of the officers in the Polish corps were filled by the transfer of those who desired it, and the ranks of the soldiers—exclusively by volunteers or from reserve battalions; practically, however, the inevitable current from the front set in, caused by the same motives which influenced the Russian soldiers, devastating the thinned ranks of the Army.
In the end the Polish formations turned out to be altogether useless to us. Even at the June military congress of the Poles,fairly unanimous and unambiguous speeches were heard which defined the aims of these formations. Their synthesis was thus expressed by one of the delegates: “It is a secret for no one that the War is coming to an end, and we need the Polish Army, not for the War, not for fighting; we need it so that at the coming international conference we may be reckoned with, that there should be power at our backs.”
And indeed the corps did not make its appearance at the front—it is true that it was not yet finally formed; it did not wish to interfere in the “home affairs” of the Russians (October and later—the struggle against Bolshevism) and soon assumed completely the position of “a foreign army,” being taken over and supported by the French command.
But neither were the hopes of the Polish nationalists fulfilled. In the midst of the general break-down and fall of the front in the beginning of 1918 and after the irruption of the Germans into Russia, part of the corps was captured and disarmed, part of it dispersed and the remnants of the Polish troops afterwards found a hospitable asylum in the ranks of the Volunteer Army.
Personally, I cannot but say a good word for the 1st Polish Corps, to the units of which, quartered in Bykhov, we owe much in the protection of the lives of General Kornilov and the other Bykhov prisoners, in the memorable days of September to November.
Centrifugal forces were scattering the country and the Army. To class and party intolerance was added the embitterment of national dissensions, partly based on the historically-created relations between the races inhabiting Russia and the Imperial Government, and partly altogether baseless, absurd, fed by causes which had nothing in common with healthy national feeling. Latent or crushed at an earlier date, these dissensions broke out rudely at just that moment, unfortunately, when the general Russian authority was voluntarily and conscientiously taking the path of recognition of the historical rights and the national cultural self-determination of the component elements of the Russian State.
General Alexeiev’s (centre) farewell.
General Alexeiev’s (centre) farewell.
May and the Beginning of June in the Sphere of Military Administration—The Resignation of Gutchkov and General Alexeiev—My Departure from the Stavka—The Administration of Kerensky and General Brussilov.
On May 1st the Minister of War, Gutchkov, left his post. “We wished,” so he explained the meaning of the “democratisation” of the Army which he tried to introduce, “to give organised forms and certain channels to follow, to that awakened spirit of independence, self-help and liberty which had swept over all. But there is a line, beyond which lies the beginning of the ruin of that living, mighty organism which is the Army.” Undoubtedly that line was crossed even before the first of May.
I am not preparing to characterise Gutchkov, whose sincere patriotism I do not doubt. I am speaking only of the system. It is difficult to decide who could have borne the heavy weight of administering the Army during the first period of the Revolution; but, in any case, Gutchkov’s Ministry had not the slightest grounds to seek the part of guiding the life of the Army. It did not lead the Army. On the contrary, submitting to a “parallel power” and impelled from below, the Ministry, somewhat restively,followed the Army, until it came right up to the line, beyond which final ruin begins.
“To restrain the Army from breaking up completely under the influence of that pressure which proceeded from the Socialists, and in particular from their citadel—the Soviet of Workmen’s and Soldiers’ Delegates—to gain time, to allow the diseased process to be absorbed, to help the healthy elements to gain strength, such was my aim,” wrote Gutchkov to Kornilov in June, 1917. The whole question is whether the resistance to the destroying powers was resolute enough. The Army did not feel this. The officers read the orders, signed by Gutchkov, which broke up completely the foundations of military life and custom. That these orders were the result of a painful internal drama, a painful struggle and defeat—this the officers did not know, nor did it interest them. Their lack of information was so great that many of them evennow, four years later, ascribe to Gutchkov the authorship of the celebrated “Order No. 1.” However it may be, the officers felt themselves deceived and deserted. Their difficult position they ascribed principally to the reforms of the Minister of War, against whom a hostile feeling arose, heated still more by the grumbling of hundreds of Generals removed by him and of the ultra-monarchical section of the officers, who could not forgive Gutchkov his supposed share in the preparation of the Palacecoup d’étatand of the journey to Pskov.[48]
Thus the resignation of this Minister, even if caused “by those conditions, in which the Government power was placed in the country, and in particular the power of the Minister of the Army and the Navy with respect to the Army and the fleet,”[49]had another justification as well—the want of support among the officers and the soldiery.
In a special resolution the Provisional Government condemned Gutchkov’s action in “resigning responsibility for the fate of Russia,” and appointed Kerensky Minister of the Army and the Navy. I do not know how the Army received this appointment in the beginning, but the Soviet received it without prejudice. Kerensky was a complete stranger to the art of war and to military life, but could have been surrounded by honest men; what was then going on in the Army was simple insanity, and this even a civilian might have understood. Gutchkov was a representative of the Bourgeoisie, a Member of the Right, and was distrusted; now, perhaps, a Socialist Minister, the favourite of the Democracy, might have succeeded in dissipating the fog in which the soldiers’ consciousness was wrapped. Nevertheless, to take up such a burden called for enormous boldness or enormous self-confidence, and Kerensky emphasised this circumstance more than once when speaking to an Army audience: “At a time when many soldiers, who had studied the art of war for decades, declined the post of Minister of War, I—a civilian, accepted it.” No one, however, had ever heard that the Ministry of War had been offered to a soldier that May.
The very first steps taken by the new Minister dissipated our hopes: the choice of collaborators, who were even greater opportunists than their predecessors, but void of experience in military administration and in active service;[50]the surrounding of himself with men from “underground”—perhaps having done very greatwork in the cause of the Revolution, but without any comprehension of the life of the Army—all this introduced into the actions of the War Ministry a new party element, foreign to the military service.
A few days after his appointment Kerensky issued the Declaration of the rights of the soldier, thereby predestining the entire course of his activity.
On May 11th the Minister was passing through Moghilev to the Front. We were surprised by the circumstance that the passage was timed for 5 a.m., and that only the Chief-of-Staff was invited into the train. The Minister of War seemed to avoid meeting the Supreme Commander-in-Chief. His conversation with me was short and touched on details—the suppression of some disturbances or other that had broken out at one of the railway junctions and so forth. The most capital questions of the existence of the Army and of the coming advance, the necessity for unity in the views of the Government and the Command, the absence of which was showing itself with such marked clearness—all this, apparently, did not attract the attention of the Minister. Among other things, Kerensky passed a few cursory remarks on the inappropriateness of Generals Gourko and Dragomirov, Commanders-in-Chief of fronts, to their posts, which drew a protest from me. All this was very symptomatic and created at the Stavka a condition of tense, nervous expectation.
Kerensky was proceeding to the South-Western front, to begin his celebrated verbal campaign which was to rouse the Army to achievement. Thewordcreated hypnosis and self-hypnosis. Brussilov reported to the Stavka that throughout the Army the Minister of War had been received with extraordinary enthusiasm. Kerensky spoke with unusual pathos and exaltation, in stirring “revolutionary” images, often with foam on his lips, reaping the applause and delight of the mob. At times, however, the mob would turn to him the face of a wild beast, the sight of which made words to stick in the throat and caused the heart to fail. They sounded a note of menace, these moments, but fresh delight drowned their alarming meaning. And Kerensky reported to the Provisional Government that “the wave of enthusiasm in the Army is growing and widening,” and that a definite change in favour of discipline and the regeneration of the Army was displaying itself. In Odessa he became even more irresistibly poetical: “In your welcome I see that great enthusiasm which has overwhelmed the country and feel that great exaltation which the world experiences but once in hundreds of years.”
Let us be just.
Kerensky called on the Army to do its duty. He spoke of duty, honour, discipline, obedience, trust in its commanders; he spoke of the necessity for advancing and for victory. He spoke in the language of the established revolutionary ritual, which ought to have reached the hearts and minds of the “revolutionary people.” Sometimes, even, feeling his power over his audience, he would throw at it the words, which became household words, of “rebel slaves” and “revolutionary tyrants.”
In vain!
At the conflagration of the temple of Russia, he called to the fire: “Be quenched!” instead of extinguishing it with brimful pails of water.
Words could not fight against facts, nor heroic poems against the stern prose of life. The replacement of the Motherland by Liberty and Revolution did not make the aims of the conflict any clearer. The constant scoffing at the old “discipline,” at the “Czar’s generals,” the reminders of the knout, the stick, and the “former unprivileged condition of the soldier” or of the soldier’s blood “shed in vain” by someone or other—nothing of this could bridge the chasm between the two component parts of the Army. The passionate preaching of a “new, conscious, iron revolutionary discipline,”i.e., a discipline based on the “declaration of the rights of the soldier”—a discipline of meetings, propaganda, political agitation, absence of authority in the commanders, and so forth—this preaching was in irreconcileable opposition to the call to victory. Having received his impressions in the artificially exalted, theatrical atmosphere of meetings, surrounded both in the Ministry and in his journeyings, by an impenetrable wall of old political friends and of all manner of delegations and deputations from the Soviets and the Committees, Kerensky looked on the Army through the prism of their outlook, either unwilling or unable to sink himself in the real life of the Army and in its torments, sufferings, searchings, and crimes, and finally to attain a real standing-ground, get at vital themes and real words. These everyday questions of Army life and organisation—dry in their form and deeply dramatic in their content—never served as themes for his speeches. They contained only a glorification of the Revolution and a condemnation of certain perversions of the idea of national defence, created by that Revolution itself. The masses of the soldiery, eager for sentimental scenes, listened to the appeals of the recognised chief for self-sacrifice, and they were inflamed with the “sacred fire”; but as soon as the scene was over, both the chief and the audiences reverted to the daily occupations: the chief—to the “democratisation” of the Army, and the masses—to “deepening the Revolution.” In the same way, probably, Djerzinsky’s executioners in Soviet Russia now admire, in the temple of proletarian art, the sufferings of young Werther—before proceeding to their customary occupation of hanging and shooting.
At any rate, there was much noise. So much, that Hindenburg sincerely believes even to this day that in June, 1917, the South-Western Front was commanded by Kerensky. In his bookAus meinem Lebenthe German Field-Marshal relates that Kerensky succeeded Brussilov, “who was swept away from his post by the rivers of Russian blood which he shed in Galicia and Macedonia (?) in 1916” (the Field-Marshal has confused the theatres of war), and tells the story of Kerensky’s “advance” and victories over the Austrians near Stanislavov.
Meanwhile life at the Stavka was gradually waning. The wheels of administration were still revolving, everybody was doing something, issuing orders and giving directions. The work was purely formal, because all the plans and directions of the Stavka were upset by unavoidable and incalculable circumstances. Petrograd never took the Stavka into serious account, but at that time the attitude of the Government was somewhat hostile, and the War Ministry was conducting the work of reorganisation without ever consulting the Stavka. This position was a great burden to General Alexeiev, the more so that the attacks of his old disease became more frequent. He was extremely patient and disregarded all personal pin-pricks and all efforts at undermining his prerogatives which emanated from the Government. In his discussions with numerous Army chiefs, and organisations which took advantage of his accessibility, he was likewise patient, straightforward, and sincere. He worked incessantly, in order to preserve the remnants of the Army. Seeking to give an example of discipline, he protested but obeyed. He was not sufficiently strong and masterful by nature to compel the Provisional Government and the civilian reformers of the Army to take the demands of the Supreme Command into account; at the same time, he never did violence to his conscience in order to please the powers that be or the mob.
On May 20th, Kerensky stopped for a few hours at Moghilev on his way home from the South-Western Front. He was full of impressions, praised Brussilov, and expressed the view that the general spirit at the front and the relations between officers and men were excellent. Although in his conversation with Alexeiev Kerensky made no hint, we noticed that his entourage was somewhat uneasy, and realised that decisions in regard to certainchanges had already been taken. I did not consider it necessary to acquaint the Supreme Commander-in-Chief with these rumours, and merely seized the first opportunity for postponing his intended visit to the Western Front so as not to put him into a false position.
In the night of the 22nd a telegram was received dismissing General Alexeiev and appointing General Brussilov by order of the Provisional Government. The Quartermaster-General Josephovitch woke up Alexeiev and handed him the telegram. The Supreme Commander-in-Chief was deeply moved, and tears came down his cheeks. May the members of the Provisional Government who are still alive forgive the vulgarity of the language: in a subsequent conversation with me the Supreme Commander-in-Chief inadvertently uttered the following words: “The cads! They have dismissed me like a servant without notice.”
A great statesman and military leader had thus left the stage, whose virtue—one of many—was his implicit loyalty (or was it a defect?) to the Provisional Government.
On the next day Kerensky was asked—at a meeting of the Soviet—what steps he had taken in view of the Supreme Commander-in-Chief’s speech at the officers’ Conference (seeChapter XXIII). He replied that Alexeiev had been dismissed, and that he, Kerensky, believed that a late French politician was right in saying that “discipline of duty” should be introduced from the top. The Bolshevik Rosenfeldt (Kamenev) expressed satisfaction, because this decision fully coincided with the repeated demands of the Soviet. On the same day the Government published an official communiqué to the effect that: “In spite of the fact that General Alexeiev was naturally very tired and needed rest from his arduous labours, it was considered impossible to lose the services of this exceptionally experienced and talented leader, and General Alexeiev was therefore to remain at the disposal of the Provisional Government.” The Supreme Commander-in-Chief issued the following Order of the Day as a farewell to the Armies.
“For nearly three years I have walked with you along the thorny path of the Russian Army. Your glorious deeds have filled me with joyful elation, and I was filled with sorrow in the days of our reverses. But I continued with implicit hope in Providence, in the mission of the Russian people, and in the prowess of the Russian soldier. Now that the foundations of our military power are shattered, I still preserve the same faith, as life would not be worth living without it. I reverently salute you, my comrades in arms, all those who have done their duty faithfully, all those whose hearts beat with the love of their country, all those who in the days of the popular turmoil were determined not to allow the Mother Country to be disrupted. I, the old soldier, and your late Supreme Commander-in-Chief, once more reverently salute you. Pray think kindly of me.”
(Signed)General Alexeiev.
Towards the end of our work in common my intercourse with General Alexeiev was one of cordial friendship. In parting with me, he said: “All this structure will undoubtedly soon collapse. You will have to resume work once again. Would you then agree to work with me again?” I naturally expressed my readiness to collaborate in the future.
Brussilov’s appointment signified definite elimination of the Stavka, as a decisive factor, and a change in its direction. Brussilov’s unrestrained and incomprehensible opportunism, and his endeavour to gain the reputation of a revolutionary, deprived the Commanding Staffs of the Army of the moral support which the former Stavka still gave them. The new Supreme Commander-in-Chief was given a very frigid and dry reception at Moghilev. Instead of the customary enthusiastic ovation to which the “Revolutionary General” had been accustomed, whom the mob had carried shoulder high at Kamenetz-Podolsk, he found a lonely railway station and a strictly conventional parade. Faces were sulky and speeches were stereotyped. Brussilov’s first steps, insignificant but characteristic episodes, had a further disheartening effect. As he was reviewing the Guard of Honour of men with the Cross of St. George, he did not greet their gallant wounded Commander, Colonel Timanovsky, or the officers, but shook hands with the men—the messenger and the orderly. They were so much perturbed by the unexpected inconvenience of such greetings on parade that they dropped their rifles. Brussilov handed to me his Order of the Day intended as a greeting to the Armies, which he had written in his own hand, and asked me to send it to Kerensky for approval. In his speech to the members of the Stavka, who had foregathered to bid farewell to General Alexeiev, Brussilov tried to make excuses. For excuses they were—his confused explanations of the sin of “deepening the Revolution” with Kerensky and “democratising” the Army with the Committees. The closing sentence of his Order, addressed to the retiring Chief, sounded, therefore, out of tune: “Your name will always remain unstained and pure as that of a man who has worked incessantly and has given himself entirely to the service of the Army. In the dark days of the past and in the present turmoil you have had the courage, resolutely and loyally, to oppose violence, to combatmendacity, flattery, subservience, to resist anarchy in the country and disruption in the ranks of its defenders.”
My activities were disapproved by the Provisional Government as much as those of General Alexeiev, and I could not work with Brussilov owing to fundamental differences of opinion. I presume that during Kerensky’s visit to the South-Western Front, Brussilov agreed with his suggestion of appointing General Lukomsky Chief-of-Staff. I was therefore surprised at the conversation which took place on the first day of Brussilov’s arrival. He said to me: “Well, General, I thought I was going to meet a comrade-in-arms and that we were going to work together at the Stavka, but you look very surly.”
“That is not quite true. I cannot stay at the Stavka any longer. I also know that General Lukomsky is to supersede me.”
“What? How have they dared to appoint him without my knowledge?”
We never touched upon that subject again. I continued to work with Brussilov for about ten days pending my successor’s arrival, and I must confess that work was unpleasant from the moral point of view. From the very first days of the War Brussilov and I had served together. For the first month I was Quartermaster-General on the Staff of his Eighth Army, then for two years in command of the 4th Rifle Division in that same glorious Army, and Commander of the 8th Army Corps on his front. The “Iron Division” went from victory to victory, and Brussilov particularly favoured it and constantly acknowledged its achievements. His attitude towards the Commander of the Division was correspondingly cordial. I shared with Brussilov many hardships as well as many unforgettable happy days of military triumphs. And I found it difficult to speak to him now, for he was a different man and was so recklessly, from the personal point of view—which, after all, did not matter—as well as from the point of view of the interests of the Army, throwing his reputation to the four winds. When I reported to him, every question which might be described as “un-Democratic,” but was, in reality, an endeavour to maintain the reasonable standard of efficiency, was invariably negatived. Argument was useless. Brussilov sometimes interrupted me and said with strong feeling: “Do you think that I am not disgusted at having constantly to wave the Red rag? What can I do? Russia is sick, the Army is sick. It must be cured, and I know of no other remedy.”
The question of my appointment interested him more than it interested me. I refused to express any definite desire and said that I would accept any appointment. Brussilov was negotiatingwith Kerensky. He once said to me, “Theyare afraid that if I give you an appointment at the Front, you will begin to oust the Committees.” I smiled. “No, I will not appeal to the Committees for help, but will also leave them alone.” I attributed no importance to this conversation, which was conducted almost in jest; but on the same day a telegram was sent to Kerensky, of which the following was the approximate wording: “I have talked it over with Deniken. The obstacles have been removed. I request that he be appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Western Front.”
Kerensky addressing soldiers’ meeting.
Kerensky addressing soldiers’ meeting.
In the beginning of August I proceeded to Minsk and took General Markov as Chief-of-Staff of the Front. I had no regrets in leaving the Stavka. For two months I had worked like a slave and my outlook had widened, but had I achieved anything for the preservation of the Army? Positive results were nil. There may have been some negative results; the process of disruption of the Army had been to a certain extent stayed. And that is all. One of Kerensky’s assistants, afterwards High Commissar, Stankevitch, thus describes my activities: “Nearly every week telegrams were sent to Petrograd (by Deniken) containing provocative and harsh criticisms on the new methods in the Army; criticisms they were, not advice. Is it possible to advise that the Revolution should be cancelled.” If that was only Stankevitch discussing Denikin it would not matter. But these views were shared by the wide circles of the Revolutionary Democracy and referred not to the individual, but to all those who “impersonated the tragedy of the Russian Army.” The appreciation must therefore be answered.
Yes, the Revolution could not be cancelled, and what is more, I may state that the majority of the Russian officers, with whom I agreed,did not wish to cancel the Revolution. They demanded one thing only—that the Army should not be revolutionised from the top. None of us could give any other advice. And if the Commanding Staffs appeared to be “insufficiently tied to the Revolution” they should have been mercilessly dismissed and other people—were they but unskilled artisans in military matters—should have been appointed, and given full power and confidence.
Personalities do not matter. Alexeiev, Brussilov, Kornilov—represent periods and systems. Alexeiev protested. Brussilov submitted. Kornilov claimed. In dismissing these men one after another did the Provisional Government have a definite idea, or were they simply distracted to the point of convulsion and completely lost in the morass of their own internal dissensions? Would it not appear that had the order been changed in which the links had stood in that chain salvation might have ensued?
I took over the Command from General Gourko. His removal had already been decided on May 5th, and an Order of the Day had been drafted at the War Ministry. Gourko, however, sent a report in which he stated that it was impossible for him to remain morally responsible for the armies under his command in the present circumstances (after the “Declaration of the Soldier’s Rights” had been issued). This report afforded Kerensky an excuse for issuing on May 26th an order relieving Gourko of his post and appointing him to the command of a division. The motive was adduced that Gourko was “not up to the mark,” and that “as the country was in danger, every soldier should do his duty and not be an example of weakness to others.” Also that “the Commander-in-Chief enjoys the full confidence of the Government, and should apply all his energies to the task of carrying out the intentions of the Government; to decline to bear the moral responsibility was on General Gourko’s part tantamount to dereliction of duty, which he should have continued to perform according to his strength and judgment.” Not to speak of the fact that Gourko’s dismissal had already been decided, suffice it to recall similar instances, such as the resignations of Gutchkov and Miliukov, in order to realise the hypocrisy of these excuses. And what is more—Kerensky himself, during one of the Government crises caused by the uncompromising attitude of the “Revolutionary Democracy,” had threatened to resign, and had stated in writing to his would-be successor, Nekrassov, that: “Owing to the impossibility of introducing into the Government such elements as were required in the present exceptional circumstances, he could no longer bear the responsibility before the country according to his conscience and judgment, and requested therefore to be relieved of all his duties.” The papers said that he had “departed from Petrograd.” On October 28th, as weknow, Kerensky fled, abandoning the post of Supreme Commander-in-Chief.
The old Commanding Staffs were in a difficult position. I refer not to men of definite political convictions, but of the average honest soldier. They could not follow Kerensky (the system, not the man) and destroy with their own hands the edifice which they had themselves spent their lives in building. They could not resign because the enemy was on Russian soil and they would be deserters according to their own conscience. It was a vicious circle.
Upon my arrival at Minsk I addressed two large gatherings of members of the Staff and departments of the Front, and later the Army Commanders, and expounded my fundamental views. I did not say much, but stated clearly that I accepted the Revolution without any reservations. I considered, however, that to “revolutionise” the Army was a fatal procedure, and that to introduce demagogy into the Army would mean the ruin of the Country. I declared that I would oppose it with all my might and invited my collaborators to do the same. I received a letter from General Alexeiev, who wrote: “Congratulations on your appointment. Rouse them! Make your demands calmly but persistently. I trust that the revival will come without coaxing, without red ribbons, without sonorous and empty phrases. The Army cannot continue as it is now, for Russia is being transformed into a multitude of idlers who have an exaggerated idea of their own importance (value their movements in gold). I am in heart and in thought with you, with your work and with your wishes. God help you.”
The Committee of the Front impersonated at Minsk “Military Politics.” On the eve of my arrival that semi-Bolshevik organisation had passed a resolution protesting against an advance and in favour of the struggle of united democracies against their Governments; this naturally helped to define my attitude towards that body. I had no direct intercourse with the Committee, which “stewed in its own juice,” argued the matter of preponderant influences of the Social Democratic and Social Revolutionary factions, passed resolutions which puzzled even the Army Committees by their demagogic contents, distributed defeatist pamphlets, and incensed the men against their chiefs. According to the law, the Committees were not responsible and could not be tried. The Committee was educating in the same sense the pupils of the “school for agitators,” who were afterwards to spread these doctrines along the Front. I will quote one instance showing the real meaning of these manifestations “of civic indignation and sorrow.” Pupils of the school often appealed to the Chief-of-Staff and sent in “demands.” On one occasion the demand for an extra pair of boots was couched in offensive terms. General Markov refused it. On the next day a resolution was published (in the paperThe Front, No. 25) of the Conference of Pupils of the School of Agitators to the effect that they had personally tested the reluctance of Headquarters to take elective organisations into account. The pupils declared that the Committee of the Front will find in them and in those who sent them full support against “counter-revolution,” and even armed assistance.
Was work in common possible in these circumstances?
The idea of the advance was finally, however, accepted by the Committee of the Front, which demanded that from itself and from Army Committees “fighting committees of contact” be established which would be entitled to partake in the drafting of plans of operations to control the Commanding Officers and Headquarters of the advancing troops, etc. I naturally refused the request, and a conflict ensued. The War Minister was very much perturbed, and sent to Minsk the Chief of his Chancery, Colonel Baronovsky, a young staff officer who prompted Kerensky in all military matters, and the Commissar Stankevitch, who remained at the Western Front for two days, was removed to the Northern Front and replaced by Kalinin. Baronovsky’s friends afterwards told me that the question of my dismissal had been raised in view of “friction with the Committee of the Front.” Stankevitch appeased the Committee and “fighting committees of contact” were allowed to take part in the advance, but were denied the right of control over the operations and of assisting in drawing up plans.
Of the three Army Commanders at that Front, two were entirely in the hands of the Committees. As their sectors were inactive, their presence could be temporarily tolerated. The advance was to begin on the Front of the 10th Army, commanded by General Kisselevsky, in the region of Molodetchno. I inspected the troops and the position, interviewed the Commanding Officers and addressed the troops. In the preceding chapters I have recounted impressions, facts, and episodes of the life of the Western front. I will, therefore, mention here only a few details. I saw the troops on parade. Some units had preserved the appearance and the routine of the normal pre-Revolutionary times. These, however, were exceptions, and were to be found chiefly in the Army Corps of General Dovbor-Mussnitzki, who was persistently and sternlymaintaining the old discipline. Most of the units, however, were more akin to a devastated ants-nest than to an organised unit, although they had retained a semblance of discipline and drill. After the review I walked down the ranks and spoke to the soldiers. I was deeply depressed by their new mental attitude. Their speeches were nought but endless complaints, suspicions and grievances against everyone and everything. They complained of all the officers, from the Platoon Commander to the Army Corps Commander, complained of the lentil soup, of having to stand at the Front for ever, of the next regiment of the line, and of the Provisional Government for being implacably hostile to the Germans. I witnessed scenes which I shall not forget till my last hour. In one of the Army Corps I asked to be shown the worst unit. I was taken to the 703rd Suram Regiment. We drove up to a huge crowd of unarmed men who were standing, sitting, wandering about the plain behind the village. Having sold their clothes for cash or for drink, they were dressed in rags, bare-footed, ragged, unkempt, and seemed to have reached the utmost limit of physical degradation. I was met by the Divisional Commander, whose lower lip trembled, and by a Regimental Commander who had the face of a condemned man. Nobody gave the order “Attention!” and none of the soldiers rose. The nearest ranks moved towards our motor cars. My first impulse was to curse the regiment and turn back. But that might have been interpreted as cowardice, so I went into the thick of the crowd. I stayed there for about an hour. Good Heavens, what was the matter with these men, with the reasonable creature of God, with the Russian field-labourer? They were like men possessed, their brain dimmed, their speech stubborn and completely lacking logic or common-sense; their shrieks were hysterical, full of abuse and foul swearing. We tried to speak, but the replies were angry and stupid. I remember that my feelings of indignation as an old soldier receded to the background and I merely felt infinitely sorry for these uncouth, illiterate Russians to whom little was given and of whom little will, therefore, be asked. One wished that the leaders of the Revolutionary Democracy had been on that plain and had seen and heard everything. One wished one could have said to them: “It is not the time to find out who is guilty, it doesn’t matter whether the guilt is ours, yours, of the bourgeoisie or of autocracy. Give the people education and an ‘image of man’ first, and then socialise, nationalise, Communise, if the people will then follow you.”
The same Suram Regiment, a few days later, gave a sound thrashing to Sokolov, the man who drafted Order No. 1, thecreator of the new régime for the Army, because he demanded, in the name of the Soviet, that the regiment should do its duty and join in the advance.
After visiting the regiment, in compliance with persistent invitations from a special delegation, I went to a Conference of the 2nd Caucasian Army Corps. The members of that Conference had been elected; their discussions were more reasonable and their aims more practical. Among the various groups of delegates whom ouraides-de-camphad joined, the argument was put forward that, as the Commander-in-Chief and all the senior Commanding Officers were present, would it not be expedient to finish them off at once? That would put an end to the advance.
To meet the senior Commanding Officer was by no means a consolation. One of the Army Corps Commanders led his troops with a firm hand, but experienced strong pressure from the Army organisations; another was afraid to visit his troops. I found the third in a state of complete collapse and in tears because someone had passed a vote of censure upon him: “And this after forty years’ service! I loved the men and they loved me, but now they have dishonoured me, and I cannot serve any longer!” I had to allow him to retire. In the next room a young Divisional Commander was already in secret consultation with members of the Committee, who immediately requested me, in a most peremptory fashion, to appoint the young General to the command of the Army Corps.
The visit left me with a painful impression. Disruption was growing and my hopes were waning; and yet one had to continue the work, of which there was plenty for all of us. The Western Front lived by theory and by the experience of others. It had won no striking victories, which alone can inspire confidence in the methods of warfare, and had no real experience in breaking through the defensive line of the enemy. One was very often compelled to discuss the general plan, the plan of artillery attack, and to establish the points of initiative with those who were to carry out the general plan. We found the greatest difficulty in preparing the plans for storming a position. Owing to demoralisation, every movement of troops, every relief, trench digging, bringing batteries into position, either were not carried out at all, or else attended by delays, tremendous efforts or persuasion, and meetings. Every slightest excuse was made use of in order to avoid preparations for the advance. Owing to the technical unpreparedness of the positions, the chiefs had to perform the arduous and unnatural task of making tactical considerations subservient to the qualities of the Commanding Officers, instead of givingdirections to the troops in accordance with tactical considerations. The degree of the demoralisation of different units and the condition of different sectors of a given firing line, purely accidental, had also to be taken into account. And yet the statement that our technical backwardness was one of the reasons of our collapse in 1917 should be accepted with reservations. Of course, our Army was backward, but in 1917 it was infinitely better equipped, had more guns and ammunition and wider experience of her own and of other fronts than in 1916. Our technical backwardness was a relative factor which was present at all times in the Great War before the Revolution, but was remedied in 1917, and cannot, therefore, be taken into account as a decisive feature in estimating the Russian Revolutionary Army and its work in the field.
It was the work of Sisyphus. The Commanding Officers gave their heart and soul to the work because in its success they saw the last ray of hope for the salvation of the Army and of the country. Technical difficulties could be overcome, as long as the moral could be raised.
Brussilov arrived and addressed the regiment. As a result, the officer commanding the 10th Army was relieved against my will ten days before the decisive advance. And it was not without difficulty that I secured the appointment of General Lomnovsky, the gallant Commander of the 8th Army Corps, who had arrived at the Front ten days before the action. There was an unpleasant misunderstanding about Brussilov’s visit. Headquarters had mistakenly informed the troops that Kerensky was coming. This substitution provoked strong discontent among the troops. Many units declared that they were being deceived, and that unless Comrade Kerensky himself orders them to advance they would not advance. The 2nd Caucasian Division sent delegates to Petrograd to make inquiries. And efforts had to be made to appease them by promising that Comrade Kerensky was due to arrive in a few days. The War Minister had to be invited. Kerensky came reluctantly, because he was already disillusioned by the failure of his oratorical campaign on the South-Western Front. For several days he reviewed the troops, delivered speeches, was enthusiastically received and sometimes unexpectedly rebuked. He interrupted his tour, as he was invited to hurry to Petrograd on July 4th, but he returned with renewed energy and with a new up-to-date theme, making full use of the “knife with which the Revolution had been stabbed in the back” (the Petrograd rising of July 3rd-5th). Having, however, completed his tour and returned to the Stavka, he emphatically declared to Brussilov:
“I have no faith whatsoever in the success of the advance.”
Kerensky was equally pessimistic in those days with regard to another matter, the future destinies of the country. He discussed in conversation with myself and two or three of his followers, the stages of the Russian Revolution, and expressed the conviction that whatever happened we should not escape the Reign of Terror. The days went by and the advance was further delayed. As early as on June 18th, I issued the following Order of the Day to the Armies of my Front:
“The Russian Army of the South-Western Front have this day defeated the enemy and broken through his lines. A decisive battle has begun on which depends the fate of the Russian people and of its liberties. Our brethren on the South-Western Front are victoriously advancing, sacrificing their lives and expecting us to render them speedy assistance. We shall not be traitors. The enemy shall soon hear the roaring of our guns. I appeal to the troops of the Western Front to make every effort and to prepare as soon as possible for an advance, otherwise we shall be cursed by the Russian people who have entrusted to us the defence of their liberty, honour, and property.”
I do not know whether those who read this order, published in the papers in complete contravention of all the conditions of secrecy of operation, understood all the inner tragedy of the Russian Army. All strategy was turned topsy-turvy. The Russian Commander-in-Chief, powerless to advance his troops and thus alleviate the position of the neighbouring Front, wanted (even at the cost of exposing his intentions) to hold the German divisions which were being moved from his Front and sent to the South-Western and the Allied Front.
The Germans responded immediately by sending the following proclamation to the Front:
“Russian soldiers! Your Commander-in-Chief of the Western Front is again calling on you to fight. We know of his order, and also know of the false report that our line to the South-East of Lvov has been broken. Do not believe it. In reality thousands of Russian corpses are lying before our trenches. An advance will never lead to peace. If, nevertheless, you obey the call of your commanders, who are bribed by England, then we shall continue the struggle until you are overthrown.”
Finally, on July 8th, the thunder of our guns was heard. On July 9th the storming began, and three days after I was on my way from the 10th Army to Minsk, with despair in my heart, and clearly recognising that the last hope of a miracle was gone.
The Russian offensive which had been planned for the month of May was being delayed. At first a simultaneous advance on all fronts had been contemplated; later, however, owing to the psychological impossibility of a forward movement on all fronts, it was decided to advance gradually. The Western Front was of secondary importance, and the Northern was intended only for demonstration. They should have moved first in order to divert the attention and the forces of the enemy from the main front—the South-Western. The first two of the above-named fronts were not, however, ready for the advance. The Supreme Command finally decided to abandon the strategical plan and to give the commanders of various fronts a free hand in starting operations as the Armies would be ready, provided these operations were not delayed too long and the enemy was not given the opportunity of carrying out re-groupings on a large scale.
Even such a strategy, simplified as it had been owing to the Revolution, might have yielded great results, considering the world-wide scope of the War; if the German Armies on the Eastern Front could not have been utterly defeated, that Front might at least have been restored to its former importance. The Central Powers might have been compelled to send to that Front large forces, war material and munitions, thus severely handicapping Hindenburg’s strategy and causing him constant anxiety. The operations were finally fixed for the following dates: They were to begin on the South-Western Front on June 16th, on the Western on July 7th, on the Northern on July 8th, and on the Roumanian on July 6th. The last three dates almost coincide with the beginning of the collapse (July 6th-7th) of the South-Western Front.
As mentioned above, in June, 1917, the Revolutionary Democracy had already acquiesced in the idea that an advance was necessary, although this acquiescence was qualified. Theoffensive thus had the moral support of the Provisional Government, the Commanding Staffs, all the officers, the Liberal Democracy, the Defencist Coalition of the Soviet, the Commissars, of nearly all Army Committees, and of many Regimental Committees. Against the offensive the minority of the Revolutionary Democracy was ranged—the Bolsheviks, the Social-Revolutionaries of Tchernov’s and of Martov’s (Zederbaum) group. There was a small appendix to this minority—the Democratisation of the Army.
At the moment of writing I do not possess a complete list of the Russian Armies, but I may confidently assert that on all sectors upon which the advance had been planned we had a numerical and a technical superiority over the enemy, more especially in guns, of which we had larger quantities than ever. It fell to the lot of the South-Western Front to test the fighting capacity of the Revolutionary Army.
The group of armies under General Bohm-Ermolli (the 4th and 2nd Austrian Armies and the Southern German Armies) stood between the upper Sereth and the Carpathians (Brody-Nadvorna) on the position north of the Dniester which we had captured after Brussilov’s victorious advance in the autumn of 1916. South of the Dniester stood the 3rd Austrian Army of General Kirchbach, which formed the Left Wing of the Archduke Joseph’s Carpathian Front. Our best Army Corps, which were intended as shock troops, were opposed to the last three Armies mentioned above. These Austro-German troops had already been dealt many heavy blows by the Russian Armies in the summer and in the autumn of 1916. Since then, the Southern German Divisions of General Botmer, which had been hard hit, had been replaced by fresh troops from the North. Although the Austrian Armies had been to a certain extent reorganised by the German High Command and reinforced by German divisions, they did not represent a formidable force and, according to the German Headquarters, were not fit for active operations.
Since the Germans had occupied the Cherviche “Place d’armes” on the Stokhod, Hindenburg’s Headquarters had given orders that no operations should be conducted, as it was hoped that the disruption of the Russian Army and of the country would follow its natural course, assisted by German propaganda. The Germans estimated the fighting capacity of our Army very low. Nevertheless, when Hindenburg realised in the beginning of June that a Russian advance was a contingency to be reckoned with, he moved six divisions from the Western-European front and sent them to reinforce the group of Armies of Bohm-Ermolli.The enemy was perfectly well aware of the directions in which we intended to advance....
The Russian Armies of the South-Western Front, commanded by General Gutor, were to strike in the main direction of Kamenetz-Podolsk-Lvov. The Armies were to move along both banks of the Dniester: General Erdely’s 11th Army in the direction of Zlochev, General Selivatchev’s 7th Army towards Brjeczany, and General Kornilov’s 8th Army towards Galitch. In the event of victory we would reach Lvov, break through between the fronts of Bohm-Ermolli and the Archduke Joseph, and would drive the latter’s left wing to the Carpathians, cutting it off from all available natural means of communication. The remainder of our Armies on the South-Western Front were stretched along a broad front from the river Pripet to Brody for active defence and demonstration.
On June 16th the guns of the shock troops of the 7th and 11th Army opened a fire of such intensity as had never been heard before. After two days of continuous fire, which destroyed the enemy’s strong position, the Russian regiments attacked. The enemy line was broken between Zvorov and Brjeczany on a front of several miles; we took two or three fortified lines. On June 19th the attack was renewed on a front of forty miles, between the Upper Strypa and the Narauvka. In this heavy and glorious battle the Russian troops took three hundred officers and eighteen thousand men prisoners in two days, twenty-nine guns, and other booty. The enemy positions were captured on many sectors, and we penetrated the enemy lines to an average depth of over two miles, driving him back to the Strypa in the direction of Zlochev.
The news of our victory spread all over Russia, evoked universal rejoicings, and raised the hopes for the revival of the former strength of the Russian Army. Kerensky reported to the Provisional Government as follows: “This day is the day of a great triumph for the Revolution. On June 18th the Russian Revolutionary Army, in very high spirits, began the advance and has proved before Russia and before the world its ardent devotion to the cause of the Revolution and its love of Country and Liberty.... The Russian warriors are inaugurating a new discipline based upon feelings of a citizen’s duty.... An end has been made to-day of all the vicious calumnies and slander about the organisation of the Russian Army, which has been rebuilt on Democratic lines....” The man who wrote these words had afterwards the courage to claim that it was not he who had destroyed the Army, because he had taken over the organisation as a fatal inheritance!
After three days’ respite, a violent battle was resumed on the front of the 11th Army on both sides of the railway line on the front Batkuv-Koniuchi. By that time the threatened German regiments were reinforced, and stubborn fighting ensued. The 11th Army captured several lines, but suffered heavy losses. The trenches changed hands several times after a hand-to-hand battle, and great efforts had to be made in order to break the resistance of the enemy, who had been reinforced and had recovered. This action practically signified the end of the advance of the 7th and 11th Armies. The impetus was spent and the troops began once more to sit in the trenches, the monotony of this pastime being only broken in places by local skirmishes, Austro-German counter-attacks, and intermittent gunfire. Meanwhile preparations for the advance began on June 23rd in Kornilov’s Army. On June 25th his troops broke through General Kirchbach’s positions west of Stanislavov and reached the line of Jesupol-Lyssetz. After a stubborn and sanguinary battle Kirchbach’s troops, utterly defeated, ran and dragged along in their headlong flight the German division which had been sent to reinforce them. On the 27th General Cheremissov’s right column captured Galitch, some of his troops crossed the Dniester. On the 28th the left column overcame the stubborn resistance of the Austro-Germans and captured Kalush. In the next two or three days, the 8th Army was in action on the river Lomnitza and finally established itself on the banks of the river and in front of it. In the course of this brilliant operation Kornilov’s Army broke through the 3rd Austrian Army on a front of over twenty miles and captured 150 officers, 10,000 men, and about 100 guns. The capture of Lomnitza opened to Kornilov the road to Dolina-Stryi and to the communications of Botmer’s Army. German Headquarters described the position of the Commander-in-Chief of the Western Front ascritical.
General Bohm-Ermolli meanwhile was concentrating all his reserves in the direction of Zlochev, the point to which the German divisions were likewise sent which had been taken from the Western European Front. Some of the reserves had to be sent, however, across the Dniester against the 8th Russian Army. They arrived on July 2nd, reinforced the shattered ranks of the 3rd Austrian Army, and from that day positional battles began on the Lomnitza, with varying success, and occasionally stubborn fighting. The concentration of the German shock troops between the Upper Sereth and the railway line Tarnopol-Zlochev was completed on July 5th. On the next day, after strong artillery preparations, this group attacked our 11th Army, broke our frontand moved swiftly towards Kamenetz-Podolsk, pursuing the Army Corps of the 11th Army who were fleeing in panic. The Army Headquarters, the Stavka and the Press, losing all perspective, blamed the 607th Mlynov Regiment as the chief cause of the catastrophe. The demoralised, worthless regiment had left the trenches of their own accord and opened the front. It was, of course, a very sad occurrence, but it would be naïve to describe it even as an excuse. For as early as on the 9th of July the Committees and Commissars of the 11th Army were telegraphing to the Provisional Government: “The truth and nothing but the truth about the events.” “The German offensive on the front of the 11th Army, which began on July 6th, is growing into an immeasurable calamity which threatens perhaps the very existence of Revolutionary Russia. The spirit of the troops, that were prompted to advance by the heroic efforts of the minority, has undergone a decisive and fatal change. The impetus of the advance was soon spent. Most of the units are in a condition of increasing disruption. There is not a shadow of discipline or obedience; persuasion is likewise powerless and is answered by threats and sometimes by shootings. Cases have occurred when orders to advance immediately to reinforce the line were debated for hours at meetings, and reinforcements were twenty-four hours late. Some units arbitrarily leave the trenches without even waiting for the enemy to advance.... For hundreds of miles strings of deserters—healthy, strong men who thoroughly realise their impunity—are to be seen moving along with rifles or without.... The country should know the whole truth. It will shudder and will find the strength to fall with all its might upon all those whose cowardice is ruining and bartering Russia and the Revolution.”
The Stavka wrote: “In spite of its enormous numerical and technical superiority, the 11th Army was retreating uninterruptedly. On the 8th of July it had already reached the Serenth, never halting at the very strong fortified position to the West of the river, which had been our starting point in the glorious advance of 1916. Bohm-Ermolli had detached some of his forces for the pursuit of the Russian troops in the direction of Tarnapol and had moved his main forces southwards between the Serenth and the Strypa, threatening to cut off the communication of the 7th Army, to throw them into the Dniester and, perhaps, cut off the retreat of the 8th Army. On July 9th the Austro-Germans had already reached Mikulinze, a distance of one march south of Tarnapol.... The Armies of General Selivatchev and Cheremissov (who had succeeded General Kornilov upon the latter’s appointment on July 7th to theHigh Command of the South-Western Front) were in great difficulty. They could not hope to resist the enemy by manœuvring, and all that was left to them was to escape the enemy’s blows by forced marches. The 7th Army was in particularly dire straits, as it was retreating under the double pressure of the Army Corps of General Botmer, who was conducting a frontal attack, and of the troops of Bohm-Ermolli, striking from the north against the denuded right flank. The 8th Army had to march over one hundred miles under pressure from the enemy.
On July 10th the Austro-Germans advanced to the line Mikulinze-Podgaitze-Stanilavov. On the 11th the Germans occupied Tarnapol, abandoned without fighting by the 1st Guards Army Corps. On the next day they broke through our position on the rivers Gniezno and Sereth, South of Trembovlia, and developed their advance in the Eastern and South-Eastern directions. On the same day, pursuing the 7th and 8th Armies, the enemy occupied the line from the Sereth to Monsaterjisko-Tlumatch.