![]() In the same area only days later, a team of journalists from The Washington Post is nearly killed when visiting a Ukrainian unit, artillery shells falling just yards from where they are standing. They’re intent on their own survival, and making the cover of the tree line. We fly through the intersection ahead of the Akatsiya, and its crew doesn’t spare us a glance. The equation “speed x time = distance” looms in my mind. If I was a Russian gunnery officer observing it via drone, that’s when I’d try to hit it. The intersection is a critical danger point: The Akatsiya must slow to nearly a stop to make the turn. The fields beside us are pockmarked with blast impacts, and the tails of dozens of dud rockets stick out of the earth as if planted by some mad farmer. The Russians are ceaselessly hunting Ukrainian heavy weapons, and their rockets, artillery, and missiles can strike anywhere here, at any time. Likely it’s been “shooting-and-scooting”: If they want to survive, the gun crew has to strike a balance between staying in position long enough to provide effective fire support to friendly ground forces, without lingering so long they get discovered by Russian drones. The Akatsiya, alone and moving in the open, is a prime target for the Russians. ![]() I point out the vehicle to Mace wordlessly, and I’m gratified to hear the engine revving instantly. It looks like we will get there at the same time. As we careen down a hill toward a crossroads surrounded by a scattering of farmhouses, I see a Ukrainian Akatsiya self-propelled artillery gun dashing toward the T-intersection ahead of us. Mace knows that speed counts here, and he weaves in and out of the anti-tank barricades that are strewn along the roads, gunning the engine as soon as we clear the concrete blocks and berms of dirt. He takes me to the front in a Škoda station wagon, roaring down country back roads at 100-plus miles an hour, blasting techno as the foliage whips past in a blur. His face is that of a young man, but the salt-and-pepper hair hidden beneath his field hat and his calm self-possession amid chaos reveal he is a seasoned veteran who saw his share of combat before the current invasion. Mace is soft-spoken and cordial, lean and fit as an endurance athlete. I’ve called in favors with the commander of a reconnaissance company in an air-assault brigade, and he links me up with an officer whose elite scout unit is operating near intense fighting outside a town called Lyman, a senior lieutenant who goes by the nom de guerre “Mace.” A Ukrainian paratrooper will lead the way. To truly understand what is going on - to get a sense of morale and see how the soldiers are holding up under Russian assault, I must descend into the inferno, and I need a guide. But can the Ukrainian military hold out long enough for any of it to make a difference? It cannot win the war without game-changing foreign-military assistance: American heavy artillery, Danish anti-ship missiles, German air-defense systems - these are slowly making their way to the battlefield. But it is sacrificing thousands of its finest soldiers and still losing ground. 'Silence of the Lambs': The Complete Buffalo Bill Story But it’s clear that Russia is inching forward, each day bringing it closer to its goal of annexing the provinces of Luhansk and Donetsk and cementing the region under Moscow’s rule. I’ve heard conflicting reports about what is happening here, about whether the Ukrainian military is collapsing or the Russians are succeeding in breaking through the defender’s lines, cutting off thousands of soldiers. The casualties on the Russian side are almost certainly even higher, according to Ukrainian defense officials. I’m in eastern Ukraine in late May, in a region called Donbas, where the war has become a whirlwind of carnage that is claiming the lives of as many as 100 Ukrainian soldiers a day. We coast through the invisible barrier separating the “front” from the “rear,” then floor the gas and accelerate forward. They wave us through solemnly, without smiles or chatter. The Ukrainian soldiers manning the last friendly post have a singular focus and intensity that’s lacking behind the lines. NEAR LYMAN, Ukraine - Crossing the final checkpoint into a battle zone feels like a consecration.
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