ANATOLII BYRKO, a native of Khmelnytskyi and a serviceman since 2008, is known for his determination and perseverance. He views any decision to quit or leave something incomplete as a sign of personal weakness.
About himself. I suppose it’s the way I was raised, my parents made me stubborn in my beliefs. My father was strict, and even now, it sometimes hinders me because I’ve become just like him—strict and principled.
From a young age, I was surrounded by Ukrainian songs and poems. My grandmother, especially, would give me many Ukrainian books to read.
I have an 11-year-old daughter now, and I’ve become a bit more relaxed about her lessons compared to my own upbringing. For me, it was all about knowing and doing—if I didn’t get it, I had to work harder to earn good grades.
The army had a huge impact on me too, especially during my first year of service. When I signed up for a contract, I couldn’t do a single pull-up. But I set myself a goal—to conquer the pull-up bar by the fall. I spent all spring and summer hanging on the bar. By October, I could do 16 pull-ups. I was ashamed of not being able to do something in the army. That’s when I began to shape myself into a sort of “universal soldier.”
About the army before the war. I’ve been in the military since 2008. I didn’t serve mandatory service, but my parents persuaded me to sign a contract right away. The first few months were tough, but then I started to understand the “internal politics” of the military. I still can’t accept the mentality of “I’m the boss, and you’re the fool.” We’re all going to be consumed by worms one day, but for some reason, people put on crowns and think they’re invincible.
At first, I signed a three-year contract, thinking I would leave after that and head to demobilization. But in 2011, I went to sergeant courses in Zolochiv. It was difficult, and when I returned to Khmelnytsky, they started considering me for a sergeant position. However, the deputy for combat training told me, “No, we don’t see you in this position. You won’t serve here. That’s it, you’re free to go.” I was really disappointed.
There’s a small pond on the base, so I went there, sat down, and tears started to well up. I thought: there’s nothing to lose, I need to go and talk to this major. I don’t remember exactly what I said to him, but somehow, I managed to influence him, he agreed to meet me halfway, and a month later, I became a junior sergeant. He agreed to reconsider, and a month later, I became a junior sergeant. After that, I signed another three-year contract. By 2013, the Maidan began, and I ended up at the Maidan. From the other side.
About the Maidan. On January 19, 2014, there was a very intense fight near the “Dynamo” Stadium named after Lobanovsky, and that’s when our bus was burned. The next day, we were sitting under some bridge in Kyiv by a campfire. Our commander came up to us and started saying that we were doing a righteous thing, defending Ukraine, standing up for its rights, protecting people.
I then told him, in front of everyone, that we were doing nonsense. And those who had beaten us the day before were the real ones fighting for Ukraine. We were against Ukraine if we were against them. He turned red, was displeased, and sent me back to Khmelnytsky. After that, I was no longer at the Maidan.
On April 7, we first went to Luhansk and served there at the Luhansk Department of Internal Affairs (the police department). At the end of April, a pro-Russian rally took place there, with people shouting “Putin, send in the troops,” waving Russian flags.
We were instructed to take defensive positions in the offices. A few floors above us, there was the Luhansk “Berkut” (special police). Someone from their group came down and asked, “Guys, are you really going to shoot at our people?” I responded, “We won’t shoot at civilians, only at separatists.” They then warned us that if we fired on civilians, the “Berkut” would open fire on us.
About the war. Later, in the first days of May, we were transferred to Donetsk airport. It was still calm there at the time. We were joined by special forces and paratroopers. A week later, we were sent to Mariupol. The day before our arrival, there had been an attack on a military unit there. On the outskirts of the city, we could hear gunfire and mortar blasts.
On June 13, when “Azov” began their clearance operation, we followed them, along with a team from Lutsk, setting up checkpoints.
Then we were replaced, and in early October 2014, we went back to the east, landing on the Bakhmut road at checkpoint 32. A week later, we found ourselves surrounded and encircled. Along with us were the 80th brigade and the guys from the Vinnytsia National Guard.
In 2015, the commander issued an order that it was possible to join the National Guard Academy for full-time study, complete one year there, and receive the rank of lieutenant At first, I really hoped I wouldn’t get in; I wasn’t keen on it. But at the same time, I knew I couldn’t back out. Eventually, I joined. My entire service has been a test of endurance—pushing myself to the limit.
After finishing the Academy, I set myself the goal of joining the “Omega” unit. Office work wasn’t for me—I prefer training grounds and shooting. I went for an interview with the commander of the Southern Directorate in Odessa. I had to pass various physical tests: push-ups, pull-ups, running. There were three rounds of combat: one round of boxing, the second round of kickboxing, and the third—two minutes of wrestling. I took a good beating. My face was covered in bruises. I had to wait a long time for the transfer.
In January 2017, I finally joined the “Omega” Special Forces unit, and I’ve been serving there ever since. Now I am the deputy commander of the first special operations group. Our team consists of 14 members: two combat groups of five people each (a medic, a communications specialist, and an engineer), plus their commanders, all under one overall commander. It’s an officer-level unit.
Once, in Robotyne, in 2022, the Russians entered a school and set up base there. We couldn’t push them out. The task was to storm and clear that school. I heard the order and volunteered to go. Sergei, who was supposed to go, had a small child born only a few months ago, while my daughter was already 11 years old. I felt it was important to be there, leaving something behind. (Sometimes, I reflect on these thoughts with some regret.)
We couldn’t get into that school for a long time. But when we finally started the operation, it felt as though a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. We began the clearance, with assistance from the GUR (military intelligence), who helped us by laying mines.
I often feel that when a task seems difficult or misguided, it’s because it was planned by someone who doesn’t fully understand assault tactics, and when it’s better to take the planning into your own hands. There were no easy missions, but after carefully planning some, I felt a sense of relief, while others left me with a sense of dread.
About Strength. I’m convinced that nothing in this world is unconquerable —neither competitions nor life itself. If I don’t accomplish something or achieve a goal, I’ll regret not having tried. No one is going to do anything for me. When we return from missions and everyone heads home, I often feel that just because I made it back doesn’t mean anyone will carry me on their shoulders. I am responsible for myself, and no one else will think or act on my behalf.
About the Injury. While we were near Robotyne, a mortar shell hit our shelter. It didn’t detonate, but I could hear the sound of it flying and whistling. Then it felt like someone turned off the lights—as if I fell asleep and was later woken up. We were trapped under rubble. My legs felt like jelly, and I was unsteady, but I told myself, “Come on, stop making excuses, do your job properly.” I briefly thought about joining the others for evacuation, but I had my arms, legs, and head intact. About 700 meters away, some of our guys were still out there. I couldn’t leave them.
The next day, my vision started to fade, my head was spinning, and I nearly passed out. The medic gave me an injection, and I slept for a few hours. I dreamed I was freezing, but when I woke up, the guys told me it wasn’t a dream. I was evacuated and diagnosed with a concussion and traumatic brain injury. After some treatment, I was discharged.
Not long after, I went back to pick up my men. Artillery fire—Grad rockets, 152 mm mortars—was landing nearby. The noise was deafening. I crouched next to the vehicle, terrified like never before.
I told myself, “You can’t keep running from this. Next time, when the guys go back out, you’re going with them to Robotyne.” I was convinced that the only way to overcome the fear of incoming fire and explosions was to face it head-on. Two weeks after the injury, I returned to Robotyne. The fear was immense—so much so that hearing the explosions was more terrifying than encountering the enemy face-to-face.
About Rest and Vulnerability. My wife is very upset with me because I’m constantly on the move and rarely at home. Sometimes, I think I should stay and spend more time with my family. But then competitions, the Invictus Games, or something else comes up.
After my concussion, I went through a really tough period mentally. The constant headaches and overall weakness made it hard to focus on anything, especially training for the Invictus Games. I kept questioning the point of it all, thinking, “Why bother if my fate is already sealed?” It was incredibly challenging to push past those thoughts, but my discipline and stubbornness got me through.
I don’t allow myself any weakness. I have this feeling that if I let myself falter even once, I won’t be able to pull myself back together.
Right now, I can’t imagine myself as a civilian. It feels like my work isn’t done yet. When I put on my uniform and body armor, I feel unstoppable—like something more than just human.