“Groundhog Day” on the front line

Hero of Ukraine Oleksii Mykhailov spoke to Ukrinform about his experience of spending nearly a year at the tactical edge.

Since last Thursday, 37-year-old Captain Oleksii Mykhailov, commander of a mountain assault company in the 128th Separate Transcarpathian Mountain Assault Brigade, has been one of the most recognized field commanders in the Armed Forces of Ukraine. The President awarded him the country’s highest state title, Hero of Ukraine, for his uninterrupted service on the front line—343 consecutive days. According to fellow servicemen, this is among the longest continuous frontline deployments recorded for Ukrainian officers.

The positions along the Orikhiv axis have been familiar to Mykhailov since 2023. From April 1, 2025, to March 8, 2026, he and his unit remained there without rotation. Remarkably, his team not only held their positions but also managed to rotate in and out without combat losses. He was the last to leave.

In a conversation with Ukrinform, Mykhailov reflects on a year of sustained combat, shares his defensive approach, and outlines practical lessons that helped his infantry endure.

THE POSITIONS WHERE HE BUILT HIS CAREER

Since last Thursday, a steady stream of Ukrainian and international journalists has been seeking access to Captain Mykhailov. We join the queue. The company commander finds a brief window between duties—he is already back on active operations, as leave for servicemen is short-lived. He cautions that the conversation may be interrupted at any moment if he is called over the radio.

We focus on those 343 days at the most forward-deployed area of operations, or “zero line” asking what enabled him and his soldiers to endure and hold their ground.

“First, we need to define what ‘zero line’ actually means,” Mykhailov explains. “For some, it’s the very forward edge—just a few hundred meters from the enemy. For others, it’s within mortar range. My company operated at varying distances depending on the layout of our positions, which were stretched across two kilometers. My command post, for example, was located five kilometers from the foremost positions.”

Although Mykhailov had prior frontline experience, this deployment marked the first time he received a promotion while actively engaged at the front.

“On April 1, 2025, I entered the positions as a deputy company commander, and on March 8, 2026, I left as company commander. Overall, this long, drawn-out deployment on the front line was not much different from my previous ones—work is work. I’ve known these positions well since 2023; you could say I built my career here (laughs, – ed.). I started as a platoon commander, then led a platoon strongpoint. We built these positions ourselves—including those closest to the enemy. And now I was responsible for leading people there. My task was to hold the positions and preserve personnel,” Oleksii says.

HOW TO WORK WHEN YOUR BODY IS SHUTTING DOWN

I ask the field commander what their work looked like over the course of the year—at least what can be shared publicly.

“My primary responsibility as a commander was to organize the defense properly: to explain to personnel where and how to dig, why it matters, to motivate them to do it, to haul concertina wire and entanglements, to build overhead cover. It’s not easy. Prolonged stress takes a toll on people’s ability to function—the body naturally tries to conserve energy, to work less and rest more. It’s a protective mechanism.

That’s why it can be difficult to motivate soldiers to go out and dig, build, or camouflage. You’re exhausted and irritable, and then the commander assigns more tasks. So I made a point of approaching the guys personally—it works better than issuing orders over the radio.

At the same time, I had to ensure logistics: supplies, ammunition, and especially communications. Communication is critical—when the guys can speak with their families, it gives them strength and helps them hold out longer. Some of them stayed on positions for three or even six months. I tried to ensure that every position had connectivity—it makes a soldier’s life significantly easier.”

— You were there during the verification period, when all Starlinks were being re-registered. Did that add stress?

 “Yes, it was an issue, though it only lasted about a week. It was inconvenient for both the men and me. When communication drops, families start calling, asking what’s happened. And managing positions without reliable communication is extremely difficult—you can’t say everything over the radio because of interception. You’re limited to minimal wording and code. With Starlink, you can properly brief your people,” Mykhailov explains.

DURING THE FOG, EVERYONE WAS AT THEIR LIMIT

I note that the most difficult stretch of those 343 days must have been the foggy, freezing period of late autumn and winter, and ask how they endured it.

“That was indeed the hardest time—but it passed like a single day, because the fog brought constant assaults. It became an endless Groundhog Day: you repel an attack, rebuild, restring the wire, carry out engineering work, restore damaged positions—and then it starts all over again.

When the fog rolls in, you’re already on alert. You know there will either be an assault, or—if there isn’t—you use the window to catch your breath and bring in supplies and ammunition. It was a period when all of us were operating at the very edge.”

— Do you remember when you were told your “Groundhog Day” was over—that you were being rotated out? How did you find out?

“A straightforward order came down: a rotation was underway, and another brigade would replace us. We were allowed time to prepare. That’s when the hardest phase actually began. We had to plan the withdrawal so it would be completed without losses—everyone knows the highest risk comes during entry to and exit from positions,” my interlocutor explains.

They were fortunate that the rotation coincided with fog and poor weather conditions. Just as importantly, higher command did not rush the process. As Oleksii notes, units are sometimes given only a few days to withdraw and left to manage as best they can. In this case, they were able to pull personnel back gradually, step by step, from the front line until everyone was out.

Remarkably, the withdrawal was completed without losses.

AND DURING THE WITHDRAWAL, THE FOG LIFTED

“During our time there, we did have wounded, and two soldiers died—both over 50. One suffered a heart attack at the position; the other’s heart gave out shortly after rotation. As for me, I left with the final group. By then, the fog was gone, so we had to move fast. The vehicle would pull up, we’d throw in our gear, jump in within seconds, and get out immediately. We used all available electronic warfare assets—our own, the brigade’s, and support from adjacent units. That’s how we made it out.”

We ask how the unit marked the end of such a deployment.

“We gave the men a few days to celebrate after the withdrawal. Infantry is infantry—everyone marked it in their own way. And when we finally gathered together, it almost felt like an introduction. It’s rare for everyone to be in one place, since during deployment we’re scattered across positions. So in a way, the withdrawal gave us a chance to get to know each other again.”

BUILDING A TEAM TO MINIMIZE CONFLICT

We ask Oleksii how nearly a year on the front line affected him and his subordinates.

“The psychological impact is unquestionably negative. But a lot depends on temperament, character, and how well the team is put together. I was able to assemble an almost ideal team at the command post—there were no minor conflicts to distract us, which allowed us to operate effectively. At the same time, I tried to rotate the infantry and give everyone a chance to rest. People differ—in age, temperament, habits—and tensions can arise over everyday issues.”

When conflicts did occur, Mykhailov relied on a deliberate system of internal rotations.

“I had a plan for reshuffling personnel. I would explain the need to replace those on the front line—they had the hardest conditions. The commander’s presence matters: when you speak face to face, people respond. Soldiers would move from relatively safer positions to the ‘zero line’ to relieve their comrades.”

CONTACT WITH FAMILY AS AN ANCHOR

— Throughout this entire period, what served as your anchor—what helped you keep going without burning out or breaking?Початок форми

“Contact with my family. Whenever I had a free hour, I could make a video call—see my wife, my daughter, my parents, talk to them. It didn’t happen every day, but when it did, I was mentally with them, immersed in their civilian lives—and it made things easier. That was my reset, after which I could keep going.

I also shared photos of cats with my daughter. We had plenty of them around. I’d often film short videos, send them to her, and ask what we should name this kitten, or something like that.”

— Did you feel a kind of “alienation” after leaving the positions?

“Yes. When I arrived in April 2025, you could still grab shawarma in Tavriiske, buy a hot dog, have a latte. By the time we left, there were no civilians left—they had been evacuated. Komyshuvakha was being hit with guided aerial bombs. That contrast really struck me.

And in general, it felt unusual to be around so many people. During the first week, I was simply readjusting—to people, to sunlight—just taking it in,” Oleksii admits.

I ask whether there were moments during those 343 days when it felt like the situation might slip out of control.

Mykhailov says he never allowed himself to think he couldn’t cope. Still, there were difficult periods—particularly during the winter wave of assaults.

“There were days when the Russians kept pressing our forward positions. People would exhaust themselves quickly, and we had to rotate them out. It wasn’t easy to motivate those in rear positions to move forward. I had to persuade them, talk to them. Face-to-face communication made the difference.

In the end, these internal rotations allowed us to avoid fatalities. I’m convinced it was precisely this approach—constant rotation within the unit—that worked,” he says.

HOW TO DECEIVE THE ENEMY

“We also relied heavily on various deception techniques. We set up false positions—whenever something new appeared, the enemy would strike it, while our actual positions with personnel remained untouched. While they were engaging those decoys, the infantry could stay in quieter areas.

At our real positions, we tried not to expose ourselves at all. We only opened fire if the enemy approached at close range; otherwise, those positions were used strictly for observation,” the commander explains.

Thermal decoys at dummy positions proved particularly effective. At night, Russian forces would detect them through thermal imaging and strike already-damaged dugouts instead of actual Ukrainian shelters. These tactics of deception helped preserve personnel.

RUSSIANS USED MOTORCYCLES AND PROBED MINEFIELDS

We also ask what tactics Russian forces used in response.

“There was a period when they attacked on motorcycles, but they got caught in our engineering obstacles. After that, our drone operators and artillery would finish them off. At times, they advanced in pairs through tree lines.

They also tried to probe paths through minefields—you can’t mine every inch of terrain, so they would test for gaps. But they were consistently stopped.”

— Are your positions still being held now?

“Yes, another brigade is there now. For the time being, they’re not being assaulted. What happens next—we’ll see.”

MAYBE SOMEDAY THERE WILL BE A BOOK—BUT NOT NOW

Many soldiers, after experiences like Mykhailov’s, say they intend to write a book. I ask whether he has considered documenting his own wartime story.

“Maybe someday—but not now,” he says. “Perhaps I’ll come to fully process all of this later. For now, we’re working every day.”

At the same time, he admits the experience has given him a deep sense of confidence in his men.

“After everything we’ve been through, I know my infantry can handle anything. Whether they’re 30 or 50—they’re like steel, like stone. And if that’s the kind of infantry I have, there’s no point in complaining or feeling sorry for myself. My job is to work for them—work, and keep working. Then you get results, as they say,” the commander concludes.

Background. Oleksii Mykhailov is originally from the Luhansk region, a part of Ukraine that has been under temporary occupation since 2014. He studied at V. N. Karazin Kharkiv National University, majoring in biology, where he also completed military training and earned an officer’s rank.

He married in 2013 and moved the following year to his wife’s home in the Cherkasy region, where he worked at a local employment center. The couple later had a daughter.

Mykhailov joined the Armed Forces of Ukraine prior to Russia’s full-scale invasion. Even after his contract expired, he chose to remain in service following the start of the full-scale war.

He began his combat career as a flamethrower platoon commander, later served as deputy company commander, and eventually took command of a mountain assault company. His callsign is “Botanist.”

After nearly a year of continuous frontline service, he was granted leave, which he spent with his family—before returning to duty.

Tetiana Kohutych

Photo courtesy of the press service of the 128th Separate Mountain Assault Brigade