Dmytro Chavalakh from Sololivka in Khmelnytsky region is 29 years old. For eleven years, he has dedicated his life to studying military affairs and service. He actively participated in the Anti-Terrorist Operation (ATO) and Operation of the Joint Forces (OOS). He was severely injured on the first day of the full-scale Russian invasion while helping his comrades break out of the encirclement in Kherson. In early March, Dmytro was awarded the prestigious title of “Hero of Ukraine” with the presentation of the “Golden Star” order, recognising his outstanding bravery and service to the country.
He currently teaches history to schoolchildren, as well as tactics and weapons, to those who are interested in exchange for their donations to the Ukrainian Army. In a recent interview with The Ukrainian Week/Tyzhden, Dmytro shared his perspective on the ceasefire regime during the OOS, his connection to Odesa, and a childhood memory that convinced his mother that he was still alive.
— How did your military service begin?
— I became interested in military service when I accompanied my classmates to the military enlistment office to register. It was then that I realised that being a soldier was something I wanted to pursue. After finishing school, three of my classmates and I decided to enrol in the sergeant’s college in Kamianets-Podilskyi. I spent two and a half years there and received my first military education as a junior specialist in the repair and operation of road and bridge construction equipment in the engineering troops.
After graduating, I was assigned to serve in Bilhorod-Dnistrovskyi in Odesa as the senior technician of the platoon. I was responsible for all the equipment, which was stored in a warehouse. Daily, I would check the equipment to ensure the wheels were not deflating, fill out route sheets, and transport people on assignments. Later on, I was assigned guard duty, which I always found interesting.
In 2014, on March 1st, the first combat alarm occurred unexpectedly. No one knew what to do, and even experienced officers were confused as it was the first combat alarm they had encountered during their service. Everyone was waiting for orders. Eventually, orders were issued to send the first group of people to Mariupol. My friends and I were eager to go but were refused as we were considered inexperienced at the age of 19. A month later, a telegram arrived at our unit about forming the 310th Territorial Defence Battalion in Nizhyn, and my friend and I joined. After the battalion was organized, we were deployed to the Luhansk region, to Novoaidar.
There, after a month, it dawned on me: the war is not like they write about it in novels or show it in movies. In reality, it’s completely different.
When I was promoted to the rank of sergeant, I was offered the opportunity to become an officer. I went to the Lviv Academy of Land Forces, intending to apply to the engineering faculty, but decided to enrol in the infantry on the spot. In my eyes, the infantry were serious warriors who sat in trenches and were skilled in shooting. I found it intimidating to deal with them based on my previous experiences. Ultimately, I made the decision to become an infantryman.”
— Is it difficult to go back to studying after the war?
— At first, I regretted it. I had already served for four years, out of which nine months were spent in the ATO zone. Initially, I thought that there was nothing more for them to teach me. However, during the second year, we started having specialised classes on subjects such as shooting, driving vehicles, and tactics. I became more involved and started to enjoy it. My interest in military equipment grew, and whenever there was no class, I would take a book, ask the teacher for the keys to the vehicle, and study how it worked. If I didn’t understand something, I would call the same teacher, and he would come and explain, even outside of class hours. That’s when I realized that the academy gave me a lot.
— Why did you decide to continue serving despite your relatives’ pleas to stay in the rear?
— I am a combat officer. I located the 59th Motorised Infantry Brigade in Vinnytsia. Initially, I was thrilled as it was close to my home – just a two or three-hour train ride away. This meant I could go home every weekend. However, my orders were later changed to Podilsk in the Odesa region. This was disappointing as I would not be able to go home as frequently. We even completed our internships in the 28th Mechanised Brigade in Odesa.
I still remember how the deputy battalion commander looked at my diploma with surprise. He didn’t understand why they sent me to a combat unit instead of a rear one. But I chose it myself. I started my service there as a platoon commander. The first rotation was in Troitske on the Svitlodarsk Bulge, already in the position of a platoon commander. Already an officer. Since then, I have been responsible not only for myself but also for the subordinates, equipment, weapons – for everything entrusted to me. Two crews with large-calibre machine guns DShKM, one crew with SPG-9, a grenade launcher, and a 120mm mortar. I kept asking for more and approached everyone – that’s how we settled in.
Then, my platoon commander was appointed the chief of staff. He called me and said, “Get ready for the engagement” – that’s how he joked about the commission. After its completion, the battalion commander said, “Soon you’ll be leaving; you’ll lead the company – you’ll become a company commander”. I didn’t want a new position because I hadn’t fully figured out the previous one, but I couldn’t let the people down. We went out without losses – and I took over as the company commander. At first, the guys didn’t take my orders very well, but just six months later, soldiers from other units asked to be transferred to my unit.
Then, my superiors started hinting at promoting me, but I’m not a rear officer; I’m a field officer. I prefer being with people in the forest than dealing with paperwork in the office. It’s better to spend the night in a sleeping bag and cook over a bonfire, but knowing that the people near you won’t stab you in the back. After all, I was the one who chose the guys for the unit and talked to each one of them. In staff positions, people are ready to undermine each other for the next promotion. It’s not for me. I really didn’t like that.
— What was the period of the ceasefire in the Joint Forces Operation (OOS) like for you?
— That was in 2021. At that time, they provided a monetary incentive for observing the ceasefire – if you don’t shoot, you receive additional money.
The company commander was entitled to nine thousand hryvnias per month. One violation meant a deduction of three thousand. In nine months, I received the payment only once – when I went on vacation. I knew there was a lot of work at home, so I didn’t react to provocations. Once, a colonel from the operational command came for an inspection and got angry with me because I said I didn’t come for the money. That’s when I realised that they don’t like the patriots. Unfortunately. Because people with principles are harder to control.
— What was February 24, 2022, like for you?
— We read in the news about Russian manoeuvres near the border and mentally prepared for it. About three weeks after the New Year, in January, we received a telegram: relocate to the Kherson region, to the Oleshkivski Pisky training ground for coordination. At the same time, we were slowly preparing documentation for defence. There was no rush – we were given a month for this. There was no hurry at the level of operational command. On February 23, another telegram arrived – passwords and action plan. According to that information, for example, the enemy was supposed to mark their vehicles with red stripes, not white stripes.
On the morning of February 24, I was supposed to go to Odessa to treat my sinusitis. My mom, crying, asked me over the phone if the war had really started. I promised to call her three times a day. I called my brother (he is also in the military) and told him that we were put on alert. He knew our location, so he understood that it would be difficult for us to get out.
My guys had already left by that time. I grabbed a bulletproof vest, a helmet, my weapons and set off to catch up with them – the truck was carrying ammunition for them. I caught up with my guys and started taking defensive positions. And suddenly, two planes flew above us. So low. Are they ours or not? I thought: if they’re not ours, they would have bombed already, probably. But they turned around – and towards us. It was scary, very scary. Fortunately, our plane appeared, and the enemy’s planes dropped bombs randomly. I realised that the explosion had damaged two vehicles. There were a total of 10, and the vehicles were loaded, but the people didn’t have grenades, grenade launchers, or anything; they simply didn’t have enough time to receive them.
“Guys, run! There are forty tanks there — probably not just one brigade. You won’t hold them,” – the border guards said exactly at that moment. And it was then that the chief of staff ordered us to retreat. We withdrew. The chief of staff decided to move towards Kherson and establish positions on the left bank. I went ahead – there were already formations in that direction. About a kilometre before the bridge, a MAZ was moving towards us – all gunned down; the driver’s face was covered in blood. Russian paratroopers had already arrived. We were rushing. Again, Russian aviation. We knew we were surrounded. The choice was simple – we had to either surrender and become POWs or attack. We decided to attack. At that moment, I saw fear and confusion in the eyes of many. I knew that if I sent the guys forward and stayed behind, it wouldn’t end well. I jumped onto the central vehicle – and off we went. Before the bridge, we hurried again. Took cover behind the vehicles. You know, before that – at ATO, OOS – there was trench warfare, but here it was an open road. You could only hide behind the vehicles. Russians were also hiding – in the buildings. Someone waited and shot us in the back. It was really tough.
By a miracle, we broke through the bridge, thank God. Unfortunately, we lost two soldiers. I told the platoon commander, “We’ve broken through”. He replied, “It’s not over yet”. We reloaded, took a break, smoked, and had some water. Soon, the order came to pull back and cover another column. The inner voice in me didn’t anticipate anything good coming, but orders are orders. We approached the bridge, and I heard the first shot. The second shot. The third shot. A hit in the stomach. I fell, thought it hit my armour, but couldn’t get up – it did hit me. Crawled to the ditch on the left side of the road. I got hit again – in the leg. On the radio, I said I was wounded, as were four more of my guys. I spent about a month in the hospital.
—Did your family know you were alive?
— My brother knew a guy from my brigade. He called and asked to find out about the platoon commander of the 11th battalion. A few hours later, he called back, “Holding the defence of the bridge. One platoon is the ‘heavily 300th’ [military term for “heavily wounded” – ed.] – it’s unclear if they’ll make it on time. The second one is the ‘medium 300th’, and the third is in action. I don’t know who is who”. Later, I found out that someone called my mom, “Your son was severely wounded; it’s uncertain if he made it. I’m sorry.”
Around February 25 or 26 – I don’t remember – everything was foggy, a week of life torn away. I asked the doctor for a phone. After the third or fourth attempt, I remembered my mom’s number. He said in Russian, “Antonina Ivanovna, this is the intensive care unit of the Kherson hospital”. Mom recalls that she didn’t hear anything else. Then I started talking, but my voice over the phone was completely different because I had medical equipment inserted down my throat. She didn’t believe it was me, so I had to recall a childhood story about breaking a window with a toy plane. I tied it to a string to avoid running into the yard every time; I just pulled it and lowered it from the balcony. And it took a turn down, hit the window – bang – and the glass shattered. By the time I got downstairs, my mom was already waiting.
— How did you learn about being awarded the Hero of Ukraine title?
— A nurse came in and started congratulating me. I didn’t understand why. She said the president awarded me. I thought she must have made a mistake. Then the doctors started congratulating me. It couldn’t be. I didn’t believe it until I saw President Zelensky’s video speech. Then, from our brigade, four officers received the title of Heroes of Ukraine on February 24. Unfortunately, one posthumously. He also had such a nice nickname – Ukrainian. That’s the hardest part for me. From July to September, I went to my guys’ funerals two or three times a month…
— Why did you have to leave the hospital?
— We, the military, were hiding in the hospital. Nurses separated us into “serious” – military and “mild” – civilians. They called the “serious” first to eat – we were given a larger portion. When I started walking on crutches, one morning, I opened the door to the corridor, and a Russian soldier was standing just three meters away from me. And I can’t walk well, let alone run. I shuffled to the nurses – Russians did not come for me; they brought their own wounded. But after this encounter, I understood that I needed to get out.
— Who helped you?
— At first, I turned to a priest – he wasn’t helpful. As I later understood, it was a lucky turn for me. He cooperated with the Russians. They came for him – took him and let him go. They only released those who agreed to cooperate. Almost everyone he was hiding got caught. By the way, a comrade who got injured with me was also caught when leaving the city after recovery. He has been in captivity for almost two years now.
So I called Lyubov Chernetska – a volunteer I was fortunate to meet. She sorted everything out, and after two or three days, they took me away. Lyubov’s friend, Zhenya, who sheltered me, went ahead and told me where the checkpoints were over the phone.
So, this was only once that I was outside during this whole time (a month in the hospital and two with Zhenya). The rest of the time, I spent in the apartment, which was mentally very challenging.
— How did you manage to get to Ukraine-controlled territory?
— Thanks to my brother, guys from the Special Operations Forces (SSO) or the Security Service of Ukraine (SBU) helped me. I think it was the SSO. They said, “Take warm clothes and food – we’ll come to get you. The operation was postponed several times due to bad weather. The code was ‘going fishing.'”
I went out: a dark minibus, the doors open – men in leather jackets, gangster caps, tattoos on their hands. “Well, ready to go?” And what could I agree to? Okay, whatever happens, happens. Inside, three more guys were sitting, waiting for evacuation. They organised the operation to get them out, and I was lucky to join them. The men in leather jackets took us to the landing site and told us to wait until the evening; we even had to sit while smoking. We stayed there until around 8 PM. Then, we set off from Kherson to Mykolaiv on a four-seater boat. When we passed a summer cottage village, we learnt there was a patrol boat with a machine gun after us. “You’ll be the number two. Can you shoot?” – one of the men handed me an AK and two magazines. “Single shots only because there won’t be enough bullets for bursts”. I felt fear. I already knew what injuries felt like. It’s unpleasant. It’s painful. And we had no protective gear – no helmet, no body armour, nothing. We rushed into the reeds and lay down while the boat was circling around. When it left, we continued. We were wet, we were freezing. We couldn’t even smoke: the cigarettes were soaking wet.
We arrived. A pier, a plane, a military boat. Nobody told us where we were going. A dock. I went on deck. It’s four in the morning. To get ashore, you have to step over a meter, and I can’t do that – my leg is injured. When they first asked which one of us was the “300th,” I didn’t realise they were talking about me. The second time, I answered, and they threw a plank for us to cross. I just asked for a light when the bright flashlight dazzled me. It was a camera. I heard a voice: “This is the Security Service of Ukraine. Welcome back to your homeland”. Honestly, for the first time in my life, I was happy to encounter the Security Service of Ukraine. That’s how I found myself in Odessa again.
— Was it difficult to go back to civilian life?
— Initially, transitioning to civilian life was very challenging for me. It was hard to envision myself outside of the military. I missed a lot of things that were familiar to me. In civilian life, I noticed that people often had a utilitarian attitude towards each other, and many were opportunistic. However, working with children, particularly those in sixth grade, feels comfortable to me.
Children are direct and sincere. Colleagues at school often say that they can’t tell that I’ve been to war: I’m apparently too calm. Maybe my nerves became numb. There’s nothing left to worry about.
The material was published in a joint special project of The Ukrainian Week / Tyzhden and the School of Journalism and Communication at the Ukrainian Catholic University.
