Chapter 162
Chapter 162
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 162
Chapter Title: Battle of the Masurian Lakes (2)
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Kaboom! Boom!
"Long live the Kaiser!"
"Los! Los! Los!"
August 26, 1913.
The German 8th Army's full-scale offensive against the Russian 1st Army had begun.
From the southern reaches of the Masurian Lakes region, the Germans launched their assault on the Russians, unleashing fierce artillery barrages ahead of their shock troops to hammer the enemy lines at multiple points.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!!
"Fire! Fire! Shoot every Fritz you see!"
"We're low on ammo— is this really okay?"
"Damn it, who cares? If we don't want to end up like Samsonov, we block those bastards first!"
But unlike Samsonov's 2nd Army, Rennenkampf's 1st Army didn't crumble easily.
As mentioned earlier, thanks to the 2nd Army's sacrifice, the 1st had plenty of time to prepare against the German onslaught.
"Attack! Attack!"
"22nd Corps, advance! Avenge General Samsonov and the 2nd Army!"
Moreover, unlike the 2nd Army, the 1st wasn't fighting alone.
As soon as the German 8th Army began its push against the Russian 1st, under the command of General Vasily Yegorovich Flug, the Russian 10th Army waiting near the border—along with the remnants of the 2nd Army that had survived Tannenberg—launched an attack on the 8th Army's right flank.
The 10th Army had been hastily formed by scraping together reserves when war broke out, so it only had six divisions. Still, it threw everything into supporting the 1st Army, leading with its 22nd Corps to strike at the German flank.
"The Russian 10th Army is getting in the way, Colonel Ludendorff."
"Yes, Your Highness Crown Prince. We'll give that reckless Russian 10th Army a bitter taste of reality."
But it was far too early for Rennenkampf and the Russians to breathe a sigh of relief.
Ludendorff, who had a clear grasp of Russian movements, was already aware the 10th was targeting their flank. Shortly after the 22nd Corps began advancing, the German 3rd Reserve Division counterattacked the Russian 10th with overwhelming firepower support.
For the 22nd Corps, which had been moving to capture Johannisburg (today's Pish), this was like a bolt from the blue.
Boom! Kaboom!!
"General Brinken, German artillery is raining down on our troops. At this rate, our losses will be too severe."
"Hmph... The Germans are moving faster than expected—far faster. We can't push further like this. Adjutant, send a dispatch to General Flug. We need to fall back to a defensive line here."
"Yes, sir!"
This made capturing Johannisburg impossible; instead, they were on the verge of being overrun by the Germans.
Judging that continuing the offensive was untenable, the 22nd Corps commander, Alexander Friedrichovich von den Brinken, immediately requested a retreat from Flug.
"Retreat? It's only been a day since we started the attack—what kind of nonsense is this? Pulling back now would mean abandoning the 1st Army. Absolutely not!"
But Flug exploded in rage at Brinken's request, shouting that it was out of the question.
If the 22nd Corps retreated now, both it and the 10th Army would escape unscathed.
However, the 1st Army, already getting pummeled by the Germans, would deteriorate further—rendering the 10th's presence here pointless.
"Tell Brinken clearly: No retreat. Fight to the end!"
In the end, Flug ordered Brinken to hold firm and keep fighting, no matter the means, to drive off the Germans and continue supporting the 1st Army.
Of course, Brinken's face soured upon receiving the order.
"Ha! General Flug doesn't seem to grasp the situation!"
"What should we do, General?"
"Keep sending retreat requests. Fighting on like this will just wear down the corps."
And if the 22nd Corps ended up in tatters, supporting the 1st Army would become even more remote.
In Brinken's view, the best course was to withdraw, regroup, and launch a new offensive.
Of course, whether the 1st Army could hold that long was another matter.
But Flug remained immovable, and as the battle of wills dragged on between the 22nd Corps and 10th Army HQ, the German 3rd Reserve Division succeeded in repelling the 22nd and holding Johannisburg.
"36th Reserve Division! From now on, we'll join the 3rd Reserve and drive those Scythian invaders back across the border!"
"Jawohl!"
The Germans didn't stop there.
As soon as Johannisburg was retaken, the German 36th Reserve Division joined the offensive, attacking the 22nd Corps alongside the 3rd Reserve.
Even the 3rd Reserve alone had been overwhelming; with the 36th piling on, Brinken struggled no matter how hard he fought.
He kept sending pleas to retreat, and as the 22nd's losses mounted, even Flug had to reconsider.
"Hoo... I'll recommend to Commander Zhilinsky that the 22nd Corps withdraw."
The 10th Army, hastily assembled, was weaker than other units.
They couldn't afford to lose a valuable corps here.
And so, on August 26, the 22nd Corps fell back to Augustów in the rear.
"The 10th Army's retreating? Are you kidding me?!"
For Rennenkampf, it was enough to make him tear his hair out.
But his misfortune didn't end there.
"Commander Rennenkampf! Disaster! A large German force has appeared from the direction of Königsberg. They're advancing on our flank right now!"
"What?!"
Germans appearing from where?
Not the southern Masurian Lakes, but Königsberg to the west?
"Impossible. Aren't the Germans attacking from the south? Reinforcements?"
"No. It seems the 8th Army split its forces—some drawing attention south while the main body bypassed and repositioned toward Königsberg."
"Even so, is this maneuver speed realistic?!"
"Most of East Prussia's rail network is intact. They must have used that..."
It wasn't just the rails.
The Germans also had masses of trucks.
Thanks to that, Crown Prince Wilhelm and Ludendorff could move troops far faster than the Russians anticipated—a huge factor in their rapid maneuvers during the Tannenberg battle as well.
Of course, for Rennenkampf and the 1st Army, it was a nightmare.
They had expected the Germans from the south and concentrated their forces and defenses there.
As a result, the Königsberg defenses were thinly spread.
"Damn it, no! No—!!"
Rennenkampf tore at his hair in anguish.
He could almost feel Samsonov's ghost beckoning him from afar.
Rumble! Rumb-rumble!!
"Kill every last Ivan!"
"Charge! Charge!"
The German 8th Army's offensive from the Königsberg sector was a lightning advance.
Throwing in masses of shock troops, they shredded the Russian defenses already ravaged by artillery, and with the 10th Army's retreat compounding matters, the Russian 1st Army was pushed back to Insterburg (today's Chernyakhovsk) in no time.
"...Commander Rennenkampf. You must make a decision now."
In the smoke-filled HQ, amid the staff's grim voices, Rennenkampf—looking more wretched than ever—slumped his shoulders and let out a heavy sigh.
Staying put would mean encirclement by the Germans closing from west and south, just like the 2nd Army—strangled without a scream.
Thus, the 1st Army staff unanimously urged retreat.
"The enemy has already reached Insterburg, right on Gumbinnen's doorstep. Yes, there's a secondary line there, but their heavy artillery and infiltration teams with machine guns will breach it soon enough."
Rennenkampf nodded silently.
He had fought in the Russo-Japanese War nine years prior.
He'd seen machine guns in action with his own eyes at the Yalu River and Liaodong Peninsula.
Of course, even knowing machine guns were effective from that experience, for the Russians—who lacked even basic rifles and armed soldiers with spears and clubs—the ammo-hungry weapons might as well have been pie in the sky.
Especially compared to the Germans, who churned out shells endlessly with their Haber-Bosch cheat.
Tears couldn't help but well up.
"Forward divisions are already retreating across the Angrapa River. The southern Germans are pushing north too. Hesitate here, and our retreat path gets cut."
"Yes. If the 1st falls after the 2nd, the front collapses beyond recovery. We must withdraw across the border and regroup—now!"
"But we can't just abandon East Prussia."
Yet Rennenkampf, his nerves frayed, was still grasping at false hope amid despair.
Of course, to his staff, such a commander was frustrating.
"The 10th only pulled back temporarily. Once they're reorganized, they'll attack again. If we just hold till then..."
"The 1st will collapse before the 10th regroups! The Germans are already hitting Insterburg—and once that's gone, Gumbinnen's next!"
The 1st Army no longer had the strength to hold East Prussia.
Moreover, soldier morale, barely maintained, plummeted into terror at the tide turning for the Germans—they feared annihilation like the 2nd Army.
"Commander Zhilinsky won't permit a retreat."
"Survival comes first. We must preserve the 1st's strength for another chance."
"Urgh..."
Amid the staff's chorus that retreat was the only option, Rennenkampf clutched his head.
He hated fleeing like a coward, but he didn't want to die stupidly like Samsonov either.
"Hoo... Order a general withdrawal. Keep counterattacking in sequence to preserve as much strength as possible."
"Understood, Commander!"
After agonizing deliberation, Rennenkampf chose survival.
Of course, Zhilinsky—whose own head was on the block—would rage at the insolence.
But losing all his men and facing the Tsar's wrath and a court-martial was certain; better to retreat and claim it was unavoidable.
'Honestly, I owe Zhilinsky no loyalty anyway.'
So, survive first.
Only by living could future chances arise.
"We just got a wire from the 8th Army. Rennenkampf's trying to flee East Prussia."
"If only he'd held a bit longer. Things are getting urgent."
"Still better than too late, no?"
German 9th Army Commander Hermann von Eichhorn stroked his mustache with a hearty chuckle.
This affable veteran, whose career dated back to the Franco-Prussian War, had fallen from a horse in the original history in May 1914, delaying his frontline debut until 1915. But with the world war erupting early here, he was appointed to command the newly formed 9th Army when it broke out.
"Speaking of Polish cavalry. Feels like Napoleon’s wars, General Piłsudski. Ah, though we were enemies back then."
"Time is a fearsome thing. Former foes end up joining hands."
"Hahaha! Well said."
Józef Piłsudski gazed at the distant port, Eichhorn's laughter in the background.
The day had finally come.
The day Poland—groaning under centuries of Russian imperial oppression—would break its shackles and soar once more like a white eagle against the blood-red sunset.
"Commander Eichhorn, we'll reach Memel soon."
"Mm, time to prepare to disembark. Is the Polish Legion ready?"
"Of course. We've waited nearly a century since the Warsaw Duchy fell in 1815 for this day."
"That's reassuring."
Eichhorn nodded with a smile at Piłsudski's fiery resolve.
Unlike other Prussian Junker generals who might scorn or arrogance toward Piłsudski, Eichhorn was different.
During his Frankfurt days, he was so beloved by locals who disliked Prussia that he stood apart from Prussian thinking.
Of course, that was why Hans had paired Piłsudski with him.
Standing on deck with this steadfast veteran, Piłsudski faced the sea breeze and cried out in his heart.
Beloved Poland. Wait for us.
We shall return soon.