Three litres of vodka and not shooting the deputy commander
We received orders to take the armoured personnel carrier (APC) to a certain point, then get out and deliver food, water and ammunition to the front line on foot. On the way there, I was told by radio that the plan had changed. Go to the village, collect all the provisions and move them... forward, but in the APC. I was really pissed off: I’ve got 20 people here and they’re sending me god knows where. Of course, they conveniently forgot to mention that the place was being shelled.
We started getting shelled 200 metres shy of our destination. People were afraid of the incoming shelling and laid low but I screamed at them to keep running. One fighter was sitting there, scared, so I asked him, “Andrey, is everything okay?” He said, “Yes.” I left him there and a shell hit a minute later. Three dead. Roma’s face was blown off, Saint’s stomach was all out, and Wind’s groin was blown away. He was screaming so fucking loud. We got him to the road and he bled out there. Then Ilya took the shrapnel from the next shell and died on the spot. There were another three dead. I don’t know how. Total chaos. I tell everyone to get the fuck back and retrieve anyone injured.
We ended up with seven dead and at least 10 wounded, including the second platoon commander and the company commander. I was the only officer left. I was unscathed. Not even stunned. I was dashing around gathering people up because over the radio they were shouting at me to advance. But who the fuck can advance? Everyone was running around trying to help the wounded.