Wrangel’s Caucasian Army cavalry units were transferred to General Pavlov. Apollo and Peotr spent the next month campaigning under Pavlov on the Manych front. The newly formed regiments—consisting of Don Cossacks, Kuban Cossacks, and mountain men—fought against Dumenko and won several victories. General Pavlov’s 12,000 men were horsemen, bred to the saddle and the soldier’s life. They functioned as shock troops and were disastrously effective against the Red Army.
As White victories escalated, Budenny’s Konarmia was quickly brought to the Manych area, and on February 16 Budenny and Pavlov confronted each other across ten miles of snowbound steppe. Pavlov, now commanding the IV Cavalry Corps, knew the coming battle would be decisive. Budenny also understood the significance of the engagement. A defeat for the Reds would effectively arrest the impetus of their advance, giving the White Army valuable time to rest and regroup. Lenin’s persistent telegrams to HQ at the front were screaming for victory “at all costs,” a dire, imperative necessity considering the waning vigor of the Red Army and their enormously long supply lines, which were beginning to break down. A Red loss could conceivably turn into a rout toward Moscow.
On February 25, Pavlov reached Torgovaia, but of the reinforced White cavalry of 20,000 beginning the march, only 11,000 were fit for combat after moving for three days through severe blizzards and the intense cold of the steppe. Food, fodder, and shelter were unavailable on the unpopulated left bank of the Manych; the toll in both casualties and diminished fighting strength of those remaining was enormous. Peotr and Apollo—stoically accompanied by Karaim and Sahin—had survived the death march by riding for a half hour and then walking for a half hour all the way to Torgovaia. They were near exhaustion, but alive. Budenny’s 20,000 men, although harassed by the weather conditions, were virtually intact, having had the advantage of hugging the railway lines and supply depots.
Pavlov and Budenny stood facing each other at a distance of only a few versts, neither trusting the ability of their forces and both afraid of tempting fortune in a decisive encounter. Pavlov knew he had to attack soon; his corps became weaker by the day.
It was below zero the next morning, and when Pavlov’s orders—“To horse!” and “Mount!”—were given, only slightly more than half the original corps was able to comply. Scouts cantered off but almost immediately turned back to the commander, who in turn rode up the gentle rise. Budenny’s army was poised for attack in the shallow valley below. Pavlov immediately shouted out the order, “Sabers—lances!” accompanied by his familiar battle cry of “Come on, boys, get those sons of bitches!”
The White cavalry set off in slightly loose order at a trot—most were unable to force their exhausted horses into a canter. As soon as they reached the top of the rise the first thick wave of Red cavalry was almost on them. Behind could be seen the broad valley and thousands more cavalrymen advancing in waves.
Raising their sabers, Pavlov’s men charged. The melee ebbed and flowed like a tide. Both sides advanced and retreated countless times, producing a constantly changing pattern.
They fought on the frosty gray steppe, in a strange silence only occasionally punctuated by a pistol shot or scream. Every time a squadron was thrown back, it would halt, about-turn, and then charge again. The waves swept backward and forward; no mercy was shown. Minds ceased to react to the danger, became oblivious to the moans of the dying and to the wounded being trampled under the hooves; soldiers just numbly continued spiking and hacking and occasionally firing their pistols.
By midday Pavlov, his men and animals suffering from fatigue and exhaustion, had lost the initiative. The situation was fast deteriorating. By afternoon, numbers alone determined the
As White victories escalated, Budenny’s Konarmia was quickly brought to the Manych area, and on February 16 Budenny and Pavlov confronted each other across ten miles of snowbound steppe. Pavlov, now commanding the IV Cavalry Corps, knew the coming battle would be decisive. Budenny also understood the significance of the engagement. A defeat for the Reds would effectively arrest the impetus of their advance, giving the White Army valuable time to rest and regroup. Lenin’s persistent telegrams to HQ at the front were screaming for victory “at all costs,” a dire, imperative necessity considering the waning vigor of the Red Army and their enormously long supply lines, which were beginning to break down. A Red loss could conceivably turn into a rout toward Moscow.
On February 25, Pavlov reached Torgovaia, but of the reinforced White cavalry of 20,000 beginning the march, only 11,000 were fit for combat after moving for three days through severe blizzards and the intense cold of the steppe. Food, fodder, and shelter were unavailable on the unpopulated left bank of the Manych; the toll in both casualties and diminished fighting strength of those remaining was enormous. Peotr and Apollo—stoically accompanied by Karaim and Sahin—had survived the death march by riding for a half hour and then walking for a half hour all the way to Torgovaia. They were near exhaustion, but alive. Budenny’s 20,000 men, although harassed by the weather conditions, were virtually intact, having had the advantage of hugging the railway lines and supply depots.
Pavlov and Budenny stood facing each other at a distance of only a few versts, neither trusting the ability of their forces and both afraid of tempting fortune in a decisive encounter. Pavlov knew he had to attack soon; his corps became weaker by the day.
It was below zero the next morning, and when Pavlov’s orders—“To horse!” and “Mount!”—were given, only slightly more than half the original corps was able to comply. Scouts cantered off but almost immediately turned back to the commander, who in turn rode up the gentle rise. Budenny’s army was poised for attack in the shallow valley below. Pavlov immediately shouted out the order, “Sabers—lances!” accompanied by his familiar battle cry of “Come on, boys, get those sons of bitches!”
The White cavalry set off in slightly loose order at a trot—most were unable to force their exhausted horses into a canter. As soon as they reached the top of the rise the first thick wave of Red cavalry was almost on them. Behind could be seen the broad valley and thousands more cavalrymen advancing in waves.
Raising their sabers, Pavlov’s men charged. The melee ebbed and flowed like a tide. Both sides advanced and retreated countless times, producing a constantly changing pattern.
They fought on the frosty gray steppe, in a strange silence only occasionally punctuated by a pistol shot or scream. Every time a squadron was thrown back, it would halt, about-turn, and then charge again. The waves swept backward and forward; no mercy was shown. Minds ceased to react to the danger, became oblivious to the moans of the dying and to the wounded being trampled under the hooves; soldiers just numbly continued spiking and hacking and occasionally firing their pistols.
By midday Pavlov, his men and animals suffering from fatigue and exhaustion, had lost the initiative. The situation was fast deteriorating. By afternoon, numbers alone determined the
Similar Books
