In discussing the Russian strategy in the Great War, after August, 1915, one should always bear in mind that it was the personal strategy of General Alexeiev. He alone bears the responsibility before history for its course, its successes and failures. A man of exceptional conscientiousness and self-sacrifice, and devoted to his work, he had one serious failing: all his life he did the work of others as well as his own. So it was when he held the post of Quartermaster-General of the General Staff, of Chief-of-Staff of the Kiev District, and later of the South-Western front and finally of Chief-of-Staff to the Supreme C.-in-C. Nobody influenced strategical decisions, and, as often as not, final instructions, written in Alexeiev’s tiny and neat hand-writing, appeared unexpectedly on the desk of the Quartermaster-General, whose duty under the law and whose responsibility in these matters were very grave. If such a procedure was to a certain extent justifiable, when the post of Quartermaster-General was occupied by a nonentity, there was no excuse for it when he was superseded by other Quartermasters-General, such as Lukomski or Josephovitch. These men could not accept such a position. The former, as a rule, protested by sending in memoranda embodying his opinion, which was adverse to the plan of operations. Such protests, of course, were purely academic, but presented a guarantee against the judgment of history. General Klembovski, my predecessor, was compelled to demand non-interference with the rightful sphere of his competence as a condition of his tenure of office. Till then, Alexeiev had directed all the branches of administration. When these branches acquired a still broader scope, this proved practically impossible, and I was given full liberty in my work except ... in respect of strategy. Again, Alexeiev began to send telegrams in his own hand of a strategical nature, orders and directions, the motives of which the Quartermaster-General and myself could not understand. Several times, three of us, the Quartermaster-General, Josephovitch, his assistant, General Markov, and myself, discussed this question. The quick-tempered Josephovitch was greatly excited, and asked to be appointed to a Divisional Command. “I cannot be a clerk,” he said. “There is no need for a Quartermaster-General at the Stavka if every clerk can type instructions.” The General and myself began to contemplate resignation. Markov said that he would not stay for a single day if we went. I finally decided to have a frank talk with Alexeiev. We were both under the strain of emotion. We parted as friends, but we did not settle the question. Alexeiev said: “Do I not give you a full share of the work? I do not understand you.” Alexeiev was quite sincerely surprised because during the war he had grown accustomed to a régime which appeared to him perfectly normal. So we three held another conference. After a lengthy discussion, we decided that the plan of campaign for 1917 had long since been worked out, that preparations for that campaign had reached a stage in which substantial alterations had become impossible, that the details of the concentration and distribution of troops were in the present condition of the Army a difficult matter, allowing for differences of opinion; that we could perhaps manage to effect certain alterations of the plan, and that finally our retirement in corpore might be detrimental to the work, and might undermine the position of the Supreme C.-in-C., which was already by no means stable. We therefore decided to wait and see. We did not have to wait very long, because, at the end of May, Alexeiev left the Stavka, and we followed him very soon afterwards.
What place did the Stavka occupy as a military and political factor of the Revolutionary period?
The importance of the Stavka diminished. In the days of the Imperial régime, the Stavka, from the military point of view, occupied a predominant position. No individual or institution in the State was entitled to issue instructions or to call to account the Supreme Commander-in-Chief, and it was Alexeiev and not the Czar who in reality held that office. Not a single measure of the War Ministry, even if indirectly affecting the interests of the Army, could be adopted without the sanction of the Stavka. The Stavka gave direct orders to the War Minister and to his Department on questions appertaining to the care of the Army. The voice of the Stavka had a certain weight and importance in the practical domain of administration at the theatre of war, albeit without any connection with the general trend of internal policy. That power was not exercised to a sufficient degree; but on principle it afforded the opportunity of carrying on the defence of the country in co-operation with other branches of the administration, which were to a certain extent subordinate to it. With the beginning of the Revolution, these conditions underwent a radical change. Contrary to the examples of history and to the dictates of military science, the Stavka became practically subordinate to the War Minister. This was not due to any act of the Government, but merely to the fact that the Provisional Government combined supreme power with executive power, as well as to the combination of the strong character of Gutchkov and the yielding nature of Alexeiev. The Stavka could no longer address rightful demands to the branches of the War Ministry which were attending to Army equipments. It conducted a lengthy correspondence and appealed to the Ministry of War. The War Minister, who now signed orders instead of the Emperor, exercised a strong influence upon appointments and dismissals of officers in High Command. These appointments were sometimes made by him after consultation with the fronts, but the Stavka was not informed. Army regulations of the highest importance altering the conditions of the troops in respect of reinforcements, routine and duty, were issued by the Ministry without the participation of the Supreme Command, which learnt of their issue only from the Press. In fact, such a participation would have actually been useless. Two products of the Polivanov Commission—the new Courts and the Committees—which Gutchkov accidentally asked me to look through, were returned with a series of substantial objections of my own, and Gutchkov expounded them in vain before the representatives of the Soviet. The only result was that certain changes in the drafting of the regulations were made.
All these circumstances undoubtedly undermined the authority of the Stavka in the eyes of the Army, and prompted the Generals in High Command to approach the more powerful Central Government Departments without reference to the Stavka, as well as to display excessive individual initiative in matters of paramount importance to the State and to the Army. Thus, in May, 1917, on the Northern Front, all the pre-War soldiers were discharged instead of the prescribed percentage, and this created grave difficulties on other fronts. On the South-Western Front Ukranian units were being formed. The Admiral in command of the Baltic Fleet ordered the officers to remove their shoulder-straps, etc.
The Stavka had lost influence and power, and could no longer occupy the commanding position of an administrative and moral centre. This occurred at the most terrible stage of the World War, when the Army was beginning to disintegrate, and when not only the entire strength of the people was being put to the test, but the necessity had arisen for a power exceptionally strong and wide in its bearing. Meanwhile, the matter was quite obvious: if Alexeiev and Denikin did not enjoy the confidence of the Government, and were considered inadequate to the requirements of the Supreme Command, they should have been superseded by new men who did enjoy that confidence and who should have been invested with full powers. As a matter of fact, changes were made twice. But only the men were changed, not the principles of the High Command. In the circumstances, when no one actually wielded power, military power was not centred in anybody’s hands. Neither the Chiefs who enjoyed the reputation of serving their country loyally and with exceptional devotion, like Alexeiev, and later the “Iron Chiefs,” such as Kornilov undoubtedly was and as Brussilov was supposed to be, nor all the Chameleons that fed from the hand of the Socialist reformers of the Army had any real power.
The entire military hierarchy was shaken to its very foundations, though it retained all the attributes of power and the customary routine—instructions which could not move the Armies, orders that were never carried out, verdicts of the Courts which were derided. The full weight of oppression, following the line of the least resistance, fell solely upon the loyal commanding officers, who submitted without a murmur to persecution from above as well as from below. The Government and the War Ministry, having abolished repressions, had recourse to a new method of influencing the masses—to appeals. Appeals to the people, to the Army, to the Cossacks, to everybody, flooded the country, inviting all to do their duty. Unfortunately, only those appeals were successful that flattered the meanest instincts of the mob, inviting it to neglect its duty. As a result, it was not counter-Revolution, Buonapartism, or adventure, but the elemental desire of the circles where the ideas of statesmanship still prevailed, to restore the broken laws of warfare, that soon gave rise to a new watchword:
“Military power must be seized.”