The morning at the front was damp and heavy.
The night frost had receded, leaving behind softened ground that clung to boots and wagon wheels, refusing to let go without effort. The trenches held, but required constant work—walls crumbled, boards sagged, and water collected in the low sections. Everything had to be reinforced almost daily.
The line remained unusually quiet.
The artillery was silent. Occasional rifle shots sounded more like habit than necessity. Even enemy patrols appeared less frequently and kept their distance from the forward positions.
It was not calm.
The soldiers understood that almost immediately.
After the previous year, such moments were no longer mistaken for rest. They were something else entirely—a pause before what was bound to begin.
On one section of the line, an infantryman sat in the trench, carefully disassembling his rifle and cleaning mud from the bolt. Nearby, another checked his cartridges, counting them without haste but with precision. Their movements were steady and deliberate, without unnecessary conversation.
—"Too quiet," one said under his breath.
The reply came a few seconds later.
—"Before the storm."
No one argued.
Further along the line, a sergeant moved from position to position, stopping where needed. He checked the state of the trenches, pointed out weak spots, and moved on. He did not raise his voice—there was no need anymore. The men responded immediately.
Discipline had changed.
It was no longer for show.
It was functional.
They already knew the cost of mistakes.
Several kilometers to the rear, artillery batteries were taking up new positions.
The guns had been moved at night, without light, to avoid detection. The wheels sank into the mud, and the crews had to pull them forward by hand, coordinating each movement with short, precise commands.
Positions were chosen not for comfort, but for purpose.
With regard to range, fields of fire, and the ability to adjust quickly.
Nearby, engineer units were at work—cutting paths, marking reference points, checking distances. Every measurement was verified more than once. Mistakes made here would not be corrected in battle.
The front remained still.
But beneath that stillness, movement had already begun.
Pavlo Skoropadskyi was at the forward line, inspecting the division's positions.
He moved slowly, stopping where he considered necessary, asking brief questions and judging the answers not by words, but by what he saw. Reports he already had. What mattered was the reality on the ground.
—"Depth of the trenches in this sector?"
—"Up to two meters, sir."
—"Not enough."
The officer understood immediately.
—"We'll deepen them."
Skoropadskyi gave a short nod and looked further along the line.
—"Machine guns?"
—"Three positions, covering the sector."
—"Show me."
The officer indicated the directions.
Skoropadskyi watched for several seconds, assessing.
—"Right flank is exposed."
A pause.
—"Shift one position."
—"Understood."
He did not explain.
And did not require explanation.
One of the officers stepped up beside him.
—"The men feel something is coming."
Skoropadskyi kept his eyes on the line.
—"And they're right to."
A brief pause.
—"Worse when they don't."
The officer nodded.
—"The enemy is quiet as well."
—"Which means they're preparing," Skoropadskyi replied calmly.
He scanned along the trench line.
—"If it starts, where will they hold?"
The officer considered.
—"Second line. The first may not hold."
Skoropadskyi nodded.
—"Then speed is the key."
A pause.
—"Don't let them settle."
The officer looked at him more carefully.
—"So the attack will be fast."
Skoropadskyi answered simply:
—"It has to be."
By evening, nothing had changed.
The front remained quiet.
But the silence no longer felt uncertain.
It had become expectation.
The division headquarters was warmer, but not calmer.
Maps covered the table.
Positions marked. Lines drawn. Routes planned.
Too much movement for a defensive posture.
A staff officer entered quickly.
—"Orders from the army."
He handed over the papers.
Skoropadskyi read them quickly.
Secrecy. Redeployment. Artillery. Reconnaissance.
He did not read them aloud.
There was no need.
—"Timing?"
—"Not specified."
A pause.
—"But preparation is accelerating."
Skoropadskyi placed the papers on the table.
—"This is no longer contingency planning."
He looked at the officer.
—"This is preparation for action."
Later that evening, the army headquarters gathered its commanders and staff officers.
The room was warm.
The map covered nearly the entire table.
The front line stretched from Lutsk southward through Brody to Ternopil, divided into sectors marked with positions, reserves, and axes of advance.
The commander began without introduction.
—"Gentlemen, we will not repeat last year."
He moved the pointer across the map.
—"The offensive will not be concentrated at a single point."
It stopped at the Lutsk direction, then shifted south.
—"The strike will be delivered across the entire line."
A pause.
—"Simultaneously."
The chief of staff stepped forward.
—"Total forces committed—approximately six hundred thousand men."
He traced the line along the front.
—"Main effort: Lutsk–Kovel sector. Opposing forces: Austro-Hungarian Fourth Army, approximately one hundred fifty thousand in this sector, extended line, limited reserves."
The pointer moved south.
—"Secondary efforts: Brody–Ternopil direction. Objective—prevent enemy redeployment."
Another officer added:
—"Total artillery strength—over two thousand guns, distributed across sectors, not concentrated at a single point."
One of the generals frowned.
—"That means dispersion of force."
The chief of staff answered evenly:
—"It means the enemy will not be able to determine the main direction of attack."
The commander continued:
—"Last year we struck in one place and gave them time."
A pause.
—"This time, we will not."
He pointed again.
—"Artillery preparation will be short—several hours, no prolonged ranging."
—"Accuracy will be lower," one officer remarked.
—"We do not need perfect accuracy," the reply came immediately. —"We need to break the first line."
—"After the barrage—immediate assault. Forward elements breach the first line. Main forces secure and expand the breakthrough."
One of the generals asked:
—"And if the breakthrough is only partial?"
The commander looked at him directly.
—"Then it will be partial in several places."
A pause.
—"Which is already a breakthrough."
The room grew quieter.
The chief of staff added:
—"First Army will be committed on the northern sector, its task is to maintain pressure and prevent the enemy from maneuvering reserves."
The commander drew the pointer along the entire front.
—"We are not looking for a weak point."
A pause.
—"We are creating them."
He lowered the pointer.
—"Everywhere."
No one asked further questions.
Because this was no longer a plan.
It was a decision.
The order reached the division during the night.
Not as a general announcement.
But as a set of specific tasks.
The headquarters was quiet.
Lamps burned low, maps lay across the table, now marked with fresh notes added after the order had been received.
Skoropadskyi stood over the map and did not speak immediately.
The officers waited.
He gave them a few moments to compare what they saw with what they already understood.
—"Now," he said at last.
He traced a line along the front.
—"You understand the general concept."
A brief pause.
—"A strike along the entire line."
He looked at them.
—"That means the enemy will not be able to determine the main direction of attack."
One of the officers replied carefully:
—"Or we will not be able to determine it either."
Skoropadskyi gave a short nod.
—"Correct."
A pause.
—"Which is why we cannot rely on instructions once the operation begins."
He looked back at the map.
—"We will have to move faster than orders reach us."
He pointed to their sector.
—"This is our line."
—"Opposing us—Austro-Hungarian infantry."
—"The first line is fortified, but not deeply."
—"The second line is decisive."
He looked up.
—"If they manage to hold there, the advance will slow."
One of the officers said:
—"Then we need to break both lines at once."
—"Not at once," Skoropadskyi replied calmly. —"Sequentially, but without pause."
He let that settle.
—"First line—breach."
—"Second—before they realize the first is gone."
Petro Bolbochan, standing slightly aside, spoke:
—"That means we move faster than usual."
Skoropadskyi looked at him.
—"Yes."
—"We'll take losses."
—"More if we stop."
A brief pause.
Bolbochan nodded.
No argument.
Skoropadskyi turned to another officer.
—"Artillery?"
—"Ready, but there is almost no time for ranging."
—"There won't be."
His tone did not change.
—"We work from calculations."
The officer frowned.
—"High risk."
—"Time is a greater one."
A pause.
—"If we give them time, they will restore the line."
He indicated the rear.
—"Reserves are not to be held too far back, but they are not to be committed prematurely."
A staff officer asked:
—"Commitment criteria?"
Skoropadskyi answered without hesitation:
—"The fact of a breakthrough, not a report of one."
He stepped away from the map.
—"Communications will be disrupted once the operation begins, partially or completely, so every commander must understand the task in advance and act without waiting for orders."
Another officer asked:
—"If adjacent units fall behind?"
Skoropadskyi did not answer immediately.
—"Then we do not fall behind with them, our task is not to hold the line, but to keep moving."
He looked at the map again.
Longer this time.
As if no longer seeing lines, but what would soon happen along them.
—"The main mistake last year was not that we failed to break the front," he said calmly.
—"It was that we stopped after breaking it."
He raised his eyes.
—"This time, there will be no stops."
No one objected.
Because everyone understood what that meant.
The meeting ended without unnecessary words.
Officers left quickly.
Each already thinking through his sector.
His task.
His responsibility.
Outside, it was dark.
The front remained as quiet as before.
But now the silence no longer felt uncertain.
It had become clear.
And more importantly—temporary.
The night before the offensive came without wind.
Sounds along the front seemed muted, as if the ground itself was holding them back.
The artillery was already in position.
Guns aligned, crews ready, orders delivered down to the last detail. Firing sectors had been calculated in advance, reference points marked, distances checked and rechecked.
Now there was nothing left to do but wait for the signal.
At one of the guns, the crew commander quietly went over the final data.
—"Distance?"
—"Six eighty."
—"Correction?"
—"Applied."
He gave a short nod.
—"No improvisation. We work strictly by calculation."
—"Understood."
In the trenches, the infantry prepared in their own way.
Some checked their rifles again.
Others rearranged their ammunition.
Some simply sat, staring into the darkness ahead.
There was little conversation.
Not because of fear.
Because everything was already understood.
At one section, two soldiers spoke quietly.
—"You think we'll move?"
—"What do you think?"
A brief pause.
—"We will."
Nothing more was said.
The division headquarters was lit.
Maps covered the table—routes, directions of advance, points of expected resistance.
Skoropadskyi stood over them.
He had not moved for several minutes.
Just watched.
As if measuring not the lines, but the timing.
The door opened.
A signals officer stepped in.
—"All units report readiness."
Skoropadskyi nodded.
—"Delays?"
—"None."
A pause.
—"Adjacent units?"
—"Ready."
He made a brief mark on the map.
—"Good."
A few minutes later, Bolbochan entered.
He remained standing.
—"The men are ready."
Skoropadskyi looked at him.
—"Will you keep the pace?"
—"If we don't stop."
—"Then don't stop, even if the units on your flanks fall behind."
Bolbochan nodded.
—"Understood."
Bezruchko approached the table from the other side.
—"Communications may fail in the first hours."
—"I know."
—"Routes have been distributed."
—"Good."
Bezruchko paused.
—"If everything goes according to plan…"
Skoropadskyi answered calmly:
—"No, it won't go according to plan."
A brief pause.
—"The only question is how fast it begins to change."
Outside, it was dark.
The front remained silent.
But the silence was no longer expectation.
It was the last one.
Skoropadskyi glanced at his watch.
Then at the map.
Only after that did he speak.
—"Pass it to all units."
The signals officer straightened.
—"Yes, sir."
A pause.
Skoropadskyi spoke evenly:
—"Begin on signal, tomorrow at 6:30."
The order was simple.
And it was enough.
The front was still silent.
But that silence was already ending.