Soldiers crowded in from every nook, cranny and corner. There was chaos at the assembly point. I looked into empty eyes, many here had already given up on life. The equipment consisted of bed sheets that had been turned into snow shirts, hand grenades and handguns. Last words of greeting were spoken, a hand was shaken here, a comrade said goodbye there. When I saw the soldiers there making their final preparations, it dawned on me that I, whose injured foot had already been aching on the way to the assembly point, would hardly be able to keep up with the entire breakthrough. If the breakout itself was already a great risk, I was certainly one of the soldiers most likely to fall by the wayside. With a heavy heart, I decided not to go after all and said goodbye to my comrades. I left the assembly point and walked back towards the cellar house in Uri utca. Today I can no longer describe what feelings I experienced on the way back.
When I arrived at the cellar, I found six of my comrades who had also decided not to take part in the breakout. The mood among us was unimaginably desperate. We wondered what would happen to us now. No one dared to voice their suspicions.
First of all, it got dark. The outbreak began. The thunderous roar of cannons could suddenly be heard from everywhere. The existing tanks drove ahead, lightning flashed and thundered from the cannon barrels, you could hear rifle shots and submachine guns rattling. Hand grenades exploded, smoke and fumes filled the air. The shelling became more and more intense. Flares lit up the scene. Soldiers were now streaming onto the road to the north from all sides. If shells hit nearby, they sought cover in the doorways. Shouts went up, comrades had lost each other. The crowding on the streets became increasingly chaotic.
The first wave of escapees broke through the Russian positions with extremely heavy losses. The resulting pile of corpses lined the streets and squares, marking the direction of the breakout. The flood of people advanced a few hundred metres, but was then prevented from advancing. The tremendous losses discouraged those following behind and the soldiers no longer dared to advance. A state of shock spread.
[It is obvious that Michael Kretz is not giving a first-hand account here – he and his fellow soldiers were holed up in their cellar and heard or perhaps watched some of the events from afar. I am guessing that he, as with most of the account he gives of the breakout in general, is quoting from Krisztián Ungváry’s book Battle for Budapest.]
The soldiers were followed by the civilians, who wanted to stream out of the city in large numbers, including mothers with prams laden with luggage. Their sheer mass clogged up the streets. Russian tanks, themselves almost disorientated in the dark, fired shells indiscriminately into the crowd. Unimaginable scenes unfolded. The shelling wiped out a dozen people at once. Those who followed, now trying to scatter into the neighbouring house entrances, had to step on their remains. After agonisingly long seconds in cover, the people ventured back into the street and the spectacle repeated itself.
This situation continued for several hours, as the outbreak became scattered in places and different groups operated in opposite directions. However, we could hear that most of the fighting was moving away from us and the escapees at least managed to reach the outskirts of the city. Slowly it became quieter, and only after hours, around midnight, did it become completely quiet.
The further course of the breakout eluded me at the time. In retrospect, the breakout of the defenders of Budapest must be regarded as one of the most hopeless endeavours in military history. Today it is said that of the 28,000 soldiers who dared to break out, about 700 reached the main German battle line in the following days. The exact number of casualties among those who did not make it is impossible to determine. For some, the breakthrough was only completed after weeks, even months. Fearing capture, some soldiers even hid in the surrounding woods until spring. Some actually managed to survive that way.
The number of Hungarian soldiers remaining in the city is estimated at around 5000.* Apart from us, it was mainly the seriously wounded who remained in the castle district. A huge underground military hospital had been set up in the tunnel under the castle. Most of the doctors and paramedics had fled in panic with the escapees. The wounded were left to their fate, and there would have been no possibility of taking them along in a breakout anyway. It was well known that the Russians did not expend any energy on caring for the enemy wounded, but rather shot them without further ado. When the wounded realised that their carers had left the field, panic spread through their stinking tunnels and cellar holes. Many wept and thought in agony about the coming morning and the arrival of the Russians. Guns were fired again and again, and many preferred suicide to Russian captivity.
For those of us who stayed behind, the escape of our comrades did not automatically mean Russian occupation. The mass of soldiers left behind, which was difficult for the Russians to estimate, still posed a threat to them. So there were still agonisingly long hours to go before a confrontation with the Russian soldiers would take place. Completely exhausted from the exertions, I fell asleep in the cellar at some point that night. A guard was not posted, which would have been completely pointless in this situation. […]In the meantime, we had slept very restlessly. It was the morning of 12 February 1945 and everything had remained quiet during the night. We hadn’t seen any Russians yet and there was no more battle noise to be heard. We had nothing left to eat. Snow was melted so that we had some water to drink. Some of us set off to rummage through the surrounding ruins for something to eat. […]
Soon hunger forced me outside again to see if there was anything edible to be found. One of my mates went with me. We each had two loaded pistols and covered each other. The law of the jungle ruled. We could hear shouting and scuffling from afar. We approached cautiously and realised that the object of desire was a 50-litre wooden barrel lying next to a German lorry. The barrel contained margarine. About 30 to 40 civilians were fighting over it, none of them were able to carry it away, but everyone wanted it. Tragic scenes unfolded: They hit each other, pulled each other’s hair, beat each other bloody. I held the pistols at the ready and shouted: „Szélyel! – Break it up!“ Everyone stood spellbound: „What happens now?“ I saw their desperate faces and thought about what I could do. Then I ordered young and older men to roll the barrel in front of a house entrance. Then a desperate murmur. But I just said: „Everyone line up in a row!“ Now I could put my pistols away. Opening the barrel was no problem for me as a cooper. An older man approached me, identified himself as a priest and asked if he could help me put things in order. The margarine in the barrel was frozen. I started to distribute it. Larger chunks at first, but then smaller and smaller pieces as the queue grew longer and longer. In the end, I gave the largest portions to the women and children.
Soon the last crumbs were distributed and there was nothing left for my mate and me. Lost in thought, I stood there with my mate for a while. An old woman, who had also been in the queue and had got nothing, came up to us and kissed my hand. She said to me: „I’ve never experienced anything like this in my life. I wish you the best of luck in your life.“ The priest also came to me and said: „I pray for you that you may return home safe and sound!“ Unforgettable emotional moments.
Meanwhile, other comrades from our group were also looking for food and found several packs of wide noodles. What a joy that was. We cooked them in a cleaning bucket in the cellar. Now we finally had something in our stomachs again.
(Michael Kretz: Die Belagerung von Budapest)
* Kretz is referencing the book Battle for Budapest: 100 Days in World War II by Krisztián Ungváry here.
Clarissa Schnabel 