But Dmytro, a 21-year-old marine – identified only by his first name in keeping with Ukrainian military rules – recounted having waded through a river of death for little reward, apart from some political messages.
Dmytro described being “thrown like a piece of meat to the wolves” during the crossing, which took 30 minutes to an hour. His account was confirmed by six others who participated in the operation to establish a foothold on the Russian-occupied eastern bank of the river.
Another 22-year-old Marine said: “We are taking a lot of losses. We are simply losing people, but there is no result.”
Disappointed by reports from the Ukrainian Foreign Ministry – released in November advertiser They “managed to strengthen their positions in several redoubts” on the Dnieper River – and the Marines recounted that the wounded soldiers drowned, unable to swim due to their injuries. Or they are sucked to the bottom of the river by their heavy packs. The crossing was so dangerous that the bodies of some Marines, killed in the first wave crossing the river two months earlier, were left behind.
Ukraine does not publicly disclose the number of its military casualties, and has refused to say how many Marines were killed in the mission, which captured only a few square kilometers of territory, including a foothold in Krynici fishing village. A Ukrainian Marine Corps spokesman declined to comment: “We remain silent on this issue.”
But the army admits it has made few gains. “There are no liberated villages” on the east bank, said Captain Natalia Hominiuk, head of the Joint Press Center of the Ukrainian Southern Defense Forces.
The front lines here have barely moved since Kherson, the regional capital, was liberated from Russian occupation in November 2022, complicated by muddy terrain and bombed bridges. As summer ended, the new mission was launched. Aid and ammunition from the West were at stake, as were the lives of Marines and soldiers.
When Dmytro left for the crossing, he was carrying three cans of sardines and six loaves of bread, as well as 100 pounds of ammunition and other equipment, for an operation that was expected to last a few days — if he survived that long.
Just before sunrise, Dmytro's battalion approached a shallow sandbar and split into two parts. The morning fog provided some protection from Russian-operated drones chasing them in the sky.
Their goal was to head towards Krynki – 20 miles up the Kherson River – where Dmytro once visited with his parents. He remembered the new walls and some small shops that were now just piles of rubble.
As his shoes sank into the thick mud, he buried his thoughts of his wife and their child—his soft cheeks and new smiles. Dmytro had learned of the mission a few days earlier and did not think it was well planned. He did not know what awaited them on the east bank.
He didn't think it was worth his life.
It was a feeling Johnson, the 40-year-old scout team leader identified by The Washington Post by his call sign, knew well. In July, he was tasked with clearing the islands where Dmytro was about to sail. The mission took him across the river six times, most recently in October. The ground was littered with debris left by the Russians—bags of bullets, vials of painkillers, a toy battleship made of paper and blue pen.
The reconnaissance team struggled to navigate the shallow marshes by boat. Johnson was often forced to tow the ship 65 feet — roughly the length of a bowling alley — to reach deeper water. On the east bank, ditches have turned into wells. “A few shovels of earth and you'll be in the water,” he said. Positions were shallow and difficult to consolidate. The team was unable to start the fire. Clothes stayed damp and cool.
Although the Ukrainians succeeded in reclaiming the islands, the cost was high. Commander Johnson died in September in a grenade explosion. He added that Marines still crossing the border still face extreme danger.
“I think it's unbearable right now,” Johnson said. “I don't want to be in the situations they are in “We are.”
On the river bank, waves hit the shore, and the marshes rippled in the swift wind. A pair of soldiers set off in front of Dmytro. He looked at his partner who cursed.
“This plan,” he said, using an expletive, “is terrible.”
“Okay, are you with me?” Dmytro answered.
“A gift from Russia”
The bombing began almost immediately.
Dmytro said the communication failed, and the two were unable to contact their mortar team to respond. On a surveillance map of Ukraine — which marks the location of video-recorded missile strikes — the river is clotted with dots Confirmed accounts of heavy gunfire.
By 8 a.m., only 12 of the 30 Marines were injured. Two died.
“We couldn't fight with people who had a tourniquet,” Dmytro explained. We had to wait for new people to replace the injured.”
The archipelago provided good cover, with tall grasses and wide shrubs. But it's over On the eastern bank, plants were sparse. The jungle was full of mines, so the Marines dug trenches and covered themselves with bags filled with sand. They waited nearly eight hours.
“When everything explodes from all sides, you start living one minute at a time, not thinking about anything at all,” Dmytro said.
Later, other Marines frequently traveled by boat.
“The Marines being killed today are the ones running the boats,” said a 39-year-old man with call sign Sawyer. “And this is not something you can learn easily. You have to know how to drive it, you have to know how to think fast, get faster, get out. … This is a tragedy, of course.”
After these crossings, the ships were brought to Vitaly Borgar's boat shop in Kherson – a region under Ukrainian control. The city suffers from constant Russian air raids, despite President Vladimir Putin's claims that the city is now part of Russia.
Borgar, 52, had repaired recreational boats for 20 years, but the war changed things. He now works in the field of repairing bullet holes and installing machine guns. Recently, he restored a boat motor that had been underwater for months, its wires stiffened by mussels.
“You're either in the military or helping the military,” Borgar said.
In mid-December, a Shahed drone struck his store — “a gift from Russia,” he said. But somehow, the work continued.
The Marines still need boats.
“Horror and inability to recognize”
On the eastern bank, evening has come.
With dozens of other reinforcements, the Marines moved in line toward Kryneki, the group of 45 laboringly walking. for along way In groups of two and three. Suddenly Dmytro heard gunfire in their backs. He thought it must be a mistake. The reconnaissance team had said that the situation was safe, and that no one would be there.
“for us!” he shouted, mistakenly thinking it was friendly fire.
It was the Russians. The Marines returned fire.
They survived the night, and fought towards Kryniki, where Ukrainian forces had established a foothold in the ruins of houses, with Russian soldiers nearby preparing to retake the ground.
On the second day, a grenade exploded, sending a match-sized piece of shrapnel into Dmytro's hip and giving him a concussion.
It was evacuated – carried out over a disfigured landscape. Instead of trees, some sticks pierced the ground. The riverbank had turned to glue, and the bodies of some fallen Marines were left behind, unable to be recovered under the gunfire.
“Everything was smashed into pieces, just to the point of horror and unrecognizability,” Dmytro said.
He added that at least five other men were killed and 20 wounded by the end of their operation. He was sent home to recover. Upon his return, he was told that he would be sent to the East Bank again.
Serhiy Morgunov in Warsaw contributed to this report.
