The Russian Advance

by Marr Murray

Of course, there was excuse enough. Mobilisation is carried on in the face of more difficulties in Russia than in any other country. Everything militates against its speed and efficiency. It is all on so vast a scale that it would seem impossible for human ingenuity to place it on a systematised basis. The area of the Russian Empire is forty times that of Germany, but its population is only three times as great. The units to be concentrated are diffusely scattered; they have to be gathered singly. The aggregate length of the Russian railway system is only twice that of the German lines, and few of the Russian railways have been laid with a view to meeting military needs. The majority of the troops summoned to the colours have to traverse vast distances, often on foot, before they can reach the railway which will take them to their mobilisation centres. The sparseness of the population renders it difficult for orders to filter through, and still more difficult for troops to be quickly concentrated. A good deal must of necessity be left to the zeal and initiative of the reservists themselves who, in most cases, are utterly unreliable without supervision.

At the best, therefore, with good weather and good luck, the mobilisation is but a slow process. Previous to the present war the most obstinate optimist did not believe that, in the most favourable circumstances, it could be completed in less than three weeks or a month.

In the present case, too, there were special aggravating circumstances which rendered success all the more doubtful. July had been a month of labour disputes, and it seemed more than likely that the strikes would seriously hamper the mobilisation. Moreover, the Russian military plans were incomplete. A programme of reform was being pushed forward with all possible speed, but it was not to be completed until 1916, at least. The army was in a state of transition. A new system was being imposed upon it, and it was by no means ready for the supreme test. There was a general feeling that it would be better to rely on the old system which, whatever its defects, had at least the merits of being known and understood. A partial muddle was better than the risk of absolute chaos.

The order for mobilisation, therefore, could not have come at a more inopportune time. Russia, in spite of all official assurances to the contrary, was unprepared.

It is well known that this inevitable slowness and possible impotence on the part of Russia during the early period of the war was the foundation on which the Kaiser constructed his plan of campaign. He could, so he thought, smash the Allies in the West and return in time to mete out similar treatment to the Russians before they could do any damage in the East. Everything favoured the plan, which had all the merits of simplicity and conciseness. Nobody who was acquainted with the disadvantages under which Russia laboured could deny that, humanly speaking, Germany was immune from a serious attack from Russia for at least six weeks. Even that estimate seemed to err on the side of optimism, for at that time there was no reason to suppose that Austria would have much difficulty in defeating Serbia and menacing Russia with a strong advance.

But among the many factors with which the Kaiser omitted to reckon must be included General Soukhomlinov—the Russian Kitchener, as he has, not inaptly, been called.

When the disastrous Manchurian campaign was ended, Russia sadly needed a man who could take to heart the lessons of defeat and build up a new and better army from the discredited fragments of the old. The moment produced the man. Soukhomlinov, the greatest War Minister Russia has known, has for the past nine years been engaged on an immense scheme for the remodelling and reorganising of the army. Quietly and with inexorable efficiency, he has cut away cancer after cancer and added reform to reform. No problem has been too large, no detail too trivial, and no circumstance too hopeless, for him to devote to it his tireless energy. The whole military system from top to bottom, and in every nook and cranny, has been renovated.

Soukhomlinov’s greatest merit is that, in planning and carrying this huge scheme into effect, he has not fallen into the trap that lurks in the path of every military reformer. Although working on western lines, he has not attempted to imitate the German or any other army. That would have been the obvious course for a man of less genius. But Soukhomlinov had the greatness to realise that an imitation army can never be satisfactory. An army must be national to the core, or it will fail in its object. “What is health to the Russian is death to the German,” is a Russian saying that is very true. And an attempt to force Teuton temperaments into Slav bodies would result only in a bastard production emphasising the defects of both.

Soukhomlinov knew that the Russian is the finest soldier in the world. His bravery, his unquestioning obedience, his infinite capacity for suffering and hardship, his stolid fatalism which makes him the same in victory or defeat, all these qualities render him an ideal fighting man. German helmets or the goose step would not add one jot to his virtues. He has never had a chance, because he has never been properly led or properly organised. It is in these two directions, therefore, that General Soukhomlinov has concentrated his efforts. Under the new regime the Russian officer has been transformed. The army is no longer a hobby for fashionable young men, but a stern business in which slackers and the inept are not wanted. The habit of heavy drinking at night—which during the Manchurian campaign so often resulted in such heavy slaughter in the morning—is a thing of the past. The army requires clear heads, and Soukhomlinov has no use for befuddled officers.

Efficient organisation is as vital to an army as efficient leadership, and the greatest test of organisation is the mobilisation.