DAY OF DEPARTURE
The officer says:
- Friend, besides you, there's no one else to go to the position. We're running out of people.
- Going there now is like buying a one-way ticket.
The officer remains silent, looking away.
***
I start preparing for my mission - to go to the OP (observation post) with Amigo. He's a tough guy who took down a bastard on his last outing. And wounded one more. But he was on that position only once.
Two drone operators are going to the OP Petros, which is 20 meters away from our OP, and they have never been there before.
On the OP we're heading to, the guys are dealing right now with shrapnel and concussions – grenade drops from drones. So, we need to reinforce the roof and dig an “L”-shaped tunnel. We need to put a camouflage net at the entrance to catch the RPGs, FPVs and grenades. And of course, prepare for the assault.
I think everything through, get ready. I write to my parents, friends, wife - I won't be in touch for 2 days.
***
We set out at 20:30. Entry and exit from positions only in darkness. Because FPVs and drones with drops don't fly at night. But it's a matter of time - sometimes bastards use night FPVs and drops, they just haven't scaled up this technology yet.
We transfer to a truck. Arrive at the drop-off point. Then we wait.
The weather is bad. That's good - drones don't fly. So we take the short route - along the path cleared by sappers through the minefield.
On the way, we check twice in shelters. If we don't, the bastards will detect the group at the exit, roughly calculate when and where it will pass, direct all the weapons there and “cover” it. At first, the groups went like this - without stops and in a crowd. When most of the combat-ready troops ended up in hospitals or in a better world - we decided to change the approach.
The poncho is annoying. It gives hope that you'll be less visible from the enemy night drones. But it rustles and catches on everything lying underfoot. The path lies through a pile of fallen trees interspersed with mine craters. I cut the neck hole in my poncho - it didn't fit over the helmet.
I'm thinking that if I see a land mine - I'll step on it quietly with the tip of my boot. Many think about it, those who go to the OP quickly become fucked up. They want to get an injury light enough to keep functioning, but heavy enough not to return to this fucking hell.
The rain subsides. Dark as hell. I'm not sure I'm going the right way, but I continue to walk by landmarks that I barely distinguish.
I remember always being terrible at navigating in the terrain. But here, it's a matter of life and death. Get lost - and you might end up in a minefield or at the enemy's positions. The guys say that during shelling, you should move as quickly as possible. But I'm a supporter of lying low in a crater and curling up. That way, from a night drone, you'll look like a fresh impact crater. And when the shelling stops and the drones disperse, you can orient yourself in the terrain and continue moving quickly.
We get onto a straight road. The main landmarks on it are two bodies along the road and a dugout. But I don't see either because it's very dark.
We approach closer, about 200 meters from our OP. Shelling starts. It falls about 10 meters away from us. I tell my buddy to lie in the crater. I say over the radio that we're being shelled, let the anti-drone system work.
The entry and exit from the positions are always accompanied by shelling from the 120s and RPGs. The exception is super bad weather - downpours, storms, heavy fog. Because then the drones don't fly and can't adjust the fire.
The shelling subsides. We move on.
I call the guys on the radio. No response.
I scream their names. The shelling starts again, but not very close. You can't shout too loud - the enemy is close.
I hear the guys. I walk towards the sound.
The guys climb out of the pit, we dive into their place. Disoriented, they linger near the position, one searches for his rifle.
A drone starts circling above us. I think - now they're screwed. Standing in one place for so long is too provocative. But no, they move out and reach the drop-off point without incident.
Then the neighbors come to the Petros. Two for observation, and two for evacuation. There's someone on their OP who can't walk, with a leg injury.
I immediately tell Amigo - we need to dig. He digs, I'm on the radio and observing.
I notice that I lost my sleeping bag on the way. That's shitty news.
The neighbors pull the 300 (codename for somebody who is wounded), callsign Benny, out of the pit. It's muddy, and they can’t move him further.
- We told you we couldn't pull him out, it’s too muddy, - the evacuator complains over the radio to the operations officer (OO). Incoming fire starts. Someone from the evacuation group gets wounded, and they retreat. 300 stays at Petros.
Amigo dug up three bags of soil. We switch. I dig up one more. You can't throw it near the exit from the pit - drones will notice fresh soil, and we'll start having problems.
At dawn, while it's still gray, and the night drones have flown, but the daytime ones haven't arrived yet, we climb out of the pit. We cover the film ceiling pierced by drops. On top, we put sandbags and branches.
Amigo lies down to rest. After him, I do too, but I can't sleep. It's very cold, I'm all wet after walking to the position.
Day 1
The day passes calmly, without assaults, drops, or heavy shelling.
I eat and drink more. The weather is good. Friendly drones scan the surroundings, so we can relax.
I rest, curled up in my little tunnel. This tunnel is like a lifeline for my sanity.
I spent a lot of energy digging it. And encouraged my partners to dig. Besides my shifts, no one else dug - they saved their strength, or just didn't give a damn. Many people don't give a damn about anything anymore, I understand them. I don't give a damn about a lot of things too. But just not the tunnel.
It's like a foxhole, branching out a meter deep at a 90-degree angle from our main dugout. Above this tunnel is a thick layer of earth. Actually, the tunnel burrows into the hillside, and the deeper we dig it, the more earth is above our heads.
Even now, as I write this text, my heart warms with memories. That tunnel was like Tom Hanks' ball on the island. When I felt scared or sad, I dug the tunnel. When I couldn't dig, I imagined digging later. In my dreams, this tunnel was the perfect protection from drops and impacts, and from FPVs too. It won't save me from a successful assault, but I already had another plan for that case.
I charge up the thermal camera and the anti-FPV REB. I clean my rifle from the mud with wipes, put it in a bag to keep it from sticking.
I dig up the GP (grenade launcher) - it's all in the muck.
Periodically, we hear the creaky sound of FPVs, we turn on the REB. But not for more than 2 minutes, or it'll burn out.
At night, Amigo observes a mass movement of bastards heading towards our rear.
I inform the OO. He orders fire from the automatic grenade launcher, but it's not hitting right. I correct the operations officer, he says - I can't shoot, it's too close to you guys.
I wrap myself in a thermal blanket. I'm shaking all over. Amigo covers me with film, and I manage to sleep for an hour.
The OO convinces Benny (300) to crawl to evacuation independently. He's directed from the drone. By morning, he crawls to more rear positions.
Day 2
Minutes feel like days. I eat, drink, pee, dig, rest. Distract myself as much as possible so time passes faster. And try not to think about the bad stuff.
I try to do breathing exercises, but it doesn't help much. Breathing exercises help in social situations. For example, at public speaking. Or before talking to an unpleasant person. But in existential situations - not so much.
We pee in a bottle, pour it out through the entrance. We observe our sector through the camouflage net. Essentially, the exit from the dugout is all pissed, and everyone who gets in or out of it gets smeared in it. But no one found a better option - safety comes first.
I evaluate our burrow. As a shelter - not bad. As an observation post and firing position - zero.
***
At 14:30, a drone hovers low above us and drops a grenade. I grab the anti-drone gun - it doesn't work. I put on active headphones and a helmet - the headphones don't work either. The second drop falls near the entrance, my right ear is deafened.
The drone flies away. I inform the OO. I deal with the anti-drone gun. It's broken.
***
At night, a drone spots a group of bastards near us. The OO commands – shoot and throw grenades in their direction, so they slow down.
I take a couple of shots into nowhere, throw one grenade. Friendly units start hitting them with everything possible - AGS, mortar rounds, shells. I hear shouts in russian, "get him here". Probably, they have a 300.
Meanwhile, Rambo, the medic from our battalion, evacuates someone. Then he returns to evacuate Benny. On the way, he catches shelling, and loses several fingers on his right hand.
Evacuator is 300. Again.
We were supposed to be replaced. But we're not. So, we stay for one more day.
Three guys come out to evacuate Benny. They take the short route. They come under fire. One says on the radio that he's wounded in the leg and arm. He can't apply a tourniquet.
- Crawl,- the OO says.
- I can't! Because of you, I became 300, get me out of here!
- There's no one to pull you now. Apply the tourniquet and crawl.
- I can't!
- Then pretend to be dead and wait until evening, it's already dawn.
I feel disgusted, horrified, I'm angry at the operations officer, but I understand that there's no other choice. Evacuating the evacuators, especially in daylight, is a very difficult and shitty task.
The third day comes.
Day 3
In the morning, I hear on the radio:
- Petros, this is Base.
- Petros here.
- Is your PKM OK?
- Positive.
- Let off a few bursts at 12 o'clock.
- Roger that.
Amigo and I understand that our positions should be there. So, they're not there, and we've been deceived. It means that we are far more vulnerable than we thought.
After the bursts from the PKM, FPVs start flying towards Petros. Their REB is down, and the FPVs start flying directly at them.
They say on the radio - Sam is 300, wounded in the legs, Montana - concussed. The PKM was blown to pieces.
The Hoverla position, which was supposed to be north of us, says they have a drop, 2 200s (dead) and 1 300. The 300 who actually reported this on the radio retreats. From a more rearward position, Elbrus, they say in the Hoverla area they see 2 people with white bands on their shoulders – standard russian marking.
The OO says: "prepare for battle." I'm almost panicking. Our position is facing the enemy with our backs. And the neighbors are not combat-ready.
I ask Amigo, "What do we do?"
He says, "We prepare our rifles and grenades."
The GP and PKM are all in the muck.
I check the rifle. Will it work or jam? Not sure, the rifle is all muddy.
I imagine shooting myself in the head. The barrel needs to be inserted into the mouth, not to the temple. I decide to do it without hesitation. If necessary, right this moment.
Actually, I don't see anything wrong with suicide. How many times have I been prepared to kill myself, just didn't have enough determination? For instance, during acute hemorrhoids, or long sleep deprivation.
I decide that I will fight back, but in a hopeless situation - I'll shoot myself. So as not to suffer and not to give the bastards pleasure. And fuck whoever says what. Fuck that someone will continue to live, and I won't. Suicide is the ultimate solution to all problems, if you look at it from a different angle.
Will they retrieve our bodies? Unlikely. Some of our guys have been lying for up to 3 months. If they don't retrieve the 300s, what can be said about the dead.
***
Dusk falls. The rain pours. Downpour. The evacuation group seizes the moment and sets off to retrieve Benny.
On the way, they're asked to check if Dandy is still alive.
The OO gives me the command - go check on Sam. I crawl over to him. Nothing serious, small leg wounds. The tourniquet is undone.
I tell the operations officer - he can walk on his own.
I ask the OO about our plan of action. He says:
- Plan A - you're being replaced, and all four of you are leaving.
- And what's Plan B?
- If you're not replaced by 2 a.m. - it's up to you.
- Understood.
Rene with a group of assault troops moves forward as the leader to re-occupy Hoverla, where there are 2 200s and where 2 bastards were seen. We're stunned by this move - what the hell, how can they send him there without reconnaissance?
Shooting starts north of us. Rene reports that he's hit in the shoulder and he retreats.
Our replacement is missing. 3 a.m.
I assess the situation. Bastards are to the north of us. To the east as well. To the south - bastards are moving. But they seem to be controlled by ours. Sounds like semi-encirclement.
The bastards need to descend 200 meters to reach us in the burrows. At Petros, everyone is wounded, the PKM is destroyed.
Our OP faces south. If the bastards come down from the north, we're screwed.
If the replacement reaches us, it will be already towards morning. And we'll remain until evening. With no space for such crowd – it looks really bad.
I tell Amigo - we need to bounce. He agrees.
We crawl towards Petros. I tell Montana that we need to bail. I show him the direction.
We start crawling with Amigo. He's in worse shape, and he can't see well. I have to periodically stop and wait for him.
I look at the compass on the watch. Can't see shit because of the mud. I spit on the watch and wipe the screen with my nose. Because my hands are muddy too, and the nose remains one of the few relatively clean parts of my body.
Montana says on the radio that they've lost their way and need help.
There's no strength to go back. And additional clustering of people is definitely not what we need. I decide to crawl further west, into the forest, and then contact them again.
We approach the area where friendly forces are supposed to be. A single shot and a grenade.
- Friends, we're friends - I shout.
- Arms up, or I'll shoot.
They ask for our call signs. The position. The battalion. They ask about us on the radio.
They take away our weapons.
- We have your Rene. Check on him, provide assistance, and get the hell out of here, you're exposing our position.
I crawl to Rene. It's hard to see anything in the darkness and mud. He has a penetrating wound, maybe internal bleeding.
I decide to evacuate him as quickly as possible.
He tries to get up but falls and doesn't get up again.
He asks me to give him water and let him die peacefully, and to go on without him. And he says we should take the short route, he's laid glow sticks along it.
I feel terrible with myself. I hesitate for a few minutes. And then Amigo and I get going.
We reach the short road. Dandy is lying somewhere on the path, pretending to be dead. The operations officer still hopes he's alive.
I go first on the path, while Amigo stays to rest.
Shots start. I crouch down, then start running. I think - it would be a shame to die 100 meters from a relatively safe zone. Especially when my wife is about to give birth. Or maybe I have a daughter already – who knows.
I run across the field as fast as I can. My lungs ache from the exertion.
I don't see Uber's and Dandy's bodies. They're probably somewhere off the path.
I wait for Amigo. Together we go to the anti-drone operators.
Alex meets us. Gives us something to drink and words of encouragement. I express my dissatisfaction and disappointment.
Montana gets on the radio right away and says they've reached the allies. We breathe a sigh of relief.
Amigo heads to the drop-off point. I continue chatting with Alex.
Then I leave. Catch up to Amigo. We reach the medical bunker.
We wipe ourselves down with napkins. We're all covered in mud from head to toe.
We drink water. Fatigue sets in. I'm glad to be alive, and so are the guys I came in with. But for how long?
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