Diary of a Female Soldier (entry five): Moving shelter is never easy to do

This week, Nia - a Belarusian lawyer turned Ukrainian soldier - writes about the dangerous process of moving from one shelter to another along the front line.

by NIA

I haven’t written for a while. Our team was reassigned to a new area of responsibility. We had to look for a new place to operate. The situation there is more complicated. And more dangerous. We’re more exposed now.

The airspace above us is easier for the enemy to observe, and the sky over their territory is under tighter control. We needed to find higher ground and build ourselves a shelter there. Under constant observation. Not an easy task.

This is how we went out on reconnaissance.

First, we studied topographic maps. Then we got in touch with a neighboring unit, they said there might already be a decent dugout in a dense treeline. It sounded like it could work for us.

Driving there the first time wasn’t safe. We didn’t know the roads. So we went on foot.
The vehicle dropped us off about two kilometers from the point. From there, we moved on our own.

We walked along the treeline, monitoring the device for enemy drones. If it triggers, we can see the same feed the enemy sees. It helps us understand where they are, how close, whether a strike is likely.

Then we reached a field. Open. Bare. We had to cross it.

Fast. No cover.

I was carrying about thirty kilos: gear, equipment, everything. I knew I had to sprint. But I’m not a runner. I have endurance, but running has never been my strength. As a kid, I swam. I’ve always been in good shape. But running… it’s always been my weak point.

We started. Halfway across the field, the detector went off. That means the enemy is close.

I see the feed. The drone is somewhere across the field from us. We need to move faster. Get to the treeline. Now.

And that’s when I realize I can’t run. I just… can’t.

Blood rushes to my head. My pulse pounds in my ears. For a second, I think I might black out. My body doesn’t respond.

Diesel notices immediately.
“Come on, just a bit more. Push through - we’ll rest after.”

I move like I’m in a dream.
My legs feel heavy, unresponsive.
My mind goes quiet.

I force myself forward. One step. Another.

And then - the trees. We reach the treeline, drop down, take cover. We sit. Wait.

The detector goes silent. The drone has moved away.

We can keep going.

Another five hundred meters to the shelter. Going back would take longer. The vehicle has already moved further away to stay hidden.

On the way back, the detector triggered a few more times. But we stayed close to the treeline, always ready to take cover.

Nia in her new bunker.

All in all, the day was…not bad.

We weren’t hit.
We found a place to work.
We tested ourselves.

Physically - close to the limit.
Mentally - too.
But we held.

NIA is a Ukrainian service woman of Belarusian origin who left her comfortable life as a corporate lawyer to go to fight for freedom in Ukraine. “I serve in a war where real life doesn’t stop. I work with drones and write about what remains human when everything else becomes operational.”