You’d better never see these guys at work! Odessa rescuers talk about arrivals and everyday life under fire.

We’d like to introduce you to those who will come if a shahid enters your home. If the walls and ceiling collapse on you. If all the furniture catches fire. They’ll drag fire hoses, break down doors, carry children and animals out of the inferno and smoke, and calm those choking in an uncontrollable panic attack, lying under the rubble, unable to move a limb.

And it’s better not to see them “at work.” Ever. Because their work is the alarming wail of sirens, fire, and the cries of horror and grief from women whose children couldn’t be saved. If you see them, it means you’re at the epicenter of disaster. Blessed is he who knows them only from online reports or from a tour of a fire station.

In honor of Rescuer’s Day, traditionally celebrated in Ukraine on September 17, our special correspondent Dmitry Zhogov visited these caped heroes.

CALENDARS WITH AMERICAN FIREFIGHTERS AND OUR REALITIES

I went to the fire and rescue unit 4 of the State Emergency Service (SES) in Odessa. By phone.

“Is it possible to meet those who actually saved people?” my interlocutor was clearly surprised by my statement.

— They save everything! When do you want to come? Friday? They’ll definitely be there.

I even thought: damn, facepalm, but really, I’d also ask the surgeon if he’d seen a scalpel. These are RESCUERS! They save people.

On Friday two people came – Denis and Ivan.

Denis Voronin, guard chief ( head of the guard, — Ed. ), 42 years old. He arrived after a 24-hour shift. He’s lean and wiry:

“We might get about 16-18 calls per shift. We might leave in the morning and not even have to return to the unit.”

Denis smells strongly of fire. I want to quickly ask him questions so he can go home and rest, but he answers easily and seems cheerful. He explains that they put out the fire at the dump.

^{Denis Voronin}

“Unfortunately, our work involves not only the clean water found in fire hydrants, but also debris and various combustion products,” Denis explains, not making excuses. “All of this is absorbed—just as skin absorbs, so does clothing. So when we hand over our shift, we immediately launder our protective clothing to ensure it’s clean and odor-free.”

Ivan Todorov, tall and stocky, is the deputy chief of the 4th Fire and Rescue Unit. He looks confident in his protective suit with yellow and gray reflective stripes. He doesn’t have a 24-hour shift, but he must remain on constant alert. If a major fire breaks out, the unit’s leadership is also called in to help put it out.

Denis and Ivan may be inferior to the American firefighters in calendars. They—white-toothed, snub-nosed, with sculpted biceps—shoot nude to woo sponsors with their six-pack abs.

A small digression. In the United States, there’s long been a cult of firefighters—firefighters as heroes, symbols of courage. And heroes are supposed to look “like something out of a comic book.” Firefighter calendars are often published by charities. Sales go to charities—to help victims, to care for children, and sometimes even to provide equipment for units. American firefighters are a symbol of strength and fitness. Bodies exuding health and power. Smooth, firm skin. Grace and masculinity, as they should be.

And our rescuers! They’re leaner, more springy, with muscles like steel wire. And eyes that have seen the horrors of war. They’re like soldiers at zero and bodybuilders slathered in oil. Who looks more masculine? That’s exactly it.

Our rescuers are a special breed. Their experience is unique, and there’s no other service in the world with a comparable training program. In my opinion, they’re the ones who can teach Americans and Europeans how to work in wartime, how to save people when the earth is shaking from explosions. And may the rescuers from other countries be lucky, and may they never have to know what it’s like to pull bodies out of a high-rise building torn apart by an Iskander missile.

EIGHT HOURS UNDER THE RUBBISH

Both Denis and Ivan speak with restraint. They use the official language of the regulations, where the wording is rigid and dry. But even they occasionally break through. When they talk about work at the landing site, their faces are focused and a little tense.

“Two calls were particularly memorable. They left scars. A drone hit a high-rise building on Prince Vladimir the Great Avenue (formerly Dobrovolsky Avenue). There, an enemy drone claimed a large number of lives. The hardest thing is when children die,” Denis began.

Ivan immediately picked up the topic, though it’s not easy for him to talk about it. It’s obvious.

^{Ivan Todorov}

“Entire families, all in the same room, were tormented,” Ivan continues. “It’s hard when you had at least some hope, and then you realize that’s it—it’s gone, and then it turns out it’s the tiny body of a dead child. Relatives start screaming. It’s important to keep a cool head. You can’t take it all personally, or get too emotional, because we have so many such situations. You can always turn to our psychologists, who provide professional support, advice on what to do, and how to cope. Therefore, in such situations, you always need to keep a cool head.”

Denis takes the initiative again. He’s talking about his second visit, which he’ll remember forever. He’s reluctant to reveal exactly where it all happened, but he’s willing to share his impressions.

“It was a cruise missile that hit the building. People were in the basement at the time; they hid as soon as the air raid siren sounded. We carried out decontamination operations and provided first aid right on the spot. And when we got people out, we immediately handed them over to the emergency medical team,” he says.

Rescuers arrived at night, around 2:00 AM. Some people were still alive, under the rubble. They were screaming for help.

“ The young man had to spend about 6-8 hours under the rubble. I was with him,” Denis recalls. “So I could provide him with some emotional support and first aid. He was crushed, and until the slabs were lifted, it was impossible to pull him out. Work was carried out both from the inside and from the outside. I stayed by his side while I worked to stabilize the destruction so it wouldn’t collapse further. And that could have happened.”

To quickly dismantle the collapsed building, hydraulic tools and jacks were used. Walls, ceilings, floors—everything became one. A mass of concrete, iron, debris, and dust. The rescue operation lasted three days. Unfortunately, not everyone was rescued alive. The guy Denis was with was lucky. Although wounded, he was alive.

“And then you see the person, but you can’t pull them out,” Ivan says. “And they see you’re nearby… There’s literally a tiny gap between the slabs, only their face is visible. They say, ‘I can’t move, I can’t feel anything anymore.’ And then, for example, they’ve removed a couple of slabs, and you start talking to the person: ‘Don’t worry, we’ll definitely get you out, we won’t let you stay here.'”

Doctors were already nearby. If they couldn’t reach someone trapped under the rubble themselves, we administered an injection based on their recommendations. We retrieved the injured, handed them over to the ambulance, and took them to the hospital. Unfortunately, I don’t know what happened to these people, but it would be very interesting to know what happened to them now.”

Saved! Maybe you’re reading this—write it down: Ivan, Denis, and the other guys from Fire and Rescue Unit 4. They saved you. They made it in time. Write in the comments, it’s so important!

KATSAPS TARGET FIRE AT RESCUERS

I walk around the fire station. An old building. Stalinist. Built back in the 1930s. A small gym. Two steps and it’s over. A punching bag is hanging.

Fire trucks stand proudly in front of the building. A Mercedes-Benz—a classic fire truck with a pump, hoses, and equipment—and a Daewoo. They’re bright red, as if they were varnished.

I won’t say where exactly this fire station is. The Katsaps are already attacking the rescuers. They’re specifically waiting for them to arrive.

“Our colleagues from Unit 6 were killed. We communicated and met many times,” Ivan shares. “It’s very difficult when something like this happens. Words cannot describe the pain of losing colleagues you’d just worked with at a fire, helping people. It’s incredibly cynical of an aggressor country to target those providing assistance, those who aren’t participating in the fighting but have only good intentions to help, to save someone’s life, if that’s still possible. And it’s so vile to attack them… We always remember them, we honor their memory, they’re always in our hearts.”

A military-like routine helps combat negative thoughts. Rescuers begin their 24-hour shift at 8:00 AM. Everything then follows a strict schedule: guard rotation, filing of paperwork, and equipment checkout. After everything has been checked—weapons in place, equipment refueled and watered—the new guard is ready to carry out its mission. Afterward, like at school, the personnel assemble in the classroom, where Ivan conducts the lessons.

Classes include both theory and physical training. During theory, they discuss various topics, analyze complex fires, and then practice the standards they might encounter every day.

This knowledge and exchange of experience are crucial. Rescuers may encounter new challenges in their work. For example, with cluster munitions—their submunitions are capable of detonating repeatedly. It could also be an attack drone that hasn’t detonated, with its warhead still in place—and it could also explode.

“When we arrive, bomb disposal experts come with us, and they survey the area. If they say, ‘Yes, you can work here,’ then we do so.
But there have been times when we’ve arrived before the bomb disposal experts. While we were surveying the area, there were drones, which then detonated again. We do everything carefully; our own safety comes first,” Denis explains.

And he adds that he would choose his profession again and again, even if he knew in advance what awaited him.

Anthropologist Margaret Mead said that “the first sign of civilization” is a healed femur. Because a broken femur doesn’t heal without help—someone had to rescue the injured person, care for them, bring them food, and protect them.

That is, a person became a person when he learned to save others, to care and to show compassion.

Rescuers are a whole army of professionals: firefighters, bomb disposal experts, dog handlers, medics, divers, and aviators. Their daily routine smells of burning smoke and wet concrete. No calendars or poses—just the work that someone has to do.

Author: Dumsky special correspondent Dmitry Zhogov, photos by Valentina Bakaeva and from the archives of Fire and Rescue Unit 4