DENYS SMOLNIKOV, a veteran of the Ukrainian Armed Forces from the Luhansk region, served as a combat medic from 2016, fighting and saving the lives of his comrades. In June 2022, near Bakhmut, Donetsk region, he sustained severe injuries as a result of an artillery shelling while evacuating his comrades. He is dedicated to raising awareness about the invisible wounds of military personnel caused by the war. He aims to motivate soldiers to engage in sports and to remind them that life doesn’t end after an injury.
About himself and childhood. I love being alone. I might seem social, but that’s just an image. When I’m by myself, I know for sure no one will betray me or hurt me.
From childhood, I remember the feeling of being betrayed or someone trying to use or dominate you. I grew up in an orphanage starting at the age of 12, where there was always someone trying to dominate or prove themselves better. How you presented yourself among the other kids was how they would treat you. the caretakers didn’t show much compassion.
In total, there were about 50 of us in the orphanage, and the group was constantly changing. We could fight or have conflicts with each other, but we would always stand up for one another against outsiders.
Since childhood, I decided to play the role of the outgoing, funny guy so people wouldn’t pity me and to lighten the mood. Because kids from orphanages are usually pitied at first and then humiliated, being told you’re nobody and nobody cares about you.
When the war came, I had to take on even more roles: the comedian who could cheer people up with a joke, the psychologist, the medic, and even a platoon commander.
After the orphanage, we all had one choice — vocational school No. 114 in the village of Khomivka, Luhansk region (now it is called a lyceum or a college). There, we could choose between three professions: a tractor mechanic, a stoneworker, or a cook.
I have two higher educations: as a veterinarian and a food technologist.
About childhood hobbies. I used to do breakdancing. I was passionate about poetry, writing poems, composing music, and playing the bass guitar. I organized concerts and performed wherever I could. I also practiced parkour, because it was trendy, and I was good at it.
About the happiest childhood memory. There was a teacher who used to take me to her home on weekends. I felt like I was part of a family. I was active, and she liked that there were children in the orphanage who were developing. That period was the best for me at that time.
As a child, I just wanted to be with my mom. I ran away from the orphanage about ten times to find her. I always dreamed of being adopted by a family, but they usually took in younger children. I didn’t have any career plans or aspirations about what I wanted to do for a living. My only dream was to be with my mom, and I thought about that all the time, until I grew up. Then I realized that I needed to be a little different.
About making decisions. My decision to go to war was influenced by a girl. Not my girlfriend, someone I don’t even know, but I’ll never forget her. Because of her, I made the right decision; otherwise, if it weren’t for her, I’d probably be in Russia by now.
I lived in Luhansk, and when the war broke out in 2014, I tried to find work in other cities. But everywhere I went, I was told they didn’t hire people from Luhansk or Donetsk regions. Before the war, like many from our area, I used to work in Russia to earn a living. I didn’t have any family, so while other kids would visit their parents during the holidays, I worked as a laborer in Russia. And when I started being turned down for jobs, I thought, “So, according to them, I’m no longer part of Ukraine? Then what the hell am I doing here?” At the same time, the Russians were putting out slick videos saying, “Come to us, and everything will be fine.”
At the end of 2015, I was seriously considering moving to Russia because in my hometown, in Luhansk, there was no place for me. I had no family, no support, no job, and no home. Then I came across a video of an 18-year-old girl talking about the real war and her work as a medic. It was like a light bulb went off. I thought, “She’s fighting, and I have all my limbs, my head is in place, and I’m just sitting here feeling sorry for myself?”
The next day, I went to the recruitment office.
They told me that according to the law, orphans cannot be mobilized, and they weren’t allowed to send me to the front unless I signed a contract. But by then, I had already made up my mind. That’s how I ended up in Desna (training center), and eventually on the front lines.
I didn’t join the army for money. When our side started making powerful videos about the war, it helped a lot of people see things clearly. Thanks to that girl, I realized there was no reason to feel sorry for myself. I was born here, so this is where I’ll fight.
About the early years of the war. I had two ideas: to be a sniper or a medic in the army. Honestly, I really wanted to be a sniper. I wanted to lie in wait, observe, and eliminate targets. I was inspired by video games, where I learned about that intense feeling when you wait for a long time, and then execute the mission and leave.
But then they lined us up and said, “Spotter, mechanic, spotter, mechanic…” No choice. I refused to be a spotter, and after some discussion, they agreed to reconsider. Since I was a veterinary doctor, they made me a medic. Looking back, I’m glad I became a medic instead of a sniper. I’m not sure how I would have handled that.
Since 2016, I’ve had a tattoo of an owl, which for me symbolized that I would never surrender. I don’t think I could have survived captivity. I got it because I only slept a few hours during the day, never at night. Russian sabotage groups were always active at night, and I had to keep everything under control.
I was prepared for the fact that you could come back from war wounded, or not come back at all. It was this understanding kept me sane.
Anyone who decides to go to war must know why they’re doing it, what they want from it. I went to war because I wanted to help my country. I didn’t want to see people die or sons not return home to their families. When I became a medic, my motivation was to get soldiers back to their children. I never had when I was growing up, so I wanted to protect others’ families.
As a medic, I had a lot of work to do. Even in 2016, when it seemed like the war wasn’t as intense as it was at the beginning. But in reality, the war still existed only for Luhansk and Donetsk regions. When I went to Kyiv in my uniform, people treated me like I was homeless or some kind of a troublemaker. Some of my classmates would say, “If you guys had pulled out, the Russians wouldn’t be shooting.” And that would be the end of the conversation. I saw that war. In 2016, I understood that by the end of my three-year contract, the war wouldn’t stop because I saw how much military equipment the Russians were accumulating.
About the feelings of a medic. A medic never forgets their first person they saved or the first one they lost. The first person saved was terrifying. I was only brought to Maiorsk at night, it was dark, and I hadn’t been under fire before. The whole company was with me. By the third day, I regretted signing the contract — everything around me was exploding, firing, and I had to save a person. I managed.
When you save someone, there’s an incredible feeling. It’s like quitting smoking and then trying it again a week later. It’s the feeling that you did everything right.
As for the bad outcome — until the doctors say that the person is dead, you don’t think about it. You have to do your job. Otherwise, when you have pity, you fall into panic, might start crying, and mess up somewhere. And because of that, you could lose a person.
I struggle with remembering names and numbers, but I can still recall the name of my first casualty. I ran through a dangerous situation to get to him. I nearly died on the way a couple of times. I prayed a hundred times and rushed to help him.
I did everything right; we dragged him into the dugout, I did everything I was supposed to. For the first time, a medical team arrived at my position, and they took him away.
At 5 a.m., I was heading to the company’s forward position when I got a call from the hospital. They said that Max Shumak was dead. Shrapnel had pierced his lungs, and he bled out in the hospital. I cried because I knew I had done everything right — I saved him, I risked my life and the lives of those who came with me… But after that, I realized that if I kept mourning like this after every loss, it would only make things harder, and I wouldn’t be able to save anyone else.
About the demobilization period. After my contract ended, I moved to Kyiv and found a job as a senior security guard. Three months later, I realized that having taught myself medicine and saved lives during the war, this role was beneath my abilities.
I joined a special forces unit. At the time, they weren’t fighting. Now they are.
About the full-scale war. The realization that a full-scale war had begun was terrifying for me. I heard explosions through my sleep and kept telling myself, “Please, let it be fireworks.” All my comrades who weren’t in combat were online, and they confirmed it was the start. I had never felt so shaken in my life as I did that morning. It felt like I was going to die from fear.
I tried to get my girlfriend and her cats out, but in the end, I left her with her nephew in Kyiv and, together with a comrade who had been my driver during the war, we went to join territorial defense. Eventually, we ended up in the 72nd Separate Mechanized Brigade.
We found ourselves in combat near Brovary. At one point, we were told that a column of 70 tanks was heading towards us. I thought it was the end — I’m a medic with a rifle, stuck in a tiny trench… I had never experienced artillery fire, like the “Saushka” howitzers, going non-stop for days. After we destroyed the Russian military equipment near Brovary, I realized I could survive this; everything would be okay.
About the injury. After we recaptured the Kyiv region, and following a few more locations, we were sent to Bakhmut. It felt like I was there for a month, but in reality, it was less than a week. The situation was incredibly intense. There wasn’t a single moment when there wasn’t an explosion.
We were evacuating the wounded and providing medical assistance while artillery was firing at us. Our vehicle was hit, and it flipped into a ditch while we were driving at high speed. My partner and I became heavier casualties than those we were trying to evacuate.
Although I was wearing a bulletproof vest, I fractured my spine and ribs, a shrapnel pierced my leg, I sustained a severe closed head injury, a laceration on my chin, and damage to internal organs.
What saved us was that some of our guys were heading in our direction, saw us, and pulled us out.
I don’t remember anything from the first days in the hospital except the unbearable pain. Some doctors told me that maybe I’d walk again, perhaps in six months, maybe a year. Others just shrugged. As a medic, I know that recovery depends on the wounded person as well—how much they want to live, to fight.
Three months later, I left the hospital.
At first, they planned to discharge me from service due to the severity of my injury, but I fought for a six-month deferment. I then spent another five months working as a medic, assisting the guys with hospitals, medical commissions, and exams. Then I managed to extend my service for another six months. This was during the heavy battles our brigade fought for Vuhledar. For me, it was important to continue saving the guys and teaching others how to provide aid. Now, I’ve been discharged.
About adaptation after the injury. My girlfriend was my support; she visited me every day and helped me. I helped myself by motivating myself to get up, telling myself I had to get moving, that I had to do something. I didn’t want to lie there. I stood up bit by bit, slowly sat when I couldn’t stand. The first time they got me on my feet and I felt my legs, I cried. I realized that not everything was lost.
I set small goals for myself: to get to the bathroom, to get to the fridge. I didn’t want to depend on the nurses. I taught myself to walk.
Now, in the mornings, it takes me quite a bit of time to get moving because I feel constant pain in my back. No matter what I do, the pain is always there. I’ve even gotten used to it. I understand that the pain isn’t tied to the weather or anything else; it’s constant. I have eight pins in my back, and sometimes they pinch something, making the pain feel like a sharp sting.
About the support of fellow injured veterans. I participate in many veteran sports events. And even if I don’t like something, it doesn’t mean others won’t enjoy it. My goal is to show what we have, what opportunities there are for injured veterans. After that, it’s up to each person to decide what they enjoy. Personally, I enjoy lifting weights. However, I have to approach it with an understanding of my limitations due to the injuries. Because, in reality, any sport that involves the back can harm me. Any load is painful for me. But if I don’t work out, my back stiffens, and it gets worse.
About changes after participation in the war. I’ve become more categorical. Ten years ago, a so-called “separatist” didn’t pose a threat to me or my comrades; I could just walk by. Now, for every child that’s been killed, for every parent who has lost their child, every Russian must be eliminated. They should feel everything they’ve done to us. I’ve become much angrier. Also, before 2022, I spoke Russian. I didn’t have another language. But now, I don’t want them to come to “liberate” me because of that. It’s time to face the reality—Russians, speaking their language, are killing our children, our parents, and destroying our homes.
About wishes. All I want is to sleep without clothes, without the sound of air raid alerts. I long for our victory. And I want people to remember who we owe our survival to.
Translated by Green Forest English School