MOSCOW — I can’t reveal where this house is. I can’t take pictures of it from the outside. I can’t mention the approximate distance to Kursk, Sudzha or Kurchatov in the article. We can’t publish even a bit of information about it — any little thing can become a landmark.
Just know: Somewhere in the middle of the Kursk region, there is a house where lives are being saved.
For the latest news & views from every corner of the world, Worldcrunch Today is the only truly international newsletter. Sign up here.
The leader here is Gel, a great, mighty bearded man. If volunteers ask what they need to bring, Gel laughs: “Good camouflage clothes, size 64.” When he enters the house, he fills the entire room — first with his belly, and then with clouds of white smoke.
In khaki gear, Gel looks very much like a Cuban revolutionary, only instead of a cigar, he puffs on an electronic cigarette. On his bulletproof vest is a chevron with a treble clef and the signature “Musicians the Whole World Knows.” And on his neck is an unusual pendant: a syringe tube with the painkiller “Nefopam.” Military coquetry.
Yamal, a young man with a thick wheat-colored mustache in a striped shirt, conducts the tour of the house. “We have a medical center for stabilizing the wounded here,” he says. “We help both civilians and military personnel — our brothers who are now, to put it mildly, in hell.”
All volunteers
“This is how it all works. Our sorting post is located closer to the active combat zone. There are people with medical skills and volunteers with personal vehicles on duty there. We have established communication with military units that work in the region, and they evacuate their wounded to our sorter. He examines them and makes a decision.”
“The lightly wounded go on calmly to one of the distant hospitals, and the severe and moderate ones are brought here first. Here, volunteer doctors provide the necessary assistance for them to achieve a stable condition. Our guys then deliver them to the nearest hospital,” Yamal explains.
“During the conflict in the Kursk region, we have already assisted about 150 people. Both civilians and our military brothers. And most of them were admitted in serious and extremely serious condition.”
People responded immediately – some volunteered to come, others pitched in for gasoline.
“This morning they brought in a man who was simply hanging by a thread. He had multiple shrapnel wounds all over his body – arms, legs, torso. And most seriously, his brain was damaged. Thank God, the doctors worked clearly and competently, and then our driver delivered this very, very serious wounded to the hospital as quickly as possible. And he was revived there. So far, our team has not had a single death.”
I ask: What do you mean, our team? Who are you?
“Volunteers. All the guys involved here are people who care about the fate of our city, our region. It all started back in 2022 — thanks to the former Governor of Kursk oblast,and current Transport Minister Roman Starovoyt, who provided maximum support. Then we managed to create a territorial defense camp in the region.”
“The instructors are people with combat experience, many from the Wagner private military company. They trained those who wanted to work with drones, go out on assaults, and taught tactical medicine. Both law enforcement officers and ordinary civilians studied with us,” Yamal says.
”Of course, there was a general cadet chat. And when all these events began on Aug. 6, we put out a call in the chat room: ‘Guys, urgent assembly.’ People responded immediately – some volunteered to come, others pitched in for gasoline. A couple of hours later, we were receiving wounded right in the field. Then everything was sorted out. The owner of this house offered it up for a medical center.”
It only seems quiet
“We provided security; we have organized firing points, and guys with a permit for smoothbore weapons are on duty. Volunteer doctors, also from other regions, came to us. They bring us medicine, bandages, food, water — all this exclusively through volunteer initiatives. And now they are saving lives here. Well, you will see for yourself when the wounded are brought in.”
I look around. It’s midday, but the house is dim. The curtains in all the window are closed tightly, the doorway is covered with a carpet.
“Blackout,” Yamal explains. “Doctors often work at night, under lamps. We can’t let anyone notice a strip of light from the outside. In general, mines and shells are going off nearby. There are always enemy ‘copters in the sky, we’ve spotted Mavic drones, and Baba Yaga [a Ukrainian agricultural unmanned aerial vehicle used for military purposes] circling. That’s why I strongly recommend putting on armor. It only seems quiet here.”
The room is divided into two zones: household and medical. In the “kitchen” corner, a red Coca-Cola refrigerator hums, filled with packs of energy drinks. On the table is a mountain of pizza boxes, instant noodles, instant soups, jars of homemade pickles, tea, coffee and sugar. Paperback Bibles are neatly stacked here, too.
The “medical” table is piled high with boxes of medicine and supplies. They are neatly labeled: “Anti-burn,” “Bandages,” “Hydrogen Peroxide.” Cots are spread out on the floor, ordinary army stretchers covered with cozy home-made blankets. At night, they operate on the wounded; during the day, volunteers sleep here. An elderly priest in a camouflage vest over a black cassock dozes on a chair.
Secret seminars
A medical seminar is taking place nearby. A bearded man in a massive bulletproof vest with numerous pouches and attachments is speaking to three civilian colleagues. A young student from Moscow, a woman of about 35 from Oryol and a lady from Kurchatov are listening attentively.
“Head wounds are not compressed — we can damage the brain with fragments of skull bones. The most we can do here is apply a bandage, but not a very tight one,” the bearded man explains.
“Knight, what if the cranium is intact?” a listener asks.
“No, we don’t compress the skull at all. But this is the only type of injury where we can use a hemostatic sponge. It won’t be as effective as a hemostatic agent made of kaolin or chitosan, because it’s collagen. But you can still apply a sponge – and put a bandage on it. Now let’s talk about when hemostatic agents can’t be used”
How do all these volunteers know about our secret medical center?
At the end of the seminar, the medic with the call sign Knight displays how many devices he carries to stop bleeding. “One tourniquet, two tourniquets,” he lists, opening the pouches of his bulletproof vest. “Three, four, five… Here are the tourniquets, and here I have a folded flag.”
“Excuse me, but why carry a flag with you?” I ask.
“Why not?” Knight answers, equally surprised. “The flag raises morale. You look at the flag and remember what country you are fighting for, why you are fighting for it. You remember World War I, where this flag was flying, you remember other wars. I don’t know how else to answer. In the end, you can take pictures with the flag!”
Knight’s radio crackles: Supplies have arrived. Everyone goes outside and lines up. A very ordinary car pulls up, the trunk opens, and bags of bandages, syringes, and other medical supplies are brought into the house. Then the driver hands over several packages of water, and finally, a small melon, obviously from his own garden.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” the man standing in the middle of the line says thoughtfully. “How do all these volunteers know about our secret medical center?”
Constant training
Two hours have passed, and there are still no wounded. Whoever I ask, everyone is surprised: “A suspiciously quiet day.” But there is time for chores. The man with the call sign Malva has finally managed to wash and do laundry. Camouflage clothes are drying on the line, and Malva is sitting outside in his underwear, blissfully facing the sun. At the same time, he explains military medical wisdom to the owner of the house:
“I personally train every day, I have a tourniquet in my nightstand for this. I go to bed and think: ‘Okay, let’s say I’m wounded in the left arm now. How would I apply the tourniquet then?’ And I do it. Constant training is needed, because in a critical situation, the pulse will jump, there will be explosions, screams, pain.“
Well, what did you expect, brother? We‘re not doctors, we’re not treating patients, we save lives.
“The more practice, the greater the chance to do everything purely on motor skills, without thinking. Stop the blood with a tourniquet, wrap it up, stabilize it, write down the time on the forehead, and the person will live. Or apply a tourniquet. But it must be applied as tightly as possible so that the person starts screaming in pain. Well, what did you expect, brother? We’re not doctors, we’re not treating patients, we save lives,” Malva says.
No joke
Gel walks through the yard, as always, in clouds of steam from his e-cigarette. He notices Malva and scolds him with deliberate severity:
“I already commented today when the fighters were walking around without shirts. But this, in my opinion, is completely impudent. Why did I even get you out of trouble that time!” Everyone laughs, and Malva the loudest of all.
I sit down next to him. “Can we talk?”
He winces: “Brother, I don’t really like journalists. Because you created such an environment on TV: ‘Everything is great in Kursk Oblast, nothing to worry about, we’ll defeat everyone now!’ People believed it and stayed home, damn it.”
Don’t believe anything they write or say about this mess. Right now, no one knows the real situation.
“They didn’t leave because of your news. If you had said honestly on the TV: ‘That’s it, this is no joke, get out of here quickly’ hen it would have been much easier for our guys to squeeze the [Ukrainians] out of Sudzha. Do you have any idea at all what it means to level a city with FAB aerial bombs when there are civilians there?”
”I’ve been working at the stabilization center since the first day, and there were so many wounded civilians here. It’s crazy what’s going on. We’re watching TV, and they’re saying: ‘Nothing terrible happened, 15 drunk ragamuffins crossed the border, we’ve already defeated everyone, sleep peacefully.’ And here, damn, we have countless fresh ‘wounded’– and a ton of civilians,” Malva says.
“I have a friend here in the trenches, from Palmyra, from years back. He wrote right away: “Brother, don’t believe anything they write or say about this mess. Right now, no one knows the real situation.”
