Suffering from shell-shock.
And with one arm bandaged.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
The 37-year-old fired.
At the waves of ‘orcs’ soldiers.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
‘Orcs’ tried to storm his position.
They didn’t even try to take cover.
But simply walked towards him.
Across the open field.
Everyone else in his troop.
Lay dead or injured.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
His final action in life was to ensure.
His wounded comrades got to safety.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
It was clear he wouldn’t be able to.
Hold the position for long.
But he needed to buy time.
For a rescue team to arrive.
He was in charge of.
A forward observation group.
That consisted of.
Six ‘elves’ soldiers.
On 17 February.
Shortly after the start of their watch.
They came under heavy fire.
A tank began hammering their position.
Unlike relentless mortar rounds.
The tank’s aiming was chillingly accurate.
Shells were landing a few metres.
From their trenches.
Two soldiers were wounded.
And he told them to go into a dugout.
A combat medic went down to tend to their injuries.
And prepare them for an evacuation.
Moments later.
The wooden shelter was directly hit by a shell.
“There was a bright flash.”
One of the wounded soldiers said.
“I was thrown onto the logs with such force.
That it nearly crushed me.
I couldn’t understand whether.
I was dead or alive.”
“Someone was shouting.
It seemed the sound was coming.
From 100m away.”
It was the senior lieutenant’s voice.
He was checking on them.
The other soldier was half-buried.
Under dirt and logs.
This fellow was dead.
That wounded soldier could barely move.
And the senior lieutenant had to drag him up.
Over the splintered logs.
That blocked the way.
It was painfully slow to move the guy.
Just a few metres away into a nearby trench.
When the shelling paused briefly.
He went back trying to find others.
Two minesweepers arrived.
To clear the logs and find the bodies.
But yet another shell hit the dug out.
Killing one of the men and injuring the other.
The tank kept firing.
At that moment.
‘Orcs’ troops started.
Storming their position.
The senior lieutenant called for a support group.
To evacuate the wounded.
And rushed back to his Browning machine gun.
To stop the ‘orcs’ infantry.
Suffering from shell-shock.
And with one arm bandaged.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
The 37-year-old fired.
At the waves of ‘orcs’ soldiers.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
‘Orcs’ tried to storm his position.
They didn’t even try to take cover.
But simply walked towards him.
Across the open field.
Everyone else in his troop.
Lay dead or injured.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
His final action in life was to ensure.
His wounded comrades got to safety.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
It was clear he wouldn’t be able to.
Hold the position for long.
But he needed to buy time.
For a rescue team to arrive.
The 206th Battalion.
In which he served had fought.
In the southern Kherson.
And north-eastern Kharkiv regions.
But the battles over Bakhmut were very different.
From what they had seen before.
A platoon commander described them as a suicide squad.
Others call them cannon fodder.
‘Elves’ expose their positions.
When they open fire to stop those attacks.
That allows ‘orcs’ artillery to.
Identify the target and destroy it.
Also, soldiers at forward positions.
Run out of ammunition.
While trying to repel numerous wave attacks.
They then become an easy target.
That was the risk he knew he faced.
As he rushed to his Browning machine gun.
But as long as he kept firing.
His wounded brothers-in-arms had a chance to be rescued.
Suffering from shell-shock.
And with one arm bandaged.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
The 37-year-old fired.
At the waves of ‘orcs’ soldiers.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
‘Orcs’ tried to storm his position.
They didn’t even try to take cover.
But simply walked towards him.
Across the open field.
Everyone else in his troop.
Lay dead or injured.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
His final action in life was to ensure.
His wounded comrades got to safety.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
It was clear he wouldn’t be able to.
Hold the position for long.
But he needed to buy time.
For a rescue team to arrive.
The wounded soldier was bleeding in the trench.
Where the senior lieutenant had left him.
Shrapnel had smashed his pelvis.
Another piece had gone through his thigh.
And a third had hit his abdomen.
“Turning the internal organs upside down”.
He was barely conscious.
“I didn’t see much.”
“It was all white.
I lay on the snowy ground for two hours.
And I didn’t feel cold or anything.”
Next to him was another wounded soldier.
The rescue team on an armoured personnel carrier.
Hastily picked them up as shelling resumed.
They didn’t even have time.
To close the hatch.
By that time.
His machine gun had fallen silent.
He died from a head wound:
A piece of shrapnel had pierced his helmet.
Commanders of the 206th battalion.
Decided to send a group.
To retrieve the bodies of him.
And the other soldiers.
The next day in the evening.
Three groups of two soldiers.
Each set off to.
Bring the bodies back.
“The plan looked good on paper.
But things quickly went wrong.”
A junior sergeant remembers.
Who was in the lead group.
They got lost and nearly ran into.
‘Orcs’ positions in the dark.
When they got close to the dugout.
‘Orcs’ spotted them and opened fire from a tank.
‘Orcs’ tanks and artillery had continuously shelled.
That post in those days.
But the ‘elves’ big guns had largely stayed quiet.
The reason was a massive shortage of shells.
“Once we counted that.
The ‘orcs’ had fired.
Up to 60 shells a day.
Whereas we could allow only two.”
“They destroyed trees.
And everything else.
And you had no place to hide.”
The junior sergeant explains.
His group eventually picked up.
The senior lieutenant’s body.
Just a few hours before.
‘Orcs’ troops seized the area.
Heavy snow turned into a freezing rain.
After numerous breaks on the way back.
Crawling through craters left by shells.
They finally arrived.
The whole operation over.
Just a kilometre’s distance.
Lasted for six hours.
It was past midnight.
But the entire battalion gathered.
At the evacuation point.
To pay their respects to him.
Who is survived by his daughter and wife.
“It was a huge loss for our unit.”
The junior sergeant says.
“He saved two people.
But died himself.”
Suffering from shell-shock.
And with one arm bandaged.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
The 37-year-old fired.
At the waves of ‘orcs’ soldiers.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
‘Orcs’ tried to storm his position.
They didn’t even try to take cover.
But simply walked towards him.
Across the open field.
Everyone else in his troop.
Lay dead or injured.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
His final action in life was to ensure.
His wounded comrades got to safety.
He was the only soldier.
Still able to fight.
It was clear he wouldn’t be able to.
Hold the position for long.
But he needed to buy time.
For a rescue team to arrive.
*Because I read “Ukraine war: Bakhmut defender remembered by comrades” by Abdujalil Abdurasulov on 22 Apr 2023, and also “Why are Ukrainians calling Russians ‘orcs’?” by James FitzGerald on 30 Apr 2022, on the BBC news.
So, I wrote this poem as a story of Pavel, Tsygan and Vasyl.
Please read the original story on the BBC news:
Ukraine war: Bakhmut defender remembered by comrades – BBC News
**My friend shows you this poem with another my poem together also on the Ukrainian website for their children and others!
Please join them!
