Tannenberg: Clash of Empires, 1914 (Cornerstones of Military History)

by Dennis Showalter

  In 1914–15 the Russian front played a role in German strategy similar to that of the Mediterranean in Wehrmacht planning for a later war. Andreas Hillgruber and Gerhard Schreiber are only two of the distinguished scholars who insist the Middle Sea was ultimately a strategic dead end, that Britain could not be driven from the war as long as the United States underwrote her participation, and that in any case the Axis had neither the logistical system nor the operational resources to achieve anything but the sterile illusions of victory in the Mediterranean and Near East. Their arguments are compelling, yet the irresistible questions also remain in this context: what might the Axis have achieved with two or three more Panzer divisions, a few hundred additional aircraft, and a little bit of grand-strategic vision?33

  The closing of the western front with the completion of the race to the sea in November, 1914, put the Imperial German army at a sudden disadvantage in its own eyes. The offensive was still regarded as the only form of war that could generate a decision. But the tactical superiority of defense over offense had been a familiar point of departure in German doctrine and planning since the days of the elder Moltke. This was why the German army so favored flanking movements. A continuous front from Switzerland to the English Channel prefigured a series of breakthrough battles against determined and capable foes. The strengths of the German army, argued the emerging Easterners, involved mobility, flexibility, and imagination—not brute force. Germany’s soldiers had spent decades insisting that Germany’s society could not afford a war of attrition. Further concentration on the western front seemed all too likely to prove them right.

  Tannenberg invited interpretation as a case study in vindication. In its only fair test in the east the Imperial German Army’s strategic planning, operational doctrine, and institutional preparation had apparently resulted in exactly what the generals promised: a battle of annihilation, a Vernichtungsschlacht on a scale unmatched since Napoleon. Given the level of information generally available even to the German military in 1914–15, Tannenberg indicated that the army’s approach to war had not been completely mistaken. Under the conditions of the Russian theater, where the balance between numbers and space had not yet created stasis, where “flank” and “rear” were still meaningful strategic concepts, the German army would have the chance to do best what it did well.

  Another significant reason for pursuing an eastern option involved the Russian army. If it had shown great shortcomings in the autumn campaigns, it had also shown great potential. The orderly Russian retreat, the new quartermaster-general and future Prussian war minister Wild von Hohenborn declared, was far from “what we need: a catastrophe.”34 The Russian steamroller might well prove even more formidable for being delayed a season. Ludendorff’s thinking in December paralleled Conrad’s in August. The relative weakness of the Central Powers in the east demanded action, not reaction—both for itself and as the best means of propping up a badly battered Habsburg ally.

  Newly appointed chief of staff Erich von Falkenhayn was anything but indifferent to the prospects of an eastern concentration. His images, however, harked back to those of the elder Moltke four decades earlier. Victories in the east could not, must not, be pursued at the cost of weakening the western front. Falkenhayn was even more Moltkean in his underlying conviction of the necessary linkages of force and diplomacy. Even in the heyday of the Schlieffen and post-Schlieffen eras, German planners had never confused a battle of annihilation with a war of annihilation. Indeed, the success of the great plan itself depended heavily on negotiations. In order to transfer forces to the eastern theater as projected, France must not merely be defeated. She must acknowledge that defeat in a way precluding either a broken-backed Volkskrieg in the style of 1871 or a long and comprehensive military occupation. And that in turn meant, if only by implication, a French government willing to make peace and strong enough to enforce authority within its own frontiers. Wilhelm Groener wondered on September 3 if the war in the west was not going a bit too well. France’s armies were in full retreat. Its president had fled to Bordeaux. Generals were refusing to obey orders. Paris was demanding a commune. But if the dissolution continued, mused Groener, there would be no government with which peace could be negotiated.35

  As the prospects for forcing a political decision in the west sank into the mud of Ypres, Falkenhayn increasingly began considering the prospects on Germany’s other front. Falkenhayn was aware that the entente powers had pledged themselves by bell, book, and candle never to negotiate a separate peace. He was also aware of the historic weaknesses of such grand coalitions. Even against the overwhelming threats of Louis XIV or Napoleon they had proved significantly unstable. Like most of his counterparts, Falkenhayn was psychologically unable to cast Germany in the role of a hegemony-seeking disturber of Europe’s order. This was instead a defensive war, to be fought within parameters set by cabinets and general staffs. Above all it must not be allowed to take on a life of its own. As late as August 1 Falkenhayn had warned against the risks of declaring war on Russia prematurely. Now he began urging Bethmann to consider the possibilities of negotiation.36

  Bethmann-Hollweg was reluctant to accept a military program with such strong political coloring. His suspicion that the army was seeking to pass the buck for its operational failures to the political authories reflected too many past realities in the Second Reich. Pragmatically, Bethmann was less confident than Falkenhayn that Russia could readily be brought to the peace table after being taught a few salutary lessons in the open field. In his mind Falkenhayn was relying on an outmoded appeal to the solidarity of the conservative eastern monarchies and on a faith in the power of single victories, which experience of the last four months suggested might be equally outdated. Even if successful, moreover, a negotiated peace of the kind projected by Falkenhayn would do nothing to remove the Russian threat that had exercised such an increasing influence on German foreign policy since the days of Bismarck.

  In early December, 1914, Bethmann visited Hindenburg’s headquarters. The chancellor, like his counterparts everywhere in Europe, was a military amateur. Like most amateurs, he had developed over the years an exaggerated respect for the generals’ military competence, combined with certain fears for their political aspirations. The respect at least had been considerably shaken by the events of August, 1914. In one sense Bethmann was in a mood to be convinced when he journeyed east—convinced that the German army could still earn its pay by winning the war. While details of the meeting remain obscure, Bethmann was impressed by the abilities of a new team that seemed to incorporate the old virtues. He came away with glowing opinions of the professional skills of Hindenburg, Ludendorff, and their staff officers—a sharp contrast to what seemed Falkenhayn’s growing pessimism. The chief of staff’s reiterated description of the German army as a broken weapon unable to conduct decisive operations in existing parameters contrasted sharply with Hindenburg’s and Ludendorff’s confident appeals for just a little more of everything, and their even more confident assertions of light at the end of a tunnel that already had proved far longer than anyone expected.37

  Hindenburg and Ludendorff for their part saw Bethmann as a highly desirable ally against a chief of staff who, even more than his unfortunate predecessor, seemed to have no idea of what to do next. At the end of October Falkenhayn had summoned Ludendorff to Berlin in an effort to take the measure of his principal subordinate’s attitudes and opinions. The meeting was unfortunate. Falkenhayn shared the widespread prewar opinion that Ludendorff was primarily concerned for his own career—the kind of personally ambitious man whose advancement boded ill for Germany as well as for the army. His suspicions were not alleviated by Ludendorff’s proposal to make Hindenburg the supreme commander of German forces in the east. Apart from the likely impact of this move on Falkenhayn’s own hopes for a peace with Russia—another cook would be stirring the pot—it would offer new fields for Ludendorff’s ambitions, which by this time plainly included Falkenhayn’s post as chief of staff
.38

  Ludendorff’s visions were still wavering between theater level and grand strategy. Neither he nor Hindenburg seem to have believed at this stage that the war could ultimately be won in the east. Instead they hoped to cripple Russia beyond recovery in order to settle accounts with Britain and France. And what they really wanted was more troops to pursue the victory that seemed so close—the next Tannenberg. The resources to do it seemed at hand. In August the army had begun the raising of thirteen new divisions from a mixture of volunteers, reservists who had not received actual peacetime training, and trained reservists superfluous to requirements in existing units. Nine more divisions with a similar composition would be ready for the field early in the new year.

  Of the first thirteen divisions, eleven had been sent west—a decision logical enough given prewar doctrine and the existing operational situation. They had formed a good part of the forces directed against the Channel ports. Their failure at Ypres,Langemarck as it was known in Germany, had already been written into mythos as “the massacre of the innocents”—teenagers, the hope of Germany’s future, sent forward without adequate training, leadership, or support, to be mowed down by Godless British mercenaries and their black auxiliaries.39 The German army was not a nursery for the finer feelings. Nevertheless, for social and political as well as military reasons, no one on the general staff was particularly anxious to risk a repeat performance with the next group of war-raised formations. Technically much had been done to give these nine divisions a better chance. Their cadres were larger and younger, including a number of experienced officers and NCOs who became available as they recovered from wounds suffered in August and September. Their training was better: much less close-order drill and much more practice in fieldcraft, in open-order tactics, and in working closely with artillery.40

  Where could these new formations be most profitably used? Falkenhayn initially saw them as necessary reinforcements for a western front that was sure to face a massive allied attack in the spring. For Ludendorff and Hindenburg the eastern theater was a far more logical area of deployment. The inevitable weaknesses of the new formations were unlikely to be as pitilessly exposed by the Russians as by the French, particularly since these young soldiers would be under the genial supervision of Germany’s proven best operational brains. A small increment of force in the east promised results disproportionate to anything likely to be obtained in a west already gaining an evil reputation as a corpse factory where generalship had become virtually impossible.

  Initially Ludendorff and Hindenburg sought to bring Falkenhayn to their viewpoint by sending a “special liaison officer,” Major Hans von Haeften, to Falkenhayn’s headquarters. For a man with a delicate assignment Haeften proved remarkably heavy handed. The report he submitted on the previous course of operations in the east praised Ludendorff in such glowing terms that it had a predictably negative effect on Falkenhayn. Haeften then turned to the chancellor, recommending Falkenhayn’s relief by Ludendorff—not least, he argued, because the combination of war minister and chief of staff posed disturbing domestic political problems. But this maneuver failed when William, with a flash of his old spunk, said that he would never appoint “a dubious character, devoured by personal ambition” to the post once held by Moltke and Schlieffen.41

  The German problem was further complicated by alliance politics. In January, 1915, Conrad von Hötzendorf, still convinced of the necessity for the weaker party to maintain the initiative, proposed a grand Austro-Hungarian offensive from the Carpathians—supported, of course, by a parallel German attack further north. Ludendorff had by this time little respect for either Conrad’s strategic capacities or the Austrian army’s military potential. But he did see Austria’s proposed offensive as a way of obtaining at least the new corps, and perhaps many more, for an eastern theater that by this time he regarded as critical. Both Hindenburg and Ludendorff remained “Westerners” in their belief that the final decision must come against France and Britain. But only decisive victories in the east, victories leaving Russia completely prostrate, would free enough German strength to achieve that kind of triumph in a west stalemated partly by technology, partly by the grim determination of the combatants.

  Falkenhayn remained convinced that this proposed combined offensive would achieve no more than the previously rejected prewar plans for a Grosse Ostaufmarsch. In his mind Hindenburg and Ludendorff were blinded by the same mirages that had lured Charles XII and Napoleon. Given Russia’s objective military potential, an operational victory in the east was a utopia. What was the worth of battles won, no matter how convincingly, if the ultimate goal of peace remained ephemeral? “The East,” Falkenhayn declared, “gives nothing back.” The other side of the Russian steamroller was the strategic retreat—a maneuver that set any enemy at war with the land itself. Russia was shaped like a fan. The deeper one advanced, the more scattered became one’s own forces. The more one occupied, the more there was to occupy. Germany might well conquer itself to death, or at least exhaustion. Falkenhayn’s concept of a negotiated peace depended essentially on political strategy. Hold Italy at least neutral. Bring Bulgaria and Rumania into the war on the side of the Central Powers. Eliminate Serbia once and for all. Keep applying maximum pressure on the western front, while using just enough force in the east to show the temper of Germany’s steel. Finally, offer terms to a Russian government isolated from any immediate support.

  Bethmann was sufficiently conscious of Germany’s internal weaknesses to regard attrition as his country’s final option. Any possibility of evading total war demanded pursuing. But the first step in executing this grand design was to do something about Ludendorff. Since he was unlikely to be won to Falkenhayn’s vision and was too powerful politically simply to be relieved, a compromise must be found. Falkenhayn had a nice sense of irony. Since Ludendorff enthusiastically urged German support for an Austrian offensive, why not make him directly responsible for the operation? On January 8 Falkenhayn appointed Ludendorff chief of staff of the “South Army,” a mixed German-Austrian formation in the Carpathian sector. Hindenburg responded by appealing directly to the kaiser that he be allowed to retain Ludendorff as his chief of staff. The field-marshal initially even threatened to resign rather than accept separation from his advisor. Deterred from presenting this challenge officially, Hindenburg spent a long night composing a letter that declared he could no longer cooperate with Falkenhayn, and proposing instead that Moltke be recalled as chief of staff.

  Ludendorff too declared the war was lost if Falkenhayn remained in his current post, but Wilhelm remained unwilling to dismiss Falkenhayn, particularly in favor of the thoroughly discredited Moltke. Instead he urged Hindenburg not to desert his post in wartime. Deeply moved, Hindenburg abandoned any talk of resigning. Falkenhayn for his part agreed both to allow Ludendorff to remain as Hindenburg’s chief of staff, and to assign the new formations to Hindenburg’s theater.42

  The reasons for this change of mind were complex. Austria’s constant appeals for support by now parallelled a lack of obvious opportunities for a successful major offensive on the western front. Perhaps as much to the point, Falkenhayn decided the best way of demonstrating the ultimate sterility of Ludendorff’s strategic concepts was to give him the chance to put his ideas to the test. This attitude should not be completely dismissed as a cold-blooded sacrifice of the lives of German soldiers. Since the days of Frederick the Great Prussia’s military experience had shown the importance of a common doctrine. Now two schools of thought were contending for mastery, and in Falkenhayn’s mind this was a sure recipe for disaster. Perhaps after all Ludendorff might even be right. The only way to prove the point was to give him most of what he requested, and then await results.

  The great January offensive in fact achieved no more than tactical successes under terrible weather conditions. The newly raised German units suffered heavy losses in the broken country of the Masurian Lakes. Things were worse farther south. Over three-quarters of a million Austrians we
re killed or wounded, or simply disappeared in the Carpathian snows. A successful Russian counterattack had the tsar’s generals dreaming of a victory parade through Budapest. Falkenhayn felt himself vindicated. The chief of staff had seen his last fresh reserves bled white. Any new maneuver force could be formed only by reducing the strength of existing divisions. He refused to consider further concentration on a sterile theater—particularly as Britain’s national mobilization brought more and more divisions of the New Army to the western front.43

  At the same time, however, Hindenburg and Ludendorff could take comfort from the fact that the political matrix for a Russian peace on Falkenhayn’s model was rapidly crumbling. Since the turn of the year Falkenhayn had insisted that Germany could not spare troops to sustain Austria-Hungary should Italy and Rumania join the war against her. But even as Russian troops debouched through the Carpathians, Austria stubbornly refused concessions either to Italy or in the Balkans. German diplomatic efforts to preserve Italian neutrality were being checked and mated by entente promises. At GHO, Wild von Hohenborn fulminated about the “noodle eaters” in Rome who saw their sacred duty as blackmailing former friends for all the traffic would bear.44

  In war as in bridge, an effective player leads from strength. Falkenhayn, studying his cards in late March, decided that Germany’s least-worst option now involved mounting an offensive in the east. Since the long-term balance of resources between the Central Powers and the entente did not favor the former, it became correspondingly important that in military terms, Austria-Hungary was becoming both an increasing liability for Germany as the war went on, and at the same time an increasingly indispensable ally. Just as Germany prior to August, 1914, had been unable to accept passively Austria’s decline into regional power status, so now, eight months later, Germany could not afford to have her principal ally sink into military paralysis. Italy would play a similar role during World War II. Weaker partners in a coalition always have the option of folding their cards. For over thirty years the Federal Republic of Germany’s commitment to NATO rested heavily on the success of deterrence cum forward defense. Perceptions of West German lives and West German territory being used to buy time for superpower negotiations were a recurring nightmare in Bonn, no matter the nature of the coalition in power. The FRG’s probable response to the first nuclear explosion in its territory, or the first of its cities to come under massive conventional attack, was correspondingly less predictable than the U.S. government wished their citizens to acknowledge. Nor, from the other side of the border, was Soviet rhetoric on the eternal solidarity of the Warsaw Pact reflected in Soviet troop dispositions in Eastern Europe.