For 22 days near Pokrovsk, I used bags for the toilet, kept my clothes and armor on, and had food delivered by drone.

The Icon Did Not Fall

I can’t say I was eager to rush to the front, but I decided for myself: if I get called up, I will go. I received my summons in May 2024. After training, I joined an anti-aircraft missile brigade: for three months, I defended the skies over the capital.

In November, I and a few comrades were transferred to the infantry units of the Ground Forces. That's how I ended up in the 32nd brigade. In my company, there were two other people I had served with before. We were joined by guys from other rear units. We trained for a month at the range, went through combat coordination, which later saved our lives: we learned well what everyone was capable of. For instance, I have a good sense of direction, while others could shoot accurately.

And so came our first combat mission as infantry — direct confrontation with the enemy. On December 7, we took position in a village just a few kilometers from Pokrovsk. The locals had already evacuated. Our task was to hold a specific house, observe, and report on the enemies who were advancing in small groups and occupying parts of the village. We also needed to prevent them from capturing our position and to hold them back.

We knew we would be there for about two weeks, so we prepared well. We took 40 rations for six people, which weighed around 80 kilograms, each with a pack of water, and we stuffed our backpacks with Snickers and dry sausages. Plus, we had weapons, body armor, and magazines with ammunition. We had to carry all of this. We were unloaded at a stop close to our house.

We couldn't just walk into the house loaded down like camels: what if the enemy was hiding inside? How would we defend ourselves? So, we decided to scout first. We left our food at the stop. And it turned out that we never got back for it. About three days later, it disappeared.

We were lucky: there was no one in the house. It was an old barrack where several families used to live, each with their own entrance. In the apartment we settled into, it was evident that an elderly family lived there, as indicated by the outdated Soviet furniture and clothing. Here and there, there were photos of children and grandchildren.

Interestingly, there was an icon on the cupboard. Throughout all the fighting around us, grenades flew into our room, one of the two exits was shattered along with the door, and the slate roof was torn off. Only the ceiling remained, through which rain dripped. Yet the icon did not fall.

You Press the Trigger Without Hesitation

This house was chosen as an observation point due to its location. From the windows, two streets, a stadium, and an intersection were visible. The task was to control the area, and if the enemy was far, to report on them so that military artillery and mortars could engage. If they were close, we could eliminate them, which is what we did.

Besides our position, there were other Ukrainian positions in the village, roughly every 200 meters.

On the fourth day, we saw one elderly woman from the village who was heading out with a cart. Occasionally, some men walked the streets. We thought they were Russians in civilian clothes scouting our positions. We noticed that both they and the enemy in military uniforms entered the same house.

For about three days, the enemy did not know we were there, and we naively thought we would somehow survive. But then their numbers kept increasing. They learned about us and began to attempt to destroy us more frequently.

We even established a certain routine for how they operated. At dawn, they would shell us, at 7 AM they would actively move around the village, and from 8 to 10, they would use mortars. Then, until around 2 PM, they would try to storm us.

If this were World War II, they would have bombarded us with grenades or stormed us until we surrendered. But the nature of this war is that there are many drones. So the enemies would pop in for about five minutes: they knew we would radio in, and a drone would come to harass them.

After the assaults, they would fire heavy caliber rounds for several hours. Then they would storm us again. This would quiet down around 5 PM. That was when we would rest. Well, as much as you can: we were on duty. Two hours of sleep, two hours on watch. At night, observation was mainly done by ear. There were many debris from slate on the ground. If you heard someone approaching, you would report it, and a drone would come to scout. When it was my turn to sleep, I would fall asleep immediately. The body quickly adjusts to such a regime: sleep at night because you stand by the window all day.

We prepared a shelter right away: we cut a hole in the wooden floor to crawl in. We dug in and created a trench down to the foundation. We planned to dig a tunnel to create an alternative exit for ourselves. But the soil in Donbas is hard to dig. The shovel, especially the entrenching tool, wouldn’t work; we needed a pickaxe. We filled bags with dirt and barricaded the windows that were boarded up from the outside.

When, a few days later, an explosion blew out our entrance door and a piece of the wall, we barricaded the corridor with the same bags. This could protect us from gunfire, grenades, and shrapnel, including FPV. We left about 20 centimeters at the top to shoot and throw our grenades — we created a decent firing position.

We threw some dark clothing over the top because the bags were white and reflective. At night, we would go out to the dead enemies we had cleared, taking their weapons, power banks, and armor. We placed them on those same bags for better protection.

In those 22 days, we eliminated about 40 enemies with small arms. Plus or minus, we didn’t count precisely.

We also took out some more at our direction using drones. There were many bodies lying around. I tried not to look at their faces. In war, you don’t think: human or not. This scum is coming at you, wanting to kill you, and you press the trigger without hesitation. I didn’t aim particularly — I tried to fire as many rounds in the direction of the enemy as possible.

We had enough ammunition: if I entered the position with four magazines and ten packs of bullets, I would leave with fifteen magazines and a bag half-filled with ammunition. All of this was trophies.

Tourniquets for Two Weeks

About three days in, three comrades from another group joined us. They weren’t so lucky: they entered their position, but the house was occupied. They were firing back. They were ordered to break through to us. It took them a day and a half to do so. We were warned, and we went out at night to meet them.

One of them was already wounded in the leg and had frostbite — I noticed this a week later when gangrene set in. Another one got shot in the knee the next day when he stepped out to the extension near the house. We rushed to apply a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. It didn’t work. We applied a tourniquet: we hoped an evacuation would arrive to take at least the wounded since they were at several positions. But it was impossible to reach us: the area around was already controlled by the enemy. Our side tried to send help, but armored vehicles were being destroyed.

A drone that delivered water and food to us daily also dropped off medicine: antibiotics, painkillers. But a person with a tourniquet can only survive without damage to the limb for two hours. After that, tissue death begins and saving the arm or leg becomes nearly impossible. This soldier lay with a tourniquet for two weeks.

The wounded communicated with their families while we had adequate mobile coverage, sharing news about their situations. When a wife or mother couldn’t reach the soldier, the brigade organized something like a telebridge, connecting them through radio.

In the first days, the wounded tried to be helpful — they charged our magazines.

Later, one of our group was wounded in the arm, and he also went around two weeks with a tourniquet. His arm was amputated later, but he is alive. He is undergoing rehabilitation in the Lviv region.

I was also wounded. On the day the entrance door was blown out, I was sitting in a little corridor, watching my direction. My leg was sticking out into the passage. Suddenly, an explosion! It felt like there was a bell on my head, and someone struck it hard with a hammer. My vision darkened. Then we saw: two pieces of metal were lodged in the wall on the opposite side. Thankfully, no one was standing in the passage because they would have surely died on the spot. Only my leg was caught in the blast area. A fragment entered my boot and pierced the sole. Since then, I have been limping.

On December 25, Christmas, the guys with leg wounds died in the evening