In the shattered remains of a building near Kupiansk, a Russian 12.7 mm Kord heavy machine gun stands as a stark symbol of the fighting along the northeastern front. The emplacement sits just over a mile from a Ukrainian observation post, east of Kharkiv, where the line between occupier and defender remains thin. The make-shift outpost appears vulnerable at first glance, its walls missing, and a nearby hole marking the position. Graffiti in a language echoing old realist texts bears the harsh message: a line that reads, in part, “Shave your dick.”
“It was an artillery hit this morning,” confirms one of the two guards who share a cold dawn watch under snow and wind. Since the Russian withdrawal from Izium’s logistics hubs last September, the front in this sector has shown little movement, yet clashes persist. Special forces units handle many of the harassment operations that keep the pressure on both sides.
Within the unit, time is shared between dangerous patrols and quiet routines. A well-protected basement nearby serves as a shelter with bunks and heating, a place to rest between rotations. A short distance away lies a fortified building within the Kupiansk urban zone, about fifteen kilometers south, where personnel stay active with workouts. The soldiers lift dumbbells and use gym benches to maintain fitness, fueling on borsch and buckwheat as they prepare and check their weapons. The weapons are all Russian-made and had been abandoned when forces were pulled back at the end of summer, caught in the chaotic retreat.
“Battle Trophies”
When Vladislav Leiner, a tall, broad-shouldered 26-year-old, explains the spoils of war, he positions a grenade for the camera atop garage shelves, alongside ammunition for semi-automatic rifles, a grenade launcher, anti-tank weapons, tripods, and other gear. He notes that enemy forces typically destroy or take what they can during a retreat, but in September the Russians did not have time to salvage much. “They left behind about 200 wounded and far less that they could have removed,” he says, offering a blunt snapshot of the retreat and its aftermath.
Like many volunteers in this sector, Vlad prefers to serve openly with a unit that operates under Ukrainian military command rather than a rigid, bureaucratic structure. If it means eating donations from locals and forgoing standard pay, so be it. He explains that deployment decisions are driven by need, not orders, and that coordination with Ukrainian forces is ongoing as they move to hotspots where capability is most needed.
From the occupied Crimean peninsula, Andrii asks to keep his real name private for safety. He stands with a muscular frame, capable of dozens of push-ups in full gear, the bulletproof vest and tattoos marking his silhouette. He is described as the group’s sniper, a role earned through countless hours of practice and a willingness to push limits in the field.
Andrii arrived as an amateur marksman before the war. He used an American Remington XP-100 for precision work, while also handling Kalashnikov-pattern rifles on various missions. His responsibilities center on observing enemy movements and supporting artillery when needed, though he is quick to downplay cinematic fantasies about elite shooters. He notes that the reality of the sniper’s life is pragmatic and demanding more often than it is legendary. When asked how many enemy soldiers he believes he has killed, he shrugs, suggesting dozens might be accurate but deferentially avoiding a precise tally, implying a protective mindset toward the consequences of such actions. There is no longing for glory here—only a tacit sense of duty and survival in a dangerous front line.
The frontline stories from this region are a blend of endurance, tactical improvisation, and the relentless pace of an ongoing conflict. The soldiers speak of small victories, the weight of gear, and the hard competence required to stay alive while carrying out difficult missions under harsh conditions. The scene is not merely a collection of incidents; it is a snapshot of a dynamic, hard-fought struggle that persists day after day, often without the recognition or relief that a quieter theater might enjoy.
In the end, these men work with a shared purpose: to contribute to a broader effort that aims to stabilize a volatile area and support the defense of the towns and residents along the front. The human cost remains visible in every careful choice, every retreat and regroup, and every measured moment spent preparing for the next mission. This is a narrative of resilience under pressure, shaped by individuals who balance personal risk with a larger sense of duty and community in war-torn landscapes. The story is told not through triumphant spectacle, but through the steady, unflinching reality of soldiers who push forward when the odds stay stubbornly against them. [Attribution: Vladislav Leiner; MARC MARGINEDAS]