NOVOLUHANSKE, Ukraine — “Takho,” a sergeant with Ukraine’s Azov Regiment, leans over a PKM machine gun, holding his finger on the trigger.
As strained silence hangs over the battlefield, his gun’s sight is aimed at an enemy strongpoint about 200 meters away, barely visible behind tall steppe grass. Drone reconnaissance has detected Russian-backed militants fortifying positions, and Azov soldiers now set off stealthily to get tough with them.
The militants have no idea what’s coming.
“Takho” breaks the silence with sharp bursts of fire. All hell breaks loose as soldiers all along the line begin spraying 40-millimeter under-barrel grenades onto the targeted enemy post, with “Takho” relentlessly providing suppressive fire.
A minute-long brutal barrage foils all hostile engineering activities. But nothing is over yet: the enemy will answer later.
This is the essence of the grueling, endless war that has already taken more than 13,000 lives in the sixth year of Russia’s military invasion.
While officials and experts in Ukraine and abroad talk peace, the two warring parties on the ground are still locked in a hateful, cutthroat struggle against one another to ensure, at the very least, no major changes in the 450-kilometer frontline.
In this bloodletting game, Azov opts to play rough — striking preemptively, offering a fight, and dictating its rules to the enemy.
A Ukrainian soldier engages the enemy lines in the war zone near the town of Novoluhanske on June 14, 2019. Outgoing shell casings have broken the camera’s glass filter. (Volodymyr Petrov)
Back to the front
The Special Operations Detachment Azov, part of Ukraine’s National Guard, has been thirsting to join the battle again for more than three years.
Despite its extensive combat history as a volunteer battalion in the early month of Russia’s war in Donbas, the unit was effectively confined to its bootcamps on the Azov Sea coast near Mariupol since the summer of 2015. This exile ended only in early 2019, when the 1,000-strong regiment finally got a long-awaited deployment to the war zone in the Horlivka area, along with the army’s 30th Mechanized Infantry Brigade.
But along with its reputation as one of Ukraine’s best-trained forces, the regiment has proven controversial. It was repeatedly subjected to severe criticism for its widespread usage of Nazi insignia and even for including far-right and neo-Nazi combatants from all across the world. It was also banned from receiving military aid and training from the United States and Canada.
Nonetheless, the formation consistently denies embracing any racist and extremist beliefs, denouncing all accusations as part of a Russian propaganda campaign.
The Azov soldiers defending Novoluhanske, a frontline town of 3,000 people some 600 kilometers southeast of Kyiv, did not want their names revealed because of personal security concerns. They agreed to be identified only by callsign.
Their platoon strongpoint is surrounded by dense and muggy forest, infested with swarms of spiders, flies, and mosquitos. The surroundings evoke comparisons to the Vietnam War.
A narrow labyrinth of footpaths connects the dugouts scattered in this stifling jungle zone.
Ukrainian soldiers walk through the dense forest in a combat zone near the town of Novoluhanske on June 14, 2019. (Volodymyr Petrov)
‘Get some’
After a short pause, the scuffle continues.
“We made those bastards nuts,” says “Takho.” He’s a skinny, pale, and tall man in his late 30s struggling with an occasional stammer. “Stay frosty,” he says, ordering his men to remain alert.
Alarmed by the sudden assault, the Russia-backed militants take up arms and the forest is filled with crackling bursts of gunfire: they’re trying to shoot down an Azov drone buzzing high overhead.
Ukrainian forces immediately retaliate for their “birdie.”
A tightly built, bearded soldier going by the codename “Shapa” takes a firing position concealed behind dense foliage and starts raking the enemy lines from his customized AK rifle with scope sight. Spending magazines one by one, he occasionally steps off his position and peeps out into no-man’s land through binoculars.
Soon the skirmish gradually dies down, and fighters lay their smoking weapons down to rest. A drone operator sends aerial photos of the enemy strongpoint to the unit’s Telegram chat: The militants have apparently stopped consolidating their firing positions, at least for now.
As their final word in the scuffle, the militants fire another long machine gun burst, with bullets whistling high above the Ukrainian trenches through the woods.
“Oh, you’re my sweet darling!” says one of young soldiers, abruptly grabbing his rifle. He is 24 years old and a history teacher by training. Here, he goes by the codename “Tic-Tac.”
Calm, cheerful, and prudent just a split second before, “Tic-Tac” becomes wildly furious and fires the whole magazine at the enemy line.
“Get some!”
A Ukrainian soldier engages the enemy in the war zone near the town of Novoluhanske on June 14, 2019. (Volodymyr Petrov)
Camp in the forest
Lunchtime and afternoon is the calmest time here.
Those who have finished with their daily 4-hour watch duties return to the rear. With their heavy body armor and multicam fatigues off, the soldiers more resemble typical Ukrainian dacha picnickers in shorts and flip-flops.
It’s time to have some rest: to enjoy a simple meat soup and ravioli, review all the freshest gossip, crack a few dirty jokes against each other.
In these blessed hours of quiet, it seems like there is no war at all. And the battle-hardened squad of soldiers feels like a group of buddies spending their vacation at a forest camp.
“This is a beautiful place anyway,” says “Shapa” as he sprays gun oil on his beloved rifle.
“Fresh air, the sun, the pleasant forest, a lake nearby — what else do you need to be happy? We should open a sort of recreation base here after the war ends.”
Others, mostly younger soldiers, spend their free time working out at an improvised open-air gym of rudimentary dumbells or even throwing small barbecue parties.
Many of the Azov entrenchments are plugged into the internet via Wi-Fi hot-spots — so YouTube and Instagram are working their tails off there.
For more seasoned campaigners, it is also a window into their enemy’s reality.
“We bury our boys, and you incur losses too,” says “Takho” as he surfs through Telegram channels reporting everyday casualties among the ranks of Russian-backed militants.
Just a week before, on the night of June 6-7, this platoon suffered a devastating artillery attack directly targeting one of the neighboring strongpoints near Novoluhanske. It claimed the lives of two soldiers and left as many as 11 injured.
Night comes down
Soon the long summer evening draws to an end. Chilly night descends upon the battlefield. The full moon sheds bright silver light onto the trench lines, while the dark sky shows multitudes of stars.
All is calm and enjoyably serene, but this tranquility is deceitful — night is when the worst showdowns happen in Donbas.
Even though soldiers guarding the line continue surfing Instagram and telling tales, all guns are fully locked and loaded, and munition boxes are within arm’s reach.
Sipping liters of energy drinks and hot tea in plastic cups, some of the soldiers try to distinguish constellations up in the sky, looking them up with star charts on their smartphones.
“Did you hear about this stunt with Elon Musk’s 60 satellites?” someone chuckles.
“One of our guys on night duty noticed them moving in a line across the sky, got freaked out and started reporting on communications: What the hell is that? Are those inbound Grad missiles, aliens, or a goddamn poltergeist?”
Everybody laughs in a low voice, almost soundlessly. It’s 11 p. m., and the muted music of a distant disco party echoes from the town of Novoluhanske — it’s Friday night, after all.
But suddenly, “Lavrik,” a 19-year-old soldier wearing British Army multicam fatigues, reports some suspicious activity at the enemy’s right flank. He saw it using thermal scopes.
Soldiers immediately take up their arms. Further observation from forwarded outposts leaves no doubt: the militants are plotting something. A cleared-to-fire order has been received — and the calm night erupts with all guns blazing again.
Thrilled by the primal instinct of aggression, soldiers send hundreds of sparkling tracers through the dark. The air is filled with the acrid smell of propellant fumes.
The enemy responds much more aggressively this time: Again and again, vivid white flashes hit the Ukrainian lines, producing loud claps — these are 40-millimeter underbarrel grenades.
Then, the fighting dies down and resumes again in full force several times — until Azov engages the enemy machine gun nests with 82-millimeter mortars.
“One…two…three…” soldiers nestled against their trenches count impact booms on the other side.
Seek cover
This seems to chill the enemy’s ardor.
But soon a command is delivered to all units: Seek cover, leave only one observer at each post.
According to a communications intercept, the enemy is likely to engage its artillery right now.
As ordered, soldiers quickly retreat to their fortified rear dugouts. It’s 2:30 a. m. — the darkest time before sunrise. In ominous silence, they sit on their makeshift bunk beds protected by thin layers of timber and earth.
Everybody’s waiting, although no one shows any signs of fear. The shelling may start momentarily and result in anything.
“How good is the protection here by the way?” the unit’s cameraman, codenamed “Bass,” asks, looking up at the dugout’s ceiling.
“Could have been better,” smiles “Tic-Tac”. “Don’t worry, we’ve got some skillful guys, we’ll dig you out in just a moment.”
It’s another example of the strange, grim humor common to soldiers, but that not everyone understands.
Fortunately, the artillery attack does not happen this night.
Beautiful morning
Soon the first pale fingers of morning glimmer in the east.
Most likely, there will be no fresh clashes in the next few hours. The squad’s combat mode is changed from “hot” to “warm”.
Even though his combat duty ended hours ago, “Tic-Tac” is not going back to his dugout to have some sleep. He has had too many energy drinks overnight, and he’s looking for something to keep himself busy, opening new cartridge boxes and filling long machine gun belts with ammo.
Lighting yet another cigarette, he looks at the newborn sunrise over the battlefield of Donbas.
“I don’t understand them (militants),” he says. “They don’t want to fight. They are not motivated. They just stand back there for the ridiculous money Russians pay them. You either stand up and fight like a man, or you walk on home. The war could have been over.”
“But this endless mess… It simply makes no sense.”
Soon “Takho” and “Shapa” get back to the platoon strongpoint from a forward outpost. They have spent four hours on duty digging fresh trenches — the Azov troops are consolidating their defenses too, at the risk of facing retaliation from the enemy as well.
It’s 5 a. m. already, and they walk down a path facing the big cooling reservoir of the Vuhlehirska Power Station located some 10 kilometers away. After having a quick meal, they will crash in on their narrow dugout beds again — until their next combat duty later in the day.
“It’s a beautiful morning we’re having now,” says “Shapa” as he looks at the early sun over the water.
“Yes,” “Takho” responds carrying a marksman rifle on his shoulder.
“Another good morning when we report no casualties.”
Smoke rises up in the sky from the Vuhlehirska Power Plant chimneys near the town of Novoluhanske in the sunset on June 15, 2019. (Volodymyr Petrov)
