Healed to save others: the story of a Ukrainian frontline driver

The route of a military driver is not an ordinary road, but a fine line between life and death. GPS is useless where every meter is a challenge. Beneath the wheels lies uncertainty, above — the buzz of enemy drones, and on the horizon — the roar of artillery. But still, he speeds forward. Because he knows: up ahead are brothers-in-arms counting on him to bring them home.

When every mission could be your last, it’s easy to get used to the risk. And then, overconfidence can turn into dangerous bravado. But you won’t find a trace of that in Serhiy — a driver with The 2nd International Legion for the Defense of Ukraine. Speaking about his work, he smiles humbly:

“I drive our boys to the zero line.”

Before taking the wheel of a military vehicle, 54-year-old Serhiy spent his life working as a welder. Not only is it physically demanding, but it's also a constant threat to one’s health. Every day brought hours of labor in stifling spaces, surrounded by sparks, smoke, and metal fumes. The heat, noise, and strain on his eyes and back left their mark over the years:

“After all those years, I picked up a few ailments. My wife sent me to the Amosov Hospital in Kyiv. That’s where the war caught up with me. One morning, the head nurse rushed into the room and said, ‘Cossack, pack up — the Russians attacked the airport.’”

After enduring four surgeries, Serhiy could’ve stayed on the home front to recover. But he didn’t hesitate. As soon as he could stand on his feet again, he traded his welding mask for a helmet and his work uniform for military camo:

“I started asking around: who’s doing what, and where? I found our beloved Legion online. And now I’m here. I'm better off here than at home. My son-in-law served for a year and a half, and my nephew is recovering from his second wound. This is where I belong.”

For a military driver, time isn’t measured in minutes or seconds. It’s the difference between “just in time” and “too late.” Can you deliver the team to the position? Can you get them out — the living, the wounded, sometimes barely conscious  — from the brink of death? Can you dodge the shelling yourself? You have to move as fast as the road, the vehicle, and common sense will allow:

“Compared to our Cossacks, the Paris-Dakar racers look like they’re just walking. Plenty of drifting, speeds as high as the soul desires. Sometimes we go out during the day — a bit more fun than at night. I sit down, say the “Lord's Prayer”, and hit the gas.”

But speed here isn’t just about pushing the gas pedal. It’s about thinking and making decisions fast. A driver must sense danger ahead — anticipate a mine under the wheels, feel the sky stirring with drones. There’s no room for hesitation. Because behind you, there are someone's lives:

“I think we’re fueled by adrenaline and responsibility. Because you’re not alone — there are guys behind you. Sometimes, the rear door flies open, and we lose stuff. But I’ve never lost a single man.”

For a job well done, there are no immediate medals. But there is another kind of recognition. Between departure and return lies hell — and a driver who can skillfully extract troops from the zero line is priceless. Those who’ve stared death in the face repay him with silent, profound respect:

“When I’m driving them out, everyone’s quiet and tight-knit. I hope they’re praying for me, so I don’t hit the brakes. God forbid! I only brake in extreme cases. Only if there’s a crater big enough to swallow the vehicle. Otherwise, we just fly through.”

Serhiy speaks several languages — and in the Legion, that’s more than a skill; it’s a daily necessity. He easily connects with brothers-in-arms, understands their needs, and can deliver clear commands and coordinates when it counts. In war, where every detail matters, such knowledge is indispensable:

“I worked abroad my whole life — traveled across almost all of Europe and Latin America. I translate a bit from Polish, know Spanish well. I also worked in English-speaking countries, so I can manage in English — with some gestures.”

To the foreigners in the Legion, Serhiy is one of their own — not just because he listens, but because he understands. And that understanding isn’t just about language — it’s about trust. Trust among people from different countries, united in the fight for freedom. The Legion welcomes all who genuinely stand for Ukraine — no matter where they were born or what language they speak. Because here, what matters is not the passport, but the motivation, dedication, and willingness to stand shoulder to shoulder:

“I only know one thing: everyone next to me — they’re the best.”

Text: Dmytro Tolkachov