Brashkivka, Ukraine CNN —
Before the war, wearing the uniform of the “Red Army”, Leonid Bondar re-enacted the great Soviet battles of the Second World War – where they were fought, who won and who fell – all the events he knew firsthand.
His work at Ukraine’s military history museum took him across the country as he recovered remains of fallen World War II soldiers.
On today’s battlefields, Bondar’s skills are a vital part of the warring nation’s war effort as he resists Moscow’s invading forces, finding and bringing home Ukraine’s fallen heroes.
He is a modest man, downplaying his role, saying he does it for the families of the fighters and for the country.
By the end of August, Ukraine’s military acknowledged more than 9,000 dead. A month later, President Volodymyr Zelensky said 50 soldiers were dying every day.
Bondar’s unit, originally called “home on your shield,” was founded in part on the legend of Spartan mothers two and a half millennia ago who told their warriors to “Come back with your shield… or on it.”
The CNN team meets him on a wet, cold, windswept ridge above the now-pulverized village of Brashkivka in eastern Ukraine, where rolling fields filled with rotting, unpicked crops stretch darkly toward distant forests.
A yellow stone granary surveys the scene he has come to unfold. Its two windows are made of weathered wood, while a shell has pierced the wall.
It was a great vantage point and a hell of a place to defend. The deformed cell phone tower behind the shelter where the Ukrainian soldiers likely died would be an excellent marker for enemy artillery. Six missing, believed dead.
The location is a silent reminder that war is cruel, it robs their lives, their loved ones of their peace. Every battlefield has a place where wasted time is buried, where colors fade and the last few seconds have stories waiting to be told.
In the battle that took place four months ago for the ridge line near Braskivka, the tiny field next to the tower and barn is this place.
Bondar and his two colleagues are the first soldiers to search for the fallen since Ukrainian troops retook the area from Russian forces six weeks ago.
The video shared by the soldiers Bondar found depicted happy moments before their stories stopped. The shafts of sunlight piercing the wooden and mud ceiling of their basement, just a few feet from the cell tower, hinted at the danger they were in.
The roof wasn’t strong enough to take a direct hit, Bondar says. In an early assessment of the site, it is suspected that two of the men were likely blown out of the shelter by the shell explosion, while the others were likely buried by fallen masonry and dirt inside.
Before they can test this theory, they give the site a thorough search for mines and traps. Bondar shows CNN one of the coveted anti-personnel mines: It escapes from a protective cylinder, stands on thin sensitive legs, is activated by movement at close range and is deadly at a distance of 15 meters.
Once the location is declared safe, Bondar’s quest begins to tell the soldiers’ stories, revealing some of his worst fears.
Metal hinges and screws from wooden ammunition cases, mixed with bone fragments, lie in rusted, charred piles a few meters from the bunker.
Bondar assumes that the bodies thrown from the blast were burned, not buried, by the Russians. This, he says, “is not the first time we have faced a situation where the rules of humanity are neglected and soldiers are not buried properly.”
A few meters away, partially hidden in the long grass growing around, is a human spine and pelvis. For Bondar, the heat-bleached bones are just what he’s been looking for, and he carefully places them in a heavy, white plastic forensics bag.
His rubber-gloved fingers search the dirt for every fragment, each piece a source of DNA and possible comfort for grieving families. He spots a ring and loudly thanks the fallen soldier for helping identify him.
Meanwhile, his teammates shovel the crushed rocks and accumulated dirt from the shelter in hopes of finding the other soldiers.
Small bone fragments hint that they may be looking in the right place for three, or possibly four, soldiers squashed or blown to one end of the shelter, but it’s still too early to know.
It’s heavy work. Bondar and his team take off their jackets, lift shovels of debris over their heads and out of the collapsed shelter.
As they work, other Ukrainian soldiers approach and tell the team that they discovered a lone dead Russian soldier in a burned out vehicle about half a mile away.
The body, found burned and charred in the back of a damaged armored personnel carrier, is also gently carried in a white body bag. The Russian’s location, even the vehicle’s VIN number and other details, are carefully recorded. His body is treated with the same respect as that of fallen Ukrainian compatriots.
Back in the bunker, as layers of dirt are slowly removed and shovels are swapped for small trowels and tiny handles, the outline of three soldiers emerges, broken and pressed against the red brick warehouse wall. Cues of knees and heads, then hunched shoulders, one hand still holding a rifle.
“You can go home now,” Bondar whispers, as the first body is released and lies gently in the waiting white bag.
They check the pockets of the second soldier dug out of the mud, a ribbon in his breast pocket along with an ID card. He was 32 years old when he died. “Thank you for helping us,” Bondar tells the body.
As we leave, a body is still missing, but Bondar vows to search. The only certainty here is that as long as the war continues, his work will not be done.
