I was crawling along with a shattered leg, but I couldn’t stop laughing: a Special Operations Forces soldier on keeping going no matter what

As Keks crawled through the long grass, he couldn't stop laughing. Minutes earlier, his foot had been ripped off by a petal mine.

Stopping still after being wounded would have meant certain death from the next drone. As soon as the tourniquet had been applied, he carried on crawling. But each time he placed his hand on the next patch of grass-concealed earth, the soldier caught himself thinking: what if there's another landmine there? And that thought struck him as incredibly funny.

"It was both painful and hilarious. I'm crawling along and laughing, crawling and laughing. And I'm thinking: I'll get there, and then I'll tell the guys all about this," says Keks.

At that moment, he was still in shock and adrenaline was surging into his blood. The pain would come later – and then his laughter would turn into screams.

But when Keks thinks back to when he was wounded – an injury which led to amputation – it seems natural that his reaction is to smile. As soon as you start talking to him, you sense that he's someone with a zest for life, someone who knows every shade of the word "strength".

Keks is a special forces soldier in the 144th Special Operations Forces Centre. He's 38, but if you didn't know that, you would never guess. At one time he was working alongside twenty-something guys who looked older than him, and Keks would good-naturedly ask: "Guys, what has life done to you?"

Eventually you give in to his energy and, mimicking the well-worn techniques of the tabloid press, you ask: "Keks, how come you look so young? What's your secret?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm not married," he replies, and (of course) bursts out laughing.

Our interview takes place in a hospital ward. Keks is leaning against a pillow, and from time to time he pats his stump – apparently not because it bothers him, but out of habit. It has already become part of his life. A life that didn't stop after he was wounded, but moved forward. A life in which new meanings have appeared – and one of them, for Keks, is sport.

At the end of our conversation, just as we're saying goodbye, Keks admits that he really wants his story to help those who need some support. It's for them that he's sharing his story. And it's his hope that maybe that story will bring movement forward to replace despair in someone's life.

What follows are Keks's own words.

A sous-chef known as Masik

My signature dish is called Supreme Nacho. It's a kind of flatbread burger. You take a round flatbread, fry a meat patty, add cheese, nacho chips, onion, bacon, wrap it all up in the flatbread, then dip it in egg and deep-fry it. You pour cheese sauce on top. And when you cut into it and start eating, all the juice from the patty just oozes out.

I worked as a chef for 15 years. I was a sous-chef – that's the deputy head chef. The chef would decide on the menu, and I'd make sure everything was perfect.

My alias is Keks ("Cake"), but when I worked as a chef, everyone called me Masik. No one even knew my real name. Once we went on holiday to Türkiye – there were 13 of us. We were sitting at this big table when someone at the other end called me by my real name. Everyone turned around and asked: "So is that your name?" Because everyone was used to me just being Masik.

I worked as a chef in Lithuania for a year, and another 18 months in Estonia. You shouldn't stay in one place – you have to be constantly moving, growing, going somewhere new, trying a different cuisine, a different approach.

I'd always wanted to join the military. In 2014 my brother and I went through the medical board exams together. I wasn't accepted for health reasons, but my brother was. Later he went to fight in the ATO, and I stayed behind, working as a chef and supporting the family. [The ATO or Anti-Terrorist Operation is a term used from 2014 to 2018 to identify combat actions in parts of Donetsk and Luhansk oblasts against Russian military forces and pro-Russian separatists – ed.]

I did my compulsory military service in 2004-2005. We served for a year, and alongside us were the so-called "one-and-a-halfers" – those who had to serve a year and a half. They were angry with us and took it out on us a bit: "We're serving a year and a half, and you've only come for one year." There was a little bit of hazing.

On 24 February 2022 I had a morning shift at an Italian restaurant. At five in the morning my dad wakes me up: war! I tell him I need to get ready for work because I'm a responsible person. He says: "You're not going anywhere." We went outside and saw the chaos – everyone running, fleeing. We had some coffee, heard some explosions and went back inside.

"The leg and the DNA samples went by car"

I waited to be summoned to the enlistment office. I had a military ID, but there was no push – no one came round or called.

Then in 2024, I was driving to work one day and I was handed a call-up notice. Actually it wasn't that – I showed them my military ID, and they said: "Go to your enlistment office and ask why you haven't been called up yet." So I did.

So then I was a sailor, a boat operator. We went out on boats on the rivers. We could deliver ammunition, provide fire support for the infantry. We had armoured boats with American miniguns that fire 60 rounds per second. I learned how to handle the boat too.

I love the water. Somehow I'd wanted this all my life, and it had happened. Dreams come true. Though we don't work only on the water.

The first time I was injured was on the Pokrovsk front, where I was providing fire support as a grenade launcher operator. One time, I had the day off and was walking around the village when I got a call. They asked: "What are you up to? Busy?" "No," I said. "Do you want to go and work with the lads at the position?" I didn't need to be asked twice. I got in the car and set off.

The first time Keks was injured was in Donetsk Oblast. After his medical treatment, he was given leave

We went for four days of fire support. The situation was very intense because the moment you stepped out of the "bunker", there'd be mortar fire to your right, mortar fire to your left and mortar fire behind you, and there were constant attacks on us.

After 10 days, the guys wanted to swap us out, but they couldn't get to our position. There were too many "waiting drones" on the road [drones in standby mode that are activated when a target appears – UP]. The first Hummer that came to get us flipped over into an anti-tank ditch. Thank God everyone in it survived and they were able to get away.

A few days later, another driver arrived in a Hummer. We loaded up and tried to leave. But at one junction, we were caught by a waiting drone – an FPV drone with a shaped charge. It hit the right-hand rear door.

We got our first Cargo 200 [death – ed.]. All the others had shrapnel wounds. One lad lost an arm and his lungs were ruptured. Everyone had burns and shrapnel wounds. I had burns to my face and shrapnel in my arms and legs, and had an acute stress reaction.

The lad who'd lost his arm was loaded into another vehicle within two hours and taken to hospital. People were driving without fully understanding where they were going. The other wounded guys made it to the hospital within four hours. I stayed another day. I spent the night with the lads at the position. My face was burning and I could feel shrapnel in my legs, but I could still walk.

We didn't eat or sleep, just waited for morning. We left around ten o'clock, collecting DNA samples from the vehicle so no one would be declared missing. We also found someone's leg – the attacks had been going on all night. We'd heard vehicles, but they never reached us. They ended up at the exact spot where our Hummer had been destroyed. We heard screams and moans. People were heading straight for that deadly junction.

The leg and the DNA samples were sent by car, and we walked four kilometres. Then another vehicle picked us up, and we finally made it to the hospital.

"The lads and I had already said our goodbyes"

The next bit happened in Sumy Oblast. Our task was simple: go to the position, stand there and defend it, so that nobody could go in or out.

We left at four in the morning. Two guys led us to the position. We sat there waiting for enemy activity. It was terrifying – there was no lack of strikes. According to the maps it should have been forest and dense woodland, but when we arrived, we saw everything was bare – the trees had been shredded.

Keks: "I never told anyone in the army I was a chef. I remember my conscript service: you get up at five in the morning, go to bed at twelve, and every single day you're cooking, cooking, cooking"

We had small two-man trenches. Initially we were meant to stay four to five days, but it ended up being only one day.

What happened was, the guys at the neighbouring position saw two bodies emerging from the forest. They realised they weren't ours and opened fire. Some "little bird" [drone – ed.] spotted where the shots were coming from, and FPV drones started hunting the guys. The first drone hit a tree about five to seven metres away. Then another one came, turned and flew straight at them – the lads managed to shoot it down. And then they realised they had to withdraw.

We saw and heard all this.

Command was informed that we needed to withdraw because we'd been spotted. We were told: "Move further down and find a place to spend the night."

The four of us went lower and found a dug-out – just big enough for four people. There were some enemy items left there too. We spent the night hidden under thermal cover so we wouldn't be visible.

They were searching for us. During the night, we counted 15 FPV drones striking randomly. We could hear something circling nearby, descending and then crashing into a tree. Mortars and tubed artillery were firing at the same time. One shell landed about ten metres from us – we were all dazed.

The positions we'd left were shelled as well. And I realised they were also dropping Lepestok (Petal) landmines on the road we'd used to get there. Everything was very close. The lads and I had already said our goodbyes.

We decided to leave at four in the morning, during a drone swap – when it was getting light and the thermal drones would be returning. We used this window to climb out of the dug-out and reach the path, though a few drones were still hovering.

I was second in line, carrying a machine gun, my weapon, a backpack and a camouflage net on top. I don't know how I didn't notice the petal. The grass was knee-high. My mate in front avoided it, but I stepped on it.

Something exploded nearby. The grass was tall, so I didn't immediately see my leg. I fell on my side.

I got up, tried to run – and couldn't. I fell over again. Got up again – still couldn't. My leg was shattered, and I was basically standing on a stump. There was a pear tree nearby; I wanted to get to it quickly and hide under it so we wouldn't be seen from the sky. Somehow I managed to reach it, and the lads dived in after me, forming a perimeter defence to cover me from the FPV drones.

The youngest one of us put the tourniquet on me. It was his first time out on an operation. He handled it well. I reassured him and said: "It's all right, you did everything you could." The tourniquet was tightened, everyone shouted out the time, and I started giving orders. I said: "I'm handing over my weapon. You go on ahead, I'll catch up." The lads would run forward about 10-15 metres, take cover and keep watch on the sky so I could somehow crawl along the path.

I took off my body armour so it would be a bit easier to crawl on my knees. The terrain there is all slopes – up, then down. There are fallen trees in front of you which you have to either go round or crawl under. Eventually you get caught on a branch, completely exhausted, with no strength left to keep moving.

The sky fills up with drones again. You sit by a tree for a minute or two, then keep going. Then a mortar round lands exactly where you'd been sitting. So there's no way you can just wait it out.

I crawled for hours – from about 05:00 until 11:00. We called over the radio for the stretcher team, but they were delayed because the sky was "dirty", meaning there were Russian drones overhead.

So I kept crawling. The problem was my leg: I was moving on my knees, and what was left of my foot kept catching on things. Guided bombs had hit that forest earlier and smashed the trees to pieces. You'd crawl under a tree trunk, get snagged on a branch and tear something open. I started bleeding again.

Keks: "I really love hiking. I always used to go once or twice a year. I think I'll keep on doing that – even climb Hoverla [the highest mountain in Ukraine]"

At about 09:00 I realised a lot of time had passed and nothing could be done about the leg now. The shock and adrenaline had worn off and the pain set in. When it became unbearable, I shouted. But that didn't matter so much – the main thing was to get out. All of us. Alive. My mates had to keep checking I hadn't passed out, so they kept talking to me. I joked back at them.

Then there were more slopes, and the crawling got even harder. My knees hurt, my arms hurt. One of the lads – the one in charge – would lift my arms over his shoulders and carry me for a bit. "Don't worry about me," I told him.

When we got deeper into the forest and the mortars could no longer reach us, we stopped and waited for the stretcher team. It was about midday.

Finally a medic arrived and gave me a painkiller injection. They put heat packs on me to keep me warm. We had a quick chat – they checked if I was speaking clearly. Then they strapped me onto a stretcher and four of them carried me. I was a heavy Cargo 300 [wounded soldier – ed.], I weigh 100 kg [220 lb], so they weren't exactly thrilled about having to carry me. Their backs were already aching. One of them joked, "How much longer? Can you walk now!" I said, "Sorry lads, I'll lose a bit of weight."

Though so far, losing weight hasn't quite worked out.

The evacuation lasted 13 hours. I crawled for six, then they carried me 8 km to an all-terrain vehicle, and from there I was taken to a stabilisation point.

"You've got to keep moving"

I've done sport all my life. There was a time when I'd go to CrossFit before work, then head straight to the kitchen for my shift.

When I was in hospital having operations, we were offered the chance to go to an archery competition. I did well straight away. I'd been a machine gunner – I was a good shot – so I picked up shooting from a bow quickly too.

Then I thought: if I can shoot from a bow sitting down, why not pedal a bike with one leg? That's how I got into cycling as well – on a stationary bike, not on a track. I also took up rowing. There are these competitions called HART [the first Ukrainian national multi-sport event for male and female veterans who sustained injuries, trauma or illness during their service – ed.]. There's basketball, rugby, swimming, weightlifting…

There were also skiing competitions for veterans in Chernihiv, sort of a CrossFit-style event. I took first place there. That really motivated me. I realised I could keep moving forward, keep doing sport, and show that we're still the same people we were before. We can achieve results.

At an archery competition

Now I want to finish my treatment, then… I've found a jiu-jitsu group for veterans in Kyiv and I want to sign up. Sport has become something central in my life. You've got to keep moving.

You can always lie down later. I saw in Chernihiv how some people just lie there and give up. You say to them, "Come on, let's do some training" – you prove yourself a bit, you move forward and then motivation comes. And there are other people around you training too, telling you "You're doing great," "You did more today," "You're doing it beautifully." And you think – wow. And you enjoy it even more. You get that rush of adrenaline too.

What can the state and society do for us? Don't forget about us. Involve us in things. Give us hope.

When I arrived at the hospital, I asked the doctors if there were any sports activities. They said, "We don't offer that." So I started looking around myself for organisations that involve veterans in sport, and I found a veterans' association in Brovary. This needs to be promoted more. Because there are people sitting there in hospitals and a lot of them don't even know these opportunities exist.

I don't know how to explain to people why I want to go back and keep fighting. Explain to me why I shouldn't! "But you're wounded." So what? I can still do certain tasks. I'm a multi-skilled person. It's fine.

Someone gave me a book about willpower, but I don't have the willpower to read it (laughs). Or maybe it's the opposite. Maybe I have enough willpower to keep moving forward instead of dwelling on problems.

I can cook and I can eat. I can smell and taste. Every morning I wake up and see beauty out of the window. I'm grateful for what I have. I'll go to the mountains again and admire the beauty of nature. I'll get there. I've got crutches, so I'll get there.

Author: Rustem Khalilov for Ukrainska Pravda

Translation: Anastasiia Yankina, Yelyzaveta Khodatska, Tetiana Buchkovska

Editing: Teresa Pearce