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Debrecen, Dunapentele and Szolnok, no wheel turned. The coal mines were deserted. At Salgotarjan 80 people were killed when police fired into a crowd of 10,000 workers who demanded the release of their workers'-council representative. But the most serious disturbances were at Miskolc, near the Czech border. Following a raid by Freedom Fighters who came down from the Bukk Mountains and de stroyed a Communist newspaper plant, Soviet soldiers retaliated by setting fire to a theater in which workers were holding a strike meeting. Later the Freedom Fighters descended from the hills again, fought a pitched battle with the Soviet soldiers and drove them out of part of the city which the rebels continued to hold. In the provincial areas there were increasing reports of Soviet soldiers deserting, joining the rebels, and supplying them with arms and ammunition.
In Budapest even the food stores were closed. An old news vendor had her news papers snatched away and torn to shreds. There was water, gas and electric power, but no traffic police. Some Soviet tanks stood roped off in planted positions, but armored cars patrolled continuously. In front of the National Theater, Sunday gathering place for Budapest, an old man, made brave by wine, smashed his empty bottle against a Soviet tank. Police rushed in, beat up the old man with rifle butts. This was too much for the crowd. They roughed up the police. The Russians fired a machine gun over their heads.
"Shame on You!" Reported an eyewitness: "The people seemed suddenly aware that the Russians would not kill them, as though an order had gone out that there were to be no shootings by military units. They surged around armored cars, crying, "What are you doing here? This is our city. Go home! Shame on you!" The Russian soldiers showed the strain of their position, shouted back at the crowd, waved their arms, guns. Then, to shift the crowd, the Russians got their tanks moving, wheeled and skidded them on the sidewalks—showing how much they had recently learned about maneuvering tanks in city streets—chasing people back and forth. But they never chased them away. Hundreds of people just kept dodging. Finally it was the blue-clad police, the real killers, firing burp guns, machine guns and pistols, who sent the crowd fleeing down the alleyways. Next day, as the strike continued, the crowd became even bolder. With a calm that chilled the spines of onlookers, a group of some 500 quietly stood their ground as a unit of Radar's militia advanced toward them, firing over their heads. Soon brown uniforms and plain working clothes were toe to toe, bare inches apart. There was a moment of silence; then the uniforms turned away amid jeers and cries of "Shame! Shame!"