1918

by Matthias Strohn

  The Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, 1918

  A German empire in the East? The Russian Civil War

  In fact, some of the Austro-Hungarian POWs in Russia created one of the most dramatic stories of 1918. Roughly 15 per cent of Austro-Hungarian troops consisted of ethnic Czechs who had never shown any great enthusiasm for the fight against Russia. The awful living conditions within Siberian POW camps persuaded many of them to change sides and join the Czechoslovak Legion that volunteered to fight for the Entente powers in order to win independence from Austria-Hungary for Czechs and Slovaks. The Legion had first seen action in July 1917 and acquitted itself well. Its numbers reached 60,000 men. When Russia started to drop out of the war, Thomas G. Masaryk, the leader of the Czechs in exile, travelled to Russia and arranged for the Legion to be transported to the Western Front. The only way such a transfer could be effected was either by way of Archangelsk or via the Trans-Siberian railway, a trip reminiscent of Sir Phileas Fogg’s journey around the world. (In fact, it promised to last much longer than 80 days.)14

  The Western powers were in two minds about their reaction to the Soviet take-over. Some of their men on the spot advocated a policy of bowing to the inevitable and making the best of it. The French Army desperately wanted a second front in the East, with or without the Soviets. Their priority was to support whoever was willing to continue fighting the Germans. That kind of mostly ineffectual pledge was easier to extract from opposition groups than from the Soviet government. On 8 February 1918, the British War Cabinet debated whether Lenin should be recognized as the legal government of Russia at all. Even though both Prime Minister Lloyd George and Foreign Secretary Balfour supported recognition, there was sufficient opposition (e.g. from Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs Lord Cecil and the leader of the House of Lords Earl Curzon) to produce deadlock. Even so, Trotsky initially tried to avoid a complete break with Russia’s former allies. He consented to the British landing a detachment at Murmansk on the Arctic Sea to safeguard the supplies they had sent earlier. However, when the Soviets moved the Russian capital to Moscow in March, Western diplomats did not follow suit but retreated to Vologda, a railway junction on the way to the Arctic.15

  Once Lenin had openly aligned himself with the Germans, in British eyes at least, the Western powers began to have second thoughts about sending the Czechs on a grand tour around the globe. In that case, they would only be competing with US troops for scarce resources of shipping. Maybe the Czechs could be of more use if they stayed in Russia and tried to rally the anti-Bolshevik forces willing to fight Lenin – and the Germans. Thus, the Legion could be turned into an embryonic ‘second front’. Before any of these musings had crystallized into coherent plans, events in far-away Siberia had taken on a life of their own. In mid-May, the Czechs travelling East had started fighting Hungarian POWs returning West along the Trans-Siberian railway. When the Russian authorities insisted that the Czechs hand over their weapons while crossing Russia (i.e. by now neutral territory), the Legion took matters into its own hands. Within a few weeks they had taken over most of the railway from the Urals to the Pacific Ocean, an achievement sometimes compared to the miraculous Spanish conquest of Mexico in 1519.

  Uncertain rumours reached Europe of the strange fight with ideologically inverted fronts that was taking place along the shores of Lake Baikal. Conservative German or Austrian POWs were allegedly fighting for the Bolsheviks to help their fatherland, even if authorities back home disapproved of that connection. Left-wing Czechs were supporting Russian counter-revolutionaries to impress the Western powers with their prowess. Edvard Benes, Masaryk’s representative in Paris, made the most of the occasion when he told the French that the Czechs were willing to fight for the Entente but they would do so only as an army in the employ of an internationally recognized Czechoslovak government. As a result, Britain and France at least awarded the Czechoslovak Committee the status of a belligerent in July. At the same time, the Legion outdid the wildest expectations when it crossed the Urals and reached the Volga River in late July 1918. While millions of men and thousands of guns fought for a few square miles in the West, no more than 12,000 Czechs sufficed to throw Lenin’s regime into a state of crisis. ‘Soviet Russia had shrunk to the size of the medieval Muscovite state.’16 On 1 August, Lenin declared that a state of war existed with the Entente and officially asked for German help but the Germans hedged their bets. They were willing to fight the British in Murmansk but only if they were granted free transit through Petrograd. The Soviets could only stabilize the situation once they managed to divert a few of the destroyers of the Baltic fleet to the Volga via the Russian canal system, once more demonstrating ‘the influence of river power’ upon world history.17

  In fact, the Germans were recruiting their own sort of counter-revolutionaries, too. Von Kühlmann commented ironically that ‘all our new friends’ seemed to have served their apprentice years as guards officers or adjutants of the Tsar, from Finnish Marshal Gustav Mannerheim and Ukrainian President Pavlo Skoropadskij to some of the Cossack leaders operating in the Don area. The Baltic barons who flocked to the German colours as a reaction against communism had always prided themselves on their loyalty to the Tsar even if they had increasingly been eyed with suspicion by Russian nationalists, alongside the German-born Tsarina. But far more potent than ideological factors, the Germans, too, thought the Bolshevik regime an unreliable partner, first and foremost because it was unlikely to survive. To preserve the sort of influence the Germans had started to enjoy in the East, they needed to ingratiate themselves with the successors in time. The army toyed with the idea of marching on Moscow and putting an end to it all. But the diplomats in the German Foreign Office were unwilling to upset the status quo and preferred the unholy alliance with Lenin, at least for the time being. ‘The present regime is a safeguard against the creation of a new front in the East.’ As Kühlmann explained: ‘We must try to prevent Russian consolidation as far as possible and, from this point of view, we must therefore support the parties furthest to the Left.’18

  A good pointer to that sort of tacit understanding came in late August when the Germans actually sided with the Soviets who were defending the oil wells of Baku against their Ottoman allies. During the controversy, German and Turkish troops even clashed along the border. The Turks only came into their own once the British ‘Dunsterforce’, launched through Persia, linked up with dissident Russians in mid-August. The presence of an Entente force on the shores of the Caspian Sea served to concentrate minds wonderfully: Germans and Ottomans patched up their quarrel. Nuri Pasha, the brother of Enver, re-took Baku on 14 September. The Transcaucasian region was informally partitioned between the Central Powers: the Ottomans gained control of Azerbaijan (and a free hand in central Asia), the Germans occupied Georgia along the shores of the Black Sea. Austria-Hungary had to be content with a diplomatic mission to beleaguered Armenia (led by Baron Georg Franckenstein, who went on to become Austrian Minister to London for 18 years). The British had to be content with a foothold in Turkmenistan, on the eastern shore of the Caspian Sea.19

  In the Far East, Japanese forces had in the meantime landed in Vladivostok on 7 July 1918. That move had first been mooted at the turn of the year, but been endlessly postponed because of US opposition. Woodrow Wilson’s reaction to the Russian Revolution was famously tolerant: ‘Let them sort it out themselves.’ The United States was prejudiced against Japan, to be sure. Yet, there was something to be said for its argument that no number of Japanese troops in Siberia was going to do a lot of harm to the Germans – especially when they stated they would certainly not advance any further than Irkutsk and Lake Baikal. In the end, the Japanese force was increased to more than 70,000 men but still proved ineffectual in helping the counter-revolutionary Russians, just as their intervention did little to further their own ambitions in China.20

  The Austro–Italian duel

  The future of a whole continent seemed to be at stake. All the warring
kings – or presidents – were playing for high stakes in Russia. Like Ludendorff, they were all fascinated by the prospect of long-term gains to be won at the expense of tiny immediate down-payments. The Soviet regime, of course, had a crucial impact on the shape of the post-war world, in more ways than one. Yet, paradoxically, for all these momentous consequences, nothing of what went on in the East after Brest-Litovsk had any great impact on the war itself. Germany’s chances of winning the war rested with the 200-odd divisions it had managed to assemble on the Western Front in the spring of 1918. Neither could any of the other fronts rival the importance of the Western Front. But as it turned out, at least they could serve as a catalyst.

  The Eastern Front had forced the Central Powers to coordinate their efforts, culminating in the Oberste Kriegsleitung (Supreme War Command) created for the campaign that defeated Romania in late 1916. In late 1917, German help had been instrumental in delivering an almost mortal blow to the Italians at Caporetto. But after the collapse of Russia, it seemed, each of the Central Powers went their separate ways again. The Ottomans turned towards the East, back to the roots, the mythical homeland of the Turkish tribes. The Bulgarians defended their Macedonian gains against the motley collection of the Salonika-based Entente forces known as the Armée d’Orient. Austria-Hungary concentrated on fighting the Italians.21 The Salonika front (plus Albania) kept some two dozen Entente divisions occupied (vs. 14 oversized Bulgarian ones and an Austrian corps); the trenches along the Piave front (and the mountains of the Tyrol) were manned by 50-odd Italian and Austro-Hungarian divisions each. Partly for reasons of climate and geography, neither of these two theatres of war saw any trace of action in the early months of the year. April 1918, which saw some of the most intense fighting in the West, was the month when the Austro-Hungarian Army suffered fewer casualties than at any other time during the Great War.22

  After Caporetto, Britain and France had sent a dozen divisions to bolster the Italians; half of them were recalled in early 1918. The Germans obviously favoured diversionary attacks by the Austrians that might help to tie down as many Entente troops in Italy as possible, while the crucial battles were fought along the Western Front. The Austrians needed little prompting. The successful defence along the Isonzo, followed by Caporetto, had imbued them with a strange sense of superiority. Rather than see their task as a sideshow, they had high hopes of winning a decisive victory themselves. One of their cabinet ministers – a famous economist – noted in his diary what an honour it was for the Austrians to be able to land the decisive blow.23

  Austria-Hungary’s last great offensive was a good example of how not to do things. Conrad, the ex-Chief of Staff, who commanded the Tyrolean front, and Svetozar Boroevic, the martinet who aspired to be created Count of the Isonzo, both wanted to be the ones to win eternal laurels. Conrad’s successor as Chief of Staff, Baron Arthur Arz von Straussenburg, was overawed by his subordinates’ inflated egos and unable to impose a decision on them. The Italian Army had been reduced to 33 divisions in the weeks after Caporetto; by the spring of 1918 it was back to 58. Thus, the Austrians were still slightly inferior to the Italians in numbers, let alone in reserves of food – or air power. Both sides fielded roughly 7,000 guns (but far fewer heavy ones than on the Western Front). Neither Conrad’s nor Boroevic’s front presented the attacker with promising terrain. Conrad had always dreamt of erupting into the Venetian plains from the mountains and cutting off the bulk of the Italian Army. However, Tyrol could only be supplied by a single railway; in Alpine terrain there was also little chance of moving the heavy guns forward once the advance got going. Boroevic, on the other hand, was severely handicapped as he had to cross the Piave River in the face of the enemy. His solution was not to put all his eggs in one basket but to try his luck at as many points as possible. Once again, the principle of concentration of force went overboard.

  The Austrians launched their attack – which Gabriele d’Annunzio christened the Battle of the Solstice – on 15 June 1918, a little too late to help the Germans who had already shot most of their bolts by that time. They need not have worried too much about the strategic dilemma created by their wilful commanders. Along both main lines of attack, the offensive ended in a clear-cut tactical failure, anyway. Conrad’s thrust had to be suspended within 24 hours; Boroevic fared only marginally better. Only on the extreme flanks of his army group, on the Montello in the north, and towards the mouth of the Piave in the south, did the Austrians actually manage to cross the river, build a few bridges, and advance a few miles beyond the river. To make matters worse, torrential rains started the next day that made any further crossings almost impossible by washing away many of the pontoons. The Austrians were lucky to conduct their retreat without leaving any of their forces behind on the wrong side of the river. Even so, their losses at 115,000 were considerably higher than Italian ones (85,000). The bad weather at least provided a ready-made excuse. Italian folklore adopted the same tune: a Neapolitan created a popular song, La Leggenda del Piave, which celebrated nature’s contribution towards the defence of the homeland.24

  The soft underbelly of the Central Powers

  The failure of the Austrian summer offensive coincided with the height of the hunger crisis in Vienna, as townspeople plundered the fields in search of food. One week later, on 24 June, Kühlmann openly admitted that the German offensives in the west, too, had not been sufficiently successful. At that point, Ludendorff still insisted on Kühlmann’s dismissal but privately admitted that he was right. In the middle of July, the Germans started to suffer their first setbacks in the west. A couple of Austro-Hungarian divisions were now actually sent to the Western Front: equipped with captured British machine guns, they were sent to a quiet sector that suddenly became the butt of US attacks in September.

  Public opinion in Berlin and Vienna was not yet resigned to notions of defeat; but the fond hopes that all that was needed was one last final push had evaporated. The statesmen of the Central Powers realized they would now have to start negotiating from a weak hand. In September, Graf Leopold Berchtold (who had started it all) still wistfully talked about the war ending in a draw.25 The German armies in the West were forced to retreat, but the fronts in Italy and the Balkans remained stable. It came as a surprise to almost everybody when the trigger that led to the collapse of the Central Powers was pulled in an area that had been regarded as the most expendable of sideshows by almost all the belligerents, with few exceptions. In fact, the British Army had for a long time argued for a withdrawal from the Salonika front. Even Clemenceau made fun of the ‘gardeners of Salonika’ who had not done any real fighting for over a year. Supplying the Armée d’Orient – composed of roughly half a dozen divisions from Britain, France, and Serbia each – required a disproportionate amount of shipping. Wilhelm II had once boasted that Salonika was his biggest POW camp. Malaria continued to be a huge problem. There were few opportunity costs to be incurred if the Entente washed their hands of Macedonia, as the Bulgarian Army opposing it was unlikely to be switched to any other front. At the very least, ‘the allied army [in Salonika] was too strong for defence and not strong enough for attack’.26 In 1916, cooperation with Romania had provided a possible raison d’être for the Armée d’Orient. But after the Russian collapse, Romanian King Ferdinand had hurried to make his peace with the Central Powers, lest the Germans insist on regime change. Under the terms of the Treaty of Bucharest (7 May 1918) Romania ceded the Dobrudja (on the right bank of the Danube) to the Central Powers, but was rewarded with Russian Bessarabia (present-day Moldavia) in return. German capital played a dominant part in exploiting the oil wells; Austrian diplomats proved adept at pulling strings in Romanian domestic politics.27

  However, in 1917 the French had finally managed to oust King Constantine of Greece, the Kaiser’s brother-in-law. Constantine’s nemesis, Prime Minister Eleftherios Venizelos, had declared war on Germany on 28 June 1917 and was busy organizing a Greek army to join the Armée d’Orient. Thus, the Entente felt honour-
bound not to throw him to the tender mercies of the Bulgarians. Despite Haig’s entreaties, only a few of the French and British troops in Macedonia were replaced by Indians in the spring of 1918. With a growing number of Greeks acting as a reserve, an offensive appeared increasingly possible. Serbians in particular longed to return to their homeland after more than two years in exile. The Allied offensive at Dobro Polje on 15 September, spearheaded by the Serbs who conquered Mount Magla, turned out to be successful beyond expectations. The Bulgarian front was pierced; on 29 September Bulgaria sued for an armistice. Tsar Ferdinand abdicated a few days later. Louis Franchet d’Esperey, the new French commander of the Armée d’Orient, an ultra-royalist who had replaced the left-wing republican Maurice Sarrail, had succeeded in doing what Churchill one war later failed to achieve – penetrate the ‘soft under-belly’ of Fortress Europe.28

  It was the news from Bulgaria that led to the collapse and the dismissal of Ludendorff. Austria-Hungary and Germany were suddenly vying with each other over who was going to ask for an armistice first. On 16 October, Kaiser Karl I published his so-called Peoples’ Manifesto, which tried to pre-empt Wilsonian ideas of ‘autonomous development’ by opening the possibility of turning the Habsburg monarchy into a federation of nation states. Britain and France were in two minds as to the best way to exploit the unexpected victory. Britain wanted to concentrate on forcing the Ottoman Empire to surrender; France on pushing towards the Austro-Hungarian border as soon as possible. On 1 November, the Serbs re-entered their capital, Belgrade. The Central Powers were desperately trying to find a few extra divisions (some of them recalled from the Ukraine) to build a make-shift new front somewhere along the Hungarian and Bosnian border.