But the order was clear, and he had to go. So he took 14 soldiers he could trust, boarded 3 ABI — laughable light armored military-grade Romanian-made Jeep-looking 4x4 ARO vehicles and off he went, into the night.
Two years previously a Romanian made ARO with a Japanese made engine came in first in the World Famous ParisDakar endurance rally, but it was slow, and noisy and uncomfortable to drive. A car for shepherds, was how it was known and at school everybody made fun of those kids whose fathers had AROs.
This is why, even when I am told, 20 years after that night that one of those three ABIs broke down halfway to its destination, I’m not surprised.
Perhaps the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit were doing their work that night. The five in it had to stay behind and their lives were spared.
But Trosca had to go on to defend his new Minister of Defence, the traitor that he had pulled out of the Army, General Militaru.
It was dark and when they got close to the new and huge ministry building, he started to believe that Militaru was right. Someone was attacking the building, but they weren’t snipers. Coz what he heard was heavy fire, AKM’s and heavier than those.
And then the Ministry came into view and then he knew he was right about Militaru back in ‘78, so he ordered his men to stop and they just watched what was going on, thinking. After 10 minutes of watching he picked up his radio and called Bleort. He didn’t have time to think that all words starting with BLE in Romanian had negative meanings. Like “bleg”, which is weak, or “blenoragie” which was a sexually transmitted disease…
“Sir, allow me to report, sir!” he said.
“Yes”, Bleort said eagerly.
“Here at the Ministry there is a motorcade of 7 or 8 Army TABs, two trucks full of army soldiers, two AROs and they have all been shooting their guns at the ministry for ten minutes and now they have stopped to reload.”
“Whhhhaaaaat?” At the other side of the city, Bleort suddenly stood up. He was a spy, too, and he smelled treason. “No way!” he yelled to his man.
“That’s the truth!” replied Trosca.
“At the Ministry, you say?”, Bleort went again, sweating… “They have been shooting at the National Ministry of Defense and now they have stopped, roger that, sir.” “And now they’ve stopped?” Bleort asked nervously. “Yes, they have, sir!”, Trosca replied.
“Well, stop your vehicles by the last tank defending the Ministry and call us back so we can contact the ministry”, ordered Bleort, with the feeling that that was the last order he would ever give Trosca.
“Roger that, sir”, was the reply, and the two ABIs were already advancing until they stopped, as they were told, by a tank that had turned off its lights. Moments later everybody was shooting at them.
Like millions of Romanians, that night I was watching the Revolution live with my family. After so many years of seldom being used, the TV had become the most important member of our family. Crying or shouting the TV was like a baby that had to be watched 24 hours a day.
When one of us went downstairs to take a shower or use the toilet or to get a piece of fruitcake, he or she would ask, for the first time in Romania’s history, “what happened while I was away?” But we were told only the things that we were allowed to watch, not everything.
We were told that the Army had become a target of the terrorists. After the bloody repression that the Army had taken part in in Timişoara and Bucharest, the Army was now fighting for the people and not against them. But we never imagined that the Army was fighting the Army. There weren’t enough dead bodies. Enough for who? Even now I wish I knew for sure… Three survivors of that night are still looking for the same answer.
Back in 1989 inside their ABI two men were killed instantly by heavy machine guns. Those bullets 20 or so centimeters long left one of them without the lower part of his face. The hole left, opened widely to expose the throat and the terror in his eyes replaced the scream that would come only as a spray of blood from his lungs. And it stayed open as the others started to hide behind his body, on the floor of that ABI.
“They’re shooting at us!” Trosca yelled in the radio. The shooting continued and there was no response. After another minute, there were 4 dead and another six hiding for their lives inside or under the ABIs. Nobody dared to move. They knew they would be seen. The soldiers shooting at them were on higher ground…
“Trosca, report. Are you still there?”
The calm voice of Colonel Bleort came from the heavy radio Trosca was holding.
“Yes, sir! We have four casualties. Sir! What’s happening?” I had the ministry on the phone. They said you need to confirm you’re Trosca and his men and not terrorists. Shoot three florescent green flares into the sky! Three! You get that? They will respond with more flares and then you’ll be safe!” “Roger, sir!”.
Trosca didn’t need to give the order because his men had heard the conversation. Suddenly there was silence. The army soldiers shooting at them stopped. Three similar florescent green flares went up in the black winter sky. The same flares were shot by officers on New Year’s Eve with “borrowed” pistols, since the communist government didn’t organize firework displays. They had to celebrate with their families somehow.
Then the flares started to come down. Lower, lower and Trosca and his remaining 5 men looked towards the positions near the ministry. There was complete silence. Only their heartbeats and the blood dripping from the two ABIs made any sound.
Three bangs, and similar flares started to climb into the sky above the menacing TAB’s. They were happy. Maybe happier than they were on New Year’s.
Two of them got to their feet and started to wave. Boom, boom, boom, boom.
The nearest TAB’s heavy machine gun ripped huge holes through their bodies. Other smaller guns started to rattle and the four survivors responded with fire. Only three of them saw morning alive. Trosca was the last to die that night and after Bleort got the news and screamed again on the phone at someone inside the Ministry, the shooting stopped and didn’t start again.
At that time I was already asleep, despite the fact that my father stayed to watch the revolution from the same armchair where we put Vasile when we mended his gunshot wound. He feared the communists would gain control again. The news was that after they had attacked the Airport in the morning they attacked the Ministry of Defense and were still attacking it as the news came in. A civil war would be even worse than the Russians he thought, before falling asleep where he sat.
He didn’t realize that everything was a joke, a sinister joke. The communists already had taken over, the day before, just after Ceauşescu fled in his white helicopter. Iliescu and his band were about to plunge the country into despair. The whole wave of sympathy that Romania received from Europe was about to be washed away by the new power that wanted power more than they wanted prosperity and democracy for the people. The terrorists that were attacking the Minsitry of Defense were not terrorists but USLA soldiers. The elite troups called to defend the building. Maybe they were people my father served with in the Alpen Corps, from which USLA professionals were recruited, maybe, nobody knows.
Only twenty years later did people start to speak about that night, and they say that Bleort called the ministry four times. The first time to tell them that Trosca and 14 of his men were going to come to help with the terrorist sweep. The second time he called to ask them to cease fire. The third time to say he would fuck them all because they were just a bunch of criminals and, the last time to say the same thing, and something more because he had learned that Trosca had been killed.