Three Stories About War. Olga Bashey 'Kroha' ('The Tiny')

On Volunteer Day, we invited paramedic and volunteer Olga ‘Kroha’ Bashey to tell her three stories about the war.

In 2014, Kroha went to save the lives of Ukrainian soldiers. Olga returned from the front lines in 2018, but in 2022, in the first days of full-scale invasion, she joined the forces again as a volunteer paramedic and continues to save the lives of wounded soldiers to this day.

Read about luck, true friendship, and death in war in Kroha’s own words.

The story about luck

There was one story in 2014. We were working near Lysychansk and Severodonetsk. The commander called, saying, “Kroha, I have the wounded, come and take them.” I took a driver, callsign “Lucky,” and we rushed with all our might, hurrying because the commander said there was a serious injury. Towards Lysychansk, the Russian aggressor destroyed bridges. On the side of that bridge, there was a decent-sized hole from a mine explosion. We were driving in the dark at high speed. And when we got the wounded and were driving him to the hospital in Popasna, my driver Lucky (Denys Blokhin) said to me: “Kroha, look at that hole!” I was shocked because of what I’d realized. Just 20-30 minutes ago, we drove over the bridge and didn’t see that hole.

I just smiled and said, “How is that possible? There couldn’t have been such a hole; we would have fallen through!” And he replies, “Oh no, Kroha, we were just flying so fast that we flew past it and didn’t notice.”

The fact we didn’t fall through is a miracle of God (that day I was once again convinced that the Almighty is with us and with Ukraine). I am a Muslim, and even before accepting Islam, I understood that everything I do on the front lines is aided by the Almighty. When I was scared by the wounds I saw, I would say: “God, everything is in your hands and by your will.”

The story about death

Since the beginning of the full-scale war, many of my friends, battle buddies, and soldiers I saved in 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, have died. Each story like this brings tears to my eyes. One of them is about Ihor Zinich, nicknamed “Psycho”.

He was mobilized in 2014, as a paramedic of the 81st Brigade, 122nd battalion. I met him on December 15, 2014, during a unit rotation. They came to replace the 90th battalion of the 82nd brigade, and the next morning Ihor was supposed to go to the New Terminal of Donetsk Airport. Someone directed him to me. He came, looked at my car, and liked it. He said, “My God, Kroha, you’ve got so much in here!” I said, “Of course, it’s an ambulance, it should have everything.” And I asked him, “What about you? Do you have a backpack at least? What’s in the backpack?” He said, “Yes, Kroha, they issued me one,” and showed it. We went through that backpack and added the missing items because the backpacks we got from foreign aid were not fit for our conditions. They thought we were in an anti-terrorist operation, but we were in a real war. We were not surrounded by buildings, we were in an open battlefield, forests, and plains. Together with my civilian doctor friend, Adonin Denis (by the way, he is currently with the Command of Medical Forces), we packed his backpack, I gave him my phone number, we had radios, and stayed in touch all the time. Ihor would bring me many wounded, tell me what kind of injuries they’ve got, and how severe they were. He would tell me how they were holding up. During the battles for Donetsk Airport, Ihor brought me more than 100 wounded soldiers!

When Rymar received a severe, mine-induced facial injury (his lower jaw was torn off, his neck was mutilated, and everything he could breathe with was damaged), in those conditions – under fire – Ihor intubated him and “held on” for almost a day until he was handed back over at the exchange. The enemies didn’t want the military to take Rimar, they wanted it to be civilians or volunteers. And that’s what happened. I picked him up at the checkpoint of the Russian occupiers.

When we brought Rymar to the hospital in Bakhmut, the doctor asked me who intubated him. I replied, “The paramedic at the terminal – Ihor Zinich.” Then he asked again, “Are you sure he’s a paramedic? The job is done colossally. Golden hands this person has.” He has a bright soul and God-given hands. So young, yet his experience is being studied. I really wanted him to become a doctor, to send him to medical school to study.

When the “last” rotation arrived, there was another medic there, but Zinich refused to leave, saying he would stay with the guys. And then the cover was blown up. The other medic left with the others. They took many wounded with them, but one wasn’t brought. I asked him, “Where’s Zinich?” He said, “Ihor is injured – legs, spine, head” (these were all excuses). “We couldn’t bring him.” I ran to the commander to get people – to go to the terminal. But the commander said everything had already been blown up and there was nowhere else to go. The boys would walk out on foot. Some were walking all day carrying the wounded in sleeping bags. It turned out that Zinich had saved everyone, but they couldn’t save him.

Story of a Friend

No matter how tough or deadly a war may be, friendships form, hearts and souls open. You meet people who become so close to you that even your own kin cannot be closer.

I have a battle buddy, a friend who can come to help at any moment. His name is Pal Ivanych, but they call him Vedmedyk (Little Bear). He used to be a commander of the 82nd brigade, but he’s serving in a different unit now. He’s the kind of friend who, whenever I call him and say I have a question or a problem, will leave everything to come and help me.

He’s truly like a brother to me. By the way, all the Vedmedy (Bears) from the 95th brigade consider me their little sister because I’m only 1.55 meters tall, and my call sign is Kroha (The Tiny).

I met Vedmedyk in 2014 on the way to Shakhtarsk, both our units were heading that way. Their unit was supposed to receive equipment at the station in Slovyansk, delivered by train. They were sitting at that station all dirty. We also arrived there. I remember giving them candies, and cookies. And they were like, “Little one, what’s your name?” And I said, “Kroha.” Because Hottabych, my comrade, had already started calling me that. And when they climbed out of their APC (Armored Personnel Carrier), they turned out to be so tall and huge. Especially Vedmedyk and Grizzly. So they thought then that my name was Kroha.

Later on, Hottabych and I were waiting for the wounded in Debaltseve, when their APCs arrived and Vedmedyk’s commander jumped out of the APC and said to me in a serious voice, “Little one, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you wearing a bulletproof vest?” And I said, “Excuse me, but what separatist would dare to shoot at such beauty?” And they burst into laughter. We giggled, and then they continued on their mission. By the way, we went to Shakhtarsk together because the task was to pick up the wounded. And since then, Vedmedyk has been like a guardian angel to me. Wherever we were, Shakhtarsk, Pisky, Debaltseve, he always shouted, “Cover the little one, protect the little one!” That’s what he calls me, “little one.”