Call To Arms

Chapter 1

The evening of March 15, 1944 was a chilly one. The weather had been great all afternoon long, especially for the time of the year. You'd see people relaxing in the park and drinking coffee on the café terraces. All the while, traditional melodies of gypsy orchestras echoed through the streets and crowded alleyways. An impenetrable joy ruled in Budapest which was amplified by the chitter chatter of all its inhabitants. Unfortunately, as the sun went down, so did the temperature.

I was walking down Nagymezö street with Ivan Danielson, my chief and head of the Swedish legation, and above all a good friend of mine. He was a man very keen for his age - he had just entered his sixties. His head bald, carrying merely some thin strands of white hair, though his demeanor one of youthful elegance. His suit was always straightened and spotlessly clean, and adorned a little red bowtie.

Around us, the streets emptied. Businessmen and laborers went home to their families and vendors packed up the last of their merchandise.

"Rumors have it that Horthy is going to announce Hungary's surrender to the western allies upcoming Monday" Danielsson stated, an amused grin appearing on his face.

Hungary was still on the German side at the time, but it was publicly known that the head of state, Miklós Horthy, and prime minister Miklós Kallay had a dream of teaming up with the western allies.

Regardless of the fact that neither of them carried any warm feelings towards the Jewish inhabitants, they had been very open about the fact that they wanted to extract themselves from the deportations and other cruelties as executed by the Germans. What's more was that Kallay had publicly talked about how Hungary had been forced into the war by Germany, very much to the disliking of Hitler.

Secret negotiations had already been made with America and England; on one given day the western allies would enter Hungary and subsequently, Horthy would surrender, pretend to be struck by the fact that the western allies had barged into the country. It would create an ideal situation; Hungary would no longer be an ally of Germany, but neither would Germany suspect treason.

We would soon learn nothing could be further from the truth.

"And all the while Germany has no clue of these secret happenings?" I asked suspiciously. "I don't believe any of it".

"Could be, Hitler's been so occupied with everything. Something like this could easily pass him by. Or maybe it doesn't and he just doesn't care. The Germans are losing the war, Per, he has bigger things to worry about."

"Bigger things than Hungary conspiring with the enemy? Something like that doesn't pass him. Besides, I've heard other rumors about the Allies."

"Is it anything good?" he asked carefully, a worried expression gleaming across his face. "You decide" I chuckled as I buttoned up my overcoat. It was really getting colder now. "Apparently, Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill held a conference in Tehran last November. They've been discussing some strategies against Nazi-Germany." I lowered my voice as a few people passed us. "Wait, you say Stalin was there?" Danielsson remarked. I nodded at this. "First time since the war started. It's said he got offered a deal so he wouldn't lose his interests in negotiating with the allies".

"A deal in the shape of...?" he asked.

"A deal in the shape of eastern Europe will be the Red Army's territory of operations. The western allies take care of the west only."

He let out a heavy sigh. "Bad news".

Now, this might not seem like the worst case scenario, since everybody just wanted the war to be over as soon as possible – even in Hungary, where Germany's reign of terror hadn't yet struck its inhabitants.

Truth was, the Eastern countries weren't all too fond of the communist Russians either.

"So Horthy is out there negotiating Hungary's surrender to the western allies, while the western allies don't have any saying in their fate" Danielsson stated.

"Sheer bluff" I clarified. "The allies know damned well Hungary's fate is in the hands of the Russians, not theirs. They're keeping them dangling" I shook my head in discontent.

"Horthy and Kallay, have they gotten word of it yet?" Danielsson asked as we took a turn into Dalszínház street, the big opera house now appearing in front of us. Tonight was the grand premiere of the new patriotic opera 'Petöfi'. The square was already filled with people eager to get inside and view the masterpiece, the climax of the national Hungarian holiday.

"Not that I'm aware of. They'll find out soon enough I assume." I replied, scanning the many faces that were already present. "Speaking of Horthy, there he is" I pointed at the man standing in the back of the square. His face held a grim expression, one of grief – or maybe it was tiredness. Next to Horthy stood his wife, Magdolna, whose smile seemed to be forced and insincere. "I think it's their first public appearance since Istvan died" Danielsson whispered to me. I nodded in agreement. Istvan was their oldest son and the deputy regent of Hungary. About two years ago, he had died in a flying accident. Horthy and Magdolna hadn't been seen in public since.

Almost directly next to them stood a man, about 1,69 meters tall. A pair of spectacles dangled on the tip of his nose. As if suddenly aware of this, he pushed them back in a securer position. His eyes were scanning the square with an eager interest, taking in his surroundings and the people in it. For a short moment our eyes seemed to meet, though I could easily have been mistaken.

"Let's get inside, the opera is about to start" I said, taking my eyes off the man. Danielsson nodded to this and we both stepped through the vast, wooden door. Behind us, the many other attendants followed.

The entrance hall was grand, luxurious and exactly what you'd expect from a building made during the industrial revolution. Massive pillars stood prominently in a row, supporting the ceiling that was covered in renaissance paintings and decorative tiles. A Bordeaux red carpet elegantly draped down the big stairs.

We followed the mass of people upstairs to the theatre itself. At nine pm precisely, the lights went down and the velvety voices of the opera singers echoed through the room. The masterpiece was a tribute to the life of Sándor Petöfi, Hungary's national poet and one of the key figures during the Hungarian Revolution. The whole performance screamed nationalism of the greatest proportion.

An unconscious feeling told me this was yet another one of Horthy's subtle acts of resistance against the Germans.

After the end of one of the acts, the lights went on and lit up the many people in the theater. A tap on my shoulder made me turn around. Behind me sat the man I had spotted earlier on. He bended forward, coming closer to my face. "Per Anger, right?" he asked, reaching out his hand for me to shake.

"Member of the Swedish legation in Budapest" I added. He nodded slowly, and a dark grin captured his face. He chuckled amusingly, studying my face. After a short moment his smile faded back into a cold, steal look. "I just got word..." he started, looking around slyly to make sure nobody was listening in on us. "Horthy got a message from the Fuhrer, a pretty important one it seemed". I frowned at him, trying to uncover what he was getting at and why he was confiding me with such information. "A good or a bad message?" I asked, to which he shrugged.

"Time will tell".

As I opened my mouth to say something, the man – whose name was still unknown to me – brought his finger up to his lips as a gesture to silence me and with that, the lights went off and the high-pitched voices once again filled the room. The atmosphere, however, had changed entirely for me; tense and uncertain, as a grim prelude of all that was yet to come.