by Peter Hart
The Serbians naturally took some heart at this concrete evidence of Russian support. In their answer to the Austrian ultimatum, although they still accepted the broad thrust of the Austro-Hungarian demands, they had the temerity to attach conditions to various points and utterly rejected the concept of Austrian officials prosecuting the investigation of the assassination from within Serbian territory. This in turn was rejected out of hand by the Austrians, and a declaration of war with Serbia was obviously imminent.
The French government was determined to preserve the integrity of the Triple Entente, which meant not only not letting down Russia but also making sure that they did not invite any blame for their own actions that might lose them British support. Broadly passive as the crisis unfurled, they warned the Russians to be prudent, yet at the same time restated their commitment to join with Russia should war be forced upon them. The French may not have sought war in the summer of 1914, but equally they did little to avoid it, buoyed up by the opportunity finally to gain revenge on Germany, backed by both Russia and Britain.
The British were aghast as they observed these distressing developments. The Prime Minister, Sir Herbert Asquith, summed up his frustration in a private letter.
Austria has sent a bullying and humiliating ultimatum to Serbia, who cannot possibly comply with it, and demanded an answer within 48 hours – failing which she will march. This means, almost inevitably, that Russia will come to the scene in defence of Serbia and in defiance of Austria, and if so, it is difficult for Germany and France to refrain from lending a hand to one side or the other. So that we are in measurable, or imaginable, distance of a real Armageddon. Happily, there seems to be no reason why we should be anything more than spectators.8
Prime Minister Sir Herbert Asquith
The British attempted to calm the situation. On 26 July, their Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey, proposed to convene a Four Power Conference (Britain, France, Germany and Italy) to defer the crisis, allow mediation and give Serbia, Austria-Hungary and Russia the chance to step back from the brink. This was traditional diplomacy in accordance with the loose arrangements whereby any serious crisis would prompt a Great Power conference and allow a compromise answer that, while it might not please everyone, would at least avert war. But by this time the Austrians were intent on a violent resolution and a minor clash on the border with Serbia provided an all-too-convenient excuse for them to declare war on 28 July. In Berlin the Kaiser was wavering, and indeed engaged in a sad little exchange of friendly telegrams with his blood relative Nicholas II, but by this time it was too late. The decisions that mattered had already been taken. At the same time, German diplomats were preoccupied with trying to ensure that the British did not come to the assistance of the French and Russians. Asquith was not impressed by their efforts as he pondered anew on the overall state of affairs on 30 July.
The European situation is at least one degree worse than it was yesterday, and has not been improved by a rather shameless attempt on the part of Germany to buy our neutrality during the war by promises that she will not annex French territory (except colonies) or Holland or Belgium. There is something very crude and childlike about German diplomacy. Meanwhile the French are beginning to press in the opposite sense, as the Russians have been doing for some time. The City, which is in a terrible state of depression and paralysis, is for the time being all against English intervention. I think the prospect very black today.9
Prime Minister Sir Herbert Asquith
At this stage, given the demonstrable aggressive intent of Germany and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, a general European war was inevitable, without a change of attitude or intent from all sides. So it was that on 31 July Germany ordered a preparatory level of mobilisation and issued two stern ultimatums: one to Russia demanding that she completely demobilise within twelve hours, the other to France requiring a declaration of neutrality within eighteen hours allowing the German occupation of frontier forts to demonstrate good faith. Such demands were, of course, impossible either to concede or implement.
On 1 August Germany mobilised and formally declared war on Russia while the French ordered a general mobilisation for 2 August. Even then the Kaiser was wavering, wrongly believing that there was some prospect of France and Britain remaining neutral if France was not attacked. Inspired by this belief, Wilhelm made a farcical attempt to jettison the whole of the German war plans, suggesting that they attack only Russia. Such proposals were abruptly rebutted by Moltke, who pointed out in no uncertain terms that German troops were already moving against France and that such a change at this late stage was simply impossible. Too many elements within the German military establishment were set on war – they could not conceive of backing down once the timetables were running. That night the first German troops began to invade Luxembourg border posts in preparation for the great sweep through Belgium. This would indeed be a Great European War, although, to no one’s surprise, on 2 August Italy bailed out of her alliance with the Central Powers, announcing primly that popular pressure precluded Italian involvement in what she considered to be a war of aggression by her erstwhile German and Austro-Hungarian allies.
The British still had no real stomach for war, but as a signatory of the 1839 Treaty of London, Britain had long been a guarantor of Belgian neutrality, so if Germany invaded Belgium this would be a potent factor in overwhelming British reluctance to get involved. Slowly, Britain found herself sliding into war. On 2 August, she promised naval support to the French should Germany attack the coastline of northern France. The same day a German ultimatum demanded Belgium throw open her borders to allow the passage of the German Army through to France and on 3 August Germany formally declared war on France. When the Foreign Secretary spoke before the House of Commons on 3 August all realistic hope of keeping Britain out of the war had evaporated.
What other policy is there before the House? There is but one way in which the Government could make certain at the present moment of keeping outside this War, and that would be that it should immediately issue a proclamation of unconditional neutrality. We cannot do that. We have made the commitment to France that I have read to the House which prevents us from doing that. We have got the consideration of Belgium, which prevents us also from any unconditional neutrality, and, without those conditions absolutely satisfied and satisfactory, we are bound not to shrink from proceeding to the use of all the forces in our power. If we did take that line by saying, ‘We will have nothing whatever to do with this matter’ under no conditions – the Belgian Treaty obligations, the possible position in the Mediterranean, with damage to British interests, and what may happen to France from our failure to support France – if we were to say that all those things mattered nothing, were as nothing, and to say we would stand aside, we should, I believe, sacrifice our respect and good name and reputation before the world and should not escape the most serious and grave economic consequences.10
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs Sir Edward Grey
Sentimentality over ‘poor little Belgium’ undoubtedly played well to the gallery of the British public at large, but there was also a degree of hard-nosed calculation that underpinned the British road to war: Germany was already strong – perhaps too strong – and should she emerge victorious in a war with France and Russia, then the balance of Europe would be shattered for generations. Nor had the German naval threat been forgotten and the idea of German control of French and Belgian ports could not be stomached. When Germany declared war on Belgium on 4 August, the British reaction came the same day. At 19.00 an ultimatum demanding that the Germans commit to an immediate withdrawal from Belgium was personally delivered by Sir Edward Goschen to the German Foreign Minister, Gottlieb von Jagow, and Chancellor Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg. It was a fraught meeting.
I found the Chancellor very agitated. His Excellency at once began a harangue, which lasted for about twenty minutes. He said that the step taken by His Majesty’s Government was terrible to a degree; just for a w
ord – ‘neutrality’, a word which in war time had so often been disregarded – just for a scrap of paper Great Britain was going to make war on a kindred nation who desired nothing better than to be friends with her. All his efforts in that direction had been rendered useless by this last terrible step, and the policy to which, as I knew, he had devoted himself since his accession to office had tumbled down like a house of cards. What we had done was unthinkable; it was like striking a man from behind while he was fighting for his life against two assailants. He held Great Britain responsible for all the terrible events that might happen. I protested strongly against that statement, and said that, in the same way as he and Herr von Jagow wished me to understand that for strategical reasons it was a matter of life and death to Germany to advance through Belgium and violate the latter’s neutrality, so I would wish him to understand that it was, so to speak, a matter of ‘life and death’ for the honour of Great Britain that she should keep her solemn engagement to do her utmost to defend Belgium’s neutrality if attacked. That solemn compact simply had to be kept, or what confidence could anyone have in engagements given by Great Britain in the future? The Chancellor said, ‘But at what price will that compact have been kept. Has the British Government thought of that?’ I hinted to His Excellency as plainly as I could that fear of consequences could hardly be regarded as an excuse for breaking solemn engagements, but His Excellency was so excited, so evidently overcome by the news of our action, and so little disposed to hear reason that I refrained from adding fuel to the flame by further argument.11
Sir Edward Goschen, British Ambassador to Germany
Of course Germany would not – indeed, could not comply – and so with the expiry of the ultimatum at midnight on 4 August 1914, Britain was at war with Germany. As Sir Edward Grey memorably expressed it: ‘The lamps are going out all over Europe, we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.’12 At a stroke, the European hostilities had taken on a truly global complexion – this would be the first world war.
2
THE WESTERN FRONT, 1914
‘No plan of operations extends with certainty beyond the first encounter with the enemy’s main strength.’1
Field Marshal Helmuth von Moltke (the Elder)
THE BATTLE OF THE FRONTIERS was the gigantic clash that would make or break the hopes of both Germany and France. The two great competing visions of the war: the latest versions of the Schlieffen Plan and Plan XVII would be put to the ultimate test, moving at long last from theory to practice. They could not both be successful but, as Moltke the Elder’s Clauswitzian aphorism indicates, there was the very distinct possibility of mutual failure in the fog of war, where the vagaries of chance melded with incompetence and the unforeseen activities of opposing forces could thwart the most enterprising of commanders. The German main thrust, which would ultimately set the agenda, was the advance of the First and Second Armies across the Belgian border and sweeping across the Belgian plains and plunging deep into northern France. The neighbouring Third Army would also pass through the Belgian Ardennes, while the Fourth and Fifth Armies would advance through Luxembourg and the French Ardennes. This meant that effectively all five armies would be performing a gargantuan wheeling manoeuvre to overwhelm the French left flank. Meanwhile, the German Sixth and Seventh Armies would stand fast in Alsace-Lorraine.
The tools for the German plans were yielded by mobilisation, which swelled the Army’s peacetime strength from 754,000 to a rather more imposing 2,292,000, as the reservists – the Landwehr and Landsturm – were recalled to the colours to be organised into seventy-nine divisions, of which sixty-eight were to be deployed on the Western Front. As far as was humanly possible, the German Army was ready for war, superbly equipped and diligently trained over the years of peace. The infantry was armed with the 8 mm Mauser Gewehr 98, a magazine bolt-action rifle which was an accurate weapon capable of a reasonable speed of fire. The German soldier was drilled to be capable not only of individual accuracy but also of concentrating fire, in a squad or platoon, on to identified targets to maximise the impact. Each infantry regiment of three 1,000-man battalions also had a machine gun company of six Maxim machine guns which could be utilised together to lay down an intense concentration of fire both in defence and in support of an attack. The field artillery consisted of the excellent 77 mm field gun and the 105 mm howitzer, but they had also integrated much heavier 150 mm howitzers (the famous 5.9 inch of subsequent British nightmares) at corps level. These were superb multi-function weapons which offered the capacity, through their longer range, to overwhelm utterly the field artillery of their opponents. Even heavier artillery pieces were available at army level to deal with concrete fortifications. German attack tactics emphasised the importance of winning the fire fight before launching the attack in open order, with tightly controlled short bounds, the men dropping to the ground as required before finally over-running the enemy position and preparing for a possible counter-attack. All these functions were rehearsed on large training areas spread across Germany. These allowed for full-scale manoeuvres which attained a considerable degree of realism in operating across unknown terrain, with copious live firing elements, night attacks and often facing an ‘enemy’ force in detailed and physically exhausting scenarios that tested their limits in attack or defence. These were the kind of exercises that were impossible to implement in more densely populated France or more parsimonious Britain and Russia. The German Army was a professional body that took war very seriously indeed.
The French Army was also an extremely powerful continental army. Mobilisation expanded the existing army of 750,000 men to an intimidating total of 2,944,000. But the vast size of the French Army concealed some fundamental weaknesses. Although great strides had been made to modernise the army, they had been hampered by the poisonous military politics of the day, which had affected its preparations for modern war. The most obvious inadequacy became apparent every time a French soldier put on his uniform. A prevailing conservatism had stymied various attempts to introduce a modern camouflage uniform and the French poilu still stood proud in his bright red trousers and blue jacket which was almost indistinguishable from the uniform worn by his grandfather in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870. When the lessons of the Balkan Wars had finally hammered home the necessity of a less obvious plumage, trials began to select a replacement. By the summer of 1914 the military authorities had plumped for ‘horizon blue’ (a light blue) but it was far too late and the French Army would go to war dressed in nineteenth-century uniforms. The issue of new uniforms would only begin in earnest in 1915. In addition, the basic rifle issued to the French infantry was also not equal to the demands of modern warfare. The 8 mm Lebel rifle dated back to the 1880s and, although modifications had been made, it was still heavy, over-long and slow to load; there were also problems in maintaining accuracy during rapid fire. The 1886 bayonet, so much revered by the acolytes of the offensive, was 20 inches long and so thin that it was liable to snap in just the kind of close-quarter combat dreamed of by the more bloodthirsty commanders. The French’s air-cooled 8 mm Hotchkiss machine guns were heavy but acceptable for the requirements of 1914.
There was, however, another unaddressed problem with the French Army. The mobilised field artillery numbered 4,076 superb 75 mm field guns which fired 16 lb shells at a rate of up to fifteen rounds a minute in extremis. When enemy troops were in the open these guns came into their own; but they could do little against well-constructed fortifications, while the flat trajectory of their shells prevented indirect fire across all but the lowest hills. Counter-battery fire was not really considered at all. The French had no modern howitzers, and pre-war efforts to address the problem had been thwarted by the High Command’s inability to agree on what exactly was needed. Similarly, the influence of minds clouded by the necessity for mobility and a quick war meant that there were only 308 heavy artillery pieces. Although there were many other guns scattered about the country in various arsenals or forts, most were redundant throu
gh either obsolescence or location. They would be of little relevance to the imminent Battle of the Frontiers. A military culture based on the cult of the offensive and the short war had prevented more far-sighted provision for the future.
There was a final defect in the French Army, a failing that was probably the most serious of them all: a lack of proper tactical training. In contrast to the endless manoeuvres of the German Army, the French lacked the large training areas necessary for realistic field exercises and were further hamstrung by stringent financial controls. Every conscript served for three years, but the training programme running from brigade through to corps and army level took place on a four-year schedule with the inevitable consequence that no recruit ever experienced a complete cycle. Training was centred on building up the physical strength and aggressive qualities of the individual, with a heavy concentration on bayonet drills. The reservists were even less well catered for as, although they were called up for some forty days’ service a year, they did hardly any field exercises, spending most of their time in barracks up and down the country. After eleven years in the Reserve the recruits were eligible for a final fourteen years in the Territorial Army and Territorial Army Reserve. None of the French reserve forces displayed the military competency of their German equivalents.
Schlieffen Plan: the capture of Liège
The necessity of quickly capturing the fortresses at Liège in Belgium had much exercised the minds of German military planners in the years running up to the war. Liège lay within twenty miles of the German frontier and was defended by a series of twelve forts on either side of the Meuse River, which bisected the city. Most of the defences had been constructed between 1888 and 1892 to house some 400 guns behind reinforced concrete capable of withstanding shells of up to 210 mm calibre. The garrison totalled some 40,000 troops under the command of Lieutenant General Gérard Leman. Any serious delay in overcoming this obstacle could be fatal to the German plans. Thus it was that the six infantry divisions and single cavalry division of the Belgian Army would have the dubious honour of being the first to face the Germans onslaught. The Belgians had decided not to occupy the naturally strong defensive line along the Meuse, stretching between Liège and the Namur fortress, as it seemed unwise to place their entire army within such easy reach of the Germans. In the end it was decided to concentrate further back, behind the Getter River, where the Belgians hoped to be sheltered by the Liège fortress until the French and British could arrive to solidify the line. The German advance troops flooded across the Belgian border sweeping aside the token Belgian frontier forces and driving on to Liège. Leman had got his men to entrench between the forts, so when the Germans launched their initial assault on the night of 5 August the defenders managed to stand firm, although the German 14th Brigade had some success in penetrating the Belgian lines. This action involved Major General Erich von Ludendorff of the Second Army, who was there as an observer when he was obliged to take control of the brigade on the death of the commander. After much hard fighting and a fair amount of good fortune the 14th Brigade managed to reach the centre of Liège. By this time Leman believed his situation to be hopeless. Aware of the greater strength of the German forces and further harassed by reports of cavalry feeling their way behind his lines, he resolved to evacuate his mobile troops of the 3rd Belgian Division while they could still escape on the afternoon of 6 August. Thus, when the 14th Brigade pushed further into the Belgian defences on the morning of 7 August, they became slowly aware that the resistance was weakening.