“Marc keeps whistlin’ and makin’ them f*ckin’ mortar noises!” Scroll seethed.
“Does it bother you?” I asked.
“F*ck yea it bothers me! I was in Iraq, bro. They hit us with mortars constantly. We heard those f*ckin’ sounds everyday,” Scroll continued. “He and Dima think it’s f*ckin’ funny, but it’s not, not when you’ve f*ckin’ experienced it.”
We were inside the farmhouse waiting for Rod and everyone else to get back from the range.
Our training had already ended.
A cold wind had blown across the fields.
The soldiers shivered in their kit, holding their rifles at attention, just waiting to be relieved.
“You guys did good! Keep workin’ on what you need work on, and I think we can be done with reloads today,” Scroll told us. “Rod and everybody else should be back soon, and then we can have lunch. Did anyone see what we have back there?”
I answered, “I think it’s some kind of macaroni and some pork or something. I saw them bring it up while you guys were training.”
“Oh, hell yea. I like that stuff,” Scroll smiled.
“Can never get enough macaroni and meat,” Rico joked.
“Hey, Scroll, I already talked to Rod about this, but I’m going to go get some practice with my FPV drone,” Henry informed him.
“Uh, okay, but where are you planning on doing it?” Scroll asked concerned.
“Well I’ve got a spot lined up that I think will be good,” Henry explained. “There’s an old abandoned warehouse a couple kilometers from here, and I think there’s enough room for me to practice there.”
Scroll nodded, “Okay, well just be careful. Don’t get spotted, and don’t do it anywhere close to here.”
Henry agreed, “Of course! I’ll be careful. Also there’s another spot I saw where I could be under an old bus stop and fly it free in the sky, but no one could see my location.”
Scroll repeated himself, “Like I said, do what you need to do, but just be careful.”
Back inside the farmhouse, we all had another round of coffee.
“So what time do you guys normally have lunch?” I asked, letting my stomach do the talking.
“We don’t really have a set time,” Scroll replied.
“Usually around noon,” Rico added.
I looked at my phone. It wasn’t even noon yet. It felt like we had been out there for hours, but in reality it had only been an hour and a half or so.
“Hey, you want to come to the store with me?” Scroll asked me.
“Sure why not? I don’t really need anything, but I’ll come with you,” I told him.
The store was at another little farm just down the lane. It catered pretty much exclusively to soldiers and the Ukrainian farmers who still worked the land there, despite the dangers. It was a little “mahazine,” a cross between a rural grocery store and a 7-11.
Inside the store, we found Roland browsing its selection of goods.
“Hey,” he nodded, before turning back to the products.
“Howdy,” Scroll replied.
Scroll had come to the store to re-up his supply of Bang energy drink. As is common with American soldiers, he was an inveterate caffeine and nicotine abuser.
He put his selection of drinks on the counter and the little old babushka rang him up. She showed him on the calculator his cost in Hryvnia. He gave her a 500UAH bill, and she gave him some change.
“Damn, I’m gonna need to get some money out when we get to the village. I’m running low on Hryvnia,” Scroll explained.
“Yea, I mean, it’s no big deal. It’s not like you need much out here,” I replied.
“I go through a lot of smokes,” Scroll admitted.
“At least you’re getting paid,” I told him, in reference to the fact that many foreign soldiers fighting for Ukraine in the Legion deal with notoriously late payments or never get paid.
The new unit Rod was in charge of was not part of the Legion, but a direct part of the Ukrainian military. This was a big factor that explained their rapid success in attracting a company’s worth of foreign talent for what was originally supposed to just be a platoon, in only a month’s time.
"Well, there is that," Scroll admitted. "Money is important."
Scroll, Roland, and I left the store together and walked back to the farmhouse. Rod and his group had finally returned. Most of them were inside getting their kits off, but a couple of the Columbian guys were outside smoking a cigarette.
I decided to join them.
“Hi!” One of them waved to me. “I’m Leon.”
I came over and shook his hand.
“Mucho gusto. Me llamo Zane,” I spoke in Spanish.
“Oh, hablas Español?” Leon asked.
“Un poquito,” I shrugged, pulling a cigarette out of my jacket pocket.
“De dónde eres?” He asked.
“California,” I replied.
“Oh, California! Bueno,” he nodded.
“Tienes encendio?” I asked, after fumbling around for a lighter to no avail.
“¡Sí!” He handed me his lighter.
“Te gusta Ucrania?” Leon asked.
“Tak,” I replied.
Leon laughed.
“Oh, f*ck. I mean sí,” I fumbled between three languages. “I’ve been learning Ukrainian and been here so long, that it’s hard to switch back to Spanish.”
Leon laughed, “Don’t worry. I understand you.”
I finally lit up my cigarette.
Rico came outside the farmhouse.
“You guys havin’ a smoke?” He asked.
“Yea!” I called. “Come on down!”
Leon laughed.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Rico replied, walking over to us.
“So what do you think about American politics? Do you think aid will come soon?” Leon asked.
“Not before the election,” I answered.
“When’s that?” He asked.
“November,” Rico chimed in.
“Who do you support?” Leon wondered.
“I support Trump,” Rico replied.
“Why? Don’t you think he’s dangerous for democracy?” Leon questioned him.
“Well… I don’t really believe in democracy,” Rico admitted.
I smiled and took a drag of my cigarette.
“You don’t believe in democracy? Then what do you believe in?” Leon asked.
“Well, I just don’t think it makes sense that homeless people and drug addicts get the same vote as everybody else,” Rico explained.
My old soldier friend Vance would later ask over a phone call, “Why would he even be there if he doesn’t support democracy?”
Leon was just as confused.
“So, why are you fighting for Ukraine?” He asked.
“I’m just here to help the people, not necessarily the Ukrainian state,” Rico clarified.
“Whatever you say man,” Leon smiled.
“I mean, I guess it’s the same for me. Not about democracy, but about supporting the Ukrainian people rather than the Ukrainian state,” I agreed.
Dima overheard our conversation walking by.
“I’m here because Russia is an evil empire,” he grinned.
“That too,” Rico laughed.
Rod walked out of the farmhouse.
“So, I guess the commander and I are taking you back to the village today. Sorry mate,” Rod informed me.
“Oh. Okay. Let me get my stuff together,” I told him.
“There’s no rush. We’ll leave sometime after lunch,” Rod insisted.
“So… I guess you’re leavin’ us,” Rico smiled sadly.
“Man, you know if I had my way, I’d never leave,” I assured him.
“Yea, I get it. OpSec and all that,” he replied.
“Well, you guys are coming to the village tomorrow, so I’ll see you then,” I added.
“Yea, I’ll be getting a van for tomorrow. I’ll try to convince the guys it ‘may’ be their last chance to go to the village for a while,” Rod figured.
“I’ve already been kinda trying to ‘seed’ that idea into everyone,” I laughed.
“Crazy shit, bruv,” Rod muttered.
“Crazy shit,” I repeated.
Scroll came outside for a smoke.
“So, are you staying another night?” He asked me.
“Nah, I guess I gotta go back today,” I sighed.
“Well, shit. It’s been real, bro,” he told me.
“I’m not leaving just yet, and also I guess I’ll see you guys in the village tomorrow,” I explained.
“Oh, yea. I definitely need to go and get dump pouches and some other stuff. Maybe a carton of cigarettes. Also, I gotta get cash out,” Scroll laid out his laundry list.
Dima popped his head out of the farmhouse.
“It’s lunchtime for anyone who wants it!” He announced.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Scroll replied.
“What is it?” Rod asked skeptically.
“Macaroni and meat,” Rico told him.
“Huh. Sounds good,” Rod admitted.
“I’m hungry as hell,” I muttered.
We went inside and proceeded to tear through medium-sized helpings of macaroni and meat. I hadn’t had breakfast so I packed it away.
Soldiers’ appetites are no joke.
“I’ve never seen anyone eat as much as you, bruv,” Rod told me.
I thought to myself of all the days where I basically eat nothing but dinner. But then again, I have been known to eat my fair share, given the right circumstances.
“I mean where I’m from I eat the least,” I laughed.
“Mate, I’ve seen you eat a Kebap the size of your head and then drink a dozen pints,” Rod insisted.
“Well, this one time in Reno…” I began. “I ate 40 pieces of salmon nigiri in a minute and 47 seconds at an all you can eat sushi place.”
Rod just shook his head laughing.
“Damn. 40 pieces? That’s wild,” Scroll spoke in between bites of macaroni.
“I’ve had all you can eat sushi in Reno,” Rico, the boy from Chico, smiled.
“There’s something wrong with you, mate,” Rod told me.
“Of course there is! How else would I be your friend?” I asked after finishing my meal, walking to the kitchen to clean my plate and silverware.
After lunch, the commander came in, and it became clear it was time to go. I packed up all my stuff and put my plate carrier back on. I struggled to fit my sleeping bag back into its pack, and it became a team effort.
Dima and I were the main players, but soon everyone was somehow participating.
“How many f*ckin’ people does it take to pack a f*ckin’ sleeping bag?” Rod asked rhetorically.
“A lot, apparently,” I answered deadpan.
“Well, good luck Zane!” Scroll saluted.
“It was good to see you again, bro! Stay safe,” Rico shook my hand.
“Have a good one everybody! Good luck out there!” I exclaimed to the crowd.
Everyone waved and said a variety of goodbyes.
The commander and Rod helped me carry some of the stuff to the truck. We got in and pulled out onto the long dirt road back to civilization.
“Sorry about all this, bruv. I’ll pay for a couple nights at a hostel in the village and a ticket back to Kyiv,” Rod assured me.
“I’m thinking about staying maybe longer in the village, then maybe going on a tour of the east,” I told him.
“There’s a couple bombed places in the village that you could maybe film,” the commander told me.
“Well, in that case I’ll just pay for the hostel,” Rod nodded.
“Thanks for everything, guys,” I told them.
“We both feel bad. Everyone was looking forward to this documentary, but shit happens,” Rod sighed.
“Yea, don’t worry about it. You guys have a lot more important things to worry about other than me!” I assured them.
“So what’s the situation on the zero-line?” Rod asked the commander.
“It’s not good, but it will hold for now. The biggest work will be the second line. You and the guys will have a lot of work to do to prepare that position,” he replied.
The truck flew fast across the flat land, a vast expanse stretching to the horizon in all directions. It looked like the most classic kind of terrain for the most classic kind of war, the kind of war that modern people have forgotten, a war of blood and soil, trenches and mud, sickness and starvation, avarice and ambition, the kind of war that humbles you, the kind of war that breaks down the myths of romance and greatness, replacing them with shit and filth.
Europe covets its most sacred traditions: the old magic of death and glory, God and country, meaning to the madness of modernity.
European society simply cannot handle a century of peace. It is antithetical to its monotheistic founding ideals, the ideals that unite all European cultures: that might is right, that Rome will rise again, and one nation will rule them all under the auspices of God. Even more than 100 years after Europe burned the world order it created in the name of one war to end all wars, with one nation chosen by God to rule the ashes, this imperial idea remains deathless. And Russia is perfectly European in this regard.
After all, what idea is more European than a brutish, animalistic interpretation of the will to power?
Even now, the nationalists and radicals accuse the “New” Europe, the “United” Europe of weakness, the gravest of European sins. They accuse their modern European brothers of forgetting their masculinity, of losing their fangs, of becoming weak. And Putin, the true European, upon smelling weakness, did what all the old wolves of Europe would have done. He preyed upon it, as a hungry, prideful European wolf should, and just as those prideful wolves of old, he bit off more than he could chew, in his bottomless hunger and avarice. And just as the old wolves of Europe that Putin and his nationalist ilk worship so desperately, he brought about his own doom. He who lives by claw and fang will die by claw and fang.
Old wolves don’t die gracefully.
Putin is no exception.
The voices in the truck break my train of thought.
“So, what hostel are you thinking of?” The commander asked Rod.
“Uh, I dunno. I thought we’d just find one,” Rod shrugged.
“That might be a problem,” the commander warned him.
We were still in the fields, flying down country roads, but soon we would be in the village. Our inability to confirm a plan did not bode well.
“Let me check online again,” Rod spoke while searching on his phone.
“That school was bombed by Russian rockets,” the commander told me, pointing to a blasted, burned-out building.
We were pretty much in the village now. We parked at the bus station. The commander started ringing up hostels and hotels in town, to no avail.
“They say that you often have to book a place weeks in advance because of the high demand of soldiers looking for places to stay,” he informed us.
“Damn,” Rod muttered, still searching his phone.
It took us an hour or so driving around the village, talking to different people, before the commander found me an apartment for $20 a night. Rod and I didn’t have enough cash, so the commander generously ended up paying for 7 days in the apartment.
“I’ll pay you back,” Rod promised him.
The commander and I walked up to the apartment to meet the landlord. He spoke Ukrainian to her to get everything set up.
“Thank you so much, man,” I told him with deep sincerity.
“It is no problem,” he assured me.
Once everything was dealt with, we walked back to the truck to get my stuff. Rod and him helped me carry some things up to the apartment, which was on the 6th floor, with no elevator. So, we had to drag 100lbs of kit up those goddamned stairs.
“Thanks again, man! This is really generous of you,” I told the commander.
“Think nothing of it,” he replied.
“Well, see you later, bruv,” Rod shook my hand and pulled me in for a hug.
“Good luck, guys!” I told them knowingly.
And then they left. And I was alone.
The air raid siren moaned in the distance.
The next day I filmed myself in front of the blown-up school. I had written a little blurb that I had cleared with Rod and the commander. It took me a couple tries, but eventually I was able to rattle off a little something like this:
“45 minutes after I got to the staging position 7.5 miles from the frontline, the frontline position we were supposed to be heading to was hit by a massive GRAD rocket attack that killed and injured a bunch of Ukrainian soldiers, many of whom had been living in the trenches there for months. Orders came down that I could no longer be there, and that there was an indefinite media blackout for the unit. The next day I was taken back to the village, and the commander of the unit put me up in an apartment for the next week so I could do some filming and interviews in the area, which was very generous. I had previously been worried that something like this might happen, as a major Russian offensive along the southern lines has been in the works for weeks. Rocket attacks are a daily occurrence, and massive amounts of Russian soldiers are being sent to reinforce positions. In fact, in the short time that I’ve been in the village, the air raid alarm has gone off many times. Due to the coming offensive, media and fundraising is the last concern of the military at this time, which is pretty reasonable given the gravity of the situation. For the remainder of my time here, I will be traveling to nearby villages famous for devastation and still open to the public, as well as hopefully interview soldiers coming in from Dnipro or fresh from the front. While it is a little disappointing not to be able to film the documentary for the unit, my petty concerns pale in comparison to the serious concerns of safety and security of the people fighting on the frontlines.”
Right as I finished my last take, I was told to leave by some Ukrainian groundskeepers, who asked if I was a “real” journalist, adding insult to injury.
“Vuibachtay,” I nodded to them apologetically before heading back into town for breakfast.
I took it easy the rest of the day, and had a couple beers at one of the bars in town. The village was lively from the war economy, full of the soldiers from dawn till dusk. There were a number of quality restaurants, cafes, and bars; with a number of services and a large bazaar geared towards the needs of soldiers. There were over a dozen tactical equipment stores in this town of 9,700. The town shutdown way earlier than the official curfew, which was pretty common for Ukrainian villages, even before the war.
The air raid sirens moaned constantly in a single ceaseless tone.
That night I smoked cigarettes on my balcony and listened to them moan.
After a while, I didn’t even hear them anymore.
The next day, Rod, Rico, Scroll, and the commander visited the village in the van Rod had finally managed to secure. There were far less people than expected, and they were all on a time-crunch because the commander had to personally head to the zero-line in less than 12 hours to provide desperately needed support to the position.
“We’re down at the tac-stores in the bazaar,” Rod texted me.
“Where’s that?” I texted him from the cafe.
“At the alley across from the ATB,” he replied.
“Ok! On my way!” I confirmed.
I struggled to find the alley near the ATB, until finally Rod came out to get me.
“Oi!” He shouted from down the street.
“Hey!” I shouted back.
“Good to see you, bruv,” he greeted me as I approached.
“So, what’s on the agenda today?” I asked.
“Well, we gotta get some last minute tac stuff for Rico and Scroll, and get some anti-inflammatory medication at the Apteka,” he informed me.
“Cool, cool,” I responded.
“Yea, also we’re tryna have a little cookout back at the base before we send everyone out tomorrow,” he added.
“Last meal?” I joked.
“Could be, bruv,” he agreed.
The bazaar was a large open air market in the village that sold everything a human being could want, and even more than that if said human happens to be a soldier. Rod and I met Rico and Scroll browsing the wares of a knife dealer.
“This is where I bought my knife last year,” Rod told Rico.
“How’re ya doin’, my man?” Scroll asked me.
“Pretty good, man! Good to see you guys!” I smiled.
“Yea, just tryna get some last minute stuff before we head out,” Rico told me.
“They know that we’re deploying tomorrow,” Rod informed me.
“Oh, wow. How do you guys feel about that?” I asked.
“Well, I mean that’s what we came here to do, so I’m ready for it, but I know some guys are more ready than others,” Scroll told me.
“I just found out today. But I think I’m as ready as I could be,” Rico added.
“We’re gonna be going to second line, so it won’t be as hot as the zero-line. The hardest part is going to be digging new trench systems on the second line,” Rod explained.
“Oh, so you’ll have somewhere to retreat to?” I asked sardonically, referencing an experience Rod had during his time with the Legion when his unit had no secondary line and had a 5km run across open field to the nearest fallback point.
“Yea! Imagine that?” Rod replied similarly sardonic.
We walked through the bazaar before crossing the main street to a brick-and-mortar tactical shop. Rico looked through the pants and knee-guards. Scroll was looking for a small go-bag, while Rod was looking for a second large duffel bag. Eventually, only Rod made a purchase there. Rico almost bought a helmet, until the lady told him they only took cash for those items.
“I gotta go get some cash,” Scroll declared, leaving swiftly.
Rod and I stepped out for a cigarette.
“So, what’s new?” I asked.
“Well, the commander’s heading out to the front at 4 a.m. tomorrow, but he has some business here to attend as well,” Rod answered. “So, we’ve got to leave as soon as we finish our business. Sorry we can’t stay longer, bruv.”
I nodded, taking a long drag of my Lucky.
“Hey, I’m done at this store. You guys ready to move on?” Rico asked after joining us outside.
“Scroll is getting cash, but I guess we could check the tac-shops over by the bank,” Rod replied.
We gave the whole scene a once-over before regrouping with Scroll, heading to another part of the bazaar on the hunt for knives and other accessories.
“Hey! That’s an AK bayonet! It’s actually good quality too, but it’s not the original knife,” Rod pointed out to Rico.
“Hmmm… would it work with an RPK?” Rico asked.
“Yea. Pretty sure it’s standard,” Rod thought.
“Skilkay?” Rod asked the merchant.
“600,” he replied in English.
“That’s a pretty good deal,” Rod noted.
“Yea… I’m not sure… let’s move on,” Rico passed on the knife.
We walked through the market slowly, taking it all in, before Rico finally found a decent knife. Afterwards, we walked into the large expo-building that held the meat and produce market. Rod bought many pounds of pork, spicy sausage, and spices. A few onions, potatoes, and a hot pepper joined the haul.
“It’s my favorite lady!” Rod called to one of the stall workers.
“Dobre Dehn!” She smiled back at him.
“What have you got for me today?” He asked.
“How about?” She asked pointing to some particularly savory spicy sausage.
“Oooooo, yea. Let’s get some of that!” Rod spoke greedily.
“Oh, that looks good,” Rico salivated.
Her eyes asked, “How much?”
“The whole thing, love,” Rod nodded.
“Damn, are you feeding an army or something?” I asked.
“Damn near,” Rod chuckled.
“We’re eatin’ good tonight!” Scroll exclaimed.
We left the bazaar and went to the ATB for Rod to get some charcoal for the barbecue, among other things. Scroll went to buy a carton of cigarettes. I held the bag of meat for Rod, standing outside with Rico.
Scroll came back first.
“I was only able to get 10 packs,” he spoke forlornly.
“I mean that’ll probably be plenty,” I told him.
“No, man. You don’t understand how many cigarettes I smoke. But I won’t be able to smoke at night out on the frontline, so I’ll be smoking a bit less,” Scroll explained.
“I already have a stash of smokes at the house,” Rico remarked.
We waited a long time for Rod.
Finally, he came out of the ATB.
“Bruv, that old babushka robbed me! She f*ckin’ stole from me, bruv!” Rod exclaimed.
“What happened?” Rico asked.
“There was this babushka in front of me, right? She had a bunch of groceries, and she didn’t have enough cash, and her and the clerk were taking forever!” Rod told us with disbelief. “So, I decided to just give her 200 Hryvnia. And then she took my money and left the groceries! I couldn’t believe it, bruv! You couldn’t write that shit!”
We all broke down laughing.
“These mean village streets,” I deadpanned.
“You’re not jokin’, bruv!” Rod shook his head.
“I can’t believe you got robbed by a little old lady,” Scroll smiled.
“Can’t trust people, man,” Rico said, confirming his conservative beliefs.
“I’ve still got to go get the medicine at the Apteka,” Rod remembered. “You guys can go wait for me at the van!”
In the parking lot, the commander was standing outside the van talking with a Ukrainian guy. They were both smiling and chuckling, and I just instinctually knew they were talking about Rod getting robbed by a babushka.
Bad gas travels fast in a small town.
“Hello again, my friend,” the commander shook my hand.
“Good to see you!” I nodded.
“Are you enjoying the apartment?” He asked.
“Absolutely. Thank you again! That was very generous of you!” I told him gratefully.
“So…” he turned to everyone smiling wryly. “I hear you guys had some problems with a lady in the store.”
I laughed.
“Yea! Rod got robbed by a babushka!” Scroll spoke wide-eyed.
“Can’t believe she just took his money,” Rico shook his head laughing.
“It is common in Ukraine, unfortunately,” the commander reminded everyone.
Pretty soon Rod returned with the medicine.
“Did anymore babushkas rob you?” Scroll asked.
“Oh, you’re joking, bruv. Here I am, a big, strong soldier, and here she is a tiny old lady, and she f*ckin’ robs me, bruv. She had no fear!” Rod exasperated.
“Ukrainians…” I muttered.
“She probably went to get a bottle of vodka,” the commander confidently concluded.
“Or she’s getting medicine for her poor sick grandchild,” I laughed.
“Yea, right,” Rico chuckled.
“So, are we ready to head out?” The commander asked everyone.
“Yea, I think so,” Rod replied.
“I’m good,” Scroll nodded.
“Ready to get back and cook this stuff,” Rico smiled.
“Well, good luck guys!” I made my goodbyes.
“Good seeing you again, man!” Scroll waved.
“Yea, stay safe out there,” Rico nodded.
“Zane, you stay safe, bruv. I’ll see you soon,” Rod promised.
“Oh, I’m sure of it!” I smiled.
“It was good to meet you,” the commander shook my hand one last time.
“See you guys on the other side!” I called out, lighting up cigarette.
The van roared to life as they crowded inside.
Rod flipped me off one time before they skirted out from the parking lot.
I returned the favor.
And took a long drag of my cigarette.
Alone again…
I walked back to the bar cafe for a beer. Then I went to ATB and bought a week’s worth of groceries: eggs, bread, mandarins, butter, and sausage. I had 7 days in the village, so it was time to make the most of it. I spent the next few days getting video from around town, showing life 20 miles or so from one of the hottest sections of frontline in the war.
I also started planning my next moves. There weren’t many villages nearby that were damaged or good locations for filming, so I made the decision, after checking in with Rod, to head to Kramatorsk from Dnipro. After that, I would go to Kharkiv and then maybe Sumy, before returning to Kyiv.
I started making the necessary preparations.
On the last day, I checked out of the apartment, thanked the lady for her generosity, and headed to bus station carrying 100lbs of equipment. It was a slow-burn through the streets of the village.
When I finally made it to the bus station, I dropped my gear on the front steps and sat down. I had an hour or two to kill before my bus came. I started playing Spades on my phone, like the degenerate I am.
At some point, this little kid came up asking for money. I didn’t have much cash, so I just gave him all my coins.
“Where are you from?” He asked in Russian.
“America. California!” I told him.
“Ohhhhhh, America!” He responded.
He told one of the old men who worked at the bus station that I was American. The old guy just nodded and grumbled.
“Pavlik,” the kid introduced himself.
“Zane,” I replied shaking his hand.
Pavlik started speaking rapidly.
“Segundo,” I stopped him.
I pulled out my phone translator, and clicked the microphone.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, the classic question.
“Journalist,” I said without translation.
“Ohhhhh, Dobre! Dobre!” Pavlik nodded.
We continued going back and forth for a bit.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Thirteen,” he responded.
“Hmm,” I nodded.
“Do you smoke electronic cigarettes?” He asked trying to act cool.
“No, I smoke adult cigarettes,” I told him, showing him my pack of Luckies.
He laughed.
“Do you want something to eat?” Pavlik asked, clearly intending for me to get him something as well.
“No, but I’m thirsty. Help me carry my stuff over to the cafe, and I’ll buy you a drink,” I promised.
He agreed quickly, helping me with my kit, which we set outside at the tables before heading inside. I bought us two sweet teas. He looked at them wide-eyed.
“Dyakuyu!” He said, deliberately in Ukrainian.
We sat outside at the tables.
“How do you feel about the war?” I asked.
“I mean, obviously not great. I am a refugee,” Pavlik smirked.
“Are you scared of the war?” I asked.
“No. My people are strong,” he proclaimed proudly.
“What people? Ukrainian?” I asked.
Pavlik shook his head.
“Russian?” I asked.
He shook his head again.
“My people are Roma… Gypsies,” he declared.
“Are you from this village?” I asked.
“My family was living in a village in Donetsk Oblast, but we had to escape 6 months ago,” he told me.
There was a lull in conversation.
“Can I have a cigarette?” Pavlik asked.
“F*ck it. Why not?” I shrugged.
Who was I to tell this gypsy refugee he couldn’t have a cigarette? He already drank and smoked like most European kids. Besides, who am I to be an arbiter of morality? God can judge us, but I certainly can’t.
I handed Pavlik a cigarette.
Then I lit my own and handed him the lighter.
There was already an ashtray on the table, indisputable proof that Ukraine is part of Europe.
“Can I take a picture of you?” Pavlik asked.
“Sure!” I nodded.
He set his cigarette in the ashtray to have a free hand to take a selfie of the two of us.
“Do you have an Instagram?” He asked.
“Yea! Here, send me that pic,” I told him, exchanging contact info.
“You have a lot of stuff,” Pavlik remarked.
I unzipped my jacket and knocked on my plate carrier.
“Wow! You have armor!” Pavlik reacted strongly.
“Yea, I have full-kit. I was supposed to go to the frontline, but my plans failed,” I explained.
“What happened?” Pavlik asked.
“If you’d believe it, I have a one-armed British soldier friend who fights for Ukraine, but lost his arm in Afghanistan serving in the British military, who now commands a unit of foreign soldiers in the army,” I spoke into the translator. “I was supposed to do a documentary for the unit, but the position was hit by rockets, and it was canceled.”
It took a moment for the machine to process the convoluted contents.
“You have a crazy life,” Pavlik responded.
“Yea, but I’m still trying to have something to show for it,” I shrugged.
“You will be victorious,” he proclaimed profoundly.
“Dyakuyu Pavlik,” I thanked him.
“Well, are we going to smoke another one, or what?” He asked arrogantly.
“Sure, one for the road,” I chuckled.
I handed him my last smoke.
I lit up mine and then his.
We each took a long drag, inhaling the moment.
Pretty soon my bus came, and we said our goodbyes.
“Message me!” Pavlik told me as he left.
“Tak! Vece Dobre!” I called back to him.
The bus headed to Dnipro, and my excuse for a frontline excursion was over.
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