9
The instant that war was declared the world of European finance was plunged into turmoil. Embroiled in the mayhem was J. Henry Schröder & Co. The company had been established in London in 1818 so, despite its German roots, it was no stranger to the City. Baron Bruno von Schröder had lived and worked in London for years at its head. His children had been born in England and his two sons educated at Eton, but his nationality meant that on the outbreak of the Great War the company could be seized by the government.
His business partner went to work immediately to try to rectify the situation. The fate of von Schröder’s company was of great importance. In August 1914 London’s financial hub was in a state of meltdown; should it be sequestered von Schröder had £11m in outstanding acceptances that it would not be able to honour. As such the governors of the Bank of England were onside and took the matter up with the Home Secretary. It would be, they said, ‘a disaster if the doors of Baron von Schröder did not open on the following morning.’ Separate appeals were made by friends to the Prime Minister and Baron von Schröder was given immediate naturalisation. As early as 7 August 1914 he had received both a certificate confirming his status as a British citizen and a licence to trade and reside in the country from George V himself.
That von Schröder and his colleagues had curtailed the possibility of being sequestered did not alleviate all of their commercial issues. In many circles there was outrage at his rapid conversion to British citizenship. In October the aldermen of the City of London passed a resolution of protest and the Home Secretary was forced to continuously bat away the issue in Parliament throughout November. At the forefront of the howls of protest that were latched on to by the press was the fact that Bruno von Schröder’s 19-year-old son and heir, a territorial, was mobilising for war and heading for the Western Front – with the German Army.
Born in Kensington in 1895, Rudolph ‘Bruno’ von Schröder arrived at Mr Hill’s house at Eton in 1908 and made his way through the school relatively quietly, not surprisingly making off with school prizes in German. In 1913 he went straight into the family business and headed straight to his father’s native Hamburg to learn his trade. Once there Bruno immediately joined a cavalry outfit, Dragoner-Regiment 18 or the ‘Parchim Dragoons’ as an Einjährig Freiwilliger or one-year volunteer.
It was a regiment with a proud heritage. The Parchim Dragoons had close ties with the city of Bremen and had helped to besiege Paris in the Franco–Prussian War. Hamburg citizens were not obliged to join the PRussian Army, but Bruno’s father had served with the regiment in his youth so there were familial connections with this Mecklenburgian regiment. Gefreiter (Fahnenjunker) Bruno Freiherr von Schröder, his rank that of an NCO acting as the lowest rank of officer was already on the Western Front attempting to wrestle Liege from Belgian hands when his OE counterparts in the British Army had yet to cross the Channel.
With the arrival of the BEF in France and Belgium in the middle of the month began the only recorded instances of Old Etonians fighting against each other in the Great War. In fact Bruno and his men were pursuing cavalry regiments packed full of his fellow OEs, including at least one boy who had been in the same house with him, through the French countryside.
Bruno von Schröder was not the only Old Etonian joining an illustrious mounted regiment in a foreign army. Russia had at her disposal what seemed like infinite reserves of manpower. The Tsar could put literally millions of men to war against the Central Powers inside a month at the outbreak of war. His army was mobilised on 31 July 1914 and Germany declared war the following day. In the east the immense might of three powers; the Kaiser’s, the Tsar’s and that of Austria–Hungary, were lining up on an immense Eastern Front to do battle.
George Schack-Sommer was the son of an established merchant. Suffering from delicate health as a child, he radiated charm and had impeccable manners. He arrived at Eton in 1903 and was a keen member of the OTC, leaving school four years later bent on being a mining engineer. He started off right at the bottom in Cornwall, working as a miner himself to get a feel for it. Experience gained, he went off to the Royal School of Mines and three years later, at 20, he finished his studies and went out into the world. He had worked in Norway and India, where again he had volunteered for territorial service with the Kolar Goldfields Mounted Rifles, but ultimately had become an assayer and a cyanide operator at the Tanalyk Mine in the Urals. He was an animal lover and had much experience with Siberian ponies. In spring 1910 he had interviews with Robert Falcon Scott for his South Pole expedition but ultimately Scott felt that George was too young for the rigours of the expedition. Ultimately he took Lawrence Oates to maintain the ponies, an older OE who had the added advantage of offering substantial financial support.
In November 1914 George left his job in Siberia and embarked on an epic journey to offer his services to the Russian Army, as he rightly thought it would be faster than travelling home to apply for a commission. He began his 1,700-mile odyssey with a thirty-six-hour troika ride to get to the nearest railway station. Eventually he rolled up at the Grand Hotel d’Europe in newly renamed Petrograd having travelled via Chelyabinsk, Ekaterinburg where the Tsar would be executed in 1917, and Vologda. It would be no more dangerous than going down into the mine, he attempted to convince his mother ‘Think of the Russian people I live with going off … surely it would look terrible for an Englishman to sit tight and leave it to others.’
As a foreigner George had to petition the Tsar to be allowed in to the Russian Army as an ordinary soldier and doggedly stuck at it until they let him into the ranks. Numerous regiments turned this thoroughly determined Englishman down, but he was on familiar terms with a minister who introduced him to his brother; a colonel of a cavalry regiment, who agreed to take George down to Kiev to join the 12th Artirsky Hussars. ‘If anyone asks why I went to scrap from this side,’ he told his family, ‘tell them it was because I thought it would be the quickest way to get to the front.’ He was bullish in backing up his decision against those who may scorn him. ‘Jump on anyone who thinks I have in any way sunk my nationality. I have your Union Jack in my breast pocket,’ George assured them, ‘and it is going to fly somewhere, before I’ve done with it.’
George entrained for Galicia to join his regiment. Here four Russian armies were lined up against Austro–Hungarian forces fighting a war of movement. Whilst the war on the Western Front was grinding to an industrialised halt, this was a throwback to a bygone age. Cavalry performed in traditional role, skirmishing and scouting.
The journey had been incredibly arduous. He had covered nearly 2,500 miles since leaving the mine. George arrived in Lviv1, recently liberated from the Austro–Hungarians, just as the fighting around Ypres was subsiding at the end of 1914. It appeared to him, thus far, to have been a walkover for the Russians. He thought the residents of Lviv ‘poor devils’, mostly Polish Jews seemingly fairly pleased with the outcome, ‘chiefly because they were so neglected by the Austrian government’.
By 3 December2 he had finally reached his regiment at Samborzec. He found the Hussars billeted in the village, covered in snow. They didn’t anticipate any fighting soon. There might, perhaps, be skirmishes, but nothing serious until they had gone through one of the Carpathian passes which was a ludicrous idea in such weather.
He was being made to feel welcome. Several of his officers spoke English; in fact one even spent much time living in London when he was not at war. George was not the only ‘gentleman ranker’ either, so socially things were not as trying as he might have feared. His fellow troopers found this cheerful little foreigner immensely interesting, rather like an exotic pet. ‘After talking to a group of them for about half an hour, one man said “your language is nearly the same as ours”.’ George thought it was hilarious. ‘The dear lad thought my Russian was English!’
Ludicrous as the idea was, the Austrians set out to traverse the forbidding Carpathians in the depths of winter. George found himself south-east of Krakow in the far corner of Russian Poland at Lesko. The Russians had arrived as a precursor to advancing into Hungary and up into Silesia but the balance of power was changing. Germany had rushed reinforcements down to bolster the crumbling Austro–Hungarian armies who were racking up hundreds of thousands of casualties on this front and against Serbia who were pinning them back in the Balkans.
It was a bitter winter. The men of the Artirsky Hussars found themselves facing Austrians on raised banks either side of a stream in some woodland over the festive period. Whilst his namesake George Fletcher was swapping cigarettes on the Western Front, George Schack-Sommer spent Christmas 1914 gnawing on a chicken leg in the snow and eyeing the Austro–Hungarians in the trenches opposite. His cavalry regiment was a prestigious one and had as an honorary commander the Tsar’s sister, Grand Duchess Olga. Gifts flooded in from well to do friends and families, in fact so many boxes had arrived that some were passed on to regiments who had not been so fortunate.
The snow and the terrain made it impossible to work like cavalry, except as occasional scouting parties. There were repeated skirmishes as small groups harassed the enemy with rifle fire and there was a consistent exchange of artillery fire from mountain batteries but little else. Russian suspicions were soon raised though when the retorting Austrian guns grew feebler and feebler and one afternoon stopped altogether. Perhaps they had retired completely? The officers of the Artirsky Hussars got together and considered a move forward to see what had become of the enemy. Under the confusing circumstances it was considered rather reckless. Instead it was decided that they would send out some scouting patrols under cover of darkness to see if they had properly retired or were bluffing. George volunteered to go immediately and with eight companions set off that night.
They crawled through the trees until they arrived at the bottom of the slope on the banks of the stream. ‘From there another chap and I crept forward, trying to look like stumps,’ he later retold. ‘There was no moon and it was snowing but the snow on the ground made it light enough to faintly see and be seen.’ They got to within 20 yards of the Austro–Hungarian lines and heard muffled voices. They lay low for almost half an hour, counting several enemy soldiers. Suddenly two of them looked up and spotted George. ‘I beat a hasty retreat. They fired twice but either very wide or low as I didn’t hear the bullets.’ For this excursion George received a promotion and a recommendation for the Cross of St George. Reserved for non-officers who had acted with conspicuous bravery, there were four classes, two silver and then two gold. A colonel arrived to distribute his and several other medals and went down the line, asking each man what he had got it for and handing them out. Then, to George’s bemusement, he gave each man a kiss: ‘most embarrassing when you haven’t had such a mark of affection for so very long’.
After a few weeks working as a sapper of sorts George re-joined his squadron to take up normal duties. He soon went out on a scouting party with a dozen or so men. They went with the intention of taking any stragglers prisoner as the village they intended to infiltrate was still occupied by Austro–Hungarian troops. They trotted through the town and then galloped full pelt in a mad charge towards the enemy troops that they found dotted about amongst the buildings. ‘They started to run but we soon caught them up.’ Their little flurry of activity soon became violent. Two horses were wounded. Of their prey, five were struck by lances and as George so eloquently put it, ‘It was necessary to chop one about a bit to make him drop his rifle.’
‘I’m glad to let you know I was well up with the hounds,’ he wrote to another Etonian. The enemy soldiers had apparently taken them for the leading men of a larger cavalry force. Thrown into a total panic by the frenzied Hussars galloping towards them ‘spurs in and hell for leather’ they fell apart. In all, fifty-three of them surrendered but George had not finished yet. ‘I spotted some on the other road and with two fellows galloped over and bagged fifteen.’ They put up no resistance at all. He then trotted back into the town and rounded up twenty more of the enemy they found scurrying about. So eight Russian cavalrymen had taken eighty-eight enemy prisoners. A second St George’s Cross was struck in George’s name. ‘It was a fine rush,’ he claimed proudly, but recognised that it had played out largely owing to the confusion and panic amongst the surprised enemy troops, ‘as the idiots instead of running along the road could have run into deep snow.’ But they didn’t. As George surmised, ‘nine galloping horses, not to speak of cold steel is a formidable spectacle and so we bagged our game.’
George was soon involved in more daring enterprises. On another occasion he and three other troopers were sent with cases of ammunition to supply other Russian troops at a critical moment in battle. His three companions ‘funked at running the gauntlet’ and declined to carry out their orders. George, perturbed though he might have been, was not about to follow suit and resolved to go on his own instead. ‘All very well, but the next time I have to run to music I hope it won’t be through snow, with a long coat, sword and five cases of ammunition.’ Luck remained with him. ‘Don’t be anxious,’ he gloated to his mother, ‘these Austrians can’t shoot for nuts.’
The 12th Artirsky Hussars eventually came to a bedraggled stop just to the north of Kolomea. Shivering and with empty stomachs they rounded off non-stop fighting with nearly forty-eight hours in trenches during a blinding snowstorm. Visibility was so bad that George described it as dangerous to go more than a few yards from the trench for risk of being completely lost. During this lull in the fighting he found time to sit down and pen a letter to a fellow OE serving on the Western Front. Charles Le Blanc-Smith, imaginatively nicknamed ‘Blanco’, had been in Mr Radcliffe’s house with George before moving on to Trinity College, Cambridge where he was president of the University Boat Club. He was about to embark for France with the 8th Rifle Brigade and would survive the horror of Hooge in July. George wrote to him excitedly. ‘I shall look forward to saluting you in Berlin,’ he began. Excitedly he told him about the circumstances surrounding the award of his two medals as he gave absolutely no hint of regret at having joined the Russian Army instead of making the journey home to offer his services against Germany and her allies. He was quite at home and found that he was not the only British subject now serving the Tsar. He had found two in the Motor Division and a former Dragoon Guard in the British Army was also serving with a friendly but mad Caucasian cavalry regiment nearby, although George thought it rather tactless to ask why.
The Gallipoli campaign was about to commence and they had some inkling of what was going on on the Eastern Front. ‘We await with the greatest excitement the fall of Constantinople,’ George told Blanco excitedly, ‘which we all here think will make a great difference and hasten the end … No one expects the war will hang on longer than July, so you will probably shoot grouse as well as Germans this summer. Well my old dear pal. Till Berlin.’3
By the end of March 1915 the regiment had moved again; south-east to a spot on the River Dniester where it wound backwards and forwards on itself. Employed to spy on the enemy across the river, one particular scouting trip was a rather trying ordeal of four days and nights. Whilst the regiment proper was engaged in a fierce battle at Zalishchyky several miles back upriver, a dozen men and a single officer had been told to protect 6 miles of the Dniester down towards Moldova. Opposite were three villages all occupied by the enemy and five boats tied up for their use. It was clearly impossible to man this entire stretch with such a small unit, so four men were allocated to watch each village.
‘For three days and three nights I didn’t once close my eyes,’ George explained. ‘By day we occupied points of vantage where we could see but not be seen and at night lay on the bank of the river approximately opposite the boats, all eyes and ears strained to be ready to prevent a crossing. In the middle of the river it was light enough to see and aim at a mark, but all the banks were quite dark and we feared they would move the boats to another place and cross.’ Whenever they heard a noise at the boats they blazed away with their rifles in their direction and then got out of the way. ‘They certainly misjudged our forces,’ George said, ‘because they always cleared off and only once seriously tried to get over.’ In time an entire infantry regiment arrived to relieve them of their posts, which gave some indication of just how big their task had been.
‘Tell Winston to hurry up and take Constantinople,’ George instructed his family. On 22 March over 100,000 Austro–Hungarians who had been besieged at Przemysl finally surrendered. This triggered an offensive by the Tsar’s armies in Galicia aimed at putting the beleaguered and tortured Austrian armies, who had already suffered more than two million casualties, out of the war. On George’s front he was awaiting orders to push east through Russia proper and attempt to come round and outflank the Germans before turning north to Czernowitz. Then, if things progressed rightly, they would clean up Bukovyna which was proving troublesome with its Austro–Hungarian inhabitants.
First though Zalishchyky must be secured. On Easter Sunday George experienced his most brutal action yet. In front of the Artirsky Hussars were solid Austrian trenches protected by barbed wire, eight pieces of artillery and a dozen machine guns. The regiment was ordered to dismount and at 4 a.m. 130 of them contributed to some 1,600 men making an attack on the position. As dawn broke they surged forward and overran the defenders, taking some 1,200 prisoners who were mostly Serbian but obliged to serve in the Austro–Hungarian army. However, ninety-four Hussars were killed or wounded, some three quarters of those that had gone forward. The enemy though had proved reluctant, perhaps unsurprisingly given their ethnicity. Many turned and ran when they saw the extent of the Russian attack and the conquerors also took a gun and several machine guns before seizing the palace on the riverbank where they found some forty horses and stores of ammunition, provisions and barbed wire.
Unfortunately for the Russians, their victims had already phoned through to Czernowitz 30 miles away and by mid afternoon reinforcements had arrived in the shape of heavy guns which began pounding the Tsar’s troops. Infantry followed in the early evening, fiercely and overwhelmingly outnumbering the Russians. At 6.30 p.m. they were forced to retreat. Few were killed but they lost nearly a thousand men to captivity. ‘It was heart breaking after our brilliant success in the morning,’ lamented George.
The collapse of the Austro–Hungarian forces appeared imminent and Germany had no choice but to begin pulling men from the Western Front in an attempt to bail them out. By 10 April the Russian offensive in Galicia had come to an end. Shortly afterwards George was plastered all over the British press as the young Etonian gentleman who fought for the Tsar. He wasn’t over keen on the fame but his antics, which now included another Cross of St George for carrying the ammunition crates alone under heavy rifle fire, could not fail to get him noticed.
The fighting petered out for now. Spring had arrived and George was tortured by the sight of the Dniester sparkling in front of their trench so invitingly. ‘I am all for challenging the enemy to a game of water-polo – stakes five prisoners, or a machine gun, or something.’ They were now guarding the Dniester from Zalishchky east to the corner of Galicia. Officers returning from leave were full of optimism. ‘We should take the Dardanelles in a month and Austria should breathe her last by June,’ George claimed emphatically. There was talk now of getting him a commission, almost unheard of for a foreigner. Nobody in the regiment objected at all having seen his conduct and in fact he was essentially living as an officer already, dining and sleeping with them, and walking in and out of their quarters at will.
At the beginning of May, after many attempts to distract and deceive the Russians, the Central Powers launched an assault. They rolled over the Tsar’s force, sending them cascading back towards their own borders. Entire Russian corps to the north were evaporating and the Austrians were sweeping through the Carpathians. Insufficient defensive preparations had been made and ragamuffin remnants of regiments and nearby men scraped together were all that existed to stem the tide.
To the south, George’s sector had not yet reached such a parlous state. By mid May they had in fact claimed much of Bukovyna as the Central Powers attempted to push them over the Dniester and failed. Indeed by the end of the month the Artirsky Hussars had got as far as the Prut, 30 miles south of Czernowitz by way of a strong advance steering well clear of Kolomea, which was still occupied. Czernowitz itself had been cleared, but as it lay in a valley it would have been dangerous to occupy it when the enemy could have begun shelling them. By night they watched the river and by day they slept out in the open. George was in his element despite a shortage of food. ‘I’m brown as a chestnut and very fit and cheerful.’
Sadly for George and the Artirsky Hussars, their gains were largely irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. The enemy advance further along the front was relentless and Russia was in trouble. On 4 June the Germans took back Przemysl. The Tsar’s forces had no reserves, no shells; their only option was a large-scale retirement. George and the entire 8th Army began heading east. They had reached the environs of a small hamlet named Halych when at lunchtime on 7 June, as they were fighting their way back, he was hit in the stomach by a rifle bullet.
As darkness fell on the battlefield a hospital train screeched to a halt at Halych. As they unloaded the wounded a sister was called to where George lay on a stretcher. Too much time had passed and his wound appeared to show signs of infection. There was no hope of saving him and moving him would have caused him immense pain. A Sister Rymaschevsky sat down beside him so that he would not be alone. George groaned with pain. He wanted to know if he was going to die. ‘I knew it was absolutely impossible to save him,’ she wrote to his mother, ‘but ceaselessly made efforts to calm him, saying that naturally he would pull through.’ As his condition worsened she called for a doctor who gave him an injection of morphia.
The retreat was still in full swing and that night it became necessary to load George and the entire clearing station on to a new train bound for Ternopil. A sister was designated to travel with him and as the train rumbled along he passed away quietly before they reached their destination. George Schack-Sommer was buried in his Russian uniform in a common grave at Ternopil three days later with six comrades. He had passed his 25th birthday just one month before. The sister sent his medals to his mother and the contents of his pockets to a young OE friend of his acting as an attaché in Petrograd. ‘Your son died far from you,’ she was determined to tell his mother, ‘but … during the last moments of his life he was never alone. Around him were people, who were deeply concerned for him and wanted to help him with every power they possessed. Everything possible was done to save his life. Our sisters remember him very well … he died in our ranks as he would have died in his own.’ Any notion that George Schack-Sommer had had that people might disapprove of his choice to serve in a foreign army bore no witness at Eton. ‘We are all so proud of him,’ wrote Hugh MacNaghten as he lead the tributes.
The same would not be said of Bruno von Schröder, for there are no contemproary references at Eton to his war service. Whilst the southern end of the Eastern Front was largely propped up by struggling Austro-Hungarian forces, the northern sector was a fully German affair. The Parchim Dragoons had arrived some 60 miles north of Warsaw in mid November. At the onset of the war the Russian armies had planned to advance either side of the Masurian Lakes in Russian Poland, some 100 miles south-east of Kaliningrad and the Baltic Coast. It was done haphazardly by two armies whose commanders cared for each other not in the slightest, but they managed to bulldoze their way well into East Prussia. This was a terrifying prospect for the Germans as, beyond the western borders of East Prussia, lay Berlin. However the disorganisation of the forces helped them to bludgeon the Russians at Tannenburg before August 1914 had drawn to a close and the Kaiser’s men managed to force them back over the Polish border and out of Germany. The Russians resolved to try to push into German Silesia but their consistently shoddy intelligence served up their plans for the Germans on a plate and the Kaiser’s men were able to strike first, pinning the Russians at Lodz. Bruno spent the weeks surrounding Christmas scrapping around Warsaw whilst the Germans dug in west of the Vistula.
By spring the 18th Dragoner-Regiment had relocated north-east. In the middle of April Germany resolved to try and get Russian reserves away from Galicia where they planned to strike.They did this by launching attacks in the Baltic region, pushing further north-east towards Riga. There had been no serious fighting in the area thus far. The two combatants sat 10 miles apart in a string of posts as opposed to proper lines. The Germans could not afford to send men there and the Russians were relying on the fortress of Kowno to watch over the area, so the region remained underdeveloped as far as the Eastern Front was concerned.
The situation was ideal for cavalry to perform in a traditional role and Bruno had been skirmishing right on the coast 100 miles north-east of Kaliningrad. At the beginning of his offensive, Ludendorff launched a strong cavalry force forward including the Parchim Dragoons. The Russians were barely interested in this mostly mounted advance but it would prove to be their undoing in the area. Suddenly it looked like Riga might be under threat and there were even horror stories about the Germans landing on the Baltic Coast and making for Petrograd.
Conforming to the general advance, Bruno and the Parchim Dragoons had been moving north-east, skirmishing all the way. In June they reached the wooded area around the fortress at Kowno just as Russian reinforcements finally arrived. Three large-scale attacks were being planned for the following month up and down the Eastern Front, including one in the Baltic. In August Kowno itself came under siege and when it fell just over a fortnight later it took the Russian commander Grand Duke Nicholas with it and resulted in the Tsar assuming ultimate command of his own army.
In early September the Germans set out again, this time for Vilnius. It fell on 18 September but it was to be their last major achievement during the offensive. Bruno and his regiment crossed into Belarus, but a German attempt to take Maladzyechna 50 miles north-west of Minsk failed. The Parchim Dragoons had pushed out beyond this target to the area around Dauhinava another 50 miles north-east where they reached the limits of their advance.
Late on 24 September the regiment arrived at a small collection of villages and hamlets bordered by a stream named the Wilija to the east. The Dragoons immediately began setting out posts in the area to secure their position and at dawn they sent out patrols. Each village in the area had been secured by cavalry and a single machine gun, but the road running east across the stream from Pahost, where Bruno was situated, ran right into woodland that was occupied by unknown numbers of Russian troops.
Everything remained ominously quiet throughout the morning of 25 September but at lunchtime the inhabitants began packing up and running away. At 2 p.m. Russian artillery began pounding the entire area and patrols emerged from the trees. Bruno’s squadron, No.2, was one of two allocated to hold the road running back to Pahost but quickly they found themselves pushed back towards the Wilija. Pushed back again, Bruno took up the defence of the southern half of Pahost itself. In front of them another squadron held the bridge over the Wilija.
At dusk a prolonged scrap began over the crossing. The German defenders fell back as the Russians sent in more and more reinforcements. It was not until midnight that the cracking of rifle fire halted and an ominous silence descended on the isolated German cavalry.
It was only to last a few hours. At dawn the Russian guns boomed back into life. The Parchim Dragoons began spreading out and the horses were led away to the rear. As the Russians emerged towards the Wilija with their artillery support, Bruno’s regiment steadied itself to put up a fierce defence. Suddenly they realised that the enemy was already across the stream to the south. The German cavalry was rapidly becoming surrounded. Pahost and it’s surroundings were catching alight. The fighting became more and more violent and the burning buildings blocked the path west. With great difficulty men were attempting to get the horses away, chased down by Russian cavalry that emerged from behind their advancing troops.
In front of Bruno the Russians had been held on the eastern side of the Wilija, where, in the face of heavy casualties, they began digging in. The entire village was now ablaze and runners could not get back to headquarters at Dauhinava. In Pahost itself, in command, with no instructions, and seeing the situation deteriorate around him, Rittmeister von Massow gathered the dwindling squadrons and headed for the high ground behind the village. One squadron had suffered heavy casualties in the northern part of the village and had just got to their horses to try to effect this controlled retirement when Russian horsemen came barrelling towards them from the south. They caught the squadron completely by surprise, broke their ranks and completely overwhelmed them. Massow could not see a thing through the rising smoke from the village and he continued to wait for his men to arrive.
The Russians were now advancing on Pahost from both sides, so high ground or not his position was futile. He gathered up all the men that had managed to join him and began heading west to Dauhinava with anyone else who had managed to survive. The numbers were low. It was apparent that the Parchim Dragoons had been badly hit. Leutnant von Bulow, commanding Bruno’s squadron, had been taken prisoner along with scores of men.
Rudolph Bruno von Schröder never made it to Dauhinava. No account of him being a prisoner of war came to light and his body was never recovered. The 20-year-old was never seen or heard from again4. Up and down their part of the front, the German cavalry was being repeatedly checked. In fact, the entire Eastern Front front was stabilising. The following day Ludendorff ordered the construction of permanent trenches. As it had on the Western Front, static warfare had kicked in in the east. It had come less than twenty-four hours too late to save the only Old Etonian to fall whilst serving with the German Army in the Great War.
Notes
1 For ease of understanding, place names on the Eastern Front, with the exception of Petrograd, have been given their modern names.
2 In 1914 Russia still operated on the Julian calendar, so 3 December was actually only 20 November as far as George was concerned. All dates in this chapter are given in the Gregorian calendar used in Western Europe so that the reader can connect events with those on the Western Front more easily.
3 Bruno von Schröder is commemorated on the regimental memorial for Dragoner-Regiment 18 in Parchim.
4 Charles Le Blanc-Smith was killed in November 1915. He was buried at Essex Farm Cemetery.
Progress (left to right) on the Eastern Front, 1915.