After the failure of the Kornilov Crisis, Petrograd did not calm down.
On the contrary.
The city became even more nervous, louder, and more politicized.
It felt as though the very atmosphere of the capital had changed over the past weeks.
Rallies now took place in the streets almost constantly.
Crowds gathered outside factory gates.
Inside the garrison barracks, endless arguments once again continued about power, peace, land, and the future of the country.
Newspapers appeared with completely contradictory headlines, blaming Kornilov, the government, the socialists, or the generals depending on the edition.
But the greatest change was something else.
People's mood.
After Kornilov, more and more residents of the capital began viewing the Provisional Government as an authority that barely controlled anything anymore.
Too many crises had unfolded during recent months.
Too many promises had remained unfulfilled.
Too often the government appeared confused and constantly behind events.
And it was against that backdrop that the Bolsheviks began strengthening especially quickly.
Their agitators now appeared almost everywhere: at factories, inside garrisons, during rallies, in bread lines, and at railway stations.
They spoke about simple and understandable things.
Peace.
Land.
Power to the Soviets.
The inability of the current government to end the war or prevent the country from collapsing.
And more and more people began listening to them.
Not because everyone suddenly became committed revolutionaries.
But because the other political forces increasingly appeared weak, confused, and incapable of making decisions.
In one of Petrograd's working-class districts, another rally gathered several hundred people before noon.
Speakers replaced one another almost without pause.
Some blamed the generals.
Others blamed the capitalists.
Others blamed the government itself.
But when a young Bolshevik agitator climbed onto the improvised platform, the crowd noticeably came alive.
—"How much longer will they continue promising?" he shouted loudly. — "How much longer will ministers talk about saving the country while the front collapses and people stand in bread lines?"
Approving shouts spread through the crowd.
—"They speak about order," the agitator continued. — "But they can no longer govern even their own capital."
Several workers began supporting him before he had even finished speaking.
Scenes like that were now repeating across the entire city.
The Bolsheviks increasingly understood the mood of the streets better than anyone else.
They did not appear to be the strongest force.
But more and more often they appeared to be the only force that at least understood what it wanted.
At the same time, inside the Winter Palace, Kerensky once again presided over another long and exhausting meeting.
The ministers looked tired.
The reports became more alarming with every passing day.
Radical influence inside the garrisons continued growing.
Inside the Soviets, the Bolsheviks rapidly strengthened their positions.
Even among workers who had recently supported moderate socialists, attitudes were gradually beginning to shift.
One minister irritably remarked:
—"After Kornilov, they are using every crisis to their advantage."
Another answered darkly:
—"Because people are beginning to believe that only the radicals are still capable of acting decisively."
Kerensky tiredly rubbed his face.
The past weeks increasingly resembled an attempt to hold together a collapsing structure with bare hands.
He still tried to preserve balance: between the army and the Soviets, between generals and socialists, between the front and the capital.
But that balance was becoming less stable with every passing day.
One report spoke about new unrest among workers.
Another described growing Bolshevik influence inside the garrison.
A third detailed the continuing supply crisis.
And increasingly, it felt as though the government merely reacted to events instead of controlling them.
Late in the evening, when the meeting finally ended, Kerensky paused beside the window for several seconds.
Petrograd was slowly disappearing into darkness.
But even at night, the city did not become calmer.
Somewhere far away, the voices of another rally could still be heard.
And the longer Kerensky looked at the lights of the capital, the more clearly he understood: after Kornilov, the country had entered an entirely new stage of crisis.
By the autumn of 1917, the expansion of national formations had begun accelerating far more rapidly than it had only a few months earlier.
After the Kornilov Crisis, both Stavka and the Provisional Government increasingly arrived at the same conclusion: the old army was gradually losing cohesion, and preserving it in its previous form was becoming nearly impossible.
As a result, headquarters now attempted to preserve at least the most stable formations.
Across different parts of the empire, work with national units intensified steadily.
Ukrainian formations expanded.
The Latvian Riflemen continued strengthening.
New Finnish detachments were being organized.
In the Caucasus, discussions began regarding additional Georgian, Armenian, and Muslim formations.
The old imperial army was gradually beginning to fragment into separate centers of power.
But for now, nobody openly admitted it aloud.
Inside the headquarters of the Ukrainian Corps, work now continued almost without interruption.
Tables became covered with new officer lists, redeployment plans, personnel requests, and supply reports.
The problems continued growing.
There was not enough оружие, uniforms, experienced officers, transportation, or communications equipment.
Some formations existed more on paper than in reality.
But the process itself had already reached too great a scale to be stopped quickly.
During one meeting, Sliwinski reviewed another set of personnel lists.
—"They sent us officers again from formations that practically no longer exist."
Bezruchko gave a tired smile.
—"At this point, half the army exists only because it has not yet completely fallen apart."
Bolbochan irritably threw another report onto the table.
—"Men arrive without proper supplies, without transport, sometimes without full weapons."
Omelianovych-Pavlenko calmly added:
—"At least more and more officers are requesting transfers into Ukrainian formations."
The room became quiet for several seconds.
Because it was true.
Many officers were no longer simply searching for new assignments.
They were searching for more stable structures capable of surviving the approaching crisis.
Skoropadskyi listened to the discussion silently.
He saw how rapidly the army itself was changing.
Only half a year earlier, ukrainization had been viewed by many as a temporary political compromise.
Now national formations increasingly became the only units still maintaining relative stability.
But with growing influence came growing risks.
Politics penetrated deeper and deeper into the army.
The Provisional Government continued weakening.
The Bolsheviks strengthened.
And the front itself steadily lost cohesion.
During the discussion, Handziuk quietly said:
—"If this continues much longer, every formation will begin thinking only about itself."
Bezruchko nodded grimly.
—"Some already have."
Skoropadskyi slowly walked toward the railway map.
He had long expected that the old system would eventually begin collapsing.
But now events truly were moving far faster than before.
That was what increasingly worried him most.
Not the crisis itself.
But the speed with which the country was losing control.
He understood perfectly well that if the state finally descended into chaos, a simple officer corps would no longer be enough.
There would need to be supplies, warehouses, logistics, trained officers, industry, and political support.
In effect, an entire system capable of holding territory together even amid the collapse of the old state structure.
That was precisely why his thoughts increasingly returned to his conversations with Oleksandra.
To the factories.
To the warehouses.
To the reserves of weapons and food.
To the people they had gradually gathered around themselves over the years.
Because now all of it was beginning to look not like distant caution.
But like necessary preparation for the coming crisis.
Late in the evening, when the meeting finally ended, Skoropadskyi remained beside the map for several more minutes.
Darkness had already fallen outside headquarters.
Somewhere far away, the old Russia still continued to exist.
But more and more signs suggested that its old system of governance was gradually approaching its end.
By the middle of autumn, the feeling of an approaching crisis had already spread far beyond the front and the capital.
Supply problems were becoming increasingly noticeable.
Railways operated with constant disruptions.
In the cities, bread and fuel lines appeared more and more frequently.
Newspapers almost daily reported new strikes, rallies, and political conflicts.
Even people who had recently tried to stay away from politics were gradually beginning to feel that the country was changing too quickly.
And not for the better.
In the industrial regions of the south, the situation still remained noticeably more stable than in many other parts of the empire.
The Skoropadskyi enterprises continued operating.
The metallurgical plants still maintained production.
Mechanical workshops and weapons lines gradually expanded.
But even there, the crisis was becoming increasingly visible.
Railway disruptions complicated deliveries.
Prices rose almost every month.
Workers increasingly discussed politics directly inside the workshops.
At several factories, agitators from different parties had already begun appearing.
During one report, a manager cautiously remarked:
—"The mood among the workers remains calm for now. Wages are paid on time, there are no disruptions in food distribution, but political discussions are becoming more frequent."
Oleksandra Skoropadska listened silently.
Several documents lay in front of her at once: factory reports, supply summaries, warehouse inventories, and railway transportation updates.
Problems were gradually accumulating in nearly every sector.
But something else worried her even more.
The speed with which the state was losing control of the country.
She did not know the future the way Pavlo did.
But even without that knowledge, too many developments already looked alarming.
The army was falling apart.
The government was weakening.
Political forces increasingly fought one another instead of the crisis itself.
And more and more people were beginning to prepare primarily for their own survival.
During the meeting, one of the managers unfolded a warehouse map.
—"Most of the reserves have already been transferred to the right bank of the Dnipro. Additional storage sites are being prepared."
Oleksandra gave a short nod.
Only a few months earlier, such orders might have appeared excessively cautious.
Now they no longer did.
She understood perfectly well that if the situation continued deteriorating, supply disruptions could quickly turn into genuine chaos.
—"Continue expanding the reserves," she calmly said. — "Food, medicine, fuel — distribute everything between multiple storage sites."
One of the managers cautiously asked:
—"Do you expect a crisis that serious?"
Oleksandra paused for several seconds.
—"I expect the state to become increasingly incapable of governing."
Silence filled the room after those words.
Because nearly everyone present already saw the same thing themselves.
Railways failed to maintain deliveries.
Political crises inside the capital continued endlessly.
The army lost stability.
And throughout society, the growing feeling spread that the old system was beginning to collapse faster than anyone had expected even a year earlier.
Later that evening, Oleksandra remained alone inside her office.
Darkness had already fallen outside.
Lists of reserves, transportation routes, weapons production reports, and warehouse summaries lay scattered across the table.
Over recent years, she and Pavlo had gradually built a system intended to survive future crises better than most other structures inside the empire.
At the time, it had seemed like cautious preparation.
Now it increasingly looked like necessity.
She slowly closed the folder of documents.
Somewhere far away, ministers, generals, and political parties continued arguing endlessly.
But more and more, it seemed that in the coming years survival would belong not to the loudest politicians.
But to those prepared for the moment when the old state finally lost control of the country.