27–28 March 1945
I had a bad feeling about home. The Russians had most likely occupied my little village around that time. On the 31st I wanted to go to Péterhegy with my comrade, Corporal József Budiás, by motorcycle from Magyarszombatfa, but we could only get as far as Bajánsenye, because in the next village, Dávidháza, there were Russians. We ran out of fuel along the way — my motorcycle still had half a litre, but my comrade's was completely empty. We couldn't get any in Bajánsenye either, so we had no choice but to turn back to Magyarszombatfa. He tied his motorcycle to the back of a cart; I was still able to ride mine back. We returned on the 31st at 4 in the afternoon. There I met a young man from N.Gulács who had already come back from captivity; he knew Anti well but said he hadn't been with them. That made me certain Anti had stayed home. Just as I arrived, I had a blowout and ran out of fuel too. I was in a very uncomfortable situation. Evening came and we looked for lodging; a barn took us in. There were many airmen there with vehicles, and we thought we might get a little fuel from them to move on. Sadly, they only gave some at the very last moment, when it was no use to us anymore. We woke up to Easter Sunday. We went to find something for breakfast and got coffee, later a little meat. Then we drank 3 litres of wine, for which we paid 100 pengős. Meanwhile the alarm came — we scrambled — the motorcycles were filled with fuel, which we finally got. But beforehand, after breakfast, I had fixed the wheel, so we were ready to go. We only got a little bread for the road and had nothing else either. When we were about to set off, the Russians were already at the edge of the village. So what now? They came with armoured vehicles. Well, never mind — we'll try, maybe they'll let us through at least a little way. But that didn't work out, because the moment they spotted our motorcycles, they took them immediately and said "Pashol." So the motorcyclists became foot soldiers once again. And now the suffering began. From 2 in the afternoon we marched all night and the following day along the same road we had come by. Along the way we each got a bite of bread and drank water. But there were already some 2,000 of us marching. There were carts too. The long and short of it is that the bread ran out very quickly, and yet we kept marching — and as of now I am in a small village called Ságod near Egerszeg, where I have arrived at a prisoner-of-war camp.