Survival

by M. Ben Yanay

  “It’s complex. My chance of becoming a pilot was a dream come true. It’s like a long journey at the end of which you find the treasure you’ve been looking for. And then, when you can enjoy it, you find yourself all battered on the ground without so much as the fighter’s stick in your hand.”

  “You’re grieving over being downed again?” Ina taunted him. “You already said this wasn’t your own fault.”

  “It isn’t a matter of feeling guilty about it; it’s a sense of missing out on the action. My friends are all busy carrying on with the operations, and I’m daydreaming instead of fighting alongside them.”

  “Perhaps once and for all, you’ll tell us how it happened,” Janos asked. “I’m sure it will make you feel better.”

  “It was nonsense,” Bob told them. “I wasn’t even hit during an air battle. I was flying low over the ‘pocket,’ Perhaps I overdid it; perhaps I didn’t pay enough attention; maybe I was too complacent, but for crying out loud, to be hit by gunfire, well, it’s just dumb. In short, they fired at me from a rifle. The ground fire hit my engine. I thought I’d manage to fly high and get outta there, but the plane began to mutter, and smoke came out. The whole right side was on fire, so I had no choice but to bail.” He kept berating himself. “It’s unforgivable, to be hit like this, in broad daylight, from such insignificant fire. I have to get back to the squadron and make amends for this disgrace, or I will never forgive myself.”

  “In hindsight, do you think there’s anything else you could have done?”

  “The alternative was to keep flying and get blown up along with the plane. It’s a matter of seconds. I had to decide. I pulled the parachute lever and was out in under a minute. I hovered over the trees like a puppet on a string. Then, I heard the blast and saw the giant flame.”

  “Well, you did what you found best,” Ina observed decidedly. “You are saved, and, thank goodness, whichever divinity—even the one you do not believe in—you landed in our territory. I’m sure everyone would have done the same.” Then, after a moment’s pause, she added. “Even if there were a real chance of falling into the hands of the Germans, still, anyone would have bailed.”

  Janos drew closer to Bob and laid his hand on Bob’s shoulder. “I understand you, Buddy, but feeling sorry for yourself does help your mood. We’re getting close to Vienna. Tomorrow or the day after that, you’ll be able to join your fellow pilots. How about you tell us about one of the battles you took part in? Some interesting air battle, anything I can tell my kids. What do you say?”

  “You’re the best.” Bob laughed. “You could be a priest.” He then added in jest, in a deep voice, “When was your last confession, my son?” Bob reverted to his own regular voice, replying, “Many years ago.” Then his deep voice reverberated, “What would you look to confess today, my son?” Bob then answered in his usual voice, “I am not offering my confession, Father. This is the story of an air battle over Berlin.”

  “Do tell,” Ina and Janos encouraged him enthusiastically. “We’re listening.”

  *

  Bob cleared his throat. “Very well,” he said, “calm down then. First, let me explain something in general. Mustang B fighters that are fitted with a Merlin-type engine feature a chassis with low drag. This enables each aircraft to fly at a higher speed using less fuel. In principle, they can carry more fuel and have a higher flight range. They also carry disposable fuel tanks. Once the pilot discharges the empty tanks, the plane gets lighter and faster. This was the reason we were tasked with escorting the B 17 bombers. When we got closer to our designated target, a few Luftwaffe jet fighters scrambled at us. This was no surprise, as prior intelligence had alerted us to this possibility before takeoff. We expected them and were eager to face them, to test our own mettle.

  “First, two formations, each comprising four Messerschmitt 109 propeller fighters were sent to lure us, the defenders of the Flying Fortress formation. The Me 109 planes’ mission was to entice us to pursue them, thereby clearing the way for the Me 262 jet fighters to attack our exposed B 17 bombers.

  “But this ploy did not materialize for the Germans. The skies were full of our own aircraft, so we let the Luftwaffe planes fly by as they wished. Then, a group of eight Me 262 jet fighters attacked. They were lighting fast! A rocket hit one of the Flying Fortresses, disabling one of its four engines, thereby rendering it paralyzed. The engine went dead, and the plane lost speed, beginning to lag behind the other bombers. Our group leader told the pilot of the B 17 that was hit to return to base, along with two of us to escort it. Once there, they succeed in landing safely.

  “In the meantime, we attacked the German fighters, and they attacked us. They dived savagely toward the slow B 17 bombers, which themselves spewed out gunfire and bravely kept the formation intact. The Luftwaffe jets flew over the U.S. bombers and faced us within seconds. An air battle ensued. In the unfolding combat, bullets tore through the sky, the chatter on the radio was incessant with alerts, instructions, swearing and what not. I suddenly saw right below me our number two pursuing one of Me 262s, attempting to hit it. He missed it but kept pursuing. In the meantime, another Me 262 sat on its tail. I radioed our pilot to alert him and broke to the right, proceeding to dive at him. The German pilot didn’t even notice me. I opened fire when I approach the optimal hitting range, firing from the side. I really hit him good all across. The plane exploded, he didn’t even have time to jump. Right after the ball of fire, smoke came out, blackening the sky. I came out without so much as a scratch. The Red Tails got a distinguished citation for that battle. I, personally, was awarded a medal, and the wing commander said three words to me I shall never forget: ‘Here’s to taking risks.’ Who could have thought that less than a month after that, I’d be hanging from a tree in the middle of a forest?”

  *

  As the locomotive approached Vienna, Ina asked, “What do you think is in store for the local residents?”

  “Supposing what I think is correct, they are not to be envied. They won’t be having a good time in the coming days. They’ll be running out of food and water pretty soon. The grid is probably off, as well as public transportation.”

  “Yes,” Janos concurred. “Gay old Vienna will be dull. Nevertheless, the Russians will treat them fairly, and with time, they’ll allow them to rebuild, reconstruct, have their strudels and play the waltz.”

  “Are you convinced Vienna has been taken?” Ina reiterated.

  “For sure,” Bob and Janos replied at once.

  Along with the usual, by now familiar, sounds of the locomotive’s engine and wheels, they now heard new sounds of tank engines and armored vehicles. The paved road running alongside the tracks was filled with potholes and bumps, with barely a sign of asphalt. What little remained of the original road was all torn and cracked. They passed by slow moving trucks filled with soldiers, none of whom minded the locomotive or its passengers.

  *

  The first few suburban buildings that greeted them attested to the scale of devastation after being ravaged by the fighting. The buildings were completely destroyed, electric wires hung out, and blown up water pipes spewed. Other buildings remained standing, yet their walls were filled with bullet holes and shell holes. Their entrances bore the Soviet Union’s red flags with the hammer and sickle. Armored cars and jeeps with the same flags moved through the ruins.

  The tracks ran away from the city center, turning right. They were going around the city. After traveling for another hour—which felt longer—through abandoned fields and demolished roads, they got their first glimpse of parked tanks, then of three such large compounds filled with tanks. After a while, they came across hundreds, perhaps thousands, of soldiers marching in long, single-file lines, surrounded by Russian soldiers who guarded them.

  “German captives?!” Ina was dismayed. “What a sight! Had you brought your camera along, Janos, that’s the kind of photograph I’d like to have as a souvenir!”

  They moved away from the major city, approac
hing the outskirts of a small town whose buildings remained intact, as though there never was a war. The railroad diverged in two. They were moving in the middle of the fork, toward a supply terminal on the edge of town. Janos eased the lever, and the locomotive slowed down. There were closed train cars on both tracks. Far ahead stood a silent locomotive. There wasn’t a single soul in sight. They kept on carefully, looking around. After a few minutes of advancing slowly, they saw a large group of people behind barbed wire. They seemed like a motionless mass. As the locomotive approached them, they noticed the people were wearing striped clothes. It wasn’t yet clear whether these were men or women, or a mixed group. Janos’s eyes focused on the view beyond the gathered humans. He slowed down again, the locomotive practically crawling, until they passed by what had seemed to be a prisoners’ camp, and then halted.

  “What’s going on?” Ina asked him. “Did you see anyone you know?”

  Janos pointed at five train cars on the railroad up ahead, about two hundred meters [nearly two hundred and twenty yards] from them. The abandoned cars’ proud locomotive, bearing the Nazi flag, was lying on its side, blocking the tracks.

  “This is our final stop,” Janos announced.

  “Where are we?” Bob wondered.

  Janos looked out the locomotive window and looked round. He examined the cars, along with their broken doors. He saw all sorts of piles right on the ground before them. He could not make out what the piles were.

  Bob opened the locomotive’s door and also had a close look round.

  “What does this say?” he pointed to a sign in the distance.

  “We are outside Strasshof Camp,” Janos replied. “We went round Vienna and reached Strasshof, a concentration camp. Look there, where the prisoners are standing.” He looked on and nodded.

  Ina jumped right out. “What? Where?”

  There were people standing behind the barbed wire. She began walking toward them slowly. Hundreds of people in ragged prisoner uniforms, elderly people and children alike, looking like skeletons, huddled together. She sensed she was beginning to panic. She then changed her mind and turned around. “I’m scared,” she said. “They terrify me.”

  “Where do we go from here?” Bob asked, and did not wait for an answer.

  *

  Ina returned to the locomotive and sat in the driver’s seat. Her eyes rested on the controls. She held the lever and then caressed the bright copper sign. “Lexy,” she whispered. “Dear Lexy, you’ve saved us. Someday, I shall dedicate one of my stories to you.”

  She remained seated for a long while. Then, she threw her fur hat on the locomotive floor. She produced her woolen headdress from her rucksack and wrapped it round her head. She then took her backpack and slid out quickly.

  Ina knew all too well she had but three options. One was to remain with Bob and Janos and await the Red Army or go along with them until they reach the tank compound or some other central pick-up point, where she would have to join the Russian soldiers of her own volition. They would not hesitate to treat me as a traitor, she thought. I would then face trial, only to be sent to prison, which is final. That’s not why I ran away from the partisans three days ago. The third choice made much more sense to her. She decided to pose as a prisoner and join that terrifying mass of people by the fence. I’ll assume the role of one of the inmates, taking the identity of a Ukrainian Jewess. I’ll play cool and patiently await the arrival of salvation in the form of Red Army soldiers. She then thought I was never good at goodbyes as she began walking toward the prisoners.

  Her lips quivered. Nevertheless, she did not utter a single parting word. She approached the barbed wire, threw off her backpack over to the other side, bent over and crawled in. Within a moment, she was standing among the prisoners, huddled along with them.

  Bob could not see her. He climbed on top of the locomotive and looked in the direction of the camp. For a short moment, he thought he noticed her figure moving toward some stone building inside the camp, but she vanished the next moment.

  Better this way, he thought. No emotional goodbyes. No drama. I know what it is you wish, what you’re dreaming of. Farewell, girl, and good luck. Who knows? We might meet some day in America. Bob looked down and kicked a stone he had come across. He felt he was tearing up. Damn, he thought to himself, I’m acting like some schoolgirl.

  Much to Bob’s surprise, Janos proceeded to follow Ina.

  “Hey, buddy, where are you going?” he called out to Janos, still caught up in his own thoughts.

  Janos did not reply. He scanned the inmates across the barbed wire. He did not move in. Rather, he lingered on children’s faces, looking for his own kids. He was also searching the women’s faces, looking for his wife.

  I haven’t seen them for four whole years. They must have changed. But maybe they’re here, and maybe, perhaps, I did not change that much. If Terry sees me, she’ll easily recognize me. Oh, Terry! His heart almost burst with such longing.

  *

  An elderly lady with a wrinkled face gazed at Janos. She had a ragged blanket around her shoulders. Maybe she knows me, he thought. Perhaps she knows us, Terry and me. He looked at her emaciated hands, clutching a boy whose head was resting on his own shoulder, as though his neck could not bear the weight of the small, almost transparent, skull. Janos was aghast. He hesitated and then asked the woman in Hungarian, “Does anyone know Terry St. Claire?” He raised his voice. “Does anyone here know Terry St. Claire?” The prisoners gawked at him. No one replied. Even the old lady looked away. He noticed inmates who were not wearing the striped uniform. They had their own ragged clothes. Some of them had shoes, but many were barefoot.

  Horrified and frustrated, Janos turned back toward the locomotive. Lexy stood in its place, patiently awaiting its master’s return, to rescue it from this dead end.

  Suddenly, there was a commotion among the inmates. He looked, and saw they were moving toward a cloud of dust over the fence.

  “The Russians are coming!” Bob said. “They are at the gate.”

  23. Janos and Terry — the Encounter

  Three Red Army jeeps entered the terminal slowly. The passengers reviewed the transport cars. They approached the damaged locomotive and stopped there. Some ten Russian soldiers got off and walked toward Lexy. Bob, who was leaning against it, stood up and moved toward them. “American pilot,” he said, stretching his arm out to greet them. After they all had shaken hands, he went over to Janos, who remained standing between the barbed wire and the locomotive.

  “The Russians have come to liberate the camp,” Bob said. “They had a few people come here a few days ago already, but only a handful of people left. They do not understand why these people are still here. Maybe it’s fear, or perhaps they are too weak to move. The Russians say the truck will arrive shortly to move the survivors to rescue camps. Would you like to wait here or go to Vienna with them?”

  Janos barely grasped what he had said. “I… Yeah, I’ll ride with them and then move on to Budapest.”

  Janos walked slowly toward Lexy. He stroked the metal wheels, patted the locomotive’s front, and said, “Köszönöm barát.” [Thanks, comrade].

  Bob followed suit with a goodbye and some gestures of his own.

  The two men got on one of the jeeps and kept silent all the way along the abandoned fields and tank compounds that constituted the Red Amy’s assembly points. The soldiers they traveled with spoke in Russian. Janos closed his eyes and let his ears shut out the noise. His thoughts were entirely focused on his wife and kids.

  The Russian commissar by the driver then said, “Here we are.”

  Janos and Bob jumped out onto a concrete area in front of a building that was largely intact. This was the Red Army’s central headquarters.

  They were led into the building and let into a side room, where there was a desk with a pot of coffee and an empty bottle. Janos smelled it and breathed in a whiff of alcohol. A Russian soldier walked in and spoke to them in a mixture of English
and Russian. Bob and Janos gathered they had to part. They shared a long embrace and said their goodbyes. Then, Bob followed the soldier to another room.

  Janos was interrogated briefly. Once his identity had been verified, he was sent to join a convoy of trucks that was about to depart for Budapest. His first stop at Hungary’s capital was at the refugee information center the French Red Cross had opened for the benefit of the thousands of refugees that poured into the city.

  Janos’s French served him once again. He was asked to stay and serve as a translator and interpreter, as most refugees only spoke Hungarian.

  “I’m willing to volunteer,” Janos said wholeheartedly.

  A Red Cross officer brought him a tin bowl full of warm potatoes. “Eat up,” she told him. “Then, you can go to sleep on one of the beds in the hallway. Tomorrow is May 1; you can start working with us in the morning.”

  He took the bowl and went out into the large courtyard. There was a long line of people by the building’s gate. Just like him, they had arrived there in search of some word as to their loved ones’ fate.

  “Some of them survived the labor camps, and others survived the death camps,” the officer explained to him. “Some have come from hideouts in the woods or the country, people who spent years hiding in ditches and caves.” Then, she added, “Yesterday evening, after the interpreter left, two women came along with six children—four boys and two girls. They said they left Strasshof Camp right after the Russians liberated it and arrived on foot to Vienna. Two of the boys had no father and no mother. Twins. Ten years old, I think. Orphans. Tears your heart apart.”

  “I was at Strasshof this morning,” Janos said to her. “There are still hundreds of people there. It’s a horrific sight. I saw them by the barbed wire. They were barely standing.”

  “The women spoke with a colleague of mine, who knows a little Hungarian,” the officer told him. “They arrived in pretty good condition, relatively speaking. They were dressed fine. They might be sisters. I don’t know. From what I gathered, they spent a week at a DP camp [Displaced Peoples] established by the Joint [Jewish aid organization] near Bratislava. They asked to return to Hungary. They left their details. It’s only in Hungarian. We told them to return the following morning when the interpreter would be back.”