The price of victory. There is a life behind every number
It would have been hard to write about these events yesterday, straight from the heat of the battle. It’s hard to write about them from the relative safety of today. It will be hard to write about them tomorrow, when they will turn into a memory and become recurring nightmares.
Yesterday we were fighting to retake key positions on what is currently the hottest front. I was in the first group; we managed to enter an enemy trench, engaging enemy forces on both sides of us. The second group entered another trench, killing enemy troops, but it was forced to surrender the trench by enemy reserve forces which arrived as reinforcements. Our third group was plunged into intense fighting, and most of its members were killed right at the start of the operation.
The orcs kept sending in more and more infantry personnel, more and more armoured vehicles – most of them killed or destroyed by our artillery, FPV drones, and a tank. Of course overall the picture was much broader, especially if you were taking it in via online streams; I heard that the offensive the Russians mounted yesterday was extensive. But I was experiencing it all from a bombed-out trench: not the best view, but certainly one that triggers a lot of feelings.
The enemy infantry wasn’t able to knock us out, even though they did pin us down to an area no larger than 50 square metres. We kept waiting to see which side would run out of grenades first.
The rumbling of the armoured vehicles emboldened the enemy: we kept hearing shouts of "Surrender!" from both flanks.
One of the 13 people in our group was seriously injured, and a few others had minor injuries. At one point, a fragment of a VOG grenade lodged itself under my ribs. We realised we wouldn’t be able to accomplish our mission – in fact, we probably wouldn’t even hold out until evening.
Then we saw a column of enemy tanks. It was coming right at us. There were six tanks, with infantrymen clinging to each one like monkeys to palm trees. Was I scared? Not exactly. I just knew: that was death approaching. The only order I managed to give was to hide. I was hoping they wouldn’t spot us – even though I felt sure they were coming for us.
The leading tank was firing haphazardly at our positions, and the rest followed suit. As the column drove past our trench, we started firing at the infantrymen hanging off the last couple of tanks in the column, since the tank guns couldn’t reach us now. The tank crews hadn’t spotted us – and the orcs sitting on top of the tanks had no way of telling them they were being attacked.
At the edge of the trench, the column turned around and started to drive back. Once again we shot at the troops on top of the tanks (this ended badly for some of them). Maybe, I thought, this column’s mission didn’t entail searching for our group. Eventually we were ordered to retreat.
We got lucky. We got lucky a few times that day. One time was when we were evacuating from this encirclement under the cover of two Bradley fighting vehicles that came to our rescue. But not everyone who took part in this operation was lucky. I’m still hoping that some of the guys from the other groups might have been taken prisoner, or are still wandering around those positions. The search for them continues.
Today I’ve seen a lot of videos of yesterday and estimates of enemy losses. We’re glad we defeated the enemy. But there are no numbers that capture our losses. There is a life behind every number – and for the fallen soldiers’ loved ones, their world has collapsed. This grief stays with their families and with their brothers in arms. May the memory of the fallen heroes last forever…
Oleh Sentsov
Translated by Olya Loza
Edited by Teresa Pearce
