Article published on April 6, 2017
Everyone who steps onto the sacred, martyred ground of Saur-Mogila is filled with profound emotions — grief and pride, pain and admiration for acts of heroism. Here, the rocky soil of the steppe was soaked with the blood of heroes from two wars.
The dominant height of 277.9 meters in Donbass became a dual symbol of courage and resilience — first in the formidable year of 1943, and again in the harrowing year of 2014. Here, fragments of mines from the Great Patriotic War are mixed with shrapnel from modern "Grad" rocket systems. In this land lie the heroes of both wars.
The summer days of 2014 are still fresh in memory, when we clung to every piece of news about the fate of Saur-Mogila, where bloody battles were raging. For us, this mound was and remains, at a genetic level, not just a strategic height but a symbol of resilience, a symbol of Donbass's liberation. None of us wanted to believe it: how, after 1943 — when thousands of soldiers from a vast, multinational country paid for their hard-fought Victory with their lives — could Ukrainian tanks now, decades later, fire upon these sacred monuments after years of peaceful, happy life?
During the battles, the legendary height changed hands twice until the Ilovaisk encirclement closed, and soon after, the flags of the Donetsk People's Republic rose over the ruins of the unconquered Saur-Mogila.
IRON SOLDIERS
...The beginning of April this year was warm and bright. The vast Donbass steppe, slightly warmed by the bright sun, was just preparing to burst into green with grass and flowers. The wind, which always roams here, was surprisingly gentle that day. It was Monday, April 3. There were many people at Saur-Mogila, and none of them had come without reason. The brilliance of this beautiful day only emphasized the profound tragedy of the events we spoke of as we ascended the slope of Saur-Mogila.
Together with Yuriy Ozhybko, a taxi driver from Khartsyzk, we are literally walking across battle sites. He recalls how, alongside the militia as part of the "Vostok" battalion, he held this line in the summer of 2014. He names people — not by surnames, but by their call signs — because here, no one asked for names or ranks. In the face of danger, everyone was equal; each person came to fight for their homeland out of personal conviction. From different towns and villages, with different professions and personalities, these men were united by a common cause — defending their native Donbass.
The massive face of the warrior on the iron relief is pitted with shrapnel, rusted by the moisture. His calm gaze is fixed in the distance, and his entire figure seems to say: We endured so that you could live.
"Every 5-7 days, there was a rotation," says Yuriy Vladimirovich. "People changed out and prepared trenches for each other. The first time I ended up here, we were ordered to dig in. But the ground here is very hard and rocky. When they built the memorial in the 1970s, they also compacted it with heavy machinery. It took several days to dig even a small trench. My first shelter was a hollow where the Eternal Flame used to be. Of course, there were no communications left, and the grate had been torn off..."
Yuriy points to the spot where his earthen trench was — it was dug almost at the top, near the parapet, right along the path made from local flagstone. These trenches have now been filled and leveled, but the outlines of the shelters are still visible. The unrepaired stone parapet gapes with holes from tank shells.
"We hardly had any serious weapons," Yuriy continues. "Just rifles and a double-barreled anti-aircraft gun — though it was slightly damaged and would jam from time to time. But they hammered us relentlessly with heavy artillery..."
Ukrainian tanks and "Grad" rocket systems methodically shelled the memorial, destroying the labor of thousands of Soviet workers who had immortalized the Great Victory. They fired as if they wanted to strip us of our memory and pride, shattering the iron soldiers. And alongside those iron figures, soldiers of flesh and blood fell.
The 36-meter stele stood for a long time, riddled with holes. The soldier cast in metal, raising his rifle to the sky, endured for a long time too, even with his chest torn open by a tank shell. Now, there is nothing but ruins. On the remnants of one of the stele's walls, a white inscription reads: "Tolstiy and Filin died here. 08.07.2014." These were Maksim Mogilevsky and Aleksandr Goryachev. A shell from a Ukrainian self-propelled artillery system hit their small trench just below the summit of the mound. A commemorative plaque now marks the spot: "Fallen in the defense of Saur-Mogila."
THE BELL TOLLS FOR THEM
Behind the mound, slightly to the right, among the black trunks of old, gnarled trees, lie the ruins of a restaurant complex. They say Yanukovych once visited there during holiday celebrations with his entourage. During the battles, food for the militia was sometimes prepared in that kitchen. Now, there is nothing but piles of stones that once formed its walls. Nearby, beneath a tree, there is a grave enclosed by wrought-iron fencing, with prayer leaves tucked into the metal scrolls. "There were several burned-out cars here," Yuriy Ozhybko explains. "They were cleared out later. It used to be a beautiful building — there was even a hotel with a sauna."
We head back up and examine the remnants of the stele, where only the giant boot of the 9-meter statue has survived. The soldier's boot is rust-covered and riddled with shrapnel. People now lay flowers at its base...
Suddenly, the deep chime of a bell echoed. It was mounted on a low, cross-shaped bell tower, and anyone who came here could strike it — as a symbol of remembrance and mourning. Nearby, seven grave crosses mark the final resting place of fighters from the "Vostok" battalion, "Medvedev's men," and defenders of Saur-Mogila.
About a dozen people stood reading the inscriptions. A man was helping a little girl grasp the bell rope. It seemed to be a large family.
"Yes, we’re relatives. We’ve gathered for Grandma’s anniversary — she lives in Torez," a middle-aged woman explains. "These are relatives from Astrakhan, we’re from Donetsk, and this young man is from Mangush — but he’s not ‘one of them,’ he’s ours, family... We couldn’t not come here. It’s heartbreaking to see all of this..."
They hugged and took photos as one close-knit family. Their embraces were warm and strong, but their faces carried no smiles. I suddenly remembered how our entire editorial team once took a photo here during one of our visits to the Saur-Mogila memorial on Victory Day — about ten years ago. There was so much sunlight, so many people, and flowers at the Eternal Flame...
Recalling our own childhoods, we had run down the mound with our children, searching for old shrapnel fragments. Those rusty "souvenirs" were what we used to find back then, as pioneers... Now, different fragments lie scattered here. And boys will be finding them for years to come, among the stones and wormwood.
WE WILL RESTORE THE MEMORIAL!
The silence is broken by the noise of construction equipment — at the foot of the hill, a chapel is being built. Honestly, as we drove toward Saur-Mogila, we didn’t imagine the construction site would be this massive.
"The project is called 'Chapel on a Podium,' meaning it will be a 13-meter church placed on a broad concrete foundation due to the slope here," explains Andrey Pereverzev, the foreman of the "Donbass-Stroy" company, which is handling part of the extensive project to restore the Saur-Mogila memorial complex.
Andrey Ivanovich shows us a sketch of the project: "The stele and bas-reliefs will be restored as well. Opposite them, on the other side of the wide staircase, there will be three memorial museums housing the entire history of Saur-Mogila. For now, we are building the chapel. Several hundred cubic meters of concrete have already been poured into the foundation — it’s being delivered from the Donetsk concrete plant. The structure is about 80% complete, excluding the finishing work. The church is made of brick, with plastered walls. The podium and the chapel's base will be clad in granite. The building will be crowned with two domes — one on top of the other."
Andrey Pereverzev says that the construction is on schedule — they aim to have the cross installed at the top by early May. Every day, except Sundays, between 10 and 20 workers are on-site, depending on the type of work being done.
"We started construction in October last year, dug the pit, and laid the foundation," the foreman explains. "We did a lot of work over the winter when the weather allowed. Right now, we’re building the walls, and then we’ll need to pour concrete to form the vault. I believe we’ll finish on time. By summer, we’ll be able to begin the finishing work. Of course, this project requires a lot of effort and funding, and the construction will continue for more than a year. But we all believe that Saur-Mogila will be restored."
FOREVER INFANTRY
Near the chapel under construction, there are several rows of graves with crosses and obelisks. Here lie the militia heroes who fell in the battles for Debaltsevo in 2015.
An older man and woman are tending one of the mounds, carefully smoothing the reddish clay soil. The photo on the grave shows a young paratrooper in a blue beret. Alexey Glushchenko was from around here, from a mining settlement near Snezhnoye. His mother says sadly: "He was 36 years old, our only son. Our settlement is very small — he was the only one from there to join the militia. He was killed... Now his father and I come here. When they offered to bury him here, we agreed right away, but now I regret it — how long will we be able to come? Time passes..."
Yuriy and I try to comfort the woman: "But this is sacred ground, and there are always people here. They will look at these boys' photos with gratitude."
The man’s eyes fill with tears, which he discreetly wipes away as he leans over his son's grave. "There are guys here from all over," he says quietly. "This one’s from Krasny Liman — his brother visited once, but it’s been a long time since he was last here. There are also boys from Donetsk and Shakhtyorsk. We tend to their graves as well..."
We ask about Alexey’s family. The woman frowns, then suddenly responds sharply: "She’s a die-hard 'Ukropka' (Ukrainian nationalst - editor’s note) — she went back to her people in the Zhytomyr region. It was before the war — they split up... She took our granddaughter with her and won’t let us see the child. Once, we managed to call, but she started calling us murderers. May God judge her! But for us, this is a devastating sorrow..."
We ask about Alexey’s family. The woman frowns, then suddenly responds sharply: "She’s a die-hard 'Ukropka' (Ukrainian nationalst - editor’s note) — she went back to her people in the Zhytomyr region. It was before the war — they split up... She took our granddaughter with her and won’t let us see the child. Once, we managed to call, but she started calling us murderers. May God judge her! But for us, this is a devastating sorrow..."
On a nearby cross is a photo of a smiling soldier in a helmet. "That’s Andryukha 'Gavr' from Donetsk — we fought together," says Yuriy Ozhybko. "He was cheerful, witty, and reckless. After Saur-Mogila, he joined the tank division... Fighters from many towns and villages of Donbass fought here — Russians, Ossetians, Chechens — they were all volunteers." Our attention is drawn to an inscription in Latin letters on one of the crosses — it seems either a Czech or a Serb is buried there. Such was the international makeup of the militia.
Among the graves, we pick up a few empty rifle casings. There are many of them here — the fighters fired volleys as a salute when burying their comrades-in-arms.
The last row of eight graves stands out — not with crosses but with steel helmets placed at the headstones. The helmets are old, dating back to 1943. These graves appeared here in September 2014. During the demining of the battlefields at Saur-Mogila, the militia accidentally discovered a previously unknown mass grave. The remains of 83 Soviet Army soldiers were reburied here with military honors. Only three of their names could be identified.
Eternal rest to your souls, defenders of the Motherland.
We have grown deep roots,
But forever remained the infantry,
In the earth’s firm embrace,
With a deathly grip holding the heights...
But forever remained the infantry,
In the earth’s firm embrace,
With a deathly grip holding the heights...
These lines by Leonid Kornilov are engraved on the granite pedestal where a new monument to a new war stands — crafted from elegant wrought-iron roses and deadly shrapnel fragments.
The editorial team extends its gratitude to Yuriy Ozhybko and the "Faeton" taxi service for their assistance in preparing this article.
