Nazar «Reagan»

My name is Nazar, my call sign is Reagan. I joined the service for the first time in 2014. And to do that, I had to run away from home. It just occurred to me, this is a funny story. The Maidan had just ended, “Azov” was only forming, and we were all hyped, young boys. I was about 19, if I remember right. Back then, the idea of going to war hadn’t even crossed my mind. I was in university, had a girlfriend. Sure, I’d thrown a couple of Molotov cocktails on the Maidan — everything felt like adrenaline, like a rush. Then the war started, Crimea was annexed, things weren’t really clear. I just kept living a normal life. Until one day a friend I used to hang out with said, “I’m thinking of joining Azov.” And I was like, wait, you can just do that? Just go and join Azov? From then on, that thought stuck in my head.

I told my girlfriend at the time: “I think I need to join Azov.” She was like, “Well, okay.” So, I had to lay the groundwork. I spoke with the dean of my department at the university. “I’m thinking of joining the military. What should I do about my studies?” He thought about it and said, “Well, it’s your choice, but if you decide to do it, the university will support you.”

The only thing left was to tell my parents. Honestly, I was young and naive, I thought it would be like in the movies. I’d come to them and say, “Mom, Dad, I want to go to war,” and they’d reply, “Son, we bless you, go.” And I’d just set off into the unknown with my things. That’s how I imagined it. So we were sitting in the kitchen, watching a report about volunteer units. My parents were like, “Wow, good for them!” And I thought: this is it, this is the perfect moment. I said, “Mom, Dad, I want to join them.” They stare at me and basically go, “Are you fucking crazy? You need to study, not this.” The next day, my documents were gone, my passport too. I figured my mom decided to keep my hot head close, so they took them to make sure I couldn’t just run off. That felt uncomfortable. The next day I asked where my documents were. My parents were like: why do you need them? But I knew — I stood no chance. My parents were very strict. About a month later, I got my passport back. My friends, who were to become my comrades, called me and asked: “There’s a new Plast battalion forming, are you in?”. Of course, I said “yes”. We had to go to Kyiv for an interview with the commander. I went for a day without telling my parents. About a week later, when I got accepted, I just packed my things and left for Kyiv on a night bus. Again, without saying a word. In the morning my mom called: “Nazar, where are you?” I said, “Mom, that’s it, I’m in the battalion.” She just replied, “I see,” and from her voice it was clear she’d lost that fight. That’s how I got into it.

For me, that entire period of my life and service was probably one of the best. It was a kind of rite of passage for me. I broke away from my parents, I became a grown man, and I set off into the unknown. And it was fun. Back then, the war was a lot of fun, and they trained us very well.

I served for one year in a volunteer battalion. But this experience is hard to leave behind, especially since it was so much fun, I really enjoyed it. The emotions, the camaraderie. After that, everyone I knew was military. I planned to stick with volunteer units, I’d realized dealing with the system was complicated and inefficient, and I just wanted to be free like a cossack.

That’s an interesting story, too. I was actually extremely skeptical that Russia would launch a full-scale war. I know it sounds strange, as everyone had been preparing for years. I knew Russia was our enemy, no illusions there. But a full-scale invasion felt absurd to me. Why attack head-on if you could just buy people off cheaply? We’re easy to influence, soft power works well on us. If you try to take something by force, you’ll face resistance — we unite against a common threat. But if you want to buy something, we’ll sell it, quickly and easily. I sometimes tell foreigners that. When I give speeches about having no choice but to fight.

I was studying at the Kyiv School of Economics when the full-scale invasion began. We focused on public policy and political studies, and everything we learned suggested it made no sense for Russia to launch a full invasion, though rumors were already spreading. So, Quebec called me and said: “Defence Intelligence is gathering groups to train at a range, wanna join?”. When I heard that, I was blown away. Defence Intelligence was big at the time, it was like an unattainable dream. I did join them, but continued studying. And when I saw the General Staff’s statement, I thought, “Wait, is this real? Has the full-scale invasion actually started?”. The next day Quebec called: “Remember our deal?” — “Of course,” I said. “I’ll pick you up, we’ll talk, then go meet the guys.” I said, “Okay.”

Around February 25 or 26, he came over. It was just like something out of a Hollywood movie, honestly. As I stepped out on the street, I saw a brand new red Porsche Cayenne. I get in, there’s Quebec and another guy inside. And he’s so… God, he had a Louis Vuitton bag, fancy sun glasses, and a barbershop hair cut. And I look like a homeless person who sat inside the St. Michael's Monastery (head-quarters of the Hospitallers battalion at the time, – ed. note). We start talking, the driver’s phone starts ringing, he answers in flawless English. And I think: What is this? Where am I? Who is this guy? It’s like a movie. We end up at a hotel that is completely dark. Wall-mounted doors that slide when you press them. That kind of design.

We walk in, there’s a round table, a bunch of guys sitting there, looking straight out of a movie: rashguards, Glocks, gear. Totally Hollywood. Within two minutes they handed me a Kalashnikov, no documents required, nothing. Just a rifle, ammo, and half an hour later we’re loading up, getting ready for a mission that same night. No time to mess around. It felt unreal, like a movie. Then Quebec says, “You do realize we might not make it till morning?” We’re like, “Yeah.” And it hit me that I might only have a few days left. Strangely, it felt right, like I’d found my purpose. One of the happiest times of my life. That night they woke us up with a quick briefing: go to an address, take the targets, take live hostages. We plan fast: grenades, options, everything. Then another call: stand down, another group took it. We went back to sleep. An hour later, up again, a new task. It was just like in the movies: all in civilian clothes, rifles in hand. Quebec had brought his gear, and we split it between us.

The toughest days? My friends are my biggest source of support. I’m probably most grateful to my friends, because while I was depressed, they really helped pull me through. What else keeps me going? Citalopram keeps me going, and Quetiapine.

Yes. But honestly, what keeps me going is a sense of adventure. It’s crucial in war, to see things that way. If you didn’t die, then you’ve got a powerful story. Something to relive, to share, and that’s pretty amazing.

Exactly. If I didn’t die, it’s an adventure. It’s fun. One more thing, though. At the start of the full-scale invasion, we were setting ambushes on the Borodianka–Makariv highway. I was sent with a comrade to an observation point to signal when the orc vehicles were coming. The spot they gave us was right by the road. At one point, a tank stopped just about three meters from me. I was literally watching it from a window. Soldiers got out, and I remember thinking: if they come into this house, I don’t even know what we do. We took positions and tried to prepare, but the tasks back then were completely insane. Only later did I realize how strange it all was, being in situations like that.

We took an observation post in the attic. From there we had a clear view of the road leading into the village. Then I hear a mortar round — explosion maybe 50 meters away. We just look at each other: “Okay.” Another one lands even closer. One glance, and it’s obvious: we need to get out. He jumps down from the attic, but there’s a fence. In full gear it’s hard to get over, he’s stuck, I boost him over. I try to follow, but I can’t. Shots are going off nearby. And right behind the fence there’s a basement, and civilians inside are shouting, “Get in here, get in here!” So he goes down there, and I get left behind. The time between incoming rounds was about 30 seconds, pretty constant fire. He manages to throw down a ladder, I climb over it and jump into the basement, and right behind me a shell hits. The blast literally throws me inside with the shockwave, dust, everything, just *whoosh*, straight into the cellar. Everyone’s coughing. I turn around and see the shell hit exactly where we were sitting in the attic, half the house is gone, the fence is flattened. I look at the civilians, then at him, and say: “Damn… if it had waited a bit longer, I wouldn’t have needed to climb that fence.” And we start laughing. Humor is really important in situations like that.

Well, I laugh a lot, I just can't remember all the exact moments. Instead of telling you about the times I burst out laughing, can I tell you about the times I was really happy?

It’s also about a mission. I went there with my comrade, like you can imagine, I’m surrounded by slightly crazy people, and I’m not exactly normal myself. He’s someone I deeply respect and love. I see him as a kind of embodiment of the Ukrainian “pirate” spirit, a hardcore, no-nonsense guy. He served a long time in the Air Assault Forces, and he’s also very religious, with a really philosophical way of looking at things. When we go on missions, he’d say: “Everything will be fine, I’ll pray,” then he just sits down, prays, smiles, and walks off like it’s nothing.

We were supposed to go on a sniper mission together. He needed a partner, and I was in Kramatorsk at the time, so I said: “Perfect, I’ll go with you.” I was supposed to be on a different task, but for a day of hunting — I was in. The wild part is he usually goes alone. He has a strong reputation among all the units. He just shows up at command posts and says, “Any problems?” They tell him. He replies, “Alright, I’ll take care of it,” and he goes out, does recon, sets ambushes, eliminates targets, and comes back genuinely happy like a kid. He even showed me footage of one ambush on a rotation where he killed six to eight people in one go. That’s actually what made me decide to go with him. He said, and I quote, “I jump in there like a fox into a chicken coop.” I thought, nice, everyone loves an easy ride. I figured I’d go with him, have a bit of fun.

We went on a recon early in the morning, drove in calmly and moved up on foot. The terrain around Bilo­horivka was brutal: chalk cliffs, ravines, constant ups and downs, like some mountain hike in full gear. Everything felt surprisingly smooth. He was walking relaxed with his rifle, I followed right behind, matching his pace. We stepped over bodies, but he stayed completely calm, so I stayed calm too. I trusted him. We kept moving uphill. He said, “The orcs are over there, ours are here.” Then suddenly I see a guy about 200 meters away look at us, then sprint into a trench. I ask, “Is that our position?” He goes, “No, that’s the orcs.” And I’m like, what the fuck?

The area is chaotic, no one really knows who controls what. Suddenly I see a guy, covered in blood, he shouts, “I’m wounded!” so we realize he’s probably ours. He asks to help another wounded guy with a neck injury. And we weren’t even supposed to be there! This was just recon. I thought we’d mark points and leave. But we ran up to the casualty, who was lying on an open slope, completely exposed, and so were we.

I was exhausted, and I saw his comrades just sitting there doing nothing. I told them to help, but they just stared at us silently, not reacting at all. I told them to grab him and pull. It felt like they were already mentally gone, even if still alive. We ended up dragging him ourselves. I thought my arm would rip off. Soon it became clear that there would be no evacuation. As we walk, Jihad, that’s my partner’s call sign, shoots off mines so we don’t get blown up. It was winter, it was getting dark. Jihad said that we wouldn’t be able to walk up the hill, so the only option is that he walks to friendly positions to get an armored vehicle and comes back to pick us up. He asked me if I wanted to come with. I thought, God, are you kidding me, of course, I’m not staying. Alone, with these guys, and with no means of communication.

I felt relieved as we went. Suddenly, there’s a crossroads, and there’s a strike about 50-70 meters in front of us. We’re tired. We looked at each other: is this a coincidence? Another strike. This time, a mine landed right in front of Jihad. He screamed and fell to the ground. I crawl into a crater nearby, it’s small, and I barely fit in. I thought it's getting dark, so they are probably using a thermal camera. A mine flies by, whistling, lands about a meter away from my head, and doesn't explode. I thought to myself, Nazar, this is a sign from God. This is your time to get to the bushes to distort the heat signature. What else should I do? Jihad is either dead or heavily wounded. I’m lost, I’m alone, I have no radio.

And suddenly I hear Jihad’s voice: “Reagan! Reagan! Are you alive? Come here!” I went up to him, as he dusted himself off and laughed. “Did you see how well I played dead?” — “You’re fucking nuts. You at least didn’t have to scream that much.” At that moment, I was happy. I was very happy that Jihad was alive. I was very happy that I could go home.

No, a rock from the blast just hit him in the leg, and he fell down, that’s all. He figured that since he was already lying there, he might as well play dead. He got up, brushed himself off, and we walked away calmly. I walked along thinking: Wow, that was so cool.

The heavily injured guy didn’t make it, but the other boy lived. Later, I asked Jihad if he thought we did everything right. He said: “You didn’t know what would have happened if we’d taken a different road; the Lord’s ways are beyond our understanding. Everything happened exactly as it was meant to”. Yeah, indeed it did.

Sense of life? Actually, you feel most alive when you’re in some kind of extreme situation. In other words, I feel most alive when I’m fighting for my life. When I find myself in a life-threatening situation, and then, when I realize what’s happened, I feel very much alive. That’s it.

Absolutely. What a strange question. You could say that joy isn’t a sign of either strength or weakness. It’s simply a certain aspect of our psyche – the ability to feel joy. Joy is amazing. Of course, you should be joyful. Especially when you find yourself in situations where you have a choice between digging your own grave and being joyful. It’s better to be joyful than to dig a grave. It's like with these guys I mentioned — who had already died inside, but hadn’t died physically yet. But when you realize that a person is no longer ready to fight for other people’s lives, for their own life, that’s the end. In reality, you lose the war with yourself first, with your own optimism. And then you lose the war for life. That’s why you have to be able to always keep some inner spark alive and try to fight to the very end.

The fact that I survived, – that was unexpected joy. I’d hoped for it, but when it happened, I was like: Oh, cool, that’s unexpectedly nice.

Well, as I said, for me, joy at war is a cool adventure. When it’s not a tragedy but an adventure, it’s awesome. Joy at war is when you successfully complete a mission. You can be proud of yourself. You have good self-esteem. When you’re, like, I did everything I could, and I did it well. To me, joy at war is when all your comrades are alive and well. And when they’re in good spirits. At the same time, it’s when they brought us Coca-Cola or my recent assignment. Or this liquid bread you tasted.

Really? I hated it. If I knew, I’d brought more. I had them for two months near my bed, all the comrades were staring at my “bar”. Sometimes, I’d put a bottle of Coke there. I didn’t drink it, it was just standing there. They asked me if I was going to drink it. I could already see them licking their lips, so I was like: go on, help yourself. I’m happy to swap this swill for some tinned meat. For me, the joy of war also lies in sharing. And what else? Trying out new weapons. It’s awesome when you get to fire something you’ve never fired before. Or learn to do something you couldn’t do before. That brings me great joy too. I really enjoy handling grenade launchers. I love it when things explode. That brings me joy too.