In the morning, an acquaintance called. Congratulated with a holiday. Used a ton of nice but exaggerated adjectives, such as the bravest, the strongest, etc. And said: «Promise that we will greet victory together.» And I remember the woman at the checkpoint… We were moving from one place to another after an assignment. It was already dark. There was a line of cars near the checkpoint. We drove past the queue. …
A woman in a pink jacket is trying to push a baby carriage up the ramp of the underground passage. It’s morning. Rush hour. The wheels are twisting around and the carriage won’t go. The woman is practically in tears. The streetcar has just come up and the passage is jammed. The woman and her carriage immediately become an obstacle in everybody’s way, those who are taking advantage of the …
I want to tell you how I got my nom de guerre and why. Because it’s a funny story. When I was traveling to my military training, I dressed all in black, simply because it’s practical. I arrived at the base in the West of Ukraine. I hadn’t got my uniform yet, so I went to lunch in my civilian clothes. There were five women of my mother’s age and older in the canteen handing out the food. I’m a vegan, …
Bakhmut. Live. B. We went to our position in October. Eight of us. We took up a position in a village near Bakhmut, where already at that point not a single house remained standing. Near one of them we set up a firing position where I worked without a break for 41 days. We slept in the cellar, dressed, not taking our footwear off, pulling 2−3 sleeping bags over us. Every night we fended off …
«Look at me now, look at me. Don’t look at him. You knew him?» «Yes…» «What was his name, his surname, how old was he?» «Oleksandr. He was 48. He’s my father-in-law.» Fifteen minutes earlier. Daytime, the city, quiet, our old spot, where no one has lived for ages, but which serves as the starting point for departures and returns. The three of us were …
«Jazz, take a look in the binocs, is someone walking towards us across the field or am I starting to see things?» «No, you’re not imagining… The fuck, someone really is there… someone in our uniform.» «You're kidding… So what’s he doing here?» «Well, most likely it’s someone to replace the dude you sent to the mortar unit for a break (suspended for the use of alcohol). Makes sense. Only …
Morning sketch. This may come out too emotional and pathetic. But in addition to the adrenalin rush and the gutsiness of our actual offensive, meeting with the locals and our impressions of them—people who had spent several months without contact, and some with out power, gas or water—was also a big deal. And their hundreds of stories, some of which you don’t even want …
We get a call from the owner of the house we are living in. — Guys, go ahead and slaughter the rabbits, and eat them. — ??? But Uncle Mykola, that’s really too nice of you. We have our military rations. — Put your rations away! Go ahead and cook up the rabbits! I’m asking you. You’re my guests. — Well, if you insist. We’ll leave you the rations then. …
It has already hit the press and not because of me, so I am free to speak. Bero and Dato. Gia Beriashvili and Dato Ratiani. They died yesterday in the battle for Irpin, doing reconnaissance for our platoon. We took Bero, who had already died, out under mortar fire yesterday. Bero fought for his life until the last minute. Dato Ratiani had become …
