It’s Not Over When It’s Over
Germany scored a goal in the 80th minute and had a penalty in the 85th, yet still managed to lose the war, writes Oleg Maštruko in a piece about the Michael Offensive. The German Empire, aware of its looming fall, tried to change its fate and the course of history. They failed—but they came much closer than most people think.
On the internet, you can find a video with an animation of the Western Front in World War I, where the entire conflict is condensed into a single minute. The opening mobile phase of the war, in this compressed format, lasts exactly three seconds (!!). Blink and you’ll miss it, as the Americans say. This covers the period from August to mid-September 1914, with the failed French offensive around Alsace and the powerful German advance on the right wing through Belgium and northern France—the legendary Schlieffen Plan. The Germans nearly reach Paris but are ultimately stopped and slightly pushed back. The front is very fluid and moves quickly, but as mentioned, all of this happens in a matter of seconds. For the next 45 seconds or so, all that happens are tiny movements of the front line back and forth. One side gains ground, barely visibly, then the other cancels it out or advances elsewhere, again barely noticeable. We’re talking about a few pixels gained at the cost of tens of thousands of lives.
After the Western Front stabilized in late 1914, during the trench warfare of 1915–1917, the Germans did not achieve significant territorial gains to the west. Battles like Verdun and the Somme were more about exhausting the enemy than shifting the front line significantly. The next major movement happens about 12 seconds before the end of that one-minute animation—in real time, that’s late March 1918. The Germans make a huge breakthrough, almost equal to the one at the beginning of the war, but are stopped again. The Allies counterattack, the Germans collapse, and it’s over. The video actually covers events up to February 1919 and the occupation of parts of Germany, so the moment of this second German offensive is just a few seconds before the official end of the war, in early November 1918.
Compared to WWI, World War II is, on a strategic level, much simpler. You can also find great animations for it. The Axis powers rise, and the black shadow spreads seemingly unstoppably across the map of Europe from the start of the war until around the end of 1942 and the Battle of Stalingrad. Allied victories during that period are rare and mostly limited, tactical in nature. After Stalingrad in January 1943, the situation turns. The Allies advance everywhere—first the Soviets, then the rest—and the Axis powers retreat or fall apart. Now Axis victories become very rare and limited, and even when they do happen, they are mostly defensive. There’s hardly any back-and-forth—no real take-and-lose sequences—even though WWII is more mobile, so everything happens over a larger area.
After Stalingrad, Germany had no real chance of winning. In WWI, however, they did—almost until the very end. In fact, of Germany’s two metaphorical penetrations into the opponent’s penalty box during WWI, the first happened in the third minute of the match, and the second sometime around the eightieth. Fascinating.
There’s another extremely important difference between the two world wars that few people talk about.
For WWI, we know exactly when it started—almost to the minute. And we know minute-by-minute details of the event that triggered it: the assassination in Sarajevo. But the ending is lost in the fog. Yes, there’s the capitulation document on the Western Front, but that’s a Eurocentric—or more narrowly, Franco-Anglo-centric—view of things. Russia exited the war earlier, and even after the official end of fighting on the Western Front, Europe and the world plunged into a series of bloody and extremely important wars. The newly formed Yugoslavia fought deep into 1919 in Carinthia, for example. Greece and Turkey fought, Poland and the Bolsheviks fought, there was fighting in the Middle East, in the Baltics and Finland—wars everywhere, for dozens of reasons, all over the crumbling Russian Empire. Just the Russian Civil War, which directly resulted from the Great War, could arguably be said to have had more historical impact than WWI itself.
World War II, on the other hand, has a very clear and clean end—the German capitulation, followed by two atomic bombs and Japan’s surrender, and that’s it. No “pygmy wars,” as historian Prit Buttar calls them. OK, some Japanese soldiers withdrew into the jungle and refused to surrender, but that’s not the same. In WWII, interestingly, the fog is at the beginning—unlike WWI, where it’s very clear. Again, from a Franco-Anglo-centric perspective, WWII begins with the invasion of Poland and the automatic activation of France and Britain. But why there? The Japanese and Soviets fought a real war in Mongolia at Nomonhan a month or two earlier. What about the occupation of Czechoslovakia? The open Japanese invasion of China in 1937, or the smaller one in 1931?
Any serious student of warfare and the 20th century—or the wars of the 20th century—should pay special attention to the years 1917–1922. The most geopolitically interesting events happened during that time. The great powers had been expecting a major war for years, if not decades. Plans were made down to the tiniest details. Everything was prepared in advance, down to the exact scheduling of every train car needed for mobilization. Germany knew in advance—and greatly feared—the possibility of a two-front war. Diplomatically, they made enormous efforts to avoid it. But how? France was probably the only major power whose participation in a global conflict was absolutely guaranteed. After the loss of Alsace and Lorraine, generations of Frenchmen grew up with one wish: to reclaim those provinces and correct the injustice.
A war with Russia might have been avoided—Bismarck had warned about this—but what happens when there’s a Russian obligation to help the Serbs against Austria-Hungary, and then a German obligation to help its southern “brother” empire if Russia declares war? A war with Britain could have been avoided if neutral Belgium wasn’t touched, since the British were obligated by treaty to defend it… but, but… the only path to victory over France was via the Schlieffen Plan through Belgium! (Allow me a digression—British involvement in WWI was probably the most senseless of any major power. Over a million of its best young men killed, and who knows how many maimed—for Belgium? Which was trampled anyway…)
If a two-front war was inevitable, Germany would show everyone how it’s done! The basic idea was to concentrate seven armies on the Western Front and, with a powerful blow from the right wing through Belgium—the Schlieffen Plan—get behind the French, enter Paris, and force a capitulation (as in 1871). It was all supposed to happen lightning-fast, while the Russians were to be held off by just one army—the Eighth. It was assumed that Russian mobilization, due to the country’s size and poor infrastructure, would be the slowest. Once the seven Western armies dealt with France, they would all turn to Russia—and that was essentially the only possible path to victory for Germany and Austria-Hungary, which, during that time, was supposed to handle Serbia and help stall the Russians as much as possible. Neither task succeeded.
Things got stuck in the West, but that wasn’t the end of surprises. The one unlucky army designated to slow the Russians achieved an unexpected and grandiose victory at Tannenberg—not only did it slow them down, it crushed them.
And so, you win some, you lose some, followed by a few years of slaughter with back-and-forth movements on both fronts—the bigger movements were on the less-covered Eastern Front, larger in terms of kilometers, but even there the pattern was the same: a little gain here, a little lost there. The Germans knew they had to eliminate one side before turning to the other.
In that effort, they got unexpected help—from Comrade Lenin. Actually, even before him, from the Russian Tsar himself, who abdicated in March 1917 (February Revolution, by the Russian calendar). The Bolsheviks were stirring unrest, Russia was exhausted by war. The provisional government was taken over by Kerensky, a centrist politician who was very aware of Russia’s obligations to the Allies and tried desperately to organize an offensive—which was even named after him: the Kerensky Offensive, in early summer 1917. “We’re still here, despite the Tsar’s abdication—the Russian army is still fighting!”—was the message he wanted to send. But the offensive was a spectacular failure. The soldiers had no motivation, except for a few exceptions.
Although the events in Russia are certainly worth detailed analysis, they’re not our focus now, so let’s fast-forward to Red October (actually November).
The October Revolution of 1917 brought the Bolsheviks to power, which led to a truce in December and the beginning of negotiations with the Central Powers—Germany, Austria-Hungary, the Ottoman Empire, and Bulgaria. The Russian delegation, led by Adolf Joffe and later by Leon Trotsky, was composed to represent various social groups that supported the revolution, including soldiers, sailors, factory workers, and even a peasant pulled off the street who, used to eating with his hands, struggled with cutlery at dinner.
Trotsky attempted to apply the tactic of “neither war nor peace” to prolong the negotiations, hoping for a world revolution or the involvement of the Allies. However, the German Operation Faustschlag, launched on February 18, 1918, forced the Russians to yield. The Germans advanced with minimal effort, mostly in the Baltics, encountering almost no Russian resistance. As a result, on March 3, 1918, the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk was signed, under which Russia lost eighteen provinces, while Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, and Ukraine gained independence.
The agreement cost Russia 90% of its coal production, 50% of its industry, and 30% of its population. Ukraine’s wealth was quickly divided among the victors: Germany received 30% of Ukraine’s grain reserves, Austria-Hungary 50%, and Turkey 20%—a key strategic gain that greatly alleviated the effects of the Allied blockade.
From the beginning, there were tensions between Germany and Austria-Hungary over Ukraine. Some Austro-Hungarian officials proved to be much more adept at dealing with Ukrainians than the Germans. Austrian Archduke Wilhelm strongly advocated for the Ukrainians, whom he saw as rivals to the Poles. He commanded a Ukrainian regiment that entered southern Ukraine in 1918. Aware that Austria-Hungary faced a future only as a vassal state of the German Empire, Vienna explored the possibility of establishing a fully independent Ukraine as an ally and counterweight to German influence—an interesting detail, especially in light of current events surrounding Ukraine.
The Treaty of Brest-Litovsk freed up a significant number of German units—between 45 and 50 infantry and cavalry divisions, depending on the source—for transfer to the Western Front. Some German and Austro-Hungarian forces remained in the chaos of Russia, carrying out occupation duties, and some even reached Georgia and the Caucasus. Historian Prit Buttar, an excellent source for the events described in this text, notes that due to increasing resistance to the occupation, the actual number of divisions Germany could count on was 33. That’s still a large number, but had 12 more divisions been available in the West, the outcome of Germany’s final attempt to secure victory might have been different.
The Russians Are Left with Their Internal War, Which Won’t Hinder the Germans
Russian participation in the war was now finally over—they were left with their own internal war, which, though no less interesting, would not hinder the Germans in achieving their goal—quite the opposite.
It was March 1918. The Germans seemingly had what they had long wished for, though achieved in a strange and unexpected way. An enemy was eliminated on one front, and they could now fight the “one-front war” they had dreamed of since the beginning, one in which they considered themselves invincible. Not only that, but they were also capturing the grain fields of Ukraine and reaping their benefits. Many divisions and armies could now be transferred west. For the first time, they had a temporary manpower advantage on the Western Front.
So how did they lose the one-front war after managing not to lose it for years while fighting on two? That is the question the rest of this text will address—and probably one of the 4–5 most interesting strategic questions in military history of the past 200 years.
Even before Russia formally exited the war, General Erich Ludendorff, the de facto commander of the German army, began planning a renewed offensive on the Western Front in October 1917. This was to be a final throw of the dice—something both Hindenburg, the formal Chief of the General Staff, and Ludendorff, the Erster Generalquartiermeisterand real commander, were well aware of. The penultimate throw of the dice was likely the unrestricted submarine warfare campaign, introduced in early 1917, which dealt a serious blow to the British—but still not a decisive one.
The core of the idea lay in the German military leadership’s belief that the war in the West had to be decided by a swift and decisive blow. After four years of trench warfare, characterized by massive losses and minimal territorial changes, Germany was well aware that a prolonged war was depleting its resources faster than it was the Allies’. Britain and France had access to global colonial resources, while the United States, which had entered the war in April 1917, had begun sending thousands of fresh troops to Europe—though for some time neither side expected the inexperienced American contingent to be decisive.
Ludendorff planned a series of offensives known as the Kaiserschlacht (“Kaiser’s Battle”), including Michael, Georgette, Gneisenau, and Blücher–Yorck. Operation Michael, the first and largest, aimed to break through Allied lines—particularly the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) along the Somme River—to cut them off from the French in the south and push them toward the sea. After that—onward to Paris! Germany deployed 74 divisions, or about 1.3 million soldiers, 14,000 artillery pieces of all calibers, and 326 aircraft.
Ludendorff also devised and implemented new infiltration tactics, using special assault units known as Sturmtruppen(stormtroopers). These small units moved swiftly behind creeping artillery barrages, bypassing fortified positions to reach enemy artillery and command centers, aiming to disrupt communications and reinforcements. These tactics, successfully used at the Battle of Caporetto/Kobarid against the Italians in 1917, were superior to static trench warfare and promised a more dynamic approach.
Operation Michael began on March 21, 1918, at 4:20 a.m. with a devastating artillery bombardment—considered the heaviest in history up to that time. The attack took place along a 70-kilometer front between Arras and Saint-Quentin, primarily targeting the British Third and Fifth Armies.
The advancement of artillery tactics during World War I was fascinating. Initially used crudely like Cro-Magnon clubs, artillery units by 1918—especially the German ones—had become refined, precise machines well-integrated with infantry operations.
The artillery barrages for Operation Michael, designed by Colonel Georg Bruchmüller, lasted five hours and paralyzed the British Third and Fifth Armies, commanded by Julian Byng and Hubert Gough, respectively. Bruchmüller was one of the major tactical innovators of World War I. His tactic of hurricane bombardment (Feuerwalze, or “fire dance”)—an intense artillery strike focused on command centers, communications, and trenches—enabled German troops to advance and was crucial for the initial success.
Due to Prime Minister Lloyd George’s reluctance to send additional reinforcements, and the losses suffered in the second half of 1917, British forces entered 1918 significantly understrength. Field Marshal Haig worsened the situation by allowing 88,000 men to go on leave to Britain—even when it was clear that a German attack was imminent. Regardless of the reasons for Haig’s weak forces, Britain managed to send 212,000 troops to Flanders once the scale of the crisis became clear in mid-April.
By the end of the first day, the British Fifth Army was in disarray, and German forces had advanced up to 8 kilometers in some sectors. The Germans continued their rapid advance; by March 24, the Fifth Army was forced to retreat across the Somme River, and German troops had captured the town of Bapaume.
Ludendorff expanded the objectives, directing forces toward Amiens in the south and Arras in the north. The German 2nd Army (von Hutier) and 18th Army (von Below) achieved significant gains, while the 17th Army (von Gallwitz) advanced more slowly due to stronger resistance near Arras.
Ludendorff, mistakenly believing that the British had been defeated, reinforced the southernmost army to prevent the redeployment of French reserves, but in doing so, he dispersed his forces by attacking in multiple directions. Ludendorff insisted on an opportunistic approach, allowing commanders to exploit any chance for a breakthrough. However, this flexibility later led to strategic confusion, as the offensive’s goals were frequently changed during execution.
By March 27, the German breakthrough had reached a depth of about 40 kilometers, the greatest advance on the Western Front since 1914. However, logistical problems began to emerge: German forces had moved away from their rail lines, and supplies of fuel, food, and ammunition were hindering further progress.
German forces approached Amiens, capturing the town of Albert and reaching Villers-Bretonneux, about 16 kilometers east of Amiens, by March 31. Amiens, a key railway hub, was close, but German forces began to lose momentum due to exhaustion and extended supply lines.
The Allies responded. French General Ferdinand Foch, appointed Supreme Commander of Allied forces on March 26, coordinated reinforcements, including French and Australian troops, to defend Amiens. The British forces, though battered, organized a defense at key positions.
The German advance was halted on April 5 at Villers-Bretonneux, where Australian and British troops launched a strong counterattack. Operation Michael formally ended. Germany had captured about 3,100 square kilometers of territory and taken around 90,000 Allied soldiers prisoner. The advance reached a depth of 65 kilometers into British lines but failed to achieve strategic objectives such as capturing the Amiens rail hub or destroying the British army or separating it from the French. German forces failed to significantly shake the British 3rd Army in the north, where the British had stronger defenses and terrain advantage. The lack of mobility after the breakthrough also thwarted German strategic goals.
Casualties were enormous on both sides: the Germans suffered about 239,800 (killed, wounded, and missing), while the Allies had 255,000 casualties (178,000 British and 77,000 French). While the Allies could replace their losses thanks to American military and industrial power, the Germans could not.
This was not the end of Germany’s show, but it was the end of its main act. Ludendorff continued the spring offensive, launching Operation Georgette on April 9. Initially aimed at British lines in Flanders, its goal was to capture Hazebrouck. The Germans advanced quickly, but Ludendorff again scattered his attacks. The main blow fell on the Portuguese Expeditionary Corps, which was defending a broad, open plain and was exhausted after a year in the trenches. At that moment, it was being rotated out by fresh British divisions.
The next major operation, Blücher, began with an attack on the Chemin des Dames on May 27. This operation was intended as a diversion to draw French reserves away from Flanders, but Ludendorff, deceived by the tactical success, expanded it into a full offensive. German troops advanced to within 65 kilometers of Paris—so close and yet so far!
The penultimate operation on the Matz River on June 9—code-named Gneisenau—was unconvincing, and the final offensive in the Champagne region on July 15 was a complete failure.
Like all German general staff officers, Ludendorff was a successor to Helmuth von Moltke the Elder, the last Prussian and first German Chief of the General Staff, who, as expected of a hard-nosed Prussian, constantly emphasized the critical importance of setting clear objectives at all levels of command—only then could subordinates be expected to improvise in line with the ultimate goal.
During these offensives, Ludendorff deliberately avoided setting operational goals, claiming that the only aim was a breakthrough, and further objectives would develop on their own. German forces made significant territorial gains, but Ludendorff’s “break through and the rest will follow” strategy led to forces exhausting themselves attacking well-entrenched British units in areas of no strategic significance. This is a common observation from historians writing with the benefit of hindsight and knowledge of how the war ended. It’s easy to criticize from that position, but I don’t think Ludendorff’s approach was necessarily wrong—the Soviets employed a very similar strategy against the Germans in 1944–45, and it worked quite well.
By July 18, a French counterattack hit the exhausted Germans, shifting the initiative to the Allies. By mid-summer, around 10,000 fresh American soldiers were arriving at the front every day.
What followed was the so-called Hundred Days Offensive, a series of Allied advances on the Western Front. The turning point came on August 8, 1918—a day known as the Black Day of the German Army—Schwarzer Tag des deutschen Heeres, in Ludendorff’s own words, not so much because of the territory lost, but because of the collapse of German morale and mass troop surrenders. On that day, the Allies launched powerful attacks at multiple points along the Western Front; British infantry, supported by tanks and aircraft, advanced through thick fog near Amiens. The Germans began to fall apart—it happens to them too! Over the course of the entire war, the Western Allies captured about 712,000 Germans; just over half of that number were captured in the last four months of 1918 alone.
After the “Black Day,” Ludendorff told Kaiser Wilhelm II on August 10 that the war needed to end. Continuous Allied victories followed—not just on the Western Front, including the Vardar Offensive (Salonika Front), the Battle of Megiddo (Palestine), the Meuse-Argonne Offensive, and the Battle of Vittorio Veneto. Game over. On November 10, Kaiser Wilhelm accepted the inevitable, abdicated, and fled to the Netherlands, where he would remain until his death in 1941.
World War I ended with the signing of the armistice on November 11, 1918. This was followed by months of upheaval and chaos, small wars and revolutions in several countries—including Germany itself. The Kaiser abdicated—his Russian counterpart had done so even earlier and was killed with his entire family in the Russian Civil War. Austria-Hungary collapsed, and the Allies crowned their Siegerjustiz (“victor’s justice”) harshly at Versailles, which is generally considered a prelude to the next great war. The Versailles negotiations of 1919 also annulled the provisions of the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk.
Germany’s spring offensives in the final year of the Great War were a synthesis of desperation and ambition. Germany committed all remaining resources to these operations, knowing that 1918 was the last chance for victory—or at least a favorable stalemate. The idea of a rapid, decisive blow was based on tactical innovations and a temporary numerical advantage but was burdened by strategic shortcomings, such as unclear goals and logistical constraints. The course of Operation Michael and the other spring offensives showed impressive initial success, but also the inevitable weaknesses of the German army after four years of war. The Empire, aware of its decline and burdened by the ailing body of its sister empire, Austria-Hungary, tried to change fate and the course of history. They failed—but they came much closer than many think…
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