photo #8463840

😭 A combat medic speaks: That evening, I learned of a severely wounded soldier trapped under enemy surveillance. He had lain there for hours, motionless, while a Russian drone circled overhead, waiting to strike any rescue team. The company commander didn’t hesitate. He seized the moment and ran into danger to reach him. Against all odds, they made it back to the nearest shelter. Late that night, I arrived hoping I could still help. He was barely alive. We tried five, maybe six times to insert an IV. Nothing. His veins had collapsed. Then, somehow, I found one. We pushed fluids. His blood pressure rose. A few more injections — he stabilized. The evacuation team arrived. We loaded him in. I told him, “That’s it, boy. Hold on. The doctors are waiting. Just a little longer and you’ll be fine.” They drove off. I sat down, exhausted. Another combat medic snapped a photo of me in that moment. A second later — a deafening explosion. Then, silence. The evac team never checked in again. The Russians had been waiting. Everyone was killed. When I joined the army, people asked: “Are you here to avenge your husband? Do you want blood?” I always said no. I wasn’t here to kill — I was here to save lives. So that no one, like my husband, would die without medical care on the battlefield. They asked if I’d treat prisoners. I said yes. It was my duty. Not anymore. I don’t want to save them. I want to kill. I want to watch them die. I want to see their mothers and wives screaming over their graves. I won’t help any prisoner. I don’t care about your humanity, your rules of war, your conventions. Damn you, Russians. You, your children, your grandchildren — for all the grief you’ve brought to our land. Text/photo: combat medic Nadiia Bila