The dense forest in the Chernigiv region seemed like a place where time had stood still.
Tall pines, covered in moss, stood like a silent wall, hiding their secrets from curious eyes. The autumn air was damp, and fallen leaves rustled underfoot, muffling every sound.

It was here, in a forgotten corner of the world, that a group of locals discovered something that left them frozen in place.
Among the roots and layers of soil, the silhouette of an old tank took shape—like a ghost abandoned by history.

The vehicle looked out of place in the middle of the forest. Its armor, rusted and weather-worn, still bore traces of the past—the tactical number “12” was still visible on the turret.
This wasn’t just a discovery: it was a living relic, lost in the depths of silence.

The people stared in a mix of fear and fascination.
How had that tank ended up there, far from roads and battlefields?
And why had no one ever searched for it?

One of the men, the bravest, stepped closer.
He touched the cold steel, feeling its roughness.
The tank’s hatches were sealed tight, as if someone had locked them forever.
On the side, there was a deep hole— a dark breach that seemed to both call and repel you at the same time.
A heavy silence settled in, broken only by the distant cawing of a crow.

And inside… they found a letter.
Handwritten.
With the last of someone’s strength.

***

Dear Varia,

No, we will not see each other again.

Yesterday at noon, we attacked another of Hitler’s convoys.
A fascist shell pierced the side armor and exploded inside.
By the time I managed to steer the tank into the forest, Vasili was already dead.

My wound is serious.
I buried Vasili Orlov in a small birch glade. It was bright there.
He died without getting to say a word.
He didn’t get the chance to leave anything behind for his beloved Zoia, nor for their daughter, Masha, with her hair as soft as dandelion fluff.

And so, from three tankers, only one remains.

I spent the night in agony. I lost a lot of blood.
Now, the pain that was burning in my chest seems to have eased.
My soul is at peace.

It’s painful that we didn’t get to do everything we wanted. But we did all we could.
Our comrades will drive the invaders away.
They must never tread on our lands or through our forests.

I wouldn’t have lived this life the way I did if it weren’t for you, Varia.
You were always my strength — at Halhin Gol and here.
Maybe those who truly love become kinder to others.

Thank you, my beloved.
People grow old, but the sky remains young — like your eyes —
Your eyes will never grow old.

Time will pass.
People will heal their wounds, build new cities, and plant orchards.
Another life will come. New songs will be sung.
But never forget the song about us — about the three tankers.

You’ll have beautiful children. You’ll love again.
And I’m happy to leave this world with a great love for you.

Yours,
Ivan Kolosov

***

Historical Context:
During the Second World War, in the German army’s summer offensive of 1941, the city of Chernihiv became a strategic point in their advance.
The Nazi occupation lasted from September 9, 1941, to September 21, 1943.

Three concentration camps were established in the city, and in total, over 52,000 residents and Soviet prisoners were killed during the war.