By mid-July, the front had completely lost the rhythm of the earlier offensive.
Now the fighting increasingly consisted of short German attacks, artillery bombardments, and attempts to probe the weakest sectors of the Russian defenses.
Large operations almost no longer took place.
Yet that fact itself now worried many officers even more.
The Germans were no longer trying to smash through the front at any cost.
They were gradually testing how quickly the Russian Army was collapsing on its own.
On one sector near a ruined village, a German reconnaissance attack once again attempted to approach the Russian positions after a short artillery bombardment.
Morning fog still hung above the front line, mixed with smoke from the recent explosions.
Small groups of German infantry cautiously moved between shell craters and the remains of barbed wire.
Behind them, German machine guns fired intermittently.
The Russian trenches did not answer immediately.
Only after some time did scattered rifle fire begin appearing above the parapets.
A German lieutenant observing the front through binoculars frowned.
—"Slow reaction again."
Nearby, a sergeant gave a short nod.
—"It's been like that for several days already."
The lieutenant continued watching the Russian positions for a few more moments.
The return fire remained scattered and disorganized.
On some sectors there was barely any response at all.
—"They're exhausted," the lieutenant quietly said. "Or they simply don't want to fight anymore."
After the short clash, the German groups began withdrawing.
The reconnaissance mission had already achieved its purpose.
German headquarters increasingly received similar reports: the Russian formations still held the front, but discipline and command structure continued deteriorating.
On a neighboring Russian sector, the situation looked even worse.
After the morning bombardment, officers attempted to organize a small counterattack to retake a lost trench sector.
Inside a dirty half-destroyed dugout, several officers quickly discussed the task before sending the companies forward.
A young staff captain tiredly looked toward the company commanders.
—"The Germans occupied the forward trench after the bombardment. We need to drive them out before they fortify the position."
Nobody argued.
But there was no enthusiasm left either.
When the officers approached the soldiers, the tension became obvious almost immediately.
The men sat inside wet trenches after the bombardment, exhausted and filthy after weeks of continuous fighting.
One officer briefly explained the objective.
Afterward, heavy silence hung above the trench for several seconds.
Finally, someone quietly muttered:
—"Forward again."
Another soldier irritably wiped his face with his sleeve.
—"Only yesterday we were dragging bodies out of there."
The officer attempted to speak more calmly.
—"If the Germans entrench themselves there, it'll be worse later."
But explanations like that carried less and less weight now.
On one section of the trench, several soldiers did not even rise from their places.
A junior officer irritably stepped toward them.
—"Did you hear the order?"
One infantryman slowly looked up.
—"We heard it."
—"Then why are you still sitting here?"
The soldier remained silent for several seconds.
Then he answered tiredly:
—"Because they'll slaughter us there again."
Nearby, someone quietly added:
—"And in two days there'll be another attack anyway."
The officer clenched his jaw sharply.
He was clearly trying to restrain his anger, but he himself already looked like a man no longer certain which orders would actually be obeyed.
Behind the trenches, artillery thundered heavily once again.
Somewhere along the line, German batteries continued firing.
After several minutes of arguments, part of the soldiers finally rose for the attack.
The others remained sitting inside the trench.
Nobody even attempted to drag them out by force anymore.
In the end, only part of the company advanced.
The counterattack almost immediately collapsed beneath German machine-gun fire.
The men quickly threw themselves into shell craters and began retreating.
An hour later, everything had ended almost exactly where it had begun.
Only the number of wounded had increased.
By evening, dark conversations once again spread along the front.
Some blamed the committees.
Some blamed the officers.
Some blamed the Provisional Government.
But more and more often, people simply remained silently exhausted.
Because too many had already begun understanding that the army was gradually ceasing to be an army in the old sense of the word.
During the past months, soldiers' committees had fully become part of everyday life at the front.
Now, inside many formations, almost no major order passed without discussions, arguments, or attempts to negotiate with the soldiers' representatives.
Especially after the failure of the offensive.
The losses of recent weeks had only deepened the distrust between soldiers and the command structure.
In many regiments, officers still attempted to preserve the old system of discipline.
But with each passing month, that became harder.
Inside one rear camp near a forest line, representatives from several companies gathered for another meeting of the regimental committee.
The men sat directly on ammunition crates, logs, and wet grass.
Some smoked silently.
Others tiredly listened to arguments that during recent weeks had become almost daily occurrences.
One committee representative stood up first.
—"The Germans are pressing the sector near the station again. Headquarters wants the men prepared in case of another attack."
Irritated muttering immediately spread among the soldiers.
—"Another attack."
—"Let them go themselves."
—"Third week of the same thing."
Finally, one older frontline veteran spoke tiredly:
—"It's not even only about the attacks anymore."
The men gradually fell silent.
The soldier slowly continued:
—"Everybody understands the front still has to be held. If the Germans break through, we'll regret it ourselves later."
Several nearby men silently nodded.
—"But it's impossible to keep fighting like this too," another added. "The regiments are shrinking, replacements barely arrive, and the men sit here for months without proper rest."
One junior sergeant gave a bitter laugh.
—"And headquarters still pretends another offensive is possible."
But even conversations like these rarely turned into open revolutionary shouting anymore.
More often, they sounded like the exhausted frustration of men who had spent too long at war.
Nearby, several officers watched the gathering from a distance.
One young lieutenant quietly said:
—"A year ago half these men would've been arrested for talking like this."
An older captain gave a dark smile.
—"A year ago the army was different too."
Both men fell silent for several moments.
From the direction of the front came the distant rumble of artillery once again.
The lieutenant carefully asked:
—"Do you think any of this can still be stopped?"
The captain did not answer immediately.
For a long time he watched the assembled soldiers.
The muddy coats.
The exhausted faces.
The red ribbons.
Men who already barely resembled the old Imperial Army anymore.
Finally, he quietly said:
—"It's too late now to put everything back the way it was."
At the same time, in another regiment, committee representatives argued with the command staff over new orders to occupy forward positions after neighboring formations had withdrawn.
Inside a half-destroyed building converted into a temporary headquarters, the conversation quickly became tense.
The colonel tiredly looked toward the committee representatives over the map.
—"If we don't close the sector now, the Germans will advance farther along the road."
A soldier wearing a red ribbon answered calmly:
—"The men are willing to hold the line. But they don't want to go into pointless assaults again."
The colonel exhaled irritably.
—"Right now we're not even talking about an offensive."
Another committee representative interrupted almost immediately:
—"Then don't demand the impossible. Half the companies are barely functioning after July."
Heavy silence once again filled the room.
Everyone understood the true condition of the army far too well.
Finally, the colonel slowly nodded.
—"Very well. Hold the line. But if the Germans launch a serious attack, nobody withdraws without orders."
Nobody argued.
Because fear of the Germans still remained stronger than the desire to abandon the front completely.
That was the reason the army still continued to exist at all.
But now it depended less and less on discipline, and more and more on an exhausted attempt to avoid total collapse.
The deeper the army's crisis became, the more visible it grew not only at the front, but far behind the lines as well.
Railway stations overflowed with people.
Trains carrying wounded soldiers, artillery, food supplies, and reserves stood motionless on crowded tracks, increasingly delayed by destroyed rail sections and the growing chaos of transportation.
Around the stations gathered soldiers from shattered formations.
Some searched for their regiments.
Some tried to find transport back toward the front.
Others were already openly looking for a way to get as far from the war as possible.
At one small station in Galicia, a military commandant and several officers attempted to stop a group of soldiers moving along the tracks.
The men looked exhausted and filthy after long marches.
Many were missing parts of their equipment.
Some no longer even carried rifles.
—"Which regiment?" the captain sharply demanded.
The soldiers exchanged glances.
Finally, one answered reluctantly:
—"One hundred and forty-second."
—"Where's your commander?"
The soldier only shrugged.
—"Lost him during the bombardment."
The captain silently stared at the men for several moments.
Scenes like this had become increasingly common during recent weeks.
Shattered formations mixed together, lost officers, documents, and communication with headquarters.
Sometimes soldiers genuinely attempted returning to their units.
Sometimes they no longer cared.
—"Return to the collection point," the captain said tiredly. "You'll be reassigned there."
For several seconds nobody moved.
The soldiers silently glanced at one another.
It was obvious many had no intention of returning toward the front anymore.
The captain understood that almost immediately.
He stepped forward.
—"I won't repeat the order."
One soldier slowly smirked.
—"And if we don't go?"
Several men nearby shifted closer together.
The officers immediately sensed the change in mood.
One lieutenant sharply placed his hand on his revolver.
—"Don't do anything stupid."
But the men standing before them no longer looked like a military formation.
They looked more like exhausted, bitter men who had spent too many years inside the war.
Someone quietly muttered:
—"We've had enough."
Another soldier added angrily:
—"Fourth year of the same thing."
The captain attempted to keep his voice firm.
—"As long as you're still part of the army, you'll obey orders."
But even in his own voice uncertainty could already be heard.
One soldier suddenly stepped forward.
—"What army?"
In the next moment someone violently shoved the lieutenant.
He lost balance and slammed into the side of a railcar.
Almost instantly chaos erupted.
Several soldiers rushed forward.
The captain grabbed one by the coat, but received a heavy punch to the face and fell beside the embankment.
Someone shouted.
One officer drew his revolver, but several men immediately tackled him, knocking the weapon from his hand.
The station descended into confusion.
Some soldiers were already running down the tracks.
Others jumped between railcars and quickly disappeared into the crowds near the platform.
—"Stop!"
—"Get back here!"
But the officers' shouts nearly vanished beneath the noise of the station, locomotives, and the cries of wounded men beside the medical train.
Within minutes it was over as quickly as it had begun.
Several officers slowly rose from the ground.
The captain's lip was bleeding, and his coat was covered with mud.
Silently, he watched the men disappearing beyond the station.
Nobody attempted chasing them anymore.
Because everyone there already understood: things like this were happening too often now.
And with every passing day, stopping the collapse of the army became harder.
By the end of July, the front still existed.
Russian formations continued holding their positions, artillery batteries exchanged fire daily with German guns, and reconnaissance patrols still crawled through the darkness between the trench lines at night.
From the outside, the war could still appear almost unchanged.
But inside the army, too much had already changed.
More and more officers noticed that soldiers now obeyed orders more out of habit than from any real belief in victory or in the command itself.
On some sectors, the men still held together relatively well.
On others, discipline continued collapsing rapidly.
Inside one forward trench near a shattered forest line, a group of soldiers sat after the evening bombardment.
Damp fog slowly rose above the trenches.
Somewhere far away, artillery still rumbled heavily.
Inside the dugout, a weak lamp burned dimly.
One soldier slowly unwrapped his soaked footcloths near the wall.
Another silently ate cold porridge straight from his mess tin.
A third sat near the entrance smoking while staring into the darkness beyond the trenches.
Finally, someone quietly said:
—"Remember how at the start of the war they said it would all be over by Christmas?"
Several nearby men gave short tired laughs.
—"Now nobody even knows which Christmas."
Silence returned again afterward.
Conversations now increasingly faded away on their own.
The men were simply too exhausted even for arguments.
Not far away, a young прапорщик and several officers inspected the positions after the bombardment.
One of the communication trenches had collapsed again beneath German shellfire.
Several soldiers lazily cleared away the earth with shovels.
For a while the прапорщик silently watched them.
Then he quietly said to the senior sergeant:
—"After bombardments, the men used to curse louder than this."
The sergeant gave a dark smile.
—"Now they're just tired."
Both men remained silent for some time.
Somewhere ahead, scattered rifle shots rang out again.
German signal flares briefly rose above the front line.
Late that night, inside one headquarters dugout, several officers reviewed the latest reports.
The maps were covered with fresh markings of withdrawals, casualties, and supply shortages.
One staff captain tiredly set the papers aside.
—"The worst part isn't even the Germans anymore."
Nobody asked what he meant.
Because everyone already understood the answer.
The army still stood at the front.
But more and more it resembled a massive exhausted crowd gradually losing: discipline, belief, and any understanding of why the war still continued.
During the night, the roads behind the front still carried: supply wagons, wounded men, remnants of formations, deserters, medical columns.
And somewhere ahead, the front still continued to exist.
But more and more people already felt: it survived more through inertia than through the real strength of the army.