The Rift

by H Schmidt

  “Perhaps it was a story you read, or something someone said to you that made you imagine it, Billy.” Mother always seemed to make me want to forget. I remember I asked father to tell me about the stars, but he had gotten up after Mother had spoken. He seemed upset but I didn’t know why.

  ---

  It had been a long time since Marburg had seen so much activity. The baggage from Africa had arrived and Maria and the children eagerly watched the men as the crates were unpacked, rediscovering the familiar things that had been packed in Moshi. The newly hired servants stared wide-eyed as the zebra, leopard, and monkey skins were unpacked. They watched entranced as the great elephant tusks appeared, and awestruck at the great rhinoceros head as it was uncrated. The porters moved quickly in response to Maria’s orders. The tall, blonde officer stood beside his mother, smiling at her directing traffic like a military policeman. His sister, Maria, stood beside her brother, her arm entwined with his.

  ---

  The two knights stood at the top of the great stairs looking down on the room. “It is pity they all can’t be here, Sir Rupert. The boy must wonder if he will ever see his brother. How long has it been since that day?”

  “Fourteen years. We saw him the next year, remember? The Americans took him with them.”

  “Perhaps it is better that he is not here. He is safe in America.”

  Sir Rupert was surprised at the subdued mood of his friend. He expected him to be excited that Germany was going to war. He shrugged and said nothing, enjoying the spectacle below.

  Chapter Three

  August 19, 1914

  The general staff of the Eighth Army worked late into the night preparing for what was to come in the morning. Der Dicke was in a sour mood, confronted by the situation which he began to sense was desperate. Two Russian Armies, each the size of his own Eighth, were converging on Prussia. Keeping his own council, he thought of the last words from von Moltke. If the situation becomes untenable, do not allow the army to be trapped. Fall back to the Vistula.

  He had deployed his troops according to the situation in the field. At his disposal, he had three and one half army corps, one cavalry division, territorial brigades and garrison troops in Konigsberg. He had ordered General Scholtz and his Twentieth Corps to take positions in front of the Samsanov army to the south. General Francois’s First Corps had now taken its position in Gumbinnen, nearest the Russian First Army. General Mackensen’s Seventh Corps, General Morgen’s First Reserve Division and General Below’s Third Reserve Division were positioned at Angerapp, four hours from Gumbinnen.

  Considered entertaining by the kaiser and incompetent by von Moltke, Prittwitz felt trapped. If he retreated, the Junkers would never forgive him for abandoning Prussia. If he did not, and his army was trapped, he would be the man who opened the way for the Russian Army to enter Berlin.

  August 20

  The sun had not touched the eastern horizon when the German First Corps artillery lighted the sky. As the troops moved forward, they could feel the ground tremble through their boots. To the First Corps’ front, the Russian Army waited for the attack, surprised that only the Twenty-Eighth Division was under heavy pressure. This time, Rennenkampf was prepared for the attack he knew would come, and his artillery spotters dropped their rounds in the midst of the attackers. As the shrapnel from the exploding shells tore bodies to pieces, few in the first wave of attackers remained on their feet. As the first wave disappeared, a second took its place.

  The infantry advanced through the deadly barrage as the cavalry brigade swept to the left, circling the right flank of the Russian First Army. It was now the full light of day. General Francois and his staff watched through field glasses. Beneath the clear blue sky, the exploding shells created a cloud of smoke into which the attacking infantry divisions of the First Corps vanished.

  Francois turned his glasses to the right flank of the Corps. “Any reports of movement to our right, Colonel.” Francois had been anxious to attack. Now he wondered. “Mackensen will not be here for another two hours. Von Below is four hours behind him. Continue to attack. Rennenkampf will not risk weakening his center to attack the First.”

  He looked at the concerned faces of the men around him. “If we persist, gentlemen, we will rid ourselves of the Russian First today, or it will wish it were back on Russian soil. Push. Keep pushing.”

  We have allowed ourselves to be dealt with, piece by piece, Friederich thought to himself. Win or lose, our general will be a chapter in Germany’s history. Three days ago, we were inspired by him, today we wonder if he is mad.

  Friederich read the reports from the front; heavy casualties…we cannot move on the right…advancing slowly on our right…the flanking cavalry unit has been stopped. Suddenly cheers went up at the command post as the artillery barrage from General von Mackensen’s guns began. But the cheers were soon stilled by Russian artillery, which boomed its response. To the right, they could see General von Mackensen’s troops advancing. In front of them, the Russian artillery had stopped. For a moment there was silence, as if waiting for it to begin again. It would not. The left flank of the Russian First had run out of shells.

  Through it all, the command post responded by changing the fire from the artillery batteries, of ordering reserves requested by field commanders, keeping communications open. But it was in this, my second battle, that the Kriegsacademie descriptions of war become unreal. Instructors talked about the critical decisions made by leaders in war. Perhaps that is true, but when you witness the chaos, the pandemonium and terror of war, you come to understand how limited the effect generals have on outcomes once the battle is underway. Now it is in the hands of the lieutenants, the sergeants, and the soldiers. Their will, their skills, their cunning will determine victory or defeat.

  As I stood in silence, looking out at the haze with naked eye, I found General Francois watching me. He was smiling, as if to say, I understand, too. I have always understood. But I must never say what I know to anyone. It was now midafternoon. Reports were that the First Corps continued to move forward, and was in a position to threaten the right of Rennenkampf ’s center. There was that feeling that the general had prevailed again.

  Francois picked up the phone. By his posture, I knew something was happening. I held my breath while Francois listened, his face somber. He turned to face me.

  “Captain, the Thirty-Fifth has broken. All units must pull back at once. I want you out there. Now!”

  My horse stood saddled, waiting and nervous. As I vaulted into the saddle, the animal bolted in the direction of the fire and smoke. Twice I had been at the front, both times to be part of the retreat of our army.

  ---

  The retreat was orderly. Most of the wounded had been loaded on ambulances, a few motor driven, and were moving west. The heavy artillery pounded away at the positions of the Russians, expecting that Rennenkampf would pursue.

  In the middle of the afternoon, the Russian general ordered the army to pursue. One hour later, he rescinded the order. Tired, short of supplies, mauled by the German attack, the men were in no condition to pursue the German Eighth Army. Rennenkampf watched the men begin to regroup, to look for water they had been without all day, food for two days. He remembered what Clausewitz had said about war. Something about great generals seizing such moments to achieve great victories. Perhaps Clausewitz was correct. Not this time, he decided.

  At Barenstein, the commander of the Eighth Army was in a state of high excitement.

  “Get me the general staff, please. I must speak to General von Moltke, personally.”

  With Prittwitz was von Waldersee, his chief of staff, General Grunert, chief of operations, and Colonel Hoffman.

  It was Hoffman who spoke. “General, we must wait. Rennenkampf is in no condition to pursue. He has no communications, his supplies are depleted. They ran out of artillery shells in one of their divisions.”

  “You are a damn fool, Hoffman. Samsonov has crossed the border. How long do you t
hink it will be before we must fight both armies?”

  Count von Waldersee was not anxious to confront this agitated man, but he knew, in order to protect his superior, that he must.

  “General, it would be the worst of times to speak to von Moltke. He is depending on us to hold the Russians at bay while he concentrates on the French and British. We need to be sure before we talk of withdrawal.”

  Prittwitz was handed the phone. Trying to control his voice, he advised von Moltke that he intended to move the Eighth Army to the other side of the Vistula, abandoning the defense of eastern Prussia. As he hung up, there was total silence. Not a word. Not a movement. They waited for von Prittwitz.

  “He said not to do anything immediately; he will get back to me.”

  The officers watched their commander slump into his chair. He did not speak, but stood looking out of the window of the municipal hall in their headquarters in Barenstein. Others in the room may have wished, but he knew, his career in the German Army had ended. Only if von Moltke would have immediately concurred or proposed an alternative course, was there a small chance for continuing to serve.

  At the other end of the line, General von Moltke felt the same sense of doom. The news on the western front was of casualties almost too large to contemplate. Ten, twenty, thirty thousand casualties a day of Germans, British and French. Casualties which seemed enormous in a month, even a year, in nineteenth century wars, were now occurring in a single day. To generals who thought of men as pieces on a chess board, such numbers were only measures of likely victory or defeat. But to von Moltke, they were the men whom he had reviewed on parade grounds, their eager faces shining with pride for their fatherland. Children eager to please.

  Perhaps he had always known he was unfit to be a general. At least before he went, he would have the satisfaction of removing Der Dicke, something the kaiser had refused to allow him to do until now. Callousness, coarseness, stupidity had not been enough to disqualify him. Losing Prussia was.

  Herrmann von Francois and young Friederich von Mecklenburg were enjoying Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, a glass of sherry, and a game of chess when the orderly announced they had a visitor. The day had been a harrowing one for both, and the general had surprised Friederich with his invitation. Friederich had not made it known that as a young lieutenant, General Francois had known Friederich’s father, nor had the general made it known, either. Such connections tended to make relationships with staff officers more difficult, something both realized.

  Colonel Hoffmann entered and bowed. Brilliant, he was nevertheless, in the pecking order of German society, below both. As an outspoken staff officer who had served with the German general staff, he was also aware that such line officers as Francois viewed him with suspicion. He was not aware, however, that the general was an exception, having enjoyed hearing about the fun-loving young officer who could drink all night and parade his men before the generals smartly in the morning. Although generally suspicious of staff officers, it was hard not to acknowledge the genius of this one.

  “Please forgive the intrusion, General and Captain. I have something to discuss with the general. It is not of a personal nature, but I would be glad to discuss it privately, if you wish.”

  He is a clever bastard, thought Friederich. He is looking for allies against Der Dicke. Something is up. Friederich had heard rumors that Prittwitz wanted to pull back past the Vistula, leaving his beloved Prussia to the Russians. He knew that the general and the entire First Corps were citizens of Prussia and would only reluctantly abandon it.

  “Perhaps this should be among as few conspirators as possible, Colonel.” The general was smiling but the colonel’s face had turned ashen. “You need not be concerned about the captain, he would gladly join in if I were to allow it.” Turning toward Friederich, “Captain, if you will excuse us. Perhaps another time.” The two men bowed to each other. Friederich turned and bowed to Hoffman, who returned the courtesy, his hauteur now fully recovered.

  ---

  General von Prittwitz was not surprised when he was informed he had been relieved of command of the Eighth Army. Both he and his chief of staff, Count Waldersee, were dismissed without another position offered. In their places, General von Moltke had reached back in history for a retired general who, as a young officer, attended the surrender of the French at Versailles over forty years ago, General Paul von Beneckendorf und Hindenburg, to command the Eighth Army. As his chief of staff, von Moltke tapped General Eric Ludendorff, the man who led the assault on the Belgian forts at Liège.

  By the change, von Moltke hoped to stiffen the backbone of the Eighth Army. By replacing Prittwitz, he had removed the reason for its lack of resolve. But the removal of its leader was more important than the selection of new ones, for beneath Prittwitz and his loyal chief of staff, the general officers were fully prepared for bold action, to risk all in order to win all. Prussia’s nineteenth century preparations for war made such action possible.

  Someone once said that Prussia was not a country with an army but an army with a country. In all respects, the army was the crème de crème of Prussian society, where the nobility served their country, and the avenue to success for ambitious bourgeoisie was to find your way into the officer corps. By its military might, Prussia stood at the center of modern Germany. Humiliated by Napoleon at the beginning of the nineteenth century, it was Prussian cavalry led by General Blucher who had turned the tide against Napoleon at Waterloo. In the hundred years since, it had prepared to defend itself. One of the steps it had taken was to construct a network of railways throughout Prussia and all of Germany to move troops quickly. The seriousness with which the military considered railroads was to place their construction under military control. It was the railways which made the plans of Colonel Hoffman possible.

  General Rennenkampf was in Gumbinnen, forty kilometers from the eastern border. General Samsonov’s army had crossed the border in the south over a sixty kilometer front. The Russian plan was for the two armies to join at Allenstein behind the German Eighth Army, then attacking east to drive the Germans toward the Russian border. The Germans knew the Russian plans, which had not changed since the turn of the twentieth century, and which they had purchased at a handsome price. What Colonel Hoffman knew was that the Germans could not fight two armies at once. Having failed to defeat Rennenkampf at Gumbinnen, the logical choice was to counter attack the First and destroy it. Hoffman did not choose what the Russians most expected.

  Using the railway system, the Eighth Army would move its forces to attack the Second Army in the south to support the single corps, the Twentieth under General Scholtz, which now stood before the Russian Second Army. The plan called for moving General Francois’s First Corps in front of the left flank of the Russian Second Army and shoulder to shoulder with the Twentieth Corps, for General von Morgen’s First Reserve Division to support Scholtz, and for General von Mackensen’s Seventh Corps and General von Below’s Third Reserve Division to place themselves on Scholtz’s and von Morgen’s left flank.

  The plan needed only the approval of General von Hindenburg and General Ludendorff. Arriving in Marienburg, the castle of the Teutonic Grand Master five hundred years ago, Hoffman was waiting for them. Quickly, the two men not only approved but claimed the plan as their own. Orders for its activation were issued directly to the field commanders, bypassing the staff officers of the general staff, a quick message of who was in charge and how things would be run from that moment.

  August 23

  General Francois had been skeptical at first of the new plan. A fighter, instinctively he wanted to strike at the nearest Russian Army, reasoning they could outflank and destroy the First. Although the First Corps had withdrawn in both of its engagements with Rennenkampf, they had inflicted heavy casualties, driven their enemy back. Still, Hoffman’s plan had the element of surprise, having the potential of reducing casualties and putting the Second Army off balance, a matter of great importance in the kind of battle it mus
t be.

  He had been surprised when he picked up his phone to find General Ludendorff on the other end. He knew the man had been on the special train from Berlin all night. Nothing in his voice betrayed the lack of sleep.

  “The First Corps should embark immediately to the south to join the Twentieth. You will take your position on his right flank. General Kersten will work with your officers to take your men south. It is essential that your corps be in place by the evening of the twenty-fifth. Is that clear, General?”

  “Yes, General.”

  “General, I expect the First to break the Russian left flank. My understanding is that the First Corps of the Russian Army will be in your front. General Artomonov. Very worthy.”

  “I see. The First Corps will begin moving immediately.”

  Ten minutes later General Kersten was on the phone. The Eighth was moving one hundred fifty thousand troops one hundred fifty kilometers in two days. On foot, it would have taken ten. Hanging up the phone, Francois muttered to himself, “Let us hope the Russians think it can’t be done.”

  To the south, the exhausted men of the Russian Second Army pushed forward. Engaging the Twentieth Corps, they pushed it back. General Scholtz, knowing of the new plans, withdrew ten kilometers on August 24. As he retreated, he was careful to remove any forage for the animals or food for the men of the Russian Army. Scholtz knew that the Russian Army had been forcemarched through the deep sands of southern Prussia; that they could not sustain themselves. Whatever the reasons for massing to attack the Russian Second, it was the right choice.

  Scholtz watched the men of the German First disembark from the trains, well fed and well rested, men fighting for their own soil. He had no doubt of the outcome. Still, like all the commanders, he worried about Rennenkampf. What would he do? If he were to turn south, he likely could not reach the Russian Second for three days, possibly four. By that time, the Second Army would likely be beaten. Still, if the Russian Second could hold...