KYIV — During a special unit operation in October, a Ukrainian soldier with the call sign Khokhol found himself deep in enemy territory, surrounded by Russian forces in the forest, armed only with a machine gun, a few cartridges and a knife. Alone and without essentials like food, water, a watch, or a compass, he would be shot if he made any sudden moves.
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For three days and two nights, Khokhol maneuvered cautiously, barely crawling and tightly pressed to the ground to evade enemy detection. His comrades had presumed him dead. His wife was preparing for his funeral, booking a burial plot and lighting candles.
Khokhol battled thirst, despair, and deadly fatigue to come out of this hell alive. This is his story, told in his own words.
Standard operation
The special unit “Kraken” required assistance, prompting our unit to join them after completing an operation at sea. Leading a platoon of 28 individuals, we were well-equipped with weapons, night vision devices, and other gear as we embarked on this mission.
Our objective was to replace the forces in six positions. Upon arrival on Monday evening, we began our duties. However, the situation escalated rapidly the following morning. The intensity of the conflict surged beyond our expectations. Tanks attacked our flanks, causing casualties and severe damage. By day’s end, two of our platoon were dead, eight wounded, and 11 were incapacitated with concussion.
Amid the chaos, an enemy group infiltrated our positions, engaging us from multiple angles. Despite their smaller numbers, they disrupted our operations by ambushing us from behind the tall grass, making their movements difficult to detect.
Only six of us from the original team, along with members from another group, remained.
Anticipating an assault, I suggested storming the enemy at night. Although I was instructed to wait for a designated group, I decided to lead the operation along with another group. The assault proceeded smoothly, resulting in the capture of six prisoners. Aware that dawn would hinder our movements, we organized the transfer of prisoners and regrouped for evacuation.
The plan appeared straightforward and trouble-free initially, but the conflict escalated unexpectedly, forcing quick, decisive action to navigate the volatile situation.
Things go wrong
It turned out that all our night vision devices and thermal imagers had malfunctioned. Our drones were recharging, leaving us without aerial support. To make matters worse, only three of us had any ammunition left.
In addition, the prisoners we were escorting had their hands tied, making their movement difficult.
At a fork in the path, the prisoners stumbled and fell. We quickly assisted them, especially the wounded ones.
We proceeded cautiously. I took the lead, with the six prisoners behind me.
Unbeknownst to us, we had deviated from our intended path and were heading towards enemy positions.
As we walked about 700 meters, three individuals emerged from the landing to meet us. When these three individuals demanded a password, we were confused. They were the enemy.
Realizing the danger, I immediately shouted on the radio for contact and opened fire. This triggered a battle as the Russians, stationed at an observation point, retaliated. They began throwing grenades, killing the captives who were caught in the crossfire.
With only two and a half magazines of ammunition left out of my initial eleven, I ordered my companions to retreat. I formulated a plan: divert attention by shooting to the right while my comrades remained silent. Then, I aimed to retreat to a safe position where I could maneuver more freely.
However, despite my efforts, the plan failed. As I began to move away, the Russians received reinforcements. They bombarded me with grenades, forcing me to move deeper into the distance where their grenades couldn’t reach.
Only later did I realize that I had entered a minefield.
Morning on a minefield
In the morning, I awoke amidst explosions. Drones were dropping bombs in areas they suspected I might be in, and they also attempted to target me with a “stalker” grenade launcher. The tall grass concealed me, making it difficult for them to spot my exact location, although they knew I was nearby.
I weighed up three options: surrender, remain where I was, or attempt to escape.
Retreating directly was perilous because of the heavy fire. Moreover, my unit was unaware of my whereabouts as I had no radio connection. My plan was to get as close as possible to our original position and locate my team, hoping to evade detection by enemy surveillance equipment.
With only two magazines and a knife, I set out.
As I advanced, I noticed sown “petals” and stretch marks but worried about stepping on buried anti-personnel mines. To avoid this, I stepped cautiously where the grass was growing.
Upon reaching a hollow, I realized it was also booby-trapped. Anti-personnel fragmentation mines had been set up, operational within a 50-meter range, connected by copper wire that was visible due to the morning dew. I changed direction to avoid setting off the mines.
When the drone moved away, I seized the chance to hide. I walked a bit, then crawled under a bush, camouflaging myself with leaves.
I remained concealed until dusk before moving once again.
For three days and two nights, I traversed the terrain unnoticed.
Thoughts of loved ones
During my journey, I crawled about three and a half kilometers. At one point, I thought I encountered a sniper, possibly our own, and narrowly dodged two bullets.
To avoid detection, I had to move slowly and stealthily, resting every 10 meters to regain energy. With no food or water, I lost 12 kilograms and began hallucinating by the second day due to exhaustion and dehydration.
As rain and fog obscured landmarks, I relied on recognizing the sounds of our weapons to locate friendly forces.
In such extreme circumstances, my thoughts were with my loved ones.
When I thought about them, I knew I couldn’t give up. Even in the toughest moments, surrender wasn’t an option.
Survival
At a critical juncture, I managed to infiltrate between two enemy positions after a painstaking four-hour journey through a narrow 12-meter section, ensuring minimal movement to avoid detection.
Upon reaching the outskirts of Ivanivka, I discovered a cemetery with some water left in a half-empty bottle, which I rationed carefully, knowing that drinking it all at once could do more harm than good.
Struggling to walk due to exhaustion, amidst the ongoing battle sounds of machine guns and mortars, I finally spotted our troops. I dropped my weapon, raised my hands, and approached them, pleading, “Guys, I’m unarmed. I’m one of you!”
The soldiers gave me dry rations. I was weak, having survived on corn ear and water collected from weeds.
Give me the phone, I’ll dial his wife
In the end, I made my way to our positions where the mortar units were stationed. They escorted me to the nearest checkpoint, and there I explained my situation. I didn’t have a password or any documents, but my call sign was “Khohol,” and I needed to contact the commandant of the Kupyan garrison.
Remarkably, within half an hour, the chief of staff himself flew in to retrieve me. I was picked up and taken to the control post.
When I reached the post alive, someone saw me and shouted, “Give me the phone, I’ll dial his wife!”
In our unit, our wives all know each other. We’re very close-knit, like one big family. It turns out she had been told I was dead and had been making preparations for my funeral.
Eventually, someone managed to connect me. I distinctly recall the moment I took the phone and said to her:
“I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long.”
