Ukrainian tank commanders grow impatient as war rages on
OUTSKIRTS OF BAKHMUT,
UKRAINE>> Large snowf lakes drifted silently through the trees as two Soviet- era tanks roared to life and churned through the mud up the hill. It was daybreak on one of the last days of winter, and the tank commander and his deputy tramped through the snowchecking on themen as they readied for battle.
“The snow will give us cover,” said the commander, Poltava, explaining that Russian reconnaissance Orlan-10 drones that frequently fly over Ukrainian positions would be hampered by the weather. “We will bear it. The main thing is for our enemy to have a hard time and go home.”
Like other members of the Ukrainian military in this article, he insisted on being identified only by his code name.
Equipped with Soviet- era tanks and relying on decadesold training, Poltava, 51, and his deputy, Chancellor, 57, embody the resilience of the Ukrainian army. Trained at Ukraine’s Kharkiv Tank Institutemore than 30 years ago, they were plucked fromthe ranks of volunteers soon after Russia invaded Ukraine last year and sent to lead a tank company. They have been fighting ever since. Their training has kept themen alive and their unit operational month after month. They even expanded their arsenal with a Russian T-72 tank captured in a battle in the northeastern city of Kharkiv, although they expressed frustration with the slow pace of deliveries of promised Western battle tanks that would enable themto take the battle to the Russians.
“We need Western equipment so that we can go out at night,” Chancellor said, “and good communication and good optics. Here, it’s all old.”
In a tough war of attrition, though, their personal history casts light on the broader strength of the Ukrainian resistance.
The two men graduated from the tank academy within a few years of each other — Chancellor in 1988 and Poltava in 1992. It was a tumultuous time, with the breakup of the Soviet Union and more than a dozen former Communist countries and Soviet republics gaining independence, and neither continued his military career for long.
Poltava recalled a definingmoment when he was a young officer serving under contract with the Russian military in Georgia. During the Russian intervention to annex the Abkhazia region, he was approached by an older Georgianmanwho asked himwhat he was doing there.
“I’m standing there, a young officer, and I say, ‘ I’m defending the motherland,’” Poltava recalled. “He looks into my eyes. ‘Son, where is your motherland? Where are you from?’ I say, ‘ I’m from Kharkiv, Ukraine.’ And he says, ‘ And this is Poti, Georgia.’ And he spits in my face. It was like a smack. I was taken aback. And then I thought, ‘Really, what am I doing here?’”
Later, he was deployed tomozdok in the Caucasus republic of North Ossetia, which Russia used as a base for itswars in Chechnya.
“I was tricked,” Poltava said. “They said I was appreciated as an officer, and sent for promotion, but I realized that it was not my thing.” He left and returned home to Ukraine.
Fighting against the Russian army has made him reflect on themany untruths he was taught at the Soviet military college, including that Soviet tankswere superior to the American Abrams tanks.
“Now we are facing them, and we see it’s like heaven and Earth,” Poltava said. “And we understood how much they brainwashed us.”
“We were always told that the U.S. and NATO were our enemy, and it turned out the opposite,” he said. “Those who we thought were our friends stabbed us in the back.”
Chancellor said he had never believed the Soviet propaganda. Both sides of his family had been oppressed under Stalin; his grandfather on his father’s side was executed in 1939, and his mother and her family were dispossessed and deported from Poland in 1945. His parents built a life in Luhansk, in eastern Ukraine, where Chancellor grew up, but they lost their home in 2014, when Russian-backed separatists seized control of the area.
“My parentswere orphans, and now Russia wants to destroy my family again,” he said. When Russia invaded Ukraine, he left his job in Germany, sent his four children abroad for safety and signed up to fight. “That’s my story,” he shrugged, “but everyone has a story like this.”
The two commanders were grateful for Western support to Ukraine in the war against Russia, but they are still struggling with the Soviet- era equipment, which needs frequent maintenance. This month, one of their tanks, returning from battle in the evening, stalled repeatedly, belching white smoke. And they had to buy their own radios, which theywear strapped to their chests.