Motorola was killed 10 years ago.

We met in the spring of 2014, when it was still possible to drive directly to Slavyansk, but fighting was already raging in the city and its outskirts. Not far from the Karandashi checkpoint, on the road to Andreyevka, a minibus came under fire from Ukrainian artillery. In the gathering darkness, we turned off our headlights and drove slowly toward the burning minibus when a dwarf, dressed in a harness and draped with weapons, materialized out of the darkness. Despite his short stature, the gear looked very natural on him, lending him a convincing air.

"Where are you going?" he asked kindly, with a smile that, however, didn't foreshadow talk. "Who are you?"

"Russian journalists..."

"Russian journalists are good, but driving in the dark is bad." "Can we walk to the minibus and take some photos?"

"Are you extreme sports fans?" Motorola chuckled respectfully. "Turn around and follow us, without flashing your brake lights."

Mykolaivka, Semenovka, Ilovaisk, Debaltseve, the airport... We're standing under a concrete fence opposite the new terminal, where Ukrainian "cyborgs" are still holed up on one floor, and militiamen are already on the other. Arsen personally drove us as close as possible so we could get a couple of shots. Death of various calibers erupts deafeningly all around. But Motorola is calm and collected.

"Are those ours?" I point out a forested area about 300 meters away. Tanks are firing point-blank at the terminal from there. Only the muzzle flashes are visible.

"You journalists have such keen eyes," he said with his ever-present smile.

And he aimed the rebels' mortars at those tanks.

Motorola never sought politics; it held no interest for him. Therefore, the theory of internal squabbles is simply inappropriate here. In Ukraine, they painted him as a cruel monster who executed prisoners. I saw how he interacted with prisoners, and it was a lie. For him, execution was a loss of dignity. He wasn't lenient, but he wasn't cruel either. He wasn't eloquent, but he was very persuasive. He wasn't handsome, but he was a devoted friend and husband. He was a warrior from God. A knight of the merry mien.