The autumn of 1912 in the Balkans began with a tense sense of anticipation.
In Belgrade this could be felt in almost every conversation. Newspapers sold out faster than usual, and on street corners newsboys loudly shouted headlines, trying to outshout the noise of trams and carriages.
—"Bosnia!"
—"The Ottoman army is retreating!"
—"Bulgaria mobilizes the army!"
People stopped right in the middle of the street to read the latest editions. Sometimes several people gathered around a single newspaper. One person read aloud while the others listened.
In cafés the conversations grew louder.
Officers, students, merchants, and officials sat at small tables. Usually they argued about parliament, taxes, or the harvest. But now almost every conversation inevitably came down to one word.
War.
Skoropadsky had been observing this for several weeks.
He stood at the window of the Russian mission building and looked toward the Danube. The river flowed slowly northward. On the opposite bank began the lands of Austria-Hungary.
They were watching events there very carefully.
Vienna watched the Balkans.
St. Petersburg did the same.
The Balkans rarely lived on their own. Too many empires considered this region important.
But sometimes events began exactly here.
And later they changed all of Europe.
The office door opened.
An adviser from the Russian mission entered.
—"Colonel, have you already seen the morning newspapers?"
—"Not yet."
The diplomat placed several issues on the table.
Skoropadsky quickly scanned the headlines.
—"Bulgaria has completed mobilization."
—"Yes. That means negotiations have finally collapsed."
The adviser poured tea.
—"It seems so."
They were silent for a moment.
Then the diplomat said:
—"Sometimes it seems to me that Europe looks at the Balkans like a chessboard."
—"In what sense?"
—"The great powers move the pieces. But sometimes they forget that the pieces themselves can start playing."
Skoropadsky smiled slightly.
—"The Balkan states have been waiting for such an opportunity for a long time."
—"And it seems that moment has arrived."
Skoropadsky folded the newspaper.
—"When small states begin changing borders, great powers rarely remain on the sidelines."
—"Do you think this could lead to a large war?"
Skoropadsky was silent for a moment.
—"Not immediately."
He looked at the map of Europe.
—"But wars like this often become the beginning of far greater events."
Two days later Skoropadsky received an invitation to the Serbian Ministry of War.
The meeting took place in the office of General Radomir Putnik.
When Skoropadsky entered, several officers of the General Staff were already standing around a large table. A map of the Balkan Peninsula lay on the table.
Putnik stood beside it.
—"Colonel Skoropadsky."
—"General."
They exchanged a brief handshake.
One of the officers spread several telegrams on the table.
—"A message from Sofia. The Bulgarian army has completed mobilization."
The room fell silent.
Putnik slowly ran his finger across the map.
—"So it begins."
Another officer spoke.
—"The Ottoman army is concentrating south of Kumanovo."
—"How many troops?"
—"About forty thousand."
Skoropadsky studied the map for a moment.
—"The Ottomans will try to gain time."
—"After the Albanian uprising their troops are scattered."
Putnik nodded.
—"Then we must strike quickly."
He drew a line on the map.
—"The main army moves through Kumanovo."
—"If we defeat them there, the road to Macedonia will be open."
South of there, near Kumanovo, the Ottoman army occupied positions on hills that stretched along the entire valley. The terrain seemed favorable for defense. Small elevations provided a good view, and the roads allowed units to move quickly between positions.
Inside the headquarters tent kerosene lamps were burning. A detailed map of Macedonia lay on the table. Several staff officers stood around it.
General Zeki Pasha listened carefully to the intelligence report.
—"Serbian units have crossed the border."
—"How many?" the general asked.
—"According to our data, possibly two divisions."
Zeki Pasha frowned.
—"Advance units."
He ran his finger across the map.
—"Their main army must still be farther north. They will not be able to deploy it so quickly."
The officer hesitated.
—"Pasha… reconnaissance observed artillery."
—"How many batteries?"
—"At least six."
A brief silence fell inside the tent.
One of the staff officers said cautiously:
—"Perhaps the Serbs are committing more forces than we expected."
Zeki Pasha shook his head.
—"No. It is a demonstration."
He turned toward the map.
—"They want to force us to reveal our positions."
Another officer added:
—"But if they attack with the entire army…"
The general interrupted him.
—"Then we will meet them here."
He pointed to the line of hills.
—"This terrain is favorable for defense. The infantry will occupy the heights, and the artillery will control the valley."
Several officers exchanged glances. They already felt that the intelligence might have made a serious mistake.
If the Serbian army was truly advancing with its full strength, the battle could begin much sooner than the headquarters expected.
But no one dared to argue with the commander.
War in the Balkans often began exactly like this — with the confidence of generals and the doubts of their officers.
The Serbian army moved south in several columns.
The infantry marched on foot. Behind them artillery slowly followed.
Autumn rains turned the roads into mud.
Sometimes the wheels of wagons became stuck, and the artillerymen had to push them free with their hands.
But the army continued its movement.
Some soldiers sang.
Others marched in silence.
Everyone understood that the first major battle of this war awaited them ahead.
On the evening of October 22 the army halted near the hills north of Kumanovo.
The camp was quiet.
Fires burned dimly.
Some soldiers cleaned their weapons.
Others wrote letters home.
The morning of October 23 began with thick fog.
The Serbian batteries worked quickly and efficiently. The artillerymen already had experience from previous conflicts and understood well that the first minutes of battle could determine the outcome of the entire engagement.
The battery commander looked through binoculars at the slope of the hill.
—"Distance eight hundred meters."
An officer beside him quickly wrote down the corrections.
—"Correction twenty meters to the right."
—"Load!"
The gun crews moved almost automatically. A shell was placed into the breech, the bolt was closed, and the gun rolled slightly backward.
—"Ready!"
—"Fire!"
The gun recoiled sharply, and a cloud of smoke rose above the position.
A few seconds later the shell exploded on the hillside.
—"A little higher," said the observing officer.
—"Correction thirty meters."
—"Load!"
Another shot.
This time the explosion occurred closer to the Ottoman positions. Through binoculars several soldiers could be seen hurriedly leaving the trench.
But the Ottoman artillery was already responding.
The first Turkish shell landed not far from the Serbian battery. Earth flew into the air, showering the artillerymen with dirt and stones.
—"Lower!" someone shouted.
The second shell exploded even closer.
The battery commander said calmly:
—"Continue firing."
The Serbian guns fired one after another.
The thunder of the artillery was so loud that sometimes it was impossible to hear commands.
Smoke gradually filled the space between the armies.
From the command height Putnik observed the battle through binoculars.
—"Good work from the batteries," he said.
Skoropadsky nodded.
—"Artillery now decides more than infantry."
Putnik lowered the binoculars.
—"You already saw that in the Russo-Japanese War."
—"Yes."
For a moment Skoropadsky looked across the valley.
—"Many generals in Europe still do not understand how much war has changed."
At that moment another Ottoman shell exploded on the hillside where Serbian units were advancing.
Several soldiers fell.
But the movement of the army did not stop.
The artillery duel continued for almost an hour.
Gradually the Serbian batteries began suppressing the Ottoman positions.
Some Turkish guns fell silent.
It was the first sign that the initiative was beginning to pass to the Serbian army.
The Serbian infantry began to advance.
—"Forward!"
—"Hold the line!"
On the left flank a Serbian company moved through a small village. Several houses had already been damaged by artillery fire.
—"Stop."
The soldiers took cover behind a stone wall. Ahead an Ottoman machine gun was firing.
—"Flank them from the left."
Two squads disappeared between the houses. A minute later gunshots were heard. The machine gun fell silent.
—"Forward!"
The company moved forward again.
Ottoman machine guns opened fire.
Several soldiers fell.
But the soldiers continued advancing.
The slopes of the hills began to fill with Ottoman infantry.
At first these were small groups moving cautiously between rocks and bushes. But soon it became clear that this was not merely an attempt to hold positions.
The Ottoman army was preparing a counterattack.
An officer at a Serbian observation post raised his binoculars.
—"They are moving."
Another officer looked in the same direction.
—"Battalions."
Entire Ottoman units were descending the hillsides, moving quickly and using every fold of terrain.
—"Counterattack!" the observer shouted.
The signal was immediately passed along the entire front line.
Serbian officers began issuing orders.
—"First company hold the position!"
—"Second company prepare to fire!"
The Ottoman infantry continued descending the slopes.
When the distance shortened, intense gunfire erupted.
Rifle shots sounded almost continuously.
Bullets struck the ground in front of the Serbian positions.
Several soldiers fell.
But the defensive line held.
One Serbian officer turned to a messenger.
—"Tell the battery."
—"Shift fire to the slope."
The messenger ran back.
A few minutes later the Serbian artillery changed its direction of fire.
The first shell exploded directly in front of the attacking Ottoman soldiers.
The explosion threw up a cloud of earth.
The second shell struck slightly higher.
Several Ottoman soldiers fell.
But the attack continued.
Ottoman officers tried to encourage their men.
—"Forward!"
—"Do not stop!"
For several minutes the battle became especially fierce.
Soldiers fired almost at point-blank range.
Smoke from gunfire and explosions slowly filled the slope.
But gradually it became clear that the attack was losing strength.
Serbian artillery continued shifting fire closer and closer to the attacking units.
Exploding shells began to break apart the formations of Ottoman infantry.
Some soldiers began to fall back.
Soon the retreat became more noticeable.
The counterattack collapsed.
From the command height Putnik carefully observed what was happening.
—"They are losing formation."
Skoropadsky looked through his binoculars.
—"Yes. Artillery broke their attack."
Putnik lowered the binoculars.
—"Then it is time to move forward."
Behind the front a field hospital had been organized.
Wounded soldiers were carried in on stretchers.
Doctors worked without rest.
—"The bullet passed through."
—"You will not return to the line today."
By evening the position of the Ottoman army began to deteriorate.
Communication between units broke down.
Some formations began retreating.
Inside Zeki Pasha's headquarters tension filled the air.
—"The left flank is retreating!"
—"Send reserves!"
—"There are no reserves left."
By evening the Ottoman army began withdrawing.
Serbian artillery continued firing.
Infantry advanced forward.
Late in the evening officers gathered again at Serbian headquarters.
A large map of Macedonia lay on the table. New marks had already appeared on it in pencil. The front line had shifted. Several Ottoman positions had been crossed out.
Kerosene lamps burned in the room.
Several officers looked exhausted. Dust from the battlefield still covered their uniforms.
Putnik stood by the map.
—"Gentlemen, let us summarize."
One of the staff officers opened a folder with reports.
—"The Ottoman army began withdrawing around seven o'clock in the evening."
—"Losses?"
—"Exact numbers are not yet known."
The officer turned the page.
—"But according to preliminary estimates their losses are significantly higher than ours."
Putnik nodded.
—"Reason?"
The officer replied:
—"An intelligence error."
The room fell silent.
Skoropadsky listened carefully.
Another officer approached the map.
—"The Ottoman command believed they were facing only advance units."
He pointed to the Serbian positions.
—"They did not expect to encounter the entire main army."
Putnik slowly nodded.
—"Therefore they attacked."
Skoropadsky spoke calmly.
—"They attempted to seize the initiative."
Several officers looked at him.
—"But they did so too late."
One of the younger staff officers said:
—"The counterattack could have changed the course of the battle."
Putnik looked at him.
—"If they had reserves."
He pointed at the map.
—"But the reserves were too far away."
For a moment everyone was silent.
Then one of the artillery officers spoke.
—"Our batteries played the decisive role."
Putnik turned to him.
—"Explain."
—"The Ottoman artillery opened fire first."
—"But our batteries corrected their fire faster."
He pointed at the map.
—"When they began their counterattack we shifted fire onto their advancing units."
Skoropadsky quietly added:
—"That is what stopped their attack."
Putnik nodded.
—"Modern war depends more and more on artillery."
He looked at the map of the Balkans.
—"And on railways."
One officer said:
—"We were able to move troops quickly thanks to the Niš–Skopje railway."
Putnik turned again to Skoropadsky.
—"Your opinion, Colonel?"
Skoropadsky was silent for a moment.
He looked at the map.
Then he spoke calmly.
—"Today something greater than a simple victory occurred."
The officers listened attentively.
—"The Ottoman army has lost the initiative in the Balkans."
He ran his finger across the map.
—"After Kumanovo they will retreat."
—"First to Skopje."
—"Then further south."
The room fell silent again.
One officer asked:
—"So the war is essentially decided?"
Skoropadsky shook his head.
—"No."
He looked again at the map.
—"But today the end of Ottoman power in Europe has begun."
Putnik slowly nodded.
—"Then tomorrow we continue the advance."
He looked at the officers.
—"Gentlemen, the war has only begun."
Late that night Skoropadsky climbed a hill.
The battlefield was quiet.
Orderlies searched for wounded soldiers with lanterns.
The moon illuminated the valley.
Empires sometimes exist for centuries.
But their fall begins unexpectedly fast.
Sometimes on a single battlefield.
Like today.
Near Kumanovo.