The Red Tide

by Christopher Nicole

  A halt was called for the midday meal. Camp fires were lit, giving off more smoke than flame in the steady drizzle. Men huddled around their company samovars. However, the general officers lunched in the command car attached to the train, out of the wet and discomfort. “I wish to know General Rennenkampf’s position,” Samsanov said. “Ask him to confirm what enemy forces are opposing him.”

  Perhaps even Samsanov was feeling uneasy about the lack of opposition south of the lakes. Alexei himself went to the wireless compartment, and waited while the enquiry was tapped out by the morse key; the Russian army did not use code, and regarded the German efforts to conceal what they were doing with contempt. The answer returned very rapidly, and Alexei took it back to the command car, where Samsanov studied it. “Map!” The staff officers spread the map in front of him while he lit a cigar and his aide poured him another brandy.

  “Right Wing Sector 7b, left wing Sector 6C,” Alexei said.

  “General Rennenkampf’s right wing rests on the village of Gumbinnen, his left on the village of Darkehman, Your Excellency.” The staff officer placed a marker across the designated position.

  “But that is absurd,” Samsanov grumbled. “He has advanced not more than a mile in the past twenty-four hours.”

  “General Rennenkampf confirms that he is faced by both the German First and Seventeenth Corps, Your Excellency, and that they are retiring slowly before him.”

  “His last message only mentions a strong cavalry screen,” Alexei commented.

  “We must assume he has taken sufficient prisoners to identify the enemy forces,” Samsanov said. “I do not understand why he does not attack. Everyone knows von Prittwitz is so timid he would never stand and fight. However, as Rennenkampf is advancing, even at a mile a day, it seems obvious that they are retiring before him, hoping their cavalry will delay him. Which is just what they are doing. But really...he is fifty kilometres behind us.”

  “Does that matter, Your Honour?” asked another officer. “If he is continuing to contain the main German army, our task remains an easy one.”

  “Yes,” Samsanov agreed. “Yes.”

  As if he is trying to convince himself, Alexei thought. Because his instincts as a soldier are telling him there is something wrong. As are mine. The Germans are the finest soldiers in the world. Their General Staff is the envy of all other armies. And they have left their entire frontier unguarded, when they must know there is a Russian army south of the lakes? “Permission to take out a reconnaissance in force, General?” he said.

  “Hm,” Samsanov grunted. “Hm. Yes, you may do that, General Bolugayevski. Take a regiment of cavalry.” He turned to his adjutant. “Recommend.”

  “The Actirski Hussars, Your honour. They are the best mounted.”

  Alexei swallowed, but Samsanov was already issuing the order. “You will reconnoitre due west, that is, away from the railway, until you encounter any enemy forces, General Bolugayevski. Then you will report back to me.”

  Alexei knew he had to put Korsakov out of his mind; there was no room for personal feelings in a war. “Here, General?”

  “Wherever I am, General Bolugayevski. This army will continue its advance.”

  Alexei swallowed again, this time for no personal reason. Presuming there was an enemy in force out there, somewhere, it was military nonsense for the army to blunder forward into the mist until the exact nature and disposition of that enemy was discovered. But it was not his business to argue with his superior officer. He called for his horse. “Am I to accompany you, Your Highness?” Rotislav asked, awkward in his uniform.

  “Yes. Bring my shaving gear and a change of clothing.” Alexei mounted and rode to where the regiment of Hussars, six hundred sabres strong, awaited him. They were a smart-looking body of men, who had retained their blue breeches under their new khaki tunics, but had changed their busbies for peaked caps. They were armed both with swords and rifles and, unlike too much of the rest of the army, looked thoroughly professional. Major Korsakov saluted him, face rigidly impassive. “Our orders are to find the enemy, Major,” Alexei said.

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Korsakov raised his gloved hand, and the regiment moved forward in column of fours, Alexei, Korsakov, his adjutant, trumpeter and two staff officers out in front, Rotislav immediately behind them, while a sergeant and four troopers cantered out in front of them and indeed disappeared into the rain mist to act as an advance guard.

  “No bugle calls, Major,” Alexei reminded Korsakov. “Of course not, Your Highness.”

  Not that it would make much difference to the knowledge any enemy would have that they were approaching, Alexei reflected, as the morning became filled with the splashing of hooves and the jingle of harnesses. He could not stop himself glancing at Korsakov, who rode beside him, staring fixedly ahead. Alexei did not know if Sonia was innocent of adultery or not, but he had no doubts, judging by the reports he had received from St Petersburg naming this fellow as a regular caller at her house, that since the divorce they had slept together. This youth, he thought, for Korsakov was really hardly more than that, has held my wife naked in his arms.

  The thought made him feel quite sick. And quite angry, as well.

  They rode for some two hours, seeing nothing save already harvested fields, although it was mid-August, and occasional copses emerging from the mist, and then one of the advance guard returned to say that they were approaching a village. “Is it defended?” Korsakov asked.

  “I do not believe it is, Your Honour.”

  Korsakov looked at Alexei.

  “Assume it is defended, Major.”

  Korsakov summoned his troop captains. “Troop A will circle to the right, and assault from the north. Troop B will circle to the south and attack to the north. Troop C will follow me into the village. There will be no further orders and no bugle calls. I will advance in thirty minutes.”

  “No firing,” Alexei said. “Use steel.”

  The captains saluted and rode off to join their commands. Korsakov took out his fob watch and checked the time, then restored it to his pocket. “It is odd, do you not think, Your Highness,” he remarked, “that we have come some twenty miles and not encountered a German? We are certainly well across the border.”

  “Yes,” Alexei agreed, but did not comment further.

  The half-hour passed, and they led their men forward. They advanced with drawn swords but no shouting, and were overtaken by the noise to either side as the other troops charged in, drawing their reins to come steaming to a halt as they discovered only their own comrades. And a few terrified villagers, to be sure. But far less than there should have been, while nearly all the livestock had been driven off. There were not even any barking dogs. But there was a railway station, for the line had curved back in front of them. Alexei and Korsakov had their men dismount, and did so themselves, summoning their prisoners. “Where is the mayor?” Alexei demanded, speaking Polish.

  The men gazed at them with wide eyes, so he changed to halting German, a language he had learned at military college, but had not often used since. “The mayor has left, Your Honour,” said one of the men.

  “When did he do this?”

  “Four days ago, Your Honour.”

  “With all of your women and children and your animals,” Korsakov remarked.

  “Four days ago? Four days ago you could not have known we were coming. Why did the mayor leave?”

  The man rolled his eyes. “He was told to do so, Your Honour.”

  “By the German soldiers? So, the Germans soldiers were here four days ago. Where are they now?”

  “I do not know, Your Honour.”

  “Well, tell us how many there were,” Alexei said. “Mounted, or on foot?”

  “They were in an automobile, Your Honour.”

  Alexei frowned at him.

  “How many automobiles?” Korsakov snapped.

  “One, Your Honour.” It was Korsakov’s turn to frown.

  “You are saying that one a
utomobile containing German soldiers came to this village, and told the mayor and your women and children to leave?” Alexei asked.

  “They were officers, Your Honour. Four officers.”

  “Very good. Four officers came to your village and told you to evacuate. Was this evacuation carried out by the train?”

  “Yes, Your Honour.”

  “Were there soldiers on the train?”

  “A few guards, Your Honour.”

  “So, your village was evacuated. But some of you stayed. Why?”

  The man shuffled his feet. “We did not wish to leave our homes, Your Honour.”

  “They have clearly been left behind to act as spies,” Korsakov remarked in Russian. “We should hang the lot.”

  Alexei ignored him while he tried to work out what was happening. This village had been evacuated four days ago. If the Germans had been retreating then, they could be fifty miles away by now. But fifty miles would mean they had retreated almost into Germany proper, and certainly far beyond the lakes. All without tearing up the railway line. If they had done that, they were allowing Samsanov’s army to swing up to the north behind the troops opposing Rennenkampf, and gain an enormous, possibly a decisive, victory. So they could not have done that. Therefore...they had not torn up the railway line. There was the key. “We will camp here for the night, Major Korsakov,” he said. “I want you to send a squadron of your men north, for twenty miles.”

  “With respect, Your Highness, that will take them into the bog.”

  “Well, twenty miles or the bog, whichever is closer. They must report to us tomorrow morning what they find. And send another squadron south for twenty miles.”

  Korsakov made a movement with his hand, almost as if he wished to scratch his head. “You think the Germans are to the north of us, and to the south of us, but not in front of us, Your Highness? Would they not use the railway to advance their people?”

  “I am sure they intend to. The Germans are somewhere, Major. I am certain of that. I am also certain that they wish us to continue our advance. Thus it is up to us to find them, and find out what they are at. You will also send a galloper back to General Samsanov. I will give him a written message.”

  “May I ask what you will tell the general, Your Highness?”

  “Certainly. I am going to recommend that he halt his advance immediately, until we can give him some positive information.”

  The Russians made themselves as comfortable as they could in the abandoned village; those Germans who had remained behind were placed under guard so they could not sneak off. Alexei and Korsakov chose the mayor’s house as their quarters, although even this was hardly more than a cottage. “At least it will keep the rain off,” Alexei said, sitting before the hastily laid fire while Rotislav and Korsakov’s batman prepared supper.

  Korsakov offered him a cigar, and after a moment’s hesitation he took it. Korsakov struck the match, and then leaned back in his chair, inhaling deeply. “Do you expect my men to discover the Germans, Your Highness?” he asked.

  “I know they are there, Major. They have to be there.”

  Korsakov considered. “In that case, Your Highness, we may well be fighting a battle tomorrow.”

  “I would estimate the day after, at the earliest. Once we have established the German position and numbers, we will fall back on the army.”

  “If they allow us to. What I am trying to say, Your Highness, before we go into battle, is that I would like to apologise for any misfortune that I may have brought upon your house. And to avow before you, and in the sight of God, firstly that I am innocent of any wrongdoing with the Princess Sonia, before your divorce, and secondly, that I love her and intend to marry her the moment this war is over.”

  “Major Korsakov,” Alexei said. “The Princess Sonia no longer exists. I do not wish to hear this matter mentioned again.”

  Alexei slept heavily. But then, the ability to sleep soundly and well, no matter what the conditions or the events that might be whirling around his head, had always been one of his greatest assets. And tonight, apart from the discomfort of lying down in his wet clothes on an uncomfortable bed far too small for him and entirely lacking, despite Rotislav’s turning of the house upside down, in sheets or pillows, he was angry. The effrontery of the fellow, daring to raise Sonia’s name between them as if they were of equal rank. And now confessing that he was seeking to marry her! She might have fallen from the heights, but she could never be used as a stepping stone to higher things by a man like Korsakov.

  He was awakened to uproar, before dawn, scrambled into his boots and ran into the front room, where Korsakov was confronting a mudstained and excited trooper. “From the northern troop, Your Highness,” Korsakov said. “Repeat what you have just said to General Bolugayevski,” he commanded.

  “Germans, Your Highness. A huge number of Germans.”

  “Be specific,” Alexei said.

  “I cannot say for certain, how many, Your Highness. We heard them before we saw them, and then, when we saw them, we were ourselves seen, by a troop of uhlans. They charged us, Your Highness, and Captain Averbach commanded me to return here as quickly as possible to inform Your Highness.”

  Alexei looked at Korsakov; the fellow could just have run away. “This is a good man, Your Highness,” Korsakov said. “I am sure he is telling the truth.”

  “Very good,” Alexei said. “You saw a large number of Germans. What were they doing? Besides attacking your comrades.”

  “They were marching east, Your Highness.”

  Alexei pulled on his gloves, and heard hooves. He went outside, followed by Korsakov, and saw several horsemen galloping into the village, from the south. The lieutenant commanding them dismounted and saluted. “Verbal message from Captain Vronski, Your Highness. We have encountered a large body of Germans.”

  “Marching east?”

  “That is correct, Your Highness.”

  “Was it possible to identify any units?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. We identified the flag of the Eighteenth Saxon Light Infantry.”

  “Rotislav!”

  “Here, Your Highness.” Rotislav was delving into the knapsack to find the list provided by Russian intelligence. “The Eighteenth Saxon Light Infantry is part of General von Prittwitz’s Seventeenth Corps.”

  “But that is north of the lakes, facing our First Army,” Korsakov protested.

  “It was, Major. Mount your men.” He smiled at Korsakov’s stricken expression. “It need not be a disaster. General Samsanov will have halted by now. But we must accept a defensive battle. And we must hurry.”

  The hussars cantered out of the village and proceeded back along the road. If down to this morning they had not known the Germans were there, at least, Alexei reflected, the Germans could only just have realised they had been discovered. They would surely halt their advance to reconsider their dispositions, given that they were still some twenty miles from the Russian army. But how had they got south of the lakes without anyone knowing? Simply because Samsanov had accepted Rennenkampf’s repeated assurances that he was facing the main German army. While all the time, leaving only a cavalry screen to continue hoodwinking Rennenkampf, they had been shifting their main force to the south. If that were so, then they were being commanded by a general of high skill. He found that hard to reconcile with the tales of Prittwitz ordering panic-stricken retreats.

  “Permission to halt the column, Your Highness,” Korsakov said. Alexei looked at him in surprise. He had been entirely wound up in his thoughts. “I think I can hear something,” Korsakov explained.

  “Halt the column.”

  Korsakov raised his hand, and the horses came to a stop. Then the major looked at the major-general. There was definitely noise out there in front of them, a huge amount of noise, varying from the hissing of a steam engine through the clopping of hooves to the tramp of boots. “Germans, Your Highness?” Korsakov enquired.

  “The Germans do not have a train to the east of
us,” Alexei snapped, and kicked his horse forward. A few minutes later he was in the midst of Samsanov and his staff, while the army moved forward to either side of them. “I sent you a galloper,” Alexei said.

  “You are too cautious, Alexei Colinovich,” Samsanov said. “Your man reported you had found no enemy. To stop where there is no opposition would be criminal.”

  Alexei had a tremendous urge to tear his hair out by the roots. “I have found the enemy, General,” he said. “They are to either side of us. And as you have continued your advance, they are probably behind us now, as well.”

  “For God’s sake keep your voice down, Prince Bolugayevski, if you intend to be alarmist,” Samsanov snapped.

  “You have found our enemy,” he sneered. “Where?” Almost as if he had asked his question of the gods, there came a whine, and the first shell exploded amongst his people. It was the first of many.

  Samsanov was neither a coward nor a total incompetent; he was merely overconfident. Now he reacted with energy, commanded his men to deploy, sent his Cossacks ahead for another, equally belated, reconnaissance. But he would not retreat immediately, as Alexei begged him to. “You wish me to withdraw before an enemy I have not even seen, Prince?” he demanded. “I would be cashiered. The best form of defence is attack, is it not. We shall advance.”

  The Russian army was already disorganised, both by the shelling and the sudden discovery that they were in the midst of a battle. Staff officers, Alexei amongst them, were despatched to all units, commanding them to stand firm if attacked, but to continue the advance where possible. But all the time shells were bursting in their midst, destroying men and horses and material in a welter of blood and screaming horror. And now there came the chatter of machine guns as the opposing infantry made contact. Alexei could see the morale of the troops draining away like water from a holed bucket. They had advanced so confidently, relying on what their officers had been telling them. Now they had been struck on all sides out of the mist, by an enemy their officers had not known to be there, an enemy of whose strength they had no idea, but which naturally, unable to see in the mist and rain, they multiplied out of all proportion to the actual firepower to which they were exposed.