The first time I met Stork, he was amputating a leg. The second time, he was bandaging a leg with no bones. The third time, in April, he was underground, monitoring a security camera, waiting for something to move.
He only sees the sun once or twice a day when he climbs the stairs from the basement where he sleeps and works. The building, once home to an ordinary Ukrainian family, is now used as a military field hospital near the country's northern border with Russia.
The job of battlefield medics is to treat the injured brought from the front at Vovchansk, a Ukrainian town just a few kilometers from the Russian province of Belgorod, where President Volodymyr Zelensky first confirmed this month that Ukrainian forces have been operating.
Stork's goal is very simple: to keep the injured alive long enough to reach the next hospital.
Stork and his unit are far removed from the sofas in the Oval Office, the corridors of Brussels, and hotels in Riyadh, where negotiations to end the war have taken place in recent months between U.S., Ukrainian, and Russian delegations.
Russia has declared its readiness to agree to a ceasefire, but there are no signs that the attack will end. Meanwhile, there are concerns that the Trump administration could force Ukraine to sign an extremely unfavorable agreement after pressuring Ukraine to apply for peace by cutting aid.
Meanwhile, the war continues. Stork has become numb to the blood of the injured; their screams and the terrible silence before their deaths. There is a predictability he can handle, something that now cannot be said about politics.
"I no longer feel comfortable with the United States. Not since the election," he said, filling out the patient chart after an hour of disinfecting wounds and bandaging burns.
Oleh, the chief surgeon of the unit, scoffs at the idea that Putin wants peace.
"Peace? What peace?" he said, petting his dog. "Putin has his own invasion plan. He never changes them."
He was the one who made the decision to relocate the operating room closer to the front lines. It took too long for the injured to reach the previous location, so Oleh ordered - to set up a new facility underground to keep his comrades alive.
He made that call last fall when Donald Trump was getting closer to reelection, boasting that he could end the war in 24 hours. Meanwhile, Mr. Zelensky has been pushing his 10-point victory plan for his allies.
"Our president also said we would liberate most of the occupied territories in 2023," Mykola, an anesthesiologist in his fifties who has spent the last three years in uniform, said. "But here we are still."
Oleh used to work at a hospital in Kharkiv. Now he works with soldiers instead of civilians, in a cramped room heated by a wood stove.
Rest is precious and does not last long.
"Get up! We have work to do!" a voice yelled among the bunk beds. The doctors and medical staff jumped up from their mattresses and pushed aside the curtain separating their temporary dormitory from the operating room.
Stuck in the mud, three soldiers climbed out of the ambulance wrapped in a drone-proof cage. Two were standing. The third, Andrii, lay motionless on the stretcher, his limbs, neck, and face burned after flames swept through his trench.
Serhii, another soldier, looked down at his raw, blistered hands. He opened his eyes wide, but his lips did not move. A gold cross lay on his chest. When he believed the painkillers were running out, he screamed. The enemy was not what the soldiers feared most. It was the unknown.
Mykhailo, an artillery soldier from a nearby brigade operating on the front lines, sat underground next to an old Soviet cannon, waiting for the order to fire. He wore a U.S. flag on his vest.
"It comes with a backpack," Mykhailo shrugged, lowering his head as his teammates giggled. Above, rats scurried across the roof, scratching at the plastic layer.
Still smiling, Anatoliy, the team commander, turned back to the laptop, pointing at a cluster of trees on the screen. Where most people would see mud and branches, he spotted the old enemy positions, tire tracks, and weaknesses in the Russian trenches - no zoom needed.
"They came here to seize this forest," he muttered. "How many people have they sent... it's terrifying to think about it."
He and his soldiers, one of eight brigades redeployed to northeastern Ukraine to halt Moscow's offensive in May 2024, have spent more than a year in this position. Putin's goal is to capture Vovchansk, advance towards Kharkiv, and strike Ukraine's second-largest city with artillery.
It had no effect.
Nearly a year later, Russia still does not fully control Vovchansk, a town with fewer than 20,000 residents before the full-scale invasion. Today, the town is just a pile of rubble, five kilometers from the Russian border.
"Kursk has helped relieve pressure. August and September were really quiet," Anatoliy said.
However, he does not think it is time to counterattack. Russia controls about 100 square kilometers of the Kharkiv region here. "It’s better to continue defending," he said. "An attack would cost too many lives."
However, Kyiv has recently opened a new front near Belgorod, not far from the incursion into Kursk last summer. To justify this move, Mr. Zelenksy said, "The war must return to where it started."
Whether the goal is to buy time, contain Kremlin forces, or prevent Putin from sitting at the negotiating table, Moscow is now facing tough choices.
On March 31, Russia announced it would mobilize an additional 160,000 troops. But they are not just lacking manpower.
"Since the new year, most of their attacks have taken place on land," Anatoliy said. "Armored vehicles? You barely see them. They are just brought in to die."
He scrolls through drone footage of Vovchansk, now a destroyed town in ruins. Regarding the support from the U.S. and how it might affect their military capabilities, Anatoliy remains cautious.
"I know they have sent a lot of weapons. But I have never seen any of them. Here, we fight with Soviet equipment."
But they still hold their ground. Will the storm return here, or will they be sent to plug the gaps at another front?
None of the five soldiers in the shelter knows. In their minds, the only certainty is that no ceasefire will last. Even as a Ukrainian delegation prepares for a new visit to Washington next week.
Wrapped in fresh bandages, Serhii gestured for a cigarette, just before the second evacuation wave began.
His name is the only word he says. He will not say anything more until he reaches the hospital. The state of the roads and thick mud prevent ambulances from reaching this forgotten place. Only buggies, armored vehicles, and 4x4 ambulances dare to venture.
Stork pushes the stretcher and checks the IV drip before closing the ambulance door. Serhii lies still, dazed from morphine and exhausted. Within minutes, he has fallen asleep, jolted by the bumpy ride. The rain from last night has started to dry, but the tracks remain slippery.
The fog provides the driver with some cover, but everyone in the vehicle knows that evacuating an injured soldier during the day is a game of fate. Until both sides lay down their weapons, they have no other choice.
This is war in Ukraine. Here, peace is just a rumor.
According to: Telegraph
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