The Victory That Wasn't

a WWI offensive that almost changed everything

By the start of the summer of 1916, World War I had been going on for two years. For Russia, this meant two long years of heavy fighting, primarily against Germany and Austro-Hungary. Thousands of soldiers and officers already lay beneath the earth, and there was no end to the war in sight. Every day, long lists appeared in the newspapers:

Killed: Lieutenant Alfer, Lieutenant Bukreyev, Lieutenant Volobuyev, Lieutenant Gromov…

Died of wounds: Cornet Annenkov, Second Lieutenant Bauer, Major General Bitsyutko, Lieutenant Voytsekhovsky…

Wounded: Lieutenant Abramov (remained in the ranks), Captain Alexandrov, Lieutenant Andreyev…

Furthermore, while the first months of the war had been more or less successful for the Russian Army, 1915 brought stunning defeats. German forces broke through the front and occupied vast stretches of the western Russian Empire. The sense of national solidarity and desire to defend the country that had been felt by almost every Russian at the war’s inception now gave way to bafflement and irritation. What was the point of this grueling war? Could it really be all for the sake of some obscure geopolitical interests, incomprehensible to the average Russian? And why was the war being conducted so incompetently?

The newspapers made every attempt to publish reports of amazing “acts of patriotism” and promote heroes like Second Lieutenant Kliopa, who was wounded nine times from 1914 to 1916.

“In August 1914, he received two shrapnel wounds. One of them tore off the phalanx of his left thumb. Another destroyed the nerve of the little finger on his left hand. After the wounds were dressed, he remained with his unit. He then suffered three wounds: one in his hand, where a bullet ruptured a vein; a second in the abdomen; and a third from a bayonet. In 1915, a hit to his left leg crushed his tibia. With a bandaged leg, Kliopa took part in heavy fighting as the Russians were forced to draw back in 1915. In August, due to complications in the healing of his wounds after wading through a swamp, Kliopa went to an infirmary. He then returned to his regiment at his own request, despite the fact that he was not slated to go back. He had refused a non-combat assignment.”

It is not clear whether this tale elevated the fighting spirit of other soldiers or increased their longing for the end of the war, which seemed ever more elusive.

Politicians increasingly hinted at treason and betrayal at the highest levels. Absurd rumors spread among the people: “The tsaritsa is German. She is obviously spying for her people. Her lover, Rasputin, is probably helping her.” Who could convince them that Empress Alexandra, while she had indeed been born in Germany, had grown up in England and, since ascending the Russian throne, saw herself as a truly Russian and Orthodox sovereign? Who would believe that the Siberian peasant Gregory Rasputin – who through a strange twist of fate had wound up at court treating the hemophiliac heir to the throne – was seen by Nicholas and Alexandra as a holy person, and that they would not believe incriminating tales about him? The idea of an affair between the tsaritsa and Rasputin would have seemed to them a total absurdity.

Then, just when it appeared that the country was falling apart at the seams, things began to look up. By the beginning of 1916, the economy was improving. Russia’s military command was starting to contemplate striking back at the German and Austrian armies. But, while the general command was focused on planning to strike at German forces (which were positioned along the upper half of the Eastern front), decisive actions taken further south, by the commander of forces facing Austro-Hungarian armies, changed everything.

Alexei Alexeyevich Brusilov was a distinguished officer from a venerable military family. In 1916, he was already over 60 and battle-hardened. The area he was commanding was not viewed as the primary focus of conflict – he was in charge of the Southwestern Army Group, which was battling the Austrians. But, during the summer of 1916, Brusilov’s unexpected successes and the sudden advance of his troops thrust him into the limelight.

Suddenly, after a year of misfortune and reversals, the Russians were taking over town after town. Jubilation swept the nation. Newspapers proclaimed that “Vast numbers of telegrams are pouring into the Petrograd Telegraph Agency from different cities of the Empire, telling of church services held in celebration of the victories of our valiant troops. In many towns, church services were followed by military parades. Telegrams from loyal subjects come one after the other with expressions of patriotic fervor.”

Renewed optimism was shared by Russia’s allies, who had also been mired in heavy fighting. “With every day, news of Russian successes is more remarkable, more enthralling,” was the sentiment expressed in English newspapers. In Paris, an official Russian communiqué was read at the matinee of the Opéra Comique and greeted by a rousing ovation. The audience stood for both the Russian anthem and the Marseillaise.

Newspaper advertisements in the summer of 1916 were an odd mixture of the realia of war and peace. “Now available: War Silhouettes, a collection by combat participant M. Lisovsky.” “A new book by I.B. Smolyaninov, Camouflage (war stories).” “The Triangle Company manufacturers all surgical and first aid supplies essential for infirmaries and hospitals.” “Available for purchase: the best gift for the Russian soldier in captivity:  powdered eggs.”

At the same time, Heinrich Weiss & Company announced that it was discontinuing production of its line of elegant footwear. “All remaining stock is being sold at a 10 percent discount.” One can certainly understand Heinrich Weiss & Company – it was hardly a time for elegant footwear. What was there to dress up for?

But life went on. A new book was released, Field Guide for the Young Naturalist; advertisements announced the availability of “Garrett English locomotives, tractors, English oil engines, steam engine threshers.” And, despite the war, entertainment was still available. One could go to see the farce Our Kept Woman, or the comic play War with Mother-in-Law.

An announcement offered the lease of “three or four marvelously-furnished large rooms in Petrograd with a view of the street and the option of a fully-equipped kitchen to a respectable gentleman.” (It also stated that the apartments featured electricity, telephone, and bathrooms. Evidently, these amenities were not yet to be taken for granted.) A man advertised his availability as a chauffeur, describing himself as “highly-cultured and free of all military obligations.” “Healthful suppers” were advertised for those “who value their health.” And summertime had come. A single man or woman wishing to get out of the city could rent a room in Gatchina (meals optional) with an “educated family.”

The Brusilov Offensive raised hopes for better times to come. Soon, elegant footwear might again be appropriate and there would be no need to ship powdered eggs to prisoners of war.

Brusilov’s armies marched through Galicia and needed reinforcements. But before the ponderous bureaucratic machinery was able to grasp the situation, before it was understood that reserves should be sent to the southwestern front, the offensive had come to a standstill. The front was quiet. Brusilov’s hard-won successes had been squandered. This was the summer of 1916. Grishka Rasputin, who would be murdered in December 1916, had just a few months to live. Indeed, the centuries-old Russian monarchy was in its last months. It would fall in February 1917.

This was the last summer for quite some time that an educated family would be able to spend a peaceful summer at their dacha in Gatchina. What would happen to them in a year? Would they be caught up in the whirlwind of change? Would fate take them away from Russia forever? Would they die of typhus, as so many did during the Civil War? What would happen to the “respectable gentleman” renting the marvelously-furnished apartment? Would his dwelling be seized by revolutionary sailors? And whose side would the courageous Second Lieutenant Kliopa be on (assuming he lived another year and did not die of one of his many wounds)?

Would Captain Alexandrov and Lieutenant Andreyev recover from their wounds? Perhaps they would be killed by their own soldiers, whom they were urging to continue fighting a war that seemed long since lost. Or perhaps they would flee to the Don River, turning on their new Bolshevik commanders and eventually perishing on Civil War battlefields. And who would the highly-cultured chauffeur be driving now?

In the summer of 1916, catastrophe was just around the corner. For now, General Brusilov’s armies were conducting their offensive. Their commander would go on to be put in charge of the entire Russian Army and would make one last futile attempt to organize an offensive. After the Revolution, he came out of a brief retirement to serve the Bolsheviks, dying in 1926 – in a country that looked nothing like the one he fought so hard to defend during the summer of 1916.

Germany Attacks

Sixty-five years ago this June, Fascist Germany attacked the Soviet Union. At 3:30 in the morning on June 22, 1941, Germany’s military force of three million men attacked; planes began strafing and bombing cities in Belarus and Ukraine; tanks rolled across sparsely-defended borders; the fortress of Brest began its fateful siege. For hours, Stalin seemed convinced it was all just a provocation, not the beginnings of war. The first wartime order to counterattack was not issued until 7:15 in the morning.

At noon on June 22, Vyacheslav Molotov delivered a public radio address to the nation (at left, Muscovites listened in the streets), which ended optimistically: “Our cause is just, the enemy will be smashed, victory will be ours.” Below, villagers in the western reaches of the Soviet Union witness the first conflagrations of the war.