Before the war, Anton lead a very peaceful life. He was a well-known film critic, and he loved his job. He is still passionate when talking about it. To him, cinema is a visual study of human behaviour – lives, thoughts, and feelings compressed into a 2-hour format. Films are easier to digest than books, as we are  predominantly visual animals, so one could potentially consume quite a lot of them in a short period of time, and then feel hungry for more. 

Cinema could be quite addictive, especially when real human connections are lacking and this was the case with Anton’s favourite job during the Covid lockdown. He missed a few festivals then, most frustratingly an Argentinian one where he was particular;y keen to visit. He watched a lot of movies then, and at some point realised that he was getting burned out. To Anton, quality cinema is an all-absorbing experience, and he was truly being sucked into the screen life. “Cinema is like a passion, it draws you in, you feel like you dissolve in other people’s lives, often forgetting to live your own”, he says. The more he was interested in watching human stories, many of them quite unrealistic and specifically designed to get you hooked, on the screen, the less he was interested in the real life, both outside, and inside of him. He realized that he was loosing himself in other peopes’ lives. On top of that, as a film critic he was learning more, and more marketing tricks that the movie makers use to create the addiction that he was experiencing. He also met a few movie directors, and saw how some of them tried to project their psychological (and even psychiatric) problems into their films. He saw what was really behind some of the movie plots, and he was disappointed, and even shocked at his discoveries. It was as if he was both watching a movie about himself, and living it at the same time, and he was not enjoying it. 

Things changed when his son Platon was born in 2020. He became 100% involved, and present in his son’s life, and just like that – uncoupled himself from the lives on screen, finally starting to live his own one. “It just felt wrong, that I would sacrifice my precious time with my son for anything else. I could not imagine doing anything else, but being with him”, he confesses. He quit his job, and has never looked back.

Writing stories was still his job, and his hobby. He became a web content editor with Nestle. He still enjoyed watching movies, but much less often, and for his own enjoyment, rather than as a job. He also tended to pick up movies, that required an internal work, living with, and through the characters rather than just being anaesthetised by what was happening on the screen. That time, he was careful not to be sucked into the lives of characters too deeply.

On the first day of the war, Anton had an appointment to have an MRI scan of his spine. He had been bedridden for several weeks with a herniated disc prior to that, and could barely walk. He called the out-patient clinic to make sure they were going to open early in the morning, and they said they were. It took him an hour and a half to get to the central Kyiv, where the clinic was situated, and by that time it was already shut. There were no people on the streets. There were barely any cars there either – a car would pass every minute where previously hundreds had been stuck in heavy traffic. 

It was eerily quiet. Anton went for a walk at a slow pace, as his back was still sore. He went along Arsenal’na, then Pecherska street – the very central, and normally touristy areas of the city. There was barely any people around then. It was freezing, and he suddenly wanted to have a cup of hot tea, but everything was closed. Then, his wife called him on his phone, and told him to come back home immediately, as the Russian terrorists were already getting close to where they lived. In fact, they were bombing Hostomel, a place not far away from their house, and a site of a deciding battle for Kyiv in the first day of the war.

It was only on his way back home that Anton saw huge traffic jams of cars trying to get out of the city. When he finally got home, the war had already arrived there before him. There were sounds of nearby explosions, honking of cars trying to flee the city, and cutting through the fields, and his son Platon crying seeing and hearing it all from their windows.

Inspite of the initial chaos, the family decided to stay in Kyiv. However, after about one week it became clear that it was becoming very unsafe, particularly for the little one, and they decided to move to Lviv, a large regional centre near the Polish border in the west of the country. The only way to get there was by an “evacuation train”. Those trains would take off from the city’s main railway station, and traverse the country in unpredictable trajectories to pick up refugees from various parts of the country, and to avoid being targeted by Russians. There was no timetable, you just had to show up on the day, wait for the train that suits you, and try to board it on the spot. Anton, and his family had to walk for about three hours to reach the station, as there was no public transport running then. They were lucky not only to get into a train bound to Lviv, but also get a private compartment in it. There was a woman with them, who was hoping to get to Poland. She had lost everything, and was travelling light. Anton remembers giving her sandwiches, as she did not even have enough money to buy food…

They arrived in Lviv, and stayed in a room at a friend’s house, then managed to get a place of their own. Anton registered with a local Army station as was required by the wartime mobilisation law, but never thought that he would receive a “call-out notice”. He is extremely near-sighted, minus seven. Also, he was still recovering from his back problems, which were not yet properly investigated. 

Besides, he just could not imagine taking part in a war. A peaceful man, a pacifist, who had not served in the military, he had never used violence as an option to setlle disputes, and always tried to resolve them using better arguments, rather than a force. “During ten years of our marriage, we have never argued, not once”, he says, and that is an achievement in itself! He is also a vegetarian, having taken in some of the Buddhist teachings in the recent years. He beleived in causing a minimal amount of harm to the environment. Violence was simply not in his nature – “the most dangerous weapon I had ever held before the war was a fork”, he says. Even after the start of the Russian aggression, he still believed, and quite for some time, that everything could be resolved by negotiations. The events that followed have changed all that…

At the beginning of May, 2022 Anton did receive a “call-out notice”, and on May, 12 he was off to Donbas, the war-torn, blood-soaked region in the east of the country, where the fighting was the fiercest. When he reported for duty, he was given an AK automatic rifle, and was told to dig a pit to sleep in. The rocksoil was hard, and he had to use an axe to hack away through it. Once it was finished, it reminded him of a shallow grave. He lived in it for a week, surviving non-stop artillery shellings. He did not engage in direct firefights with the enemy at that time, as his position was along the second “back-up” line of defence.

During his second week on the frontine, Anton was called up to the battalion headquarters to help the bookkeeper with databases. He is good at IT, and initially wanted to help with drones, and mapping, as he thought that he would have been much more useful in those roles, rather than being a simple soldier, but it was not meant to be. Shortly afterwards, the battalion’s bookkeeper was gravely wouded when the headquaters got hit by a Russian shell, and Anton had to step into his role. 

In his new job, he trots from house to house, where Ukrainian troops are based, and trench to trench, carrying his AK-74 gun in one, and a battered laptop in the other. He has to keep the database up-to-date maintaining current information about the soldiers, from their shoe size to their emergency contacts, who are alive and well, and just as importantly – about those who are not. He says that recording the exact circumstances, and the nature of their injuries are particularly important, as that allows the Army to learn better ways to prevent them in the future, but also to reward compensation to their families. 

He has taken his new job very seriously, and has become very good, in fact indispensable at it. He is a great asset to his battalion, and clearly takes pride at what he does. This comes at a price, as the battalion is not able to afford not to have him around, even for a single day. He has not been away on a leave since May, has not seen his family, and has missed his son’s third birthday.

Initially, he found it quite difficult to accept all the violence that he was forced to be a part of. It was against his peaceful, gentle nature. He still believed that it could all be somehow resolved through negotiations, and common sense. It took him five months being on the frontline to change his mind. It was a series of profoundly grotesque episodes that convinced him that this conflict could only be ended with an opposing force of the same, or greater magnitude. He wondered how Russians sitting at home in front of their TVs, and watching the war crimes being commited against Ukrainians, harmless women and children, by their army, and were not doing anything to stop it. In fact, many of them, perhaps the vast majority approved of it, and cheering the deaths of civilains, and destruction of their cities on social media. “If such an extreme suffering of your neighbours, which is inflicted on your behalf does not affect you in any way, than you do not deserve any mercy, when such suffering knocks at your door”, Anton thought.

There was a particular episode that changed everything, made him abandon his pacifist views, and resort to violence as the only possible solution. It was in Autumn, when the temperatures were beginning to drop, and the rain was falling down virtually non-stop. The shellings, the assaults were relentless, with both sides suffering severe casualties. It was the World War One-style trench warfare of the worst kind. Russians would shell the Ukrainian positions for hours, then their poorly trained, and equipped cannon fodder infantry would begin an assault with troops running across open fields, and getting wiped out by the Ukrainians, with a remaining few of them retreating back to their positions. And this cycle would get repeated over and over again, slowly pushing Ukrainians back. One day, Anton was with a drone operator, who was flying his drone over one of those fields during a Russian assault. It was another cold, rainy day, and the field was a soaked-through, muddy mess. There were bodies of Russians from previous assaults scattered all over the place. Anton knew they were Russians, because of the white arm bands, and the specific pattern of their camo. To his astonishment, they saw the dead Russians’ comrades using the corpses as logs to walk across the wet mud. “This is not a behavior worthy of human beings, and those engaged in it cannot be treated as such”, Anton thought. “If they treat each other like that, we should not be surprised at how they treat our people, and they do not deserve a better treatment from us”. That episode changed everything. He has witnessed a lot of horrors, war crimes commited by Russians during this war, “things, that should not be done by humans”, both before and after that episode, but somehow this one stood out, and clearly affected him. There was no hesitation left in the Anton’s soul – he has given up any doubts about using force to stop the violence, or any hopes that this conflict might somehow be resolved through negotiations.

Living hard and busy life on the frontline has not put his creative talents on hold; it has made him look for other ways to express himself. He has started writing down his experiences on the frontline in his social media. Being a voracious reader, he puts up short reviews of the books he is reading, with a particular focus on the ones that share his perception of war as a soldier on the frontline. Being a film critic, he can’t help reviewing films too, but his tastes have changed since the beginning of the war – instead of arthouse cinema, he now prefers films, that he could relate to in his new role as a frontline soldier. Having watched “Dunkirk” recently, he noted how accurate the depiction of silence inbetween deafening sounds of shellings was in that movie. “When the shelling stops, the hearing gradually begins to return. In one of these cases, the first thing I heard was the ticking of the clock. Exactly like in the movie. And I thought: How many of these seconds are alloted for the rest of my life? How cool is it that I am still alive?”

Anton admits that it has been difficult to stick to his vegetarian diet on the frontlines, but he has managed to stick to it living on “fish, and nuts”. He admits that he is more privileged, than soldiers in the trenches who sometimes have to eat some leaves in order to survive. 

I asked him about his Buddhist practices, and he said that he carried on meditating, and even listening to lectures on YouTube of a Buddhist monk, in Russian when there is time, and an internet connection. One thing that the monk has talked about, has been particularly useful, and resonated with Anton’s own perception of his everyday reality. It is the notion that our perception of an object does not come from a direct observation of an object, but of its reflection from a surface, a bit like the moon is reflected in a lake. If the waters are calm, the moon’s reflection is almost perfect, but when there are ripples on its surface (just like chaotic thoughts inside our brain), the reflection stops being that accurate. The aim is to “smooth out the surface”, learn to clear our mind of “random mental ripples” within it. Anton says that there are three states that help him to achieve that state of absolute clarity, when he sees the world clearly, as it is, without any distortion – when he meditates, when he is focussed on something, and when he is in a state of fear. 

War brings both the best, and the worst in people. Anton says that it “accelerates the Karma” – the Universe responds to your desires, and actions at a much quicker rate. You have to be careful of what you wish for – you might just get it, and pretty instantly. He also says that your dreams materialise much more often than in a civilian life. At war, everyone gets what they deserve. Everyone learns the truth about themselves. The world becomes simpler, as people stop lying to themselves, and each other. He says that he knows that it would be difficult for him to come back to his civillian life, but he hopes that he will be able to try, and remain true to himself, to be the better version of himself that the war has brought out inside of him. 

“What keeps you going?”, I asked him.

“Video calls with my family, short videos of my son Platon that my wife sends to me”, he replied.

Some photos from the frontline that Anton has shared with me:

The following are short stories of real soldiers, that Anton has recorded in the trenches. They are short documentary episodes of the war as seen through their eyes. Those are important documents, which Anton gathers while doing his job as the battalion’s bookkeeper. He calls them “direct speeches”, and posts them on his social media. I have translated them word by word, and am publishing them here with his permission.

The one who has helped us not to give in near Bakhmut.

It was hard for him. His age was taking its toll – he was well over 50, but he never stopped smiling. At some point, he did give up and handed over a resignantion letter.

We met on his last day as he was about to head home. He became emotional, and opened his soul to me.

“All those months I have kept thinking: God, if you are testing me, then you are in total control of what is going to happen to me. 

When a shell landed onto the house we were staying at, I was only five metres away from it. I do not know how I survived. Isn’t it a wonder?

The other day, I was moving towards our position. In full body armour carrying the kit, and cutting across marshes, up and down the hills. It was raining, and we were covered in mud, heads to toes. My legs were giving up. I could barely make another step. We just about reached the first line of defence, and i just sat down there, unable to continue. The commanding officer started shouting – “Why the fuck do I need this pensioner around here?! What am I supposed to do with him! Get the fuck outta here!” – while I was trying to tell him that my legs were giving up.

To cut the long story short, I did start off towards the next line of defence. Having finally reached it, I just collapsed. I was not able to move any further, and stayed there in a shallow pit, while the others kept on going further. I started to dig in deeper, and strengthen the dugout. I was not able to shoot. How is it possible to kill someone? I could not get my head around that. In short, I was just constantly digging in between the shellings. I was giiving it my all. I was trying to support the guys as much as I could. The shellings did not seem to stop, and were bloody intense.

I carried on for about a week. The guys who had come with me, and moved forward all ended up in the hospital one, or two days later. That was the best case scenario, you understand me?

Say, they have brought new guys today. Tomorrow they will be carried out, and new guys will be moved in. I am just standing there, watching all this, and digging, digging, digging. To shelter them from harm, to protect them. 

Why did my legs give up on that day? Why couldn’t I move any further? I had never experienced anything like that before. It was God’s will to keep me alive for now.

Do you know why they have approved of my dismissal? I have a disabled daughter who needs constant care. When she was little she had a metalwork put into her spine to prevent her back from collapsing. She could not stand up otherwise. Then, they had to remove it to allow her spine to grow, then re-inserted it back again. I am going to see her for the first time in nine months now. God willing, she is doing well.

Both then, and now I am thinking the same thought – Dear God, if you are testing me this way, I trust you entirely.”

When we were saying goodbyes, I photographed his hands.

Bakhmut, P’s story.

There were about 70 meters between us and our enemies. We were poorly protected. We just did not have enough time to dig into the frozen mud because of constant shellings, which were always followed by waves of assaults at our positions.

On one side, our trench was merging into a small dugout, which was filled with water up to our knees. It was an exaggeration to actually call it that. It was just about big enough for 4 people, and was covered with a layer of tree trunks each being no bigger than a 0.5-litre bottlle. We could only find trees of that thickness around that place. When a mine detonated nearby, all those sticks were just blown off.

The first Russian drone dropped a grenade on us, but missed. We managed to shoot it down from an AK after it deployed it, and was turning around. The drone that came straight afterwards was downed before it even reached our position. It is a great fun to shoot drones down, but one has to expect a proper boom when that thing goes down. We were really lucky that the second drone went down some distance away from our dugout.

Then, later came a reconnaissance drone, and that is a “toy” of an entirely different category. They fly at higher altitudes, so it is impossible to shoot them down with an AK. Also, once you see one, then you know that Russian mortars will start firing at you shortly.

We dived into our trench, and kept our heads down. There were three guys with me, and we all sat down, covered our heads with our hands, and cuddled together. A guy next to me said that there was no space for three of us there, and suggested that I moved along a little bit. I did move further down the length of the trench, and sat down just after a small turn. A mortar shell hit the place where I had just cuddled with the guys a minute later. They were both blown up to pieces.

The mortar fire continued. There was a machine gunner at the other end of the trench. He had recently been given a cool American machine gun. He was very protective of it. He kept cleaning it, and never put it at the bottom of the trench where mud was. His cool machine gun was always on top of the breastwork. The guy stood up to stretch his legs in between the mortar explosions only to see a mortar shell explode right in front of him. His machine gun skewered him straight through his chest. I do not even remember if he had ever managed to fire it.

There was less than a half of us left after a day and a half at that position. I only managed to sleep for about 10 minutes during that time. We decided to retreat. We walked for about 10 kilometres. When we reached our command post, an officer started swearing at us, ordering us to go back to our position. Later that day, I realized that I had started stuttering.

Bakhmut, a Carpenter’s story.

The ratio of artillery shellings was approximately 1:5 in favour of Russians. It had used to be 1:20 a few months earlier.

When we moved to our positions near Bakhmut for the last time, we only had a mortar to back us up, but shells were often lacking, so it often stayed idle. Also, at the beginning there were two M777 howitzers, but they were quickly destroyed.

One of our guys from a nearby position was very good at repelling enemy’s assaults. Once, he became cocky, and decided to go on a counteroffensive. Without an artillery back up, of course. Where the hell would you get it in a situation like that, anyway? He managed to push the Russians  out of a nearby semi-collapsed building single-handedly, and decided to keep on going.

But, there was an ambush in the house next door – they opened fire from a window. He fell in a very bad open place, which could be shot through from all sides. I did not dare to approach him. I am no longer that young and flexible.

One of the younger guys from our company mustered his courage, managed to crawl, and pull the casuality out of the danger zone, while we were covering him. We took over once he was out of there.

The guy was shot in the buttock. It was impossible to apply a tourniquet and stop the bleeding. He was a heavy guy weighing about 100 kilos, plus the body armour and his kit. It was dark, and the rain was pouring down. Six of us were pulling him across the orchards, and bombed down ruins while being shelled at. We had just over one kilometer to go.

He remained unconscious for the most of the journey. Sometimes he did come round for a short while. We were in a hurry and got completely soaked through. Once we reached the commanding post we handed him over to the medics. The doctor soon informed us that he had an internal bleeding, which could not be controlled. It was impossible to save him with the limited resources that they had. It was too late anyway.

While at the commanding post, we collected our daily rations of dried food, and returned back to our position. Our commanding officer told everyone to put aside all tinned pineapple, as well as sardines which were only distributed once a week. The guys wanted to save all the “delicacies” so that we could have my birthday party, which was in two weeks’ time.

One day before my birthday I received two shrapnel wounds – one to my arm, and the other to my face, which was ricoshetted off my helmet. If my head had not been covered then, I would not be talking to you right now. I did not end up eating my birthday treats, but at least I am alive.

To cut the long story short, the guys celebrated without me anyway. Nevermind, we will have a helluva party next time. It is not too late.

Bakhmut, B’s story.

We moved to our position in October. There were 8 of us. We were stationed in a village near Bakhmut, and there was not a single house that had been spared by that time. We set up our firing position near one of the ruins, and I ended up spending the next 41 days without a break there. We slept in the basement, fully clothed, with our shoes on, and wrapped up in 2, or 3 sleeping bags.

We kept on fighting off two Russian assaults on each of the nights. One night, we managed to “nullify” (as used in the original text) eight Russians, injure one, and capture another one.

Our POW was a 26-year old from central Russia. He was dressed in summer camo pants, which did not keep him warm. He had a crappy Soviet-era helmet on, as well as a civillian jacket, which he had stolen somewhere locally, with a basic low-quality bulletproof vest underneath. He only had two basic bandages, and a tourniquet in his first aid kit. There was an icon, and his wife’s photo in his pockets. He had no papers on him, nor any food. He was very hungry.

He said that he lived in a small village where every single man aged 18 to 50 had already been mobilized. He had had a three-week basic training course where they had taught him how to shoot prior to being sent to Ukraine. On his first day here their commanding officers lined up all the newcomers and told them to go on an assault at the Ukrainian positions.

Four soldiers refused, and according to the POW were instantly executed in front of the others. Nobody was refusing after that. Our POW himself ended up in our hands on the second day of his deployment. According to him, if he had turned back during the attack then he would have been executed by his commanding officers. 

There was a bombed down house near our position, and the one on the opposite side was already occupied by Russians. There were less than hundred metres between us. That no man’s land was heavily mined. Regardless, the enemies were able to take a detour, and reach us. When the darkness was falling I always stayed extra vigilant, listening to every suspicious noise.

A few of our guys were ex-mortarmen, and they were all hard-of-hearing as a result. That was the main reason I could not fall asleep, and waking up every two-three hours – I was really afraid to overhear the enemies crawling in the dark towards our position.

Sometimes, I was surrounded by older guys who were not able to shoot. They ended up loading my gun as I kept on shooting non-stop. Occasionally, I was using up to a thousand bullets per night.

Once, a young guy from another company was transferred to our place. He was on a watch for about half and our. He was about 20 centimetres from me. He was killed by a sniper. A direct hit into his head. I did not have a chance to meet him.

We were constantly targeted by snipers. We had to wait until it was dark each time one of our guys got wounded, so that they could be evacuated relatively safely. A few of them ended up bleeeding to death in the meantime.

In those 41 days, I suffered two concussions. When I asked to be transferred out for some rehab, I was told to stay put, and carry on at our position, as they did not have anybody to replace me with. I spent several days in the basement just lying down, because I was not able to do anything. I had constant headaches and nausea. I was taking some tablets, and gradually got better. On the third day after the injury, I was finally able to get up, and start doing some work, but for quite some time I was deaf on my left ear. I also had continuous pain in my left arm, and leg.

During my last two days there I started going properly mad. I was imagining that Russians were going to attack us from all sides. I decided that I was not going to give up easily, and was carrying a grenade in my pocket at all times.

During all those 41 days, I was constantly trying to busy myself with some practical actions so not to be fixated on negative thoughts, and constant psychological tension – I was building fortifications, digging trenches, carried water, food and ammo…

Here, we are trying to support each other the best way we can – distracting each other with stories, so that not to go mad. We are fucking tired beyond belief, but we have no choice. We are still standing.

Bakhmut, C’s story.

It was constantly raining. Every time you made a fist, the water started dripping from the glove. We were sent to the frontline to dig trenches and fortify dugouts. However, it was not meant to be as we got into a heavy gunfight straight after we reached our position. We jumped into the closest uncovered trench. There was water up to our ankles there. The first thing we did was to pull apart dead bodies in order to create some space. I took their AK-74s, as it was a better version of those crappy AKC -74U that we had been given earlier.

All the guns were covered with mud. We did not have any spare rugs to wipe them off as we had been thrown there with no time to properly get ready. I took my sock off (thankfully, it was soaked through), and wiped off the guns of the dead soldiers. There were pieces of somebody’s brain on one of them. They came off easily. I then started looking for ammo. There was not much of it.

I had been given a handheld radio, but had not been told what, and whom to report. It was pitchdark, and we were constantly being shelled. It was not clear what was going on. Some guys from the position ahead crashed into our trench. “What is up with you?” I asked. They did not respond, but just sat there catching their breath. I kept asking them some questions, but they kept quiet as if they could not hear me. In a few minutes, they suddenly got up and ran towards the rear. They kept quiet throughout the whole episode.

Their mortar was working on our positions with a great precision. I could not hear with my right ear for a few days afterwards. There were eight of them moving towards us from one side, and twelve from the other. We were shooting at them, and they were falling down, but kept on crawling towards us. The main thing was not to let them approach closer than thirty metres, as they could throw grenades from that distance. Later, we examined a rucksack of one of them and found 15 grenades, and a bunch of ammo in it.

I almost ran out of bullets by the morning. All my guns had been jammed at least once by then. There was a constant machine gun fire and explosions all around us. I started running up and down the trench, and telling all the guys who were still alive to start retreating towards the rear. Suddenly, I saw an old man sitting near one of the firing positions, just leaning against the wall of a dugout. I approached him, and realized that he was snoozing. I shook him, and told him to leave the position then. “Sure, on my way” he said, and started off climbing up the trench. I followed him, but was immediately thrown down to the ground by an explosion nearby. I remember just lying there, looking at the sky, and praying. To my luck and surprise, an armoured vehicle from another company was passing by, and I managed to get a ride on it.

The old man showed up two hours later. “Where were you? Why didn’t you join me? I thought you were dead” – I asked in astonishment. “Well, I was drying up my boots at the other end of the trench, so I had to go collect them. There were some guys constantly running around (they were Russians). I just put on my boots, climbed out of the trench, started walking along the trees lining a path leading towards our positions. Our guys picked me up along the way”.

Bakhmut, R’s story.

In August, somewhere near Bakhmut we were running across a field under a heavy gun fire. We were looking for the body of our comrade. We had been given approximate co-ordinates of its location, and we were on a mission to retrieve it.

Mortar shells were falling within a few metres from us. One of our guys had been wounded, and was bleeding badly. He kept moving along, while repeating the same phrase, like a mantra – “We are going to live exactly as long as we are given”.

Somewhere halfway through the field, a mortar shell exploded about 30 meters away from us. It was only then that the fearless wounded guy finally said – “I think it is time for us to sit down, and have a smoke”. However, he was up and running a  couple of minutes later. When we finally reached the location, the body was not there. Some of the guys from another company had already tried to pull it out of there, but failed to do so because of a heavy shelling. They had simply hidden it in the woods nearby without informing us. We could not locate it, and had to turn back without the body of our brother-in-arm.

After that, I was correcting mortar fire. Our lookout was located in a five-storey building at the outskirts of the city. As soon as we entered it, Russians detected us, and began a massive shelling campaign. We had to hide in the basement. One of the shells landed right at the entrance into the basement. The front door was blown off. Everyone not wearing earpieces suffered concussions.

The massive shelling went on for two hours. During that time, the house partially collapsed, and we started planning our escape through its sewage system. We kept knocking on the wall, trying to locate wider pipes.

We carefully listened to the sounds of falling shells, and when there was a temporary silence we made a dash outside towards our car, which turned out to have been miraculously spared. We managed to drive it off to safety.

There were some guys from another company who sat in the basement with us. They also made a dash outside during the temporary lull in shelling. They weren’t so lucky as us – their car had been badly damaged, but they managed to drive it on one wheel. 

As we were driving off, the Russians managed to re-load their weapons, and finished off the building, which completely collapsed behind us.

November, 2023. Ross’s story.

This was one of those many firing positions, which nobody came back alive from. There was a 30-metre long thicket between us and our enemies.

We were under sustained direct fire from tanks, mortars, and various kinds of automatic weapons. We were on three-hourly shifts. Once you reach the relatively safe dugout, and have your snack, you only have 2 hours for a nap left. It was raining most of the time, and everything was covered with mud. We had to constantly clean our guns, and ammo.

Once, our commanding officer spotted a Russian assault company, which was approaching our position. The guys standing next to him wanted to open fire, but he told them to hold it. He moved  a little to the side from their direction of travel, hid behind a tree and said loudly, in Russian – “Hey guys! Come over here, it is safe!” Six Russians walked into the trap.

The gunfights were so intense, they reminded me of movies about the bloody Vietnam war! Shells and bullets were shredding up the trees.

After one of close explosions, I went to check on “Doc” who was keeping a lookout nearby. The shell landed next to him. I crawled closer to him, lifted up his helmet, and discovered a bloody mash with some small bone fragments underneath. Unfortunately, I was not able to pull the body out to safety.

Soon afterwards, the shells started landing just a few metres from where I was. As a result of one explosion, the left shell from my ear piece was blown off. I suffered a concussion, as well as injuries to my left ear, and eye. 

The fifth day on that position turned out to be the hardest. I was woken up, and told that Russians were starting a major assault. We rushed towards the lookout, and got into a fight straight away.

There were about 25-30 of them, and only 9 of us. They started off with shelling our positions, which left two of us wounded. 

One of the guys had his shoulder blade shattered by a shrapnel, while another fragment got stuck in his helmet, which was turned inside out as a result. If it had hit him 5 millimetres lower, it would have gone through his brain.

The other guy had blood running from his ears, nose, and eyes, but he got lucky – he had no penetrating wounds.

I was the only one who was still able to hold my weapon, but I was stunned, deafened, and disorientated. I kept on shooting forward in the direction of the enemy. I was lifting my rifle above the breastwork, keeping my head below the ground level. I am pretty sure that I only managed to hit the target twice.

That particular battle lasted for less than an hour. I was completely soaked through with sweat nspite of the fact that it was about zero degrees Celsius outside. 

We decided to retreat. I was providing fire cover for my brothers, while they were running for their life. We were retreating along an open space, and mortar shells were falling all around us. When we finally reached a relatively safe place, we administered pain killers to the severely wounded.

A little later, a lorry came to pick us up. As soon as I climbed into the flatbed of the truck, I fell down and switched off straight away. 

On the same day, 20 new guys replaced us at our position, and managed to hold it, but paid a heavy price – 7 of them got killed, and the remaining 13 got wounded.

(Photo – Ross is preparing a meal in between watch duties).

Bakhmut, D’s story.

At first, it was very scary. Soon, however the Adrenaline levels in my blood got so high, that I stopped feeling anything, and was just doing my job on an autopilot.

There were thirteen of us, plus a medic. We were ordered to dig in at a wooded area near Bakhmut, which was facing a hill occupied by the enemy. According to our untelligence, the area was safe, and free from Russians. However, as we were approaching our new positions, we saw the enemies coming in from the other side. There were about 30 of them in total.

There were a few dozen metres between us. We got engaged in a firefight, which lasted for about five hours. The Russians retreated, but we had run out of ammo.

There were wounded scattered all around us. Their moans were only interrrupted by nearby explosions. The Russian commanding officer contacted us on the radio, asking for a permission to come and collect their dead, and wounded. They had never allowed us to do it, so we refused too. Gradually, the moans subsided. We came out, and searched them. One dead boy was in his twenties and had a passport of so-called “Lugansk People’s Republic”, a quasi-state created by Russian terrorists, that does not exist on any map.

It was clear to us, that none of the Russians had had any serious training. Their kit was quite shitty too – they had metal Soviet-era helmets on, and pretty much no other protection. They did not even have bullet-proof vests. Can you imagine going on an assault without a bullet-proof vest? The only thing that they were not lacking was ammunition. Every morning there was a large truck full of ammo arriving at their positions.

That night, it became quiet as the darkness fell. Silence is scarier than the sounds of explosions. It was indeed quiet before the storm – later, they began shelling our positions with mortars, artillery, multi-rocket propelled grenades, and tanks, which was quickly followed by waves of assaults by their infantry troops.

On the following night, they quietly crawled towards our positions in order to pull out the bodies of their comrades, who had been killed on the previous night. We were simply watching, and counting the bodies. We got to 36.

In two days, we spent seven crates of grenades, and all the bullets that had been rationed to our platoon earlier. When we almost ran out of ammo, and called for a back-up, there was only one crazy guy from the ammunition depot who dared to deliver it to us. We would not have survived without him.

All of us made it out alive then. One guy had a light brain concussion because a bullet tangentially entered his helmet, ending up stuck between his head and the helmet. He now carries that bullet with him, like a talisman. I also got hit in my flank by a shell fragment, which went through my clothes, and cut through my skin, but that does not really count.

Soledar, D’s story

Me and the guys held those positions for six months. We were stuck there almost without any breaks. I only got to come out a few times. You go completely mad, when you are there the whole time.

There are no distractions over there; you simply can’t switch off, but when something crazy used to get into my head, I just started digging. That was the only thing that saved me. It did not matter whether it was day, or night. You just grab your shovel, and crack on, as soon as some fucked-up shit gets into your head.

Once, they started shelling our positions with heavy artillery fire yet again. They hit our dugout, and the guys spent the whole night trying to scrape out our guns, and ammo. By the morning, we were completely knackered. We barely managed to get some of our stuff out, when Russians moved in at about 6 a.m. We stopped digging, and started shooting.

We were in a field with railway tracks cutting through it. The tracks were on top of an elevated mould, which served as a demarcation line between our positions. There was a big concrete tube in the middle of the mould. A person could easily pass through it, almost without stooping. The bastards were using it to launch their assaults at our positions.

There was about 400 metres from our position to that tube. I took an RPG, and fired at it about five times. One of the HEAT projectiles hit it directly. Later, our recon team said that about fifteen Russians had got into that tube right before that hit. 

After the hit, three of them came down right in front of the entrance into the tube, while the others  never came out of the other end. The fire burst out from the other end as if it was a rocket thruster. I doubt that any of them survived.

They are running at us in the open field in full view, without even attempting to hide. This is fucked up. I take an aim at one of them, and empty half a magazine directly at him, and that bastard just keeps on walking! Those creeps take some drugs, possibly amphetamines before their assaults, which make them resistant to pain. They are like fucking zombies. On another position, we threw four grenades into a basement, and the guy there just kept on shooting at us. 

This is just one little episode out of many during the time that we spent there. God only knows how many more there were…

When I remember it, I start crying…

Your brain requires straightening up after that.

Soledar, Baby Boy’s story.

There were eight of us in the assault group moving towards that position. After tackling a river crossing, we quickly ran across a field, and reached the first house of the village that we had been ordered to seize control of. We were halted right there by a Russian machine gunner positioned on top of the neighbouring house. There was about fifty metres between us, and there was nowhere for us to hide from his commanding position.

I crawled to another corner of the house, and shot at him with my RPG. I heard moans coming from his location straight after that. It meant that he had gotten hit. I shot once more, and there were no more moans.

We seized control of that position, and dug in. It was getting dark. Their assault groups started moving in at about midnight. We were engaging them until it got eerly quiet.

By the morning, our guys managed to bring us some more ammo. There was a total silence for a few hours, which was quite unnerving. We all felt a bad premonition. Then, a sudden call from our recce guys informing us that we had been almost completely surrounded by the enemy. We had not received any orders to retreat by then. This is when I realized that we were fucked.

They started shelling us from a tank. We were hit unexpectedly, and with a great precision. During quiet moments, when they were not firing at us, they were correcting their targets, and taking the coordinates. With the first hit, we suffered three casualities, including myself.

The shell exploded about ten metres from where I was. I was thrown off quite a distance away. I felt warmth spreading down my leg. I looked at it and wondered why my boot was twisted to one side, while the rest of it was straight.

I started crying for help. A guy sitting next to me applied a tourniquet, which snapped almost immediately. Another guy came up to help, and applied another tourniquet. Then, an evacuation team arrived shortly afterwards. While under direct fire, those guys carried me to safety literally in a few minutes. They were absolutely great! When I was being carried on a stretcher, I burst into singing “Oh, in the meadow a red guelder rose” (a famous Ukrainian folk song). I don’t know why that song got stuck in my head on that day.

As soon as medics received me, I was given a pain killer, and put inside an ambulance, which took about an hour to reach a field hospital. I was knocked out for about half of our journey. They woke me up in an operating theatre. It turned out that the large bone in my lower leg was cut halfway by a shell fragment. Nobody tries to put your leg back together around here, they just cut the remaining bone off. I am really glad that I had gotten hit below the knee.

I am now lying next to the guys, who had suffered various injuries to their legs. They all seem to be happy.

(When I mentioned to Baby Boy that I did not hear anything pessimistic from him when he was telling me his story, his answer was – “Why the hell should I be pessimistic? I have a goal, and it gives me strength”.)

If everything is well, then I will get a prosthesis in about 3 months.  My girlfriend has been supporting me a lot, coming to visit me here in the hospital. After I am fully recovered, I am planning to support the guys, who have been wounded at the frontline. I also want to buy a car and to go on a road trip.

P.S. The evacuation team, which were pulling the wouded out from the battlefield on that day consisted of twelve people. They were running around the open field in groups of four. They were an ideal target for the enemy. On the following day after Baby Boy had been wounded, seven of them were at the same hospital with various injuries.

Books on the frontline

Charles Belfoure, The Paris Architect

The war has changed us all. Every one of us has a painful “before” and “after” story. This book tells one of such stories, and it does not really matter that the story is unfolding in the French capital during its occupation by the Nazis, rather than the present-day Ukraine.

The book’s main character receives a lucrative order to make a secret stash for a jew. He is a talented architect, and is dreaming of big projects, which would let his talents shine through, as well as make him famous. He is also quite cynical, and not willing to deal with jews, which might lead to an arrest, and possible execution under the Nazi rule. However, under the occupation he is jobless, and does need money badly, and hence agrees to do this small, secretive, and very dangerous job putting away his self-importance, and antisemitism.

After completing it, and telling  the client not to bother him anymore, he quickly squanders the money. Then, he agrees to do another similar job. Then, another. Soon afterwards, he finds himself helping to save people from Nazis, risking his own life every time.

I have seen similar quick transformations of hundreds of our own people, who have shown numerous examples of altruism, generosity, and service to others. It has been great to witness that. In war, it is as important to save people, as it is to kill…

The common good is our weapon, and we do not need land lease to deploy it. We have enough of it even to export it, and our immigrants have been proving that for the past decades.

The more the good prevails inside each one of us, the more chances it has to prevail outside in the battle against the greater evil.

Books on the frontline

Tom Phillips, “Humans: A Brief History of How We Have Fucked It All Up”.

Around here, ashes fall down from the sky much more often than rain. In critical situations, curse words are used much more often than the rest. The more your place of residence looks like a grave, the more chances you have to stay alive.

Your arm and your gun have become one. You have gotten used to doing everything else with your other arm.

Around here, your experience, mastery, and knowledge do not matter. Everything is determined by random luck.

The first book that I have read here was a witty compilation of failures in human history called “Humans: A Brief History of How We Have Fucked It All Up” by a Tom Phillips, a British journalist.

A new chapter of that book is being written right here, right now.

At a first glance, everything that is happening here looks like a total destruction, an unimaginable suffering, a nightmare. It is difficult to see through all that, and to realize that it is all a stage in a  large-scale creative process. I think that this is what is important here and now. A new creative process that is beyond our grasp.

Books on the frontline

Bill Gates, “How To Avoid a Climate Disaster”

Recently, a farmer has approached us, asking us to help him finish off his cattle, which he has spent years raising, and taking care of. Because of the war, his farm has run out of water. He had two options – either slaughter the animals, and sell their meat, or abandon his farm, and leave the animals to die a slow death. Here, in the war zone we often hear the cries and wails of abandoned hungry animals who have been left to die, and they break your heart.

At another place, we were once putting down a large-scale fire on a field. The flames were eating up the dry grass very quickly, turning into a thick black smoke that had a revolting stench. We only had shovels, and some tree branches, which we quickly chopped up as we were running towards the fire. We managed to put down the fire on the low grass relatively quickly. However, in an instant the fire moved towards the wheat on the other side of the field. We were completely helpless in the face of it. The cause of that fire was a misfired mortar bomb.

One evening late at night, I was on a lookout in a trench. I was admiring an unbelievably beautiful tide of red colour across the sky above Lisichansk. “This is a wonderful sunset”, I thought, but in about half an hour, when the sun was supposed to have fallen down below the horizon, the shades of red were still glowing with the same intensity. It was then that I realized that all that time I had been looking in the eastern direction, and not in the direction of sunset. That was not a glorious sunset finale, but a Hellish extravaganza of white phosphorus munitions being dropped at nearby positions.

Those are just a few examples of how wars ravage the Environment. According to some reports, since the Russian invasion each one of us breathes in air of a quality comparable to that of a major steelworks situated across the road.

One of the books that I had managed to smuggle to the frontline was Bill Gates’ “How To Avoid a Climate Disaster”. In it, he explains how humans could decrease pollution of their environment in a very simple, and accessible language. He lays out detailed information on how much emissions are generated in the course of various industrial processes, which are used during manufacture of goods and materials in common use today. He then offers effective solutions, which could reduce, and even stop those emissions.

For years, the billionaire has been investing in various technological, and energy strart-ups, which have been working on zero-emission accumulators, generators, and power stations. He also talks about some examples of how to reduce toxic emissions by the industry, which are being dumped into the atmosphere.

One of the most influential innovators of today has already changed the World, having given us very cool computer programmes. He is now aiming at even a bigger goal – to drastically reform our energy systems. I am looking forward to his success.

However, the book describes a healthy peaceful world. It does not include wars, and their influence on our environment.

On the photo, there is a fragment from “Grad” multi-rocket launcher. We are being showered by those on a daily basis. They are produced from an alluminium alloy. During an explosion that metal sometimes boils. The distorted fragment on the photo was boiling too. The boiling temperature of alluminium is + 2470 degrees Celsius. One could only imagine an off-the-charts concentration of poisonous gases that we have to inhale during shellings.

Breathing in poisonous emissions during shellings is our best option; the worst one is to stop breathing altogether…

Books on the frontline

Mariano Siman, “The Secret Life of Brain”

During the hottest moments, you act first, and then think. In a firefight, your hands reload, and take the aim. You do not remember how you have found yourself lying head down inside the trench, when at about fifty metres from where you stood, a recently launched rocket was starting to go back down tail first, because its fin had not opened. You legs had brought you there.

When on the frontline, one feels like they are inside a pressure cooker. Some days, your brain is about to explode because of all the negativity and fear. At the end of those days, you make youself fall asleep, only to wake up a couple of hours later laughing uncontrollably. You go outside so not to wake up your comrades. You breathe in the fresh air, look into the eyes of the darkness, and try to remember when there have been the last time you laughed, or felt a glimpse of joy. It turns out that it has been awhile. A long-suppressed positivity has just come out.

One of my brothers-in-arms once spent a few weeks in a pit on the “line zero”. They were being shelled so hard that there was nothing left of the trees surrounding their positions, and there were only three and a half walls left out of the village nearby. The ground was shaking, and it felt like an earthquake every time a bomb landed.

“Then, the orcs (Russians) started firing at us from their tanks. Tanks are fucking scary! Twice, I could not make out why I am lying on the ground. One moment I was standing, another – I was lying face down. It was finally getting quieter as the night was approaching. I got my head out of the trench just to gulp some fresh air. There was another guy there looking at the sky. We had a chat about artillery, about how to best sharpen a shovel, about football, girls – everything! We had a long chat well into the night. Then, I said that I was going to sleep, and he said that he would hang around for a bit longer. We said our goodbyes.”

In the morning, it turned out that the guy he had had a midnight chat with turned out to be a corpse of a Russian, which had been lying there for more than a week by then. Our guy was diagnosed with a brain contusion later.

Guys, who have come back home from the grinder, often want to go back to the frontline. “There is nothing worse than war, but I want to go back badly”.

Why does our brain work this way?

I have found some of the answers in a wise book called “The Secret Life of Brain” by an Argentinian neurobiologist Mariano Sigman. It describes the complicated geography of our mental labirynths in a very accessible language. 

The author has conducted a series of interesting studies of our consciousness, and gives a practical advice on how to best control it, how to train our willpower, and use it to warm up your fingers; how many hours, and what regimen to use to train, and solidify new skills, and how to make better-quality decisions quicker.

All that knowledge is very useful here at the frontline, where the atmosphere is extreme, and concentrated. Sometimes those techniques could even be life-saving.

On the picture, the book is in front of the entrance into a dugout as a symbol of a guide to unexplored corners of our consciousness.

Books on the frontline.

Richard Osman, “The Thursday Murder Club”.

This ironic detective story is an enchanting masterpiece. Its mood and energy reminded me of Guy Ritchie’s “The Gentlemen” movie.

It is about retired old guys, who have nothing to do, so they decide to occupy themselves with some murder investigations. In the process, they often make fools of themselves, so the whole thing turns into a comedy of errors.

The book draws a disproportionate amount of our attention into everyday trivialities. At first, it serves as a distraction, but then begins to cheer you up. As you read the book, you gradually realize that the proximity of death makes every one of the main characters appreciate life’s every little detail. This is exactly what happens here at the frontline – after brewing tea, putting up a warm pea coat, or just re-doing laces on your boots, you catch yourself smiling, while saying an optimistic “Whoops!” It is as if you are celebrating a life’s little achievement. You move – therefore you live, and this is already a great news! And if you are also in one piece, and healthy, then it is practically a jackpot!

The old gentlemen from the book conduct their murder investigations parrallel to the police ones. The latter act professionally, and strictly adhering to their protocols; the former do it in an unpredictable, and paradoxical manner. 

Here on the frontline, I often encounter older guys who have had a candle burning up their arses for decades. Having reached their sixth decade, they continue to act like Chip and Dale from the Disney cartoon with their famous “Bravery and Stupidity” motto.

They have less to live than the youngest of us. That is why old people are brave. They have less left to lose.

They are rushing to go to places where a younger dude should turn his eyes away from. They do things that others would not dream about. 

And you know what? Old dudes rule! They often find some awesome way out of a stalemate.

Once, I was on a lookout duty on the “line zero” with one of those characters. It was tense. I was looking at the nearby wooded area, trying to make sure there was no movement in there. I did spot a slight rustle at the point where we were expecting the enemy to make their move from, and said to my older brother-in-arms – “Contact at 10 o’clock. A movement behind the trees”. In response, he just looked indifferently at where I was pointing at, and said – “One has to meet their enemy with a smile”. He then used one hand to take a tooth brush from his breast pocket, and the other to take his dentures out, and started polishing them.

You get too old to rock-n-roll only when you start thinking that way.

Books at the frontline.

Mathew McConaughey, The Green Lantern

This inspirational, and honest autobiography is full of drive. It literally gives you strength, and showers you with ideas. McConaughey analyzes his life with a great attention to detail, and without excessively criticizing himself, paying particular attention to its unavoidable fellow travellers – successes, and failures, cuddles, and backstabbings, trials, and tribulations, as well as life’s greatest gifts. He talks about all the episodes, when he has felt as if the green light was on, a confirmation that he was in sync with his destiny. 

However, a war puts on red light. Flashes of explosions, blood, fire – red colour is everywhere around here, but even in this dog-eats-dog environment there are sometimes flashes of green light leading my brothers-in-arms in the right direction.

Before he was sent to Donbas, one of my comrades had used to boast about how he had felt  invincible like Rambo, and had been telling everyone around him how he would be slashing Russians at the frontline. While everyone else had been scared, and somewhat embarassed to listen to his speeches, he himself had been looking down at all the others. During the training he was the only professional among amateurs. But, when we hit “the line zero”, he immediately gave up, and ran to get help from the medics, although he did not have any injuries. He has never come back to the frontline since then.

At the same time, his brothers are carrying on holding the line, shaking, and slightly embarassed. They do their job unprofessionally, being complete amateurs, but they carry on doing it, day in, day out.

We constantly find ourselves in places, which are not suitable for living. With each move, disgust is always our initial reaction. But, having changed countless places we have stayed at, we have learned to quickly adapt to our new environment, and accept it the way it is. We have learned to set up our ascetic camps anywhere, regardless of circumstances.

We survive in places where there is no life, and this has taught us to not die in places where there is so much death.

As we were approahing the frontline, our bus turned into a street, which had been completely bombed down, with all the houses totally destroyed by an artillery fire. That was the first such street that we had seen by then. Explosions were getting closer. There was an old, wise, good-natured guy sitting in front of me, who suddenly stopped talking, and broke into a smile. “My mood has just got better”, he said with a cheer. He seemed to savour every sound of an explosion, looking at the ruins attentively. He was not a maniac, the war had made him more involved in living his life. It had given him strength. He was not a madman, but he was diving into a battle as if it was his life-giving source. He was an intelligent, introspective family man with piercing eyes, which were looking straight through you.

At first glance, it looked like he was comppletely incompatible with the war, but that impression was quite deceptive. One month later, he dived into the life-giving source of the war so deep, that he stayed there forever. The only thing that has remained of him is his smile. 

“He attacks life with an all-absorbing vigor” – this is how a writer described Mathew McConaughey after reading “The Green Lantern” in her review of his book. One could say the same thing about many of my brothers-in-arms, who are now here with me. Their stories could one day make an even cooler book than the one written by the great actor.

Books on the frontline

Tactical Medical Manual.

In our dugout chopped pine roots stick out from the walls. The sap of the tree flows out of them. It slowly drips down, one centimeter per day, dragging down the wall like mercury, and resembling tears. At the frontline, the soil sucks out all your emotions dry. This is good. The less you let your emotions run wild, the more chances you have to survive.

No emotions.

When you apply a bandage across a blown-up leg of a screaming man with no back up medical kit in pitch darkness. You are desperately looking for something, anything to stop the bleeding.

No emotions.

When you are putting a semi-amputated arm in a plastic bag, next to a semi-conscious soldier, while the medic is dragging him towards a car.

No emotions.

The Captain was telling us a story the other day, about how he was pulling bodies from a dugout, which had been directly hit by a shell. He spotted a helmet, which was everted inside out: “The helmet looked like a flower (!), a poppy (!)!  We were searching for a head for a very long time (!), but could only find a little piece of the skull (!). When I was on my way here (!), I was thinking of a Victory party (!), how I would come back, and would be celebrating for two weeks minimum (!). Now, after pulling the guys out of that dugout (!), I don’t want anything (!), no vodka, no parties (!). All I really want now (!) is to simply come home, and sit quietly. I don’t need anything in this life anymore (!)”. In his story, I have put exclamation marks instead of f-words. When he finished, he lit up a cigarette, and started telling his story from the beginning. And again, and again…

No emotions.

On the photo, you could see a Tactical Medical Manual, which I have learned by heart. To my greatest regret, we have had to apply all of its content into our everyday life on the frontline. The book is surrounded by shell fragments.