By P. Nelumika, JadeTimes News
Mykola initially thought it was a dream when the windows of his home shattered, and the sound of a shell landing was followed by an explosion. However, as the 10 year old son of Larisa and Mykola Glushko stumbled in the dark toward his mother’s room, he realized he was awake. His mother lay crushed beneath a collapsed concrete beam.
"Something fell," he recalled. "Mom was saying, 'Kolya, Kolya.' I shouted, 'Mom, I’m alive.'" Frantically, he wiped the dust from his face and eyes. "I saw my mom crushed by the ceiling. I tried to pull it away but couldn’t. Mom was moaning and shaking her legs. And I was shouting, ‘Mother, mother, it’s just a dream, a horrible dream.’" Mykola had experienced a similar nightmare days earlier and thought it might be recurring. "Then there was darkness."
His mother died before him. His father had been killed by the initial explosion. Just hours earlier, the family had enjoyed a barbecue where Mykola’s father had talked passionately about enlisting after drinking one beer too many. In the pitch black night, Mykola clambered outside to find the front of their comfortable family home beyond recognition, its gates torn away.
"I was screaming, 'God, why did you do this to me?' I was running in my underwear asking for help," Mykola said.
For Mykola, surviving stretches what any 10 year old could be expected to bear. His loss is part of the suffering that has plagued Ukraine during its two years of war. Russian missiles inexplicably targeting civilians have claimed lives that don’t make headlines and unraveled childhoods, leaving echoes that will last for decades in Ukraine.
Mykola was given a shot of medicine to calm him in the hospital, and his brother explained what had happened. "He told me now it’s only me and him left. He repeated it four times. I was trying to calm myself down but also hated myself because I couldn’t save my mom."
He has spoken with his new guardian, his godmother, who lives nearby, and he is clear that he will stay in the military town of Pokrovsk to tend to his parents' graves. "I will visit them," he said. "I will apologize for not being able to save them.''
His dream now is different to ask his parents important questions. "What should I do now? How do I live? Another dream is to take revenge on the one who launched the missile."
Across the eastern frontline, particularly around Pokrovsk, the pace of Russia’s advance seems to be quickening, bringing with it the unspeakable loss experienced by families like Mykola’s. Neighbors at the ruins of his home noted there was no military target nearby. Workers sifted through the debris, and the smell of the decaying family dog lingered. On a nearby radio, Russian stations were audible, explaining to their audience how the West refuses to provide Ukraine with modern equipment, leaving "ordinary boys from the Ukrainian armed forces to suffer."
A short drive away, at a stabilization point in an eastern town, the life altering consequences of even minor injuries were apparent. At sunset, frontline units begin evacuating their wounded, safe from the Russian attack drones that dominate daylight hours.
The medical point was in complete darkness when a car sped in from the night. Two wounded soldiers from Klishchiivka a town where Moscow recently claimed success partly due to Ukraine relocating forces to defend against the onslaught in the Kharkiv region emerged from the car. One soldier, with his head fully bandaged, groped his way forward with outstretched arms. The other was laid flat on a gurney.
Medical staff quickly tended to them, gently cutting away their clothes. One soldier had damage to his eyes, swollen shut, but appeared otherwise less severely hurt. The other had shrapnel in his leg, flesh injuries to his arm, and was peppered with shrapnel on his back. His face was dirty, and his eyes struggled to open.
A mortar had landed about four feet (1.2 meters) from their dugout. It was a matter of luck and a few feet that they were still physically intact. The staff swiftly tried to clean their eyes.
"When I open the eye like this, do you see the light?" a doctor asked. "What about people?" The patient could only see light. A nurse noticed damage to his right hand. They examined his back and saw a morass of tiny wounds. Suddenly, the patient worsened. "Something on my side," he screamed.
The blast might have caused internal injuries. The doctors moved quickly to intervene. The anesthetic was injected into his lung, and a tube was inserted. "Cough and it will get better," a doctor told the patient.
Around them, there were four empty beds. A year ago, one doctor, Ivan, said they could have 250 patients a day when the Russian assault on Bakhmut was at its peak. Yet the drop in patients does not signal an improvement in Ukraine’s war. The 93rd mechanized brigade lacks infantry and struggles to resupply and position them on the frontline due to the threat of Russian drones, an official explained. This stabilization unit's reduced patient load is a chilling reminder of the manpower shortage Kyiv faces after two years of war.
The patients were led to a waiting ambulance, which left in the pitch black night with its headlights off. Russia has targeted medical facilities before.
