The authorities took us to a camp near the border.

We remained there for approximately six hours.

Then they placed us on a truck and began driving east.

That was one of the most frightening parts of the experience because we had no idea where the truck was going.

East could mean returning us somewhere inside Hungary.

Or, in our imagination, it could mean much farther east.

We wondered whether we were going to Siberia.

Nobody explained anything.

By approximately midnight we were back in Gyor.

The truck was filled with other people who had also been captured while trying to leave.

There was a driver in front and another man with a gun beside him. From his position, the armed guard could not see us very well in the back.

The truck was traveling perhaps thirty-five or forty kilometers per hour.

Not slowly.

But not impossibly fast.

So George and I began considering another possibility.

We could jump.

I went first.

I jumped from the moving truck.

George threw our two small suitcases down and then jumped after me.

Another man followed us.

He landed badly and broke his leg.

George and I picked him up and carried him to a nearby house. We left him outside where we hoped someone would find him and help him.

Then we disappeared into the night.

We were free again.

But we were still in Hungary.

We had accomplished only half the job.