“I was sure that if I went myself, the war would end.”
In early April 2024, 62-year-old Vladimir Vogel from the village Tomsk Tomsk area He decided to go to war. He worked as a security guard and watched a lot of television. Then one day, he told his wife that his place was at the front. Despite the entreaties of all his family and friends to reconsider, he signed a contract with the Ministry of Defense as a volunteer. On April 5, he boarded a bus from Tomsk to Yurga, Kemerovo, where military training was taking place. On May 5, he died in a Moscow hospital.
Since then, he has been lying in the morgue of the Moscow military hospital named after Burdenko, and his wife Natalia Avdeeva She's fighting the bureaucratic system to at least get her patriotic husband's body back. The system dutifully offers condolences, and that's all. And even then, not everywhere.
"I had a husband who decided to go to the North Caucasus Military District."
In early April 2024, the husband Natalia Avdeeva unexpectedly confronted her with the fact that he wanted to leave for the so-called "SVO".
"He watched television constantly—from morning to evening, even at night. From the very beginning of the SVO, he was worried that people were dying there, that the defense of the homeland was happening without him," recalls Natalia. "He was convinced that if he went to the front himself, the war would end. I told him, 'Watch less TV; they'll tell you even stranger stories there.' We argued to the point of cursing."
Natalia is 58 years old. She lives in the village of Tomskoye, Itatsky rural settlement, Tomsk district. She has worked at the House of Mercy for over twenty years. Her husband also worked there as a security guard. Vladimir VogelHe almost worked until retirement – he would have turned 63 in August.
«As I found out later, he'd been egging his colleagues on for a while now, like, "Guys, let's go to the SVO?" Everyone thought he was joking. But he came and presented them with a fait accompli. – the woman recalls. – He didn't discuss his decision with me or tell his relatives. I begged him to at least tell his brother—they were twins. He refused. I managed to force him. My brother was shocked: "What are you doing?" He replied: "There is such a profession—defending the Motherland." Our persuasion didn't work, and the military registration and enlistment office only said it was his wish. My husband signed a one-year contract—this shocked everyone.».
Vladimir told Natalia he was going to war in early April. On the fourth, he went to the hospital, and on the fifth, Friday, he bought tickets from Tomsk to Yurga in Kemerovo, where military training was taking place. He flatly refused to go after the weekend: "Fifth, period," Natalia recalls.
"We were late for the bus from Tomsk to Yurga; we rushed to the station at 11:40, and the bus departed at 12:00. I suggested to my husband, 'Maybe we should wait for the 3:00 bus? We could at least sit together for three hours, go to a cafe, have some coffee.' And he said, 'No, no, no, my wife, my little wife, no.' He never called me by my first name. It was always either 'Lyubava' or 'my little wife.'"
Avdeeva and Fogel were married for 24 years. Both had life experience and previous families: Natalia has an adult daughter, and Vladimir has three children from his first marriage. However, they only recently consummated their relationship, when it became clear that Fogel would definitely go to war.
«I didn't want to, but my brother insisted that we do it just in case: "God forbid we have to look for him. If you don't act as his wife, who will let you identify him or find him somewhere?" We ran, and they registered us in 20 minutes.»- says Natalia.
"We're being sent. I don't know where."
Vladimir Fogel's only military training was in the Soviet Army (according to Natalia, he was a senior sergeant) and experience as a security guard.
«He also started working out at home beforehand—he did push-ups, kept showing off his muscles, and invited me to run with him. For some reason, I didn't even pay attention to it; I never once thought he had anything in mind.».
Special preparation for dispatch to the so-called zone «According to Natalia, the SVO was not present at the military training in Yurga. Vladimir stayed there for about four days, then they were sent to Luhansk, where they spent several days training.
«He said that in those two days he only fired a machine gun, a flamethrower, defused a mine and ran around in a heavy bulletproof vest, – Natalia recalls. – On April 19, my husband called me from Luhansk and said they were packing their things: “They’re sending us away. I don’t know where. When I get back, I’ll buy a Ukrainian SIM card and I’ll definitely call you.” But he didn’t call.».
Vladimir contacted Natalia only on April 21st, using a different number. The connection was poor:
«The first question he asked was, "Wife, how are you?" I burst into tears. I replied, "What about me? How are you?" The line went dead. I kept calling, calling, calling... But I couldn't get through to that number. My husband never contacted me again.».
Natalya realized something had happened. "I can't! I'm screaming! My throat is closing," she describes her feelings at the time. Over the course of 24 years, they had grown accustomed to staying in constant contact.
"I kept dialing the number my husband last called me from. But no one answered. I messaged the number on Telegram, asking about my husband, showing him a photo. Finally, his colleague answered, saying he knew my husband, that his call sign was 'Old Man,' that he'd been away on a mission, and that he had wounds in both legs—one through and one laceration. That's all the man knew."
Natalia spent days calling various hospitals, trying to find her husband. And finally, she found him:On May 1st, I learned that he was in Vishnevsky Hospital in Moscow, on a ventilator. I flew there the very next day.».
Not listed
«Until the very end, I thought it wasn’t him, because he didn’t have any documents or personal belongings on him, only a badge with his personal number, – says Natalia. – When I found him in the hospital, the sign by his bed only said he was 34. I said, "But that's not his age," and the doctor replied, "We assign January 1, 1990, to everyone who comes to us unconscious and without documents."' ".
Natalya later learned that her husband was wounded on April 25th. He was brought to the hospital on the 26th. According to the doctor, he was already unconscious, showed no signs of life, and had lost a significant amount of blood.
"Believe me, thirty-year-olds don't survive. I've seen everything in two years of war. You need to prepare," Natalya recalls her husband's attending physician telling her. "His kidneys weren't working, and doctors were supplying oxygen to his heart, brain, and lungs with machines. As they explained to me, the blast wave from a mine shakes the organs. They seem to dislodge, so such injuries are incompatible with life."
Natalya still doesn't know exactly where and how Vladimir was wounded: neither the military registration and enlistment offices nor military unit 45863, to which her husband was assigned, were in any hurry to contact her.
«The doctor said there was no need for me to stay in Moscow: "Go home and get ready." I flew to Tomsk on May 4th, and on May 5th, Easter, I received a call: "Such a beautiful holy day, sorry, but your husband has passed away." He and his documents were transferred to Burdenko Hospital. They told me that the military unit would handle further matters regarding the delivery of the body and burial.».
Two weeks after her husband's death, Natalia was informed at the Tomsk military enlistment office that they had received no notice of her husband's death. However, when she had previously informed the enlistment officer that her husband had died in the hospital, the enlistment officer had told her that Vladimir Fogel's body would likely be delivered within a week.
"I write to them on Saturday, I write to them on Sunday, and on Monday I find out no one was planning to transport him. The military commissar couldn't explain to me why he initially said they were supposed to bring him. No one knows anything anywhere! Go there, ask there, call there... No one has even offered me condolences. I'm stuck in my own mess, day and night, sitting on the phone trying to solve my problem. Why did my husband do this? Patriot! Who needs this?"
Natalya Avdeeva's husband's body remains in the morgue at Moscow's Burdenko Hospital. According to her, no one there has even shown any interest in it—neither the military registration and enlistment office nor the military unit tasked with transporting the body to the Tomsk region.
"The HR employee at the military registration and enlistment office said my husband isn't listed at all. And when I call the military unit's hotline, they tell me he's listed, but as missing in action. What do you mean, missing in action? I'm his wife, I identified him, he's lying in the morgue, and no one can hear me. I called the Tomsk Region Military Prosecutor's Office, and now my daughter and I have filed a complaint with the chairman of the Investigative Committee, Alexander Bastrykin, and we've written to Putin. But I've already realized that my story is about a man fighting for his own life."
Tatyana asked us to publicize her story so that local authorities and Defense Ministry officials would pay attention to her problem and help bury her husband, who was killed by television.
