Out of focus: Kappa battlefield photography notes

Author: (Hungarian) Károly Kárpáti
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-03-01
Features: This book serves as a photographic diary by the author who personally experienced World War II, faithfully recording everything he witnessed and felt during the war. Reading through it, one sometimes laughs in silence, but more often, it leaves one heavy-hearted. Kárpáti deeply loved life and peace, detested war, and despised his profession—the inability to bear the stark contrast of young lives falling in the blink of an eye. Especially when such tragedies unfolded right before his eyes, or could happen to him at any moment. Yet Kárpáti recorded everything with a near "cruel indifference," his words and photographs reflecting this coldness, while hidden behind it was the courage that could only be earned with one's life. As the pioneer of war photography, Kárpáti had the typical adventurous spirit of a gambler. He once said, "The stakes of a war correspondent—his life—are in his own hands. I am a gambler." His more famous quote was, "If your photographs aren’t good enough, it’s because you’re not close enough to the action." His photographic works lacked excessive technique—focusing wasn’t always precise, cropping wasn’t always meticulous, and the tones weren’t always rich. Yet none of these "flaws" could obscure the greatness of his works.
Breakfast before the attack began at 3 a.m. The stewards of the U.S.S. Chasing, wearing spotless white suits, served us hot cakes, sausages, eggs, and coffee with unusual enthusiasm and warmth. But our appetites were occupied by other matters, so most of the food remained on the plates. At 4 a.m., we gathered on the deck. The landing boats swayed in the elevator, ready to be lowered into the water. Two thousand people stood in an absolute silence, waiting for the sun to set. Whatever they were thinking, it felt like some kind of prayer. I stood quietly, my mind filled with thoughts: green fields, pink clouds, grazing sheep, all the good times. I thought so much about taking good photos today. None of us felt impatient; we wouldn’t mind standing in the dark for a long time. But the sun didn’t know the difference between this day and any other—it rose as usual.
Soldiers hesitated to board the landing boats, and then, like descending in a slow elevator, we dropped into the sea. The waves were rough, and by the time we left the mother ship, our boats were already soaked. It was clear that General Eisenhower would not lead his troops across the English Channel on foot or any other part of their bodies. Soon, people began to vomit. But the attack was well-prepared, and small paper bags were provided for those who vomited. The vomiting subsided shortly after. I had a feeling that today would become the D-Day of all D-Days.
When we were still a few miles from the Normandy coast, we heard a clear dull sound. We suddenly bent down and hid at the bottom of the landing boat, no longer looking at the coast as it approached.
One landing boat had already brought the soldiers to the beach and was passing ours, heading back to the U.S.S. Chasing. The black ship’s cook gave us a cheerful smile and waved a victory V sign. The atmosphere was now relaxed, and it was time to start taking photos. I took my Contax camera out of its waterproof cover. Our flat-bottomed boat hit French land, and the cook lowered the iron apron at the front of the boat. Among the bizarre metal obstacles sticking out of the water was a line of smoke-shrouded land—that was our Europe, "Little Red Sea" Beach. My beautiful France looked dirty and ugly, and a German machine gun raked the boat with bullets, completely ruining my return.
The soldiers on our landing boat waded ashore. They stood waist-deep in the water, holding rifles ready to fire, with the advancing obstacles and smoky beach in the background—enough for a photographer. I paused on the boarding plank, preparing to take the real photo of the attack. The cook, eager to leave, mistook my attempt to take a photo as hesitation and kicked me in the back to "help me decide." The water was cold, and the beach was still over 100 yards away. Bullets exploded around me in the water, and I sprinted toward the nearest metal obstacle. A soldier arrived at the same time, and we hid behind it together. He tore off the waterproof cover from his rifle and began firing at the smoke-shrouded beach without much aiming.