Chapter 179
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 179
Chapter Title: Eastern Great Offensive (3)
“Begin the general assault.”
“Commence artillery barrage!”
Kwaaang! Kwaaang!
After two days of preparations for the attack, the German forces launched their offensive toward Warsaw and the Vistula River the moment the sun rose the next morning, on Crown Prince Wilhelm’s orders.
Countless heavy guns and howitzers began smashing the Russian defensive lines and bunkers across the river, while Nikolai Ruzsky, who had newly taken command of the Northwestern Front Army in place of Zhilinsky—whose head had effectively been lopped off in a military sense—sweated profusely, ceaselessly barking orders at his subordinates.
“If we let their artillery run wild like this, our defenses will crumble in no time. Hurry and pinpoint the enemy gun positions—start counter-battery fire!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Commander! Enemy planes overhead!”
“What’s the anti-aircraft artillery for? Shoot them down now!”
Peng! Pepeng! Tatatata!!
The Russian anti-aircraft guns and machine guns deployed throughout Warsaw spewed fire endlessly into the sky against the now all-too-familiar raids by the Imperial German air force.
Not content with the thrashing they’d taken from German fighters in East Prussia, the Russians—who had also seen their capital Petrograd bombed by Zeppelins—had hastily modified their own PM M1910 machine guns and 76.2mm field guns into anti-aircraft weapons and rushed them to the front lines.
Unlike the French, the Russians lacked any real air power capable of challenging enemy fighters, so this was a necessary measure; without it, they had no way to counter German aircraft.
Of course, these were improvised early anti-aircraft weapons, not purpose-built ones, so their performance was far from ideal.
The Russian anti-aircraft machine guns were nothing more than four notoriously heavy Maxim guns linked together, and the field guns repurposed as anti-aircraft artillery weren’t designed to shoot down planes but to kill people.
Besides, while they might manage against slow airships, hitting fast-moving aircraft was a nightmare for accuracy.
Tatatatata! Peng! Pepepeng! Peng!
“Damn it, we can’t get near the city!”
“Pull back for now!”
But just because the flak from the ground wasn’t hitting didn’t make it any less threatening.
Especially for biplanes made of light wood and canvas.
As a result, German pilots unaccustomed to heavy anti-air fire couldn’t strafe the Russians on the ground as freely as before and merely circled overhead.
“The enemy air raid is letting up.”
“That’s some small mercy, at least.”
But chasing off the pesky enemy air force didn’t give Ruzsky much room to breathe.
Their most dangerous foe—the artillery—was still very much in play.
Ruzsky had tried counter-battery fire to whittle down the enemy guns, but he was hamstrung by a sheer lack of artillery pieces.
Grand Duke Nikolai knew this too, which was why he’d scraped together every gun he could and handed them over, but it was barely enough to make the Germans blink.
“Hoo... I’m beyond anger now.”
Ruzsky muttered as he rubbed his forehead, struck by the harsh reality of his homeland: a country too broke to supply its frontline troops with even a single extra gun or bullet.
The Russian Empire no longer deserved the name.
What right did this bloated, worthless lump of land have to call itself the Third Rome?
“It’s all the Tsar’s incompetence.”
It was a statement that would land him in prison for lèse-majesté if overheard, but Ruzsky’s disillusionment with the Tsar and the imperial family was growing by the day.
At least Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich, the overall commander, was one of the more competent Romanovs—but what good was that when the Tsar himself was such a disaster?
This wasn’t a sentiment unique to Ruzsky; it was shared by most Russians. And with Empress Alexandra—already unpopular as a German—besieged by a nonstop stream of sleazy rumors tying her to Rasputin, the gossip only fueled the fire.
It had gotten so bad that even the grand duchesses were rumored to be infatuated with Rasputin’s manhood.
‘We can’t leave the Tsar in power like this!’
Ruzsky clenched his fist, thinking it fiercely to himself.
As a soldier sworn to the emperor, it was borderline treasonous—but the hopeless war situation had solidified his belief that, for Russia’s sake, dragging Nicholas II from the throne was the only way forward.
“Commander Ruzsky!”
“Hoo, what now?”
“R-Rebellion, sir.”
“...What?”
“Warsaw has risen up! Poles are pouring out of everywhere in the city, armed to the teeth!!”
But Ruzsky had no time to worry about the empire’s future.
Warsaw had risen, just as Piłsudski promised.
Now he and the Russians had to worry about saving their own skins.
“Esteemed citizens of Warsaw, take up arms and rise! General Piłsudski is leading the Polish Legions across the Vistula. Let us join them to shatter Russia’s long yoke and reclaim Poland’s freedom and independence!”
“Long live Polish independence! Long live Warsaw!”
“Death to the Russians! Death to the Tsar!”
Poles flooded the streets of Warsaw, roaring with weapons in hand.
They had hidden rifles, shotguns, and German weapons smuggled in by the Reich out of sight of the Russians—for this very day—and now struck the Russians from behind while their attention was fixed on the Germans across the river.
Tatatatata! Tatatata!!
“Shit, why are there submachine guns popping up here?!”
“Germans—gotta be the Germans again!”
“This war’s filthy enough already!”
The jaunty, merciless chatter of submachine guns echoed through Warsaw, now instantly transformed into a battlefield.
True to Piłsudski’s reputation as a rebellion expert, the citizens swiftly built barricades in alleys, raided Russian armories, hurled Molotovs into supply depots, and assaulted anti-aircraft positions scattered across the city.
“Pull yourselves together and respond calmly! They’re just rabble!”
“Kill every Pole you see in the streets! They’re no longer subjects of the empire—they’re traitors who’ve raised arms against the empire and His Majesty!”
Russian officers shouted desperately, and their troops unleashed indiscriminate fire on anyone in the streets.
The Germans were right on Warsaw’s doorstep.
If they didn’t crush this uprising fast, it was over for them.
Bang! Tatang! Tang!
“Argh!”
“Don’t shoot—I’m Russian... Aaaargh!!”
Of course, among those cut down by Russian bullets were not just Poles but fellow Russians and other ethnicities—but panicked troops no longer had the reason left to tell the difference.
“Warsaw workers, brothers! Grab your hammers and march out of the factories! Now is the time to unite for our nation’s independence!!”
“Blood on the Tsar’s throne! Revenge on Russia!!”
But as Polish socialists made good on their word, rallying tens of thousands of factory workers to join the rebels, the tide began turning back toward the Warsaw citizens.
Warsaw as a whole was now hamstringing the Russians to aid the German advance, and with no retreat possible, the Russians’ actions grew ever more brutal.
[Raise our banner high, though hostile storms rage, though dark forces oppress us, though tomorrow’s fate is uncertain...]
Yet the more the Russians mowed down Poles, the fiercer the uprising burned. As if to say Russia held no hope, the voices of Warsaw’s citizens singing across the city grew louder.
Warszawianka.
The song from the 1905 protests sparked by Bloody Sunday—a tune that would one day become more famous in distant Spain than in Poland itself—rang out across Warsaw.
[Oh, this is the banner of all mankind, a sacred call and song of resurrection. It heralds the victory of labor and justice, the dawn of human brotherhood!]
Bwoooong—tatatatata!
“German fighters!”
“Damn it, hit the dirt!!”
As black smoke and flames rose across Warsaw and the anti-aircraft fire slackened, the circling German fighters seized the chance, diving on the Russian troops conspicuous in their white tunics. The Russians hugged the ground, clutching their heads.
“Forward, Warsaw! Through blood and battle! Holy and just! Forward, forward, Warsaw!”
“Forward, Warsaw, forward (Marsz, Warszawo, marsz)!”
Watching the Russians cower pathetically gave the Poles fresh vigor; they sang even more powerfully.
Warsaw’s citizens repeated the chorus endlessly, fingers tightening on triggers.
“Why haven’t you suppressed the uprising yet?!”
“Commander Ruzsky, the revolt isn’t the issue now. The Germans are crossing the river. You must evacuate Warsaw immediately!”
“Ugh...! Uwaaaaaah!!”
A scream like a death knell echoed from Warsaw’s headquarters.
But all Ruzsky could do now was pack his bags in haste and flee Warsaw to avoid ending up a prisoner like Rennenkampf.
“General, look over there. Flames are rising all across Warsaw!”
“Ha ha, the flames of liberation burn bright!”
Meanwhile, as the Warsaw uprising shook the Russian lines, Piłsudski and his Poles—crossing the Vistula alongside the Germans—grinned fiercely at the burning city.
Ah, it was almost as if they could hear the Russians’ screams from here.
Sounds as sweet as Chopin’s music.
“Landing! Landing!”
“Get the horses off quick! Warsaw awaits us!”
While the Russians abandoned their defenses and desperately fled Warsaw, Piłsudski finally crossed the Vistula and urged his men onward.
There was no real need to rush now that the Russians were retreating, but Poland’s beating heart right before his eyes had him more impatient than ever.
“Come on, let’s go! Our countrymen are waiting for us!”
“Yes, General!”
Neigh—!!
Soon, powerful whinnies rang out as the Polish cavalry charged into Warsaw neck and neck.
“Polish Legions! Charge! Drive every last Russian from our city!”
“C-Cavalry! Polish cavalry!”
“Nooo, I don’t wanna die!”
“Run!!”
Russian soldiers still trapped in the city, busy fending off vengeful Warsaw citizens, completely lost the will to fight at the sight of cavalry flooding the streets.
The Polish lancers trampled the now-harmless Ivans under hoof and pressed into Warsaw’s heart.
“Look! Poland’s flag—Poland’s flag!”
“The Polish Legions are here!”
“Waaa... waaah!”
“Don’t cry, Lev. Why shed tears on such a glorious day!”
As the Polish cavalry rode proudly through Warsaw’s streets like their ancestors of old, Poles atop barricades cheered with tears in their eyes.
What a long-dreamed sight.
How much patience and waiting it had taken to see this.
Dąbrowski and Poniatowski’s cherished independence had finally arrived.
No Pole in Warsaw held back tears that day.
October 10, 1913.
Warsaw was liberated.
Ninety-eight years after the Congress of Vienna ushered in Russian rule.