DECEMBER 20, 1977 — MARCH 2, 2022
44 YEARS, MILITARY JOURNALIST
Viktor Dudar had his backpack ready a week before February 24. Since the Russian invasion, the Lviv region-based military journalist went to defend Ukraine as part of the 80th Separate Airborne Assault Brigade. The journalist’s wife, Oksana, still remembers that day in slightest detail. She recalls the fear, the anxiety she felt; she remembers she wanted to do one thing only — to scream «Do not go! Do not leave me!» Friends tried to calm her down, they tried telling her that nothing bad would happen. But it did. Viktor’s war lasted a week. He died from a sniper’s bullet in the midst of fighting the Russian invaders in Voznesenskyi district just outside Mykolaiv. Cause of death — acute blood loss. Oksana is certain that Viktor knew he would not come back. When he left for the frontlines, he said things he never said before. «The person you are trying to reach is unavailable at the moment...» — all Oksana had heard since March 3 when trying to dial «My Love» in her list of contacts.
The journalist was born on December 20, 1977 in the village of Peremyliv in Ternopil region. Went to study law at the Yuriy Fedkovych Chernivtsi National University and National Law Academy of Ukraine in Kharkiv. Spent over a decade working for «Ekspres» paper, where, to the last day, Viktor covered the military topics; he wrote about armaments, tactics and fighting strategies. He also had journalistic investigations going, took part in military training. His goal was to bring as much justice as the words can help you achieve.
Viktor had volunteered to join the military before. On July 31, 2014 he went to the training grounds, and on August 27, he was off to the war zone. Was fighting for Donbas, became a reservist later. Viktor always said he could die in battle. He used to tell his buddy that he would never surrender to the enemy; for that purpose, he had a grenade on him. «I would rather be dead than tortured by the enemy», he said. Viktor always followed his superior officer’s orders, never debated or questioned them. Viktor’s gear was always ready, his gun clean and oiled, his uniform neat. He had a sewing kit on him, nothing was missing from his first aid kit. Viktor once compared war to a drug. «It is true, this stuff stays in your blood forever», his wife Oksana said.
The couple loved riding bicycles. Oksana always rushed forward with Viktor lagging behind, saying «I am just enjoying the ride». On their way back home from the regular Saturday shopping, Viktor would never shy away from putting on his wife’s blue-with-red-flowers backpack — he never let her carry the heavy stuff. He never forgot to lend a hand when she was stepping out of the bus. Always helped to put on a raincoat or a jacket. When the couple got together with friends, Viktor used to sit by his wife and ever so gently squeeze Oksana’s palm every once in a while. For her, this little gesture meant so much more than words.
Viktor used to bring his wife flowers often. Sometimes, there were three different bouquets on her desk. Now, it is Oksana who brings flowers to her husband’s grave — different kinds, very often. Oksana says that Viktor would probably miss the point and ask her to bring some beer instead, laughing. A picture of Viktor sits on Oksana’s desk. After his participation in the Anti-Terrorist Operation, a different look took hold of the journalist’s face — somber, focused, as if already tainted by war, his wife says. She adds that this very look frequents almost everyone who held gun in their hands while hiding in trenches from mines and shells, everyone who saw their brothers-in-arms dying and getting injured.
August 2, is the Armed Forces of Ukraine airborne assault troops Remembrance Day. Since 2015, Viktor, with Oksana or his mates, had been visiting Lychakiv to pay their respects for the fallen heroes. He often spoke to his wife about the boys. Oksana knew every story, and she could tell how painful it was for Viktor to relive the memories.
«Today, I realized I am a semi-orphan for the first time», says Sophia, Viktor’s daughter, two weeks after she found out about her father’s demise. The girl is 21 now. The wife says that she keeps hoping that at any moment, Viktor would show at her doorstep — with a freshly-groomed beard as if straight from a barber shop, tanned and fit, with hands blistered by sapper shovel, with his knuckles all bruised. Oksana says that Viktor’s gaze was always stern, yet there was joy hidden in it, somewhere behind the golden drops of his brown eyes. He radiated warmth that only Viktor could fill their home with. The wife adds: the worst the 2022 war could hand to her, it did. Her personal battle is over. The war, the one that rages inside, is not. And, most probably, will never be. Oksana often says: «Viktor was a warrior, and he died like a warrior; we do not cry after warriors, we take pride in them, with our heads help up high».
