The Third Toast

By Marat Khairullin

Cranes are a symbol of the souls of fallen warriors.

The first toast of the New Year is definitely for our warriors! And the third, for God's sake, don't forget about the third...

[Translator Note: Traditionally, the third toast is for those who have passed.]

Last year, the soldier with the call sign Vitamin died. He was from the Wagners, a little over thirty, but when you spoke to him, it's as if you're talking to a seasoned, experienced man - so experienced and calm. He smiled and said, "After the war, I just want to live, love my wife, and raise two children."

That was his idea of ​​happiness. Inexperienced contract drivers would refuse every other time, but Vitamin was a reliable one. Always the first in line, he led the group... And when they wanted to break through the impregnable position of "Zenith" (a famous Ukrainian stronghold near Avdeevka) with a kamikaze motorbike, Vitamin had to take the helm - and there was no one else.

Exactly at the moment when he was leaving for the position, something happened - a terrible explosion occurred, something gave in... That's how it happens, though...

Then the battalion commander called and asked for a photo for the stand - Vitamin was held in high esteem in the battalion, but there were no photographs of him left... Only memories...

Somewhere closer to spring, Abba, the bright-eyed boy Abashidze, died… He was barely twenty. Short, with tussled-hair, and dead tired, he stood by his tank in the summer of '22, when the Ukrops pressed us to the "Airport," and he said sadly, "It's scary, what to do, very scary, but we have to go..."
And he rode and fought so hard that he shouted on open radio, “I am the God of war, take that, bitches…”

That's how I remember him - a shaggy God of war. In winter, "Slavyanka" (the First Guards Slavic Brigade) ran into the second line of defense of the Ukrops near Tonenkoe. And there was no strength to move forward - everything was covered in dense mines.

Abba spent day and night sweeping passages within direct line of sight of the enemy. It hit so hard that nothing was left of the tank, the driver somehow got out, but Abba and the gunner did not. Only six months later, the judge declared them dead - it turns out that they, missing in action, were still being searched for six months later...

And then Les (Forest) died, a skinny, smokey sixty-year-old mortar commander. The infantry was moving forward, the crew was fighting. It flew right at Les, tore off his leg. He ordered not to interrupt the fight - as if a couple more "cucumbers" (artillery shells) were needed to cut off the Ukrops, to allow the infantry to gain a foothold. Les made a tourniquet for himself and smoked cigarettes rapidly until his fighters finished the fight and camouflaged the position. And only then did he allow himself to be dragged into cover. And when they dragged him there, that was it...

The first toast, my dears, is definitely for Victory! And, for God's sake, don't forget about the third... How many of them are still lying there in the fields, of whom not even a photograph remains, only a memory... Only our memory. Do not betray it, my dears, do not forget about the third toast...

Just for the Substack readers:

Rasul Gamzatov
Cranes
Translation by Naum Grebnev

Sometimes it seems to me that the soldiers,
Those who did not return from the bloody fields,
They didn’t fall into this ground once,
And they turned into white cranes.
They are still from those distant times.
They fly and give us their voices.
Isn't that why it's so often sad?
Do we fall silent, looking at the sky?
Today, in the evening time,
I see cranes in the fog
They fly in their own specific formation,
How they wandered through the fields like people.
They fly, making their long journey
And they call out someone's names.
Isn't that why with the cry of the crane
Has the Avar language been similar for centuries?
A tired wedge flies and flies across the sky—
Flies in the fog at the end of the day,
And in that line there is a small gap -
Maybe this is the place for me!
The day will come, and with a flock of cranes
I will float in the same gray haze,
Calling out from under the sky like a bird
All of you whom I left on earth.

This monument is for a mother who lost all seven sons in the war.