Lucza Béla
Born 23 September 1936, Debrecen. Before the Revolution he was a master whetter in Csepel. During the Revolution he fought at Corvin Alley. On the 6th of November he was surrounded by Russians and after some excange of fire he sustained a head wound from close range. He was in the hospital for six weeks and was never prosecuted after the Revolution. He worked as a brushmaker and a telephone exchange operator.
We had a 72 mm antitank cannon. I can still recall that the ammunition we had to load was very heavy. We had three pieces of ammo, two in a wooden chest by the cannon, one loaded into the barrel. I was on guard one day when a T 62 tank appeared. It was showing its side to me and could not notice me. I think it was shelling the Kilián barracks. It was a huge chunk of metal, what a gigantic beast! I was a worker from Csepel, and I’ve never seen such a huge chunk of steel. This brute shot once, then once again. Then it stopped. I thought if it does not come forward, there is no point in firing the cannon because I was aiming at a spot which the tank had not reached yet. I stepped to the cannon and stooped behind its shelter. John the Lamefoot also limped to the cannon and said: "Get out of there, you want to die?" I thought I was safe, and I was waiting for the tank to come closer. And indeed, it lumbered forward. When it was locked, John and I fired the cannon. I would rather let him take the merit, he is dead, God rest his soul. However, I think, since I was blinded, I take pleasure in the thought that it was me who was able to destroy such a giant of steel. I, alone! Or at least with a bit of help.
When our shot reached the tank, it fired once more and then everything stopped. It moved no more.
I unloaded my machine gun on it because I thought the Russian tank personnel would climb out, and I was overtaken with a fighting spirit. And we walked up to it and saw that nobody died. The tank was empty. They had all climbed out below, as there was a door there, and they simply disappeared.
When they started nudging me to hold up my hands and all, I knew trouble was brewing. One of the officers barely punched me, but the other one, well, he really did a job on me. There were a couple of privates there and they knew what was coming. They were just hanging around, turned their heads and wanted to leave. The officer who hurt me is still in my mind's eye. If you lined up one thousand persons in front of me, I could still pick him out like a trained hound. Since he was the last person I saw. He pressed his hand on my chest and pushed me. The pistol was in the other hand. He twisted my body and kicked me hard. I almost fell from that kick, and I was a metre or a metre and a half from him. With my hands up in the air I was mad at him, saying:
"What the hell do you want here? I am a Hungarian, this is my home and this is no Suez for you."
I knew they thought I was a capitalist and all. I wanted to face him, to give him a piece of my mind when the blast came. It hit my cranial cavity and my two open eyes, they were ruined instantly. The other shot hit the side of my mouth. The shot in my head made me dizzy, and I fell. I cringed on the floor and did not move so that they thought I was dead. Then he shot me one more time, which ripped a bone out of my shoulder blade. It passed through my body near my heart, and it left it at my neck. That was when I lost consciousness.