Voss arrived soon after, accompanied by Oberländer. I was still plunged in my thoughts. “Hello, Professor,” I said as I shook Oberländer’s hand. “It’s been a long time.”—“Yes, yes, lots of things have happened since Lemberg. And that other young officer, who had come with you?”—“Hauptsturmführer Hauser? He must still be with Group C. I haven’t heard from him for a while.” I followed them to the restaurant and let Voss order. They brought us some Kakhetian wine. Oberländer seemed tired. “I heard you’re commanding a new special unit?” I asked him.—“Yes, the Bergmann Kommando. All my men are Caucasian mountain tribesmen.”—“Of what nationality?” Voss asked curiously.—“Oh, a little of everything. There are Karachai and Circassians, of course, but also some Ingush, some Avars, a few Laks whom we recruited in the Stalags. I even have a Svan.”—“Magnificent! I’d very much like to talk with him.”—“You’ll have to go to Mozdok, then. They’re engaged in anti-partisan operations there.”—“You don’t have any Ubykhs, by any chance?” I asked him maliciously. Voss giggled. “Ubykhs? No, I don’t think so. Who are they?” Voss choked to hold in his laughter and Oberländer looked at him, perplexed. I made an effort to remain serious and replied: “It’s an obsession of Dr. Voss’s. He thinks the Wehrmacht should absolutely carry out a pro-Ubykh policy, to restore the natural balance of power between the peoples of the Caucasus.” Voss, who was trying to drink some wine, almost spat out what he had just swallowed. I also had trouble restraining myself. Oberländer still didn’t understand and was beginning to get annoyed: “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said dryly. I tried to explain: “They’re a Caucasian nationality deported by the Russians. To Turkey. Before, they dominated a whole part of this region.”—“They were Muslims?”—“Yes, of course.”—“In that case, support of these Ubykhs would be entirely in keeping with our Ostpolitik.” Voss, red, got up, murmured an excuse, and made for the bathroom. Oberländer was startled: “What’s wrong with him?” I tapped my stomach. “Oh, I see,” he said. “That’s common here. Where was I?”—“Our pro-Muslim policy.”—“Yes. Of course, it’s a traditional German policy. What we hope to accomplish out here is in a way only a continuation of the pan-Islamic policy of Ludendorff. By respecting the cultural and social achievements of Islam, we are making useful allies for ourselves. What’s more, it’s a gesture toward Turkey, which still remains important, especially if we want to go past the Caucasus to take the English from the rear in Syria and Egypt.” Voss returned; he seemed calmer. “If I understand you correctly,” I said, “the idea would be to unite the peoples of the Caucasus and especially the Turkic-speaking peoples into a giant Islamic anti-Bolshevist movement.”—“That’s an option, but it hasn’t yet been accepted high up. Some people are worried about a pan-Turanian resurgence that could give too much power to Turkey, on a regional level, and encroach on our conquests. Minister Rosenberg favors a Berlin-Tiflis axis. But that’s the influence of that Nikuradze.”—“And you, what do you think?”—“At the moment, I’m writing an article on Germany and the Caucasus. You know perhaps that after the disbanding of the Nachtigall, I worked as the Abwehroffizier with Reichskommissar Koch, who is an old friend from Königsberg. But he’s almost never in the Ukraine and his subordinates, especially Dargel, carried out an irresponsible policy. That’s why I left. In my article, I try to demonstrate that in the conquered territories we need the cooperation of the local populations to avoid overly heavy losses during the invasion and occupation. Any pro-Muslim or pro-Turanian policy should fit within this framework. Of course, only one power, and one alone, should have the last word.”—“I thought that one of the objectives of our advance into the Caucasus was to persuade Turkey to enter into war on our side?”—“Of course. And if we reach Iraq or Iran, it certainly will. Saraco?glu is cautious, but he won’t want to let this chance to recover ancient Ottoman territories slip by.”—“But wouldn’t that encroach on our Grossraum?” I asked.—“Not at all. We are aiming for a continental empire; we have neither the interest nor the means to burden ourselves with distant possessions. We’ll keep the oil-rich regions in the Persian Gulf, of course, but we can give all the rest of the British Near East to Turkey.”—“And what would Turkey do for us, in exchange?” Voss asked.—“It could be very useful to us. Strategically, it holds a key position. It can procure naval and land bases that would allow us to finish off the British presence in the Middle East. It could also provide troops for the anti-Bolshevist front.”—“Yes,” I said, “they could send us an Ubykh regiment, for example.” Voss was overcome again with uncontrollable laughter. Oberländer got angry: “But what is it with these Ubykhs? I don’t understand.”—“I told you, it’s an obsession of Dr. Voss’s. He’s desperate because he keeps writing report after report, but no one at HQ wants to believe in the strategic importance of the Ubykhs. Here, they stick to the Karachai, Kabards, and Balkars.”—“But then why is he laughing?”—“Yes, Dr. Voss, why are you laughing?” I asked him very seriously. “I think he’s nervous,” I said to Oberländer. “Here, Dr. Voss, have some more wine.” Voss drank a little and tried to regain control of himself. “For my part,” said Oberländer, “I don’t know enough about this question to judge it.” He turned to Voss: “If you have reports about these Ubykhs, I’d be delighted to read them.” Voss nervously shook his head: “Doktor Aue,” he said, “I would be grateful if you changed the subject.”—“As you like. In any case, the meal is arriving.” They served us. Oberländer seemed annoyed; Voss was very red. To get the conversation going again, I asked Oberländer: “Are your Bergmänner effective in the struggle against the partisans?”—“In the mountains, they’re formidable. Some of them bring us heads or ears back every day. In the plains, they’re not much better than our own troops. They burned a lot of villages around Mozdok. I try to explain to them that it’s a bad idea to do it systematically, but it’s as if it’s in their genes. And also we’ve had somewhat serious problems of discipline: desertion, especially. It seems that a lot of them got involved only to go home; ever since we’ve been in the Caucasus, they keep disappearing. But I’ve had all the ones we caught shot in front of the others: I think that calmed them down a little. And also I have a lot of Chechens and Daghestanis; their homes are still in the hands of the Bolsheviks. Speaking of that, have you heard of an uprising in Chechnya? In the mountains.”—“There are rumors,” I replied. “A special unit attached to the Einsatzgruppe is going to try to parachute in some agents to make contact with the rebels.”—“Oh, that’s very interesting,” said Oberländer. “Apparently there is fighting going on and the repression is fierce. That could create some possibilities for our forces. How could I find out more?”—“You should go see Oberführer Bierkamp, in Voroshilovsk.”—“Very good. And here? Are you having a lot of problems, with the partisans?”—“Not too many. There’s a unit roaming around Kislovodsk. The Lermontov detachment. It’s rather fashionable, here, to call everything Lermontov.” Voss laughed, this time heartily: “Are they active?”—“Not really. They stick to the mountains, they’re afraid of coming down. They mostly provide information to the Red Army. They send kids to count the motorcycles and trucks in front of the Feldkommandantur, for example.” We finished eating; Oberländer was still talking about the Ostpolitik of the new military administration: “General Köstring is a very good choice. I think that with him the experiment has a chance to succeed.”—“You know Dr. Bräutigam?” I asked.—“Herr Bräutigam? Of course. We often exchange ideas. He’s a very motivated man, very intelligent.” Oberländer finished his coffee and took his leave. We saluted each other and Voss went with him. I waited for him while I smoked a cigarette. “You were odious,” he said to me as he sat back down.—“Why?”—“You know very well why.” I shrugged my shoulders: “It wasn’t very mean.”—“Oberländer must have thought we were making fun of him.”—“But we were making fun of him. Except: he’ll never dare admit it. You know professors as well as I do. If he acknowledged his ignorance of the Ubykh question, that could harm his reputation as ‘The Lawrence of the Caucasus.’” We left the Kasino. A fine, light rain was falling. “There it is,” I said as if to myself. “It’s autumn.” A horse tied in front of the Feldkommandantur neighed and snorted. The sentinels had put on their waxed cloaks. In Karl Marx Street, the water was flowing down the slope in little streams. The rain intensified. We parted in front of our quarters, wishing each other good night. In my room, I opened the French door and stayed for a long while listening to the water streaming on the leaves of the trees, on the windows of the balcony, on the metal roofs, on the grass and the wet earth.