The Bridge At Andau Part 5

From then on this clear-cut rule was applied with savage force. No part of Budapest was safe from the tanks, and if any commander heard a single shot, he would stop his tank-it was now safe to do this-maneuver it into position and shoot off the upper coping, so as to kill any snipers on the roof. He did not then fire at the upper stories, but only at the bottom one, pulverizing it with heavy fire until the house fell down upon itself. In this way thousands of Hungarians were buried alive.

Had the Russians been fighting a people who had never co-operated with them, such barbarism might conceivably have been understood. Or had they, in their fanaticism, been warring against a reactionary people, their uncontrolled fury might also have been acceptable as a part of the communist ideology when considering the lot of noncommunist regions. But in Budapest the Soviets perpetrated their horrors upon a people who had originally been their peaceful a.s.sociates, who had once been good communists, who had co-operated to the point of sacrificing their own national interests. In Budapest, the Russians destroyed with cold fury the very people who had in many ways been their best friends in Eastern Europe. They were not fighting reactionaries. They were not fighting capitalists. They were not fighting antique elements trying to turn back the clock of history. They were annihilating people who had once been communists.

But the worst barbarism was still to come. In areas already subdued, Russian tank crews ran wild and roared their tanks through the streets, firing on any groups of civilians they saw. There were three instances in which women in queues were shot to death.

Ambulances and Red Cross workers-probably because the Soviets themselves use these internationally recognized welfare agencies as blinds for military action-were mercilessly shot down. Nurses attending the wounded were executed by point-blank, single-rifle fire.

All the blood and blood plasma at the Hungarian central depot on Daroczi Street was confiscated by the Russians and taken to the Szabolcz Street hospital, which they had reserved for themselves. As a result, Hungarian doctors were reduced to using only saline transfusions, which often killed their patients. As a result, thirty-five per cent of all leg wounds ended in amputation.

Children were killed, hospitals were fired upon, and young men were executed merely upon suspicion. Crimes against inanimate objects were as bad. A squad of flame throwers attacked the National Archives and burned it out. When patriotic firemen tried to save the building, they were shot. A house across from the Protestant seminary was set ablaze by another squad, and when a boarder in the house tried to protect his possessions, he too was shot. Stores were completely looted, even though the Russian troops did not need the food. And on the third floor of 46 Nepszinhaz Street, three Soviet soldiers knocked down door 23 and smashed into a jewelry shop which operated there. Shooting the owner, the soldiers scooped up all the watches and then sprayed the store with bullets.

The sack of Budapest was senseless and unnecessary. It was an act of blind revenge because the people of the city had grown tired of Soviet lies, Soviet terror and Soviet expropriation.

But when the ruin was complete-when the girls and young men were liquidated-there remained two unsubdued Hungarian outposts whose existence must have especially galled the Russians. On Ulloi Street the battered and torn Kilian Barracks still held out. One corner of the thick-walled building had been completly blasted away, leaving all the good fighting positions exposed to machine-gun fire. Much of the interior flooring had collapsed; the rest was propped up by improvised timbers. In a few places even the ma.s.sive walls had begun to crumble, while inside the sh.e.l.l the defending soldiers had few guns, little ammunition, no food and no water. Still these amazing men of Kilian resisted.

Against it the Russians wheeled up tanks and mortars, rockets and flame throwers, generals and privates, plus a grim determination to wipe the defenders off the face of the earth. Armor-piercing sh.e.l.ls and high explosives practically demolished the barracks, so that on the night of the second full day of bombardment it seemed that the Russians had won, for from the staggering walls a group of officers came out to surrender the building. But as they approached the Russians, their own determined men inside the barracks shot them dead, and the fight continued.

The battle for Kilian did not end heroically. In fact, no one was aware that it was over, for after three days of resistance beyond the capacity of man to endure, the nameless fighters simply dispersed. Some went through sewer pipes to the Corvin Cinema and slipped into the crowd there. Others waited for nightfall and slipped out back ways of their own. On the fourth day the Soviets occupied it, a gaping sh.e.l.l from which the blood of freedom had mysteriously, but not cravenly, vanished.

The last major center of resistance must have been in some ways even more infuriating to the Russians than the Kilian Barracks had been, and it was to this final redoubt that c.o.c.ky young Imre Geiger, lugging his rifle and his drooping cigarette, went in the early morning of November 7.

Just south of the city and only a quarter of an hour away by high-speed railway, lay the big island of Csepel, thirty miles long and crowding the center of the Danube River. On the southern end of the island were the vegetable gardens in whose rich soil grew most of Budapest's produce, but the northern end was a special ward of the communist governments both in Budapest and in Moscow, for this was Red Csepel, the sprawling industrial center where the heavy industry of Budapest was concentrated. This was the heartland of communism, the center from which the Soviets had captured Hungary. Communist orators could grow tearful when they referred to Red Csepel, and it was almost a requirement for any red Hungarian orator to cry "Csepel is Hungary and Hungary is Csepel." Communist philosophy preached the doctrine that it was upon the workers in heavy industry that the movement must ultimately depend, and in no satellite country was this held to be more obvious than in Hungary, where the powerful workers of Csepel were the absolute hard core of the communist movement. One Hungarian communist philosopher said, "If the red men of Csepel ever turned against communism, it would be like the cardinals of the Vatican turning against the Pope."

If this communist a.n.a.lysis of Csepel was correct, why was a young freedom fighter like Imre Geiger lugging his rifle there during the last gasp of the revolution? He was heading there to make a last-ditch stand because Budapest had found that the communist propaganda about Red Csepel was one hundred per cent wrong. In fact, in none of their high-blown philosophizing were the communist leaders so completely wrong as in the case of Csepel.

For the men of Csepel, the workers in heavy industries, not only refused to fight for communism; almost all of them fought against it. And now, when there was no slightest hope of victory, when only certain death awaited any man who defended a factory on the side of freedom, the Csepel men had their finest hour.

In Chapter Seven I propose to examine why the men of Csepel behaved as they did. Now I shall only state that these appallingly brave men gave communism its gravest blow both physically and morally.

The revolution was proposed by the writers and philosophers of the Petofi Club. It was initiated by daring students. It was maintained by determined young boys and girls who wrestled with tanks barehanded. But it was made effective by the men of Csepel, and when every other section was beaten into submission, these plain workmen, the propaganda darlings of communism, retreated to their island and maintained a defiance that startled Russia and the world.

When young Imre Geiger and his futile rifle reached Csepel an acute ear could have heard the death rattle of freedom. The workmen, barricaded in great factories that had been the pride of Josef Stalin, had little ammunition. They possessed one antiaircraft gun, a few cannon, a lot of gasoline, for the oil cracking plant was on their island. Most curiously they possessed no inspiring leader, no grandiose ideas. In fact, they had only one substantial weapon: their unreasoning hatred of Russians and their stooges, the AVO.

Hardly a man in Csepel had avoided some kind of contact with the AVO. Spies were everywhere and punishments were severe if these spies even suspected disloyalty or a lack of enthusiasm. Hara.s.sment was the order of the day, and spies kept lists of even the slightest infractions. The Csepel men had had enough, and they had torn the regime apart. Now they were prepared to give world communism a lesson that will be marked in history.

From the moment when the big guns on Gellert Hill began bombarding the city, one of their favorite targets had been Csepel. Into it they pumped many tons of high explosives, and it was against the sprawling workshops that the Russian jets directed most of their rockets; but these weapons were no more successful in subduing the Csepel men than they had been in cowing college students. So the Soviets were faced with the dismal job of going into the island with tanks and infantry.

The tragic story of the other centers of resistance was repeated here, but with many strange overtones. Because the Russians had a special hatred for the Csepel workers who had turned against them, the a.s.sault was particularly bitter, and because the Csepel men knew that surrender was impossible, the defense was extremely tough. For example, when the main attack came, one Csepel worker rigged up a high-power hose that sprayed gasoline over tanks, which were then ignited with grenades. Another determined worker had rebuilt an antiaircraft gun captured from the Soviets, and this he used in one spectacular burst of glory, shooting down a low-flying jet which had a.s.sumed it had unchallenged control of the skies.

In the brutal fighting young Imre Geiger had a weird experience. He was busy making a fresh supply of gasoline bombs when he stopped to stare at a young man who was working from the same barrel. G.o.d, he looked funny, Geiger says. "I thought he was a new kind of Russian soldier who had slipped in with us. You know what he turned out to be? A North Korean. After the Korean war the Chinese communists sent several dozen selected North Korean communists, who had fought against America, here to study in our factories. Every one of them turned against communism and fought on our side."

Geiger's next encounter was of a more pathetic kind. On the line where the Csepel men handed out their meager stores of ammunition, Geiger met up with two boys of eighteen who could speak little Hungarian. "They could hardly make themselves understood. But they wanted to talk to me and give me something. They had two letters to their families. They wanted me to mail them if I got out. And what do you suppose those letters were written in? Greek. They said there were several Greek kids in the factories. These were the ones the communists kidnaped from Greece during the civil war there. They were made into good communists and given everything they wanted ... the best jobs in Csepel. But when the chance came, they fought against the Russians."

In its last stages the fight for Csepel became a horrifying contest between unparalleled mechanical power on the one side and bare human determination on the other. The defenders of Csepel tried everything. When the Soviets swarmed onto the island the Csepel men ignited the gasoline plant to fight them off and writhing pillars of fire illuminated the deathly scene. But it was no use. Huge Soviet guns sent volleys ricocheting through gaunt, empty factory buildings. Railroad cars were blasted by low-flying rocket planes, and everywhere the mournful whooomp! whooomp! of red mortars brought destruction. The time came on the eighth day of battle, November 11, when further resistance was simply not possible.

Then, like the last weary defenders of Kilian, the men of Csepel quietly vanished into the vegetable patches, or swam the river, or crept inconspicuously into the crowds. They did not surrender. They lived on to partic.i.p.ate in what was to be the bravest act of the revolution, one which would forever prove to the world how completely Soviet Russia had lost control over its men in the heavy industries. I shall discuss their action in Chapter Seven, but for the moment they were defeated, and as they slipped away, young Imre Geiger went with them.

The battle for Budapest was now officially over, but the terror continued. Russian tanks had been superb against revolvers; they were even better when the populace had no arms at all. They paraded their might by roaring through the city and firing at random. After a few days of unchallenged triumph they subsided and foot soldiers took over.

With their arrival shocking stories began to circulate throughout Europe, for the savage troops patrolling Budapest were found to be Mongols from the Central Asian Republics. They behaved like animals, and the murders they piled up were frightening.

Why had they been brought in to terrorize the city? Because the original troops, from Russia proper, had been garrisoned in Hungary, under the terms of the Warsaw Pact, so long that they had become too human and could not be depended upon to shoot civilians. There were several confirmed instances, in addition to that of the tank commander at Parliament Square who had shot the AVO a.s.sa.s.sins, of Russians' voluntarily siding with the Hungarian freedom fighters. One of the reasons for the five-day peace was to provide Russian army commanders with time to replace these disaffected troops with uncontaminated Mongols. Rumors, unconfirmed, claimed that many of the original occupation troops were either shot or sent to Siberia. At any rate, they vanished.

There is one aspect of this use of Mongol troops against the Hungarian population that must not be overlooked. In World War II troops from these very republics were thrown against the Germans on the eastern front. In most instances they went over to the enemy en ma.s.se, announcing that they hated Russians so much they wanted a chance to shoot them. When the Germans interned them in prison camps, the wild men of the steppes begged to be put into German uniforms and set loose against the Russians, even though they knew that in such circ.u.mstances capture meant certain death. A regiment of such troops was organized under German command, and it fought with terrible fury against the Soviets. From this it would appear that Russia has adopted a Draconian policy of never using troops in their own native countryside, but always moving into disaffected areas shock troops from remote parts of the empire, knowing that troops from any given area cannot be trusted to ma.s.sacre their own kin. It is doubtful if troops from Russian areas near countries like Bulgaria, Rumania and Hungary will ever again be used in those countries. They will be used to ma.s.sacre Asian populations, if the need occurs.

The Russian terror was able to operate successfully in Budapest in spite of the fact that the entire Hungarian army fought against it. Why were the Russian troops so successful? Why did the Hungarian army not use its heavy guns?

First, the quick and dishonorable capture of General Maleter through trickery deprived the Hungarian army of its leaders.h.i.+p. Second, during the five days of peace the army studiously refrained from any military build-up lest it invite Russian retaliation. Third, on the night of November 3 the Russians tricked some of the best units into moving out of Budapest by issuing false orders for these troops to reconnoiter in a nearby village. Fourth, just prior to the initial bombardments at 0400, Russian storm units captured a good many Hungarians in bed. But all of these reasons are subsidiary to the major explanation. The Hungarian army brought over no big weapons because the Russians never allowed them to have any. Even before the Hungarian uprising, the communist army lived in fear of what its satellite troops might one day do, and nations like Hungary and Bulgaria were studiously deprived of big guns, modern tanks, large backlogs of ammunition and communication equipment. In Hungary this policy paid off, and we can suppose that it is now being enforced even more rigidly in the other satellites, and in the minor republics of Central Asia. In other words, from the day the Budapest revolution started and for as far as one can see into the future, Russia must live in a state of fear, not fear of what the democracies might one day try to do to her, but fear of what the satellites will do if they get the chance.

After the Russians had won the military victory in Budapest, they still had to win a propaganda victory. They therefore launched a world-wide attempt to prove that the United States triggered the revolution and that it was partic.i.p.ated in only by reactionaries, former Horthy fascists, armed refugees smuggled in from Germany, Cardinal Mindszenty and enemies of the working cla.s.ses. Russia is already claiming that true communists, honest workmen and intelligent students remained loyal. These lies will be repeated endlessly, and in some parts of the world will probably be believed.

During the height of the revolution the freedom fighters were aware of this likely charge and did all within their power to keep the revolution uncompromised. I know of several instances in which fighters said to political prisoners, or to sons of good families, "We appreciate your help, but please stay away. We want this revolution to be absolutely clean. Only communists and workers must do the fighting. In that way the Soviets can't charge us with being fascists."

One poster, which appeared widely in Budapest, took cognizance of the Soviet lies. It read, "Nine Million Fascist Counterrevolutionaries. All Former Factory Owners, Bankers and Cardinals Are Hiding in the Country!! Their main hideout is the aristocratic residential district of Csepel. Luckily there were still six true Hungarian communists who formed a government in order to save the country." At one time the street boys selling the new communist newspaper Nep Szabadsag (People's Freedom)-a typically communist juggling of the former name, Szabad Nep (Free People)-hawked their wares by shouting, "Today's most recent complete lies, all for only half a forint."

The true news of the revolution was disseminated by heroes. On an inadequate hand press they printed a newspaper called Truth, which contained digests of radio news gathered from American and British broadcasts. Every article and poem appearing in Truth was signed by the writer's real name. Each day of the battle, these treasured newspapers were handed to brave youngsters who on bicycles and afoot scurried from one outpost to another with the broadsides. One fighter has reported, "We never missed an issue, but many boys were killed bringing us the news. Strangely, we did not grieve over them, for they had died fighting for what we were fighting for, the right to know the truth."

The revolution was unique in that not only the freedom fighters got the news; for one tragic day the entire world was free to eavesdrop upon the battle. In the old Szabad Nep building at the corner of Rakoczi Street and Jozsef Boulevard, an MTI (Hungarian Press Agency) reporter was sitting at a teletype machine when the Russians began their Sunday a.s.sault on his area. By a most unlikely coincidence, he had an open wire to the a.s.sociated Press offices in Vienna, 178 miles to the west. For several hours this brave young man typed out his report on the death of his city. Deservedly, his words were printed all over the world, and there must be few readers who are unacquainted with them: "At the moment there is silence. It may be the silence before the storm.

"We have almost no weapons, only light machine guns, Russian-made long rifles and some carbines. We haven't any kind of heavy guns.

"The people are jumping at the tanks, throwing in hand grenades and closing the drivers' windows. The Hungarian people are not afraid of death. It is only a pity that we can't stand for long.

"A man just came in from the street. He said not to think because the street is empty that the people have taken shelter. They are standing in the doorway, waiting for the right moment.

"One Hungarian soldier was told by his mother as she said good-by to him: 'Don't be a hero, but don't be cowardly either.' "

"The tanks are nearing, and the heavy artillery. We have just had a telephone report that our unit is receiving reinforcements and ammunition. But it is still too little, we need more. It can't be allowed that people attack tanks with their bare hands. What is the United Nations doing? Give us a little encouragement."

"We will hold out to our last drop of blood," he said over the Telex. "The government has not done enough to give us arms. Downstairs, there are men who have only one hand grenade."

"I am running over to the window in the next room to shoot, but I will be back if there is anything new or you ring me."

When informed by a.s.sociated Press in Vienna of a Was.h.i.+ngton dispatch that Cardinal Mindszenty had taken refuge in the United States legation in Budapest, the Szabad Nep informant asked: "Is that all they have achieved?"

"Russian plane just fired a machine-gun burst. We don't know where, just heard and saw it.

'The building of barricades is going on. The Parliament and its vicinity are crowded with tanks. We don't know why, but it certainly is not a good sign. Planes are flying overhead, but can't be counted, there are so many. The tanks are coming in big lines.

"Our building already has been fired on, but so far there are no casualties. The roar of the tanks is so loud we can't hear each other's voices."

"They just brought us a rumor that the American troops will be here within one or two hours."

"A sh.e.l.l just exploded nearby. At 1020 now there is heavy firing in the direction of the National Theater, near us in the center of the city."

"Send us any news you can about world action in Hungary's behalf. Don't worry, we burn your dispatches as soon as we have read them.

"In our buildings we have youngsters of fifteen and men of forty. Don't worry about us. We are strong, even if we are only a small nation. When the fighting is over we will rebuild our unhappy, much oppressed country."

At ten-thirty that morning the last message came through, and then the correspondent in the Szabad Nep building was heard no more. Appropriately the message read: "Just now the heaviest firing is going on at the Kilian Barracks. There is steady artillery fire."

But before this young man vanished he Telexed a personal message to a relative who had escaped to England: "Sending kisses. We are well and fighting at 0920, CET, 4 November." Later in the day the Szabad Nep building was fired at point-blank by Russian guns.

When the rape of Budapest ended, some freedom fighters tried to cast up a report of what had happened. Their figures must of necessity be haphazard, and I would not want to swear that they were accurate, but it seems likely that something like this happened. One hundred and forty thousand armed Russians swept through the city. They were backed up by at least four thousand tanks and armed vehicles plus ample supplies of all the other accouterments of modern warfare. They totally destroyed eight thousand houses, and shot out about sixty per cent of all the windows in the city. About thirty thousand Hungarians were killed or wounded, plus another ten thousand who were buried alive in collapsing buildings, but many Hungarians insist that total casualties numbered about eighty thousand. The Russians lost not over eight thousand men and about 320 tanks. This last figure could probably be revised about fifty per cent either way, so that we can say that the Hungarian freedom fighters, with little equipment, destroyed at least 160 but not more than 480 tanks. From the reports I have studied and the pictures I have a.s.sembled, I would guess that the figure inclined somewhat toward the latter number. A city was ravaged.

And all this was accomplished by Russia in pursuit of her announced policy of friends.h.i.+p and peace: "We Soviets have intervened not as enemies but as true friends of the Hungarian people, and our own interest is only to help in putting down the revolt of fascists and criminal elements."

At the height of fighting, when students and writers and workers and young girls were laying down their lives, Soviet apologists in Budapest had the effrontery to offer the following explanation of what was happening in Hungary: "Ferocious fascist beasts wanted to restore the power of capitalists. We are convinced that the Hungarian people in order to protect peace will possess sufficient strength to crush the fascist gangs. All over the world, led by the Soviet Union, the unity of the countries of the socialist bloc has the greatest significance. If Hungary will restore order with the help of the Soviet Union then it will again return to constructive socialist work. The rapid victory won against the antirevolutionary forces proves that these antirevolutionary forces consisted only of the sc.u.m of the nation. It also proves that they were not supported by the ma.s.ses."

There was to be, however, a more honest and a more honorable requiem for the people of Hungary. From an unknown freedom radio station, an unknown fighter cried to the conscience of the world: "Civilized people of the world, on the watchtower of 1,000-year-old Hungary the last flames begin to go out. The Soviet Army is attempting to crush our troubled hearts. Their tanks and guns are roaring over Hungarian soil. Our women, mothers and daughters are sitting in dread. They still have terrible memories of the Army's entry in 1945. Save our souls. S-O-S. S-O-S.

"People of the world, listen to our call. Help us-not with advice, not with words, but with action, with soldiers and arms. Please do not forget that this wild attack of Bolshevism will not stop. You may be the next victim. Save us. S-O-S. S-O-S.

"People of Europe whom we defended once against the attacks of Asiatic Barbarians, listen now to the alarm bells ringing from Hungary.

"Civilized people of the world, in the name of liberty and solidarity, we are asking you to help. Our s.h.i.+p is sinking. The light vanishes. The shadows grow darker from hour to hour. Listen to our cry. Start moving. Extend to us brotherly hands.

"People of the world, save us. S-O-S.

"Help, help, help. G.o.d be with you and with us."

After this there could be only silence.

6.

The AVO Man

During the five days of peace, freedom fighters indulged in a group of incidents which did great damage to the revolution and which are difficult either to condone or to explain. Unfortunately for the good name of the revolution, photographers were present at some of these b.l.o.o.d.y incidents, and the resulting pictures were flashed around the world.

These photographs were quickly pounced upon by the Soviets as proving that the fight for freedom in Hungary was nothing but a reactionary attempt to press down upon the brow of honest workmen a crown of capitalist thorns. Before Soviet tanks had ceased firing point-blank at residential buildings so as to bury the inhabitants alive, Soviet propagandists were preparing booklets which featured these grisly photographs and were distributing them throughout Europe and the world.

But what the Soviets were not distributing, along with the photographs, were accounts of what had led up to the incidents thus portrayed, and it is these missing background accounts which I now propose to provide in reporting the history of a typical AVO man. His portrait-which by necessity is a composite drawn from all I could learn from many sources about the character and behavior of AVO personnel-is not pleasant to look at, but the events on which it is based are all meticulously true.

Tibor Donath was a country boy. He was born in 1925 in a small village near the Russian border. Unfortunately, he was an unpleasant-looking child with washed-out blond hair, weak eyes and a prominent chin. His parents were distressed when he did not do well in school, even though in the protection of his home he showed a quick ability to learn. The priest a.s.sured the Donaths that their son would "grow into a man" when he became interested in games.

This never happened, partly because Tibor remained underweight and gawky, partly because the other boys did not like him. He was able to withstand these disappointments, but in late adolescence he discovered a much crueler fact: girls did not like him either. Again the priest said, "When he's older, and his complexion clears, everything will be all right."

But with Tibor Donath things never were to be all right. In 1943, when all his friends were called into service, he was rejected as being badly underweight. That was what the doctor said, but among the real reasons was a strong suspicion that the boy was not well balanced. Proof of this came when, in 1944 under the German occupation, he formed a lasting attachment to a German lieutenant, who was shortly thereafter killed on the Russian front.

With the coming of peace Donath, now twenty years old, faced numerous difficult decisions. He could not find a job. He could not find a girl. And he could not find any sense of security or meaning in an aimless life of sitting at home while his mother lectured him. Once he said, "You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to Russia!" But his mother laughed at him. Then he proposed going to Germany and living with the family of his dead lieutenant.

Finally he found a niche, not an important one and not one which paid him the money he felt he needed. But it was a substantial niche, nevertheless, and gave him for the first time a sense of accomplishment. He achieved all this by joining the communist party.

His first jobs were unimportant, for the smart top party men recognized him instantly as poor material, but they did allow him to partic.i.p.ate in supervising life in his own small village, and this was for Tibor Donath a great delight. He could now speak up to boys who had abused him and walk with girls who had ignored him. He found that his new position afforded many petty ways of obtaining small personal revenges. For example, he informed the communist party leader that one of his boyhood companions was probably a fascist, and when he saw this boy four months later, he observed with relish that his former enemy was much subdued.

It was after he had provided the party police with several such tips, some of which turned out to be accurate, that Tibor Donath, now a little heavier at age twenty-four but still with a bad complexion, was casually approached by a visitor from Budapest.

"They tell me you'd make a good special policeman," the stranger said.

"I never thought of it," Donath replied.

"You'd have a uniform, important duties," the man explained, but Tibor noticed that he wore civilian clothes.

"Could I work some place else?" Donath asked.

"Possibly," the stranger replied. And that was all Donath heard about special police duty for nearly six months. Then suddenly, in late 1949, he was ordered to report for immediate training to a barracks in central Hungary. Here he met a group of good-looking, tough, able young men, most of them, like him, from rural districts. Their officers, however, were from Budapest.

His lessons at the barracks were simple and direct. Said the instructor, "The way to break up a riot is to use guns." He taught them how to shoot, how to drive military vehicles, how to repair armored cars and how to fight if an a.s.sailant attacked unexpectedly in the dark. "There are enemies everywhere," the instructor warned.

At the end of three weeks, the same stranger who had visited Donath in his village appeared in camp, wearing polished boots, flared trousers and a crisp khaki uniform with blue metal decorations. He was attended by several men about Donath's age, who were also in uniform, but with fewer decorations. "Men," the visitor said, "on you Hungary is going to build its greatest defense. You are to be national heroes, watching day and night. You may have to engage in frequent battles. Your first task is to seal the frontiers hermetically and transform our border regions into real fortresses."

From then on Donath's training increased in intensity, and soon he was given the khaki uniform of the border guard, with flaring pants, polished boots and green metal decorations. "We will make it very difficult for enemies to get into Hungary," the eager young men pledged.

But when Tibor and his cla.s.s were sent to the frontier they found, somewhat to their astonishment, that they were not concerned about people trying to get into the country. Their job was solely to hunt down Hungarians who were endeavoring to escape. For example, Donath was sent to the Yugoslav border, where one might have expected t.i.to bandits and murderers to try forcing their way into Hungary, but instead he found hundreds of Hungarians fleeing into Yugoslavia.

"We'll soon put a stop to that," Donath's commander said sternly.

On the first night Tibor and his men simply shot any would-be escapees, and after word of this policy circulated through the countryside the stream of refugees diminished. Then barriers were set up and a band of border land thirty yards wide was plowed up so that footmarks could be tracked. Next a barbed-wire fence was constructed at the most likely points of escape. But the commander was not yet satisfied, for he gave Donath a special job which occupied him for three months.

Throughout the plowed strip, Tibor carefully planted mines that would explode if touched by an unwary traveler seeking escape. Sometimes he wired eight or ten of the mines together, so that if one escapee accidentally tripped one of the mines, all the others would explode and catch additional members of the fleeing party.

At strategic points wooden watchtowers more than thirty feet high were erected, with solid bases for heavy machine guns and powerful searchlights which scanned the escape routes all night, every night of the year.

In spite of these precautions, some Hungarians nevertheless managed to slip through the lines and this infuriated the heads of the special police in Budapest. A top officer inspected the frontier and told the guards, "These enemies of the state are inhuman. They catch cats, put them in bags, and carry them to the edge of the mine fields. They release them there and the cats scamper into the mines. They're blown to bits. Then the enemies of the state creep through unharmed. This has got to be stopped."

So a standard order was pa.s.sed: "If you hear any cats, rake the area with machine guns." This tactic often succeeded in either killing or wounding fugitives in places where no one would otherwise have suspected them, and Donath found real joy in tracking down with dogs some crippled enemy who was attempting to drag a wounded body across the line. Tibor never asked himself, "Why do we never have anyone trying to get into Hungary? Why is it always out?"

When Tibor caught a wounded man, it was his trick to jam the b.u.t.t of his rifle into the man's stomach, double him up with pain, then strike him with all the weight of his right fist in the face. He would march the captured man, who might be bleeding from gunfire, back to the area headquarters, where he and several other men in green insignia would begin their questioning of the prisoner.

Each of the men in green had some special way of making prisoners talk, and often by beatings, nail pullings, smas.h.i.+ng rifle b.u.t.ts onto insteps and other tortures, they forced a single escapee to tell them about others in the area, and when these were caught, they could be beaten and bullied into betraying still others.

"Never stop trying to uncover the whole escape apparatus," Donath's superiors had ordered, and he became so adept at squeezing out of prisoners their last hidden secrets that he was marked for special promotion to a better job in Budapest. When news of his good luck reached him on the border, he was about to set forth on night patrol with his team of dogs, and as he walked through the starry night, he had occasion to reflect upon his good fortune.

"It'll be good to get away from this shooting business," he mused. "I don't mind shooting some man who is trying to escape just punishment, like real enemies of the government. But so many of these people have been women."

He thought particularly of one husband and wife he had shot down some months before. He could not forget them because they resembled in many ways an average farm couple from his own village. The woman, given a few years, could have been his own mother, and after their bodies were dragged in from the mine fields, he had spent some time speculating on what crimes they had committed against the government. It never occurred to him that they might be what they appeared to be: two farm people who simply wanted to leave communism.