Later this fell into the hands of a German, but he did not understand it. I did.
It was hard to part. My mother, in the midst of her uncontrollable sobs, whispered:
"Jozef, when the time comes, you know what you must do."
It was hard to part. At the end, Anka gave me some red and white ribbon, the Czech and Slovak colors, which I tied around my rifle. It did not remain there long, for when the Magyar captain in charge of our battalion saw it, he swore savagely, and taking his saber, cut it off and stamped it under his heels. Not satisfied, he deliberately hit me a blow from which I suffered for many days. At the same time he muttered: "Take care what you are about, you Slovak dog!"
My companions were as indignant as myself at the insult to our colors to which we have every right. "If a time comes when we can revenge ourselves, we'll not forget," we promised one another.
By this time we had all heard, somehow, of Czechs and Slovaks who refused to fight against the Allies, declaring that they had not voted for the War, and ought not to be compelled to fight; and of many Czech and Slovak desertions. Just before we left, there was fiendish rejoicing among the Austrian Germans and Magyars, because a Czech regiment, intending to desert to the Russians, had been trapped, and all the officers and every tenth private shot. The story did not frighten us or make us less determined to surrender if opportunity offered. Better to be shot, we told ourselves, than to serve those who in victory would treat our people still worse than they had already done.
We got to the front at Rovno and all that day were kept working without a morsel to eat. We had just finished entrenching ourselves, when Russian shrapnel blew over us.
Towards morning, I heard shouting. Soon after I saw a bearded Russian with a long bayonet, standing over me. I tried to tell him I was a friend, but he had no time to listen, for Austrian machine gun shot began to come from the rear, and, with others, I was taken to a wood not far away.