Stories of the Forgotten Heroes

Operation Faustschlag: The Final Nail in the Soviet Coffin

The frigid winter cold, made the men in the trenches clench their teeth and hope for the best. Their new rulers had promised them when they took power that the war should conclude for the sake of the starving and poorly equipped men which still fought in the front. Their promises seemed to have been made ages ago, yet not even a year had passed. Kerensky and his cronies had fled and abandoned Russia in its hour of need - the question was now whether the Bolsheviks would do the same.
Behind the friendly lines, a young Soviet soldier could be seen resting in the makeshift dugouts. Most of the men had been recently enlisted and knew nothing of war. How could they, when most of them were 17 or 18 year olds, mostly from the villages surrounding the large cities, and some from even farther, like Siberia.

Alexei Petrov, the harsh voice of a military commissar breaking up the stifling silence, is that any way to hold your weapon? What unit are you part of?

He raised himself, offering a military salute. He could barely mutter two words, when the older man began a raving monologue about the Eastern Front, his hands freezing on the rifle he had to keep safe. There was such a shortage of guns, that to drop it was considered by many an act of high treason, deserving only death. From his looks he betrayed a heart heavy with uncertainty but his eyes also sent shivers down the spine. Their coldness rivaled the vast fields where the battle was supposed to happen and all his anger was pointing in one direction: the politicians.

Once his superior left, he went back to the makeshift chair, where he thought of how he ended up in the Baltics. Alexei was the third son of a blacksmith from a small village near Moscow. Seeing his brothers go to war had instilled in him a sense of duty. After all, Alexei did not want to disappoint his father. He had turned 17 when the fervor of the Bolshevik Revolution swept peasant and worker alike. Believing in the promise of a classless society and driven by the suffering he had witnessed under the Czarist regime, he eagerly joined the Red Army, thinking little of the consequences of such a momentous decision. The ideals of equality, fraternity, and a better future for the common man had resonated deeply with him and in youthful bravado, thought that it could fuel him in the fight ahead. Now, he was less certain.

Alexei knew they were part of a plan in which the Red Army, defending the nascent Soviet state against the crushing advance of the German and Austro-Hungarian forces, had to prove their mettle. No one would take them seriously anymore if this stand would fall. The fact that the Germans had obliterated their armies, thus threatening Petrograd, was cause enough for the Bolshevik leadership to fear the consequences of betraying the promises they had made to the Germans.
As Operation Faustschlag, as the German Army had dubbed their offensive, commenced, Alexei's unit was ordered to the front lines. The initial spirit among the troops was high; they were ready to defend their homeland against any invader. But as the days turned into weeks, the reality of war began to wear down their resolve.

The Red Army, though passionate, was poorly equipped and lacked the discipline and experience of their German counterparts. The Germans had perfected the manner of waging the war in the East with such precision that it brought fear even into the hearts of the Entente. Alexei watched in dismay as his unit suffered defeat after defeat with the German forces, which were better armed and more strategic in their approach, pushing the Soviets back with alarming ease.
Alexei's disillusionment only grew as he witnessed the harsh realities of war. The food supplies were dwindling, the cold was biting, and the morale of his comrades was fading. At first, he began to question the leadership of the Bolsheviks in private. They seemed to everyone more concerned with their ideological purity than the well-being of their soldiers, since most of the plans were hastily drawn and poorly executed.

The breaking point for Alexei came during a brutal encounter in the Baltics. His unit was tasked with holding a strategic position, but they were ill-prepared for the ferocity of the German attack. The battle was a massacre; Alexei watched helplessly, a bullet wound to his side, as his friends and comrades were cut down around him. The Red Army was forced to retreat, leaving behind a field strewn with the bodies of the fallen. Despite being unwillung to recognize, the Bolshevik commander's only success had been at saving some of the sounded men, Alexei included.
In the aftermath of the battle, as Alexei watched from the window of a building turned field hospital, his comrades bury the dead, he felt a profound sense of loss and betrayal. The revolution he had believed in, the cause for which his friends had sacrificed their lives, seemed to be crumbling under the weight of its contradictions.
The disillusionment turned into resentment as Alexei received letters from home. His family was struggling under the new regime's policies, which had promised to alleviate the peasants' plight but instead had led to more hardship. The war, which was supposed to bring about a grand social and political change, had only brought misery and suffering to the people it claimed to defend.

At night, Alexei could now barely sleep, always tormented by the horrors he had witnessed during the failed defense. His dreams were filled with the gruesome deaths of his fellow comrades at the hands of the Germans, the feeling of powerlessness angering him further when he woke up. From here, it was only a small step for the disillusionment with the Bolshevik leadership to turn Alexei towards other options. Suddenly he began to contemplate something he had never thought possible: desertion. Leaving to the side the fact that he had joined the Red Army to fight for a just cause, yet now he felt like a pawn in a game of power and ideology, far removed from the ideals he had once held dear, the fear of the possible consequences made him shudder. If he was to commit to such a perilous act, he had to think it through.
One night, under the cover of darkness, Alexei made up his mind. He would slip away from the poorly watched camp, leaving behind his rifle and the remains of his shattered beliefs. His initial plan was to journey back to his village, to his family, determined to start anew, away from the conflict that had torn his country and his ideals apart but after a couple of kilometers he came to a sudden realization. There was no future for him in this Soviet utopia. By walking in a wide arch, he turned his gaze towards the West, hopeful that he may find a place for himself.