His story made the rounds in the newspapers, We were still within what was new. Volodymyr Androshchuk was twenty-two, His future seemed bright and full of promise. He had represented Ukraine At the European Championships in two thousand twenty, Where he finished sixth in the modern pentathlon. Before that, in Ukraine, He had won medals in athletics events And at the two thousand nineteen national decathlon championship. Volunteering for the army, He found a comrade-in-arms, An athlete like himself. Between them grew complicity, A solid friendship. They shared the same first name: Volodymyr Dziubynskyi and Volodymyr Androshchuk, United by their mutual love of sport. “We knew everything about each other And helped each other in everything,” Said Dziubynskyi, the survivor, To the journalists, A former rower of twenty-eight years. They trained together in the army, And their bond grew stronger As they faced close combat side by side. Androshchuk saved his friend’s life twice: In December two thousand twenty-two, When they came face to face with a Russian soldier In a trench, And he shot him from behind his friend’s back. And a second time, When fierce fighting raged Around the eastern city of Bakhmut, On January twenty-fifth, two thousand twenty-three. Their unit, the Ninety-Fifth Air Assault Brigade, Had been surrounded By Russian forces Who bombarded them with tanks and mortars. After his death, Vova became his shield, As Dziubynskyi draped his friend’s body over his back, While bullets kept raining down. His friend Dziubynskyi said: “We were very much alike In stubbornness and strength.” “I shared my bullets with him, Taught him how to shoot, How to move through the forest, And how to storm a position.” You do not learn love for your homeland, You live it, When you sacrifice your youth, When you die in distress Under fire in the trenches. You cannot measure the weight of your destiny. Vova remained there, The other made it out, Physically surviving, With one leg amputated And a mind haunted by war. How many more battles will it take, How many skirmishes, How many deadly assaults, Before the invader decides To respect borders, And the lives of the young of his own country, And those of a proud nation that defends itself, Proud of its youth, Its ancestors, And its justified cause.
