Victory or Death: A Serbian WWI AAR
Serb positions near Orsova
June 22nd 1915, Orsova
Lieutenant General Milosevic reads the telegram silently, a slight smile coming to his lips.
PODGORICA TAKEN, DIGGING IN STOP
PANCSOVA HELD STOP
AUSTRIAN OFFENSIVE AGAINST ORSOVA PLANNED, NUMBERS UNKNOWN STOP
REINFORCEMENTS 5 DAYS AWAY STOP
RETURN TO BEOGRAD ASAP STOP
FIELD MARSHAL MISIC STOP
He sits down on the rather uncomfortable chair in the command shack, and cracks his knuckles.
"Good news on all fronts, it seems. Though Misic says the Austrians are coming," he says, the words hanging in the air. Jivanovic, his second-in-command, laughs, shaking his head.
"What, here?!"
Milosevic shrugs. "That's what the message says. I'm betting the Austrians are cursing themselves for letting us capture the gorge so easily, and the High Command has ordered it retaken no matter what the cost."
Milosevic stands up and steps outside, Jivanovic quickly following, into the biting cold mountain air. The view from their vantage point is breathtaking. Below them lies the small port town of Orsova, on the banks of the great Danube, beyond which stretches a gorge known as the Iron Gate, which over the centuries has acquired a reputation as being torment for any ships trying to pass through. The Serb army had crossed the river without too much trouble, but the rugged terrain that lies beyond, snow-covered even in the height of summer, would be difficult for any army trying to dislodge the Serbs. Even if they succeeded, the Serbs have the option of retreating and defending from the other side of the river, which would truly make things hellish for the Austrians.
"It seems the Austrian has a desire to commit suicide," Jivanovic says with a chuckle, earning a sharp look from Milosevic.
"It would be foolish to underestimate the enemy, even the Austrians," Milosevic says austerely. "You should remember that, seeing as how this is going to be your battle."
"I willl...wait a minute, what do you mean,
my battle?"
Milosevic coughs. "I've been recalled to Belgrade by Misic. These two divisions, well, they're yours now I guess."
Jivanovic stands open mouthed, as Milosevic silently goes back inside.
Only two hours later, Serb infantry positions would come under attack. Reports indicated they were outnumbered 4:1
The Austrian Counter-Offensive
Belgrade, some time before
“Feeling better, Field Marshal?”
There is genuine warmth in King Petar’s voice, as between old friends. Putnik nods silently, much of the drained pallor gone, the colour restored to his heavily bearded face. The King smiles.
“So how would you feel about going back into the field? We could use your expertise…”
Putnik is silent. Upon returning to Serbia several months before, he had kept his word to von Hotzendorf, only for the King to decline his offer of resignation, and with good reason. Putnik is a fine general, and despite his ill health his mind remains as sharp as ever.
“I would like to help,” he says, “but my condition is still poor. I think maybe I should offer the resignation of my commission again.”
Petar sighs. “All right, how about a compromise? I trust your judgement when you say you’re not fit to lead, but how about acting in more of an…advisory capacity? I‘m sure there are many younger commanders who could benefit from your knowledge and expertise. It would require you going out to the front though, of course.”
Putnik considers this, and eventually nods. “I suppose so, I am feeling recovered. Where would you like me to go?”
“There is currently an artillery division on it’s way to reinforce Orsova, which we believe will come under attack soon. Holding Orsova could be critical to our whole war effort.”
“Fine, I’ll do it.”
“Excellent. The train leaves tonight.”