The next post was supposed to be a continuation of the previous one, about medicine or about our unit, but I didn’t manage to finish writing it, so today I’ll tell you about my BZVP (базова загальновійськова підготовка - basic general military training). In short - the most useless waste of time in my entire life. This text will be packed with genius stories and decisions, all characters and situations are REAL.
PRIORITIES
The first thing we ran into upon arriving at the facility was a complete lack of understanding of what we actually need to be taught and what we fucking don’t need. Sometimes some of the so-called instructors had flashes of intelligence and understood what would be useful to us and what wouldn’t. For example, we don’t fucking need to know how to make a tourniquet out of a belt from your pants if there’s no regular tourniquet. You might ask why this is unnecessary? Well, because this is a Soviet program translated into Ukrainian and shitty outdated at this point, designed for that time and those technologies, where the density and material of the uniform and the belts themselves were different. And it’s like that in everything, from psychology to tactics - the fucking Soviet shit just oozes out. By the way, this is what the classrooms look like:
Everything is new, but due to the cheapness it is already wobbling, falling apart, etc.
Second, we found out that we have more lessons on patriotic education and history than fucking lessons on medicine, which we never even managed to complete. That is, ending up on the 1st, 2nd or 3rd line of the front, it is more important for you to know who Bohdan Khmelnytsky is than how the fuck to act in case of a chemical burn and poisoning. And they also took an hour and a half of medicine away from us because some asshole in a cassock showed up to lecture us on how important it is NOT TO WASTE TIME AND HOW TIME IS THE MOST PRECIOUS THING IN LIFE… you’re the one fucking taking this time away from us, you idiot in a skirt.
The third one was a gender equality lecture. Oh yeah, because that’s some fucking essential, must-have knowledge. Apparently, even more important than medicine.
When I asked, “What the fuck do we need this for when everything is already covered by the Constitution?”
They gave me some bullshit along the lines of, “So women can hold positions traditionally held by men.” To which I replied, “But they fucking do already. Why the extra legal bullshit when the supreme law of the land, aka the Constitution, already guarantees it?” At that point, I got no real answer. Just some vague “Well, you see, that’s how it is…” kind of response.
Then, the next morning, while we were discussing current issues with the officer responsible for personnel affairs before class, he went, “Guys, you’re fucking behaving badly. Spitting, swearing, and all that. And by the way, there are ladies among you, and they might find it unpleasant. So behave yourselves, be polite, let them go first, give up your seats for them, and so on.” (There are three women here, by the way. They have separate showers, separate sleeping arrangements, etc. So much for fucking equality.)
I didn’t bother asking any more questions. I just realized the whole place is a goddamn circus, with this level of disorganization and people working at cross-purposes on absolutely every level.
And I thought to myself, “Why the fuck should 170 men have to bend over backwards for three women in ways that go against the Constitution?” With that thought in mind, I changed exactly fuck all about my behaviour.
Fourth: in the military, you’ll spend a ridiculous amount of time doing shit you’ll never actually learn to do properly. Sweeping, mopping floors, digging holes, making your bed… You’ll do this crap several times a day, and still never fucking learn. Why? Because you don’t actually need any of it, and it’s not going to do you a damn bit of good.
The beds deserve a whole fucking section of their own.
This is some goddamn Soviet-era bullshit that should’ve been buried decades ago. The bed frame itself is just a bed frame, whatever. But the fucking mattress looks like it’s been used exclusively by people who shit themselves, pissed themselves, and puked their guts out on it. Then there’s the godforsaken blanket, which is so ancient it literally sheds bits of itself. Nobody has ever fucking aired it out or shaken the dust out of it, so the very first time you make your bed in the barracks, a goddamn cloud of dust rises into the air.
And hanging off the edge of the bed is a ridiculously tiny waffle-weave towel. Its one redeeming quality is that it almost dries overnight. But good fucking luck getting yourself properly dry with that pathetic little rag. And that, as we’ll see later, is going to have consequences.
The underside of the top bunk has this lovely little contraption that you keep smacking your head against. Another fucking stroke of genius.
Fifth… notice anything missing? WEAPONS, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. Actual weapons training. They’ve left that shit until the final week and a half. So the one thing you should’ve been learning from day one, right after basic medical training, is the thing you’ll get the least instruction in. Especially hands-on practice.
Now, fair enough if you’re someone like me who already knows how to strip a rifle, clean it, load it, aim, shoot, and all that jazz. But, for fuck’s sake, people like that make up maybe 10% of the group. And then there are those who were so fucking nervous they were actually afraid to fire a weapon…
BARRACKS
Earlier, you saw the barracks where those of us supposedly here for training were staying. Now let me show you the old barracks, where the guys who are about to be sent out on combat missions are still living and sleeping. I get it, technically, they have all the basic necessities: food, water, a bed, and heating. But for fuck’s sake…
TOILETS, SHOWERS, AND ALL THAT SHIT
Let’s start with the fact that there are 170 of us in the barracks, sleeping in bunk beds, with just 12 washbasins, 2 foot-washing sinks, 6 toilet cubicles, and 4 urinals.
Now, here’s the kicker: the neighboring building, which is identical in size and houses the classrooms, has exactly the same number of toilets and urinals. But you can only use those AFTER you’ve made your bed, washed your face, and sorted yourself out for the day.
And once you leave the barracks, you’re not allowed back in until 6 or 7 PM.
You get 20 minutes for your entire morning routine: washing your face, shaving, brushing your teeth, and using the toilet. Let’s do the math. 20 × 60 = 1,200 seconds. Divide that by 170 people, and you get 7 seconds per person for EVERYTHING. Obviously, you can’t even make it from your bed to the washbasin in that time.
Now let’s see what the military regulations have to say. Regulations that are, frankly, at least 50% fucking obsolete because times have changed, technology has moved on, and so on. According to the regulations, every 30 servicemen are supposed to have 6 washbasins, 3 toilets, and 3 urinals. Let’s calculate the shortfall: for 170 people, we’re missing roughly 10 toilet cubicles, 12 urinals, and 22 washbasins. And nobody gives a flying fuck whether you managed to finish your morning routine or not.
Then there’s the whole fucking saga with the showers. They actually exist, and surprisingly, there are almost enough shower stalls for everyone. The catch? You’re only allowed to shower on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, according to a schedule. Except that, three weeks in, there’s STILL NO FUCKING SCHEDULE. So everyone just showers whenever they can, if they can. Laundry works the same way.
Personally, I wash my socks, underwear, and T-shirts by hand with soap before bed. I don’t wash my uniform, and I have absolutely no intention of starting.
In addition to the shower, about 100 meters lower there is another building that for some fucking reason is called a bathhouse, although there is exactly fuck-all of a bathhouse there. So after the workday, fully in uniform, in combat boots, sticky, stinking and blooming, you go wash with soap that was not issued and an issued towel. You undress, put on slippers and… good luck guessing the water temperature because of the cheapest mixers. Having somehow washed and wiped yourself so that you are still half wet, you put back on your clean, stinking and blooming uniform with combat boots and wet as fuck you haul ass back to the barracks… Temperature outside is about 17, we are in the forest and it’s humid here, cold wind and voila, all 170 people have something to tell the doctor, fucking genius.
Remember I said that the same number of toilets (only toilets) is in the building with the classrooms? Well, first they told us there is no fucking reason to go there at all, and then when everyone had already started going there one way or another, it turned out that there are no buckets for toilet paper (toilet paper is nowhere at all, you bring your own), so the question is in one toilet there are trash buckets and in the second there are none… why? - because.
SCHEDULES, RULES, AND ALL THAT SHIT
Either they don’t exist, they’re supposedly going to be ready by this evening, or there are several different versions floating around.
Here are two examples of daily schedules. According to one, morning PT ends at 6:30. According to the other, it ends at 6:40. This kind of fucking incompetence and failure to follow their own rules is everywhere you look. But somehow, YOU’RE the one who’ll get blamed, because apparently you just didn’t understand the instructions properly.
Here’s another example of how well the rules are enforced: during our first week, we were told we could keep tea mugs in our bedside lockers. Then we were told we couldn’t. Then we could, but only if they were clean and had no spoon in them. Then it was supposedly better not to keep them there at all…
Water is pretty much the same story, except this one gets even better. If you have less than half a bottle of water left in your locker or in the classroom next to your desk, there’s a good chance someone will fucking throw it away. And then you’ll get a dressing-down about what a careless slob you are and how you clearly have no respect for order.
When I pointed out, “For fuck’s sake, the guys on the front line are making drinking water out of their own piss and drinking from puddles, and you lot seriously think it’s okay to waste this much perfectly good water?” I was told, “That’s just how it fucking has to be.” In other words, they didn’t actually give me an answer.
MEDICAL TRAINING
This was by far the most interesting and useful part of the entire basic military training course, because this is knowledge that could save your life in everyday situations too, assuming you can even call living under shelling “everyday life.” But, as you’ve already read above, these were precisely the lessons they cut short to make room for all that gender equality bullshit and a bullshit artist in a dress.
Anyway, we learned how to apply a tourniquet properly to the limbs, what NOT to do, how to pack wounds with gauze and which wounds you absolutely must not pack, and what else you can try to do to save yourself or a fellow soldier.
What follows are a few stories our instructors told us. They’re horrifying when you actually stop to picture them. If you’d rather not have these images burned into your brain, skip this section.
Story 1:
A soldier’s lower jaw was blown off on the battlefield, leaving him looking like Davy Jones. Somehow, they managed to get him out and save his life. The only thing they could do on the spot was use bandages to secure what was left of his face so it wouldn’t flop around from side to side, then get him to a hospital. He survived.
Story 2: A soldier stepped on a mine as soon as he got out of his combat vehicle on the way to his position, and his leg was blown off. Nobody ran out to rescue him, even though he was only a couple of metres from the vehicle. Why? Because nobody knew how many more people would end up as casualties while trying to save him. In the end, somehow, he managed to apply a tourniquet to himself and crawl back into the vehicle. He survived.
Story 3: A shell hit a trench, and the blast threw a soldier out of it. When the others reached him, he didn’t have a single scratch on him. But when they tried to pick him up, they realized his body had gone completely limp, like jelly. All his internal organs had been ruptured. The person trying to save him saw his eyes filling with blood, saw the pain in them, and watched him die…
BUREAUCRATIC FUCKWITERY
1. Your towel is hanging wrong, your bed isn’t made properly, there’s something in your locker that shouldn’t be there… For fuck’s sake, how does the quality of your bed-making affect your combat readiness? Who gives a shit whether your blanket is pulled tight or your towel is hanging from the wrong side? WHAT THE FUCK IS THE DIFFERENCE?
2. You’re not allowed to keep anything in your locker except soap, toothpaste, a toothbrush, a razor, and shaving foam. Or is that everything? Who the fuck knows.
That’s how we learned that you can keep a mug in your locker, then you can’t, then you can, but you’re not allowed to leave a spoon in it. You can keep water, then you can’t, then you can again, but not if there’s less than half a bottle left. Cigarettes, vapes, chargers, and all that shit are forbidden, then allowed, then forbidden again, then allowed again…Anyway, you get the fucking picture.
3. One of the very first things we were told at the initial briefing when we arrived was that the enemy already had all our personal data and photos. Fucking great, right?
4. During the first week alone, they asked me to confirm my personal details, including my full name, address, and phone number, about five fucking times. So apparently, there’s no proper database or record-keeping system in place. Whatever details I could get away with making up, I made up. I don’t fucking need this so-called care from my government.
5. Endless amounts of stupid bullshit, like cleaning the barracks, only for everyone to walk back in 20 minutes later and make a mess all over again. What’s the point?
IDIOCY AND REBELLION
A separate section about phones. They call them “fireflies” here, and they absolutely fucking hate them. Why? Just because, apparently. They claim it’s all about protecting your health and sleep, but in reality, it’s just another way to keep you under control.
My phone incident: Remember how you’re not allowed to keep anything in your locker? Well, because of the fucking air raid alerts, we often sleep in our uniforms, which naturally means our phones stay in our pockets.
One night, after lights-out, I remembered I still had my phone in my pocket and decided to move it under my pillow. As I moved, the screen lit up, right as this asshole of a sergeant, Pasha, was walking past. He demanded that I hand over my phone. After he repeated himself a couple of times, and just to get the prick off my back, I handed it over, saying, “I wasn’t playing games on my phone.”
The next day, after breakfast, I went up to him and asked for my phone back. This piece of shit told me he’d only return it to my platoon commander. The catch was that my platoon commander had changed that very day, and I didn’t even know who the new one was yet. So I found out, tracked him down, and went back.
The platoon commander asked Scrawny Bastard, “Why did you take his phone?”
“He was playing games on his phone after lights-out,” the prick replied.
“I wasn’t playing games on my phone. I can prove it,” I said.
Then this fucker goes, “So you’re calling me a bullshitter?”
“Well, that’s what it looks like,” I replied.
After some more bullshit, the asshole finally handed my phone back, saying, “Then don’t fucking play games on it.”
“I wasn’t playing games. Here, take a look,” I said, holding it out to him.
And that’s when this prick completely lost his shit, going off about how we’d all got some fucking nerve, acting like we could do whatever the hell we wanted. Right then, the senior sergeant walked in. We’ll call him Scrawny Bastard from now on. He saw what was going on and, naturally, took the other prick’s side without even bothering to find out what had actually happened. And this is the same guy who, along with his colleagues, spends every morning going on and on about how much they care about us, how important our problems are to them, and how we should come to them with any concerns, especially if we experience unfair or biased treatment. This is despite the fact that every morning, he and his colleagues spend ages lecturing us about how much they care about our well-being, how important our concerns are to them, and how we should always come to them if we experience any problems, especially unfair or discriminatory treatment.
So much for that fucking bullshit.
Anyway, Skinny Loser grabs the loudspeaker and starts yelling that all 170 of us have to assemble in the club building in five minutes.
And then… an air raid alert.
So off we fucking run to the bunker, whose safety is highly questionable, to put it mildly. Here are the bunker doors:
And here’s the thickness of the walls (20 cm at most) and the layer of earth on top (about 100 cm). In other words, if a shell hits this thing, the bunker is fucked.
View from inside the bunker:
Inside the bunker:
Ever since the very first air raid alert, we’ve been playing cards in the bunker, because I’m the only one who wasn’t afraid to get them out and start a game.
On the way to the bunker and while we were inside, I told everyone what had happened with my phone and that we were all being summoned to the club building because of me. My fellow soldiers’ reaction? “These fuckers have lost their fucking minds. What the fuck is wrong with them? They’re way out of line. We should go over there and beat the shit out of them. Let’s see what the fuck these assholes can do to all of us.”
And just like that, thanks to me and my little phone incident, we almost had a fucking mutiny on our hands.
And quite a few of the guys who would have joined in have combat veteran status, concussions, and other head-related issues. So when some prick decides to confiscate their phones and cut them off from their families, these guys would have made it crystal fucking clear who was out of line and who could go fuck themselves.
In one conversation, a guy whose phone they’d also tried to confiscate told me about an incident of his own. He’d been fighting since 2016. Some other sergeant-shaped piece of shit had tried to take his phone, but he refused, saying, “I swear to God, I’ll be waiting for you outside the fence.” The sergeant heard that, promptly shit himself, and ran off to complain to a captain. The captain came over, heard the whole story, and listened to the guy’s reasoning. And here’s the funny part: this very same sergeant was the one who would personally hand that soldier a rifle and ammunition during live-fire training. Anyway, the captain gave the guy his personal blessing to keep his phone.
So why are people fighting so hard to keep their phones? First, it’s their personal property. Second, they can all go fuck themselves. Third, our entire company is made up of people from towns near the front line. Every day, we read the news about our hometowns being shelled. Obviously, we want to know whether our families are safe. And no prick who’s appointed himself the chief fucking gatekeeper gets to forbid us from checking.
After the air raid alert, everyone automatically headed back to the classrooms. But Skinny Bastard saw this and started yelling again, ordering everyone to go to the club building.
And that’s where this loser finally fucking snapped. He started screaming about how great our conditions were and how we didn’t appreciate any of it. Then he brought up his own basic military training course, saying they’d made him run around while he was sick and he’d nearly fucking died. In other words, instead of giving us an example of better conditions or explaining how things could be improved, this fucking moron gave us an example of something even worse. Basically: They fucked me over, so now they get to fuck you over too. How the story of him being a loser who couldn’t stand up for himself was supposed to teach us anything, I have absolutely no idea.
In the middle of his screaming fit, I learned that someone else had also promised to beat the sergeant’s ass after completing basic training. There had already been a couple of stories like that around here.
The first: right after basic training, one recruit charged at a sergeant and kicked him in the chest with both feet, breaking his sternum.
The second: during a live-fire exercise, another recruit turned his weapon on the assholes who’d been bullying him. Depending on which version of the story you believe, he either wounded two of them or killed them.
So it never occurred to these geniuses that they themselves would be handing weapons to the very people they’d been treating like shit.
By the way, that pile in the corner over there? That’s me, wrapped up in a blanket and sleeping.
One day, when the air raid alert lasted for almost half the day, one of the sergeants brought us some apples and Ukrainian salo (cured pork fat) to snack on, even though he absolutely didn’t have to. He was the only sergeant who was honest, had a sense of humor, and didn’t give us any bullshit.
A little later, the jackass officers remembered we even existed and told the kitchen to throw something together quickly and bring it out to us.
CAMOUFLAGE
They actually do a pretty good job with camouflage here. The funny thing is, one of the rules of staying hidden was DON’T LEAVE TRASH BEHIND.
So if you spot rubbish in the woods, there are probably soldiers somewhere nearby.
Also, during air raid alerts, if there’s no bunker available, they evacuate us to another location using the exact same route every single time. Because apparently, that’s a fucking brilliant idea. The military vehicle marked PEOPLE carries civilians, while the civilian minibus with the exact same marking carries uniformed soldiers. Absolute geniuses.
SURVIVAL
During survival classes, we wandered around the woods listening to all sorts of bullshit about how, in wet weather, you should look for bark to get a fire going. And anyway, you always have paper and a lighter on you… So, let me get this straight: not a single fucking word about mushrooms, which species are edible, or how to tell them apart. Nothing. Nobody showed us a damn thing. Same story with berries.
So here are some pictures of things I found that might be edible:
And these ones look like they’re definitely not safe to eat. At least with the red ones, you need to know exactly how to prepare them before eating:
Another aspect of survival training was building and camouflaging a shelter in the woods. We were supposed to choose a spot and build a two-person shelter with a way to dry our clothes. Naturally, nobody even gave us a rough demonstration of how to build one or what to look for when choosing a location. On top of that, we were forbidden from cutting or using trees because, well, just because. We were supposed to build everything out of deadwood, which had turned into wet, rotten mush from sitting in the damp forest.
Here’s what we ended up with:
FOOD
I honestly don’t know how it’s possible to cook food this fucking badly. Sure, it looks pretty good, but almost everything is completely tasteless. And the stuff that looks fried is actually more like steamed, boiled mush. It’s fucking awful.
I’ve never eaten so much disgusting fish and beef liver in my entire life. And if they didn’t finish the liver one day, they’d use the leftovers in the next day’s dish. Fucking gross.
The only halfway decent things they served us were the salads and vegetables, generally speaking.
Sometimes they gave us fruit, but 90% of the time it was those fucking plums that make you shit five times more than usual. And this was during watermelon, melon, and apple season.
And this was the best lunch we had the entire time, purely because it came with a meat patty:
Overall, the food looks a hell of a lot better than it tastes.
SHOOTING
Oh, for fuck’s sake… this was just as much of a shitshow as everything else.
We were given three different sets of instructions for the exercise, and then, once we got to the range, everything changed twice more.
The rifle I was issued was manufactured in 2025 (Romanian, I think), and at first I was actually happy about that. Surely, after all these years since World War II, they must have finally figured out how to make proper weapons out of the stuff the Soviets stole and passed off as their own.
Oh, how wrong I was…
The trigger kept sticking, which meant the safety wouldn’t engage properly. The bolt would jam halfway through its travel, and the rifle itself felt like a cheap tin can masquerading as a firearm. During one of the malfunctions, I even cut my hand badly on the rifle, badly enough that the medic considered sending me to the medical unit to get the wound stitched up.
During the exercise, I had four misfires, then the rifle jammed completely, and the magazine got stuck. The instructor came over, took the rifle from me, and said, “Jesus fucking Christ, what is this piece of shit?” It took him three tries just to get the magazine out.
By the way, this training ground is easy to find on Google. So, yeah, everyone knows where it is…
ANYTHING GOOD ABOUT IT?
Well, here’s one good patch: “DEPUTY FOR FUCK-ALL”
But seriously, the best thing about the whole experience was meeting a bunch of interesting people, all with very different stories, and being able to take the piss out of each other anytime, anywhere. And that’s pretty much it.
And finally, after the whole course was over, they let us cook some meat over an open fire. Naturally, that was a complete shitshow too. In the end, we had to find our own spot, because the two places our platoon commander had assigned us were both a bust. He hadn’t cleared either location with the other people in charge, so we had to pack up and leave both times.
THE BOTTOM LINE
All in all, the whole experience can be summed up with a couple of jokes:
Mykola comes home to his native village on leave from the army, and the locals ask him:
“So, Mykola, how’s army life?”
“Absolute fucking madness!”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll show you tomorrow!”
At 4 a.m. the next morning, the church bells start ringing loud enough to wake the entire village. Terrified, people come running out into the streets, half-dressed and in whatever they can grab.
Mykola steps onto the church porch and shouts:
“My dad and I are going to collect firewood. Everyone else, DISMISSED!”
A warrant officer is undergoing a medical examination. The eye doctor says:
“Cover your left eye. What letter do you see?”
The warrant officer says nothing.
“Cover your right eye. What letter do you see?”
Again, silence.
“Can’t you see anything at all?”
“Of course I can see perfectly well! I’ve just forgotten what the letters are called.”Two soldiers are walking along with shovels. One digs a hole, and the other fills it back in right behind him.
Someone asks the guy filling in the holes:
“What’s going on here? One guy digs a hole, and the other immediately fills it back in?”
“I’m not the second guy, I’m the third. The second guy, who’s supposed to be planting the trees, has the day off!”A sergeant is explaining the concept of gravity to a group of recruits.
“If, for example, you throw a stone up into the air, it falls back to the ground. This means the force of gravity is acting on it.”
“And what if it falls into the water?” a recruit asks.
“That’s none of our concern. The Navy deals with that!”
After basic military training, our commander gave us a day and a half off. Why only a day and a half? Because he told us to report to a site 16 km from home, even though the unit itself was only 3 km away. So there we were at 7:30 in the morning, only for this asshole to show up at 11:30 and tell us, “You can go rest.” For fuck’s sake, why couldn’t he just tell us over the phone? And what about the group chat where he keeps squawking his stupid decisions? Was that not good enough either? Jesus Christ, what an idiot.
Meanwhile, a decent commander in another company gave his guys five days off. He didn’t drag them out at the ass-crack of dawn the very next morning, after they’d only got home at 11 p.m. following an eight-hour journey. What a dickhead.
Anyway, I finally got home at 11 p.m.:
THE END
I’m finishing this write-up at 5 a.m., during an air raid alert, with Shahed drones flying overhead. There’s no shelter here, because we’re basically stationed out in an open field, supposedly guarding some important equipment. The total value of that equipment is roughly equal to what it costs to keep us at this site for three months. So it would’ve been cheaper to just scrap the damn thing.
Soviet crap. Oh, sorry, I mean, brand-new, vital equipment:
I don’t know what the next post will be about or when it’ll come out. Unfortunately, there’s no music news just yet. Well, that’s not entirely true. There is stuff in the works, but more on that later. First, I need to see how things unfold over the next few weeks so I can try to make some plans.
P.S. Here’s a video from basic military training that I shot and edited entirely on my phone.
Thanks for sticking with us.