Sviatoslav S. Horbenko (Skeld)

In eternal memory of our sunny Sviatoslav, with love and respect dedicated by the grieving father. "Sviatoslav" — this is the first word I hear when I wake up, since that black day of October 6, 2014. He died in battle on October 3, but it was on the 6th that I first heard that my son had been mortally wounded at Donetsk airport. "Sviatoslav" — says either an inner voice, or a wounded consciousness, or his angel to me, and the pain plunges me again and again to the bottom of the abyss of grief and the realization that he will no longer knock on the door, will not enter our home in the evening — tall, slender — and will not embrace us with his long strong arms… How I waited for our meeting at the end of October, when he promised to return from the front on leave! He had become a man, and this was to be our first frank man-to-man conversation. It did not happen, for it was not meant to be. Now, looking into his large light gray-blue eyes, I talk to his photo, which stands on the old sideboard in the large room where we once gathered as a family. Nearby — an unquenchable candle and white chrysanthemums — a symbol of distant fairy-tale Japan, the language and culture of which he tried to grasp at university. His guitar, books, favorite shirts, jackets, and sneakers — everything is in its place in the house, faithfully waiting for its owner to return from a distant journey, from which he went… forever. I have been given the bitter and glorious fate — to be the son of a hero and the father of a hero, for I am not a hero myself, but an ordinary person, like most of us. I was at Maidan as a doctor, but I did not go as a volunteer to the front like my son, because I tried with all my might to preserve him and our family, which, in the event of my death, would have no one to feed and protect. Moreover, I knew for sure that as soon as I went to war, my son would immediately abandon his studies and follow me, just as he once went to Maidan in Kharkiv upon hearing that I had gone to Kyiv… He was the last man of our lineage, and I tried to protect him. It was not meant to be. He left, despite all my efforts to prevent it. May Ukraine and my people forgive me, but I am an ordinary father, just an ordinary one; I am capable of going alone, but before that, I would like to hide my nest from the enemy. I did not hide it. I failed. The hot, desperate heart of Sviatoslav pushed him to defend the Motherland, despite all my parental prohibitions against leaving home. However, as a good faithful son, he wanted me to stay on guard at home, with mom and my disabled grandmother, and wait for him. He too, like me, wanted our home not to perish. At the same time, he probably did not understand how hard it was for me to live and work with the awareness that he risked his life every day. How the beautiful features of his mother aged from sleepless nights and heavy thoughts. Unlike him, the disobedient one, I stayed in Kyiv, worked, and waited, overcoming shame and bitterness, comforting myself with the thought that I would move the family to me, provide for them, and replace him at the front. I did not manage, I could not. However, no matter what they said to me, how they reproached and condemned me for letting him go to the front and for raising him poorly, for him not listening to me, I do not blame him at all, because, recalling my own youth, I understand that I would have felt the same way as he did. Young people think less about family and kin than older people; they believe in their immortality and do not expect death. That is why the young are the most desperate and heroic soldiers… Sviatoslav came from an ancient lineage that, strangely enough, united three branches of three nations of the ancient state of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, for among our ancestors are both Ukrainians-Rusyns, Poles, and Lithuanians. The vast majority of them were warriors, so it is not surprising that the Kyiv student ended his short life path precisely on the path of a Warrior. He was very proud of his grandfather — Oleksandr Petrovych Mohylnyi, who went through two wars: with Nazi Germany and with the same Japan, the language and culture of which his grandson later studied. He returned home victorious at the age of 22, having two orders and four medals. Another grandfather, Kostyantyn Yelyseyevich Horbenko, and two of his brothers, descendants of an ancient Cossack lineage (one of the brothers died), also went through the war. Once, our Polish and Lithuanian ancestors served in the royal armies during the times of Khmelnytsky, and our lineage strangely united the descendants of former opponents. Therefore, in our home, we have always treated both Ukrainian Cossacks and Polish and Lithuanian knighthood with love and respect; we did not separate them, just as one cannot separate ancestors. And Sviatoslav was raised in respect for all nations whose blood flowed in his veins. I had high hopes (for I did not believe that the war would end quickly) that over time, after finishing university, as an officer, a specialist in foreign languages (he was fluent in English, spoke French, was learning Japanese, and read Polish), Sviatoslav would bring great benefit to the Ukrainian army. In the summer of 2014, he managed to finish the military department at the Kharkiv Tank School, pass exams, and take the military oath. He was to receive the insignia of a junior lieutenant in reserve after completing the 4th year at the Institute of Philology of Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv. There was still a year left — a wonderful year in Kyiv… The thing is, he was a natural historian — this was another gift from God that he had. It so happened that he started school at the age of 5 and studied easily and effortlessly — he had a brilliant memory for dates, names, and events. Although at the Poltava Lyceum, they never noticed his successes in history Olympiads, he scored 200 points on his external independent assessment in this subject, receiving invitations in 2010 from five renowned universities at once. Sviatoslav was only 15 years old, so we chose two Kharkiv universities, the closest to Poltava, where the family lived at that time. Moreover, at that time, Sviatoslav's sister Irochka was studying at the senior courses of KhAI in Kharkiv, so it was easier for the children to be together. Sviatoslav began studying at two universities at once: in English-Japanese philology at H. Skovoroda Kharkiv National Pedagogical University and part-time — at the historical faculty of Kharkiv National University. We concluded together that in the modern world, any specialist must know English well and another language (we chose Japanese), and then refine his profession. Since his gift for history was so evident, his mother and I decided to give him the opportunity to obtain a diploma in history, even though at that time there were no prospects for this profession in Ukraine. No matter how hard it was for him to study, he did not complain about difficulties and lack of sleep. In the 3rd year, a military department was added, effectively a third education, classes began to overlap, and Sviatoslav had to take an academic leave from the part-time history faculty to keep up with studying both languages and military affairs, which he was noticeably interested in. Moreover, knowing how hard it was for us financially, he secretly worked as a loader at construction sites, starting to earn his first money. When I found out about this, I did not forbid him, but set a condition: not to neglect his studies. Secretly, I was proud of my son — he was maturing before my eyes, although he was only 17.5 years old at that time… In the spring of 2014, we had to transfer our son from Kharkiv to Taras Shevchenko National University in Kyiv. The thing is, right from the beginning of the Kharkiv Maidan, he joined the self-defense forces, as always, absolutely not interested in formalities: registrations, certificates, etc. However, he took real part in real events, the most dramatic in the modern history of Ukraine: among the few defenders of Kharkiv Maidan, he repelled the criminal invaders from Belgorod and the enraged bandits of "Oplot." We later found footage on the internet where our son shielded himself with his hands from the stones thrown at them by Putin's mercenaries. However, Sviatoslav remained silent — he did not want his mother and me to know about it. But I found out and did everything I could to transfer my son to Kyiv, as the Kharkiv police did not protect them at all, and I was not sure that he would be able to continue his studies peacefully due to his participation in Maidan. I am still grateful to Kyiv and its residents for understanding us, the parents, and giving Sviatoslav a chance to continue his studies, although due to the difference in programs, he had to work hard and lose many nights of sleep. Thus, Sviatoslav became a Kyiv student, he had new friends, it seemed that life was just beginning to bloom, but the war with Russia began, and bitter news came from the South and East of Ukraine. We all waited for the announcement of war and general mobilization, but the war was called ATO, and instead of the state forming troops, the people began to form their heroic battalions themselves. Something incomprehensible, terrible, and paradoxical was happening. Our best people went unarmed, unprepared, undressed, and they were betrayed, exposed, and killed by the new hordes. The whole world was silent again, except for Poland and Lithuania, which, together with Ukraine, sounded the alarm. They did not hear, what a pity… The presence of outright betrayal in the rear and the paradoxical NON-RECOGNITION OF WAR AS WAR stopped many quite sober and useful middle-aged men from going into battle, knowing in advance that they would be shot in the back and led into an ambush. My son was different — like other heroes who now protect the borders of the state with their holy blood, despite terrible losses, betrayals, and the incompetence of the higher military leadership. And he went to war, despite the betrayal in the rear and the vile hypocritical policy of the Government, which still did not recognize the Volunteer Ukrainian Corps "Right Sector" as a component of the regular Ukrainian army, despite all its heroism, despite all achievements, and despite all losses… Sviatoslav knew my attitude towards the current war, he knew that we, our whole family, sincerely respecting patriots, painfully experiencing each of our losses at the front, did NOT WANT him to go to fight now. We prayed for him to finish his studies, for even to receive officer insignia, he needed to complete another year. I mentally reconciled myself to the fact that he would go to the army, but I wanted him to finish his education and serve the Ukrainian state better. But the enemy was advancing, and my son said: "They will not let us finish studying anyway, father, we need to go before they come to Kyiv." I disagreed, insisted, so on August 17, 2014, he left secretly so that I could not stop him… I do not say that he was mistaken; he went into battle for a holy cause, but I deeply regret that he left this way — without talking to me and his mother, leaving only a letter. I waited for him in Kyiv on August 18, but he was already at the military training center "Desna," where he signed up as a volunteer for the DUK PS. We experienced three terrible weeks of uncertainty and searches, as he could not call us from there. With the help of friends, I found him in "Desna" only on September 9, before being sent to the front. This was an unforgettable, our last meeting with him alive. I will not hide it; I did everything I could to convince him to return to university, as expulsion could also violate his status as a conscript (as a full-time student who completed the military department, he had the right to deferment from conscription, and being expelled, he would lose this right). The military enlistment office did not know that he had become a fighter of the DUK at that time, as their lists were kept secret, and if something irreparable happened, they would have searched for him from the military enlistment office. All these problems needed to be resolved immediately, and I asked my son and the command to return him to his studies and only after completing them to go to the battalion. His commander passed this decision to Sviatoslav. My son calmly and attentively listened to me and said then approximately this: "Dad, they are leaving tomorrow; we were together in training for 3 weeks. These are my comrades. How can I study when they will go alone, be there? We were together here, we will be together there. And besides, do not think that anyone would prepare me better for war anywhere — they teach well here, and there will be no better comrades than here. If I have to go to war again later, I will regret not being with them, and you will regret stopping me and taking me away… Because we have already bonded here and gotten used to each other…". At that moment, I felt for the first time that calm masculine, not youthful wisdom that guided him and which I understood after the black October 6. "Daddy," he said to me. "Help me, I know you can do everything, you will do everything. Solve these paperwork problems yourself — talk to the dean's office and the military enlistment office, and then I will also come on leave…". Maybe the whole world and many other parents, who, unlike me, protected their children, will judge me, but after this conversation with Sviatoslav, I… let him go, and taking off the icon with the cross that my grandfather wore during the war, I hung it around his neck on Maidan and blessed him. In general, in our lineage, it is not customary to return warriors from their path to war, and I, overcoming the rational arguments of my mind, did through pain what the ancient custom in my heart commanded me. How happy he was then! And I realized that I probably did something right and useful for him, something I had not done before. It was painful to say goodbye to him, letting him go to war; I asked him only one thing: "Son, be sure to return victorious, do not let me down before your mother for my act. Come back." He hugged me tightly: "I will not let you down. I will definitely return." "We will win!" we said together at that moment… Many different people have told me many times that Sviatoslav is a hero and performed a feat. So it is, but I do not know what they know; I will only say what I know. Truly, I do not know the details of his martyr's death; the forensic expert writes about a fragment in the neck, they said, from a shot of a Russian tank. The fighters said that on that terrible day of "truce," October 3, 2014, there was another crazy attack by the invaders on the airport in Donetsk. Paratroopers and fighters of the glorious 5th battalion of DUK PS defended side by side (and maybe someone else — sorry, I do not know). There were many wounded who were suffocating in the smoke; Sviatoslav and his comrade carried them out of the impact zone. When they were carrying another one, a tank fired. They fell together. Sviatoslav and his comrade died, but the wounded one survived. This is how I was told. I am glad if the one they saved survived. Therefore, everything was not in vain. Thus, they fully fulfilled their military duty. As for me, I recognize my son's heroism from a slightly different perspective. He had a wonderful future, he had youth, love, he was finishing university with a promising profession, he had a legal deferment from conscription, a "truce" was declared, and he had all formal reasons NOT TO GO, but HE WENT, renouncing all these acquisitions and achievements, renouncing everything he had and even his life, he went to protect our borders from a fierce enemy who, despite all the truces and agreements, stubbornly invades our land, kills and mutilates our people. I think that in this, in this conscious, adult sacrifice lies the essence of Sviatoslav's true feat, which connects him with other heroes of the Heavenly Hundred and other Ukrainian heroes of the Ukrainian-Russian war with the incomprehensible twisted name ATO. We, people, are all the same, as parents; we are all somewhat selfish, accustomed to seeing in our children only OUR children, OUR joy, comfort, pride, and achievements. Sviatoslav, with his bright life, short as a flash, taught me wisdom and opened my eyes to the truth that this is not the case. May my words, if it pleases God, serve as a small consolation to those like us, grief-stricken parents of hero children or simply beloved children who went to God before us. Children are sent to us as a higher comfort and joy from God for caring for them and raising them, but they are INDIVIDUALS and are sent to this beautiful earth with their mission — NOT ONLY for us but also for others, perhaps for unknown people, for the service of the Motherland, the people, humanity, and ultimately for the Lord Himself. They, our little ones, who seem so defenseless and naive, actually already have an Immortal Soul and Spirit, sometimes purer and higher than our own. This Spirit leads them through life, unfailingly guiding them to fulfill that great mission that God's Will has placed upon them for the good and benefit not only of us, their physical parents, but also for the happiness and good of many other people and their native land. They are called to help others, not just us; they are sometimes called to teach others, and sometimes even… us, their parents. And our task is not only to raise and educate them but also to timely see this and not be ashamed to learn from them, to help them realize their mission on earth, and at least not to hinder and not change its direction. When we buried our son on October 9, a kind simple person — a typical representative of our good, honest, and hardworking people, said to me in simple words: "Now the souls of our ancestors, our heroes, outstanding Ukrainians from Rus, knights, Cossacks, heroes of OUN-UPA and the Heavenly Hundred, heroes who fell in ATO are gathering in heaven. They all unite and become a shield for our Ukraine — a heavenly regiment that protects us and helps defend our land. And Sviatoslav has joined them. For God needs pure warriors." I agree with him. "He went to Vyrij, to the Kin," said one of my acquaintances from Maidan, a Cossack of the 4th hundred. So he went, to help us protect and defend our Ukraine together with the Kin, along with other Kins there, from Heaven. But before that, he illuminated my life with 19 years of his sunny life. And now, overcoming the eternal pain, I whisper in the morning before prayer: "Thank you, God, thank you, my wife, for these 19 springs." Thank you, my son. Serhiy Oleksandrovych Horbenko. November 4, 2014. Comrade Chub: "They ran and said that there is a wounded person on the second floor. They ask if there is a medic. I am not a medic, but I have seen a bit, I know. We ran to see. There is a man who has also been hit hard and cannot move. Later it turned out that he had a broken pelvis. We, together with Skeld, put him on a stretcher and began to lower him from the second floor. And there is the corner of the window. We had already turned, and a specific explosion, I think, in the window arch. A wave covers us. I turn around, and under Skeld, there is already a pool of blood… It is a second. I turn his body, him, still alive, take off the scarf, and there is the carotid artery damaged. I start stuffing it with napkins. At that moment, Kobra and Bara run in. Bara bandages his arm, because it is also quite deeply cut, and Kobra takes care of the carotid artery, trying to stop the bleeding, we pour "Celox." Skeld still had some weak pulse. We tried to save him, but it was clear that it was already all over… Skeld was a Christian, and there is no greater honor than to give one's life for one's neighbor. He literally gave his life for his neighbor." Vyacheslav Zaytsev, combat comrade, reserve serviceman, deputy of the Zaporizhzhia Regional Council: "Skeld from the 'Right Sector' died on the very first day when our 2nd company of the 79th Airborne Brigade entered the terminals of the DAP. At that time, crowds of stoned separatists were being extinguished under the walls of the airport because their leaders promised to take the DAP by Putin's birthday. I received calls saying that we had all been killed — well, then they are fighting with the dead. Out of helplessness, they began to shoot the floors with tank guns. That's how I got my first wound, and Skeld died. We made notarized certificates of the circumstances of his death, and his parents should receive the status of a combatant. This is the least we can do for them. Remember, Skeld died for Ukraine, defending it with a weapon in hand. Eternal memory to the hero!" Redut fulfilled his promise and achieved in the Ministry of Defense the awarding of Sviatoslav his well-deserved first officer rank — junior lieutenant, which, despite completing the military department and taking the oath at the airport, they stubbornly did not want to give him even posthumously. Now the truth has triumphed, and Violetta handed us the new insignia of a junior lieutenant, which Redut had passed to her. Mom placed them on the black slabs of the grave. Well, son, one of your dreams has come true — you finally became an officer. The song "13 Warriors," which my son's namesake, the talented bard Sviatoslav (Skeld) Boyko, dedicated to Sviatoslav Skeld — a fighter of the 1st assault company of DUK PS. On the second anniversary of his death, October 3, 2016, this song was first performed over Sviatoslav's grave at the Berkovetsky cemetery in Kyiv.