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.
