Stavka once again lived in the atmosphere of continuous war.
Even after the stabilization of the Romanian front, the flow of reports had not diminished. Maps changed constantly, officers moved between offices almost without pause, and telegraph lines operated around the clock.
In one of the staff rooms, several generals stood beside a large map of the front.
The following regions were still marked across it:
— East Prussia
— Poland
— Galicia
— the Carpathians
— Romania
The war had already engulfed all of Eastern Europe.
One of the generals ran his hand tiredly across the map.
—"In two years we've lost too many commanders."
Another gave a grim smile.
—"Some because of the Germans."
A pause.
—"Some because of their own stupidity."
Several men exchanged quiet glances.
Too many older generals still tried to fight as though the war had never changed since the Russo-Turkish campaigns.
The chief of staff slowly closed a folder filled with reports.
—"The front needs new corps commanders."
One of the officers nodded.
—"Especially after the Brusilov Offensive. Losses among senior officers were enormous."
Another general looked toward the list of names.
—"Who's being considered?"
The chief of staff answered calmly:
—"Those still capable of managing a modern war."
Several personal files were placed onto the table.
One of the generals opened the top folder.
—"Skoropadskyi."
Someone nearby gave a short nod.
—"East Prussia."
—"Covering the retreat at the Masurian Lakes."
—"The Polish campaign."
—"Galicia."
—"Brusilov."
Another general added:
—"And throughout all of it, his formations maintained discipline better than most."
A staff officer flipped through several pages.
—"Adapted quickly to positional warfare. Strong coordination between artillery and cavalry. Uses reserves intelligently."
One of the senior generals gave a quiet smile.
—"Most of our cavalry commanders are still living in the previous century."
The chief of staff answered calmly:
—"Skoropadskyi stopped commanding cavalry a long time ago."
A pause.
—"He commands full front-line formations now."
Silence filled the room for several seconds.
Then one of the generals spoke slowly:
—"He knows how to do more than attack."
Another finished the thought:
—"He knows how to keep an army from collapsing."
Another document was placed onto the table.
—"It is proposed that the new corps be transferred to him."
One of the officers looked up.
—"Composition?"
The chief of staff opened another map.
—"Two infantry divisions."
—"One cavalry division."
—"Corps artillery."
—"Engineering formations."
—"Signals and reserves."
The chief of staff nodded slowly.
—"Which is exactly why we need someone capable of holding such a front together."
Outside, the sound of another arriving train echoed through the station.
The war continued.
But the Empire was now gradually pushing forward a different generation of commanders.
Those who had learned how to survive the new war.
The chief of staff picked up a pen and signed the order.
—"Transfer the corps to Lieutenant General Pavlo Skoropadskyi."
The order arrived at the divisional headquarters late in the evening.
Darkness had already fallen outside, but officers inside the штаб carriage continued working beneath dim lamps. Maps lay spread across stacks of reports, signal officers passed new messages through the telegraph station, and adjutants constantly moved through the narrow corridor.
When the adjutant handed over the folder, Skoropadskyi immediately noticed the seal of Stavka.
He opened the documents silently.
For several seconds, the carriage remained completely quiet.
Then Bezruchko looked at him carefully.
—"Something serious?"
Skoropadskyi raised his eyes from the order.
—"A corps."
For several moments, nobody spoke.
Then Bezruchko exhaled slowly.
—"That changes everything."
Skoropadskyi remained serious.
—"A corps is no longer a division."
A pause.
—"Mistakes at this level cost entire sectors of the front."
He turned another page.
—"And it means new appointments."
Skoropadskyi continued reading through the documents.
—"Omelianovych-Pavlenko."
Bezruchko immediately looked up.
—"Promotion?"
Skoropadskyi nodded.
—"Major General."
A pause.
—"He'll command an infantry division."
A faint smile crossed Bezruchko's face.
—"Well deserved."
Skoropadskyi turned another page.
—"Handziuk transfers to the second division of the corps."
Bezruchko nodded slowly.
—"Then the corps will be strong."
Another page.
—"Hrekiv receives the cavalry division."
This time Bezruchko leaned back slightly.
—"So the corps will actually be fully staffed."
Skoropadskyi continued reading.
—"Sliwinski is being transferred to corps headquarters."
Bezruchko raised an eyebrow slightly.
—"A good officer?"
Skoropadskyi gave a short nod.
—"I trained him myself during the Russo-Japanese War."
A pause.
—"A strong staff officer. Calm. Knows how to work with large operations."
Bezruchko gave a quiet smile.
—"Then perhaps we'll finally have a proper operational staff."
Skoropadskyi closed the folder for a moment.
—"You'll remain in headquarters as well."
Bezruchko looked at him carefully.
—"Supply?"
—"Supply, logistics, coordination."
Bezruchko exhaled heavily.
—"So the least grateful work in the entire corps."
Skoropadskyi answered calmly:
—"And the most important."
The last pages contained assignments for regimental officers and the redistribution of units within the future corps.
Skoropadskyi quickly scanned the lists.
Outside, another train slowly passed through the station.
The war continued moving armies across the Empire.
But inside the штаб carriage, a new command structure was already beginning to form.
A group of officers who still served the Russian Empire.
But who one day would serve another army entirely.
The new corps headquarters began forming in the rear areas west of Kyiv, near a major railway junction.
The front no longer needed only new generals.
It needed entirely new systems of command.
The station rarely became quiet, even at night.
Trains arrived one after another carrying:
— officers
— staff detachments
— supply columns
— artillery
— engineering units
— warehouses of equipment and ammunition
The war was gradually becoming a massive machine that could no longer be sustained through personal bravery alone.
Inside a former gymnasium building, officers hurriedly established the new corps headquarters.
Signal units stretched telegraph lines between rooms.
Adjutants carried maps and folders filled with orders.
Large tables slowly disappeared beneath organizational charts and deployment plans.
Bezruchko stood over several supply schedules.
—"If the railway system stops for even a few days, we'll have problems across the entire corps."
An officer nearby gave a tired smile.
—"At this point the entire army survives only because of the railways."
Bezruchko answered calmly:
—"Which is why they matter more than half the generals in Stavka."
By evening, the new commanders began arriving.
Handziuk arrived first.
The tall general looked visibly older after three years of war as he slowly entered headquarters, removing his gloves after the long journey.
Skoropadskyi greeted him personally.
—"Good to see you again, Yakiv Hryhorovych."
Handziuk gave a short nod.
—"It seems the war decided we would work together again."
Skoropadskyi allowed himself a faint smile.
—"This time on the scale of an entire corps."
Handziuk looked around the headquarters as more maps continued appearing across the tables.
—"A large responsibility."
—"And it's only beginning to form," Skoropadskyi answered calmly.
The following day, Sliwinski arrived.
Unlike many front-line officers, he appeared unusually calm and composed.
Skoropadskyi had noticed that trait back during the Russo-Japanese War.
When Sliwinski entered headquarters, Skoropadskyi approached him first.
—"It's been a long time."
Sliwinski smiled slightly.
—"Since Manchuria."
A pause.
—"Everything looked much simpler back then."
Skoropadskyi gave a quiet laugh.
—"Back then armies were not managed through railways, telegraphs, and thousands of tons of shells."
Sliwinski stepped toward one of the corps maps.
For several seconds, he carefully studied the deployment schemes.
—"A very large area of responsibility."
—"Which is exactly why I need a strong staff," Skoropadskyi answered.
Later that evening, Hrekiv also arrived at headquarters.
The cavalry general looked exhausted after the journey, but unlike many older officers in the Imperial Army, he carefully studied not only the front-line maps, but also the supply diagrams of the corps itself.
—"Cavalry now depends on railways no less than infantry," he observed.
Bezruchko gave a faint smile.
—"Welcome to modern war."
Gradually, a new structure began taking shape around the headquarters.
Not simply several divisions gathered together.
But a full corps:
— with its own headquarters
— logistics
— artillery
— reserves
— engineering formations
— communications
Late into the evenings, lights still burned inside the headquarters building.
Officers studied maps.
Assigned future sectors.
Prepared schedules for arriving formations and supply trains.
During one evening meeting, Bezruchko reviewed several railway schedules.
—"If we overload the railways in every direction simultaneously, the entire system will collapse into chaos."
Handziuk answered calmly:
—"Nobody is sending us to the front next week."
Sliwinski nodded.
—"After Romania and the Brusilov Offensive, the army itself needs time."
For several seconds, Skoropadskyi silently studied the map of the corps.
—"Stavka gave us several months."
A pause.
—"Which means we'll form this corps properly."
Bezruchko allowed himself a faint smile.
—"A rare luxury in this war."
Skoropadskyi answered calmly:
—"Then we shouldn't waste it by creating chaos ourselves."
Outside, another train slowly entered the station.
The corps continued forming.
The following weeks passed in constant work.
Little by little, the corps began turning from штаб papers and railway schedules into a real military structure.
Every day new formations arrived at the railway junction west of Kyiv.
Some units came directly from the exhausted fronts of Romania.
Others were transferred from rear districts of the Empire to reinforce the corps while it was still forming.
The station itself had become a world of endless movement.
Officers hurried between trains carrying folders filled with orders.
Artillery batteries slowly unloaded heavy guns from flatcars.
Engineers inspected bridges and rail connections.
Supply officers argued over fuel, horses, ammunition, and winter clothing.
Snow covered the tracks almost every morning.
But the trains kept arriving.
Inside headquarters, the organization of the corps grew more detailed each day.
Large maps now covered entire walls.
Separate sectors were assigned to each division.
Supply routes were marked in colored pencil.
Reserve depots, railway hubs, artillery concentrations, telegraph lines — everything was gradually being connected into one system.
At one long table, several officers reviewed lists of artillery and engineering units.
Sliwinski studied the deployment schemes carefully.
—"If the corps is eventually deployed across a broad sector, we'll need at least two permanent supply hubs."
Bezruchko nodded immediately.
—"And separate ammunition depots."
Handziuk looked through another set of reports.
—"Infantry replacements can still be gathered."
A pause.
—"But horses, artillery teams, and transport units are in poor condition across most of the army."
Hrekiv answered calmly:
—"After three years of war, a good cavalry horse is valued almost as highly as an officer."
Several men allowed themselves faint smiles.
But nobody disagreed.
Skoropadskyi stood silently beside the large organizational map of the corps.
Under his command, something much larger than a division was now gradually taking shape.
Two infantry divisions.
One cavalry division.
Corps artillery.
Engineers.
Signals.
Reserves.
Tens of thousands of soldiers, horses, wagons, artillery pieces, and supply columns.
On one evening, Omelianovych-Pavlenko finally arrived at headquarters after his official promotion.
When he entered the room, several officers immediately rose from their seats.
Skoropadskyi approached him first.
—"Congratulations, Mykhailo Volodymyrovych."
Omelianovych-Pavlenko shook his hand calmly.
—"It seems the war continues promoting those who managed to survive it."
Skoropadskyi allowed himself a faint smile.
—"And those who learned faster than the others."
Omelianovych-Pavlenko looked across the maps of the corps.
—"A great responsibility."
—"Which is why I'm gathering officers I can trust," Skoropadskyi answered calmly.
For several seconds, the general silently studied the deployment schemes.
Then nodded slowly.
—"A good headquarters."
Sliwinski answered quietly:
—"For now we're only trying to make it one."
Outside, snow continued falling slowly across the station.
More trains arrived through the night.
But inside headquarters, the atmosphere had already begun changing.
Less chaos.
More order.
The corps was no longer simply an idea on paper.
It was becoming real.