We’ll always have Paris
- Rick, in ‘Casablanca’ (1942)
On 5 March an Imperial Conference is held in the city of Königsberg, where the still-visible signs of damage from Russian artillery act as a constant reminder to the assembled dignitaries of the gravity of the situation we face. Some of the civilian ministers present express a trace of hostility towards our Austro-Hungarian allies, for "stealing" more than their fair share of the spoils won by the might of German arms. However, the military representatives at the conference are full of praise for the fighting qualities of the Imperial and Royal army, and its key role in protecting our flanks. Finally, the Kaiser puts an end to the discussion when he firmly declares that he will hear no more carping about the Dual Monarchy. "The Austrians are our Teutonic brethren," he says, "and Emperor Franz Josef alone of all the sovereigns of Europe was willing to stand by us in this crisis. We Germans understand the importance of duty, and we will remain true to our friendship."
With this settled, matters turn to the utilisation of our new amphibious capability. The Great General Staff has been reviewing all the options, and has decided to make French North Africa our target for offensive action in 1915. With the so-called Government of
France Libre in Algiers defeated, it is hoped that a critical mass of influential political figures in France will lose their faith in final Entente victory, and be willing to negotiate with us on our proposals for political and economic union. Max Hoffman, resplendent in his new Major-General's uniform, is therefore invited to give a presentation of the plan. He explains that the Navy has been given the responsibility of creating a deception scheme, in order to secure the passage of our troop convoy around the north coast of Britain. A military landing in corps strength will then be made on the Atlantic coast of Morocco. After securing the beachhead, a column of troops will drive inland along the main road to Oran and Mers-el-Kebir in Algeria, where they will form a defensive line to withstand the anticipated attacks from the French forces in Algiers. This will allow the expeditionary force to be supported by the short sea-route from southern France, instead of the more dangerous and exposed Atlantic convoy paths. The transport fleet, meanwhile, will transit to the Mediterranean where it will ferry over reinforcements for the final assault on Algiers. This plan is approved unanimously.
With the green light from High Command, the Navy begins the first stage of the operation on 12 March. An elaborate multi-part plan is put into effect. First, five Zeppelins of the Naval Airship Service are despatched to patrol the North Sea and British Coast, and to locate the Royal Navy. Once these scouts are able to determine that the British fleet is still in port, then the Hochseeflotte sets sail. First, in the vanguard, is a strong battle squadron under Admiral Scheer, containing our most modern dreadnoughts and cruisers. Some distance behind this force, but in radio contact with it, comes the transport squadron, itself with a strong escort. If British forces are encountered, then Scheer will engage them allowing the vulnerable troop convoy to take evasive action.
The Hochseeflotte heads out to sea, as a Zeppelin scouts overhead
In the event, these precautions prove something of an anticlimax, as our fleet slips through the blockade and rounds the northern coast of the British Isles without incident. By 17 March the ships are in sight of the African coast, and landing operations begin near the port city of Casablanca. French opposition is minimal, and the city is soon secured. While some troops are dispatched south to capture Agadir, the main body sets out eastwards in accordance with the plan.
Off-duty German troops celebrate the capture of Casablanca by enjoying wine, women and song in a local bar
Unfortunately, this will be the last part of the operation that does go according to plan.
The first problem we encounter is transferring our transport fleet into the Mediterranean. The Admiralty had originally planned to force the Straits of Gibraltar under the cover of our battleships bombarding the British gun positions, but this proves impossible. When a number of our ships are damaged by previously uncharted floating mines, Scheer orders the cancellation of the operation. While his battle squadron prepares to return to Wilhelmshafen, the commander of the transport squadron is reluctant to give up. He therefore proposes to go the long way round: down the coast of Africa, around the Cape of Good Hope and up through the Indian Ocean. Fortunately, our Ottoman allies have managed to retain control of the Suez Canal, and unless the British are able to launch a successful counterattack in Egypt we will be able to secure passage into the Mediterranean by that route. The catch is that it will take several weeks to complete this journey, and our troops ashore will be cut off from any hope of reinforcements during that time. Nevertheless, it is decided to take the risk. A second problem will be that of supplying the ships en route, as they do not carry sufficient coal for such a long voyage. However, our Naval staff is up to the task. A collection of colliers and supply vessels is hastily established in Bordeaux, and despatched into the Atlantic to set up supply dumps in Kamerun, Südwestafrika and Ostafrika. The Navy recognises that a permanent supply chain will be impossible to maintain in the face of British commerce raiders; but enough ships should get through temporarily to replenish our depots in those African colonies. As an added bonus, the year’s backlog of personal mail for our troops out in Africa is sent along with the ships, along with a few luxuries to remind them of home.
While this supply convoy is being arranged, the transport squadron takes the opportunity to ferry two more divisions of troops over to Africa on 6 April. These men had previously been enjoying the easy life on garrison duty in the Dordogne; now they find themselves plunged into battle, because after the initial quiet French resistance in Morocco has sprung to life with a vengeance.
The first sign of trouble comes when an entire army corps of French regulars appears as if from nowhere to contest our hold on Agadir. We can only conclude that they must have marched across the desert behind the shield of the Atlas mountains in order to remain undetected. The fighting for that port is fierce, as the French hold the high ground and our troops are suffering from unaccustomed heat and thirst. However, superior German fighting ability wins the day, although at heavy cost. Even worse, no sooner have we fought our way to victory here than news comes of a fresh French offensive in the north, which has broken through the defensive lines around our beachhead and penetrated right through to the port of Casablanca itself. As our supply route is hastily diverted southwards, the new reinforcements from our garrison in France are thrown into the attack. At great cost, they manage to drive the enemy out of the city once more.
However, the strategic situation is by no means promising. German troops hold the ports and beaches of Morocco, but the surrounding hills and mountains are firmly in the hands of the French. From here, they can overlook our encampments, watch our movements, and shell us by day and by night. Our troops are never out of the firing line, and are plagued by the dust and flies, tormented by thirst and highly vulnerable to the outbreak of disease. Any attempt at counterattack means advancing uphill against heavily-defended fortifications. Further east, our detachments cling to the line of the road through the Er Rif towards the Mediterranean coast; but this line of communication is constantly under threat. Units of French regulars, including the Légion Etrangère, and bands of native
spahis and
zouaves, often mounted on horses or camels, regularly harass our troops. The French numbers seem inexhaustible, and the mountains are alive with enemies.
Reinforcements are clearly needed urgently – but where will they come from?
Far from the hot sands of Africa, our forces in Russia are bogged down in the mud and slush of the spring thaw. There is one piece of good news: after apparently disappearing for several months, the new hiding place of Tsar Nikolai has been discovered. It seems that after escaping from us at Petrozavodsk in December, he, his wife and children, their ‘spiritual advisor’ Rasputin and a handful of bodyguards were able to slip through our cordon under cover of a blizzard. Stealing a pair of horse-drawn sleighs, they made their perilous way through hundreds of miles of forest and tundra, evading German patrols and packs of hungry wolves, until reaching relative safety in the tiny northern village of Velsk. Here, living in a rough-hewn log cabin rather than the splendours of the Hermitage and the Winter Palace, the Tsar is organising the resistance of the Russian diehards. We promptly send a column of troops to capture him. However, the trackless wastes of the sub-arctic forests, filled with desperate and fanatical defenders of the Tsar, prove too much for our men; and they are forced to retreat whilst still short of their objective.
The Russian royal family and their close aides escape through the German lines to safety
Further south, our forces are encountering similar problems. Although the weather is less dire, the other conditions are equally bad. The sad excuses for roads to be found in this area of the country have been degraded still further by the melting snow, into little more than muddy smears through the forests. Nevertheless, High Command is determined to press on with the attacks – in the unspoken desire (necessarily unspoken, in the light of the Kaiser’s pointed comments) to reach the Urals before the Austro-Hungarian army does so.
The result is a series of brutal battles, thousands of German dead, and scarcely a few hundred yards of worthless mud captured. On 11 April, our attack on the last Russian redoubt in Finland, Joensuu, fails. The second battle of Saransk is also unsuccessful. Reinforcements from VI Armee are rushed into the battle on 19 April in an attempt to snatch the victory, but by the time OHL calls off the attack on 21 April this army has effectively been destroyed as a fighting force.
These combat operations are consuming all our available manpower, and there are no units left to spare for the beleaguered troops in North Africa. By the end of April OHL is forced to face the unpalatable truth that the offensive in Russia is going nowhere. We are simply throwing the lives of our troops away. Some of our commanders look with jealousy at the Austro-Hungarian theatre of war, where the path of the Trans-Siberian Railway offers a promising line of advance, through relatively settled countryside. It is this advantage that has allowed our allies to overtake our own front line and press on deeper into Russia. Field Marshal Hindenburg therefore journeys back to Berlin, where he personally petitions the Kaiser to move the demarcation lines between the two nations’ armies further south, allowing us to exploit the better terrain there. Despite his earlier reluctance to antagonise the Austro-Hungarians, His Majesty is moved by the tales of suffering of the German soldiers in the trackless Russian wastelands. Hindenburg promises him that German troops advancing along the Trans-Siberian Railway will quickly capture the last remaining industrial centres of Russia and “knock the fight out of them damned Russkis at last”. Convinced, the Kaiser summons the Habsburg ambassador Count Szögyény and presents his demands.
The strategic situation in April 1915
The Dual Monarchy, however, is unwilling to compromise. “We agreed on the dividing line between our armies eight months ago,” expostulates Field Marshal Conrad to his sovereign when called to Vienna to discuss the matter. “Why are the Germans seeking to change it now? Can’t they keep their promises?” When this conversation is communicated back to us, Hindenburg is apoplectic. “If the damned Austrians want to hog Russia to themselves, let them do it alone. I’m not throwing my boys’ lives away to capture cities for the bloody Habsburgs. We’ll withdraw our troops back to Poland, see how they manage without us. They’ll soon be crying for our help, you’ll see.”
Kaiser Wilhelm, however, shrinks from causing such an open break with the Austro-Hungarians, probably worried about how such a betrayal would be viewed by posterity. While he is hesitating, the aged Emperor Franz Josef asks for a personal meeting between the sovereigns. This is hastily arranged for 3 May at the little town of Passau, on the German-Austrian border, since the frail Austro-Hungarian Emperor can no longer travel too far from home. Expecting a major confrontation, the Kaiser is taken by surprise when Franz Josef opens the talks by asking about German plans for the post-war settlement. His Majesty explains, haltingly, our ideas about creating a pan-European
Zollverein, a free trade area which will allow the German economy to reach its full scope – and, more enthusiastically, his plans to use the resources of French shipyards joined to those of Germany herself to finally give us a world-beating navy. “What about the political settlement?” asks the Kaiser-und-König. His Majesty cautiously sketches out our thoughts on a political union between Germany, France and Russia, wary of how the older Emperor will react. Franz Josef, however, surprises him by his enthusiasm. “You must re-found the universal Reich! Napoleon destroyed it, now you shall rebuild it!” “But the rulers of the Holy Roman Empire were…” Wilhelm trails off, embarrassed, but Franz Josef picks up his thought. “…Habsburgs? Yes, my family once held that sceptre. But look at us now. I am 85 years old. My only son is dead. My brother, murdered in Mexico. My nephew, that damned fool, went and got himself shot down in Sarajevo together with that dreadful woman he married. His boy Karl is my heir now, I suppose – God help us all! Always whining about how awful the war is and why can’t we all just get along. They might make him a saint some day, but he’ll never be a great Emperor. No, the crown of leadership has passed to the Hohenzollerns now. Take it, with my blessing. Lead, and we shall follow. Be Caesar; unite Europe; make us strong!”
The two emperors
Overcome with emotion, Wilhelm leaps up, shakes Franz Josef vigorously by the hand while professing his undying loyalty to the bonds of brotherhood between our great peoples. Once he takes his seat again, blinking back the moisture in his eyes, the Austro-Hungarian Emperor shuffles his papers and says, “Now, about that little matter in Russia. We’re both on the same side; we held off the Russians while you overran France; can you not find it in your heart to help us now?” When the Kaiser hesitates, Franz Josef adds persuasively, “You have Paris… and St Petersburg and Moscow, too. Surely you will not begrudge us Novosibirsk and Tomsk?”
Faced with that argument, Kaiser Wilhelm concedes. He orders OHL to respect the demarcation line between the two countries’ zones, and furthermore to put a German army under Austro-Hungarian command, to operate south of the Urals and into Siberia. On hearing this news, a furious Field Marshal Hindenburg hands in his resignation, and announces that he is going back into retirement. OHL tries desperately to mollify him, and succeeds to the extent that Hindenburg agrees to retain his commission; but he flatly refuses to serve under the Dual Monarchy. Therefore, it is Erich Ludendorff who is given this duty, and his I Armee is issued with little two-headed eagles as sleeve badges and ordered to entrain for Tsaritsyn on the southern front. Ludendorff, however, makes it crystal clear to Field Marshal Conrad that he intends to retain full operational and strategic control over his forces. They may be fighting under the flag of the Dual Monarchy, but they will remain German troops, under the orders of their German generals.
No sooner has all this been settled, than Count Szögyény requests another interview with our Foreign Minister. Thinking it will be merely a matter of tidying up the arrangements between our countries, von Jagow slots the ambassador into his schedule between two other appointments on 5 May. As soon as he sees the Hungarian nobleman’s face, however, von Jagow realises that this must be a grave matter indeed. Opening a leather-bound folder marked with diplomatic seals, the Austro-Hungarian ambassador pulls out a folded letter. “We received this in Vienna two weeks ago”, he says, sliding it across the desk. “My government has decided that you need to be aware of it.”
The first thing von Jagow sees as he opens the letter is the coat of arms of the Kingdom of Italy…
To be continued... (after I get back)
Not for much longer, though. 
