The Fox of '56

Deception Lurks in the War-Torn Streets of Budapest

In 1956 as Hungarians mount their revolution against the Soviets, CIA agent Henry Caldwell is sent to Budapest to monitor activities. But when he sees Katalin, the love of his love who disappeared four years ago, he’s confused. Through the war-torn streets, Henry finds himself in a deadly game of cat-and-mouse where trust is scarce and survival uncertain.

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Chapter 18

Far as I could tell, the little used airfield didn’t keep Soviet soldiers on duty, or else they were tucked out of sight. The only Soviets I saw were the pilot and Orlov. The plane’s propellers spun furiously as if anxious to leave the gravity of Hungary. Off to my left, Orlov shoved Kat and Dr. Vadas across the tarmac toward the plane, the pistol in his hand aimed at Kat’s back. A chilly November wind held the remote airfield’s windsock at a full horizontal level.

Since I hadn’t been trained in full agent survival and defensive tactics, I was literally on my own. I had to stop Orlov here. I couldn’t bear the thought of him taking flight with Kat and Dr. Vadas. If he were successful, I knew I’d never see them again.

I cursed out loud. Between the truck engine and the wind, no one heard me. This was going to be one of those spur of the moment decisions that changed lives. How they would change would be up to fate, or the angels, or even God, perhaps. I hoped they were paying attention.

Without any more overthinking, I gunned the engine of the big diesel lorry and barreled the big truck toward the plane.

I felt stuck, as if locked in a frozen tick of time, as if the world had stalled in slow motion…

…The pilot stared at me. His eyes wide. I recognized him. He was Orlov’s beefy driver I had spied in the alley behind the Gresham Hotel…

…Orlov stopped in his tracks, mouth open in surprise…

…Kat and Dr. Vadas did the same…

…And I barreled my heavy truck forward aiming at the plane’s propellers.

Orlov fired his pistol at me, the bullet glancing off the side door.

The pilot opened his side window and fired at me with a small pistol. His bullet bunking into the hood with no effect. The both fired again. Wild shots but getting closer to my windshield and me.

I shoved the gas pedal to the floor and when I drew to within ten feet of the front of the plane and the propeller, I braked and swerved. The motion forced the truck’s back end under the plane’s nose. At the moment of impact, the propeller tips caught the roof of my cab and splintered.

I leaped out of the truck and yelled at Kat and Dr. Vadas to run. I returned fire on Orlov, who retreated to cover in the curved roof hangar. A look of disdain and defeat crossed his eyes when he realized I had ruined his plane and his escape plans.

I turned back to check on the pilot. One of the propeller blades must have shattered during the impact. It broke off into shards, one of which pierced the plane’s front windows. The section of blade was sharp as a spear and it impaled the driver against his cockpit seat. I turned away and forced myself not to vomit.

I waved Kat and Dr. Vadas to my truck. They clambered in. I roared the truck’s big engine and spun away from the disabled plane and hangar.

Orlov appeared in my rearview mirror, running after us, firing his pistol. I braked.

“What are you doing?” Kat said. “Please go. He will kill us.”

But I didn’t listen. I steered hard turning the truck to my right. Orlov must have sensed my intentions as he raced toward his sedan. I raced my truck toward this sedan also. He fired on us as he ran but his shots went wild.

“Brace yourselves,” I said to Kat and Dr. Vadas.

I crashed the front end of the truck into the sedan’s side so hard, the car skidded sideways and tipped up off its wheels. I gunned the engine again and like a bulldozer pushed Orlov’s sedan over. The grind and crash of metal and glass filled the air. Orlov shielded his eyes with his arm.

I backed my indestructible truck away, rolled down my window and fired at Orlov. He ducked behind his car. I didn’t wait for return fire. I turned left and raced my stolen behemoth down the tarmac and back toward the main road.

The three of us let out a collective sigh. Kat hugged me as I drove and Dr. Vadas giggled in glee. But I didn’t think we were safe yet. Our sighs were short-lived.

Off in the distance, across the flat plains, we noticed a line of fast-moving heavy tanks and trucks presumably carrying soldiers rumbling toward the center of Budapest. The sound reminded me of a coming thunderstorm. Peter, the young boy who had helped us spy on Orlov, was right. The Soviets were returning to Budapest with larger forces to crush the rebellion.

Kat and Dr. Vadas stared out the window at the passing scenery and the oncoming wave after wave of men and machinery made for war.

Kat gripped my arm and cried softly, “Oh, no.”

When Dr. Vadas turned toward me, his eyes dripped with tears. “The Soviets will destroy Budapest in blind revenge. All is lost.”