This evening I met a man who came up to talk to me, out of the blue. He was a soldier, and he wanted to talk to me about his forthcoming amputation.
His English was not very good, and we mixed the conversation between English and Russian. He explained that he was not of Ukrainian blood at all. His mother was a Crimean Tartar, and his father was Russian. He didn’t speak Ukrainian very well at all; about as well as me. Nevertheless he had decided to train and fight as an infantry soldier from the very beginning of the war, and he wanted to emphasise to me that he was doing this so that he could fight for the Ukrainian nation. He felt part of the Ukrainian nation, having been born in now occupied territories, and he was fighting for the Ukrainian nation to get them back.
His face was covered in scars and tattoos, as were his arms. He walked with a stick. He had received a shrapnel blow to his lower left leg, eight months ago, while fighting with a Russian-speaking unit from the Donbas. It had taken him 12 hours to evacuate to a stabilisation point. The maximum period you can survive a tourniquet is six hours. So he personally released and tightened his tourniquet during his time waiting for evacuation, in order to save his leg.
Eventually he got to a military hospital in Lviv, where he has spent the last eight months. He has spent those eight months in hospital, using crutches, and only recently has he been able to walk down the street using crutches. We met in a bar. We agreed that we would go out for dinner in a restaurant.
He was educated at University as an architect.
Why are we going out for dinner? Why did he tell me his story? Because he has agreed with his surgeon that even though his leg is recovering, over the course of eight months, it might take another eight months. And that’s too long. So he has decided to opt for amputation, below the knee, on his left leg. His amputated limb will be replaced by a bionic limb, as he called it. Why is he doing this? Because his doctor told him that he will never be able to run again, with his leg fully heeled which will take many months more. Whereas with a bionic leg, after amputation, he will be able to go back to the front line and fight again.
He is 27 years old. His team is of youngsters. They are in their late teens or early twenties. They are his family. He feels emotional attachment towards them. They are his family. He has been evacuated from Russian-occupied Ukrainian territory, and he wants to go back and fight. As he explained it to me, he wants to fight for the Ukrainian nation.
The only way to go back to the front line, and to fight for his values, is to have his leg amputated. He has agreed to do this in seven days. Tonight I saw him with his left leg. In a week he will have no leg. Then the wound will be sealed and he will have a bionic leg to replace it. In four weeks, he estimates, he will be back on the front line. His doctor has told him he will be able to run again, because he can afford a bionic prosthetic.
My new friend has no family. He has no people he must care for. He told me he is willing to die for the Ukrainian nation: not the Ukrainian people, because he is not one of them; but for the idea of Ukraine, because he is a Ukrainian. It’s a subtle distinction. And he is prepared to be amputated for it.
I will meet him again after his amputation. He told me his story because he has nobody else to talk to. He has been fighting this war for two years. He told me of his training in Britain. He was very complimentary of the British training and the way of doing military things. He wishes the Ukrainian way was the same. He will amputate his leg, and then he will go back to the front. I wish him well. I will see him before his amputation, then again after his amputation I hope, and then I hope I will see him again after that.