”The Sky Likes The Brave”

The tombstone of the young man killed in action and promoted lieutenant posthumously is being inaugurated today with military honours.

In Ácsteszér, this tiny Komárom-Esztergom country village with a population of a mere 800, everyone knows everyone. Of course, they know the Lükõs as well, who live in the main street at the end of the village. They know them well and share their pain. Last year, at the burial held in mid-February, the village turned black, and everybody who had the opportunity turned up at the memorial service.

Zsolt’s father and mother, Uncle Laci and Aunt Gizi live in a small and neat detached house. We meet two days before the anniversary of the accident  they are already preparing for the next day, waiting for the relatives to arrive for the memorial service. For the Hungarian Defence Forces have erected a gravestone for the anniversary of the tragedy, and this is going to be inaugurated with military honours.

Unfortunately, a few relatives cannot come because of the snow. They do not dare to start off from Miskolc because they don’t know how they’d get here  says Aunt Gizi while she is offering me a seat. We sit down in the room that used to be Zsolt’s. As a child, he lived there, and later as an adult, it had always been his empire whenever he visited the home of the family.

Inside the room, everything reminds of Zsolt. There are photographs on the wall, two of them with a black crepe. In one of the photos he is only nine or ten years old, and the other one pictures him in uniform. In the corner of the room there is a brown china cabinet with all the memorabilia that have remained from the soldier who died under tragic circumstances at the age of 31. The shoulder patches from his uniform, a hat worn by non-commissioned officers, a few leather belts, and even a helicopter helmet. He wore the same type of helmet when last year, on January 31 he got on the Mi-8 helicopter in Szolnok, to head for the Óballa-area near Törökszentmiklós. The helmet was a gift for the family from the comrades. And on the back of the cabinet there is the national flag. The one that had covered Zsolt’s coffin.

From the objects stored in the cabinet, Zsolt’s mother shows us the mobile phone his son used to have, the ignition key for his car, his driver’s licence, and also his waist pack. Which still holds his wallet, and even his last packet of cigarettes. There is only one smoke left in the wrinkled yellow packet. But no one will ever smoke it… Aunt Gizi takes a plastic helicopter model in her hand:  I gave this to him as a present a few years ago  she says, but her voice falters.

We sit down to the table in the middle of the room, on the table there are freshly cut flowers, and another picture of Zsolt, laid to the glass vase. Aunt Gizi takes out the photo album: she has collected every picture of Zsolt into one album; one can follow in the paper photographs lining behind the clingfilm how the smiling kid turns into a young man who is always happy, then a serious man. The mother is looking at the last picture for a long time. As she says: she took it last year, on January 20, when Zsolt handed over his present to his beloved father on his seventieth birthday. Only eleven days before the tragedy…

In the meantime, the siblings arrive as well. Zsolt’s elder brother, László came from Veszprém, while his sister, Violetta drove from Szentkirányszabadja to Ácsteszér to help their parents prepare for the memorial service due tomorrow. László is a retired soldier, who retired two years ago from Szolnok holding the rank of warrant officer. He and his brother used to serve at the same corps, HDF 86th Szolnok Helicopter Base. But his sister’s husband also served in the Hungarian Defence Forces. The major  who is retired now  worked together with the two Lükõ brothers in Szentkirályszabadja.

 When Zsolt finished non-commissioned officers’ school, he got to the Szentkirályszabadja helicopter corps as an artillery operator. I had been working there for almost ten years at that time. A few years later he was given an opportunity to be an onboard technician, and he used it immediately  says László, who also recalls an older story. It happened before the change of the political system, when Zsolt was only a little boy. An open day was organized at the military airport of Szentkirályszabadja, and the older boy took his brother as well. That was the first time Zsolt had seen a military helicopter  he climbed it without delay and he could hardly be taken out of it.  Maybe that was the day when his love for the military and the helicopters had started…  wonders his brother.

After the closure of Szentkirályszabadja in 2004, the two brothers got to Szolnok. As László puts it: they met often, had good conversations, and sometimes visited their parents together.

 I heard the news of the crash of the military helicopter on the television and the internet. Then one of my younger brother’s acquaintances called me and said: as far as he knows, Zsolt was also on the aircraft. I was following the events on the web  when they reported that they rescued three injured troops from the crew of the crashed helicopter, but were still looking for one member I already knew, I felt that there is something wrong. Then the same acquaintance called to say that they found Zsolt’s corpse in the aircraft  continues Violetta, for whom it is still very difficult to speak about that evening/night a year ago. Naturally, she called his brother immediately and asked to go to their old parents together so that they could learn about the painful news from them, and not from strangers.

 Meanwhile a committee set off from Gyõr, from the corps operating there, whose task would have been to tell our parents about the tragedy but I asked them to arrive to Ácsteszér only after us, since we were worried about our mother, who has a heart condition  remembers Violetta.

 I do not wish anybody to experience that terrible night, when we quite simply did not even realize what a tragic event had happened  says Uncle Laci, who was sitting by the table in silence until now. According to Aunt Gizi, his husband cannot show his pain but on the inside, suppressed, he is terribly suffering from losing his youngest son.

Since the funeral that took place last February, the Lükõs have visited the grave of their son every day. Their house is almost adjacent to the cemetery and when the weather is good, one can even see the grave from the window of the room that used to belong to Zsolt. The grave on which there is a candle burning almost all the time. Friends, former colleagues come to Ácsteszér regularly to light a candle to remember their comrade.

 I still cannot accept that he died. He did not die! He is here in my heart and until this very day, whenever I am at the grave, I still talk to him. I tell him about what is happening to us, I ask him who’s been there to visit  Aunt Gizi holds his bursting tears, then says if last year on January 31 the weather had been the same in the afternoon as it is now, then the helicopters perhaps could not have taken off and maybe his little boy could still be alive. Maybe…

Uncle Laci breaks the silence, telling us about meeting those soldiers from Szolnok who were also on the helicopter that crashed. The three young men paid a visit to Ácsteszér in the summer. In addition to the commander of the aircraft and the helicopter’s co-pilot, the onboard technician was also there at the grave. The latter is the young man Zsolt had been training on that fatal flight. All three men stood by the grave sadly, and as they told the family, unfortunately, they cannot remember anything from the moments of the crash, but they are terribly sorry about what happened. But the Lükõ family is not angry with them at all.

 Zsolt was a very good boy, he helped us whenever he could. He visited us whenever he had the chance. On these occasions we used to talk for hours. Sometimes we were still in the kitchen at midnight. He had no secrets, he told me about everything. He was also a member of the local football team, played in nearly every match, the opponents feared his left foot  says Aunt Gizi, then talks about how many things his son wanted to do. For example he promised his parents to help them renovate the small house where they live, for the insulation is not the best anymore, and the walls are also wet.

 We are over the most difficult year of our life, and the day of the gravestone inauguration will also be very difficult since it tears up the wounds again that haven’t even healed  adds Uncle Laci, who also tells us that the troops of the Szolnok helicopter regiment often visit them. What is even more, they took the family to Óballa, to the scene of the accident, and also to Szelevény, where a memorial park was inaugurated last November to honour Zsolt. For Zsolt Lükõ participated in the fight against flood  back in 2006, they were transporting sandbags by helicopter to the eroded Körös dam. The family received a DVD about this piece of work, and they often watch it.

 We have also been to Óballa and found the place where the helicopter crashed. Although we were there months later, the traces of the tragedy were still visible. The grass was just starting to grow again. We have found several pieces of the helicopter in the ground, and my mother and father even brought home some soil in a small pot.

In the meantime László returns  he was in the cemetery to check the preparations for the gravestone inauguration ceremony. He had many things to do. Due to the almost twenty centimetres of snow that has fallen in the last few days, the cemetery and the grave are difficult to approach. He had to organize the removal of snow so that there would be no problems at the memorial service. As he tells us, Zsolt had told him several times about being aware of how dangerous his job was. But he was not afraid of death, he knew that while he was in the helicopter, a tragedy may happen any time.

 He loved to live, but died as a soldier. As a real soldier. "The sky likes the brave" was his favourite saying. It is exactly why this will be on his tombstone as well  swallows his tears the brother of the young man who died heroically.