A half-alive, bound cyborg kneels under the barrel of an automatic rifle. «Смотри «укроп», смотри…» ("Look, 'Ukrainian', look...") — an enemy voice accompanies a powerful blow to the back. Before him, a soldier of the Ukrainian army, are his comrades — those who long ago became brothers, whose lives will be cut short in an instant... A shot, a second, a third... Blood... The end...
The terrifying, surreal scene of our soldiers being executed, the hellish landscapes of warare still before the eyes of Cyborg Dibrov. And almost every night he sees this scene in his dreams...
...26 August. Vitaliy Dibrov was conscripted by the Dnipropetrovsk military commissariat. In civilian life, he is a security guard, a loving husband and father. With tears in their eyes, his wife and two-year-old daughter see him off to war: «Татку, повертайся скоріше, я буду чекати на тебе…» ("Daddy, come back soon, I will be waiting for you...")
Within a few days, he will find himself in a real hell. A full fifty-four days of fighting at the Donetsk airport. There were no breaks there. Constant shelling, the death of comrades, it seemed that the Universe was collapsing. The psychological, physical and moral exhaustion was felt more and more. Not everyone is capable of withstanding such pressure.
Once, he inadvertently became a witness to a conversation between colleagues in the "hellish workshop": «Якби ми не підтримували братерські стосунки, напевно, українського війська вже не було. Ми — народ добролюбивий, маємо триматися разом…» ("If we did not maintain brotherly relations, the Ukrainian army would probably no longer exist. We are a people who love goodness, we must stick together...") He recalled these words many times afterwards...
...22 January. The settlement of Krasny Partizan. Twenty of our soldiers are holding two posts. Around nine in the morning, the first shot is heard. In an instant, with fireballs from "Saushe" (self-propelled howitzers) and multiple rocket launchers, the terrorists try to wipe out the military personnel and local civilians from Ukrainian soil.
Our guys stubbornly hold their positions. The first volley, the second, the third... The enemy's response is even harsher. The forces are unequal. About ten metres from Vitaliy, a mine explodes. A tank shot, fire, dust, his vision darkens and terrible pain... The shockwave throws his maimed body far into a pit...
...He came to his senses only a few days later. A concussion, a maimed arm... Swollen, cold as ice legs. «Дякувати Богові, телефон працює» ("Thank God, the phone works"), the young man thought. Following an SMS correction from a comrade, Vitaliy moved towards his own side. This incredibly difficult path, the soldier will probably never forget. Crossing minefields, overcoming terrible pain, through the darkness of a frosty January night, on half-bent legs, he illuminated his way to his own with a small flashlight. Suddenly, he saw a house, in whose window the light of a weeping candle flickered. Peering into the window, Vitaliy saw an old grandfather who was looking at an icon and silently weeping. Somewhere nearby, the voices of an enemy patrol could be heard. He understood that entering the house would put the old man in danger. As is known, terrorists do not spare those who shelter "Banderites" and "slave owners", so he decided to go further. He stepped onto the road. «Тільки б не помітили» ("Only hope they don't notice"), flashed through his head. Suddenly: «Стоять, я сказал! — посипались постріли вгору з чотирьох автоматів. — Оружие на землю, быстро! Следующая очередь — твоя!» ("Stand still, I said! — shots rang out into the air from four automatic rifles. — Weapon on the ground, quickly! The next volley is yours!")
...28 January. Captivity... A cage two by two metres. A handful of barley porridge on a plate, coloured water in a glass... A puddle of blood on the floor... Interrogations, torture, beatings.
Almost every day he was taken out to be executed, his hands and feet were twisted. Information was beaten out of him in the literal sense of the word. «Артиллерист, ты должен сдать нам карты…» ("Artilleryman, you must hand over the maps to us...") In response — a smile and half-alive silence.
And then, according to the daily schedule — watching films. But not ordinary ones, special, psychological ones. Somewhere two or three times a day, that violent video is shown to locals and fighters to form in them rage and hatred towards Ukrainians. Fantastic anti-Ukrainian filth from a series of dirty surrealism about the rape of women and the eating of children destroys their brains every day. Stages of horrific, sick fantasy seemed scarier than the delirium of the insane. He had never seen such filth before... In his thoughts, it inadvertently flashed: «Зрозуміло, звідки ця лють до всього українського. Мені вас шкода. Ви хворі люди, у вас немає нічого святого…» ("I understand where this rage against everything Ukrainian comes from. I pity you. You are sick people, you have nothing holy...")
...5 February. From the "DNR" side, a jeep with a siren, a bus, eight cars, in each of which there is one prisoner and two fighter guards. «Вставай. Дарим тебе жизнь за храбрость и стойкость» ("Get up. We are giving you your life for your bravery and steadfastness").
Trembling hands, pulsating thoughts... But the main thing — Vitaliy returned, as his daughter had asked, seeing him off to war... ©
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