The greatest has yet to be told. Up to the 25th everything appeared to be going well for the Germans in France. The French offensive in the Ardennes had been decisively broken. The wheel through Belgium was driving all before it. The French army of the left and the British army were retreating and being pursued as fast as men could march. Says Tappen, chief of the Operations Section at Supreme Headquarters, ‘The favourable reports which came in from all sides daily up to and including the 25th in combination with the great victories of the Sixth and Seventh Armies in Lorraine during the 20th to the 23rd August awoke in the Supreme Headquarters the belief that the great decisive battle of the West had been won. Under the impression of this decisive victory the Chief of the General Staff, in spite of considerations to the contrary, on the 25th August decided to send forces to the East…. Six corps were allotted for this purpose, among them the XIth and the Guard Reserve Corps…. The Commanders of the Second and Third Armies, in full confidence of having won victories, raised no objection to parting with these two named corps, and as they had been engaged in the investment of Namur, they were immediately available. The other four corps, two from the centre and two from the left wing, could not be sent at once as they had to be disengaged.’ Thus the wheeling wing of the Schlieffen plan was weakened at its most critical moment by the withdrawal of the two corps which would otherwise in a fortnight have filled the fatal gap at the Marne.
It is now necessary to describe the last of the consequences that followed from Gumbinnen, namely the astounding Battle of Tannenberg, the Cannæ of the World War, and its follower the Battle of the Masurian Lakes. These operations are of interest even to the non-professional reader from the scale of the tragedy which they presented and from the personal contentions for their laurels which are still proceeding.
CHAPTER XIII
THE BATTLE OF TANNENBERG
Few men have written with more penetration on the Great War than M. Jean de Pierrefeu. His task of drafting the official communiques of the French Army during the whole struggle ensured him the fullest knowledge of what happened in France. His high intelligence and literary qualities used this knowledge in the most effective manner. But when he makes an excursion to the Russian front and attempts to describe the Battle of Tannenberg, he merely repeats in an attractive form some of the popular delusions which have gathered round that battle. His opening paragraphs illustrate at once the situation and his misconceptions of it.
Ludendorff at grips with the Russians! Two Russian armies have invaded Eastern Prussia: in the east that of Rennenkampf, a mass of 24 infantry divisions at more than full strength, preceded by a numerous cavalry: in the south that of Samsonov, less important but still alone superior to the sole defence of East Prussia—the Eighth German Army. To face this double enemy it must be divided. But the march of Samsonov endangers the troops in front of Rennenkampf beyond the Masurian lakes. They run the risk of being ground between the two armies. Moreover Moltke has contemplated a general retreat to the west on the line of the Vistula. A prudent solution indicated already by Schlieffen in his plan! However Ludendorff without hesitation adopts the solution of audacity. At a glance the position of the two Russian armies in Eastern Prussia evokes in his Staff Officer mind familiar with the themes of celebrated campaigns, the plan of a famous manœuvre which so many great Captains have used. It is the classical manœuvre: to surprise successively two adversaries who are separated (before their junction) and beat them one after the other. In this case to fall upon Samsonov with united strength, then to turn against Rennenkampf before the latter has time to go to the help of the former. Such is the plan of the campaign which is about to open. Point by point events unfold exactly as Ludendorff has foreseen them. As Rennenkampf, marching slowly through Eastern Prussia from east to west, reaches the line of the Masurian lakes, Ludendorff withdraws from before this sluggish enemy the bulk of the German forces confronting him. He joins these forces to the fraction of the Eighth Army opposing Samsonov. He then attacks Samsonov and beats him. As above all by a stroke of genius he has directed two corps withdrawn from the Masurian lakes upon the rear of Samsonov’s army, this army collides with them in full retreat, and disaster culminates in ruin. ‘There is Tannenberg!’ ‘Voilà Tannenberg!’34
The reader who is acquainted with the story of the Battle of Gumbinnen, with the times and circumstances, of Ludendorff’s appointment and with the orders which he gave or did not give or found already given, will see at a glance the monstrous perversions of fact which underlie this sprightly and compendious narrative. That so shrewd and authoritative a commentator should five years after the armistice have given such a travesty to the world, makes it a public duty to expose the truth.
We will proceed to trace the real part which Ludendorff played in this tremendous battle. In so doing we shall not deprive him of any credit which is his due as a brave and skilful officer faithfully bearing an immense responsibility. We shall strip him only of the legendary trappings which ignorant rumour has offered him, and which he has shown himself so eager to take and keep.
While the affairs described in the last chapter have been unfolding on the German side, the Russian hosts have been toiling on. The tragic figure of Samsonov now flashes for its brief moment in the light of history. Cavalry leader in Manchuria, Governor of Turkestan, on sick-leave in the Crimea at the outbreak of war, Samsonov on August 8 arrives at Bialystok to command the Second, the southern Russian Army. This army of more than 5 corps and 5 cavalry divisions is to march from the Bialystok-Warsaw railway line north-west towards the Baltic. It will pass south of the chain of Masurian lakes and strike the Germans more or less in the direction of Allenstein, and by so doing will cut off in flank and rear every German soldier opposing the advance of the First Russian Army under Rennenkampf.
Strategically it was a deadly thrust. It might have been much more deadly. With that sorry wisdom that judges after the event, one may ask why the Russian strategic plan ever contemplated an advance of two separate armies, with all the advantages it gave to the Germans with their breakwater of lakes and fortifications and their network of railways. Why was it not open to Russia to have moved with one united army, advancing south of the lakes on a broader and stronger front? Could they not have afforded to leave the area between Kovno and the frontier untenanted, indeed to lure on the German forces into it? The one fatal punch to which the Germans were exposed by geography was a north-westward advance from the Warsaw-Bialystok line towards the Vistula. Such a march intercepted all communications, traversed all railways, dislocated all prepared plans, swept out of existence all German schemes for ringing the changes from one flank to the other, wiped out a score of grave anxieties and obligations. It was a pincer attack in which all the available strength could be employed on one half of the pincers, the other being fixed naturally and for ever by the sea.
Moreover, the massing of the entire Russian forces on this southern line would eliminate the fortress of Königsberg as a factor in the operations. That powerful place, mysterious and formidable to an army advancing like Rennenkampf’s with its right hand on the Baltic, would simply have ceased to count in a single massed Russian advance from the south-east. It would have been left behind and cut off with whatever else the Germans might think fit to hold in the long and dangerous military promontory of East Prussia. No need to fight at Stallupönen and Gumbinnen, no need to trouble about the lakes and the Lötzen fortress in their midst!
But this simpler method had been deliberately prevented by the decisions or neglects of pre-war strategy. Only two lines of rail—both single—crossed the frontier—Bialystok-Lyck and Warsaw-Neidenburg. This sandy, trackless border had purposely been left roadless and desolate to guard against a German offensive. Now their own offensive war-plans for a different situation had to be made within the limitations they had themselves created. They were condemned to improvisation and the second-best.
Nevertheless, with its great preponderance the Russian offensive was sufficiently fo
rmidable; and we find Samsonov striding forward with his five corps in this same menacing direction in conjunction with Rennenkampf’s advance and crossing the German-Polish frontier on a broad front continuously during the 21st and 22nd.
Let us look at the condition of this new Russian army at the moment it begins its invasion of Germany. The five army corps of which it consists have been marching without rest for 8 or 9 days along sandy tracks in the burning heat of August. Jilinski in his eagerness to intervene in the general war drama at the earliest moment has set Samsonov’s forces in movement before their transport arrangements have been completed. He has by repeated telegrams urged the weary columns forward. He has refused all appeals for a halt and in consequence these fourteen divisions—a mass of over 200,000 men—are now about to come into contact with their German foe, reduced by sickness and straggling, wearied by many severe marches, weakened from scanty rations through trying to live on a barren country, with their regimental reserves of food already heavily drawn upon, and their communications so unorganized that no supplies can reach them from the rear. We may picture these brave troops already hungry, worn and footsore, their ardour checked by leaden fatigue, wandering forward through the broad landscape of sombre pine forests, innumerable tawny lakes, infertile stubble fields with squalid hamlets few and far between. They are about to encounter the best trained troops in the world, local men fighting on their native soil, soldiers whose kith and kin are flying for safety under their very eyes, with hearth and home at their backs, and with all the terrors of scientific war at their command.
The Russians can hope to have on their side one advantage, and one advantage only—overwhelming numbers. If this is denied them, their ruin is certain. Will they have this advantage of overwhelming numbers? Only if they are combined. But will they be? To learn this we must go back to the battlefield of Gumbinnen where Rennenkampf is still rejoicing in his victory.
General von Prittwitz’s decision to break off the battle and the movements ordered by his staff on the night of the 20th had been executed with extraordinary celerity. When night fell seven German divisions were in contact with Rennenkampf’s army. When morning broke they were nowhere to be seen. The XVIIth and Ist Reserve Corps are already 15 miles away to the south-west. François with three divisions is already entraining 20 miles away for the most part on the lengthy sidings towards Königsberg. The day is fine and warm and the Russian chiefs, who the night before were far from sure where the advantage of the battle lay, gave themselves up to optimism and rejoicing. It was not until the third day (the 23rd) that the ponderous mass of the First Army got itself again into motion and by leisurely marches rolled forward westward along the Baltic shore.
What explanation can be offered for this? Many have been forthcoming. De Pierrefeu does not hesitate to accuse Rennenkampf of treachery. He uses the expression ‘sold to the enemy.’ He points to a second disaster later in the war when Rennenkampf fell under suspicion so grave that he was removed from his command. We shall examine this charge further presently. Hoffmann can only suggest jealousy and personal spite. He recalls the old feud between Rennenkampf and Samsonov in the Manchurian war. But Jilinski has not been charged with treachery. Jilinski had had no quarrel with Samsonov. Jilinski was the immediate authority by whom both the Army commanders were directed. It is Jilinski who is playing the hand. Why then did he acquiesce calmly, nay cordially, in Rennenkampf’s delays, while at the same time he urged Samsonov ruthlessly forward? Obviously because he was deceived about the German fighting power. He had convinced himself that they could not withstand the double attack. Henceforward his aim was not merely their defeat, but their destruction, and this destruction would only be complete if Rennenkampf did not drive the Germans back before Samsonov was ready to cut them off. The reasoning was sound: it was the facts which were wrong.
But anyhow there can be no excuse for Rennenkampf’s total loss of all contact with the enemy. However the strategic movements might be planned, it was vital to know where the Germans were. There were only four or five corps to be accounted for. Whatever was not in front of Rennenkampf, might be moving to attack Samsonov, and vice versa. Rennenkampf had no less than five Cavalry Divisions—20,000 horsemen—none of whom had taken any serious part in the battle. They had only covered 48 miles in the previous 3 days and their transport was complete. Reconnaissances of even 30 miles would have revealed during the 21st and 22nd at any rate the rearguards of the German XVIIth and 1st Reserve Corps.
But Rennenkamp had lost the German army. He had no idea where they were or what they were going to do. He gladly assumed that the bulk had taken refuge inside the fortress of Königsberg and that the rest were hurrying back towards the Vistula. Even on the 26th when a circle of steel and fire was about to close round Samsonov, Jilinski complacently ordered Rennenkampf to provide two corps for the investment of Königsberg and to march on with the rest towards the Vistula. In fact Prittwitz’s panic-stricken decision to break off the battle at Gumbinnen had created a deception of the Russian mind which no ruse, however carefully planned, could have effected. Henceforward Samsonov will be left alone to face all the German forces in East Prussia and to engage his weary troops against an enemy incomparably superior in organization, communications, quality and morale, who may now bring to the decision 180 battalions against his 150, and who possesses artillery half as strong again in numbers and double his weight in metal. In these circumstances the great battle which followed could only have one result.
During the 23rd the three corps of Samsonov’s centre (XIIIth, XVth and XXIIIrd) advancing north-west began to come in contact with the reinforced German XXth Corps.1 The three divisions which had been sent round by rail from Königsberg were not yet in position, and the XXth Corps which had been facing south, partly by pressure, partly by design, gradually hinged back on its right through a quarter circle until two days later it faced east. It was as if a door had swung open invitingly. Into it the Russians marched. So far everything seemed to promise success. Samsonov was confident, Rennenkampf slothful, and Jilinski unperturbed. Only Samsonov’s troops were exhausted and hungry.
The battle of the 23rd between the Russian centre and the XXth Corps was severe. All through the 24th and 25th the Russians despite their fatigue and privations fought well and their great numbers pressed heavily upon the slowly recoiling German front. By the night of the 25th the XXth Corps had completed its backward wheel. One of the reinforcing divisions had come into line on its left. No further withdrawal could be allowed; orders were given to fight it out to the death in the positions then occupied, and the battle of the two centres—7 Russian divisions against 3½ German—was about to begin.
The issue was awaited with deep anxiety at the German Headquarters. A battle at odds of two to one, against an enemy whose quality had not yet been put to the proof, was in itself a grim event. Yet this battle was only one, and that not the crucial feature in the combination. Where was Rennenkampf, and what would he do? Although in the four days since the 20th his columns spread fan-wise have only advanced 15 miles, and that in a westerly direction, he has still the time to join his comrade on the battlefield. Three days’ marches, if unopposed, will bring him to Allenstein; his clouds of cavalry could already have been overrunning the narrowing region between the two Russian armies. What is there to stop him? The corps of Mackensen and Bülow, with the German cavalry division, though he does not know where they have gone, stand in his path. This powerful body which the German accounts speak of as ‘the Eastern Group’ is probably capable of warding Rennenkampf off until the battle with Samsonov is over. But then its forces cannot take part in that battle themselves. They must be either engaged with Rennenkampf or awaiting his attack. Meanwhile as they face north and east the Russian VIth Army Corps guarding Samsonov’s right will as it advances be traversing their rear, and if Rennenkampf attacks they will be taken between two fires, as well as fighting against double their numbers. So here is another possibility loaded with peril. Al
l therefore depends on Rennenkampf. If, even now, he converges towards Samsonov by forced marches, the whole German army in East Prussia will be fighting simultaneously at odds of two to one. What then will Rennenkamp do?
It was this that tormented Ludendorff and his Chief from the moment when at 2.30 on the afternoon of August 23 they learnt from Hoffmann the whole situation. To leave ‘the Eastern group’ as a shield against Rennenkampf, was to avoid the gravest risks, but to reject all the prizes. On the other hand, to ignore Rennenkampf, to take the chance of his advancing and to bring them southward, offered first of all the certainty of striking the isolated VIth Corps—not two Russians to one German, but two Germans to one Russian—thus intervening in the most terrifying manner upon Samsonov’s rear.
On the night of the 24th Hindenburg on Ludendorff’s resolve ordered both Mackensen and Bülow to go south by ‘enormous forced marches’ and strike the VIth Corps. ‘From the point of view of the High Command,’ says Hoffmann, ‘the position that evening was the most difficult in the whole battle.’ Even now Ludendorff did not make up his mind finally—and who shall blame him?—about Mackensen’s corps. It should start south, but at any moment it might have to turn back and help the solitary German cavalry division in delaying the advance of Rennenkampf’s mighty host. Still the orders were given, and the whole Eastern group was marching southwards throughout the 25th.
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