Explosions in the distance shook the Earth from miles in every direction, all while unreactive bloodshot eyes stared towards the Black and Craters ahead. Decomposing bodies of their fallen brothers litter the ground, cost a war. The 11th Landwear Division of the Imperial German Army had been in a standoff for weeks with the Russian soldiers and their exhausted militia, guarding Osovitch Fortress, a vital position that had halted the German advance into Russian territory. Today would be different though.
A newfound burst of morale was emanating through the money trenches. By day's end, they will have taken a fort and defeated their enemies. The Russians had been dug in, nestled in the safety of their concrete bunkers that prevented any sort of forward assault from being successful. But now, news began to spread down a German line that they had been supplied with gas.
Gas that would not only break the Russians fighting spirits, but also their bodies. A fleet of balloons overhead were moved into position. Once idly floating above the stronghold, the yellow cloud of death was released, and Osovitch Fortress was quickly consumed. Minutes passed, the Germans waited.
Soldiers murmured to one another, their rifles aimed, but there was nothing. The only movements catching the rise were the skittering of rats climbing over the bodies of the already dead. As they watched the yellow air slowly dissipate, always still. Silence.
An unfamiliar sense of calm enrapture the soldiers. They had won. After so much gruesome bloodshed, Osovitch Fortress was now theirs. The loud, ear-piercing shrill of their commanding officers' whistle instructed them to cross the field of death and storm the bastions to search for survivors.
The men were hesitant, but moved nonetheless, if only to avoid the harsh disciplinary hand of their leaders. The 11th Division marched forward, donning their gas masks and weapons, prepared for any eventuality. They could never have imagined what they would face when closing in on the fort. By this point, the men had grown accustomed to the roar of distant artillery.
Their heavy breaths and sloshing of mud beneath their boots were the only sounds that could penetrate their ears at that point. Their minds, waiting for the faint moan or soft cries of those they had been sent to finish off. Opening the ruined metal door to one of the bunkers, the creek of it vibrating into the dark room, the soldiers prepared themselves. Something stirred.
The door had revealed their presence. A noise unlike fear or pain but a combination of anger and suffering bellowed out of the dark dusty room, the Germans levied their rifles, but soon realized there was no one there. The room was void of any life. They looked around, their blood turned to ice as the deathly howls grew near it.
Nothing. No sign of where it was coming from. Their nerves broke. They couldn't take it anymore.
Rushing from the bunker, the horrendous blood curling screams grew louder as shadows began to dart towards them from the connecting hallway that led deeper into the earth. The last of the German soldiers didn't make it out of the room. Firm, skinless hands grasped at their clothing, pulling them back into the bunker and away from the safety of the door. Some tried to turn around to save their friends, to face their sudden attackers, but those who did were struck with a stunning sight that rendered their ability to make sense of the world useless.
The corpses of their enemies poured out of the dark bunker, charging at them, snarling and barking, a cacophony of shrieks and whales. Their yellow stained flesh fell from their bodies, blood gushed from their eyes and mouths. Their lips were gone, revealing hungry, dirty teeth gnashing and gnawing in their direction. Their old filthy uniforms seeped with blood, the only thing seemingly keeping their bodies from fully disintegrating.
It was a sight that would cause any stoic person to turn away and discuss and disturbment. As more and more began to appear from inside the hollow bones of Asovitch, the Germans immediately realized this was no foe they were prepared to face. A wave of the undead swarmed towards them, like the deadly tide rushing in from the ocean. They scrambled over crushed rocks, splintered wooden barriers and leaking sandbags.
They were unstoppable. The Germans declared a full-scale retreat. Their only hope was to fall back to their trenches and post up a defense. When the last of the remaining soldiers dived into the shallow ditch, the group turned to face their pursuers, ready to unleash a hail of lead onto them.
But as they once more levied their rifles towards the direction of the fortress, there was again no movement. It was as if the dead had simply disappeared back into the ground. The soldiers stood with a mix of emotions. Was what they had just witnessed?
Experienced? Real? As more and more of the soldiers popped their heads out of cover to see where their enemy had gone, the sudden crack of a rifle broke the silence, followed by a sharp metal ting as one of the men fell backwards into the mud. As the Germans stared at their fallen comrade below, another shot was fired, another man fell.
Whatever those monsters were, they were now on the offensive, using the weapons of their fallen brothers. I'm your host Jordan Hopkins, and welcome back to another episode on the Moonlight Lord podcast. Constructed over the course of a decade by the Russian military from 1882 to 1892, also Vich Fortress, situated in what is now northeast Poland, quickly became a thorn in the side of the Germans' plan for conquest in the early years of World War I. By 1915, Russian military personnel and conscripted militia had seen their fair share of conflict, with the first assaults on the fortress beginning in September of 1914.
It became vital that the stronghold would be captured. Boggs in marshland covered the territory, and one of the few main railways in the area that could cross through ran straight through Ossevitch. The German high command knew the fort either needed to be taken or destroyed in order to advance their forces into enemy territory. Near the start of the war, 40 infantry battalions of the German 8th Army, along with an assembly of artillery cannons were sent to conduct a forward frontal assault on the fortress, but were quickly repelled by the Russian station there.
Once again, in February of 1915, the Germans attempted another blitz against the fortress. Once again, they were all turned back. But during this failed second assault, they didn't fully retreat. Instead, the Germans decided to stay, resulting in trench warfare to hopefully dwindle the Russian's numbers and cut off their supply chain.
Thanks to heavy bombing on part of the German's artillery, much of the fortress had become damaged, crumbled beyond any form of repair. The soldiers and militia that were stationed there took heavy losses with each passing week. With their supplies effectively cut off and quickly dwindling, as well as their superiors refusing to lend any aid in the form of reinforcements, they were forced to make do with what they had. The Russians had just less than a thousand men to defend the fort with, 500 experienced soldiers and a battle-hardened civilian force of 400.
With no hope in restocking their own artillery supply, the Russians were required to dig trench lines between the Germans and the fortress, hoping to create smaller targets for German artillery to aim at, and also make it easier to use their hand-held weaponry. This was how the two lines fought for weeks on end, trench warfare at its finest. The Russians fought valiantly against the Germans for quite some time and managed to hold out for even longer. They knew if the Germans managed to take the out of defenses, they would have to retreat back into Osvitch and be at the mercy of the approaching artillery cannons that would move closer if the line was moved.
Yes, many men died, but their spirits continue to live. They fought for a purpose, but the Russians didn't expect the Germans to roll out a new weapon. A weapon so deadly there was no hope fighting, nor surviving it, chlorine gas. The Germans knew the Russians were ill-equipped and unprepared to face such an unstoppable ordinance.
After weeks of being unable to gain any ground, the Germans decided enough was enough. They had seen the effects caused by the gas in other battlefields in the past. It was a ghostly weapon that, unlike bullets or shells, could drift around walls or through windows and strike its targets in the very bucker they believed kept them safe. Of course, the only downside to committing to such a practice was strictly reliant on the weather itself.
The Germans needed to wait for a breeze that would carry the toxic cloud onto their enemies, and in the early hours of August 6th, 1915, the wind was finally in their favor. As the Russians prepared to fend off another day of assaults from their would-be conquerors, they found the battlefield was eerily silent that morning. Typically at the break of dawn, the Germans would have done shooting, but there wasn't even so much as a whisper coming from the German trench line. Naturally, this caused the Russians to wonder.
What were they scheming over there? Since their eyes had been peeled to their foes' trenches for weeks, they neglected to check above them. How would they think to? Quietly as the morning fog began to dissipate and revealed a blue sky above, 30 gas balloon batteries moved into position overhead.
Suddenly, the men began to see shapes form on the ground ahead. Dark, ominous, looming shadows began to cross no-man's land towards them. They knew this could only mean one thing. Panic began to course through the veins of every man as a full-scale retreat commenced.
Their only hope was to reach the safety of the bunker. Canisters were immediately dropped from above, blanketing the ground with a thick, green smog. As the Russians ran to avoid it, the Germans opened fired, using the opportunity to pick off a few more before the gas totally obscured the battlefield. What once was the Russian trench line, where they had fots, eight meals, morbidly laughed at each other's jokes, and overall bonded, was now a death zone.
The gas kept creeping closer. The last of the Russian men stormed inside their bunkers, slamming the door behind them. It was no hope. What once was green grass shriveled in the blackness, the early morning due that cloaked the entire area, reacted with the chlorine seeping into the war zone, creating hydrochloric acid.
When the cloud finally reached the outer walls of Asavich and desperately tried to find a way inside, the Germans were horrified to hear the blood-wrenching screens echoing out of the bunkers, while the Russians were literally eaten alive by the very air around them. While the Germans outside were forced to listen to the pain-filled yells and howls of death emanating from the fortress, the Russians were having a far worse morning. Inside the fort, as the last of the Russian soldiers attempted to barricade themselves inside, it didn't take long for the gas to find its way into their lungs. Yes, some of the men did have rudimentary gas masks that would help prevent the fumes from entering their bodies for a short time, but these wouldn't protect them fully.
As the acid bit down on their exposed skin, it burned into their flesh, aggressively dissolving the soft, weary tissue. Those who had the unfortunate lock of not having a mask to protect their lungs, felt their lungs suddenly being choked, then a numbing sensation that left their bodies feeling hollow. Their organs began to liquefy inside their living bodies. The men began coughing up blood and lumps of their own lungs.
Some of their eyes melted into their sockets, as their noses disintegrated from their natural position. It was a hell that was inescapable, and very few managed to live through it for the first ten minutes. Those who happened to be further away from the initial arrival of the cloud managed to fare a little better, as they had time to prepare for the green mist fast approaching. They managed to wet or urinate on rags or shirts and firmly bind them to their faces as a way to protect the vital area from the burning.
Of course, this did little to protect their bodies from coming under assault, while the practice of wetting a cloth and wrapping it around one's face managed to save off death for a little while. It did little to fend it off completely. Nothing could escape the ghastly smog as it enveloped several kilometers of land. The leaves on the trees died and fell from their branches, birds soaring to escape the gas fell to the ground, feathers peeling from their bodies.
Every living thing died, except maybe for a few of the defenders. Second Lieutenant Vladimir Kotlinsky was determined to hold back the enemy. He refused to allow them to capture Osovitch without one final confrontation. He and a few others managed to survive somehow, whether it was thanks to a few gas masks they had on them or they were far enough back from where the bulk of the gas had been deployed.
But by the power of pure will, Vladimir Kotlinsky and around a hundred of his men managed to delay the Reaper's harvest. They attempted to recover from the attack to the best of their ability, but it's difficult to patch one's self back together if one's skin is decaying off the body. Any sort of medical aid was then also again made impossible due to the barrage that began raining down on them. The Germans, knowing the gas had done its job, moved their artillery guns in range of the fortress, and began bombarding the concrete bunkers with the men still trapped inside.
The ensuing explosions and shrapnel flying in every direction then also tore into the suffering Russians still clinging to life. It was a hopeless mess. The defenders knew their time was coming to a fast end. The fort's defense artillery couldn't return fire as the cannons crew were decimated by the gas as well.
With their numbers continuing to dwindle by the minute, second lieutenant Vladimir Kotlinsky knew any chance to survive this siege was slim. They were a mere one hundred against an army of seven thousand who were knocking at their doorstep. With their fates evidently sealed, he saw only one option. Take as many Germans with them as they could.
The suppressing fire of the Kaiser's cannons eventually ceased when half the fort finally sat and ruined. With twelve battalions of the Eleventh Landweird Division now on the move, those still half breathing at the fort armed themselves with any and every weapon they could find. The invaders climbing through the crater filled ground between trench lines made their way into the outer trench defenses of the fort, sifting their way through crowds of mangled bodies. Deafs surrounded them, and a single creature stirred.
They thought for sure their enemies had all met their end. Meanwhile, inside the still standing part of the fort, Lieutenant Vladimir spurred his men with a lifting speech, ensuring every single one of them knew what was about to take place. They would die, but not before inflicting plenty of pain on those who dared storm their land. With a faint creaking of a door hand off in the background, it told the Russians the enemy was drawing near.
They were entering the fort, and it was time for revenge. Vladimir and his men hid in the shadows, waiting for more and more to enter the fort. Finally, when they deemed enough had entered, Vladimir and his men sprung from their hiding places, shambling towards the Germans with a blood-curdling battle-trying. From the perspective of the Germans, it was as if the dead were sprouting from the ground, charging at them with all the fury of hell at their feet.
Within seconds, the Russians cut down those who wandered too far from the exit. Whatever tool they were armed with, whether it be a rifle, shovel, or knife, the army of the dead overwhelmed their enemies, effectively wiping out a large group of them. The Germans were completely caught off guard by the scene. Some froze in place, becoming easy pickings for their undead foes.
Others sprinted for the door, screaming in absolute terror of what they had seen. Those still outside were equally confused, though far less understanding of the situation. When their fellow soldiers came rushing from the fort, pleading for help and claiming the dead were attacking, they had no idea what to make of it. Vladimir and his men had finished off the remaining intruders, and eagerly awaited the signal to charge.
Before they had sprung into action, he had instructed several of his men to fall back to the artillery guns, and prepare to fire them on the front trenches. An ear-shattering blast burst from behind Ossophitch. As per their instructions, the artillery crew unleashed shells of fire all at once onto the battlefield, completely decimating the thousand German soldiers who were still on the move. As fire burst all around them, as smoke replaced the stench of gas, and as dirt flung into the eyes of the invaders, Vladimir gave the command.
With fixed bayonets, the attack of the dead men commenced. A wave of Russian soldiers stormed from the dark bunkers, surprising the petrified Germans outside. The defenders they believed they had beaten were alive, but not well. In utter shock, the Kaiser's men had no earthly idea how to react as decomposing bodies fell upon them.
Although their strength was fleeting, and their bodies continued to suffer, the Russians never gave up. They pushed back their enemies, forced them to retreat one last time. As soldier after soldier of the 11th land where division were struck down, stabbed or shot, the army of the dead managed to retake the battlefield. The front trenches the Russians had lost that very morning, were now fully back under their control.
Ossophitch fortress, despite half of its succumbing to constant shelling and relentless waves of soldiers thrown at it, never did end up in the hands of the Germans who desperately fought to conquer it. Though, unfortunately, just because the German flag was never flown at Ossophitch, doesn't mean the fort withstood the war. The attack of the dead men was a success, yes, but that success was not lasting. The German invaders knew it, and so did the Russian defenders.
Not long after the battle, the German forces, now bolstered by reinforcements, threatened to encircle the fort, trapping those remaining inside. They could see the end was near. The campaign against the fort was coming to a close. During the initial charge to repel the invaders, Vladimir Kotlinski had immortally wounded on the battlefield while leading his man to victory.
He died later that evening. With their fearless leader now gone, those who remained knew it was only a matter of time before they met a similar fate. The men at Ossophitch fought and died for their fort. They wouldn't dare bear the sight of it falling into German hands.
Knowing that another stronger attack was imminent, the Russians did what needed to be done. Wiring what little explosives they had to the still-hastanding fort, they ignited a fireball within the bones of Ossophitch, and watched her crumble into dust and broken concrete. Since that day in mid-August of 1915, Ossophitch fortress remained relatively untouched for the remainder of the First World War. The Germans, having cleared the area to allow their supply lines to pass through unhindered, didn't see the point in occupying a crumbling fortress.
It was ultimately left to ruin. Years later, during the rise of the Second World War, the Polish army refurbished parts of Ossophitch as a punk house to accommodate their soldiers, though it was swiftly and, at long last, taken by the Nazis in 1941, during Operation Barbarossa. In a twist of irony, the Nazis became the new defenders of the fortress, during the Vistula autorefensive, an advance by the Soviet's Red Army into German occupied territory. Once again, the fortress was under siege, only with their roles reversed now.
However, the Germans failed to live up to the reputation of the fort's past offenders. The Soviets easily ousted the German occupiers in a matter of days. There are some parts of the fortress that are still used to this very day, restricted to everyone but the Polish army who now occupy it. Other parts of the fort are still accessible, however, to those looking for a fascinating history lesson of the area's past.
A small settlement towards Ossophitch was also built on the site, allowing visitors a place to rest on their journeys. Although the attack of the dead man was not a zombie apocalypse like I had previously made it out to be in the opening, the story of this astonishing moment in our collective past is nonetheless captivating, heartbreaking, and downright horrifying. It truly does highlight the capabilities of mankind when backed against the wall, what we're capable of during our final moments one faced with a choice of either death or resistance, and of course, what kind of horrors come with war. The men stationed at Ossophitch did not deserve the fate they met, very few who were killed in the war did.
The destruction and chaos unleashed during this time by the armies of the world forever left a scar on our history. As soldiers died en masse, so too did any hope in knowing their individual stories. We remember these men strictly through their valiant actions on the battlefield, and although we may never know many of their names, they will forever be known as the dead men who refuse to die in the face of overwhelming odds. Thank you all for listening to another episode on the Moonlight Lord podcast.
The event known as the Attack of the Dead Men has always been an incredibly fascinating story to me that sometimes doesn't get enough recognition. It's often hard to pick out one particular war time event that occurred during World War I because frankly, there are just so many incredible stories to tell, each one just as captivating as the last. As always, I hope I managed to do this particular story justice and perhaps introduce some of you to something new. If you happen to enjoy hearing this exciting tale, please consider leaving a five-star review for the podcast on whatever app you might be listening on right now.
It only takes a moment to do, and not everyone does it. If you wanted to go a step further in your support though, recommending the show to your friends or family, or sharing this, or any of my other episodes on social media is a great help as well. The more people who listen to the show, the more recognition it gets, and in turn continues to climb the podcast charts. Now, for those of you who potentially are listening on YouTube, be sure to subscribe to the show and check out the website linked down in the description.
And finally, if you found you absolutely love the show and just can't get enough of Moonlight Lord, consider becoming a patron member and get access to a few extra things the public doesn't get to see. The biggest draw seems to be the extra bonus episodes I have on there, but there are a few more things that may interest you. All donations go towards the upkeep of the show, which does add up with the cost of hosting fees, recording software, website upkeep, and equipment costs. And I also like to keep the show ad-free as well, so by supporting me over on Patreon, you can help keep the show ad-free and alive.
And finally, thank you to all of you who have already signed up and donated so far. I do really appreciate it, and I hope you continue to support me in the show in the future. Hopefully, near the end of the year, I'll have some extra content for you guys on there as well, so stay tuned for that. In the meantime, as I always say, stay chill, keep being amazing people, and I'll see you next time.
Thanks again for listening.