Fighting for my country, against my country

Everyone saw it coming and everyone refused to believe it would happen. 1

How Ironic?! I am fighting for the country that raised me against the country that has become my second home. One country is dear to me and one I will always be grateful to. One country had given me the joy of school and friends, and the other had granted me with the opportunity to get a better education and a loving wife. I shared my happiness with one country, and the other gave me joy. One country is my home country; the other is where my home is…2

I was pulled out of the US in my third year of my medical degree. The degradation of the Russian-US relationship has begun quite a while ago. The past month, the conflict has escalated. It is difficult to say which country started the conflict, especially when both countries blame it on each other and keep reassuring the UN about their innocence in the matter. Russia, actually, doesn't care that much about the UN—they pulled out their representative soon after the conflict began. The US keeps the issue of "self defense" and "defending the rights of their citizens" as their main argument to hold on to. When I was listening to it, I had only one word in mind about the whole conflict: "Stupid". Two powerful nations, or, more precisely, two powerful rulers of those nations, decided that they don't want to be friends anymore… And all of this on the expense of other people.3

The University of Florida shut its doors to all students from Russia on the day of the "official" start of the conflict; however, there were almost none left there in the first place. Two days prior to that, most of the Russian students, and 233 in total, were flying over the ocean from Florida to Russia. We were not asked about anything, and we were not given the time to think about anything. We were taken from the USA to Russia in order to join the military force of Russia. 4

As one year of military service is compulsory to all young men graduating from high schools in Russia, I was familiar with some of the things awaiting me. However, we were not prepared for war. We were taught how to shoot, handle different firearms and be in battle, but we were not taught to kill people. I was studying to become a doctor—to save lives, not to take them away. 5

Our superiors were happy to have me and those similar to me. We were "multifunctioning". I was a soldier in the infantry, as well as a military medic, or so they called me. A month into the conflict, which was becoming more furious with every day, I was flying back to the USA; this time, it was a military aircraft.6

Now, I am sitting in what we call the "hospital" in our camp. A mile away, there lies the camp of the enemy, probably with a similar "hospital". Those who were injured and whose yells were unbearable a few hours ago were now lying on beds and mattresses, some shaking in their sleep. In two days we march again, and the cycle begins all over. 7

"Thank you," a soldier whispered from a bed nearby. He noticed the distress on my face and tried to lighten up my expressions with a kind work of gratitude. I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face. After another minute of silence, he said, "You hate it, don't you?"8

"I am a doctor," I replied. "I must hate death." 9

All students, and whoever was called back from the US to Russia, were glad they were not given the status of a Traitor of the Nation, the common practice during Stalin's regime. We were looked upon with suspicion by everyone else. "They were there! They lived there! We never know if they'll betray us in battle!"10

"The war…" the soldier went on. Every word was a struggle, and his serious injury needed rest. I tried calming him down and talking him into going to sleep, but he wouldn't listen. "The war… Why do… we have… to… What are we… fighting for?"11

"For our nation, our country," I replied.12

"That's not… the answer… doc," the soldier said. "We're fighting… because… we were told… that we are… going to be. People don't… want to fight. They… don't want… war. It is them. Those who are… not on the… the fields… with us. They want… the war. We will… win… but we… will not… be happy. It's not… our war."13

It was after several minutes from the moment he spoke the last words that I realized the silence in the room; my mind was raging with thoughts. For a moment, I thought that those were his last words, but his chest, colored with blood and mud, was slowly rising and then falling down. 14

I sat there in silence, with nothing but the occasional coughs and moans of pain. The words that the wounded soldier whispered were the words that I wanted to shout out loud, for everyone to hear. 15

We will, most probably, win the war; although I believe that there are no winners in war—there are only losers. Both sides will lose their men and win nothing but hatred for the men that died. Through the radio and the access to the internet that we have, we know that our troops and forces are winning everywhere. Most parts of the US are invaded at the moment… but all I think about, at the moment, is tomorrows march. At dawn, we will begin. At sunset, we will attack. 16

All I can think about, at this moment, are the lives I will take away tomorrow. 17