by Hew Strachan
Despite Samsonov’s defeat, Zhilinskii did in fact have sufficient troops available to mean that an effective plan could give him a numerical superiority on the battlefield. Rennenkampf’s army had been reinforced; in addition, the two corps of the 10th army, forming in Poland, were now being brought up to the area around Johannisburg in order to cover the gap between the 1st and 2nd armies. But this strength was dissipated. Faulty Russian dispositions were partly a consequence of the ambivalence over whether Rennenkampf was attacking or defending. They were also a reflection of Zhilinskii’s preoccupation in either case with the flanks, with Königsberg to the north and Mlawa to the south. If the North-West Front had attacked on 14 September it would have done so concentrically. In defence, Zhilinskii assumed the German weight, if not on the Polish wing, would be on the Baltic. The Germans sent messages in clear to encourage this fear of a thrust from Königsberg. Twelve divisions of Rennenkampf’s army were concentrated on a 30-kilometre front on the river Deime, east of the city; only seven were allocated for the 64 kilometres between the River Pregel and Angerburg; little attention was given to the Lötzen gap, which formed a narrow bridgehead through the Masurian lakes and was held by the Germans.
The units around Mlawa that had so changed Zhilinskii’s appreciation of the situation were no more than a flank guard. OHL’s directive to Hindenburg of 31 August had made the 8th army’s priority the security of East Prussia; operations in Poland would follow once that was guaranteed. The plan which the 8th army adopted to deal with Rennenkampf was in large part a product of Russian dispositions. Although reinforced by the two corps from the west, the 8th army lacked the strength for a successful frontal attack on Rennenkampf’s line north of Lake Mauer. Four corps, therefore, were to hold the Russians in the Insterburg gap from the front, while two corps and two cavalry divisions were to wheel to the south, XVII corps breaking through the Lötzen gap, and I corps passing south of the Masurian lakes and so rolling Rennenkampf up to the north. On 8 September the Russians north of Lake Mauer held the frontal attack, and even counter-attacked; for Mackensen’s corps the Lötzen gap proved a bottleneck, and three attacks on 8 September failed to produce a breakthrough. Once again François’s energy came to Ludendorff’s rescue. I corps marched 123 kilometres in four days, fighting some of the way, and on the morning of 9 September came in on the right flank of Mackensen’s attack. In the early hours of the 10th François’s right-flanking division took Lyck. Zhilinskii responded by pulling back the Russian 10th army to the area south of the Augustowo forest. Thus, Rennenkampf’s left was unsupported. On the night of the 9th Rennenkampf, despite the success of the frontal battle, responded to the weakness of his southern flank and ordered his army to retreat. By the evening of 10 September the 1st army had fallen back 48 kilometres. Within fifty hours most units had covered 88 kilometres, and were back inside Russia. Rennenkampf, breaking contact both with the Front and with his corps, changed his headquarters four times in twenty-four hours, and by 13 September was as far back as Kowno.
Ludendorff and his post-war defenders liked to present the battle of the Masurian lakes as a great envelopment operation, whose results could have matched those at Tannenberg, but whose achievement was limited by factors outside of his control. The argument was justified in that Rennenkampf’s precipitate retreat most certainly avoided any danger of his succumbing to the same fate as Samsonov. But, as at Tannenberg, the signs are that Ludendorff’s expectations of the envelopment operation were not as great as subsequent claims came to suggest. His task, after all, was to clear German territory of an enemy army entrenched in good positions with superior forces. The weight of the 8th army lay in the frontal attack, not in the turning movement. A determined counter-attack by II Russian corps on 10 September stopped XX German corps in its tracks. Thus, Russian actions rather than German intentions increased the importance of the right wing. The dominant mood in the staff of the 8th army was caution. Mackensen’s and François’s corps were themselves vulnerable to envelopment by the greater strength of the 1st and 10th Russian armies, as the 8th army’s staff had recognized from the outset. Even after Lyck, François and Mackensen were directed to the north, towards Insterburg and Gumbinnen, to relieve the pressure which Rennenkampf was exerting on the German centre and left. Direct support for XI corps, one of two corps recently transferred from the west and struggling on the left, was deemed a greater priority than deep envelopment; only a single division was pushed eastwards. Not until the night of 11 September did Ludendorff realize the opportunity for a great victory, which in any case had by then eluded him, and push the German pursuit. Here, as later in the war, Ludendorff’s focus was not on broad strategic conceptions, of the sort so favoured by Schlieffen, but on immediate tactical circumstances; it was from the latter, not the former, that he hoped to fashion operational success.
Hindenburg described the battle of Tannenberg as ‘a series of scenes’.97 Ludendorff told Walther Rathenau in November 1915 that victory was not due to a fixed plan, ‘but rather to decisions made instinctively at the time’.98 But neither could wholly resist the widespread German wish to mistake effect for cause. The super-Cannae that had eluded Schlieffen’s pupils in the west had been achieved in the east. Furthermore, it had been planned that way by a great combination of commander and chief of staff. In practice, Ludendorff’s objectives had been much more limited and sensible: his aim had been to defend East Prussia, his concentration had been as much on the centre—on XX corps’ position at Tannenberg, on the frontal battle at the Masurian lakes— as on the flanks, and he had expected no more than 30,000 prisoners from the defeat of Samsonov. The doctrinaire advocate of envelopment had been François. The fact that envelopment had been achieved, largely through Russian mismanagement, at Tannenberg, and had apparently been missed only narrowly at the Masurian lakes, created a totally false expectation both of Hindenburg and Ludendorff as strategists and of possible operational outcomes as a whole.
Tannenberg’s strategic significance was at best indirect. Germany’s success was defensive; the Russian army, despite the loss of 310,000 men in the opening six weeks, had not suffered a crippling blow. In the wider context of the war, what both powers had done was to provide aid to their allies engaged in the main theatres of the war. The speed of the Russian advance had prompted OHL to withdraw two corps from France: they were thus lost to Germany on the Marne, although they did contribute to the victory of the Masurian lakes. The Germans themselves, despite the accusations of perfidy from Austria-Hungary, claimed that thirty-four Russian divisions (including, somewhat tendentiously, the Russian 9th army in Poland) were directed against them, leaving only just over forty-six divisions in Galicia.99 Thus, although the fighting in East Prussia did not, in the broadest sense, matter in itself, it did contribute to the outcomes elsewhere.
Above all, Tannenberg mattered because of its propaganda effect, its effect on perceptions. Hindenburg requested the battle be so named in revenge for the defeat of the Teutonic Knights at the hands of the Poles at Tannenberg 500 years previously: as Georg von Möller commented: ‘very gallant but not very politic as regards the Poles whom we now need.’100 Such symbols were important to the Prussian mentality. Furthermore, the idea that it created, of a decisive and historic success, helped obscure the absence of such a victory where it was actually wanted, in the west. The illusion of German military invincibility was fostered, not simply in the minds of the press-reading public but also in those responsible for the direction of policy itself.
By the same token, Tannenberg confirmed the Russian army in its own sense of inferiority. Germany had won the campaign not only with forces that were inferior in overall numbers, but were also inferior in alleged quality. Landwehr units and garrison troops had been pressed into the field; they had screened Rennenkampf’s army during the concentration against Samsonov, and had guarded the Polish flank in the battle of the Masurian lakes. François’s right-hand division, which had moved so quickly in its swing south and fought
so well at Lyck, was a reserve division. Comparable Russian troops were not regarded as fit for active operations. The cavalry, in which the Russians had enjoyed an eight-to-one superiority, had—despite the favourable and open terrain—contributed little. Industrial backwardness could not be offset by such traditional strengths. German artillery had dominated. Speed of concentration had been the decisive German advantage, and that had rested on the railway line. Never, throughout the war, would the Russians acquire the conviction that they could beat the Germans.
But the quality of the men, the relative value of cavalry, the use of artillery, the availability of railway lines—these were but tools. They became excuses to avoid confronting the main issue. Much more worrying for Russia than any of them was the problem of command. Hindenburg, Ludendorff, Hoffmann, François, and even Prittwitz had independently contributed to the German victory. Their actions had coalesced because the principles underpinning their decisions were, broadly speaking, similar. The Grand Duke Nicholas, Zhilinskii, Rennenkampf, and Samsonov had all pulled in different and contradictory directions. The man held immediately responsible was Zhilinskii, replaced as Front commander by Nicholas Ruszkii on 17 September. But many felt Rennenkampf was to blame, for the defeat of the Masurian lakes as well as for Tannenberg. The panic which had overtaken the 1st army in defeat, its failure on 12 September to hold the Germans frontally while driving south against the weak German right, suggested major deficiencies in the army’s command. Rennenkampf’s detractors pointed to his German name, muttered about corruption and court favour.101 Russia’s ally had responded to defeat with a major restructuring of its higher command. Stavka attempted nothing comparable. The pre-war clique and the overlapping responsibilities in command were institutionalized rather than resolved.
SERBIA
On 28 July 1914 the Serbs destroyed the bridges across the Save and the Danube.102 The following day Austro-Hungarian artillery opened fire across the river, in order to bombard Belgrade. These, the opening shots of the First World War, did at least reflect the war’s immediate origins. Furthermore, at this stage the complaint of Austria’s allies was not that the dual monarchy was concentrating against Serbia rather than Russia, but that it was doing so too slowly.
Within three days, however, Conrad had been persuaded that the major enemy lay to the north-east, not the south-west. In 1909 he had argued that the defeat of Serbia would take three months.103 In August 1914 he could not sustain the concentration of forces which had underpinned this calculation. The 2nd army would have to turn back towards Galicia almost the moment its deployment on Serbia’s northern frontier was complete. The 5th and 6th armies which would remain were intended to be sufficient for defence alone. Their three corps were brought up to a strength of 140,000 men only by the addition of Landsturm brigades; they lacked recent military experience, and 40 per cent of the total themselves belonged to south Slav ethnic groups.
Furthermore, Conrad now argued that a pro-Habsburg Balkan alliance should be the precondition of a campaign against Serbia, not its consequence. As in his youth, it was Italy that worried him. On 8 August he argued that an attack on Serbia only made sense if Bulgaria simultaneously launched four divisions across the Serbs’ eastern frontier, so allowing the Austrians to maintain their guard against the Italians.104 The cold-war warrior had got cold feet. In fact, of course, delay against Serbia did make sense—not, however, because of the Balkan position but because of the situation in Galicia. Following the logic of their own war plans, the Austro-Hungarian high command should have remained on the defensive in the south-east.
They did not. Conrad could only envisage the conduct of war in terms of grandiose offensives. Up to and including the 1909 Bosnian crisis, an ambitious scheme for the envelopment and defeat of Serbia—its army relatively unproven and its support from Russia unsure—could be justified. The legacy had not been shed in July 1914. Conrad’s temperamental resistance to half-measures had led him to oppose plans for a limited operation against Serbia, designed to seize Belgrade, vulnerably situated on the Austro-Hungarian frontier.105
But Conrad was only in part to blame. The political pressure for an early attack on Serbia was considerable. Domestically, victory would quash irridentism; diplomatically, it would provide the foundations for a Balkan alliance. Strategically, pure defence, with inferior forces stretched along a frontier totalling 600 kilometres, their lateral communications so poor that rapid concentration would be impossible, had little to recommend it. Targets sensitive to Serb thrusts abounded, and if exploited would undermine the army’s efforts against the Russians. To the north, Tisza was anxious lest Serbia advance into Hungary. To the west, Montenegro had thrown in its lot with Serbia, and a Serb sally in the direction of Sarajevo might rouse Bosnia. Thus, within the Balkans themselves the politico-strategic situation of 1914 conformed with the operational premisses of 1909 and before to argue for an offensive.106
Austria-Hungary, like Germany, had no properly developed machinery for the co-ordination of the political and military direction of the war. As in Germany, this was the task of the emperor. Supreme command was a royal prerogative. On 25 July Archduke Friedrich was appointed commander-in-chief for the operations in the Balkans. If Franz Ferdinand had been alive in all probability he would have exercised these functions. The new aspirant to the throne, Archduke Karl, was deemed too young and inexperienced for the task. Friedrich was chosen because he would let Conrad have his head, but would complement the chief of the general staff by moderating his more impulsive side and conveying royal gravitas in dealings with Germany. On 31 July, when the rest of the army was mobilized, Friedrich became commander-in-chief of the armed forces as a whole. With the elevation of Galicia over Serbia, Przemysl was chosen as his headquarters, and it now became necessary to appoint a separate theatre commander for the Balkans.107
Oskar Potiorek, the military governor of Bosnia, had been named commander of the 6th army. On 6 August he was also entrusted with responsibility for the Serbian front as a whole. He now had three jobs to do. He also had a new chief of staff, as his previous one, Erik von Merizzi, had been wounded at Sarajevo in the first assassination attempt on 28 June. Potiorek was blamed for the lax security arrangements on that day, and some have attributed his desire for a prompt offensive to personal reasons. But his involvement with plans for war with Serbia stretched back to the late 1880s. He was imbued with their long-term assumptions, and his scheme of operations was already well developed by 4 August. Conrad might automatically disown Potiorek’s plan, but its political objectives and its excessive ambition both bore a Conradian stamp.
Potiorek had been passed over for the post of chief of the general staff in Conrad’s favour. Thus, the most important difference between them was professional jealousy. Its symbol was the control and use of the 2nd army on Serbia’s northern frontier: at an operational level its command was Potiorek’s responsibility, at a strategic its deployment was Conrad’s. Not until his formal appointment on 6 August did Potiorek know he was not to have full use of the 2nd army. It was a decision he never accepted. From 14 August he began to agitate for a measure of relative independence in relation to the army’s supreme command, Armee Oberkommando (hereafter AOK). On 21 August he was formally placed under the direct authority of the emperor. Thus, Conrad lost control of the conduct of operations in the Balkans after late August. Conrad’s defenders have projected back from this to argue that the chief of the general staff’s better judgement was thwarted by Potiorek from the outset. In reality the position was even worse: two minds, not one, were shaping operations against Serbia.108
An offensive from the north, crossing the Danube and attacking Belgrade, would confer the quickest success. This was the conclusion of a study at the war school in May 1913, and it was one strongly advocated by many in 1914, including Alfred Krauss, formerly the war school’s commandant and then chief of staff of the 5th army.109 Such a plan kept the lines of communication short, and it exploited three potential routes
into Serbia’s interior. To the east of Belgrade a thrust on Semendria might open up the line of the Morava valley to Nis. To the west and south of the city the Kolubara river led towards Valjevo. Another offensive in Serbia’s north-west corner, across the Save at Sabac, could converge on Valjevo from the opposite direction.