Kluyev’s behavior cannot be dismissed as simple incompetence. Defeat is a possibility in every military operation, and can be produced by a broad variety of circumstances. No commander can afford to reflect too deeply on potential failure. Taking counsel of possibilities can bring on fears that paralyze the will to act. For Kluyev, starting at ghosts was less important than imposing his will, and the will of his superiors, on the Germans in the next day’s fighting.
Second Army headquarters was operating from the same matrix. In the context of the information—or lack of it—provided by XIII Corps, Samsonov’s decision to push forward in the center seemed the best way of alleviating what he saw as the major, indeed the only, immediate German threat: the growing pressure on his left flank. Like Prittwitz, Hindenburg, and Ludendorff, Samsonov was a nineteenth-century general trying to cope with a twentieth-century problem: the gap between communications and mobility. The generals of World War I faced in greater measure than any of their predecessors the test of knowing at least in outline what was going wrong, without a corresponding possibility of adjusting the situation. Railroads might have enhanced strategic mobility, but the tactical and operational pace was still determined by the muscles of men and horses. The wars of the nineteenth century had increasingly shown that an army commander holding a corps or two out of action in the manner of Napoleon was simply depriving himself of that many troops. Modern battlefields were too large to permit the ready shifting of large reserves either to shore up weak spots or to turn stalemate into success. Samsonov was able to do nothing directly to support his left except relieve Artamonov of command and hope his successor could straighten out the mess. But it seemed reasonable to hope, particularly in view of Martos’s reports during the day, that XV and XIII Corps acting together might give the Germans something to worry about on their left flank. As late as 11:30 p.m. on the 27th, Samsonov informed Zhiliski that Mühlen was in Russian hands, and that German troops had been observed retreating southwest. If all went well the next day, Kluyev and Martos might overrun their immediate opponents and decide the battle, or at least one part of it, favorably.
This consideration almost certainly influenced Samsonov’s next decision. At 7:15 a.m. on August 28, he told Zhilinski that he was going forward to XV Corps headquarters in order to take control of the attack in the center. He and his staff left Neidenburg at 8:00 a.m. and drove northeast along the road to Jedwabno.
Critics generally agree that this was the final step in the 2nd Army’s destruction, that Samsonov ceased from that time effectively to command anything. At best the move has been interpreted as a brave but limited man’s desire to influence events slipping out of his grasp, a despairing gesture of personal courage in the face of disaster. It was both less and more. Since crossing the frontier, the exigencies of maintaining communications with its far-flung units had forced Samsonov’s headquarters further and further behind its subordinate formations. The point had been sharply and repeatedly noted by Zhilinski. Samsonov’s pride was wounded by his superior’s observations, but vanity alone did not impel him to leave Neidenburg. He was going to reinforce what seemed like success, a maxim taught in every military school in Europe. At least his presence should remove some of the strain from the commanders on the spot, and ease cooperation between XV and XIII Corps. Samsonov’s detractors tend to overlook the fact that on the other side of the line Hindenburg and Ludendorff spent most of their days not at headquarters, but with subordinate formations believed in need of guidance or encouragement. Samsonov’s announcement that he was temporarily closing down the 2nd Army’s signal station was not a gesture of resignation but an example of bad staff work. Samsonov expected to restore communications once he re-established his headquarters farther up the line.
At 9:30 a.m., however, Samsonov’s hopes received a severe jolt when a messenger from VI Corps finally reached him along the Jedwabno road. For the first time Samsonov discovered the dimensions of the defeat that corps had suffered around Bischofsburg. It was hardly remarkable that he described the situation as “serious” when overtaken shortly afterwards by Major-General Knox, the British military attaché. According to that officer, whose acerbic memoirs remain the most familiar summary source of information on the 2nd Army’s fate, Samsonov told him that I Corps was retreating on the left, VI Corps had been defeated on the right, and Samsonov was going to XV Corps headquarters and collect what forces he could to drive the Germans back.
Writing with the advantage of hindsight, Knox expressed surprise at the relative calmness of Samsonov and his staff. “The enemy has luck one day; we will have luck another,” Knox was told. What he and many subsequent critics interpreted as a mixture of inconsequent insouciance and “Russian fatalism” was probably an almost desperate desire to be rid of a nuisance—an hypothesis reinforced by Samsonov’s suggestion to Knox that he turn back because in case the worst should happen he had the duty to send “valuable reports” to the government in London. Samsonov still hoped to avert the worst as he and his staff switched from autos to horses for the final ride to XV Corps headquarters.39
III
Samsonov’s spirits might have lifted, at least temporarily, had he known exactly what was happening to the Germans opposing Martos. Scholtz and Hell prepared their orders for August 28 believing XX Corps faced three full divisions on the sector of its front from Mühlen northwards. But the Russian troops south of Mühlen were not thought to have much power of resistance after their hammering of the previous day. Scholtz decided to take corresponding advantage of what seemed a gap in the Russian line. He ordered the 41st Division to make a night march around Lake Mühlen, its geographic objective being Paulsgut in the enemy rear. As soon as the heights of Paulsgut were taken the Landwehr and reservists in what was now the center of the corps sector, placed for the day under the overall command of von Morgen, would attack to their front. The 37th Division, already on the march north, was to be ready to advance in support of Morgen by 4:00 a.m.
The actual timing of the latter movements depended on the progress of the 41st Division. Sontag’s men were expected to be in position by 4:00 a.m. By 5:30 a.m., however, no firing was audible from the division’s front. Hindenburg, wanting to get a closer view of the battle, again moved forward to Frögenau. He arrived there about 7:00 a.m. and set up field headquarters in the creamery on Frögenau’s outskirts. Scholtz had previously established his own command post in the village. The only direct communication to 8th Army’s other formations was a field telephone line to I Corps—not too much different from Samsonov’s situation. Scholtz arrived within minutes to explain that fog had delayed Sontag’s advance and was making observation impossible. Fog also played tricks with sounds, but according to Scholtz gunfire had been heard in Frögenau since around 6:00 a.m. That meant the 41st Division was attacking. Now there was nothing to do but wait.40
The corps orders had been issued late the preceding night, at 10:40 p.m. The 41st Division had not received them until 11:20 p.m.; its own orders reached the forward regiments shortly after midnight. Fresh troops, careful preparation, and aggressive leadership were reasonable prerequisites for infiltrating the lines of an enemy army corps. Sontag’s division lacked all three. Its men were tired. They had spent most of the evening of August 27 entrenching themselves in expectation of Russian counterattacks. At this stage of the war few company or battalion commanders sent out patrols as a matter of course. Reconnaissance was assumed to be the cavalry’s task, and cavalry considered itself next to useless in the dark. By the time the orders to advance reached the division’s forward units, it was the middle of the night—too late to dispatch scouts who would probably do little more than alert the Russians by stumbling around in the woods. Sontag himself questioned the attack’s prospects. He had only nine of his twelve battalions available. Two more were with Schmettau’s Force. A third was cleaning up the battlefield of the 26th, collecting wounded and salvaging equipment. But Sontag’s objections to the attack on Waplitz the day before and his apparent lack of grip during the afternoon had already cost him a sharp reprimand from Scholtz. Rather than risk losing his reputation or his command by another protest, the division commander decided to keep silent and hope for the best.