Hungarian Orphans Couldn’t Believe American Soldiers Adopted Them After the War скачать в хорошем качестве

Hungarian Orphans Couldn’t Believe American Soldiers Adopted Them After the War

April 10th, 1945. 0915 hours. Outskirts of Gyor, Western Hungary. The morning fog still clung to the ruins of the small village when Sergeant William Carter raised his hand for his squad to halt. They’d been following the faint sound of crying for the last half mile, through streets littered with burnt carts, collapsed roofs, and the occasional helmet half-buried in mud. The sound came again—soft, distant, unmistakably human. Carter motioned toward a bombed-out schoolhouse, its roof gone, one wall barely standing. Inside, amid the shattered desks and the smell of damp wood, four children huddled together. The oldest couldn’t have been more than thirteen. The smallest, a girl, clutched a broken doll missing both arms. None of them spoke when the soldiers entered. They didn’t run, didn’t scream—just stared with wide, hollow eyes that had seen too much.