Rain had become more frequent across Galicia during the past days.
The shattered roads had turned completely into mud.
Wagons became stuck on the slopes, horses struggled to pull heavy artillery pieces forward, and supply columns increasingly stalled along ruined sections of road.
A thick haze of artillery smoke almost constantly hung above the front.
Officially, the June Offensive still continued.
Headquarters continued sending telegrams demanding that the initiative be maintained, generals still ordered new attacks, but at the front itself more and more men already understood that the offensive was slowly dying.
The first days of the operation now felt very far away.
The fighting increasingly turned into heavy assaults against isolated heights, forest lines, trenches, and ruined villages.
German defenses had grown far stronger over the past weeks.
Reinforcements had arrived and firmly established themselves, Central Powers artillery operated with increasing confidence, and machine-gun positions now almost always met Russian infantry with dense fire long before they reached the enemy trenches.
On one sector of the front, a Russian infantry regiment prepared for another assault near a destroyed railway embankment.
The soldiers sat inside wet trenches surrounded by mud and spent cartridges.
Some smoked silently, others checked their rifles, while a few simply stared ahead waiting for the signal.
Behind them, Russian artillery fired heavily.
Explosions raised thick columns of earth and smoke above the German positions.
A young sub-lieutenant walked along the trench, trying to sound confident.
—"Once the artillery shifts forward, we move across the embankment. The Germans won't even be able to raise their heads."
This time nobody answered immediately.
Finally, someone gloomily muttered from deeper inside the trench:
—"That's what they told us the last three days too."
Several nearby soldiers gave short bitter laughs.
Another angrily wiped mud from his coat.
—"They'll send us forward again, then later say the attack almost succeeded."
—"And the newspapers will write about another victory," another soldier answered irritably. "Meanwhile we'll keep rotting out here in the mud."
The sub-lieutenant sharply turned around.
—"Enough talking."
But even he looked no less exhausted than the rest.
Several minutes later, Russian artillery gradually shifted its fire deeper behind the German positions.
Almost immediately, the order to advance echoed above the trenches.
The infantry heavily moved forward through mud and shell craters.
Some slipped almost immediately on the soaked ground.
As the first groups approached the railway embankment, German machine guns opened fire once again.
Long bursts immediately swept across the field.
Men began collapsing near shattered rails and shell craters.
The Russian attack quickly lost momentum.
Officers attempted to push the soldiers forward, but the German fire only grew denser.
Heavy shells once again exploded across the battlefield.
German artillery rapidly covered the assault sectors.
Part of the infantry immediately threw themselves down beside the embankment.
Some continued firing from shell craters.
Others simply pressed themselves against the wet ground beneath the machine-gun fire.
Nearby, one soldier angrily shouted:
—"To hell with all these attacks!"
Another answered bitterly:
—"The nobles sit in headquarters moving maps around while we crawl into machine guns for the fourth year."
—"Keep your voice down," a third muttered without looking away from his rifle fire. "The officers will hear you."
—"I don't care anymore."
At that moment another shell exploded nearby.
Mud and earth covered the men inside the crater.
Behind them, officers and sergeants still attempted to keep the attack moving, but it was already obvious that another breakthrough would not happen.
On another sector of the front, formations of Skoropadskyi's corps held positions near a half-destroyed village and a forest line beside the road.
Over the past days, the corps had also suffered serious losses.
Some companies had been heavily reduced after continuous German attacks and artillery bombardments.
Medical stations were overcrowded with wounded soldiers.
Orderlies worked almost without pause carrying men away from the front.
Inside one temporary corps headquarters, Sliwinski and Bezruchko reviewed fresh reports.
The map barely contained any free space left between markings of German attacks, artillery strikes, and withdrawals of neighboring formations.
Bezruchko irritably set another report aside.
—"The Germans brought more batteries toward the road again."
Sliwinski tiredly rubbed his eyes.
—"They already understand we're no longer capable of a major offensive. Now they'll just keep pressing sector by sector."
Heavy artillery thundered nearby.
The remaining windows of the ruined building shook from the explosions.
Skoropadskyi silently listened to the reports while studying the map.
After a short pause, he calmly asked:
—"What about the shells?"
Bezruchko reviewed the figures for several seconds.
—"If this rate of fire continues another few days, we'll officially begin rationing heavy ammunition."
Problems like these were now appearing across nearly the entire front.
Ruined roads, mud, continuous fighting, and growing chaos behind the lines gradually undermined the army's supply system.
Even Skoropadskyi's corps, which still maintained organization, increasingly felt the overall exhaustion of the front.
By evening, German artillery intensified its bombardment once again.
Heavy shells struck positions across the entire corps line.
Inside the wet trenches, soldiers silently sat beneath the bombardment pressed against the trench walls.
Machine-gun crews covered their weapons with tarps against the rain and mud.
And ahead, beyond the smoke and explosions, German artillery slowly intensified its fire once more.
Several days after the final large assaults, the front gradually shifted fully onto the defensive.
On many sectors, Russian formations had almost stopped attempting offensive operations altogether.
Now the main task was simply holding positions and preventing another German breakthrough.
But even that was becoming harder and harder.
The rear roads were overcrowded.
Along them moved at the same time: the remnants of shattered formations, supply wagons, medical convoys, artillery batteries, reserves, deserters, messengers, and refugees fleeing from frontline villages.
After weeks of continuous fighting, the army was steadily losing its ability to function properly.
On some sectors officers still maintained order.
On others, soldiers increasingly argued openly with commanders while receiving orders.
Near one temporary collection point beside a ruined station, several officers attempted to stop a retreating infantry company.
The men looked completely exhausted.
Many were filthy, unshaven, and red-eyed after several days with almost no sleep.
A captain irritably tried to shout above the noise around him.
—"The company is to return to the line! The Germans haven't broken through the sector!"
This time the answer came immediately from somewhere inside the crowd:
—"And for what? So the artillery can grind us apart again?"
Several nearby soldiers immediately supported him.
—"Let the committee decide first."
The captain stepped forward sharply.
But before he could answer, one of the older lieutenants quietly spoke first:
—"Nobody's throwing you into another assault right now. The positions still need to be held."
A soldier wearing a red ribbon slowly removed his cap.
—"People understand that. But after the last attacks half the regiment is already gone."
Another infantryman tiredly added:
—"Third week of the same thing. Barrage, attack, retreat, then we gather whoever's left."
Several officers exchanged silent glances.
Nobody in the station building could honestly say the soldiers were entirely wrong anymore.
The captain exhaled heavily.
—"If the Germans realize the line is collapsing, they'll push even harder."
The soldier with the ribbon answered calmly:
—"And if this keeps going, there won't be anyone left to hold the line anyway."
For several seconds, nobody replied.
Behind them, medical wagons slowly moved along the road.
Somewhere far away, artillery thundered heavily once again.
New groups of wounded men and retreating formations passed beside the station.
Even many officers had already begun understanding that the old mechanisms of the army were steadily breaking apart.
On neighboring sectors, soldiers' committees increasingly interfered directly in operational decisions.
Some demanded that formations be withdrawn from the front line.
Others insisted that attacks could no longer be carried out without committee approval.
Inside one divisional headquarters, representatives of a regimental committee entered during another staff discussion.
Nobody even seemed surprised by their arrival anymore.
One officer only tiredly raised his eyes from the map.
—"What is it now?"
A soldier with a red ribbon removed his wet cap.
—"The men are asking not to send the regiment into another assault for now."
The room fell silent for several moments.
An older colonel slowly rubbed his temples.
—"The Germans are still pressing the sector. If we stop attacking entirely, they'll begin advancing themselves."
The committee representative answered calmly:
—"The men understand that. But after the last assaults the companies are already half empty."
Another soldier added more irritably:
—"Third week of the same thing. First the artillery barrage, then the assault, then we gather what remains of the regiment."
One of the younger officers quietly interrupted:
—"It's not only your regiment in that condition anymore."
The soldier gave a bitter smile.
—"Exactly."
The colonel remained silent for some time while staring at the map.
He no longer looked like a man trying to argue.
More like an officer exhausted by the situation no less than everyone else in the room.
—"Very well," he finally said. "No unnecessary assaults. But the positions still have to be held."
Nobody answered immediately.
Because everyone inside the headquarters understood that this was no longer the conversation of an army preparing to win a war.
It was the conversation of men simply trying to keep the front from collapsing completely.
By mid-July, the front had gradually begun falling quieter after weeks of continuous fighting.
Large assaults became increasingly rare.
The Russian Army still held its positions, but the offensive spirit had disappeared completely.
Now the front more and more resembled an exhausted line simply trying to survive another day of war.
Across many sectors, the trenches no longer looked like the positions of an army that only recently had attempted to break through the enemy front.
They looked like shattered camps buried in mud, smoke, and exhaustion.
The trenches constantly filled with water after the rains.
Destroyed dugouts had to be repaired again and again after new bombardments.
Soldiers slept in soaked greatcoats.
Some formations went days without receiving hot food properly.
At night, the distant thunder of artillery still rolled across the front almost without interruption.
But even that sound had gradually become almost ordinary.
German artillery still fired daily.
Russian batteries still answered.
Reconnaissance patrols still moved through the darkness between the trenches.
Yet more and more officers already understood: this no longer resembled preparation for another offensive.
The army was slowly settling into defense.
Near one artillery position, exhausted crews prepared the guns for another exchange of fire.
The barrels had barely cooled during the previous weeks.
Some gun crews had already lost nearly half their men.
A young artillery officer silently studied firing tables beneath the weak light of a lamp while nearby soldiers carried fresh shells through the mud.
An older artillery sergeant quietly muttered:
—"Another shipment came short again."
The officer gave a tired smile.
—"Seems everything gets lost somewhere between here and Petrograd now."
The sergeant spat into the mud beside the gun carriage.
—"At least the Germans still know where their shells are going."
Several artillerymen nearby gave short bitter laughs.
Nobody continued the conversation after that.
Late in the evening, inside a half-destroyed dugout near the front trenches, several infantrymen sat after another artillery bombardment.
The dugout smelled of wet earth, smoke, and soaked uniforms.
Almost nobody spoke.
One soldier slowly smoked.
Another silently cleaned mud from his rifle.
A third simply sat with closed eyes against the wooden wall of the shelter.
Finally, someone quietly said:
—"The newspapers still write that the offensive continues."
Several men nearby gave tired laughs.
—"Then let them come here and continue it themselves."
Another soldier slowly shook his head.
—"Everybody already understands nothing's going to happen anymore."
The conversation faded almost immediately afterward.
Even talks like these now usually ended not with arguments, but with exhausted silence.
Outside, artillery still rumbled somewhere across the dark front.
But now the sound no longer resembled the beginning of another offensive.
It sounded more like the long, exhausted ending of the old army.