The Journey of a Combat Medic on Ukraine’s Front Lines

From Living a Normal Life to Waking Up To The Sound Of Bombs

Iordan grew up in the vibrant seaside city of Odesa, a place as full of character as the people who call it home. Diverse and culturally rich, Odesa influenced him both visually and creatively. Just before the full-scale invasion, he was living the typical life of a guy in his mid-twenties—managing a clothing store and working on his own fashion brand. Like many in Ukraine, he hadn’t been deeply involved in politics before February 24, 2022. But when the war began, he chose to take action rather than run away.

“On the night of February 23, I had a sense that something was about to happen,” Iordan recalls. At 4:15 AM, he was jolted awake by the sound of explosions near the port. “I remember standing up, my knees shaking, grabbing some water, and telling myself to get it together.” By morning, he was moving through the city, filling up his car, grabbing food, and helping his friends and family. 

 “At night President Zelenskyy issued a decree about volunteer fighters. By the next morning, I was already at the recruitment office,” he says, adding how bizarre it felt to go to enlist in the army in his fashionable clothes.

“I Couldn’t Let Anyone Enter My Home Without Permission”

Despite his lack of formal military training, Iordan felt compelled to join the fight. For him, this decision wasn’t driven by some abstract ideology—it was deeply personal. He wasn’t fighting for vague values; he was fighting for his loved ones, for the people of Ukraine, and the sanctity of their homes.

"I just understood that I would not allow anyone to enter my home without my permission. Because if I allow it today, then anyone, whether Ukrainian or Russian, could enter my grandmother’s home, or my future daughter’s, or my mother’s, who is no longer here. And that thought tore me apart from the inside, literally.”

Iordan didn’t tell his family he was heading to the military enlistment office. It was only after he had been assigned to a brigade that he finally shared the news. His grandmother called him, her voice filled with concern, asking repeatedly, “Where are you?” At first, he tried to dodge the question, simply saying he was busy. But eventually, he answered honestly, telling her that he was in the process of joining the army. There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before she spoke again, “You’re making your choice. Just know, your mother would be proud of you.” 

With no prior military experience, Iordan relied on his uncompleted medical degree which would still prove invaluable on the front lines. “I wasn’t a soldier, but I knew I wasn’t afraid of blood. During anatomy classes in college, I was the only one who could eat in front of a professor performing an autopsy on a corpse,” he recalls. This toughness made him a fit for the role of combat medic, where the stakes were often life and death. 

First Missions in Kherson

Iordan’s first experiences as a combat medic in the Kherson region were intense and demanding. His first mission took him there in early May 2022. “I was the only medic with the unit,” he recalls, “just me and the guys.” The first casualty he treated wasn’t even from his own unit but from a neighboring platoon. “They brought their platoon commander to me on an improvised stretcher made from three sticks tied together with his torn jacket,” Iordan remembers. “They carried him three kilometers, just hoping there’d be a medic who could help. When they laid him down and asked if I could do something, I had to look at them and say, ‘No, I can’t. He’s been gone for a while.’”

After that, things moved quickly. “The wounded don’t want you to spend a lot of time on them—they just want to get from point A to point B,” he explains. Iordan learned to prioritize speed and organization, finding ways to get soldiers to safety with the limited resources available.

One of the most memorable evacuations was his platoon commander, Zmiiy, who was hit by grenade shrapnel. “He was full of shrapnel, like a sieve,” Iordan says. “I wrapped him up like a mummy, just trying to keep everything in place.” With no vehicles available, he and his team had to carry Zmiiy through four kilometers of forest, crossing a river and open fields along the way. “I stuffed him with antibiotics because he had so many open wounds, and I knew infection was a risk.” They were under mortar fire for much of the evacuation, but after five hours, they finally managed to get him to safety. “He survived,” Iordan says simply. “And he’s still serving.”

Reflecting on those first missions, Iordan says, “It felt like I was playing a game, like moving through levels. That mindset helped me stay calm.”

“I Don’t Grieve. I Just Keep Moving”

Iordan admits that dealing with loss on the battlefield often left him feeling angry and restless. From time to time, he would go over every detail in his head, replaying the events like a film, trying to pinpoint if he’d made a mistake. “I’d go over every move, trying to understand if I was at fault or not. It was important for me to know.” He’s realistic about the possibility of error but hasn’t found a case where he can definitively say he was responsible for someone’s death. “I don’t want to sound like I’m perfect,” he says. “Maybe I’ve just been lucky enough that no one has died because of my mistake.”

Yet, losses come fast on the battlefield, often without time to process or reflect. “A comrade of mine was killed in an artillery strike a few days ago. Two others were wounded, but he didn’t make it. It was really hard. We had seen each other just half an hour before. And it’s out of your control. There’s nothing you can do for him. And you still have to keep doing your job. There’s no time to mourn. It’s a kind of delayed reaction. You don’t realize how delayed it is. And that’s the problem,” he reflects.

“You don’t have time to grieve,” he explains. “There’s always another wounded person waiting for help, and every second counts.” This pragmatic approach is crucial for his own survival and mental health, keeping him focused on the next task. But he knows the weight of these experiences builds up over time. To cope, he’s relied on therapy, which has given him a space to process and unload the accumulated trauma. “Therapy isn’t a luxury—it’s a necessity. I don’t just recommend it for soldiers; I think everyone needs it.”

Holding Onto Humanity Amid Chaos

When Iordan saves someone on the battlefield, he describes the feeling as passing a “level” in a game. “It’s true,” he says. “I feel like I’ve moved forward, that I can go further. It’s a support, that experience—it gives you something to hold on to when you realize you can make a difference.” Over time, some of the soldiers he treated have reached out to express their gratitude. “Just last week, I got a message from a guy I’d treated,” he says. “He reminded me of the situation, saying, ‘I remember how you helped me, even though you thought I might not make it.’”

As he grew into his role, taking on more responsibility and eventually running a medical point, Iordan insisted on discipline and structure, knowing that these could mean the difference between life and death. In a recent message, a soldier thanked him on Defender’s Day, saying, “You probably don’t remember me, but I got an even worse injury later, and I’ve since become a medic, inspired by you and your team.” 

For Iordan, the war is not simply a series of battles; it’s a confrontation with the values that define him. Indifference is something he cannot tolerate. “I’ve been told that indifference is the paralysis of the soul. And it’s true,” he says. This commitment to empathy and action has driven him to reject apathy at every turn, both within himself and among those around him. Yet he is careful about forming deep personal connections, aware of the toll it takes when close friends don’t return from missions. “There’s one friend I would give anything to protect,” he admits. “He’s like a younger brother to me, even though he’s older.” 

The Impact of Drones on Battlefield Evacuations

The role of medics on the battlefield has grown significantly more challenging with the rise of drone surveillance and attack capabilities. Iordan explains that the airspace is now fully “under control of the war,” meaning that nearly everything is monitored from above. “It’s not just planes anymore; it’s drones of all kinds,” he says, describing how these aerial threats have limited the medics’ ability to move with the flexibility they had in early 2022. Back then, evacuations could sometimes be drawn out, allowing medics to stabilize patients and move them slowly by foot. Now, that extra time has all but disappeared. “Everything flies over you, anything can see you,” he explains, making the evacuation process not only harder but incredibly dangerous.

The constant threat from drones has forced medics to rely more heavily on nighttime evacuations, despite the added challenges of darkness and limited visibility. This shift, while necessary for safety, also means that wounded soldiers must often wait for treatment until conditions allow for safer movement. “Some of these soldiers can’t afford to wait, but we have no choice,” Iordan notes. “You can’t risk exiting with a wounded person in daylight under constant drone surveillance.”

Due to these challenges, medics had to adapt. Iordan mentions “kamikaze medics” who transport the wounded on motorbikes or ATVs, weaving through fields and dangerous terrain under drone surveillance. “These guys drive across dragon’s teeth and whatever else the Russians set up, risking their lives to get the injured back to safety. They’re truly unique; they deserve a monument while they’re still alive.”

Drone technology has even expanded to include ground drones capable of transporting the wounded, though this remains dangerous and far from a complete solution. In areas like Zaporizhzhia, the sheer intensity of drone monitoring has made standard evacuations nearly impossible, with troops relying on strategic planning to evade drone detection. “We planned corridors so carefully,” Iordan explains, “that even from the sky, it was hard for them to track us.”

The limitations imposed by drones have a direct impact on morale, he adds. Knowing that an evacuation may not be possible can weigh heavily on soldiers. “Our guys would go into battle knowing they’d be saved if things went wrong,” he says. “But with the skies controlled the way they are now, it’s hard to guarantee that anymore. It’s not like artillery or mortars where you can predict it—it’s just a buzzing sound, and you have to hide.”

Focus on Duty and the Future

Iordan’s approach to death is pragmatic. He’s already prepared a will and arranged his affairs to protect his loved ones from additional burdens should he not make it home. “Death doesn’t scare me—being captured does. That’s the one thing I don’t want to think about,” he admits. But his focus remains on living, on pushing forward, and on fighting for the Ukraine he envisions.

Looking to the future, Iordan finds strength in the new waves of soldiers joining the front. “They’re young, passionate, sometimes too confident, but they remind me why we keep going,” he says. For him, the goal isn’t just victory on the battlefield but building a Ukraine that is stronger, resilient, and free from the threat of invasion. “We need to be different from the enemy—not only in language and tactics but in purpose.”

A Call to Stand Together

As we honor Ukraine’s defenders this year, Iordan’s story brings into sharp focus the incredible strength and sacrifice of those who serve. His story is one of grit, pragmatism, and resilience, not of idealism or glory. It’s a reminder that Ukraine’s defenders are real people facing impossible choices every day, standing on the front lines of a battle that impacts not just their homeland, but the principles of freedom and sovereignty worldwide.

Saint Javelin is committed to amplifying their voices and supporting their efforts. In turbulent political times, as shifting priorities and global crises threaten to divert attention, we must remain steadfast in our support for Ukraine. This isn’t simply about aiding another country in need—this is about honoring a universal commitment to the freedoms we often take for granted. Ukraine’s defenders are not only protecting their own territory but standing as a shield for democratic values.

These men and women have given everything to protect their land, their families, and their future. In doing so, they are defending principles that resonate far beyond their borders. The free world owes them our support—not just in spirit, but in action. They should not stand alone in this, and we all have a role to play in making sure their voices are heard and their efforts are sustained. The least we can do is offer tangible support by donating, sharing their stories, and amplifying the voices of those who continue to fight against overwhelming odds.