Sniper Skif fought in the early years of the war in eastern Ukraine with a mechanized brigade reconnaissance unit and returned to the military when the full-scale invasion began. He helped establish a precision shooting school at a combined-arms training ground, and during the Bakhmut campaign in winter 2022-2023, he returned to combat as a sniper in the 3rd Mechanized Battalion of the 24th Mechanized Brigade, named after King Danylo.
Documentary photographer Oleh Petrasiuk, currently serving and documenting the brigade’s work, spent a day with Skif as his “spotter,” second-in-command.
“As we make our way toward the position, stepping over fragments of houses shattered by explosions, Skif tells me his story,” says the photographer.
Snipers have an unwritten rule: never talk about their work. But since one of my shots has already been publicly disclosed, I can talk, too.
It was in the eastern outskirts of Bakhmut, in early January—very cold. Our positions were near Opytne, with similar names—Thor-1, Thor-2, Thor-3, Thor-4. I was covering them during enemy assaults. The enemy was gathering forces and pressing us, attacking daily. The clouds thickened. A few days before, we lost Thor-4, and it was clear that only two other positions were holding back the Russian breakthrough into the city.
I picked my position on the outskirts, between the third row of buildings, knowing the enemy would target obstacles. The buildings around me were crumbling one by one, but my position still seemed “unappealing” to the Russians.
I could barely see Thor-4, which had been captured, but I could see Thor-3, still ours, though it felt like it wouldn’t hold for long. Around noon, the enemy—Wagner soldiers and some airborne brigade—launched an assault. We hit them with everything we had, including my rifle, but we still lost Thor-3. The Russians came in, killed the wounded, and took prisoners. By the time they were leading them out, I couldn’t act anymore. Then I heard over the radio, “Skif, Thor-3 is no longer ours, our guys aren’t there, shoot anything that moves.” The artillery fell silent as the enemy occupied our trenches and set up in the dugouts. Around 3 p.m., on top of a 15-degree frost, a strong wind picked up. My scope lenses froze, making it harder to see.
Then I noticed a small crater (likely from an impact) in the enemy breastwork, a fortified position with embrasures, with a window from which the enemy could observe us. The distance to the crater was about five feet. With frozen lenses and poor visibility, I could barely see anything. But I thought I saw smoke. Taking a shot in those conditions was a gamble. Still, I fired and decided to call it a day.
The next day at the command post, they were reviewing footage to analyze enemy actions. Later, the commander showed me the video: the enemy had crawled out of his position to smoke, looked out the window—and his head was blown off. That was my shot. I knew where I aimed and where I wanted to hit, but I hadn’t seen the result. That’s the nature of my work: snipers know exactly what they’re doing but not always what they’ve done. And I wouldn’t have known that time as well if not for the drone and the video recording.
It was in Bakhmut that I was most effective—I stayed there for more than three months. There, after nearly a thousand shots, I exhausted my rifle’s capacity. By comparison, during all the following time, I didn’t fire even a third as many. At that time, there wasn’t much threat of being killed from above since drones were mostly used for reconnaissance, and they could only see me. Sometimes, they saw me as clear as day. My job was to cover our assault group, and the only position for this was out in the open field. Over the radio, they told me, “If you can, fire; if you can’t, no need to.” So, I fired. Hell, the only place they couldn’t see me from was space! They shelled me with artillery and mortars which landed close to me, but luckily, the ground was soft, and the fragments flew upward.
This was a time of active assault operations, and the enemy literally buried our positions in bodies. If you compare Chasiv Yar now with Bakhmut then, their losses are ten times fewer now than back then. Mainly because of the technology: why send ten assault troops where they’re sure not to return, when you can send ten drones that will just obliterate our position?
War is as if a living thing, constantly evolving and mutating. The basic principles of sniper work were formed during World War II and remained relevant until this war. But today, the role of snipers has changed. The main task in our work is to remain unnoticed and keep watch constantly. From a good position, a sniper has a 20-degree field of view and masks accordingly so the enemy can’t see them. However, a drone has a 90-degree field of view and can see from above. The arrival of drones calls for new concealment rules. Today, the battlefield is monitored so closely, day and night, that a sniper can hardly remain undetected. And if you’re seen, your chances of survival are low: the enemy spares no resources to eliminate a sniper.
A sniper usually doesn’t work alone—he has an assistant, a spotter, or another sniper. The two of us observe, often waiting quite long for the enemy to reveal themselves. We might go a whole day without firing a shot. When the two of us spot the enemy, one fires while the other watches the hits and reports on the results.
Often, it’s hard to identify the enemy from a distance; mostly, we respond to movement, firing ahead to where we think the enemy might go. Such work requires great skill and experience. A good example is the record-setting shot by U.S. Navy SEAL Chris Kyle in Iraq in 2008. The shot was from 1,920 meters away—almost two kilometers. The bullet reached its target in under five seconds after leaving Kyle’s rifle. Imagine how far a person could walk, drive or run in five seconds and how precisely a sniper has to calculate their movement to make a hit.
Some of my sniper acquaintances have switched to piloting drones, simply because it’s safer now. And, to be honest, in today’s conditions, it’s also more effective.
Besides, it’s worth not underestimating the enemy. In terms of high-level professionals in special forces units (like our Alpha unit) compared with Russian “spec ops,” the comparison doesn’t favor us. The enemy has many elite snipers, and they are actively deployed in regular army units. The Russians have solid training standards and conditions. I was impressed by their training materials. For example, they have shooting ranges with different wind patterns: two breastworks, gates between them that open to create airflow, a closed tunnel, and another set of gates. These are significant factors affecting ballistics—the “behavior” of a bullet.
At our ranges, future snipers still learn using machine gun cartridges fired from 1956 sniper rifles. Meanwhile, the Russians abandoned those weapons long ago—they’re not even sniper rifles today. The enemy’s arsenal has long included the best NATO-model rifles, which we didn’t get until 2023. Recently, we acquired Barretts and McMillans for training, though that’s more of an exception than a rule.
I would like veterans to become instructors at Ukrainian training ranges. People’s lives depend on these specialists. If I lost the physical ability to work on the front, I would want to “destroy” the enemy through others—through the hands of those I’d train in sniper skills.
Tanks aren’t the kings of battle anymore, too, but nothing yet has been invented that can stop the enemy as effectively as a tank. The same goes for snipers: drones have the edge over us in some ways, but, for example, when the enemy moves into an open area, a sniper platoon can halt their advance. A sniper platoon’s, where the cost to train one soldier equals just two anti-tank missile rounds (a Javelin shot costs $200,000). Ultimately, we’re all doing the same job. We all—FPV pilots, artillery, tank crews—work to support the infantry, who might not even fire their rifles if everything’s done right in time. It’s a team effort.
Many of my students and friends now serve in various units of the Defense Intelligence and Special Operations Forces. When I left the training ground, I planned to serve with my comrades in the 3rd Special Operations Regiment. But in the army, you can’t always choose where to serve, and it didn’t work out for me. Yet, after ending up in the 24th Brigade, I realized I got lucky. My professional opinion is respected in our battalion, which isn’t always the case in other units. And it probably makes a difference when it comes to results. Whatever you say, our infantry have never abandoned positions at the first sight of the enemy. We always hold, even at the cost of losses, but we don’t leave our posts.
Translation — Iryna Chalapchii
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[The translation of this publication was compiled with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation within the framework “European Renaissance of Ukraine” project. Its content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation]
