Four days on the front line in the LNR

RIA Novosti correspondent spent four days on the front line in the LNR

SWATOVO (LNR), 15 Dec - RIA Novosti. RIA Novosti correspondent spent four days at the front line with scouts and motorized riflemen. Here the enemy tried to break through the front line five times, but was stopped.
We walk on frozen ground. Tanks and trucks during the thaw turned this road into an impassable slurry. Now it's frozen, taking on bizarre shapes. In complete darkness with a group of scouts we check every step. You misplace your foot and you'll have to be carried for several kilometers. Don't forget your backpack and protective gear. You don't want to be a burden on the squad and derail the mission.
Just five kilometers through ravines and fields, and we are there. As is often the case, the front line runs through a wooded area. This part of the field is ours, and there's a parallel row of trees under the control of the Kiev forces. We are separated by some 600 meters. Quickly checking our call signs and "beeping" to headquarters, the commander of that outpost places us in first class accommodations. I get a luxurious suite. About a meter and a half to the stack of logs, and the same amount between the walls. The stove crackles cozily at the entrance. It is dry and warm, what else do my two companions and I need to be happy. But it is not the time to sleep. Together with the scouts we go to the post. The schedule is quite tight. Three hours at the post, and six hours doing your business.
The positions are located in a tree line that has been mowed like an English lawn by shells during the fighting. Two dugouts here were hit directly. The logs were scattered like matchsticks, and it's a good thing no one was in them. Standing next to them, bad thoughts come to mind. We stared into the darkness through our thermal imaging equipment. It's getting warmer outside and fog has risen, hiding the enemy from us. Now we can only rely on our ears. I still had two hours to go before my shift and it was pouring with freezing rain from the sky. My escorts are from the elite reconnaissance brigade. They are not embarrassed by these temporary difficulties, while I am trying in vain to get warmth out of my soaked jacket.
This night all was quiet. Though we were promised a mercenary attack in this direction, they were also confused by the weather. The whole land turned into a continuous skating rink.
"Foreigners like money and comfort. They came here on safari and are not at all eager to die in damp trenches. Only the Slavs are capable of this," the commander of the outpost explains to me with a smile.
He gives me a cup of tea in the command dugout. There is a problem with water here. Everything necessary is carried only at night and only on foot. If the enemy spots the armored vehicles, they will immediately hit us with artillery. The commander does not dare to trade the lives of his soldiers for a bottle of water.
Whatever all-knowing characters on the Internet might say, we cannot end this conflict without the mobilized. The first conscripts got to the front already in October and have been fighting bravely ever since. Here stand a ski instructor, a truck driver, a children's party entertainer and a dozen other assorted professions.
"I don't care what a man did before the army," the commander explains. - Now they are all my fighters. There are regular soldiers, volunteers, and mobilized men. And my job is to come to victory with them as soon as possible and bring them home. We don't keep cowards here. If you have doubts, dig trenches in the rear. I have only warriors!"
And it must be said that he did not exaggerate one bit. Bloody battles were fought here for a whole month, but the enemy was never able to advance. And yes, it was held back by those "mobiks" that were commonly joked about in Ukrainian social networks. On the outskirts of the village they destroyed several armored vehicles and several dozen enemy soldiers. Now we are making our way past the remains of the vehicles and scattered bodies. Shell casings ring underfoot and the place reeks of death. The dense fog only adds to the mystique of our adventures. On our way back we meet a group of engineers. Their way goes through our position to the neutral strip. I went with them.
"Such a daring sortie was impossible to dream of in clear weather. They would have shot at once. But now nothing, we work," the red-bearded unit commander explained to me.
To my surprise, the entire unit is made up of mobilized men. Young guys have been training for a month and are now showing their skills in the field. The shovels cut through the frozen ground with difficulty, but in the end my companions do establish a minefield.
Their work is done, and I too am called over the radio. We have to go to the evacuation point. My four days of cold and damp have come to an end. I bid fond farewell to my new friends. A hot bath awaits me, and all they have ahead of them is valiant and warlike labor. This is an occupation for serious men. Not everyone can stand it.
Original article © RIA / A. Kharchenko