By many accounts, the Ukrainian withdrawal was panicked and disorganized, with fears that dozens would be left behind as Russian forces attacked in seemingly endless waves.
Seven soldiers from the 3rd Assault Brigade spoke to The Washington Post about their final days under the Russian assault inside the former Ukrainian stronghold. Their accounts highlight the urgency of Ukraine's disadvantage on the battlefield, where soldiers — vastly outnumbered by the Russians — await the arrival of Western weapons shipments and troop reinforcements.
All soldiers are identified by their call signs, in line with military rules.
The major had just arrived in Avdiivka in the second week of February and was staying in an old two-story student dormitory when waves of Russian troops began crashing into his unit's position.
Eventually, a group of well-trained Russian soldiers hit them with a barrage of rocket-propelled grenades and quickly made their way through the building.
Russian troops backed the major into the corner of the room and shouted at him to surrender. He played with them and begged them not to shoot while he frantically looked for a way out.
Other Ukrainian forces came to his rescue with an attack of their own, and in the ensuing chaos, he climbed out of a second-floor window to safety.
By the time his unit withdrew, he was in charge. The 21-year-old said that so many soldiers were injured that “no one bigger than them remained.”
His unit was then assigned to a tree line along evacuation roads—one of the last lines of defense—to cover the retreating forces. The Russians quickly “fired on us with very targeted artillery fire,” he said.
If there had been more troops, artillery and air cover, Ukrainian forces would have held the position, he said, adding: “We just needed something to fight with.”
When his entire group finally left the city, he watched the convoy in front of him go up in flames as artillery drove them back. It was just a caravan of people. A caravan of the best men ever. Before our eyes, artillery destroyed this convoy. “People my age, between 20 and 30.”
“This was the road of death, the last way out of Avdiivka,” he said.
Schultz arrived at his post in Avdiivka early in the morning on February 9, and was working with Major inside the two-story building.
He said the fighting started to look real when a Ukrainian soldier fired a rocket-propelled grenade at a Russian infantry vehicle outside his window, hitting the driver. The car lost control and the soldiers who were sitting on top of it started jumping out and “we started to get them out.” He added that over the next few days, “the Russians were trying to storm our positions, wave after wave after wave.”
When the withdrawal order was issued, he left in an armored personnel carrier. There were no windows to see outside, but from the sounds of it, a shell landed right in front of their car and another on its side as they drove out of the city.
For several days after his deployment to Avdiivka's coke plant – a type of coal used in steelmaking – Division Commander Kavkaz organized his forces to repel attacks on their positions inside abandoned houses.
He added that about three-quarters of the Russians they fought appeared to have had decent military training. The rest were “just confused.” But just over half of his forces had any combat experience themselves.
His unit was preparing to carry out the withdrawal order when soldiers from the 2nd Presidential Brigade appeared, looking lost and demanding information. They had lost all communication with their commander and had no idea what the retreat was about to take.
Time was running out, so Kavkaz quickly prepared vehicles to help those forces withdraw, including his Toyota Hilux pickup truck, which the soldiers later returned badly damaged and without a windshield.
Although his troops were scheduled to leave in shifts at 4:30 a.m., the missing troops were allowed to evacuate first. “Those 30 minutes, or even an hour, were very crucial. It was a big risk for us,” he said.
These small delays made a dangerous situation even more dangerous.
“I think that [retreat] He added that the order should have been issued earlier. “Even five hours ago would have made a difference.”
Shved, a sniper, was constantly moving between positions in Avdiivka, shooting so many Russian troops that he said he “lost count after ten o'clock.”
While living in abandoned civilian homes, he had to get creative to find shooting locations. At one point, he said, he sat on top of the dresser to get a better shot. “I learned everything I needed to know about the unstable conditions in Avdiivka,” he said.
He said the skill levels of Russian forces were not “really consistent.” Some of them wore uniforms and basic rifles, while others had more advanced equipment. He had several close calls and after three concussions, his commander consulted a paramedic and suggested it was time to leave.
By then, he said, it felt like “someone put a frying pan on my head, hit me with a baseball bat, then punched and kicked me.”
He agreed to be evacuated, but as he was being evacuated with three other wounded men, a drone struck their car, damaging it and giving him a fourth concussion. They all survived.
When he arrived in Avdiivka for his first-ever combat mission on February 8, Pandit, 27, crossed the train tracks toward a residential area and saw “a hellish scene,” he said.
Stray dogs wandered between the exploded houses. Piles of rubble were everywhere.
He was a Canadian citizen with a machine gun, stayed in a bungalow and watched Russia send in inexperienced troops in batches every morning, afternoon and evening. They appeared to be in their forties or fifties, and did not have protective vests or helmets.
“On my first day, I took out eight,” he said. “They never came near my window again.”
On their third day in the house, Russia launched a sustained attack around the site using small arms fire, drones, mortars, artillery and aerial bombs, forcing them to retreat to another destroyed house nearby.
A drone crashed into his window but got stuck in a wire frame, broke into pieces and did not explode.
Once the order was given to withdraw, he and his colleagues took up positions along the tree line to cover the retreating Ukrainian forces.
As the cluster munitions fell, his team leader told them not to bother waiting for vehicles, but to just leave on foot. They walked through the bombing in the dark, trying to maintain a distance of 5 to 10 meters between each soldier to reduce the chances of being spotted by the Russians – and to minimize casualties from incoming attacks.
When they looked back, they saw white phosphorus shells falling only 500 meters behind them.
On February 11, Fedya drove to Avdiivka and took up a position at the command post at the coke plant. He was tasked with surrounding incoming infantry forces and conducting reconnaissance missions to identify reserve positions. He also supervised the operations of forces stationed in a large trench near the factory.
But within days, it became clear that the Russians were in control of key areas and would soon be able to cut off all exits from the city. He watched them approach the front line.
When the call for withdrawal came, he instructed some troops on how to leave their positions. The plans were then passed between the soldiers like a game of telephone.
He eventually left the city in an unarmored car that had previously been used to transport ammunition and evacuate the wounded. When they realized that some units were withdrawing, the Russians intensified their attacks to prevent the troops from leaving safely.
On the way out, he said, “The adrenaline was so high that it drowned out all other emotions.”
He added that if they had waited longer, evacuation would have been impossible. “It didn't make sense to hold out until everyone died,” he said.
Shortly before his retreat from Avdiivka, a soldier from a nearby drone unit stormed Geric's command post at the coke plant, begging for help. It was night, and the blow had just caused a large piece of concrete to fall, crushing his partner.
Girish and his colleagues were torn. The story could be true or – with enemy forces closing in on their positions – it could be a Russian trap. They refused to help until they could confirm the soldier's identity. He was eventually able to pull out his wounded friend himself.
Hours later, once they were sure they were Ukrainian, they treated the wounded soldier's leg, gave him food and cigarettes, and helped him evacuate.
When it was their turn to leave, they realized that Russian forces would soon take over their command posts, so they destroyed all sensitive materials: personal documents, orders, maps, handwritten notes with coordinates, shift schedules or names – even leftovers.
The Russians were at the coke plant shortly afterwards.
