"Welcome to Freedom!"

The eyes of the U.S. focused last week on a frontier gate where the road from Red Hungary leads into Austria. In the chill, gathering dusk, a convoy of three black cars, their windows heavily curtained, pulled up on the road from Budapest. Four U.S. airmen, hemmed in by Red guards, stepped down from the autos. They were unshaved and shaggy-haired, tense and stiffly suspicious; their uniforms were rumpled and dirty. Then, out of the darkness, an American voice boomed at them: "Welcome to freedom!"

The voice came from the U.S. Ambassador and High Commissioner in Austria. Walter J. Donnelly had arrived from Vienna to receive the captive airmen for whom the U.S., a few hours before in Budapest, had paid a ransom of $120,000 (plus a C-47 aircraft still held by the Reds). The four flyers--Captain Dave Henderson, Captain John Swift, Tech. Sergeant Jess Duff and Sergeant Jim Elam--did not relax until they were well on the way to Vienna in the ambassador's Cadillac. When they heard over the car's radio an Armed Forces Radio broadcast of their release, followed by stateside basketball scores, they repeated again & again:"Thank God, we are Americans ..."

At Erding, the base near Munich from which they had flown their C-47 39 days ago, they were enveloped by a heartfelt greeting from families and friends. Next day, after military intelligence officers and a State Department specialist had quizzed the airmen, the four faced a swarm of newsmen and photographers. As commander of the aircraft, Captain Henderson told how the captives had fared at the hands of the Reds. As he spoke, he fumbled nervously with typewritten notes; at times his voice broke with emotion.

Routine Flight. The flight on Nov. 19 to Belgrade was strictly routine: ferrying a cargo of supplies for the U.S. Embassy in Belgrade. The airmen lost their bearings on instruments over the Alps, could not pick up any radio signals, were running low on fuel. They prepared for an emergency landing. Shortly after dark, an aircraft ("It was going so fast it must have been a fighter") flew in front of them. The C-47 followed it on to a lighted field. Pilot Henderson thought he was in Yugoslavia. He could not identify the uniformed men who swarmed around the plane, until one of them said something about Russia. Then Henderson realized they were in Red hands.

For the next 38 days, the four Americans were held in solitary confinement. Their living quarters and food were tolerable enough, but they were subjected to incessant grilling, denied all contact with any U.S. official. The Russians held them 14 days, then turned them over to the Hungarians. The questions concentrated on the equipment in their plane, especially the six parachutes for a crew of four and a portable "Gibson Girl" radio for sending SOS signals if forced down on water. The Reds seemed unable to believe that the "Gibson Girl" is standard emergency equipment in U.S. transport aircraft, and that extra chutes are frequently carried.

"Hope in My Heart." Two days before Christmas, the Hungarians told the airmen they would be brought to trial for violating the border. The day a lawyer was assigned to their defense, the trial was held. Three Hungarian officers presided. "They asked me if I pleaded guilty. What else could I do? I was in Hungary." A few days later, the Americans were informed that they would be released at 4 p.m. to U.S. officials on the Austrian border.

"I didn't believe it," said Henderson. "The first I knew of any negotiations was when I met the High Commissioner." During his long imprisonment, had he felt abandoned by his country? Said Henderson: "I always had hope in my heart that we would be remembered."

"Above All Else." The U.S. had indeed remembered. In the two days before Washington announced that it would pay the ransom, a wave of private fund raising swept across the country. The American-Hungarian Federation got pledges of $345,000. Robert Vogeler, who had also known Hungarian captivity, reported pledges of $200,000. The American Legion and the American Highway Carriers

Association each offered to pay the whole $120,000.

The U.S. by & large seemed to share that sentiment. There were some loud dissents. Cried Texas' Senator Tom Connally: rather than cough up the ransom, the U.S. should "get tough," break diplomatic relations, apply an economic boycott. But few Americans were willing to sound off so bravely from the safety of home. The prevailing opinion: pay the ransom first, then crack down hard on the kidnapers.

On the hour that the four airmen were safe in U.S. hands again, the State Department launched the cracking down. The Hungarians were ordered to close their consulates in New York and Cleveland; U.S. travel in Hungary was banned. Possible next steps: confiscation of frozen Hungarian assets in the U.S., and a complaint in the U.N. against Hungary and Russia for violating human rights. It was a measure of the times that the world's most powerful nation was powerless to do much more.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.