4AM, April 4th, 2018
West of Zaryabynka village in Kharkiv oblast, Ukraine
Spring had come by, officially, but the mornings were still bitterly cold, even inside the tank. Still, being inside a tank for such a long time did not sit well with Sergei’s legs. He thus decided to grab his AKS-74U and take a little walk outside before they had to go on the offensive. Nimbly navigating out of the tank, weapon in hand, he walked up to the line of bushes near the road and looked to both sides before stepping out and looking south. There lie the village of Bohodukhiv – more than the merely expected roadbump of Ukrainian militiamen. Ever since the 12th Guards tank regiment crossed the border at the village of Kozinka, the roads they drove on were the site of constant skirmishes during the advance which claimed the lives of many comrades.
Bohodukhiv was the prospective target of Sergei’s troop. Taking it was a crucial element in Operation Obelisk-555, the Russian strategic action to take Kharkiv, as it would cut off the rail connections to the west, in particular to Poltava and Sumy, but also Kiev. It was intended to be taken on the firstday of the war, but the 40KM was bitterly fought and accordingly delayed. Through sheer force and overwhelming air power, however, the Russians had managed to finally to position themselves for an attack on the village. It would happen this morning, and Sergei took the brief moment he had to smoke a cigarette and eat a few crackers with pork fat from his ration. He walked up and down a twenty-metre stretch of road a few times before being approached by the lieutenant who immediately told him to get into his tank.
“Sir, I’m only stretching my legs, sir!”
“Look, Sergeant, we’re about to roll. We’re 36 hours behind schedule and if we don’t take that pissant village anytime soon Stavka won’t know whether to shit or go blind. Just get ready to roll, would you?”
“Yes sir!”, Sergei replied and gave a sloppy salute before lumbering back to his steel beast. As he walked back he saw Aydin sitting on top, having his breakfast crackers and pork fat with a cup of tea. “We’re rolling out soon”, Sergei said. “Best get finished up. I’ll wake the sleeping beauty”
“Copy that!”, Aydin said as he got in the driver seat again. Sergei climbed up on the tank and saw the tanks behind him. In that little patch of wood and in others, twenty-four Armatas were parked and preparing to roll into Bohodukhiv. Sergei threw the butt of his cigarette on the ground and hopped inside, looking at the BMP-3s passing by on the road. The last two days had been embarrassing, and now it was time to roll. Inside, Anastasia was drinking her tea, using the heat of the cup to warm her hands. She picked up Sergei’s cup as he climbed in and handed it to him when he wasn’t about to knock it over. Anastasia was counting shells as Sergei turned on the radio and ensured communications were smooth. The crew’s helmets were working, all communication with other tanks was fine. And then the order came to start rolling.
“Crank it, Aydin! We’re moving out!”, Sergei said as the engines started thundering and the tanks started rolling onto the road one-by-one after the BMP-2s and headed south. On the radio the battalion command made clear that group blue had to take a hard right off the road soon enough, and that group red, of which Sergei’s tank was a part, had to go left and make a line to suppress the defenders of Bohodukhiv. But for the time being they were still behind the front line and he made use of that by sitting up and pocking his head out slightly, watching as they drove through the village of Leskivka. Potholes, loads of chickens, and a single old man watching – a stark difference from the flag-waving Russian-speakers right over the border. They moved around the bend in the road, a few soldiers in their digital flora uniforms sitting in the woods and gesturing for them to close their hatches – Ukrainian up ahead! A few of the Armatas made a right-hand turn and got off the road, approaching what seemed to be a radio station.
“Keep your eyes on that building. That’s a sniper or ATGM nest for sure”
“Yes sir”, Anastasia replied.
For a moment, however, the nine tanks in the field were told to stop. A death sentence if done for longer, but the reason soon became clear. The BMPs were not moving further for fear of an ambush. The infantry was going to advance behind the Armatas.
Inside one of the BMP-2s
“Prepare to dismount!”, the lieutenant shouted at the occupants. The BMP pivoted 90 degrees to the left and the hatch opened which led the lieutenant to immediately yelling at the occupants to leave the BMP and run out to behind a tank. Tamerlan Hamidov stood up in anticipation of running out, but was for two or three seconds held in that position the Stasi would put you in for a few hours on end in order to get you to talk. The thought crossed Tamerlan for a brief moment but was glad he didn’t have to stand in there for long. Once the soldier in front of him ran out he legged it, following him behind a tank and sitting behind it for a second, watching a few other loads of infantry pile out and run across the field. During this moment he unfolded the stock on his AK74-M and checked his ammunition, turned the safety off, and grabbed a cigarette from his pouch and lit it.
“Gimme a drag, dude?” one of his co-occupants said. In order to shut everybody up, he had the cigarette go around six wanting mouths before reaching one of the first-term conscripts who claimed he didn’t smoke due to health reasons.
“See that building, pimple-face? There’s a sniper in there. And you’re warning me about a twig of tobacco?” He didn’t say anything after that, partially because the tank started moving and the squaddies started walking behind it, weapons raised and aiming at the buildings. The front row, however, had their faces blasted full of exhaust smoke from a T-14. “I fucking told you!”, Tamerlan said as he walked on and muttered ‘La ilaha ilalah wa allahu akbar’ as a Hail Mary of sorts. Behind him, there was a kneejerk ‘Fuck off back to ISIS’ - but the laughing manner in which it was said indicates that he was just bringing the bants. Then a flash came from the roof, causing Tamerlan and one of his comrades to open fire as the T-14 they were covering behind lobbed a high explosive shell into the room. The lieutenant’s response was a simple “Davai, davai!” while the tank sped up slightly and eventually crashed the fence around the radio station, which turned out to be a pig farm. The wall behind that, however, did seem to lead to something more like a broadcasting thing. Tamerlan’s squad ran to the pig house and one of the guys turned the corner, shooting the two occupants. Wearing multicam and Azov patches, no regret was felt by anyone there. There was a radio inside which was pretty active. The guys were distracted by it, except for Tamerlan and his buddy, Yuri, who looked up at the ladder and were subsequently told by the lieutenant to look up there, the rest of the soldiers moving to pack them up.
“There’s a guy up there, one second” Yuri said as he held his hand up to tell the rest to stop. The ladder hole going up revealed nothing. Nobody looked up it, the Ukrainians up there weren’t looking down. So Yuri grabbed a grenade and threw it up, and then ran back – after all of his mates – just in case it fell back down. It didn’t, and the explosion came through. Tamerlan then stepped up on the ladder and reached out to the lieutenant. “Sir, can I use your pistol for a moment?” The lieutenant obliged and handed over his Mp-443 Grach and Tamerlan climbed up a bit. “Stand under me. Catch me if I jump down for cover.”
And so he went up, shooting the bodies of three soldiers lying down to ensure they were down. Over there was also an SVD and a few clips, sandbags, sleeping bags and coffee. A sniper nest. Tamerlan realised his luck as he climbed up the ladder and told the guys to come up. First order of business was his AK-74M being handed up to him and the lieutenant receiving his pistol back. Tamerlan opened the door, finding it completely empty except for a tarp covering of the stair house which probably served as a smoking spot. Tamerlan ran back in, and the lieutenant ordered some of the sandbags brought out to the edge of the roof and the PKP set up so it would be used well. Once the troops started running, they noticed that other squads on the ground crossed the farm and went to the tower. There was no major contact with Ukrainian forces afterwards except for skirmishes. Most of the fighting took place on the western side and Pavlovka, close to the railway station and military area. It seemed like the Ukrainians just kicked up a load of dust the night before.
As the night wore off and the sky became a lighter shade, contact resumed near the No. 3 Lyceum. There was a major exchange of fire, with machine guns preventing the Russians from advancing. The bout of resistance was not resolved through force of arms. Instead, four Armatas rolled up on the schoolyard and a Captain grabbed a bullhorn and addressed the defenders.
“Brother Ukrainians, we have no wish to fight you! Forces larger than ourselves are at play here! We have gone to war because we were told to, but we will fight you if you do not surrender! Lay down your weapons, and honourably surrender. Let us not resort to needless bloodshed, you cannot win this! Look at our tanks, our helicopters. We extend mercy onto you now, and we give you 15 minutes to come out with your hands up! We will not abuse you, we will not desecrate your flag. Please, brothers, come out peacefully and let’s not resort to destroying a school!”
Tamerlan and Yuri started digging a little foxhole behind a tree next to the football field north of the school, heaping up the dirt in front of them. However, Ukrainian troops were soon pouring out of the building with their hands on their heads. Some were crying, most kept their composure and even shook hands with the officer that offered them their surrender. They were marched back to Leskivka, around a four mile walk. The currently victorious Russians went further south to the town hall, again parking a few of their tanks in front of it. The captain again went to speak but while he was beginning his plea, an officer walked out with a white flag. “We are coming out! Do not shoot! I am going to get my men out!” Five minutes went by. Ten minutes. But then, a small group of officers and their guards walked out, surrendered their weapons, and were marched back. In the small residential areas, infantry was weeding out Ukrainian infantry and gunfire was rife – but nobody was going to fire small arms with a column of tanks and BMPs a stone’s throw away. A few soldiers announced to the apothecary and hospital that the town was under Russian control. The tanks then parked in Kirova square, with Tamerlan sitting against a blue-yellow pair of concrete slabs that read ‘Glory to Ukraine’, the Ukrainian flag waving over it. His comrades made a human tower in order to get the flag down, and a few cans of spray paint were used to deface the little monument with vulgarities. But all was well for Tamerlan. He got to rest and smoke another one. But one of the tank commanders walked out. Much to his delight, it was his friend Sergei.
“You dag fuck, you owe me a ciggie!”, he yelled as he walked up to him. He sat down next to him until the sun rose, the sound of gunfire surrounding them and showing no sign of stopping.
West of Zaryabynka village in Kharkiv oblast, Ukraine
Spring had come by, officially, but the mornings were still bitterly cold, even inside the tank. Still, being inside a tank for such a long time did not sit well with Sergei’s legs. He thus decided to grab his AKS-74U and take a little walk outside before they had to go on the offensive. Nimbly navigating out of the tank, weapon in hand, he walked up to the line of bushes near the road and looked to both sides before stepping out and looking south. There lie the village of Bohodukhiv – more than the merely expected roadbump of Ukrainian militiamen. Ever since the 12th Guards tank regiment crossed the border at the village of Kozinka, the roads they drove on were the site of constant skirmishes during the advance which claimed the lives of many comrades.
Bohodukhiv was the prospective target of Sergei’s troop. Taking it was a crucial element in Operation Obelisk-555, the Russian strategic action to take Kharkiv, as it would cut off the rail connections to the west, in particular to Poltava and Sumy, but also Kiev. It was intended to be taken on the firstday of the war, but the 40KM was bitterly fought and accordingly delayed. Through sheer force and overwhelming air power, however, the Russians had managed to finally to position themselves for an attack on the village. It would happen this morning, and Sergei took the brief moment he had to smoke a cigarette and eat a few crackers with pork fat from his ration. He walked up and down a twenty-metre stretch of road a few times before being approached by the lieutenant who immediately told him to get into his tank.
“Sir, I’m only stretching my legs, sir!”
“Look, Sergeant, we’re about to roll. We’re 36 hours behind schedule and if we don’t take that pissant village anytime soon Stavka won’t know whether to shit or go blind. Just get ready to roll, would you?”
“Yes sir!”, Sergei replied and gave a sloppy salute before lumbering back to his steel beast. As he walked back he saw Aydin sitting on top, having his breakfast crackers and pork fat with a cup of tea. “We’re rolling out soon”, Sergei said. “Best get finished up. I’ll wake the sleeping beauty”
“Copy that!”, Aydin said as he got in the driver seat again. Sergei climbed up on the tank and saw the tanks behind him. In that little patch of wood and in others, twenty-four Armatas were parked and preparing to roll into Bohodukhiv. Sergei threw the butt of his cigarette on the ground and hopped inside, looking at the BMP-3s passing by on the road. The last two days had been embarrassing, and now it was time to roll. Inside, Anastasia was drinking her tea, using the heat of the cup to warm her hands. She picked up Sergei’s cup as he climbed in and handed it to him when he wasn’t about to knock it over. Anastasia was counting shells as Sergei turned on the radio and ensured communications were smooth. The crew’s helmets were working, all communication with other tanks was fine. And then the order came to start rolling.
“Crank it, Aydin! We’re moving out!”, Sergei said as the engines started thundering and the tanks started rolling onto the road one-by-one after the BMP-2s and headed south. On the radio the battalion command made clear that group blue had to take a hard right off the road soon enough, and that group red, of which Sergei’s tank was a part, had to go left and make a line to suppress the defenders of Bohodukhiv. But for the time being they were still behind the front line and he made use of that by sitting up and pocking his head out slightly, watching as they drove through the village of Leskivka. Potholes, loads of chickens, and a single old man watching – a stark difference from the flag-waving Russian-speakers right over the border. They moved around the bend in the road, a few soldiers in their digital flora uniforms sitting in the woods and gesturing for them to close their hatches – Ukrainian up ahead! A few of the Armatas made a right-hand turn and got off the road, approaching what seemed to be a radio station.
“Keep your eyes on that building. That’s a sniper or ATGM nest for sure”
“Yes sir”, Anastasia replied.
For a moment, however, the nine tanks in the field were told to stop. A death sentence if done for longer, but the reason soon became clear. The BMPs were not moving further for fear of an ambush. The infantry was going to advance behind the Armatas.
Inside one of the BMP-2s
“Prepare to dismount!”, the lieutenant shouted at the occupants. The BMP pivoted 90 degrees to the left and the hatch opened which led the lieutenant to immediately yelling at the occupants to leave the BMP and run out to behind a tank. Tamerlan Hamidov stood up in anticipation of running out, but was for two or three seconds held in that position the Stasi would put you in for a few hours on end in order to get you to talk. The thought crossed Tamerlan for a brief moment but was glad he didn’t have to stand in there for long. Once the soldier in front of him ran out he legged it, following him behind a tank and sitting behind it for a second, watching a few other loads of infantry pile out and run across the field. During this moment he unfolded the stock on his AK74-M and checked his ammunition, turned the safety off, and grabbed a cigarette from his pouch and lit it.
“Gimme a drag, dude?” one of his co-occupants said. In order to shut everybody up, he had the cigarette go around six wanting mouths before reaching one of the first-term conscripts who claimed he didn’t smoke due to health reasons.
“See that building, pimple-face? There’s a sniper in there. And you’re warning me about a twig of tobacco?” He didn’t say anything after that, partially because the tank started moving and the squaddies started walking behind it, weapons raised and aiming at the buildings. The front row, however, had their faces blasted full of exhaust smoke from a T-14. “I fucking told you!”, Tamerlan said as he walked on and muttered ‘La ilaha ilalah wa allahu akbar’ as a Hail Mary of sorts. Behind him, there was a kneejerk ‘Fuck off back to ISIS’ - but the laughing manner in which it was said indicates that he was just bringing the bants. Then a flash came from the roof, causing Tamerlan and one of his comrades to open fire as the T-14 they were covering behind lobbed a high explosive shell into the room. The lieutenant’s response was a simple “Davai, davai!” while the tank sped up slightly and eventually crashed the fence around the radio station, which turned out to be a pig farm. The wall behind that, however, did seem to lead to something more like a broadcasting thing. Tamerlan’s squad ran to the pig house and one of the guys turned the corner, shooting the two occupants. Wearing multicam and Azov patches, no regret was felt by anyone there. There was a radio inside which was pretty active. The guys were distracted by it, except for Tamerlan and his buddy, Yuri, who looked up at the ladder and were subsequently told by the lieutenant to look up there, the rest of the soldiers moving to pack them up.
“There’s a guy up there, one second” Yuri said as he held his hand up to tell the rest to stop. The ladder hole going up revealed nothing. Nobody looked up it, the Ukrainians up there weren’t looking down. So Yuri grabbed a grenade and threw it up, and then ran back – after all of his mates – just in case it fell back down. It didn’t, and the explosion came through. Tamerlan then stepped up on the ladder and reached out to the lieutenant. “Sir, can I use your pistol for a moment?” The lieutenant obliged and handed over his Mp-443 Grach and Tamerlan climbed up a bit. “Stand under me. Catch me if I jump down for cover.”
And so he went up, shooting the bodies of three soldiers lying down to ensure they were down. Over there was also an SVD and a few clips, sandbags, sleeping bags and coffee. A sniper nest. Tamerlan realised his luck as he climbed up the ladder and told the guys to come up. First order of business was his AK-74M being handed up to him and the lieutenant receiving his pistol back. Tamerlan opened the door, finding it completely empty except for a tarp covering of the stair house which probably served as a smoking spot. Tamerlan ran back in, and the lieutenant ordered some of the sandbags brought out to the edge of the roof and the PKP set up so it would be used well. Once the troops started running, they noticed that other squads on the ground crossed the farm and went to the tower. There was no major contact with Ukrainian forces afterwards except for skirmishes. Most of the fighting took place on the western side and Pavlovka, close to the railway station and military area. It seemed like the Ukrainians just kicked up a load of dust the night before.
As the night wore off and the sky became a lighter shade, contact resumed near the No. 3 Lyceum. There was a major exchange of fire, with machine guns preventing the Russians from advancing. The bout of resistance was not resolved through force of arms. Instead, four Armatas rolled up on the schoolyard and a Captain grabbed a bullhorn and addressed the defenders.
“Brother Ukrainians, we have no wish to fight you! Forces larger than ourselves are at play here! We have gone to war because we were told to, but we will fight you if you do not surrender! Lay down your weapons, and honourably surrender. Let us not resort to needless bloodshed, you cannot win this! Look at our tanks, our helicopters. We extend mercy onto you now, and we give you 15 minutes to come out with your hands up! We will not abuse you, we will not desecrate your flag. Please, brothers, come out peacefully and let’s not resort to destroying a school!”
Tamerlan and Yuri started digging a little foxhole behind a tree next to the football field north of the school, heaping up the dirt in front of them. However, Ukrainian troops were soon pouring out of the building with their hands on their heads. Some were crying, most kept their composure and even shook hands with the officer that offered them their surrender. They were marched back to Leskivka, around a four mile walk. The currently victorious Russians went further south to the town hall, again parking a few of their tanks in front of it. The captain again went to speak but while he was beginning his plea, an officer walked out with a white flag. “We are coming out! Do not shoot! I am going to get my men out!” Five minutes went by. Ten minutes. But then, a small group of officers and their guards walked out, surrendered their weapons, and were marched back. In the small residential areas, infantry was weeding out Ukrainian infantry and gunfire was rife – but nobody was going to fire small arms with a column of tanks and BMPs a stone’s throw away. A few soldiers announced to the apothecary and hospital that the town was under Russian control. The tanks then parked in Kirova square, with Tamerlan sitting against a blue-yellow pair of concrete slabs that read ‘Glory to Ukraine’, the Ukrainian flag waving over it. His comrades made a human tower in order to get the flag down, and a few cans of spray paint were used to deface the little monument with vulgarities. But all was well for Tamerlan. He got to rest and smoke another one. But one of the tank commanders walked out. Much to his delight, it was his friend Sergei.
“You dag fuck, you owe me a ciggie!”, he yelled as he walked up to him. He sat down next to him until the sun rose, the sound of gunfire surrounding them and showing no sign of stopping.
