On a mild spring evening, deep in eastern Ukraine, Shawn McVey – call sign “Goldfish” – peers into a gully where controlled chaos is unfolding. “If you’re too busy killing, you don’t have time to die,” he bellows across the smoke-filled twilight.
Explosions punctuate the dusk, casting brief, searing flashes over a network of trenches carved deep into Ukrainian soil. Helmets bob through the haze; figures crawl and scramble under fire, their shouts blending with the staccato of simulated gunfire.
