Place In the Sun: What If Italy Joined the Central Powers? (1.0)

[Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth]

Chapter Fifty-Four: The Peasant's War​

"An army marches on its stomach."
-Napoleon Bonaparte

"Comrade-Peasantry; unite hands! By the fruit of your labours and the sweat on your brow you have fed the overlords for so long. Now the chance is at hand to take what is yours once more..."
-Alexander Antonov to his men

Russia had always been an agricultural nation; despite the growth of industry and cities over the past decades, the majority of Russians still lived on the land. Though serfdom was half a century gone, the average Russian peasant’s life was miserable. Many lived on communal farms, dependent on a few assigned strips of land and a couple of animals to make ends meet. Conscription took their sons away for years; the wages he sent home were seldom enough to atone for the loss of his labour. Many fathers, sons, and brothers had never come home from the Great War, which had made collecting the harvest difficult. Every year since 1914 had been lean, but now the civil war worsened matters. Russia’s harvest season stretches from July through August, so it was just as the Brusilov Offensive was winding down that peasants began to reap what they’d sowed. Facing the loss of many of their ports- and thus their opportunities to trade with the wider world- the Tsarists were hellbent on requisitioning as much as possible. Those peasants who lived on estates as serfs in all but name saw officers speak with their ‘landlords’ (‘owners’ would’ve been a more apt description), after which armed men entered the common fields and forced them to work at bayonet point while their landlords cradled a bag of rubles- few of which made it into the peasant’s pockets. Independent farmers who lived in agricultural villages (dubbed ‘mir’) found themselves facing military occupation. Armed soldiers requisitioned whatever they wanted and then marched off, leaving the villagers destitute. Republican troops were just as guilty of this as Tsarists but were better propagandists.

Contrary to contemporary propaganda, Alexander Kerensky was no friend of the peasantry. The May Day General Strike had begun partially because city-dwellers blamed the Tsarina for the high cost of living. For the moment, the people accepted their privations because there was a war on, but Kerensky knew how quickly that could change. Once Hungary's rebel regime had failed to deliver the goods, the people had returned to the ancien regime with the cry "peace, bread, and land!" If it could happen in Budapest, it could happen in Moscow. Disrupting the harvest would harm his own side as much as the Tsarists, and Kerensky didn't want to cause famine. For the poor Russian peasant, it made no odds whether the men trampling his field were Tsarist or Republican; they were armed men nabbing his produce without paying. Cynicism sprouted as conservatives realised the Tsar was not their benevolent father, and liberals realised Kerensky's dreams of equality didn't extend to them.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Russia's peasantry found a third option.

Peasant champion Alexander Antonov​

Alexander Antonov had been born in Moscow in 1889, but grown up in the poor North Caucasian town of Tambov. Supporting his family by the sweat of his brow, combined with losing his mother at sixteen, had left Antonov bitter, and he found an outlet in radical politics. Like many angry peasants, he supported the Socialist Revolutionary Party, (SRs) and was an unusually active member. He spent the Great War in prison for robbery and, rumour has it, only found out about the September Revolution after his release. Tsar Michael II pardoned Antonov as part of a mass amnesty in January 1918, leaving him free but destitute. Returning to Tambov, Antonov found his family dead and conditions far worse than they'd been ten years ago. Desperate, he became a hired hand for three hot meals a day and a hay bale to sleep on. "That", he recounted shortly before his death, "was the key moment of my life: the moment I realised what the system had done to the Russian peasantry. Anyone who, having seen those conditions with his own eyes as I did, showed apathy, must have a broken conscience." Though his kulak employer was well-off, he and his fellow hired hands "were equal in stature to the pigs and cows." Peasants in common fields or noble estates had it even worse. After bringing in the autumn harvest, Antonov was let go. His wages just sufficed for a train ticket to the 'big city'- in this case, Voronezh. The North Caucasian city wasn't New York, but it overwhelmed a man accustomed to prison cells and potato fields. Poverty drove Antonov to charity kitchens, not all of which were run by conservative Orthodox priests. Antonov met an SR in early 1919 over a bowl of barley broth who'd conducted a robbery with him eleven years ago and invited him to a covert meeting. Banning the Socialist-Revolutionaries only increased their allure, and Tsarina Xenia was failing to clamp down on proscribed groups. Many of Voronezh's intelligentsia turned up and were surprised by "the force with which this illiterate scamp spoke", as one put it. The illiterate scamp detailed the Russian peasant's plight "in such a manner that one could not fail to be moved." Antonov received wild applause, as well as something more important: an audience with Boris Kamkov. Antonov was thrilled. Kamkov was a mythic figure who lived on the edge of the law. He co-led the Socialist-Revolutionary Party, a Marxist group in vogue amongst the peasantry. At the Duck Bay Conference (1), he'd aligned with Vladimir Lenin while his colleague Viktor Chernov had joined Julius Martov.

Lenin's triumph propelled Kamkov to power. When the May Day General Strike erupted, Kamkov (acting with Lenin's approval), called on Russia's peasants to join the struggle. Enlisting many former members of the defunct All-Russian Peasant Union, Kamkov and his retinue roamed the North Caucasian countryside, urging peasants to "aid your bretheren in the cities". With the spring harvest approaching, people had enough food in their back gardens to sustain themselves, and many severed their trade links with the cities. Kamkov was a politican, not a commander of men. His position as leader of the SRs precluded his leading a war in the North Caucasus; he had to oversee the organisation in Moscow. Before departing, Kamkov entrusted Antonov with leading the North Caucasian peasants.

So began the Peasant's War.

Antonov was an outsider. Whereas Kamkov spent time negotiating with Lenin and feuding with Chernov, managing the SRs from afar, Antonov knew only action, and threw himself into the revolution. Like a latter-day Robin Hood, he roamed the countryside with a loyal entourage, exhorting peasants to join the revolution. To men whose livelihoods and faith in the system had been shattered, Antonov offered a way out. Many took up arms and followed him. Wealthy farmers and landowners pleaded with the local governors for protection, but the war against the Republicans took precedence, and they were helpless against the marauding bands. Years of anger at poverty, requisitions, and abuse flooded out under the guise of revolution. Smoke columns on the horizon became a regular sight as some estate turned to ashes. All the conservative caricatures of revolution- the unruly masses burning homes, murdering women and children, and destroying objets d'art- became reality in summer 1919. Not only did Antonov recognise these atrocities, he encouraged them. "Since the landowners have denied the people what is theirs by rights for so long", he wrote to Lenin in July, "it is only fitting that there should be a reckoning now." There were limits to Antonov's power, though. His glorified bandits lacked the military structure of the main combatants. Hunting guns, knives, and pitchforks, not Nagants and grenades, were the order of the day. Lacking supply columns, they lived off the land. This afforded mobility, but prevented them from conquering cities or fighting in anything larger than a skirmish. As the summer dragged on, a balance of power emerged. The Tsarists couldn't pacify the countryside, but were safe inside large cities, and could raid the countryside in force for supplies.

It should come as no surprise that Russia slid into famine in summer 1919. Conscription took labour away from the fields, while both sides lived off the land. Even outside the North Caucasus, where Antonov held no sway, there was chaos. Many fled their fields to avoid the wrath of approaching troops, only to find on their return that the fields were bare and the barn was empty. Such peasants then became refugees, wandering aimlessly in search of food. Poor logistics encouraged men to carry as much food with them as possible- after all, they didn't always know when their next meal would be- and to burn what they couldn't take lest the enemy use it. Supplying millions of men with twice the calories a normal man needs strained the system, leaving little for civilians. And all this was in quiet areas where the peasantry wasn't actively revolting.

The cities soon felt the impact. Food shortages had been common since the General Strike, but everyone had known the food existed. Rationing, breadlines, and distribution under gunpoint were harsh but reasonable. Now, things changed. You got to the breadline, stomach growling, cards in hand, only to find chaos. There was no bread, the soldiers explained. Go home, we cannot help you. Arguing with an armed man is seldom a good idea, so what choice did you have? You went home and explained to the wife and kids what had gone wrong, told your little girl why she'd go to bed hungry tonight. The wolf growled at the door as you dozed off, and woke up weak. You could practically taste the bread as you walked back to the distribution centre- but again, nothing. Soon, your pace at work slowed. Every stroke of the saw or crank of the factory handle required just a little bit more effort. Visions of rich, crisp-crusted brown loaves and silky, rich margarine danced before your eyes. They were tantalising enough to make you forget your pain, deafen you to the cries of your wife and daughter. All you did was lie back in bed, numb to your hunger, not even wanting to use the toilet. Your body used sleep to pay itself back for the food it couldn't have... and then one day, you didn't wake up.

A starving girl before a fenced-off factory in Kirov, summer 1920. Note the starving goat roaming behind her.​

Famine didn't discriminate, and both sides fought it with a vehemence they usually saved for their fellow countrymen. Making reference to "the carrot and the stick" seems insensitive, but both sides followed this policy. Charity organisations- most prominently Herbert Hoover's American Relief Association, and various groups affiliated with the Catholic and Orthodox Churches- saved thousands of lives. The former had more success in Republican-held areas, as Hoover enjoyed better relations with Kerensky's liberals (while Lenin and Zinoviev didn't want to spread the idea that religion was good), while the latter did better under the Tsarists (for the exact opposite reasons). And in fairness, both sides made a good-faith effort to feed their people. Whatever the army didn't need went to the cities, where it was distributed equally. There was, of course, a dark side. Stealing or forging ration cards was punishable by death. Armed men shot anyone attempting to steal from a granary, no questions asked. Daily riots were met with truncheons, but the problem soon took care of itself- people soon lost the strength to march and fight. Those who fled the cities were often impressed by passing armies, no different than in Napoleon's day, or cut down by bandits, or simply starved after failing to find food. The lucky ones became bandits.

Russia's social cohesion was falling apart. Something had to change, lest the winner inherit a nation of skeletons.

The Brusilov Offensive petered out in July 1919. The Republicans had exerted themselves but failed to throw the Tsarists back. Alexander Kerensky was content with stalemate outside Moscow, however, as it allowed him to turn his attention south. Enough North Caucasian grain to feed the country lay within reach, and he intended to take it. As he remained in Petrograd, the Provisional President ordered Alexei Brusilov to negotiate with Antonov. Speaking as one reformer to another, perhaps the two could find common ground? A deputy of Brusilov's travelled to Vyazovska- a few hills and huts which Antonov had made his own- bearing Kerensky's requests. The Provisional President, he reminded Antonov, was a former Socialist Revolutionary, just like him. The Russian Republic would respect the peasants, and "adhere to the policies of Comrades Kamkov and Lenin." Besides, the deputy pointed out, Antonov was barely surviving. If he kept playing cat-and-mouse with Tsarist patrols, they would eventually win. Better to enjoy the protection of the Republic.

"If you care about the agricultural classes so much", Antonov retorted, "why are your military commanders wealthy landowners?" He sent the deputy packing.

Alexander Kerensky was livid. "The cooperation of the Russian Republic with the Socialist Revolutionary Party", he wrote to Boris Kamkov, "is predicated upon that organisation's ability to mobilise the rural people of Russia in support of that cause. Failure to do so would reduce the incentive for our factions to align." Kamkov was no scholar, but he saw the threat. If you can't get your man under control, you will be purged. Kamkov thus travelled down the Volga to meet his subordinate. It's not known how he did it, but Kamkov got his protege on board. Antonov must've realised that if he didn't cooperate, the Republicans might turn on him.

On 14 August, Antonov declared that "the interests of the Russian peasant movement and the interests of the Provisional Government align." The first grain shipments up the Volga River came two weeks later. Kamkov's diplomacy allowed bread to return to the shop windows of Moscow, and it wasn't long before those starving under Tsarist rule began fleeing to the Central Volga. Republican troops arrived in force to defend their new breadbasket, eliminating Tsarist holdouts. Many of Antonov's peasant brigands joined the Republican ranks, as did hungry Tsarists. Come the autumn, as Yudenich inched closer to Petrograd (2), the Republicans tightened their hold on the grain supply.

The decision of the Tsarists to win prestige by destroying Petrograd, while letting their enemy have the economic resources of the North Caucasus, was surely the greatest blunder of the Russian Civil War.

Alexander Antonov was none too happy at the results. Had anyone but Kamkov ordered him to stand down, he would've refused. Antonov had gone from the strongest man in the North Caucasus to a minor cog in the Republican machine. The fall of Petrograd told him what a mistake he'd made. The end of the war was near, Kerensky and Lenin were missing, presumed dead, and it was only a matter of time before Moscow fell. (3) Antonov was a peasant at heart. The endless wheatfields and rolling hills were his home, not cramped wartime Moscow. He identified with simple country folk, not politicians like Kamkov or generals like Brusilov. The trains of wheat which rolled into the capital meant salvation for the urbanites, but Antonov knew how they'd gotten there. His people had reaped and sowed at gunpoint to feed this beast of a war effort, all because of him. All because he'd capitulated.

Alexander Antonov hadn't given up hope for his people, and he vowed that whatever happened to Russia, he would carry on the fight till his last breath.

(1) New readers: see chapter 47
(2) See the previous chapter-- this should contextualise the line about the 'greatest blunder of the war'
(3) Emphasis on the "presumed"

Comments?

 

[Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth]

Chapter Fifty-Five: Unwilling Belligerent​

"Hiding across the border- how dare they? Does Kornilov think he can play me for a fool? And what of Passivuori? If this is neutrality, I would hate to see what war is like..."
-General Yudenich

"I never wanted to fight on your side, Provisonal President. Finland has seen too much war in too little time. But what has happened today has made it all too clear: the survival of the Russian Republic is a prerequisite for the survival of Finland. So, on we will march."
-Matti Paasivuori to Alexander Kerensky

Petrograd was gone.

The surprise was not that the Tsarists had lunged at the capital, but that it took them weeks to conquer it rather than days as in the September Revolution. Hunger and death were the watchwords in the capital. The House of Romanov had betrayed its divine mandate to govern Russia. What sort of imperial father could do this to his people? General Nikolai Yudenich's conduct as military governor only confirmed to the people of Petrograd that revolt had been the right choice.

The Russian Republic was down but not out. Kerensky and Kornilov had drawn up evacuation plans early in the war, and his designated escape cruiser remained on standby throughout the siege. Honour had told Kerensky to remain with his people, but common sense had won out. The Provisional President spent New Years Day 1920 aboard a Baltic Fleet cruiser. Had the Tsarists known his whereabouts, they would've sent every ship in the fleet against him. Seasickness conspired with fear for his life and the Republican project to make Kerensky deathly ill. Along with everyone aboard the ship, he contracted the Kansas flu. Frigid Baltic sea air was the last thing he needed, but he knew too well someone would end up a million rubles richer if he set foot in a neutral country to recuperate. The closest Republican-held port, Murmansk, was frozen over and so the ship was isolated. Kerensky's temperature dropped, patrolling Tsarist craft grew closer every day, and they had nowhere to go. Waking on 16 January, the Provisional President ordered the captain to set course for Rauma, Finland. If there was one man who wouldn't betray him to the Tsarists, it was Matti Passivuori. Finnish soldiers interned the cruiser and crew, but did a double take when they realised who the gaunt man was.

Kerensky rebuilt his health and connections that spring. Many had died in the siege or been trapped by the Okhrana, but many others had fled. Republican officials arrived in their twos and threes, all eager to meet the Provisional President. The gaunt Kerensky was a beacon, a reminder that the Tsarists hadn't won. Russian dreams of liberal democracy were not dead yet.

The most important visitor, though, belonged to the other Republican faction. Grigory Yevseyevich Zinoviev had survived the siege and made it to Helsinki. The ailing Provisional President found the strength to wrap the second-in-command of the Petrograd Soviet in a great Russian bear hug. "Grigory Yevseyvich, you survived!"

"Da." Zinoviev smiled properly for the first time in months. "I have not forgotten the promise we made. Yudenich cannot defeat the people!"

Kerensky and Zinoviev developed an odd relationship. Ostensibly, they were quite different. Zinoviev still viewed Kerensky as an oppressor who'd have to be swept away eventually; the Provisional President was still damned if he was going to let Zinoviev build a worker's paradise over the ashes of his system. Yet, the two had somehow bonded. When Kerensky had summoned the Bolsheviks after the Republican Coup, Zinoviev had gone, not Lenin, suggesting which revolutionary was more reliable. As a career politician, Kerensky wouldn't abandon an ally without good cause. Zinoviev appeared a moderate, reasonable Bolshevik, one who might counteract Lenin's radicalism. The affection was mutual. Zinoviev was still the Provisional President's "class enemy", but the capitalist had impressed him. Fear, not pride, had kept Lenin from visiting the Tauride Palace. Kerensky's lair had pleasantly surprised Zinoviev. The Provisional President wasn't a Black Hundredsman promising to massacre his enemies; he'd been courteous, flexible, and had a productive vision for Russia. "When the time to build comes", Kerensky had told him, "I hope you will set down your gun and help build a republic the workers can be proud to call their own." What was Zinoviev to do? And what was he to do with his comrade-in-arms?

Vladimir Lenin needed to figure out his next move before his enemies did. His position resembled his archrival Julius Martov’s three years ago. In both cases, enemy forces drawing on Petrograd had placed their revolt in mortal danger; Passivuori's Finland offered a safe haven. Finnish Red Guards answering to Kullervo Manner escorted the Petrograd Soviet to Helsinki. There were, however, important differences. Julius Martov had acted alone. All he’d had at his disposal were the Petrograd revolutionaries, and his support died with them. Lenin and Zinoviev, though, sat atop a movement. Even if Tsarist troops destroyed the Petrograd Soviet, its counterparts across the country would still be there. The Moscow Soviet, the Kazan Soviet, the Nizhny Soviet… all these answered to them. And besides, many under Tsarist rule looked to Lenin. The Central Volga People’s Army had proven its worth and would keep fighting even if Petrograd fell. Less stoically, Lenin didn't care about the people of Petrograd and was happy to watch his Tsarist and Republican foes bleed from the Finnish sidelines. Much as he may have hated the bourgeois Kerensky and privately plotted to destroy the Republic, Lenin must’ve been glad about his alliance. Whereas Julius Martov acted alone, the Bolshevik had many of the most powerful men in Russia, however temporarily, on his side.

Of course, Kerensky was a partner of convenience, not a true ally. Lenin had no doubt that the war was won, they would be at each other's throats. Thus, it was essential to win as many allies in exile as possible, to strengthen his hand for the return to the Rodina. Grigory Zinoviev was an immediate worry. Lenin didn't know what he'd discussed with Kerensky after the Republican Coup but had his suspicions. The Provisional President had been far too friendly with Zinoviev, embracing him in Turku while ignoring Lenin. Zinoviev hadn't been like this before the civil war- something had to have changed. Though moving against his comrade would've alienated all his allies- and could have ended with him at the bottom of the Baltic- Lenin was most definitely watching Grigory Yevseyevich Zinoviev.

All this took place against the backdrop of a foreign country. The young Finnish Worker's Republic was beset by divisions. Though leftists and conservatives had united to expel the Russians, their visions of what their country should be were wildly different. Matti Passivuori led the ruling Finnish Social Democratic Party. His strength was that, as a moderate socialist, he was acceptable in principle to everyone. Passivuori's leftist economics didn't prevent him from admiring liberal democracy and he hoped to forge a modern, Western, Finland. Passivuori was to Finland what Kerensky was to Russia. Circumstances had forced both men to abandon political careers for revolution. Both saw themselves as liberators and modernists. Both wanted to abolish the nobility (even if neither could yet), broaden the electorate, and bring their nations into the twentieth century.

President Paasivuori, founder of modern Finland

​

Intervention was actually quite popular in Finland. Passivuori's moderate socialists considered it a matter of national security: Alexander Kerensky was the closest Russia came to sharing their political views. A liberal democratic Russia would hopefully be far more willing to respect Finland than a Tsarist autocracy. Collaborating with Lenin's radicals was an acceptable price. Kullervo Manner's hardliners advocated intervention for different reasons. As an ally of Lenin and believer in world revolution, Manner wanted to see the Soviets turn Russia into the world's second communist state, which could then bring the revolution to Finland. Collaborating with Kerensky's capitalism was an acceptable price. Even the conservatives- many of whom, as monarchists, abhorred the Republican Coup- slowly came round. Being Finnish superseded politics, and Grand Duke Mikhailovich would punish them all the same regardless of their fancy title. Of course, many pointed out that intervention might be the worst choice: if the Finns declared for Kerensky and lost, they'd face the Tsarist bear's claws. Nonetheless, as the leaders of the conservative Finnish Party fell in line, most of the country's nobility acquiesced. If it would save their homeland, collaborating with men guilty of regicide was an acceptable price.

Having watched his countrymen pay in blood for independence, Matti Passivuori was determined never to let the Russians reconquer Finland. He understood that, wedged between Berlin and Petrograd as he was, he'd always have to appease the Great Powers at the expense of his own agenda, but no foreigner was ever going to rule the country again. Unfortunately, for all his liberalism, Alexander Kerensky was a Russian nationalist. Very few in Russia, regardless of which side of the civil war they were on, didn't dream of undoing the hated Treaty of Konigsberg. Being remembered as the man who brought democracy to Russia would be glorious; being remembered as the man who expanded Russia west would be even greater. Passivuori realised that having Kerensky in his country gave him a fleeting opportunity.

If he played it right, he could unite the fractured political scene and have his independence confirmed.

On 1 March 1920, with the Finnish army and exiled Republican units moving towards the border, Kerensky awoke to find his house surrounded. He was just about to telephone Passivuori when the Finnish president walked in. Passivuori calmly explained that he had to "negotiate an arrangement between the Finnish Worker's Republic and the Russian Republic for the conduct of the war", and handed Kerensky a list of demands in Finnish and Russian. Amongst them was a promise to recognise Finland's independence, to cede an ethnically Finnish chunk of western Karelia, and establish a demilitarised zone twenty miles from the border after the war. In exchange for this, Passivuori would join the war... and Kerensky would walk free. The Provisional President reluctantly signed.

Political goals shaped the counteroffensive. Though Kerensky had promised Finland western Karelia, Passivuori knew what promises were worth. Having boots on the ground would make it much harder for the Republicans to renege after victory. Thus, he graciously volunteered to man the more than four hundred miles between Lake Ladoga and the Murmansk pocket. This suited Kerensky- not only because he was willing to cede "a few hundred square miles of tundra"- but because it enabled him to concentrate on Petrograd. Though Passivuori had never claimed the city, Kerensky saw no reason Finland wouldn't grab it: holding a metropolis on the border would give him tremendous leverage against the giant to his south. Thanking the Finns for undertaking so much of the fighting, the Provisional President directed Kornilov to concentrate on the capital. (Ironically enough, Passivuori didn't care about Petrograd, considering it too damaged to be worth occupying). The one contribution Kerensky asked for was use of the Finnish Navy. A Tsarist flotilla had left its Ottoman exile and passed through the Danish Straits (Denmark, like the rest of the world, recognised the Romanovs), to Petrograd via the Baltic coast. Eliminating them was essential if the Republicans wanted to retake the capital. Passivuori was hesitant- he didn't want to risk losing his nascent navy- but agreed after Kerensky promised to compensate him for losses and let the Finnish ships operate under a Finnish admiral.

It was all moot.

The Tsarists were waiting for their foe. Espionage was effortless when both sides spoke the same language, and the Republican bases in Finland were crawling with double agents. These men helped the House of Romanov in small ways ('accidentally' dropping a lit cigarette in a division's worth of horse feed and watching the smoke rise) and large (informing Petrograd where the Republican sector stopped and where the Finnish one began). Nikolai Yudenich, who'd strangled Petrograd in December, prepared accordingly. He didn't care about "those few acres of snow" in Karelia; it was the capital that mattered. On the tenth, he issued a proclamation containing four words which sent a chill down everyone's spine- "a state of siege." People panicked at the thought of reliving the horrors of winter. However, Yudenich had no intention of playing the siege out in reverse. Not bothering to get clearance from his superior (War Minister Grand Duke Nicholas), Grand Duke Mikhailovich, or even Tsar Andrei, for fear that enemy Intelligence would pick up on it, he decided to pre-empt an enemy attack on the capital.

Finnish troops photographed the day before the Russians attacked.​

The invasion of Finland commenced at dawn on 17 March 1920. With the border less than twenty miles north of Petrograd, Tsarist troops had watched the Finns like hawks for months. The northern suburbs of Petrograd had been the first to be rebuilt, with pillboxes and watchtowers replacing butchers and church steeples. Artillery which had pounded the Republican defenders in the winter moved north, ready to blast the Finns if need be. Yudenich had always believed the Finns would enter eventually, and only strict orders from Mikhailovich had kept him from crossing the border in December. As he explained later, Yudenich believed that "military necessity: the need to preserve the lives of Russian soldiers and integrity of Russian positions to eliminate the possibility of enemy assault on the above" allowed him to break that order. Besides, the Finns were abusing their neutrality by harbouring Republican leaders and soldiers. It wasn't even Finns who took the first blows. With Petrograd a Republican sector, Yudenich's shells crashed down on Russians, and it fell to Lavr Kornilov to respond. Republican troops, augmented by Finnish border guards, ceded substantial border towns which, properly fortified, could've held the foe up for days. Bewildered civilians found themselves under Tsarist occupation... it proved just as harsh as they'd feared.

These triumphs were spectacular but isolated.

Finland rapidly pulled itself together. President Passivuori was furious at the Tsarist attack, though he understood that his highly un-neutral policies had caused it. Nonetheless, by striking first Yudenich had given his foe a propaganda advantage. At noon on the seventeenth, Passivuori issued a "National Declaration of Resistance" extending diplomatic recognition to the Russian Republic. Its promise to "assist the government of Russia in its struggle against illegitimate warlordism under the so-called House of Romanov" seems amusing when one considers the disparity between the two. Just as the President had hoped, the war put politics on hold. Yudenich had shelled conservative sympathies for the Tsarist monarchy to oblivion as his men crossed the border. Liberals and socialists found it easier to rally around a war of national defence than a foreign intervention. Kullervo Manner put a radical spin on things, declaring that the "war against Tsarist aggression" marked the first stage in a global revolution. International opinion condemned the Tsarists. When the average Westerner thought of Finland, he imagined a peaceful, pro-German republic; when he thought of the Tsarists, he imagined the Okhrana, divine-right monarchy, and instability. The violation of an innocent country's rights outraged Americans and Britons; the idea of the Russian bear starting a revanchist march west horrified Germans. Sweden and Norway were far too close to the action for comfort. Though both were monarchies with little sympathy for Alexander Kerensky, they happily gave the Finns guns and loans. None of this would've been possible had Passivuori struck first as per the plan.

Popularity couldn't shore up the fighting front. Even as Finnish and Republican troops reached prepared defences, supplies, and reinforcements, the Tsarists kept attacking. There were numerous cases of Finnish units mistaking Republicans for Tsarists, as well as Republican commanders deciding the war was lost and defecting, bringing their units over en masse. However, the defence remained mostly coherent. With national subjugation the price for defeat, this was a battle the Finns couldn't afford to lose. They took few prisoners and fought to the last man and bullet. Republican troops lacked the national incentive but still fought hard- a quick death in Lapland was better than a lingering one in Siberia. One fortunate product of the Finns living in fear was the fixed defences along the border. General Haapalainen hadn't expected Russian troops to man them, but wasn't complaining. Tsarist troops paid a steep price for every step they took up the Karelian Isthmus. By the end of March, they'd only advanced thirty miles at a cost of fifteen thousand lives. The tightly-packed defences and Tsarist infantry charges recalled the Great War and the worst of the Danubian Civil War more than the other fighting in Russia. Nonetheless, despite a heavy cost in blood, the Republicans and Finns were winning. Day by day, Finnish reinforcements slowed the Russian tide until Yudenich stopped. The Tsarist general privately conceded defeat. He'd forestalled an attack on Petrograd, but only at the cost of creating a new fighting front, one which couldn't be resolved any time soon.

This move cost Yudenich his career. Grand Duke Mikhailovich was furious when he heard about the invasion. His standing order to respect Finnish neutrality had existed for a reason: to prevent the Tsarists from being seen as aggressors. Now that Yudenich had deliberately disobeyed, the world saw Mikhailovich not just as someone willing to murder a fellow Grand Duke for an innocent peace proposal, but as someone happy to trample on innocent bystanders. Nonetheless, after discussing it with his military supremo, the Grand Duke Nicholas, Mikhailovich decided on clemency. Defeating the new enemy took precedence over everything, and assigning a new man to the front would impede that. Quick results could still redeem Yudenich. A month of slaughter in the Karelian Isthmus persuaded Mikhailovich to pull the plug. Yudenich obviously couldn't win and so needed to face punishment for the mess he'd made. The disgraced Tsarist travelled to Vladivostok and settled in the Netherlands after the civil war. Mikhailovich chose his replacement on the basis of loyalty: his younger brother. Grand Duke Sergei Mikhailovich had disgraced himself during a Great War shell shortage, and Tsar Michael had 'encouraged' him to resign in November 1916. Once his nephew Andrei mounted the throne, Sergei had petitioned him for a command. The petition had sat on his brother's desk for months until now. It didn't matter that Sergei hadn't had a field command in fifteen years or that his staff work was a bad joke: nothing could go wrong with the Tsar's uncle in power!

The Grand Duke: a man who never should have been let near power

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Sergei had much to do, and soon discovered that Yudenich had provoked a sleeping giant. Finnish participation provided the spark the Republicans needed in the north. The winter of 1919-1920 hadn't been easy on Tsarist forces in the north- frostbite had claimed many lives while sleet and snow had closed badly needed roads. A month of intense combat in Karelia did no one any favours. By contrast, the Finnish Army, though it was small, was fresh. Fear of a Russian attack had led Passivuori to reach out to Germany and Sweden, who'd happily given him old arms for a suitable price. Many Finnish nobles had been Russian officers before the Great War and, once they realised they weren't going to be persecuted, served their new country. General Kornilov had collaborated with Eero Haapalainen, chief of Finland's nascent General Staff, to rebuild the Republican units which had crossed the border. Several months of rest and retraining had produced revitalised units that were ready for action. The generals had scrapped the initial plan to attack north of Lake Lagoda, placing everything into the Karelian Isthmus. Passivuori had called up conscripts and reservists back in December, and had been husbanding them during the past month of fighting. Now, it was time to put that piece on the board.

The name given to this offensive after the war- the "Petrovskoe Piercing"- says much about its effectiveness. The conscripts and reservists were organised into a new formation, the Finnish Second Army. As Passivuori said of them after the battle, "that the Finnish nation entrusted this vital counterstroke to young boys and greybeards can be attributed to two things. Either we were truly at the end of our tether, or the Finnish national spirit is undefeatable wherever it appears!" Both were likely true, but had the Tsarists not been so exhausted, the Second Army would've got nowhere. After a brief bombardment, the Second Army went into action on 20 April 1920. Much of the heaviest fighting was to the west, as the Tsarists pushed towards the key town of Vyborg. The eastern town of Petrovskoe was an easier target. This was where the decision to sack Yudenich hurt the Tsarists. Whereas the conqueror of Petrograd would've sent enough force to hold the Second Army without depriving the rest of the line, Sergei panicked and ordered one-quarter of the entire Tsarist strength in the isthmus sent to stem the tide. Poor logistics forced these units to spend two days marching... which the Finns and Republicans put to good use. By the time the reinforcements arrived, Petrovskoe flew the Finnish flag. Sergei's reinforcements got to work containing the breakthrough, but the damage was already done. Worse still, while the reinforcements were ambling to the breakthrough, the Finns and Republicans they'd opposed attacked. By the end of April, the entire Tsarist line in the Karelian Isthmus was coming apart. Surrounded Tsarist units tried to surrender to the Republicans; their comrades who'd tried surrendering to the Finns didn't have long to ponder what a mistake they'd made. Kornilov gave these men a choice between joining the Republican army or going to a Finnish prison camp in the far north. Thus reinforced, the Republicans swept on. Grand Duke Sergei could make the walls shake with his curses but not stop the enemy tide south. As the towns captured in Yudenich's first offensive fell, Sergei realised how much danger he was in. Yudenich's strike north- designed to prevent an attack on Petrograd- had failed.

Republican troops advance south towards Petrograd, May 1920​

The capital now faced another siege.

Alexander Kerensky would've been happy if the Finns halted at the prewar border. Initially, of course, the plan had been for Republican troops to take Petrograd while the Finns occupied Karelia. However, Yudenich's unprovoked attack had required maximum force to stop it. Once the Finns had committed their whole army to the Karelian Isthmus, they weren't going to transfer them east just because the initial plan said so. This posed the risk that General Haapalainen's men might occupy the capital and deny it to him. A telegram from the Provisional President to Kornilov ordered him to reach Petrograd before the Finns, giving rise to the "race to Petrograd". Republican and Finnish units vied to be the first in the capital. It made the men more aggressive but strained supply columns. As April turned to May, Kerensky and Passivuori had one question on their minds: whose flag would fly above the Winter Palace?

May 4 saw the Tsarists pushed back to the prewar border. As the rumble of gunfire drew closer, everyone prepared for another ordeal. Many must have cursed fate, asking why they had to relieve the horrors of the siege all over again. Unlike before, there were no more emergency stocks to call upon, no more will to stand and fight. Survival trumped patriotism. Every shell which overshot the Tsarists and crashed into the northern suburbs reminded Petrograd of what lay ahead.

Grand Duke Sergei was a cowardly political appointee. A glance outside his office told him all he needed to know about the siege. If it returned, his titles and honours would do him no good; his guards would happily spill all that noble Romanov blood on the floor if it meant peace. Sergei fled to Veliky Novgorod, instructing his deputy to "resist". His convoy drew much attention, and people soon realised he'd fled. Realising that their cause was hopeless and their commander had deserted them, tsarists crossed to the Republican lines in droves. A delighted Kornilov ordered that these men be well-treated before being enrolled in the Republican army, but few were in any shape to fight. Shocked nurses found clammy-skinned skeletons wrapped in Romanov colours, their eyes dull, frostbite gnawing at infected wounds- and these were the best-supplied men in Petrograd.

Those who remained in the capital had given up hope. Their choices were subjugation or experiencing the pain they'd inflicted on the defenders throughout the winter. Shooting oneself, or letting an enemy do it for you, was an easy way out. Yet others clung on for one reason: the damage done by the war paled in comparison to what the Finns would do. Being subjugated for centuries, barely achieving independence, and then facing an unprovoked attack had enraged the Finns, and what better way to extract revenge than by torching Petrograd? The defenders fought, in their mind, not for the House of Romanov but the Russian race.

It was clear what had to be done.

A messenger crossed the lines under flag of truce three days after Grand Duke Sergei fled, asking to speak with Lavr Kornilov. What exactly the two men agreed on is still not known, but their bargain became an enormous sticking point in Russo-Finnish relations. What is known is that at dusk on 7 May 1920, a year after the Tsarina's regime collapsed, Republicans and Tsarists stopped shooting. The weary men of the House of Romanov stood aside as the Republicans marched into Petrograd. Grand Duke Sergei's wet-faced deputy presented himself to Kornilov, who took pity on him and placed him under house arrest. For the people of the capital, this was the best possible outcome. There would be no second siege, no more privations and suffering, and best of all, they were under the rule of fellow Russians. Lavr Kornilov went from being the dreaded storm on the horizon to the shield against vengeful Finns. This was most definitely a liberation, not a conquest. Petrograd was the birthplace of the Republic. Kerensky had looked after his people; the Tsarists had given them six months of hell. The people rewarded him with their loyalty. As Republican troops handed out rations and bandages, the people were quite content to stay under Alexander Kerensky's banner.

After a year of chaos, Petrograd was ready for peace.

The people of the capital were the only ones happy with the agreement. Grand Duke Mikhailovich and the puppet Tsar were livid. Six months of fighting and the loss of thousands of rubles and lives had been wasted! "For God's sake", Mikhailovich thundered to his nephew, "how will we win the fucking war if these imbeciles carry on?" Barging into Sergei's office a week after the surrender, the Grand Duke heaped verbal abuse on his subordinate until the guards restrained him. After simmering down, Mikhailovich dismissed Sergei; Tsar Andrei stripped him of his nobility several days later. The disgraced Sergei committed suicide three months later. Mikhailovich was fighting not just for his son's throne or to preserve the system; he was fighting to avenge his wife. Failure was not just dangerous; it was a personal insult. Deciding the only man he could trust was himself, Mikhailovich assumed temporary command of the Petrograd sector. Reserves stabilised the front around Volkhov, Gatchina, and Kingisepp- in short, where it was before the campaign, minus tens of thousands of good men gone.

Matti Paasivuori was dejected. Though he could never have admitted it, he'd wanted Petrograd. Privately, he was furious at Kornilov. How much did the Republican general trust his Finnish ally, if he was more willing to fraternise with the enemy than see the Finns enter Petrograd? Was this the thanks Finland received for sheltering the Republicans? Kornilov's retort that the Tsarists had requested a ceasefire, not him, fell on deaf ears. To this day, Finnish nationalists believe they were cheated out of Petrograd in summer 1920; Russians decry Finnish "revanchism". Nonetheless, he played it off as a victory. Ignoring the way he'd abused his neutrality, Passivuori lauded his countrymen for resisting the Tsarist invasion and pledged continued support to "stabilise the internal situation of Russia and secure our own national interests." Since being left alone was too much to ask, Finland would fight on.

The greatest loser of the Petrograd campaign was not the Tsarists, but the Bolsheviks. Vladimir Lenin had stoked the fires of revolution from Petrograd. The capital had been home to the leading Soviet. And now, it was in Kerensky's pocket. As Lenin paced his room in Helsinki, he fumed. Was he any better off than Julius Martov had been in his Norwegian exile? Would he be remembered, after more than a quarter century's exertion, as nothing more than a bit part, a failed would-be revolutionary, a stepping stone on the way to Alexander Kerensky's bourgeois regime? Being sidelined was bad enough, but what came next was an insult. On the first of June, Grigory Zinoviev recieved an invitation from the Provisional President to come to the capital- but Lenin did not. Paranoia took over. Was he being set up for a hit? Would Zinoviev take over the Soviets scattered throughout the country? That would be to Kerensky's liking, after all. Zinoviev was affable and diplomatic- but, Lenin realised, he did not have the spirit of a revolutionary. In his hands, the Soviets would wither. Only one man, Lenin realised, could save Russia from itself, and he sported a newsboy cap and goatee.

Like all the players in this endless war, Vladimir Lenin could only guess who his true enemies were, and what the future of Russia would ultimately be.

Comments?

 

[Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth]

Chapter Fifty-Six: War Drags On
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"God damn it, Tukhachevsky's armies cannot run on patriotism, on exuberance! Trains and armoured cars are needed, because the horse and the marching man are no longer everything. If I cannot retrieve the oil of the South Caucasus and the industry of the Donets, I must end this war."
-Alexander Kerensky

"I remain spectacularly convinced of the value of tradition, my friends. Here, in the open steppe, has anyone called for more tanks, more artillery, more machine-guns? Nyet! Here, war is returned to the noble form of art it always was- bearing a greater resemblance to that used by our ancestors to eject Genghis Khan, than that used by the Germans in France. The noble cavalry sweep, friends, has won the day!"
-Semyon Budyonny

One year after the workers of Petrograd had walked out, Russia still had not found its destiny. Tens of thousands had fallen on the field; yet more had succumbed to hunger and disease. Tsarist blows had come fast. They'd repulsed the Republicans outside Tver and Rzhev before crushing Petrograd. For a moment the revolt seemed doomed. Provisional President Alexander Kerensky was deathly ill in Finland; his legitimacy had died in Petrograd. The Bolsheviks had allies in Helsinki, but were a world away from the worker's councils which had led the country into revolution. No one recognised the "Russian Republic", while Germany was doing everything short of war to aid the Tsarists.

All had seemed lost.

Six months into the New Year, things had changed. Matti Passivuori was to Finland what Kerensky was to Russia, and had planned to intervene after the fall of Petrograd. The Tsarists had saved him the trouble by attacking pre-prepared defences; the counterattack had liberated Petrograd. Though Ukraine still eluded them, the Republicans controlled the North Caucasian breadbasket and industry of the Central Volga. Horror stories and promises of reform had won them support domestic and foreign. The situation in summer 1920 resembled that of a year ago- except the Finns were on-side, the Tsarists were starving, and the Republicans had beaten impossible odds.

It was time to counter-attack, but few knew where. Kerensky wanted to connect freshly liberated Petrograd with Moscow. Isolation from Brusilov's armies had proved fatal once; there was no guarantee another Tsarist attack wouldn't seize the capital again. Finnish reinforcements would facilitate this, while the enemy remained weak in the sector. Local Republican commander Lavr Kornilov concurred. Attack was the best form of defence. Besides, linking up the two greatest cities in Russia would restore some lost legitimacy. Others were less certain. Alexei Brusilov, commander of the forces in Moscow and the Central Volga, bravely flew over enemy territory to confer in Petrograd. He pointed out that his namesake offensive had failed to cross the three hundred miles between Moscow and Petrograd. Having grown used to operating independently while Kerensky hid in Finland gave the Republican general courage. Brusilov refused to launch an attack he believed doomed. Predictability helped only the enemy. Rather than further fighting in the north, Brusilov wanted to turn south. Securing Ukraine or the southern Caucasus would do more than conquering a few northern cities. Kornilov challenged him, arguing that Ukraine and the Caucasus were "peripheries". This was not a war for resources, Kornilov charged, but one for legitimacy. Eliminating the Tsarist strongholds in the north would be far more convincing on the world stage than, as he put it, "sailing past Potemkin's village!" Kerensky proposed a compromise. Brusilov could invade eastern Ukraine provided he launched a subsidiary attack to the north, while the Finns would pursue their own objectives.

Political drama with the Finns (1)- Matti Paasivuori resented being treated as a subordinate- delayed things far longer than they should've, and the Republican plans for attacking in the north were heavily modified. However, Brusilov's plan for seizing the industry of the Donets basin was approved. Besides threatening the Caucasus, Ukraine, and Crimea, this would provide the Republican war machine with valuable industry and metal deposits. (2)

Just as the Republicans prepared to attack, God threw a spanner in the works. Tsarist anti-air guns opened fire on a two-seater above Veliky Novgorod on 12 June, 1920. Two German Albatroses in Russian colours pursued the plane, leaving the pilot- who should have known better than to fly over an enemy city in daylight- without options. Bullets shredded canvas and wood before striking the gas tank. The pilot was dead long before the plane's shattered skeleton slammed into the ground. So too was his passenger: General Alexei Brusilov.

Realising what had happened took time. The lack of secure communications between Petrograd and Moscow meant Brusilov hadn't wired his deputies before taking off. Air travel in 1920 was a chaotic business- weather routinely caused long delays. Or perhaps the conference had simply run longer than expected? After four days, though, it was clear something was wrong. Confirmation only came on the seventeenth, with a gloating article in the Tsarist press. Brusilov's charred remains had been retrieved from the crash and, in fairness to the Tsarists, given a full burial with military honours. His coffin crossed the lines under flag of truce some months later. The loss of Brusilov was a catastrophe. He'd been a miracle worker during the Great War, keeping the Russian Army intact as it withdrew in autumn 1916. Though his namesake offensive had failed, it had shown Republican fighting power and dissuaded the Tsarists from moving on Moscow. Alexei Brusilov was sixty-seven years old, and had given forty-eight of them to Russia.

His successor would have large shoes to fill- and the fate of a nation resting on his shoulders.

Mikhail Tukhachevsky had been born near Smolensk in 1893 and obtained a cavalry commission on the outbreak of the Great War. Despite distinguishing himself against the Germans and Austro-Hungarians, he was captured in late 1915 and spent the rest of the war in a Bavarian fortress. Repatriated as per the Treaty of Konigsberg, he became an adherent of socialism after reading Lenin’s Imperialism As the Self-Destructive Outgrowth of Capitalism. Tukhachevsky joined the Central Volga People’s Army the very day it was founded, and was surprised when his previous rank as a cavalry officer was restored. His valour (he personally led not one but two charges against a Tsarist machine-gun as though it was the summer of 1914) came to Brusilov’s notice, and after being wounded when his horse was shot out from under him he received a promotion. Discharged from hospital the day after Second Borodino, Brigadier General received command of the Moscow garrison. Declaring his “total devotion to the people’s government”, he ordered a “state of heightened emergency” in the city. Banners called for the people to “mobilise in the name of Comrades Lenin and Zinoviev, and of Provisional President Kerensky lest the Tsarists crush you underfoot”. Tukhachevsky put Muscovites to work digging trenches and carrying supplies, and reopened the city’s arms factories. The people grumbled, but the alternative was frightening enough they obeyed willingly. He installed newfound military discipline in the Moscow garrison, building an esprit de corps while quietly reinforcing the power of officers at the expense of the soldier’s councils. After inspecting the garrison on 15 August 1919, Brusilov was so impressed he made Tukhachevsky a full general, second-in-command of the entire Central Volga People’s Army. His methods spread to all the major cities under Republican control. Provisional President Kerensky was too far away to fully understand what was happening in Moscow. He didn’t fully realise that, blinded by his dazzling skill, Brusilov was grooming a protege whose first loyalty was to Marxism, not to the Republic. Tukhachevsky had wanted to launch a relief expedition during the siege of Petrograd, but Brusilov- believing the capital lost- demurred. Tukhachevsky spent several months integrating the North Caucasus, overseeing the transit of supplies and trying to bring Alexander Antonov's peasant bands up to scratch. The experience had opened the general's eyes. Watching men labour all day to keep others from starving had taught him about logistics; hearing the proletarian Antonov's grievances had taught him a thing or two about politics. Restored to Moscow when Brusilov flew to Petrograd, Tukhachevsky was the natural choice to succeed him.

The Republican heroes of the day, Mikhail

Nikolayevich Tukhachevsky and Kliment Yefrevomich Voroshilov, photographed shortly after the end of the civil war.​

Aware of what the Central Volga armies were capable of, Tukhachevsky declared Brusilov's plan to attack south a "singularly unambitious idea". The further attacks in the Caucasus were good, but he intended to advance northwards, where alongside the Finns, he would drive the Tsarists from their centres of power before the onset of winter. Tukhachevsky valued surprise, and went to great lengths to make the enemy think he was aiming south. He kept his communication with Petrograd brief, and had agents posing as defectors feed the Tsarists misinformation. Surviving telegrams from Tsarist commanders demonstrate his success: all speak of the need for vigilance in the Caucasus while ignoring the North.

Tukhachevsky's plan was ambitious, but he knew he was capable.

Before his untimely death, Alexei Brusilov had designed the Republican battle-plan for the southern theatre around resources. Eastern Ukraine housed a significant amount of industry that could augment the Republican war machine. It was compressed in a small geographic area and was close to the frontline. The second thrust was more ambitious. Tukhachevsky wanted to drive down the western shore of the Caspian Sea and capture the oilfields of Chechnya and Azerbaijan. The grain of the North Caucasus, the oil of the southern reaches, and industry of the national heartland, would make the Republican machine invincible. Though Tukhachevsky yearned for combat, his job was in Moscow. As a skilled strategist and staff officer, he needed to look at things with detachment, and from a distance. Besides, the revolution needed him. Losing Brusilov had been bad enough; losing him would be worse.

Tukhachevsky had absolute confidence in his subordinates. Kliment Voroshilov was assigned to conquer his birthplace, eastern Ukraine. Ideally, his attachment to the land would help Voroshilov present himself as a liberator, not a conqueror. He'd been too absorbed in radical politics for a command in the Great War, but had distinguished himself during the Brusilov Offensive. Voroshilov was a consummate professional, whose knowledge of his job was matched only by his personal courage and political reliability. The other man was rather different. Semyon Budyonny had joined the cavalry to escape the family farm, and achieved glory (if not substantial success) as an officer in both Manchuria, Poland, and the South Caucasus. His experience with the region and aggressive nature recommended him to Tukhachevsky.

Both had their work cut out for them.

Tukhachevsky's offensive began on the first of August 1920. Over a million men, many of them peasant conscripts, stood behind a frontline half the length of the old German front. Conditions in the west largely resembled the old front. Four days after the attack began, Grand Duke Mikhailovich named Baron Pyotr Wrangel "Commander-in-Chief of the Southern Armies". It fell to the eccentric nobleman to halt the tide. His task was easiest in the west, where Voronezh, Luhansk, and Rostov formed "anchors" for the front. Having predicted they'd face attack, Wrangel had fortified the cities as best he could, even though fighting elsewhere had eaten into his supplies. Voroshilov was no fool, and rather than attacking the cities head-on he bypassed them. Defeating the local Tsarist armies first would let him conquer the cities at leisure; becoming bogged down in sieges would serve only the enemy. Voroshilov struck hard and fast, and with intelligence. Rather than force a crossing of the River Don, Voroshilov moved his main force to the one major Republican-controlled crossing. Pavlovsk was a medium-sized town which Alexander Antonov had delivered to the Republicans in the summer. Its bridge over the great river made it valuable, and the Tsarist garrison had fought hard for it. Now, an infantry brigade and fighter squadron protected the town- and more importantly, the bridge. Best of all, it was equidistant between Voronezh and Luhansk.

Pavlovsk thus became the lynchpin of Voroshilov's attack. Infantry and cavalry burst through into open countryside, heading due west. Bright summer sun baked the Russian steppe. Voroshilov drove due west, creating a Republican 'bulge' in the line. Every day gave the Tsarists a few more miles of flank to cover and a little more confusion as to his objective. Kharkov was the ultimate goal, but he could just as easily wheel north to envelop Voronezh, or south to Luhansk. Caution was Wrangel's watchword- committing to a fixed battle with Voroshilov would deplete his reserves. Intelligence and common sense told Wrangel his foe was looking after his flanks; cutting him off wouldn't be easy. Thus, Wrangel pulled back, harassing the advancing Republicans and holding local strongpoints, but not committing to a pitched battle. By the middle of the month, this strategy was paying off. Though Voroshilov had advanced eighty miles, he hadn't taken anything of strategic value. Kharkov wasn't in immediate danger, and the Republican forces in front of Voronezh and Luhansk were there to defend, not attack.

It was time for a counterattack.

Wrangel spent the last two weeks of August in his headquarters, planning. He was confident- though not certain- that Kharkov would hold. The city was well-fortified, and he had no plans to redeploy its garrison. Besides, if worst came to worst, there was plenty of steppe east of the city to trade for time. Since his position wasn't seriously threatened, Wrangel saw no reason to remain passively defending. Since the enemy had punched a salient in his front, he would return the favour. A swift, sharp strike south of Voroshilov's army would reclaim the initiative, threaten to outflank the Republicans, and secure Luhansk. Grand Duke Mikhailovich gave his blessing after Wrangel promised to complete the task without extra reinforcements.

The counteroffensive began on the twenty-eighth. Having achieved tactical surprise, Wrangel quickly blew past the enemy screening force. His men were in Millerovo, four miles behind the lines, by dusk. While the need to guard against Voroshilov's southern flank (Wrangel's north) left his attack less powerful than his foe's, Wrangel still stunned the enemy. Voroshilov was forced to march units across sixty miles of countryside, severely weakening his own offensive. Cavalry formed the base of the units sent south; they were faster than infantry, especially in the open steppe. They couldn't stem the tide, though. Wrangel widened his salient to further strain Voroshilov's flanks- the more open steppe the enemy had to cover, the harder it'd be to amass a proper reserve. After two weeks, his men had penetrated fifty miles. Behind his success, though, lurked uncertainty. Where was he to go? Voroshilov's main force was still northwest of him. Stripping forces from Ukraine meant the army would face light opposition if it marched westwards, making it a very real threat. Turning north to cut Voroshilov off seemed the obvious choice. Yet at the same time, Wrangel had penetrated deep into the Republican North Caucasus. Decisive success might not only deprive the enemy of his breadbasket, but isolate the Republican armies advancing on the oilfields. Tsaritsyn- hastily renamed Volgograd by the Republicans (3)- was only two hundred kilometres away. Alternatively, Wrangel told himself, he could turn south and chase the Republican armies in the South Caucasus. The euphoria of victory blinded him to his own comparative weakness, and the sheer size of the Russian steppe.

Time was running out; his opponent's next move was already in the works.

Voroshilov had, he freely admitted after the war, been caught off-guard. Wrangel's light opposition had misled him into overestimating his own strength. He'd guarded the base of his salient, but not the surrounding territory, and should have known better. Voroshilov had no intention of giving up, though, and as the days wore on got a handle on the situation. Wrangel, he believed, had struck too far south. Though the Tsarist faced lighter opposition there and didn't have to cross the Donets, he also wasn't striking Voroshilov's supply lines. Three main road and rail junctions connected the Republican army to Moscow: Boguchar to the south, Kalach to the northeast, and Pavlovsk- his jump-off point. Pavlovsk and Kalach were on the opposite end of the Donets from Wrangel; only Boguchar was threatened. Yet, Wrangel's northern flank was seventy miles south of the town. Voroshilov didn't know what his opponent was aiming for, only that he'd erred.

He didn't intend to give Wrangel time to fix his mistake.

Voroshilov explained all this to Tukhachevsky on 14 September, beginning with a request. His plan required the total commitment of his forces, including those guarding his rear. If Tukhachevsky could release a handful of infantry divisions from the strategic reserve to protect the three crucial villages, he'd be most grateful. Tukhachevsky consented, and Voroshilov explained his plan. The senior Republican commander followed along with a map and pencil in his Moscow bunker. "Kliment Yefremovich", he breathed, face glowing, "I knew I could trust you!" Reserves moved to cover the Republican rear, Voroshilov reorganised his own men, and the counterattack began forty-eight hours later.

Voroshilov and Tukhachevsky shared a belief in what would later be called 'deep penetration theory'. It resembled Germany's Hutierkrieg tactics which had shown their worth in the Great War and Danubia: cut through the enemy lines to wreck havoc in the rear. Tukhachevsky's ideas were better suited to a nation of peasant armies, cavalrymen, and endless steppe. Whereas the Germans concentrated fire on one small break-through point, the Russian commander believed in attacking on as wide a front as possible to prevent a proper reserve from forming. These principles had certainly been used before in the Russian Civil War, but military historians cite this counteroffensive as the seed from which deep penetration theory would later grow.

Pyotr Wrangel and his men were about to become the lab rats for a new experiment in military history.

Voroshilov attacked south at dawn on 17 September. On Tukachevsky's advice, he'd divided his force in two. The first group- based at the hamlet of Milove, at the very southern tip of his conquests- was to smash south towards Luhansk, but not to get bogged down in urban fighting. It was the action of moving south that mattered, Voroshilov had told his subordinates, the town was just a useful landmark. The second group had the more ambitious objective. Based a few miles northwest of Milove, it was to march due south, wrap around west of Luhansk, and keep going as far as possible. This would trap Wrangel behind two armies, leaving the Tsarists near-defenceless in eastern Ukraine.

For once, it worked. Wrangel had committed the same errors as Voroshilov- forging ahead without securing his flanks. However, he lacked Voroshilov's rear support and Tukhachevsky's strategic reserves. "The explosion to which we awoke on that day", recalled a Tsarist prisoner's memoirs, "told us what was coming. Something entirely outside our experience, something too large for our efforts, individual or collective, to push back." The Republican armies were imperfectly equipped, and tactical-level leadership varied, but it was nothing the Tsarists didn't face. Elan might not be a substitute for more tangible factors, but it gave the Republicans an edge over their foes on that day. Just as he'd forced Voroshilov to do, Wrangel halted his attack to patch up his flank. And just like Voroshilov's dismounted cavalrymen, they'd been given an impossible task. It wasn't courage that was lacking, but supplies and defensible positions. Focusing on the eastern Republican column gave the western one free rein and vice versa. Deciding it was hopeless, the Tsarist commander withdrew to Luhansk. With Wrangel pulling his men out west, ideally the city could hold out long enough for the main army to flee. Instead, just as Voroshilov and Tukhachevsky had planned, the western column blazed past and wrapped around his south, while the eastern one put the city under siege.

Wrangel was trapped.

The fearsome-looking Tsarist supremo, Baron Pyotr Wrangel

Though the Tsarist commander declared his resolve to fight on, he was pragmatic. Every day his isolated forces resisted would throw lives away to no end. The spectre of his men mutinying before the Republicans crushed his pocket kept him awake. Halfway through October, with the dreaded Russian winter winds blowing in from Siberia, Wrangel opened negotiations with Voroshilov. If the Republicans would spare his life, and those of his men, he'd lay down his arms. Voroshilov eagerly accepted, disarming the Tsarist soldiers before offering them a choice: spending the rest of the war in captivity, or joining the Republican army. Most chose the latter. Wrangel himself was taken to Samara, where he spent the rest of the war in a comfortable house arrest. His surrender was catastrophic for the Tsarists. Aside from the hefty Kharkov garrison, only politically-oriented scratch militias protected Ukraine.

Had Wrangel remained on the defensive, the Tsarist breadbasket would be much more secure.

***​

The campaign in the Caucasus went less smoothly. Whereas Voroshilov was operating in a relatively small area, Semyon Budyonny's forces were spread out all across the Caucasus. Grozny was closer to Budyonny's start line than Kharkov to Voroshilov's, but Baku and Batumi might've been on the far end of the moon. Differences between the two commanders compounded this. Whereas Voroshilov knew how to translate a strategic goal into specific tactical and operational steps, all Budyonny saw was a name on a map, to be conquered... somehow. Budyonny's planning was less focussed than Voroshilov's, contained fewer specific instructions for field commanders, and most ominously, ignored the possibility of a major enemy counterattack. Brusilov had been planning to attack in the North Caucasus before his untimely death, and there were large (by Russian Civil War standards) reserves and supply dumps waiting for him. Though this was helpful, it also told the enemy where the blow would fall and cost him surprise.

Blissfully ignorant, Semyon Budyonny sent his men ahead on 28 July 1920, and got off to a promising start. Tsarist commander Mikhail Drozdovsky was ready for him and made the same calculation as Wrangel. Road and rail links mattered; miles of empty steppe didn't. Rostov, Svyatoy (4), and Stavropol kept their garrisons, but the rest of the western Caucasus was stripped bare. Drozdovsky knew if he was wrong, the whole region would collapse, but believed the gamble was worth it. These reinforcements gave the Republicans hell on the road to Grozny.

Before the war, people had avoided Kochubey where possible. The destitute North Caucasian village, which seemed not to have changed since Napoleon, personified boredom and bleakness. Its one redeeming feature was that it lay en route to Baku. Now, that made it some of the most coveted land in Russia. Budyonny's men who hurled themselves across the Dagestani highlands met stiff defences. Drozdovsky wasn't about to cede the most important road junction for forty miles without a fight, and committed reserves only days into the fight. Unable to hack their way in, Budenny's infantry took great losses before the general had a plan.

Low-lying steppe turns to marsh as it nears the Caspian Sea. Believing it impenetrable, the Tsarists hadn't bothered fortifying it. Humans couldn't traverse it on foot and be ready to fight, but Budyonny had always believed in the power of the horse. On 14 August, a cavalry regiment saddled up and waded through the muck. It was miserable going, and many animals died of exhaustion. Yet, the Republicans emerged on terra firma the next day, with Kochubey's supply lines lying miles away like low-hanging fruit. Cavalry charged across the steppe, sabres swinging. The threat of encirclement forced Drozdovsky to pull troops from the fighting front. These men pieced the lines on the map room back together, but nothing could recapture the initiative. Two weeks after the cavalry maneouvre began, Budyonny's weary men entered Kochubey. Against the advice of his field commanders, Budenny continued the attack. Fighting had left the all-important road- the whole reason for going after Kochubey- useless. Supplying an advance south would be difficult until it was repaired. However, the general pushed his men on. Sacrificing initiative for something as petty as logistics was no way to win a war!

Hungry Republican troops had a few ideas as to what their commander should've done with his beloved "initiative". They needed to supplant their scant rations with requisitioning, but this not only wasted time which should've been spent fighting or marching, it alienated people from the Republican cause. When Tarumovka and Areshevka, both twenty-five miles south of Kochubey, fell at the end of September, Republican troops turned the place upside down looking not for political prisoners or wealth, but food.

"They appeared as starving men", wrote one Dagestani girl, "whose sole concern was to keep themselves alive so as to slaughter more men- this, evidently, being their main goal on this earth. Did they know that whatever they ate came at our expense, that we would go hungry to satisfy their needs? I do not know. But I am certain that those who realised this did not care. We were simply objects in the way, people to be marginalised or enslaved, so that the homeland could be made profitable... These Kerenskyite skeletons saw only the Romanov emblem on the patches of the other side. They were blind to the fact that the other men were just skeletons too... If this is what the homeland has come to, I envy the old. Better still, I envy the dead. Not to worry: I am sure I shall soon see them face to face."

Tukhachevsky summoned Budyonny to Volgograd on 20 September for a talking-to. He pulled no punches, contrasting Budenny's perfomance with Voroshilov's. While the latter had just trapped Wrangel's army with beautiful flexibility, Budyonny had captured only a few worthless villages while destroying his supply lines and hemorrhaging men. The Republican supremo was in a foul mood: he needed to monitor the fighting in eastern Ukraine and didn't have time to waste cleaning up after Budyonny. If he'd chosen the wrong subordinate, there were other men itching for the job. Tukachevsky pointed out similarities between the deep-penetration tactics Voroshilov had used against Wrangel and Budyonny's cavalry maneouvre through the swamps. He still had faith, but couldn't run on promises. If Budyonny could get the plan for his next attack on Tukhachevsky's desk in twenty-four hours, all would be well. True to form, Budenny presented his plan the next day. Massed cavalry, reinforced with armoured cars, would attack the west of the Tsarists, hoping to turn their flank. Republican forces could then advance down the road towards the Terek River; a natural stop line. "You had best not disappoint", the commander growled, but his tone softened. "This is reasonable, my man. Your men are brave and in good hands. Thus, I know you will not disappoint.

Tukhachevsky's real views are shown by a letter he wrote to Kerensky: it might be time for some infiltration behind the scenes in case things went awry.

Events moved too fast for Budyonny, though. Drozdovsky was about to seize the initiative and force him on the defensive. His coming offensive would go ahead, but it would end up as the disappointment Tukhachevsky had warned against. Part of this is attributable to Budyonny's own shortcomings. The general's very real valour and pursuit of the initative weren't matched by the lessons of the Great War. Budenny saw the glory of cavalry charges, blaring of trumpets, and proud uniforms as the essence of victory, not logistics, artillery, and training. Though he was hardly alone in this, his love of tradition and single-minded aggressiveness eventually became vices costing lives under his command and battlefield success. That dynamic certainly played out over the coming autumn's fighting. Another piece is more simple: the general's intelligence was poor. Agents behind the lines were valuable but couldn't work miracles, and simply hadn't realised Drozdovsky's true plans. Budenny had thus far battled a foe who, while resilient, was passive and defensive. We can only blame him for basing his offensive on this pattern with modern hindsight.

At first glance, Drozdovsky's actions thus far are hard to explain. Namely: he took no action. Tsarist troops fought valiantly but never attacked. Drozdovsky's intelligence must've had an idea how poor Budyonny's supply situation was, and the commander must've guessed that a counterattack would meet light resistance. Angry correspondence from Grand Duke Mikhailovich shows the Tsarist leaderhip's opinion. Why was Drozdovsky standing on the defensive? Taking punches wouldn't win the war, after all. Why had he watched passively as Wrangel's army collapsed? In fact, Drozdovsky had a simple plan: to let geography work for him. He saw the same map as his enemy. The Terek River was only a few miles south of the fighting front; the northermost peaks of the Caucasus Mountains weren't far behind. Grozny and Baku lay south of these prime obstacles. All he needed to do was not lose; Budenny had to hack through the mountains. Lavishing surplus manpower on such a simple defence would be wasteful. Far better to put those men to work.

For all his success against Pyotr Wrangel, Voroshilov had made a cardinal error: he'd left Rostov in Tsarist hands. The Black Sea port housed tens of thousands and controlled the mouth of the River Don. Prioritising the eastern oilfields above the port was reasonable, but letting the enemy build it into a redoubt was an error. In the days before Budenny's summons to Volgograd, Drozdovsky had begun reinforcing the port. If he played his cards right, he could smash the Republican position in the northwest Caucasus while Budenny's men bled on the Terek.

Drozdovsky quite reasonably waited till Budyonny struck south before moving. This enabled him to see just what his opponent had committed to the fight. Strange as it sounds, the force of his enemy's blow pleased him. Terek-Mekteb and Korneyvo, nearly fifty miles west of the main road south, were in enemy hands by the start of October. Meanwhile, Tsarist troops to the east faced renewed pressure. Drozdovsky feared enemy cavalry might slip across the Terek in the west or trap his men north of the river, but kept a cool head. His men followed orders and retreated across the river, demolishing the bridges behind them. As per their commander's plan, Budenny's cavalry in the west focussed on flanking the Tsarists in the east, not crossing the Terek independently. Ten days of fighting convinced Drozdovsky the enemy had failed (even if they didn't know it yet). The strategic reserve wouldn't be needed for emergencies in the east, and could go ahead with its attack.

Tsarist forces erupted from Rostov on 9 October. Though his armies were closer to Ukraine than the Caucasus, Drozdovsky was more interested in the latter. Ukraine was, at least temporarily, a lost cause- the North Caucasus wasn't. Drozdovsky put geography to work for him here, too. Rostov was ideal to attack from because it was where the Don met the sea. Control of it provided control of both banks of the great river. Highlands north of the city provided a natural line for the offensive to follow.

Twenty miles northeast of Rostov, Novocherkassk was the obvious first target. Tsarist forces advanced out of the suburb of Aksay up a minor tributary of the same name. Had they had to cross the Don, the Tsarists would've taken far longer to reach the city. As it was, they crossed the fifteen miles of gentle hills in two days while bombarding the town. The garrison resisted Drozdovsky's advance scouts, but once the main force arrived suddenly developed a newfound reverence for the House of Romanov. Most of the men followed their commander into the Tsarist ranks. Meanwhile, second-rate infantry advanced eastwards across the north bank of the Don, clearing out pockets of Republican resistance. Having opened the offensive well, Drozdovsky faced a key decision. Would he keep going north into the North Caucasian breadbasket, and hopefully driving a wedge between Ukraine and the Caucasus? Or would he turn his army southeast and march deep into the rear of the Republican armies lunging at the oilfields? Logistics dictated the former. Marching through endless miles of steppe, creating a wide-open flank, was a recipe for disaster. Besides, the forces to the east could fend for themselves well enough. Drozdovsky thus turned his force north, towards Shakty. The advance on that town was fundamentally the same as that on Novocherkassk: a few days of marching under constant light opposition, followed by a general surrender and mopping-up operations. Artillery blew away fears that the Republicans would fight a long delaying battle halfway between the towns at Persianovsky while bringing up reinforcements. One week of fighting had carried Tsarist arms forward over forty miles- and Drozdovsky had no intention of giving up yet.

The Tsarist commander had struck too far west to directly affect the men dying on the River Tivek. Losing Novocherkassk and Shakty didn't threaten to outflank units over four hundred miles away. Yet, Drozdovsky was thinking on a much larger scale. His move was not tactical, but operational. In a certain sense, his striking deep far from the active front resembled Tukhachevsky's burgeoning deep-penetration theories. Rapid movement to create a fresh crisis diverted Republican units and sucked up Tukhachevsky's reserves. More than that, Budyonny's focus on his offensive blinded him to the threat of enemy action elsewhere. Drozdovsky's move may have been tactically irrelevant to a far-flung theatre, but it achieved strategic surprise- and caught the foe off-guard. Budenny did exactly what Drozdovsky had hoped: he cancelled the offensive against the River Tivek line to throw every man he could at the new danger. The general order to halt went out at dusk on 18 October; reserves and rear-area units began marching to railway stations that night. When every hour seemed key to stemming the crisis in the west, having torn up every road and rail line in sight seemed foolish. Budyonny could cancel his offensive at the stroke of a pen, but he couldn't get the men where they needed to go. While officers muttered obscenities about the rail system in the North Caucasus, the enemy kept moving. Cancelling the offensive against the River Tivek line was reasonable, but it also ceded the initiative to the enemy. Tsarist troops counter-attacked at dawn on the 19th, having spent the night bringing up supplies unmolested. Despite Republican weakness, things didn't go as hoped. Tsarist numerical inferiority wasn't an issue on defence, but it limited their offensive capabilities. The local commander wisely called the attack off after eighteen hours lest he waste men needed to defend. Subsequently, the eastern Caucasus became a quiet sector: the Tsarists were happy to defend while the Republicans lacked the strength to push forward. With the frontline well north of the oilfields, Budyonny had failed.

Catastrophe in the west cast disappointment in the east into the shade. Drozdovsky's forces entered Ust-Donetskii on the last day of October, quickly fording a north-running tributary of the Don which might've held them up. Valiant Republican reserves did their best to stem the tide, mounting local counteroffensives from nearby villages. Much as he wanted to, Tukhachevsky decided against a full-scale counterattack. Voroshilov's forces in Eastern Ukraine needed to strike a difficult balance between pursuing their own offensive goals and preventing a Tsarist thrust northwest. Voroshilov was building up a tactical reserve to eventually move on Rostov, while Tukhachevsky was building his own reserve in the bend of the Don. Russia's endemic supply problems hampered the training and organising of these forces. Continued fighting in the north, the threats to the Central Volga from the west and east, and the political situation with Finland limited the ability of the Republicans to shift forces south. Tukhachevsky couldn't know when the next emergency would develop, and always needed some uncommitted strategic reserve. Trading space for time was demoralising, and looked bad on a map, but it was the best option. Drozdovsky, meanwhile, was fast becoming a victim of his own success. His men had advanced rapidly over well-defended terrain over the past month. Yet, the Russian Civil War was a hard time to be a logistician. Autumn raspitua turned roads into seas of mud which neither wheel nor hoof could penetrate. When their rations wore out, Drozdovsky's men turned to the land for sustenance. Worse was yet to come- the second winter of war. Though the North Caucasus is milder than Moscow or Petrograd, Drozdovsky knew he couldn't fight in the depths of December. He had to find a suitable stop line in the next month or face defeat.

There was an obvious target. Drozdovsky knew he could reach it, and Tukhachevsky was certain he could hold it. One thing was certain: thousands of lives rested on success or failure.

Comments?

(1) To be explained later on... doing so here would destroy the narrative.
(2) The region is rich in coal- no?
(3) Not OTL, but it seems entirely reasonable.
(4) Known, ironically enough, as Budyonnovsk on my map. I'm assuming it was named after the commander (which obviously wouldn't be the case in 1920), and Wikipedia says it was once known as Svyatoy, so... I'm going with that.

 

[Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth]

Apologies for the low quality-- this was the best I could do. I used these maps to help write the above so hopefully they'll make everything a bit clearer.

#1: Frontlines in Eastern Ukraine

#2: Map of the area in the Caucasus where Budyonny attacks

#3: Map of the area in where Drozdovsky's attack goes in

 

[Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth]

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Verdun On the Volga​

"They have found their winter line, sir. And they shall stay frozen in it for quite some while!"
-A subordinate of Mikhail Tukhachevsky's to the general.

"The last battalion will decide the issue!"
-Anonymous


Volgograd had been called Tsaritsyn before the war. After Antonov's peasant armies had handed it over to them in summer 1920, the Republicans had renamed it for obvious reasons; the Tsarists didn't recognise the change. Yet, a stop line by any other name would be as good a strategic objective. Volgograd sat astride the Volga River, while being less than forty miles from the Don. If Drozdovsky could capture the city before winter, he could reinforce and resupply while cold paralysed both sides, and be in a good position entering spring 1921. "Just a hundred and sixty mile dash", he told his staff in the map room, "and then we will have ourselves a fine Russian Christmas!"

Many would go to their graves for the general's holiday plans.

The intense preparation both sides put into the battle neatly confirms what we've known for a century: that the Russian Civil War would be decided where the Don meets the Volga. A head-on trial of strength between Mikhail Tukhachevsky and Mikhail Drozdovsky would grant the winner control of Russia's river network, ensuring victory within months.

Or so the narrative goes.

In fact, neither side was particularly concerned with grand strategy. Tukhachevsky saw the same map as Drozdovsky and could easily infer the foe's plans. Just like the Tsarists, the Republicans needed to win before winter. Drozdovsky might've decided on the battlefield, but Tukhachevsky was damn sure he'd decide the outcome. His first decision was to make his stand in Volgograd itself, not on the approaches to it. With such a short timetable, every day Drozdovsky had to march his men was a bonus. Even though they'd come back to bite him later, sacrificing men to doomed but useful last stands in key locations and sabotaging lines of communication would lengthen the interlude until the battle. Not only would that buy time to reinforce Volgograd, it'd make Drozdovsky spent just that much longer in the field. Accordingly, while some advance units moved into the five largest villages west of Volgograd and others demolished roads, three-fourths of Tukhachevsky's precious reserves hunkered down in Volgograd. Novyy Rogachik became Tukhachevsky's main defence point. It housed multiple bridges across the River Don, and yet was only twenty miles west of the River Volga. As November wore on and the days grew shorter, Tukhachevsky moved into an underground bunker in Volgograd proper, appearing for suitably heroic propaganda shots. Civilians in essential industries spent fourteen hours a day at work; able-bodied women and children were mobilised to dig trenches and lay sandbags. Everyone else was evacuated upriver to Moscow. Men began donning greatcoats, wrapping themselves with blankets, and heating their rations over fires. Sergei Prokofiev travelled to the city in early December to compose his score "Volgograd": a suitably epic piece which was soon being blasted for morale purposes. Kerensky, Lenin, and Zinoviev were pre-occupied in Petrograd (and had no desire to suffer Brusilov's fate travelling over Tsarist held territory), but other leading political figures paid brief visits to the city- many of whom belonged to the Soviets.

Whether by accident or design, the Battle of Volgograd was going to be one hell of a fight.

Historians consider the battle to have begun on 8 December 1920, at Kalach. It's a slightly arbitrary date, given that Drozdovsky had been advancing on the city for weeks, but Tukhachevsky considered the village part of Volgograd's outer defences. He popularised the date in his memoirs, and gradually historians have come to accept it. Regardless, the strategic value of Kalach was obvious; it was there that the River Don diverged into north-south and east-west branches. (1) A sturdy bridge ran eastwards while a marshy, unpaved isthmus provided a subpar means of crossing south. Though Tukhachevsky wanted to draw his foe into Volgograd proper, this was a position worth holding, at least temporarily. Ignoring the advice of his aides, Tukhachevsky refused to destroy the bridge. He took much criticism for it at the time, but subsequent events proved he had a plan. Short-term, though, keeping the bridge up undermined the defence of Kalach. Intense fighting on the tenth saw the bridge fall into Tsarist hands, making the end only a matter of time. Tsarist troops advanced east over the north-south estuary, while advancing up the northern bank of the east-west one. After the commander of Kalach gave himself up on the 12th, Drozdovsky's men occupied the isthmus, though they quickly encountered entrenched Republican troops who prevented them from attacking south.

Though the Republicans had lost Kalach, their retreat had been orderly. Survivors conducted a fighting retreat to the next pre-prepared position, just west of Marinovka. It was one of ten thousand generic Russian steppe towns: dirt roads, animals running about, hardworking peasants who'd managed to eke out a living in this barren soil despite the calamities washing over them. It was the sort of town Westerners would call "quaint", which they'd idealise with just a hint of patronisation. (2) Of course, it also sat astride a fork in the road, with one branch heading east towards Volgograd, the other turning south and crossing the east-west estuary of the Don. Strategy, not scenery, made it worth sacrificing a few lives for and destroying it in the process. As at Kalach, holding the town permanently wasn't tenable, but Tukhachevsky didn't care. This time, he did destroy a bridge: Republican artillery demolished the crossing over the east-west Don. Whether Drozdovsky realised it or not, a pattern was emerging: the Republicans were protecting the south bank of the Don like a bear and her cubs. Heavy snow blanketed the combatants, freezing rations and cartridges. Ice had to be scraped off of shells before they could fire. Horses lost hooves to frostbite after trudging through thick snow day after day. Friendly fire was a terrible problem for, as one Republican veteran remarked only half-jokingly, "God made sure our uniforms were all white as snow!"

And the Tsarists weren't even to Volgograd yet.

Marinovka's fall on the twentieth changed nothing. The Republican forward units were nothing more than frozen skeletons facedown in red snow; the Tsarists had suffered horribly in advancing this far. Drozdovsky was forced to consider whether or not he'd blundered. Could his men still hope to reach Volgograd, and what state would they be in on arrival? Was reaching a pushpin on a map important enough to warrant wrecking his army? Withdrawal to a winter line in milder climes would ensure that the nucleus of his army lived to fight another day. Yet, withdrawal would carry its own price. Tukhachevsky, for all the harm he was doing, remained on the defensive. Pulling back might invite him to counter-attack, with potentially disastrous consequences. Drozdovsky's aides retorted that if the threat of a counterattack was so great, it was best to pull out immediately. The blow, after all, could fall any day! Politics ended up deciding the argument. Withdrawing would be a sign of weakness. Not only would it invite angry telegrams from Grand Duke Mikhailovich, it would tell the Russian people there was limits to Romanov power. "Only by fighting on and bearing any price can we hope to reunite the Rodina." With these words, Drozdovsky ensured that there would be no backing down. Volgograd would be a fight to the finish.

Every day brought the Tsarists closer to Volgograd. Aside from two villages on the south bank, Komsomolskiy and Bereslavka, Republican resistance was meagre. Drozdovsky's cavalry outflanked the defenders of Novyy Rogachik on the 18th and took Biryuzovyy without a fight on the 25th. (3) Compared to the frozen hell of Kalach and Marinovka, this was easy going, and Drozdovsky drew exactly the wrong conclusion: Tukhachevsky had suffered as much as he had, and the Republicans couldn't resist. The tenacious defence of the southern bank of the Don should've made him realise his error. As it was, Drozdovsky pushed his men forward into the trap.

The good times came to an end on 31 December at Gorkovskii. As a suburban outskirt of Volgograd, it enjoyed Tukachevsky's full protection. Volgograd's painstakingly constructed defences were put to the test and found satisfactory. Fully supplied machine-guns, worth more than pieces of gold in a country desperately short of industrial capacity, scythed Tsarist infantry from behind the safety of barbed wire. Cavalry found that the mounts which spared them from trudging through the snow made them targets. Twenty-four hours had transformed the fighting from the Marne to Verdun, from Gettysburg to Petersburg.

This was the new order of business.

Tukachevsky could guess how mangled Drozdovsky's forces were by reviewing his own men and knew that unlike him, Drozdovsky didn't have the luxury of defending fortified positions. The gravity of the situation was obvious; there was no more space to trade for time. It was time to make good on his commitment to stand and fight on the Volga. However, Tukachevsky didn't yet plan for a complete battle of annihilation with strategic consequences. A tactical victory was good enough. Yet, as Russian Orthodox Christmas came and went, Republican troops began a piecemeal withdrawal into the city. The fighting was no different from the failed offensives of 1915, or the slog of St. Polten (4). Even if he'd wanted to, Tukachevsky couldn't have extracted himself... meaning, neither could Drozdovsky. Both sides were locked in a war of attrition... except he enjoyed fixed defences and superior supplies.

Tukachevsky realised he could wipe Drozdovsky from the map if he was willing to bleed.

Erich von Falkenhayn had devised his tactics at the Battle of Verdun to maximise French casualties. His "mincing machine" had chewed up division after division, bleeding the French white as they tried to plug the gap. His main goal had not been to break across the Meuse- though he'd done that- but to mow the flower of French youth down until they physically could not resist. Success had an equally grave cost in German blood, and only Germany's superior strategic situation had made the losses bearable. This was exactly what Mikhail Tukachevsky set out to do in Volgograd.

"This city must become a fortress", declared his Order of the Day for 10 January 1921. "Every house, every block, every factory must be defended to the last drop of blood. The Russian people of Volgograd, who are so clearly enamoured of the liberties provided to every citizen of the Russian Republic, stand at a precipice. Your failure will mean the return of the cruelty of the House of Romanov, whose secret police, extortions, terrorists, and prisons have oppressed the Russian people for two centuries. Fight on, though you yourselves may fall, for the sake of those around you, those we have left behind in liberated portions of the country, and those who yearn for freedom. Every act of resistance, every bullet fired and sweep of the machine-gun, every toss of the grenade and every wound dressed, is a step forward for Mother Russia. You are not fighting for yourselves, you are not fighting for this city, you are fighting for a nation."

Oratory was worth its weight in gold to the illiterates in the inferno.

Lives blew away like dust on the wind. True to their commander's words, every house, block, and factory became a fortress. A platoon might establish itself in a second-story window, where two or three riflemen could peer out halfway across the city. Machine-guns could spray lead across whole streets, forcing everyone to stay in the trenches. Grenades flung from such heights could travel dozens of yards. Storming these positions was difficult: attackers inevitably came under fire from above to which they couldn't properly respond. They then had to comb through every last nook and cranny to wipe out the defenders, always on their guard lest a man leap out from a corner and blaze away. Pre-existing defences were even better: they combined the strength of field fortifications with the advantages of being build into the city itself. A concrete blockhouse sandwiched between city blocks, ringed with barbed wire and entrenched infantry was unassailable. Shells were too scarce for artillery to play a major role, though the Republicans had a slight advantage. The only saving grace was that neither side resorted to gas. Fierce winter winds ensured that no matter where they were deployed, toxins would inevitably come back at whomever used them, while neither side possessed enough gas masks to secure their men. Both Tukachevsky and Drozdovsky- to say nothing of the men they commanded- feared that the other would resort to toxins first, and there were several false alarms, but expediency (if not human decency) kept them in the canisters. The meat grinder was effective enough as it was, and by the third week of January, total casualties ran at just under 80,000. For a nation running dry on manpower, this was truly horrific. Tukachevsky's mincing machine was working.

Republican troops scramble between one bit of cover and the next

Worse still was the cold. Verdun had been fought in the pleasantly cool French springtime; here, the thermometer hovered near zero degrees. Men on watch against enemy snipers stood in their trenches or third-storey observation posts late at night. When their comrades came to relieve them in the morning, they found a frozen corpse staring blankly, skin covered in grotesque ice crystals. Boiling hot soup became lukewarm in one minute, cold in three, and was frozen solid in ten. Wounded men lay prostrate in the road, freezing to death. Frostbite caused gangrene, requiring amputations- but not to worry, the nurses were more than happy to freeze the arm into numbness before hacking it off. While Tukachevsky's supplies came down the frigid Volga River, the Tsarists had to carry everything across frozen roads which no horse could traverse, and which more often than not were ankle-deep in snow. Food often spoiled in these low temperatures, causing starvation. The good news was that rats froze to death too, and half an hour spent on smouldering rubble could sometimes halfway cook them.

A Tsarist courier drags rations through a snowstorm

The civilians suffered worst of all despite Tukachevsky's rhetoric of defending their liberties. Some had been evacuated upriver, but those who hadn't been able or hadn't wanted to faced hell. Physically capable women, children, and the elderly (virtually all able-bodied men were fighting for one side or the other) dug trenches and carried corpses away (though they couldn't be trusted to prepare food). As they were militarily unnecessary, civilians got short shrift. Soldiers eating while civilians starved was a feature of the Russian Civil War, but here it reached its apex. Civilians quite literally received nothing. Both armies guarded their field kitchens like holy places, shooting anyone even suspected of theft. In a world where a buck private shot a first lieutenant for nabbing someone else's bread crust, no civilian even had a chance of being fed. The wonder is not that so few survived- it's that any did. A study contrasting city records from 1912 with those from 1927 shows an eighty percent decrease- bearing in mind that many moved to the city after the civil war who hadn't lived there before, and that six years had passed for the city to recover.

Death was sometimes a release. Just stick your head above the parapet, go out on patrol in only a thin shirt, or simply die charging a pillbox halfway between what had once been two greengrocer's. That would end your pain- and it might posthumously get you a shiny medal. After all, wasn't glory the most important thing in Russia these days?

Freezing Republican prisoners-of-war

Drozdovsky's dreams of a safe "winter line" had backfired spectacularly.

Just as at Verdun, both sides bled nearly equally at Volgograd. Though their fixed defences gave the Republicans an advantage early on, weeks of combat quite literally wore this down. Zeroes dulled the mind daily as the casualty figures climbed. Yet Tukachevsky remained, if not comfortable, then calm. Certain that he was wearing Drozdovsky down just as fast, Tukachevsky refused to put all his weight into the battle. It seemed odd at the time- and caused great offence to those who'd spent a month in combat- but made sense. There was only so much a fresh division or two could accomplish in the stalemated city. In exchange for capturing a few blocks or wearing down another enemy formation, Tukachevsky would've lost thousands of good men, something he couldn't afford. Thus, he placed the very last of his reserves on the far bank of the River Volga. They trained hard, occasionally spending a day or two fighting in the quiet sectors of the city, but remained in reserve till the time was right. And by the start of February, that day had arrived. Both sides were worn to a nub. Drozdovsky's force, which had so menaced the Republican front in the autumn, was a pale skeleton, a frozen corpse in Tsarist fatigues. Nor were Tukachevsky's men any better: though they held the territory, they would have stood no chance against good-quality formations. But the Republican commander didn't care. His mincing machine had done its work; he'd eliminated the Tsarist army at an acceptable price.

Now it was time to counterattack.

These precious reserves crossed the Volga at one AM on 2 February 1921. They'd been spared the horrors of the city to enhance their performance here and now. By dawn, they were over the river in force. Many had crossed quite far from the city (the bridges in Volgograd, naturally, having been destroyed), and spent the day linking up. Their task would be long and their opposition fierce, but they were ready. The smell of ashes wafting from the city reminded them of the sacrifices made by those who'd come before and the words of their commander rung in their ears.

"...You are not fighting for yourselves, you are not fighting for this city, you are fighting for a nation."

The turning point in the Russian Civil War had arrived.

Comments?
(1) Much of the geography here will be... oversimplified... lest I clutter up the chapter with excessive descriptors. Apologies in advance, and I will hopefully have another of my maps to help visualise things.
(2) And yes-- in writing the above paragraph I, too, am guilty as charged.
(3) Russian Orthodox Christmas falls on what Westerners call 7 January, owing to differences between the Julian and Gregorian calendars. (Obviously, as an American, I have all Russian events occur on the Gregorian calendar-- ie, the May Day General Strike took place on the Western 1 May, the Russian 17 April.
(4) See chapter 41, but in brief: St. Polten was wrecked during the Danubian Civil War by advancing Imperial and German forces.

 

[Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth]

Dear Readers,
I'm sorry it had to end like this. Unfortunately, Place In The Sun is now dead, and Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth will be leaving. It's got nothing to do with you, or with the competing demands of my academics. Rather, following a recent comment of Ian the Admin's about religious faith, at which I took extreme offence, I've decided that I simply no longer have a home here on AH.com. Leaving is all the more painful because of all the fun we've had together in this thread. This TL has been an absolute treat to write and I couldn't have asked for a better fanbase. It's something I'll miss very deeply. Those of you on Discord can find me under the same username.

Thank you to each and every one of you.

Would @Ian the Admin or @CalBear please lock this?

-Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth signing off.

(Oh, and PS: The Tsarists won!)
(PPS: Blessed Karl of Austria, my patron Beatus and hero of this TL, ora pro nobis!)

 

[Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth]

...And so this thread rises from the dead. After a good hard think, I reached out to Ian the Admin, apologising for demeaning AH.com and he- to his credit- agreed to let me return. For those of you who may have seen the exchange which led to my banning, suffice it to say that I have no intention of raising topics unrelated to Alternate History or deliberately stirring controversy on this Board. Enough of that nonsense in the Real World, as well as an object lesson in what happens when typing while angry. But what's past is past.

So, what's next? The short answer: I don't know. Real World obligations retain priority, but the desire to write remains strong and I have several ideas kicking around. What I will say, however, is that this TL, in its present incarnation, will not be resuming. Numerous plot holes (some large, some small) have emerged as I've done further reading over the past six months (and besides, I already spoiled the Russian Civil War on my way out the door!). Nonetheless, I will be putting fingers to keyboard over the next few days. I'm considering a Redux of this TL, with a different PoD, as well as other projects (foremost of which centres around the postwar TL-191-verse). Regardless of whatever I end up doing or whenever I end up doing it, I will absolutely post links here and strive to keep this thread open. It is an absolute joy to be back from exile and I look forward to what's to come.

-Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth

 

[Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth]

Dear Readers,
Very excited to announce that over the next couple days Place In the Sun: Redux will be born! I'll be starting off in broadly the same place (late 1914) and tweaking the PoD to root out implausibilities. I hope to deliver a version superior in terms of both writing and plausibility.

A sketch of chapter 1 is in my test thread, and you can expect to see the new thread inaugurated in a few days hence.

Suggestions, especially concerning plotlines and writing, are actively solicited.

Thanks for all the support you gave v1, and may the new Place In the Sun be everything I aspire to!


-Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth