By the end of the summer of 1917, the last remnants of confidence that the army could return to its previous condition were slowly disappearing.
Every day, Stavka received new reports describing desertion, refusals to attack, collapsing units, conflicts between officers and committees, supply shortages, and the growing loss of control along different sectors of the front.
On the large operational maps, the front lines still appeared intact.
But more and more generals understood that on paper the army looked far more stable than it truly was.
Inside one of the штаб halls, several officers silently reviewed fresh reports from the Southwestern Front. Telegrams, operational summaries, committee reports, casualty lists, and messages about units abandoning their positions without orders covered the tables.
One staff officer said tiredly:
—"The Third Division of the Seventh Army has refused another counterattack order."
Another officer answered shortly:
—"The committee demanded written guarantees that the unit would not be used in offensive operations."
Several irritated chuckles spread across the room.
But there was no humor in them.
Reports like that arrived almost daily now.
The officers were gradually becoming accustomed to the absurdity of the situation, though that did not make it any less dangerous.
Near the front map stood General Aleksei Brusilov.
He looked noticeably older than he had a year earlier.
The exhaustion of recent months had begun showing on nearly every senior officer in the army.
—"The army is still holding its positions," he said calmly.
One of the generals answered grimly:
—"For now."
Silence returned once again.
Because almost everyone present already understood that the problem was no longer limited to isolated units.
The entire command structure of the army was beginning to collapse.
Orders were increasingly debated, delayed, challenged by committees, or simply ignored altogether. Supply systems were also functioning worse with every month. Railways struggled to maintain transportation, reserve units sometimes failed to reach the front for weeks, and shortages of shells, medical supplies, food, and uniforms were already appearing in some sectors.
One of the staff generals placed another report onto the table.
—"The number of deserters has increased again during the last two weeks."
He rubbed his exhausted face.
—"Especially among formations that participated in the June Offensive."
Nobody seemed surprised.
After the failed offensive, morale throughout the army had deteriorated even further.
Soldiers increasingly spoke about peace, returning home, land, and the senselessness of the war itself.
A communications officer entered the room and handed over another telegram.
One of the generals read it silently for several seconds before throwing the paper onto the table in irritation.
—"Another political meeting instead of carrying out orders."
Someone let out a heavy breath.
Another officer quietly muttered:
—"We spend more time negotiating with the army than commanding it."
This time nobody even smiled.
Too many of them thought exactly the same thing.
Brusilov remained silent for several moments while studying the map.
Then he calmly said:
—"Some formations are still maintaining discipline."
Several officers immediately looked up.
One of the generals understood what he meant at once.
—"The Ukrainian Corps?"
Brusilov gave a short nod.
Movement spread through the room again.
Some frowned in irritation.
Others exchanged attentive glances.
During recent months, the Ukrainian formations had indeed shown considerably greater stability than many ordinary units. Not everywhere, not perfectly, but enough for Stavka to begin discussing the issue seriously.
One staff officer cautiously remarked:
—"More homogeneous formations seem to maintain internal discipline more effectively."
Another general immediately added:
—"And the officers still retain greater authority there."
—"For now," someone at the far end of the room muttered darkly.
The discussion gradually moved toward far more dangerous territory.
Only months earlier, national formations had been viewed merely as a temporary measure.
Now more and more generals were beginning to see them as perhaps the last remaining way to prevent the army from completely disintegrating.
One representative of the Provisional Government immediately frowned.
—"Are you proposing to transform the army into a collection of national formations?"
The answer came calmly:
—"We are proposing to hold the front."
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Because that had become the central question of recent months.
Not politics.
Not declarations.
But whether the army itself could continue existing at all.
Brusilov slowly folded his hands behind his back.
—"If ordinary formations can no longer maintain discipline, then we will have to look for other solutions."
He paused briefly.
—"And we are running out of time."
Several days after the meeting at Stavka, Pavlo Skoropadskyi received orders to report immediately to front headquarters.
The telegram was short and contained no explanations.
During recent months, such summons rarely meant anything good.
On the journey to headquarters, he silently watched the stations passing alongside the railway.
War was gradually changing even the rear.
The platforms were increasingly filled with overcrowded hospital trains, demoralized reserve formations, groups of deserters under guard, and supply convoys delayed for days.
Many stations looked noticeably worse than they had a year earlier.
The conversations among officers were changing as well.
Now they spoke increasingly about committees, refusals to obey orders, political meetings, rumors from Petrograd, and the possibility of another governmental crisis.
By the time Skoropadskyi arrived, the meeting had already begun.
Inside the room were Aleksei Brusilov, several staff generals, representatives of the Provisional Government, and officers involved in the ukrainization of military formations.
Beside Skoropadskyi sat his chief of staff, Oleksandr Sliwinski.
Maps, unit reports, and several thick folders of operational documents covered the large table.
The discussion quickly shifted toward the condition of the army.
One general said irritably:
—"After the July fighting, some corps are practically being rebuilt from nothing."
Another added grimly:
—"In some formations officers already hesitate to issue strict orders without committee approval."
Someone gave a heavy, tired laugh.
—"At this rate the committees will soon begin approving operational plans themselves."
Several officers exchanged exhausted glances.
Jokes like that had long stopped being amusing.
Brusilov remained silent for several moments before turning toward Skoropadskyi.
—"Your corps continues to maintain stability better than most formations."
Skoropadskyi answered calmly:
—"The situation is worsening there as well."
He had no intention of pretending the Ukrainian units had somehow escaped the army's wider collapse.
—"Discipline is holding primarily because of the officer corps and internal organization. But even there the tension is increasing."
One representative of the government immediately asked:
—"How are you managing to keep the formations under control?"
Skoropadskyi thought for several seconds before answering.
—"Men hold together more easily when they trust those commanding them."
He continued calmly:
—"When soldiers see officers constantly beside them rather than only in rear headquarters, the level of disintegration becomes significantly lower."
Several generals exchanged brief glances.
They understood that perfectly well themselves.
But in many formations it no longer worked.
Brusilov slowly said:
—"That is precisely why we are considering expanding the Ukrainian formations."
Silence returned immediately after those words.
One representative of the Provisional Government frowned at once.
—"Expanded to what scale?"
One of the staff officers opened a folder filled with calculations.
—"Several full corps are being considered."
Even among the officers present, that statement created visible tension.
Skoropadskyi carefully studied the documents but remained outwardly calm.
He understood perfectly well that this discussion was no longer about a single corps.
And at the same time, he understood how politically dangerous such a decision could become.
One general cautiously asked:
—"Do you believe it is possible?"
Skoropadskyi did not answer immediately.
—"Technically, yes."
He shifted his gaze toward the map.
—"But only under several conditions."
—"Which conditions?"
—"Stable supply lines, preservation of the professional officer corps, and the absence of constant committee interference in military command."
Someone at the far end of the table quietly laughed.
—"In other words, nearly impossible conditions."
This time even Skoropadskyi allowed himself the faintest smile.
But he quickly became serious again.
—"If ukrainization becomes only a political slogan, nothing will come from it."
He looked directly toward the government representatives.
—"An army is not held together by slogans."
For several seconds nobody answered.
Because it was becoming increasingly difficult to argue against that.
News about the possible expansion of the Ukrainian formations began spreading through Kyiv even before any official orders appeared.
Rumors moved quickly through headquarters offices, ministries, newspaper редакции, military committees, and meetings of the Central Rada.
And the more often the ukrainization of the army was discussed, the more divisions began appearing inside the Ukrainian political movement itself.
Another session of the Rada took place in a heavy atmosphere.
During recent months the arguments there had become increasingly bitter.
The socialists demanded greater committee control, further democratization of the army, and limitations on the authority of officers.
Others increasingly argued that without discipline the army would simply cease to exist.
Vynnychenko already looked irritated before the discussion even began.
When the conversation once again turned toward the Ukrainian formations, he sharply said:
—"Are we creating a Ukrainian army, or simply restoring the old officer system under new banners?"
The room immediately grew louder.
Several socialist deputies supported him almost at once.
—"The army must not become an instrument of generals."
—"After everything that has happened, returning power to the old command structure would be dangerous."
From the opposite side of the hall came an irritated response:
—"Without officers there will be no army at all."
The argument quickly intensified.
One representative from the military circles said tiredly:
—"At the front, formations are collapsing faster than the Rada can pass new resolutions."
Someone answered sharply:
—"It was the old army that brought the country to this condition."
—"The old army at least held the front," another voice replied darkly.
For several seconds the discussion nearly descended into open shouting.
Petliura had remained mostly silent until then, carefully listening to the argument around him.
Finally he calmly intervened:
—"The problem is not the existence of an army itself."
Part of the chamber immediately fell silent.
—"The problem is who will control it."
After those words, the atmosphere shifted again.
Because that was precisely what many of them increasingly feared.
The Ukrainian formations under Skoropadskyi were undeniably maintaining greater stability than many other units.
And the more obvious that became, the more some of the socialists began seeing it not as an advantage, but as a threat.
One deputy irritably remarked:
—"Today a corps, tomorrow an army, and after that what? A Ukrainian general deciding he can govern the entire country?"
Several men exchanged uneasy glances.
Conversations like that had become increasingly common during recent weeks.
Supporters of a more moderate position attempted to argue back.
—"If the front collapses completely, no declaration will save us."
—"Without an army Ukraine will not survive even several months."
But fear of military power continued growing, especially among those who had already seen how quickly armies could become independent political forces.
Vynnychenko slowly said:
—"We spent too many years struggling against the authority of the old imperial system to voluntarily create a new version of it ourselves."
This time the response came almost immediately.
—"And what happens if without that force the country is simply torn apart?"
Heavy silence filled the room again.
Because more and more people were beginning to understand that the Ukrainian movement was gradually splitting no longer over autonomy or relations with Petrograd.
The central question had become something else entirely.
What was more dangerous — a weak army, or an army that became too strong?
By the end of August, discussions about national formations had already spread far beyond the Ukrainian question.
Reports from the front continued worsening.
Formations were losing combat effectiveness faster than Stavka could move reserves forward.
In some armies, the number of deserters was already counted in the thousands.
On several sectors of the front, command was effectively holding positions only through artillery and the few remaining disciplined formations.
Another meeting at Stavka took place in a noticeably heavier atmosphere than just weeks earlier.
Now many generals openly admitted that restoring the old structure of the army was becoming nearly impossible.
One staff officer, reviewing another stack of reports, said grimly:
—"Ordinary reinforcements no longer solve anything. We send men to the front faster than formations can restore control."
Another exhausted general added:
—"In some regiments, soldiers now obey committees more readily than their own commanders."
Several officers only nodded silently.
By now, such conditions existed across nearly the entire army.
As a result, conversations increasingly turned toward Finnish formations, Caucasian units, Latvian riflemen, Baltic formations, Georgian and Armenian detachments.
Not as a political project.
As an attempt to preserve at least part of the army in a combat-capable condition.
One government representative said with visible irritation:
—"If we continue down this road, the army will become nothing more than a collection of national formations."
The response came calmly:
—"Better an army of national formations than no army at all."
This time nobody argued.
Because the condition of the front had become too obvious.
Even opponents of ukrainization were beginning to admit that formations with stronger internal cohesion were performing better.
Not everywhere.
Not perfectly.
But noticeably better than many ordinary units.
During the discussion, Skoropadskyi's name surfaced once again.
One general stated directly:
—"His corps remains one of the few large formations still capable of carrying out major operations without constant collapse of command."
Another officer cautiously added:
—"And the officer corps there still retains authority."
The representative of the government immediately frowned.
—"That is exactly what is beginning to raise too many questions."
Brusilov calmly looked toward him.
—"Right now our concern should not be political fears, but the condition of the front."
Silence lingered in the room for several seconds.
Then one of the staff generals opened a folder containing draft orders.
—"Stavka proposes beginning preparations for the expansion of the Ukrainian formations with the long-term possibility of deploying additional corps."
Even now, those words sounded dangerously serious.
Because nearly everyone present understood that this was no longer simply a reorganization of isolated formations.
The army itself was beginning to search for new foundations inside its own collapsing structure.
One government representative quietly asked:
—"And what happens if those armies eventually stop obeying Petrograd altogether?"
The answer came almost immediately.
—"If the front collapses completely, Petrograd may lose control regardless of what decisions we make here."
After those words, the discussion fell silent once again.
Too many of them already understood that the country was approaching a moment when the old mechanisms of power might stop functioning entirely.
Late that evening, the meeting finally ended.
Officers slowly dispersed through the corridors of headquarters.
Some discussed the front.
Others discussed politics.
And some had already begun speaking almost openly about the possibility of another crisis of power.
Far away at the front, formations still remained in the trenches, trying to hold their positions amid a collapsing army, exhaustion, desertion, and the growing feeling that the country itself was approaching an even more dangerous stage of war and revolution.