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The language of war in Ukraine contains words of terror and fear that normal formulations can never convey. “Blood, shit and sugar” were the first words Shaman, a junior officer in the Ukrainian special forces, unleashed on me after returning from the front.
Blood because his commando, stranded in the armored all-terrain vehicle by a burst tire, lost one of its members. Shit, because the fighting is fierce, much fiercer than the leadership in Kiev expected. Sugar, because everyone still dreams of victory and peace.
Unfortunately, no one knows what this sugar tastes like. For the conscripts, armed to the teeth with daggers on their belts and grenades on their body armor, every village recaptured means possible death.
Better dug in and better equipped Russians
“The orcs we face are no longer the ones who fled from us in the fall of 2022,” admits Shaman. Face scarred in dirt, he continues: “They are much better hidden in their trenches and better equipped.” Orcs: “In Ukraine, if you hear this word, it means that you are approaching the front.”
“Orcs” refer to the Russian soldiers who are equated with the brutal creatures from “Lord of the Rings”. The orcs nearly overpowered Pyotr, one of the group’s soldiers, as he slept in the vehicle with his machine gun wedged between his legs. ‘I thought he was dead. A sniper had his sights on him. The bullet tore through the nearby trunk of a tree,” says Shaman. At the same time, an artillery storm broke out. Ukrainian mounted guns, hidden in the nearby woods, fired on the Russian positions behind the village of Velyka Novosilka.
The ongoing counter-offensive bears the hallmarks of an increasingly hybrid war. The majority are long range battles fought with cannons, tanks, drones and mortars. This is occasionally followed, village after village, by an infantry attack by the strongest troops of the Ukrainian army.
Get closer to Bachmut
My aim was to get as close as possible to Bakhmut, the city of martyrs that had been taken by the militias of the Russian group Wagner after months of bitter fighting. First we drove on a road that leads to it almost in a straight line from Druzhkivka, the last operating railway station to Kramatorsk. No other vehicle could be seen for about six miles. A ghost street. A strip of asphalt frozen in the sun, framed by trees.
Then a curve and a barricade by the Ukrainian army, preventing us from going any further. As for many other journalists, the unpaved roads are a must and a risk. The first thing to do is find the right village using GPS. Recognition of the path that goes around the checkpoints. Then march across the fields, not knowing what you’ll find, dodging the tracks made by passing tanks and troopships. Always in danger from mines, roadblocks and drones scanning the sky.
Saturday, June 17, around 3:00 PM We are in the heart of Chasiv Yar, one of the main bases of the counter-offensive aimed at driving Putin’s troops from their entrenched positions. The first Russian defenses are 15 kilometers away. Bakhmut is there, within range of the Ukrainian army’s most advanced mortars. The city is lost, but continues to attract death.
Nearby Chasiv Yar, like Bakhmut, is a land “of blood and filth”. Arnan Soldin, the Agence France-Presse video coordinator, died there on May 9. A hail of Russian shells had blown up the town hall, the former nursery, the former infirmary and everything that was still standing.
Sergei, one of the Ukrainian guards, sits in front of the only grocery store still open, pointing to a balcony on the third floor of a heavy building. An old man who had just burst into the house is watching us from there.
Sergei returned from commando training in the UK two months ago. He shows the photos of it on the screen of his mobile phone. The place remains a secret. Identity and nationality of the trainers too: “I learned to fight there in the mud, in the pouring rain and in the midst of ruins”, Sergei is annoyed. “But what I haven’t learned is how to find the bastards who will identify our positions and relay them to the Russians. And there is, believe me. They are the reason we die.”
The old man has reappeared
I stare at the balcony where the old man has reappeared. Except for him, Chasiv Yar is like an open-air cemetery, where the only signs of life are the soldiers holed up in their camouflaged bunkers and a last handful of locals. Now one of them comes on his bicycle to the makeshift grocery store, the windows of which have been blown up and replaced with pieces of plastic sheeting.
There is nothing worse in Ukraine than to read an incomprehension in the eyes of the other, which manifests itself in the form of an accusation. Pjotr says he is 76 years old. Bachmut was “his” city. He wears neither a helmet nor a bulletproof vest. He lives among the soldiers and immediately says that he hates journalists: “You are the reason why we are being bombed. Bachmut, it’s you. Putin wanted a victory for the media around the world.”
Shell impacts shake the makeshift table under which two stray dogs have found shelter. Shall we run for cover? The three exhausted soldiers in front of me prefer to drink their lemonade. They combed one of the surrounding villages throughout the night and called in artillery support three times. What have you found? In the trunk of their car they display two “trophies”: a Russian helmet and a khaki jacket with the Z, the symbol of the Russian army. The earth trembles again: «You’ll see, you get used to everything. Either way, this war will consume us all.”
The counter-offensive is characterized by fatigue and wear and tear
I see the fear on their faces. I saw them before on the faces of their wives and girlfriends who got off the train in Kramatorsk to meet them on leave from the front. From their perspective, the Ukrainian counter-offensive looks different from what the General Staff has said: fatigue, wear and tear, and the desire for this carnage to stop.
Fifteen kilometers from Bakhmut, the word “victory” comes from the mouths of all the Ukrainian soldiers I interviewed. But her appearance said otherwise. Many use drugs, just like the Russian soldiers. And the ban on alcohol in combat zones doesn’t prevent it from circulating anyway.
Western equipment – American Bradley tanks, German Leopard 2 or French Caesar guns – was sent further south, on the Orickiw side. But here the howitzers and tanks are all Russian made. I saw tankers retreating into the undergrowth, sitting on the skeleton of a vehicle waiting for a tow truck. I could see the artillerymen preparing their nightly attacks on the “Orcs” in Bakhmut on their tablets connected to the Starlink satellite network.
Is there any progress? Impossible to say on the spot
I don’t know if the counteroffensive is making progress. You can’t say that on the spot. Even accredited journalists are kept away from the brigades involved in the battle. I saw farmers in Velyka Novosilka shocked to discover old grain silos blown up by bombing and a farmer’s house reduced to rubble by Russian shells.
Velyka Novosilka is “free”. But except for a lost old man with a bicycle, no one dares to go there anymore. Ukraine is still fighting and still dreaming of victory. But in the trenches of despair around Bachmut, the blood and shit of war obscure the tiniest glimmer of peace for now.
Source: Blick
I am Amelia James, a passionate journalist with a deep-rooted interest in current affairs. I have more than five years of experience in the media industry, working both as an author and editor for 24 Instant News. My main focus lies in international news, particularly regional conflicts and political issues around the world.
