When they were gone, he picked up the telephone. “Put me through to the Defense Secretariat. I want to speak with Guichy himself.”
Hungary’s ousted rulers had failed him once. A second failure would not surprise him at all.
Colonel Zoltan Hradetsky watched the green-and-brown-painted helicopter gunships orbiting the city like prowling beasts. His eyes narrowed.
Three days after the rebellion broke out, Budapest had begun returning to normal. Most of the fires were out. Power and routine government operations — mail and telephone service, and the like — were all being restored at a rapid pace. Businesses, at least those owned by Hungarians, were reopening. After all the confusion and violence, the capital’s inhabitants were ready to get back to their lives.
The respite, however, was unlikely to last for very much longer.
The army was outside the city.
Armored vehicles blocked every road — deployed in platoon-sized outposts. Their parent units, three brigades of the I Combined Arms Corps, were dug in out of sight in the western hills above Budapest. So far, they’d rebuffed every peaceful overture and appeal made by the provisional government.
Hradetsky knew the forces arrayed outside the city could easily smash through their hastily organized defenses. Lightly armed policemen, troops from an artillery brigade that had defected earlier, and a surface-to-air missile battery from the capital’s air defense force were no match for tanks and trained infantry.
If the army had truly decided to move against its own citizens, Hungary’s new democratic experiment was doomed.
The command post followed the dictates of the army manual, right down to the height of the poles supporting its camouflage netting. It was dug into the military crest of a hill overlooking the city. The camouflage netting and cut foliage were there to conceal it from the air. Of course, with the air force still sitting on the fence, the rebels didn’t have any combat aircraft, but that was beside the point.
Lieutenant General Emil Lakos, commander of I Corps, had arrived by helicopter half an hour before dawn. He was a round-faced, black-haired man of average build — blessed or cursed with boundless energy and a martinet’s eye for detail. Since arriving he’d made his presence felt throughout the compound. At any moment he might materialize behind a staff officer or clerk, outwardly affable, but quick to spot any flaw. He was a stickler for correct procedure.
For what was supposed to be a forward position, the headquarters complex was elaborate. It included a radio command center, an artillery observer’s position, bunkers for the aircraft and special weapons coordinators, as well as quarters for all the staff and bombproofs in case of attack by “the enemy.”
The forward-most dugout served as the artillery observer’s position. With overhead cover for shade and concealment, Lakos found it a pleasant place from which to make war.
From it he could see the outskirts of the city, with the rest fading onto the haze beyond. The silver ribbon of the Danube River cut through the city from left to right.
He and his corps artillery commander occupied a considerable amount of space, cramping the forward observer and his two assistants, but Lakos wanted to review his bombardment plans here, with the city in full view.
His voice, even in the open-sided dugout, seemed to boom. “The rebel guns are their only force of any significance. I want them hammered and hammered hard before we send the assault force in. I also want that damned SAM battery suppressed so our gunships can operate freely.”
Lakos tapped several spots on a map of Budapest. “Since we know where their batteries are sited, I expect you to pour counterbattery fire onto their positions during the first phase. A mix of airburst and point-detonating rounds should do the job nicely.”
Colonel Kemeny, the corps artillery commander, was an experienced gunner. He was taller and darker than Lakos, and younger by ten years. He also did not share his superior’s carefree attitude toward throwing massive firepower into populated areas.
“General, the rebels have extremely limited combat power. Their ammo stocks are low, and without a fire direction net, even their guns will have to depend on untrained observers.” Lakos seemed unimpressed, and started to respond, but the colonel risked interrupting him to make one more point. “Their fields of fire will be extremely limited by buildings along the shells’ trajectory. We can plot the dead ground and use it for our attacks. And once our troops are inside the city, they’ll quickly be inside minimum range — ”
“Colonel.” Lakos cut him off abruptly. “I do not want any gun, even at reduced effectiveness, left intact to menace my men. I do not intend to commit troops to the attack until after the defenders are completely suppressed by artillery and gunships.”
Kemeny tried one more time. “Sir, the barrage you ask for will cause many civilian deaths. It will wreck the city. Think of the damage even one errant shell would inflict on St. Stephen’s or the Roman ruins. In my professional opinion, the police troops entrenched along the outskirts represent a bigger threat, but even they are no match for our forces. If we lay a mixture of smoke and — ”
Lakos’ face turned hard and remote, his words sharper. “Colonel! If you say one more word, I will have you relieved.” The general’s hand rested on his sidearm, and his chief of staff, hovering in the background with two enlisted escorts, took one step forward.
Kemeny stopped speaking, fighting to control himself.
Lakos pressed his point. “I understand your arguments, but I want these rebels obliterated and quickly. The government is depending on me to restore order here, and I cannot do it without absolute obedience from all in this command.
“A long fight in the city will give the rebels time they do not deserve. When we enter Budapest, it should be as conquerors, not combatants. Now, do I have your word as an officer that you will obey my orders?”
Kemeny swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s get on with it. No more delays, Colonel. You will open fire in one hour.”
“Sir.”
Lakos glared at him for a moment longer, then nodded, apparently satisfied that he had quenched the colonel’s momentary spark of mutiny. He turned away and left the dugout, heading for the communications tent to report back to Bruk and the others waiting in Paris.
Behind him Kemeny shook his head in disbelief. He gazed toward the city’s graceful skyline and then down at the fire plot he still held in his hands. With more than one hundred artillery pieces under his command, the day-long pounding Lakos envisioned would leave much of Budapest in burning ruins. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of innocents would be killed. Their deaths would be on his conscience, their blood on his hands. He shivered.
The colonel looked up and found the forward observer and his assistants staring back at him. Something in their carefully blank faces unnerved him. “Listen carefully, Captain. You will not call for any fire without a direct order from me. Only from me, understand?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
Kemeny folded the artillery fire plan and slid it into his pocket. He had a few critical and dangerous visits to make in the next hour.
Lieutenant General Emil Lakos sat in his tent, meticulously scrutinizing details of the assault plan before presenting them in a final briefing to his tank and motor rifle commanders.
He was still working when he heard diesel engines rumbling in the distance. The sound was familiar, armored vehicles repositioning most likely, but the noise grew louder and louder.