(short story based on real events)

The last February day in north Ukrainian woodland was worried and wintry; the weather responded adequately to the atrocious and wacky war approaching Kyiv all of a sudden.

A Territorial Defense platoon, formed from local farmers just two days before in a hurry-scurry way, looked around the positions they were ordered to take to stop the advance of the hostile army. They took up positions at a country crossroad hidden in the depths of the fir and pine forest.

The platoon commander, Vasil, a heavy-weight leader of a tractor brigade in his early fifties, called all the men to a tiny forest turf to kick around the order of their Captain, who said through a walkie-talkie that a tank company of the enemy, somewhere from 12-14 tanks and several armored personnel carriers, would approach their positions 30 or 40 minutes later…

“We have only twenty AKM machine guns and eight hunting rifles. Ouch! I just forgot – and nine anti-tank ‘Mukhas’… ” Vasil made a pause.

“Who said that ‘Mukha’ is an antitank weapon? It is a sort of small rocket-propelled grenade ready to hit the armor less than 375mm. As for the tank T-72, it has composite armor somewhere from 500 to 600 mm. So ‘Mukha’ can just only frighten the tank crew a bit, not more,” Petro, a big-shoulder truck driver in his late forties, spat down on the dirty land with irritation.

“The front part – yeah, as for the tank sides and tracks, ‘Mukha’ can be effective,” Vasil spoke again, “Petro, not only you served in the Soviet Army. I did my military service as a Sergeant thirty years ago too…”

Grisha, a grumpy bear-looking farmer with two 20-year-old sons, swaying an old spade nervously from one side to another, joined the conversation, “What else did the Captain say?”

“He said that we should try to use a ‘hit-and-run’ tactics, to start fighting with tanks, using Molotov cocktails and ‘Mukhas,’ and thirty minutes later to run away in different directions, because… ”

“Because they are the Regular Army and we are a bunch of farmers with one tractor and three pickups, right?”

“No, because we still have not filled the glass bottles with fuel and cloth fuses…”

“I have an idea,” Grisha stopped shaking his spade, “Together with my sons, we will take three chainsaws and three spades, three ‘Mukhas,’ three AKMs, and move towards the tank column to arrange an ambush, from pine trees. I know one hell hollow five kilometers from here. It looks fully vulpine and can delay them a bit… As for the other guys, you will have more time to get prepared for the tank attack… ”

Vasil raised his grey bows, “Aren`t you cracking a joke?”

“I am serious, we gotta go-go, and immediately! I will take my pickup…” Seeing the sparkles of confusion in the eyes of his friends, Grisha took three machine guns and three ‘Mukhas’ nodding to his sons to join him.

“No,” Vasil bit his lower lip.

“What do you mean by your ‘No’?” Grisha stopped for a while.

“We cant give you three ‘Mukhas,’ just only one. Who knows what it will be in an hour or two.” Seeing embarrassment in the eyes of the father and his sons, Vasil stretched out his hand and gave a walkie-talkie to Grisha, “Its for you. Besides, take the instruction for ‘Mukha’; read it along the way. My nick will be ‘Pitchfork,’ your nick will be ‘Spade 1’ and your sons ‘Spade 2’ and ‘Spade 3,’ OK?”

“Well, we should hurry up!” Grisha and his sons ran to their oldie car, started the engine, and rushed towards uncertainty and unexpectedness.

Ten minutes later, three men with raving chainsaws started crashing a dozen of branchy trees to do a ‘big booty bush’ for the foe tanks. The frenzied family work was finished by the frightened voice of one son, “Dad, Tanks!”

Not saying a word, the farmers switched off their chainsaws and hid not far from their pickup, not forgetting to pray to the Virgin Mary …

The column of Russian tanks pulled over and aimed their barrels at an obscure obstacle…Soon a military man appeared in a hatch of the third tank… He looked around and ordered through his tank headset, “We turn around to seek another way. Khokhly have got American weapons recently, I mean Javelins and Nlaws. This ambush could look like Verka Serduchka`s trap, but turn out to be a damn spot with dozens of anti-tank launchers.”

Not believing his eyes, Grisha and his sons looked as the tank column slowly making a U-turn to disappear somewhere in the middle of the thick forest. For a while they stood with open mouths being charmed by this tank miracle until they heard the crackling of the walkie-talkie, “Spade One, Spade One, I am Pitchfork. Report the situation, report the situation!”

“Roger! I am Spade 1, we did it. Yeah, we did it with Spade 2 and Spade 3. The tanks went away! ”

“Really? Are you Spade 1?”

“Yeah, I am Spade 1. We stopped the tanks!”

“And who is Roger?”

“Roger? Um…That is Jolly Roger.”

“One of our hunters? Take him, your sons, and come to see us. I am Pitchfork! ”

In half an hour, all Terrestrial Defense soldiers got together at a crunchy forest campfire to discuss their first fight, to drink hot tea and to eat the sandwiches bought by their wives and sisters. Having got the explanation of the radio code word ‘Roger,’ meaning ‘I got it,’ they gave Grisha a new nick, ‘Jolly Roger.’

Two days after, after the arrival of their Captain, Grisha was informally awarded with a trophy semi-automatic pistol TT-30. The Captain said that these Russian tanks got lost in Kyiv forests and it gave the possibility to stop the advance of the enemy until the arrival of the Regular Ukrainian Army…