Sleep peacefully, my unknown soldier…

Forgive me, my dear ones, a comment by yet another rear-echelon jerk caught my eye, ranting about the crazed "Slavyanka" [First Guards Slavic Brigade] who doesn't want to come out of the dugouts, and it got me fired up...

I know it's not good for mental hygiene to read these cretins, who are most likely just latent ukies - enemies disguised as our own... But it got me fired up.

The day before, "Slavyanka" was moving forward, gnawing through that damned Khrebet [Ridge] line. It's the closest position to the settlement of Severny and the most difficult one – formed by a chain of dominating heights covering all the northern part of Avdeevka, blocking the possibility to slip those mere kilometers through to the settlement. Yet, on the first day, we entered there, and now we're expanding the bridgehead meter by meter.

On the second, third, fourth day, coughing up blood and with fingernails torn off, we were clinging to that patch of woodland belt with ferocious desperation.

The concussed “mekhvods” [driver-mechanics] drove their “Brooms” [MTLB vehicles] over and over day and night across this field - day and night, under “Birds” [Drones], mines, and artillery fire... Because reinforcements were needed, ammunition was needed, and the return trips were empty...

On the first day we made significant progress from Vodyanoye towards Severny – as much as one and a half kilometers, and these one and a half kilometers during those days turned into the road of life. At the command post, it was called just that - the road of life...

And the three and a half kilometers to Vodyanoye – were referred to as  just a road.

The empty “broom” would make it to Vodyanoye where the infantry, who were arriving on foot, would load up, and then began that very very road of life into that very deadly battle, which lasted continuously for five days. And it was absolutely necessary for the infantry to make it alive to this deadly battle in order to hold and expand the bridgehead...

So, the 'brooms' during the daytime (yes, in the damn daytime) under this thrice-cursed infinitely beautiful blue sky would repeatedly tear through that one-and-a-half-kilometer stretch...

On the first day, guys sneaked through on motorcycles, and then, when they ran out of those, they switched to 'brooms.' And they worked like that until new bikes were brought in.

The tanks left their protected positions and went out for the fieldwork, shielding the infantry.

And the 'brooms' would return empty. Because evacuating the wounded during the day was dangerous... Therefore, the 'brooms' raced back empty, picking up only Nafanya and his tankers, concussed to oblivion, bleeding from their ears, so that in an hour they would lead the next 'elephant' into battle...

And at the front line, indescribable things were happening... Everywhere, in any kind of shelter, the wounded lay waiting for the darkness, which granted a chance for evacuation...

Those who only had their legs shot through continued to fire back because the enemy kept on coming. The severely wounded lay on the ground and simply prayed—prayed into that clear sky. I don’t know what they were asking for, but they definitely prayed because that was the only way they could still help keep this land...

And so, they laid for three days. Because only on the fifth night of continuous fighting the severely wounded could be evacuated.

And all those five days, entering the combat control post was dangerous—the company commanders passed by without greeting, the battalion commanders glared fiercely, and watching Monakh, puffing on his cigarette, overgrown with grey bristles, commanding the fight was terrifying: he would tear himself away from the map, lift bloodshot eyes, and look right through me...

And then, finally, last night everything changed. The company commanders, now dressed in clean uniforms, were bantering over coffee in the kitchen, storm battalion commander Den smiled and shook hands with me, and a cleanly shaved Monk wandered around the bunker, smelling of cologne and making fun of everyone around.

And although Khrebet hasn’t been fully captured yet, the brigade had taken the bridgehead, held, and expanded it, giving the ukies a good thrashing.

And if there are legendary hero-kings under this sky today, God is my witness, it were them!

The whole world bows to you this night, guys—this is your moment of eternal glory!

And let people not see it—but I do: all the glory of the world today is with you, great warriors of a great legend...

The radio crackled on the table:

“Kunitsa to Monakh, on the route - one of mine, accompanied by one storm...”

“Good, you understand—it's needed... Five wounded are waiting there, and they're waiting for ammunition... You understand—it's needed...”

“Understood,” - grumbled the radio and went silent...

Entrenched by the highest standards (into the very depth of the Spirit, damn), the ukrops crawled back to recover, but pulled up their wildly scarce remote mining machines and heavily peppered the field between Vodyanoye and the recaptured positions.

And so, while the infantry caught their breath and smiled, the sappers fought their uncompromising battle... Kunitsa had already been sending the third group to check the old paths and make new ones.

The first two did their job, returned concussed and battered. The Ukrops topped up again, and it was necessary to go through this field once more, and the night had only just begun...

But the brigade was not about to sleep; my brigade continued to work.

Finishing his long yarn in the kitchen, Beliy, a skinny and terribly businesslike man in late twenties, dressed and purposefully strode past us in full armor, looking like a very light tank:

-'Where to?' Monakh threw out the question.

-'I'll go, Comrade Colonel, to snatch some equipment before our neighbors or those bastards get to it... Good stuff might get lost...'

-'Good... Make sure you swipe something for the brigade too, I know you...'

-'How could you think that, Comrade Colonel, I always share,' Beliy lied and moved on...

During five days of fighting, the brigade captured a fair amount of enemy equipment, and now it was tantalizingly exposed in no man's land between the Krebet and Severny.

Beliy, who had led his fighters into combat for all five days, was now in a hurry to secure the trophies before the neighbors or the ukrops caught on.

To extract them in a way only known to himself, from right under the enemy's nose.

Later, of course, the corps or army headquarters would confiscate this trophy equipment, but for a couple of weeks, or even months, Beliy would still wage war with it.

And maybe even as soon as tomorrow or the day after, he would be fighting, to the envy of everyone else, with some Western marvel not usually allotted to motorized riflemen...

The radio crackled to life again, and with Kunytsa's grim voice, it informed:

-'A bird flew in and crapped, I've got one three hundred [wounded], storm...'

-'How far did you not make it?'

-'Thirty meters'

-'Good, head back...'

Monakh approached the night screen where that very field, across which sappers had been laying the roads of life all night long, glowed in negative.

Three barely visible dots remained still for some time and then uncertainly, jerkily moved back toward Vodyanoye.

-'And who's the third?' Monakh asked.

-'A fellow traveler from the neighbors, either from the 123rd or the 615th regiment, also came out to check their end,' the eyes responded.

While Slavyanka was gnawing at the bridgehead, our neighbors held the defense, the enemy regularly tried to break through them to get behind us and cut the road of life...

It was all quiet in the bunker, people dispersed to their bunks, and powerful snoring could be heard from every corner. Only two of us silently watched the screen, where three dots were painfully moving, often making stops. And suddenly one of them broke away and, making a loop, began to move back in zigzags—toward the front...

-'It's the fellow traveler,' the eyes [surveillance drone operator] reported.

-'What's with him?' asked Monakh.

But no one could answer; our group had safely returned, and now we watched as the third dot, laying intricate loops, circled the field, edging closer to the lifesaving wooded plantation.

The ukrops didn't spare two mines, missed, and then, seemingly gave up.

The dot nearly reached the woods and then suddenly stopped...

-'What's with him? Do you see him?' Monakh exclaimed.

-'We see him, lying down...' the front line eventually responded.

-'Well, let him lie. If he doesn't get out on his own, try to pull him out with a rope or something...'

At the start of our advance, the first group managed to sneak in and quietly secure a position in the woodland, but at some point, it was necessary to make our presence known to the adjoining units. A soldier stepped onto that very field, for just a second, literally, and that step costed us dearly... Now we had to wait, so we could inconspicuously pull the unknown guy out, without endangering everyone else... That's how it is at war...

And we waited accompanied by the sound of soldiers' snoring, which made the silence in the bunker seem even more tense... Until the radio responded again:

-'He's cooling down...' that's how we differentiate the living from the dead at night. The living glow with a warm light on the thermal imager, while those who have passed gradually fade out...

Monakh just sighed:

-'That's it, I'm going to sleep... Wake me up in an hour...' he said and went to his corner.

And I stayed waiting at the screen, until they came in on motorcycles, dropped the ammunition and took the wounded, then evacuation rushed out of Vodyanoye...

This fellow traveler wouldn't leave my mind... People often write me letters asking to find their missing relatives. I don't even respond to them now - how to explain to grief-stricken people that it's impossible to find someone on no man's land, which the enemy generously seeds with death. That they lie there, unnamed but at peace, somewhere ahead... And wait, that when everything quiets down, they might be found...

And sending the living to search for them now means new deaths, new relatives shattered by grief, and this cycle of death cannot be broken until all is quiet.

I've despaired trying to explain this over and over again, so I don't respond...

But here in front of me such an unknown soldier lays, and maybe now I will know his name, the call sign of at least one of them...

I got in the car and made it to the storm troopers' evacuation point.

And I almost made it in time, Zubchik hadn't been sent to the rear yet. He was sitting there on the stretcher —skinny and somehow fragile, no longer young, cradling his freshly bandaged arm while the medic finished with his legs. They were badly lacerated too, and I don't even know how he managed to make it down that road of life.

How much blood had flowed from his skinny body onto that road...

Zubchik stared at me with an empty gaze for a long time, the kind of gaze that people fresh out of combat have.

An ordinary person is unlikely to ever encounter such a look—it betrays an absolutely empty, thoroughly gutted soul... And finally, he shook his head:

-'I don't know who he is, he was already concussed, deaf, and when it hit, he got completely lost... He walked straight into the mines, we called out to him, but he kept going... Rybka pulled me further, and he just went on his own...'

Then I went home, slept, turned on the computer, and stumbled upon the post of that freak...

That's when a fierce rage awoke in me—how much longer can we tolerate you, when will you finally run out and dry up on your couches...

And now, after writing this text, only tiredness remains—there's nothing we can do with them... These arrogant creatures will keep writing, talking, mocking, and jeering as they always have...

The law guarantees them that right... And all we can do is sincerely hate and despise them...

Here he is (what to call him?)

If it's a damned ukie, let him choke on our righteous and just hatred.

And if it's a real person, let every person in the glorious city of Chelyabinsk silently pass by him with contempt, not offering a hand, and then spit after him...

And you, sleep... Sleep peacefully, my unknown soldier. We will all guard your sleep...

P.S. Just in case, dear friends—we are now certain that it was a ukrop bot - subsequent events have clearly shown this; they have completely exposed themselves. It's very amusing to watch how this 'psyops' works - by a very primitive psychological pattern. Stupid Ukrainians are just like that, what else to expect from them.