by Neil Maresca
But there was a priest! A large, burly priest in his distinctive black cassock and white collar, and next to the priest, almost shielded by him, stood an attractive, well-dressed woman, and between the woman and the priest, barely visible through the folds of their clothing, was Lukas.
László was ecstatic. He could barely contain himself. He ran down the steps, across the street and into a wall of people all trying to get to the platform, all hoping to escape Budapest before all hell broke loose. His excitement turned to panic. They were there, on the platform, but he couldn’t reach them. He tried to push his way through, but the crowd was unyielding. Then a train whistle blew, and the entire crowd surged forward.
Sasha and Lukas were exhausted. They had been up since before dawn and on their feet for hours without any nourishment other than a few sips of water from a flask that Sasha had the foresight to pack. She had food too, but she knew she had to save it for the ride to Zagreb which was long, even without delays, which were frequent. The crowd had continued to grow during the morning, and it wasn’t before long that their ‘territory’ had been reduced to a few square feet. They were trapped on the platform. They could go neither forward nor backward. In one way, this was good. The people surrounding them, convinced that they had a privileged spot, were determined not to give an inch; consequently, they served as a security buffer every bit as efficient as the Arrow Cross might have been, and while it was true that the three fugitives couldn’t move, neither could anyone get through to harm them.
The crowd, while tightly packed on the platform, had been generally polite—until they heard the whistle of the oncoming train, at which point they surged forward with such force that several people were sent toppling onto the tracks accompanied by the screams of terrified family members. Only the sheer physical strength and brawn of Father Márton prevented Sasha and Lukas, who were nearest the tracks, from being thrown over.
A German staff car and truckload of infantry appeared at the station entrance just as the train entered the station, causing even more panic among the crowd, who now feared for their lives. Those who didn’t want to be seen by the Gestapo were the first to leave, but soon, most of the crowd, which only moments before had been surging toward the tracks, now turned and fled what they feared was going to be a massacre.
The soldiers formed a phalanx around a pair of officers and drove a wedge through the crowd. László, still determined to fulfill his mission, fell in behind the soldiers, who, intent upon clearing the path in front of them, paid no attention to what might be happening behind them; and In this way, he found himself only a few feet away when the German officers came face to face with Sasha, Lukas and Father Márton, who happened to be standing exactly where the doors to the first class carriage opened.
The senior officer, a slim, dignified man bearing the insignia of Brigadeführer und Generalmajor der Waffen-SS, smiled pleasantly at Sasha, bowed slightly and asked how he could be of assistance.
“How kind of you, General,” Sasha responded, returning his smile with one of her own. ‘My son Lukas and I are traveling to Zagreb in the company and under the protection of my confessor, Father Márton—or at least we are attempting to. As you can see, there is quite a throng.”
“I had no idea so many people in Budapest had relatives in Zagreb,” the officer answered with a grin. “But surely, you will allow me to offer assistance? That is, if your confessor has no objection?”
Father Márton nodded his assent, and the Brigadeführer extended his hand to Sasha, who accepted it with a gracious smile and stepped up into the carriage, followed by Lukas, Father Márton, and several of the German soldiers.
László watched all of this with increasing frustration and anger. From his spot behind the German security guard, he was close enough to hear every word, see every gesture. There was no doubt he could kill the priest, who stood in clear view, a little aside from the German officer and Sasha. The boy, however, was hidden between the priest and Sasha, who was also partially screened by the officer. His chance of success; that is, of killing all three, was slim, while his chance of survival, given the presence of the platoon of well-armed SS troopers, was nil. Reluctantly, as Sasha and the others stepped forward onto the train, László crept backwards, out of the station and into the street.
Chapter 15
May 1944
The Zagreb Express
Budapest to Zagreb, Croatia
After boarding the train, Sasha and her party turned to the right, into the first-class compartment, while The German officer and his security contingent turned left into three specially-designed cars that had been attached to the front of the train.
The train pulled away from the station, leaving a few hundred would-be evacuees in its wake like the detritus of a receding tide. A month ago, even a few days earlier, Lukas would have viewed the whole thing as a great adventure, but recent events had changed his perspective on life. Although he was still only 10 years old, he felt much older. A trip to the seashore no longer held any appeal for him. It was as if all the joy had been sucked out of life, and he saw himself in the forlorn faces of those left behind at the station.
His gloom was understandable given the murder of his father and the early-morning secretive flight from home—a home that he had no reason to believe he would ever see again. Even a 10 year old could tell that the war was going badly for the Germans. The Russians were coming from the East—that was no longer a rumor. It was reality, and even though he did not completely comprehend all the implications of a Russian takeover, he had seen and experienced enough to know that there was no life for him and his mother under the communists. And he shared his parents’ dislike for both the Nazis and the Arrow Cross. At first, he didn’t understand why his mother was being so nice to the SS officer, but when he spied László lurking in the crowd, he understood. They weren’t safe. László was not going to stop until they were all dead. They needed protection and the German could provide it. Still, he didn’t like Nazis, and he didn’t trust this officer. But he was learning valuable lessons about surviving in a dangerous world.
After the train had cleared the city limits, everyone relaxed as they watched the small villages and farms of the countryside passing slowly by outside their windows. Lukas had almost dozed off when he heard a gentle tapping at the compartment door. His mother, who had dropped off to sleep, jumped, startled by the sound. Outside the door was a waiter carrying a heavy silver ray, laden with food. Father Márton admitted the man and helped him set the tray on the folding table. Once everything was in order, the young officer, who had accompanied the senior officer, and was obviously his aide-de-camp explained that the food was courtesy of Brigadeführer Rudolf Von Piehl who hoped that once the Countess was refreshed, she could join him for coffee in his compartment. He quickly added that “The good Father is welcome as well, if the Countess feels that would be necessary.” Sasha thanked the aide for the Brigadeführer’s generosity and replied that “Of course, she would be delighted to join him for coffee.”
“He knows who you are,” Father Márton said after the aide had left.
“He’s an SS Major General,” Sasha replied. “I’m sure he knows all about us.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
After a discreet amount of time, Sasha rose and went forward to the first of the three special cars, where she found her way blocked by an SS sergeant.
“Please tell the Brigadeführer that the Countess Alexandra Károlyi de NagyKárolyi is waiting for her coffee.”
The sergeant left, and returned a moment later with word that she was expected.
She walked behind the sergeant into the first car in which a half-dozen SS troopers slept or played cards. She waited patiently as the sergeant gently tapped on the door of the second car, which was opened by the aide who had delivered the food a short time before. She stepped into the car as the Brigadeführer rose from behind a desk which occupied the back corner of the room. Across from the d
esk was a small dining table, set for two, and in front of the desk and table, taking up the entire front half of the car was a couch, several chairs and coffee table. There was a door at the rear of the car, which, Sasha assumed, led to a bedroom.
‘Countess,” the Brigadeführer Rudolf Von Piehl said, “first let me express my sincere condolences on the unfortunate death of your husband, the Count. It must have been a terrible shock.”
He said this as he took her hand in both of his and stared into her eyes as if trying to see into her soul.
“Thank you, General,” she replied softly, her eyes filling with tears as she spoke. “It was indeed a terrible shock, especially for my son Lukas, who was witness to the entire event.”
While they were speaking, the aide moved the coffee service from the dining table to the small table fronting the couch. Von Piehl motioned for Sasha to sit, which she did, but not on the couch, choosing one of the side chairs instead. “Do you know who the assassin is?” he asked. “My sources say it was a communist.”
“It was László Farkas,” Sasha replied, “a trusted servant who had been in our service all his life, as had his father before him and his father before that. It is safe to say that we did not expect such a betrayal from such a man. My husband always thought highly of him and treated him well, elevating him to the highest station in the household. I have no idea if Fargas was, or is, a communist, but I confess I can conceive of no other reason for his actions other than to think the man’s mind was turned by those fanatics. We all know what they think of the nobility, and what they are capable of.”
“What you say confirms our suspicions, Countess, and sets my mind at ease as well.”
“Sets your mind at ease? I do not understand.”
“When I saw you at the station, dressed as you are, with only a few bags, I thought perhaps you blamed us for your husband’s death, and that you might have some reason to fear us. I was surprised that you did not turn to us for help. It was…suspicious.”
“General, may I speak frankly?”
“Of course, Countess.”
“All the world fears the might of Germany, and none is mightier or more fearsome than the SS, so you will forgive me if I confess to being in—for lack of a better word—fear of you. However, do not think that either I or my husband had any reason other than that to fear Germany, or to think that the SS would wish us any harm.”
The General started to speak, but Sasha motioned him to hold his thoughts as she continued.
“I am aware that my husband was not held in high regard by the SS because of his status in the University and the association that he had with other intellectuals, many of whom were Jews. You are concerned because he did not denounce them as so many of his fellow academics did. I have heard the insults, ‘Jew lover’ and worse. Even my own brother-in-law used such terms to describe Milán, and only offered me and Lukas his protection out of respect for his dead wife, my sister.”
“You must admit, my dear Countess, his behavior was…suspicious.”
“You were watching him?”
“We watch everybody, Countess.”
“And what did you see?”
“Nothing, Countess, nothing.”
“I will tell you about my husband, General, although what I have to say, you probably already know. He loved books. He lived in a world of ideas. Do you know he read Nietzsche? And Mein Kampf? He respected all thought, and that is why he was so respected among intellectuals. But he was also a patriot. At the battle of Limanova in 1914, he led a hussar charge that routed the Russian 3rd army. He was awarded medals by the Archduke Joseph Ferdinand, but he had seen enough of bloodshed. He wanted no more. He posed no threat to the Reich. All he craved was to be left alone to read, to learn, and to teach. You know all this because the Von Piehl’s are an old, respected, noble family, and one of your relatives—I believe it was an uncle, was at Limanova with the German 47th Division.”
General Von Piehl allowed himself a smile. “Shall we have our coffee Countess, before it gets cold?”
“Although he rarely spoke of his experiences in the Great War,” Sasha continued, “Milán kept up correspondence with many of his old comrades-in-arms. Among the names I often saw on letterhead was a Baron Frederick Von Piehl.”
“And you think that because my uncle and your husband fought at Limanova, I would overlook your husband’s Jewish sympathies?”
“I already told you, he had no such sympathies, and if you believed he did, you would have had him arrested long ago.”
“You are right of course, Countess, but you still haven’t explained why, if you have nothing to hide, you are sneaking away with only a priest to assist you.”
“But I do have something to hide general.”
“And what would that be, Countess?”
“My son. After the servant killed my husband, he turned his weapon on my son. If it hadn’t been for Father Márton, my son and I would be dead and buried alongside my husband.”
“I am not surprised. Your confessor looks more like a storm trooper than a priest. But you had your brother-in-law’s protection as well as that of the Third Reich, if you wanted it…and yet you choose to sneak out like a common thief in the middle of the night.”
“General,” Sasha laughed, “You are like a hound on the scent. I see that you will not be satisfied until I have told you everything. First of all, it was not the middle of the night; it was early morning.”
“I apologize for my error Countess. Please continue.”
“Very well. My brother-in-law Mikhail’s offer of protection was only half-hearted, and the Arrow Cross guards assigned to us were buffoons. They were drunk half the time, and in truth, I felt I had as much to fear from them as I did from the communists. In addition, we were not welcome in Mikhail’s house, which meant we must stay at 45 Andrássey Út, in the very house where my husband was killed, where the blood stains remain on the spot where my son saw his father gunned down. As for the Third Reich…to whom would I appeal? As you have said, my husband, while not an enemy, was not a favorite. No one from the SS came forward with condolences, nor any offer of help. What help could I expect from the Reich? Who cares what happens to one widow and her son in a world full of widows and orphans?”
Sasha took out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes which were filling with tears. “I had to get away, General, away from the house, the memories, out of Budapest, and hopefully out of danger as well. I had to do something to save my son.”
“Of course, Countess, you are right. Your situation in Budapest was insufferable. I should have seen that. And, you are also right about the Reich. Your husband was not held in high regard. I am ashamed to admit it, but your husband’s death was barely noticed among the general staff.” And, taking the Countess’ hand in his, said with all apparent sincerity, “I hope you will let me make some amends for the poor treatment you have so far received, and accept my offer of protection for as long as we are both in Zagreb.”
Sasha, looking directly into the General’s eyes, said with equally apparent sincerity, “Thank you General. Of course I will accept your protection.”
“You are staying at…”
“The Grand Excelsior.”
“I will have a man posted in the lobby at all times.”
“Thank you. That is very kind of you. I am sure I will rest easier, knowing that he is there.”
“There is a reception in two days’ time at the Imperial Residence. Can I count on seeing you there?”
“I have not received an invitation.”
“That’s no problem. You can go as my guest.”
“I’d be delighted.”
“In two days then.”
“Yes, two days.”
Lukas was fast asleep by the time Sasha returned from her meeting with Major General Von Piehl. Father Márton, who had been sitting across from Lukas with his huge hands folded over his breviary and his eyes closed, snapped upright at the sound of Sasha’s approach.
> ‘Don’t tell me I caught you sleeping on duty, Father,” Sasha chided.
“A light and troubled sleep, Countess. You were gone a long time. I was worried about you. A little longer and I would have had to go after you.”
“You would have had to get through a half-dozen SS troopers first.”
“Only a half-dozen? It would have required at least twice that to stop me from rescuing you.”
“Fortunately, I did not need rescuing—at least not yet.”
“The Brigadeführer accepted whatever it was you told him?”
“I told him the truth, or at least a version of it.”
“Are you in need of confession, Countess?” This time it was Father Márton’s turn to tease Sasha.
“No father, I do not need absolution. I believe it is no sin to deceive the devil. However, it is a sin to make a pact with the Devil, and I have come perilously close to doing that.”
“Perhaps you should explain.”
“We are under the General’s protection for the time being.”
“And what does the devil want in return for his protection?”
“Father Márton, please don’t tell me you are so other-worldly that you do not know what the General wants in return!”
“Other-worldly is not a term that has ever been applied to me Countess. I assumed as much, and I also assume you have agreed to this devil’s bargain, but have no intention of honoring it. Isn’t that so?”
“Exactly.”
“Does he know of our plans to go to Opatjia?”
“No.”
“How much time do we have before you will have to honor your debt?”
“Two days.”
“Then it will be a very busy two days.”
Chapter 16
May, 1944
Zagrebački Glavni Kolodvor
Zagreb, Croatia
The Budapest train chugged into the deserted Zagreb railway station in the pre-dawn darkness, came to rest at the end of the platform like an exhausted marathon runner, and exhaled a huge cloud of steam out of which stepped a half-dozen SS troopers, the Brigadeführer und Generalmajor der Waffen-SS Rudolf Von Piehl, and his young aide-de-camp.
