In Pyatigorsk, I couldn’t find Müller. The soldier on guard thought he must have gone to the AOK, but he wasn’t sure; I thought about waiting for him, then decided to leave: might as well report the incident directly to Bierkamp. I went to the sanatorium to get my things and sent my driver to scare up some gasoline at the AOK. It wasn’t very polite to leave without saying goodbye; but I had no desire to say goodbye to these people. In Mineralnye Vody, the road passed close to the factory, which lay behind the railroad, at the foot of the mountain; I didn’t stop. Back in Vorshilovsk, I wrote my report, confining myself mostly to the technical and organizational aspects of the action. But I also inserted a sentence about “certain deplorable excesses on the part of officers supposed to set an example.” I knew that would be enough. The next day, in fact, Thielecke came to my office to let me know that Bierkamp wanted to see me. Prill, after reading my report, had already asked some questions: I had refused to answer him, telling him it concerned no one but the Kommandant. Bierkamp received me politely, had me sit down, and asked what had happened; Thielecke was also present at the discussion. I related the incident to them as neutrally as possible. “And what do you think should be done?” Thielecke asked when I had finished.—“I think, Sturmbannführer, that it’s a case for the SS-Gericht, a court of the SS and the police,” I replied. “Or at the very least for a psychiatrist.”—“You exaggerate,” Bierkamp said. “Hauptsturmführer Turek is an excellent officer, very capable. His indignation and legitimate anger at the Jews, bearers of the Stalin system, are understandable. And also you yourself acknowledge that you didn’t get there till the end of the incident. No doubt there was provocation.”—“Even if those Jews were insolent or tried to run away, his reaction was unworthy of an SS officer. Especially in front of the men.”—“On that point you’re probably right.” He looked at Thielecke for an instant, then turned to me: “I’m planning on going to Pyatigorsk in a few days. I’ll discuss the incident myself with Hauptsturmführer Turek. Thank you for letting me know about these facts.”

Sturmbannführer Dr. Leetsch, Dr. Seibert’s replacement, was arriving that same day, accompanied by an Obersturmbannführer, Paul Schultz, who was supposed to take over for Dr. Braune in Maikop; but before I could even meet him, Prill asked me to leave again for Mozdok, to inspect Sk 10b, which had just arrived there. “That way you’ll have seen all the Kommandos,” he said. “You can report to the Sturmbannführer when you return.” The road to Mozdok took about six hours, going through Minvody and then Prokhladny; so I decided to leave the next morning, but didn’t see Leetsch. My driver woke me up a little before dawn. We had already left the Voroshilovsk plateau when the sun rose, softly illuminating the fields and orchards and outlining the first volcanoes of the KMV in the distance. After Mineralnye Vody, the road, lined with linden trees, followed the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains, still barely visible; only the Elbruz, its rounded humped peak covered with snow, showed in the gray of the sky. North of the road began the fields, with here and there a poor little Muslim village. We drove behind long convoys of trucks from the Rollbahn, difficult to pass. Mozdok was crawling with men and vehicles, long columns clogging the dusty streets; I parked my Opel and left on foot to look for the HQ of the Fifty-second Corps. I was met by an officer from the Abwehr, very excited: “You haven’t heard? Generalfeldmarschall List was dismissed this morning.”—“But why?” I exclaimed. List, a newcomer on the Eastern Front, had barely lasted two months. The AO shrugged his shoulders: “We were forced to go on the defensive after the failure of our breakthrough on the right bank of the Terek. That must not have been appreciated in high places.”—“Why couldn’t you advance?” He raised his arms: “We lack the forces, that’s all! Dividing Army Group South in half was a fatal error. Now we don’t have enough forces for either objective. In Stalingrad they’re still mired down on the outskirts.”—“And who was appointed in place of the Feldmarschall?” He guffawed bitterly: “You’re not going to believe me: the Führer took the command himself!” That was, in fact, unheard-of: “The Führer personally took command of Army Group A?”—“Exactly. I don’t know how he plans on doing it; the OKHG is staying in Voroshilovsk, and the Führer is in Vinnitsa. But since he’s a genius, he must have a solution.” His tone was becoming more and more acerbic. “He’s already commanding the Reich, the Wehrmacht, and the land forces. Now Army Group A. Do you think he’ll go on this way? He could take command of an army, then a corps, then a division. In the end, who knows, he might end up as a corporal at the front, just like at the beginning.”—“I find you extremely insolent,” I said coldly.—“And you, old man,” he replied, “can fuck off. You’re in a sector of the front, here; the SS has no jurisdiction.” An orderly came in. “There’s your guide,” the officer pointed. “Have a nice day.” I went out without saying anything. I was shocked, but worried too: if our offensive in the Caucasus, on which we had staked everything, was getting bogged down, it was a bad sign. Time wasn’t working on our side. Winter was approaching, and the Endsieg kept drawing farther back, like the magic peaks of the Caucasus. At least, I reassured myself, Stalingrad will soon fall; that will free up forces to resume the advance here.

The Sonderkommando was set up in a partially ruined wing of a Russian base; some rooms were still usable, others had been sealed off with boards. I was received by the head of the Kommando, a slender Austrian with a well-trimmed moustache just like the Führer’s, Sturmbannführer Alois Persterer. He was a man from the SD who had been a Leiter in Hamburg back when Bierkamp was heading the Kripo there; but the two didn’t seem any closer for it. He gave me a concise outline of the situation: in Prokhladny, a Teilkommando had shot some Kabards and Balkars associated with the Bolshevik authorities, along with a number of Jews and partisans; in Mozdok, aside from a few suspicious cases handed over by the Fifty-second Corps, they hadn’t really begun. Someone had mentioned a Jewish kolkhoz in the region; he would look into it and take care of it. In any case there weren’t too many partisans, and in the frontline areas the natives seemed hostile to the Reds. I asked him what his relations were with the Wehrmacht. “I can’t even say they’re mediocre,” he finally replied. “They seem just to be ignoring us.”—“Yes, the failure of the offensive is worrying them.” I spent the night in Mozdok, on a camp bed set up in one of the offices, and left the next morning; Persterer had suggested I attend an execution in Prokhladny, with their gas truck, but I had politely declined. In Voroshilovsk, I introduced myself to Dr. Leetsch, an older officer, with a narrow, rectangular face, graying hair, and glum lips. After reading my report, he wanted to discuss it. I told him my impressions about the morale of the Wehrmacht. “Yes,” he said finally, “you’re completely right. That’s why I think it’s important to reestablish good ties with them. I’ll take care of relations with the OKHG myself, but I want to appoint a good liaison officer in Pyatigorsk, with the Ic of the AOK. I wanted to ask you to take this position.” I hesitated for an instant; I wondered if the idea really came from him, or had been suggested to him by Prill during my absence. Finally I replied: “To tell the truth, my relations with Einsatzkommando 12 are not the best. I had an altercation with one of their officers, and I’m afraid it might create complications.”—“Don’t worry about that. You won’t have much to do with them. You’ll have your quarters at the AOK and you’ll report directly to me.”