September 2023 – A Journey Through the Eyes of Honza Riedl
At the time when the T4 Jirka was ready to leave for Ukraine, I set off from Prague at the same time as Vasyl, who was coming from Železný Brod. We met on the road near Ostrava, where we had arranged to meet Ivan (we know each other from the May trip, when we picked up the Mazda B2500 from him at exactly the same place). Ivan picked up energy drinks in Ostrava, saving us the need to transport an 80kg package to Prague or another collection point.
We continued on to Žilina and Michalovce, heading for the Ukrainian border. This was my second time passing this way, and each time there has been a lot of wildlife near the roads. It was around 3 a.m.—really large animals you definitely don't want to hit. While waiting at the border, you can hear loud roaring of stags from the darkness. I'm not even sure what verb best describes these sounds.
Next came the journey to Vasyl’s home, where we arrived around 7 a.m. Vasyl welcomed me with the words, "Your room is ready." I took a shower, connected to the internet using the familiar password, sent a message home, and went to sleep.
I woke up at 10:30 a.m., greeted Alena, Soňa, and Dáša. Vasyl was already up. Alena made us breakfast and we got to work. Michal arrived, and our first task was to get diesel for all three vehicles. Absolutely everything we arrange or purchase, we try to get with the lowest possible expenses. We managed to get 330 liters of diesel at the price of 230 liters. It may seem like a minor saving—100 liters—but we’re always happy for it! Michal took the T4 to refuel while we put Vasyl’s car in the shop and followed him in the L200.
We loaded the fuel canisters into the T4 and Michal headed back home. We moved on to the next task: picking up a package from the post office and receiving donations—military clothing from Mrs. Anna Zejkan, to whom we are deeply grateful.
Our next stop was to find a tarpaulin for the L200. The original delivery promise fell through, so we had to look for an alternative solution. We arrived at a company that makes and repairs tarps for trucks. They made one for us to order. During the production, I helped out—we had nothing else to do anyway.
In the morning, Vasyl received a video from the guys of the 137th unit. They had lost their L200, which they had parked in a barn after a mission. The village was bombed in the morning and the vehicle burned under the collapsed structure. Another car nearby was damaged by the blast wave, but should be repairable.
We now had the tarp. It was around 5 p.m., and Vasyl got word from Alena that the lunch distribution was ending. We made one more stop to visit Mrs. Vira—I had been looking forward to this meeting! We received sleeping bags, non-perishable food, bandages, and other supplies.
We went for a late lunch and were served Ukrainian borscht. Alena said that in the Czech Republic, dishes are prepared the same and taste the same, but in Ukraine, the same dish tastes different from each cook. During this trip, I had borscht four times—and I can confirm that it tasted different each time. Still, I’d recognize my wife Kateřina’s svíčková or Aunt Marcela’s tomato sauce anywhere.
In the evening, I shared a schnitzel with bread and rolls with sausage with Vasyl’s dog Bruno. Back in May, he used to bark at me—now he’s grown fond of me thanks to a few extra snacks. He greets me every time I pass by. He’s a big, beautiful dog.
I cleaned out the car, and we sat down with Alena, Dáša, and Vasyl over wine and vodka. We talked about personal matters and our families. I described everything that had happened in the project since we last met and where we’re trying to move forward. I asked about how society is divided in opinions regarding the war. Osiy has 2,000 residents, of which 500 are actively involved in liberation efforts; the rest, unfortunately, are indifferent or believe in compromises in the name of peace—which wouldn’t look like peace at all. Vasyl also mentioned families who left before facing the issue and now live comfortably abroad earning money.
We had a similar discussion earlier that day, focused on generational perspectives. Vasyl’s generation has to deal with the current problem—it’s become existential. But it wouldn’t have come to this if his parents’ generation had resisted earlier. The process took too long, and they allowed it to happen. Among the older generation, there’s still a belief that some kind of agreement with Russia is possible. "What happened, happened," they say—even Bucha and other atrocities—without understanding the consequences of such thinking.
While I was chatting with Alena, Vasyl was preparing the Vito for departure. We went to bed early. I woke up naturally at 5:40 a.m., we got up at 6:00, and left at 7:00. I had gotten up a bit before six, washed, and packed my things. Compared to the last trip, I had brought half as much—and it was still too much. I waited for the others to wake up, which happened at 7:00—at least according to my watch. But my phone was showing Kyiv time, and since we’re in the same time zone as at home, I realized I had changed the time incorrectly and got up an hour early by mistake. I went out to see Bruno. He stumbled sleepily out of his doghouse, stretched like a cat, and started wagging his tail. Clearly, he remembered yesterday. I think he’ll remember me forever now.
After breakfast, we hit the road, a little before 7:00 a.m. Upon arrival at the village, we met up with Michal and took photos of the cars and drivers. We were three at the beginning of the trip, but our group would double. Our initial convoy was: Vasyl – Vito, Andrej + Michal – T4, Leonid + Honza – L200. Later, in central Ukraine, we added a sixth driver, Max, to Vasyl’s Vito.
Driving an off-road vehicle that’s 20 years old—and this applies in general—you constantly need to correct the steering to keep the car running smoothly. The more play in the steering, the more frequently and precisely you have to adjust. Once you get used to the delay between input and vehicle response, you start to anticipate that delay with every move. Our L200 now has off-road tires, but they’re narrower, so the steering response is very sharp.
Leonid is a professional soldier. He has two small children—one of whom was just born. When Vasyl and I discussed how Leonid seemed a bit distant, Vasyl explained that it was hard for him to leave his family, and that’s reflected in his behavior.
The T4 was the slowest in the convoy, especially when starting uphill. Otherwise, in terms of top speed, it kept pace with the L200. After modifications, it basically became a rocket. And the T4 was significantly more fuel-efficient than the L200, which matters—those savings can be used to help elsewhere.
From Prague to western Ukraine, I drove 900 km. On the way to eastern Ukraine, I switched driving with Leonid. To put it mildly, Leonid doesn’t fear much, whereas I sometimes got nervous from his driving. But over time, it started to make sense—his experience and confidence came together. During the trip, we documented our journey and shot videos. I explained to Leonid what we do, that publicity is essential to keep support flowing, and he responded quickly, helping wherever he could.
The main roads here aren’t highways like we have at home, but wide, single-lane roads that stretch incredibly straight for long distances—5 km of straight road, then one curve, and then straight again.
We arrived in Pavliv, where we left the T4 Jirka with Michal and a soldier who was traveling with us as a passenger—an older man, probably my age or just a bit younger—at a gas station.
I continued in the L200 with Leonid. He wouldn’t give it up—and I was happy to let him take the wheel. Once he swapped his slippers for combat boots, he headed into town to buy a phone holder for the car. He mounted it himself, and instead of endlessly tuning the radio, he installed a device in the lighter socket that turned the old player into a smart one, broadcasting music from his phone over a set frequency. Once he finished, he moved right into the driver’s seat.
Last fuel stop—next stop: the destination.
Dnipro under the morning mist.
When Vasyl asked him if he wanted to switch drivers, Leonid almost gave a command-like no. I was glad—he seemed revived by the drive, no longer as withdrawn as in the beginning. I watched him and tried to be helpful—handing over drinks, the lighter, or whatever else I noticed. Meanwhile, I had time to take notes and write these lines.
We took back roads. I was thinking how best to describe their condition and how they’re used. You're driving along a straight road, and cars ahead are weaving left to right—it doesn’t matter which side they’re on, everyone is simply looking for the path with the fewest potholes.
Usually it starts on a reasonably good road. In the distance you see a cloud of dust, then swerving vehicles within it. And as you reach the end of the road, the first real crater appears. Back home you'd be cursing—here, it's just reality, and you deal with it.
Leonid and I stayed on those roads for quite a while (I won't say exactly where), until we turned off into a field and drove alongside towering sunflowers. The soil here is fertile. Though soldiers are present in the villages, people are still working the fields. I grabbed a piece of this black earth on our way back—besides memories, it'll serve as a living souvenir when something grows from it at home.
We arrived at headquarters. I can’t say what kind of building it was, but inside it felt like a ceremonial place—painted walls, bulletin boards with children's drawings. Just one large room: field cots, a work desk with a computer, a table, benches—everything simple and functional. Attached to this space is a storage area. It’s all connected. Outside, during our first visit, soldiers were calibrating weapons. They gathered in small groups around the building, each focused on specific tasks.
After meeting the commander, Leonid took us to the unit’s position. We passed other vehicles—one of them a Humvee. When we reached the unit hidden in the forest between fields, we met a group of about 20 soldiers. They had camouflaged equipment in the woods, including several mortars, and were living under improvised shelters, waiting for deployment. This unit was in reserve.
We delivered material support to the unit—mainly food and an off-road vehicle to transport a 122mm mortar. Besides photos, we filmed a video in which Leonid explained the importance of the aid and thanked everyone who contributed. I hope that thanks to this footage, we’ll be able to secure more help—because it’s truly needed. The soldiers live here in the woods under tarps—and that’s the easy part of their job. At that moment, I didn’t know that the unit would be deployed into action shortly after our departure.
Leonid's thank you to Vasyl and the entire SOHTASH group for the L200 "Pavel" off-road vehicle
We returned to headquarters to handle the vehicle documentation. The cars are officially handed over to the Armed Forces of Ukraine, including the purchase agreement, small and large technical certificates, and import documents. The army then takes over, registers, repairs, and supports the vehicle for active duty within the unit.
I truly hope that Leonid and his entire unit return home safely—and that the L200 "Pavel" will help them in their work. Glory to Ukraine! Glory to the heroes!
We said goodbye and returned to pick up the T4. Then we continued east toward Kramatorsk.
We recorded quite a lot of footage from the journey, including with Leonid. Check out our YouTube channel.
We somewhat underestimated the time demands. Our tasks in the east were to deliver aid and the T4 vehicle to Unit 33 in Kramatorsk, then hand over medical supplies to a hospital in Druzhkivka, and finally deliver aid to the 3rd Assault Brigade, where we also discussed their request for a new vehicle.
We arrived in Kramatorsk at the meeting point with Unit 33 and met with two soldiers who received the material aid and the T4 vehicle “Jirka.” They were incredibly happy and thanked us repeatedly. We had to transfer the medical supplies from the T4 to Vasyl’s car in order to hand over the T4 and continue on.
During the handover, air raid sirens began to sound, warning of drone or missile attacks. No one paid much attention—everyone trusted the air defense systems to do their job. We delivered the T4 “Jirka” with all the necessary documents. They had been waiting a long time and were genuinely grateful. A lot of work had been done on the car since its purchase, and the soldiers appreciated the effort and support behind it.
We headed to the hospital in Druzhkivka. It was already dark, and the curfew was approaching, when everything closes down.
It was difficult to find the hospital. The streets weren’t lit, but after a while, we arrived at a U-shaped complex of buildings. Under the covered loading ramps stood recovering patients. It was not like hospitals we know back home. They were thankful to have at least this kind of facility to treat and care for the wounded.
At the second ramp, we were directed to unload the supplies. About ten medical staff joined us at the handover. They opened the boxes and examined the contents—clearly pleased and relieved. We knew we had truly helped, and that these supplies would help save lives.
They pointed to one box in particular and called it essential. That’s our shared goal: when we manage to secure critical items, it gives us joy as well. The medical staff weren’t just recipients—they were mission-driven intermediaries. We were grateful it all worked out. We documented the handover, received a signature on the flag, and said our goodbyes.
The final handover was with the 3rd Assault Brigade. I asked Vasyl what exactly this unit does. These are soldiers assigned special missions, working only with equipment they can carry. That’s why they need an off-road vehicle: it will transport gear on the truck bed and special units inside, who will complete their mission and retreat quickly. The young men we met were under 30, currently on leave with their families in town. We chatted with them in a circle in the dark, handed over supplies, got the essential flag signatures, and turned back.
It was around 10 PM, and we had 1,500 km to drive back to western Ukraine. Max drove most of the way but got off in central Ukraine after about 1,000 km. Along the way, we refueled using the canisters we had filled before the journey. Around 2 AM, we took a longer break—Max couldn’t continue anymore, and we all needed rest. The five of us slept briefly in our seats. Twice, air raid sirens sounded—but we slept through them.
When it comes to driving conditions, the roads are often unimaginable, and the courage of local drivers is astounding! Speed limits are followed only near speed cameras. Otherwise, drivers go much faster. It’s common to drive along the shoulder to allow others to pass. Solid white lines are merely suggestions. Still, we only witnessed one serious accident during the whole trip.
We stopped for a meal at a roadside canteen featuring a display of handheld anti-tank weapons. The food in Ukraine is tasty, fresh, and varied. We realized that we had been gifted artifacts by the units—fragments of shells and even a transport container from a Javelin missile. These items will be used for museum exhibits or auctions and the funds returned to the front as needed materials.
We talked with Vasyl about updating the list of needed items on the website. We want to make sure we target only the most urgent needs—because time and money are limited. We reviewed how our logistics and work are organized and discussed what improvements we could make. Vasyl explained how it works from the soldiers' side. We are "Volonteri"—volunteers. When a soldier needs equipment, they send a request through their commander. Depending on the type of gear, the army may take months to fulfill it—and by then, it may be too late. It’s like digging a hole and receiving a shovel halfway through. That’s why soldiers rely on volunteers—they know we can sometimes deliver in two weeks. It all depends on how much support we have.
This is something many donors ask—and I did too at the beginning—why doesn’t the army just send what’s needed? But war doesn’t work like shopping. It’s far more complicated. That’s why our mission is so important.
Material deliveries usually revolve around transporting off-road vehicles or other essential items. This time, we brought two vehicles at once, though it took longer because we lacked funds earlier. The evening we left Kramatorsk, Leonid messaged that they were already on the move. The next day, the T4 vehicle was also deployed. Both were immediately put to use. I thought about what we had accomplished in the last month or two—how we delivered help and returned safely. That return is a key goal: to come back and do it again.
Only on this, probably our largest and most demanding trip so far, did I understand how many people must do the right thing for it all to succeed. Thanks to people with kind hearts and a clear understanding of the situation, we created maximum impact. I never would have believed it, but it took dozens of people. We thank each and every one who helped—financially, materially, by working on the project, or by lending a hand.
We’re preparing the next aid shipment—more vehicles and especially supplies for warmth: trench candles, heating pads for hands and feet, clothing, sleeping bags, mats, and non-perishable food. See the current list of needs.
We keep going. The goal is clear: to help those on the front lines in Ukraine so that those behind them—including us—can live in freedom and peace.
More thanks from the unit came soon after, during our journey home.
СЛАВА УКРАЇНІ! ГЕРОЯМ СЛАВА!
Glory to Ukraine! Glory to the heroes!