No pay, just duty: Confessions from Ukrainian volunteer trasnporting fallen war heroes

From earning her poignant callsign "Witch" to confronting critics who accuse her of profiting from grief or drivers who fail to yield to her convoy, this escort shares the emotional toll of her work—especially the heartbreak of delivering fallen heroes to silent, empty courtyards. Discover her story in hromadske’s latest report.

Combat witch

Oksana's driving experience exceeds 20 years. On ordinary days, she drives around the city in her own car. No one would confuse it with anyone else's: instead of a gray hood — an image of a sorceress with two fiery balls, instead of numbers on the license plate — the inscription WITCH. And on the doors, stickers in the form of patches: "Combat Witch," "Do Not Argue with Witches."

It all started with a witty phrase from one of the volunteers: "Oh, we have a witch now," when, to the question of what she does, Oksana replied that she is a tarot reader. "That's how it stuck to me," she laughs.

Winter 2024 was gloomy and uncertain — Oksana had health problems. In one of the social networks, she accidentally came across a video of escorting a fallen soldier.

"At that time I was very ill. I needed to distract myself. And here I see this video, I go to the page and write if I can come. I had long wanted to join [the escorts — ed.], but did not know how. They told me: take the flags and come. That's how I came to the escort for the first time," the volunteer recounts.

A year later, she became a driver for this mission.

"The hardest is when relatives are riding next to you"

The "On the Shield" mission in Ternopil is a volunteer initiative. Fallen fighters are picked up from the morgue and taken to the burial site.

"We do not take part in the funeral process. We only escort. To honorably see off our heroes on their last journey," Oksana says.

A dedicated group handles the logistics: members share the date, location, time, and route in advance. Routes typically run from the morgue to the This is the name given to the building of the ritual service of the Ternopil City Council.House of Mourning as start and end points. Anyone can join the convoy if they wish, though it is usually the core group of regulars who participate.

"Now in the group there are about 1,500 people. But those who drive constantly — 10-12. That's our reality. There are more vehicles if the person was known," adds Oksana. And this is what touches her perhaps the most.

In our country, for some reason, it is accepted that if some famous commander died — almost the whole city gathers, columns of 120-140 cars. And for a simple, not well-known guy, a hero, maybe 1-2 cars come, or maybe none. Only relatives and us. This is wrong.Oksana Pernyak, volunteer, driver of the "On the Shield" mission

"We've had all sorts of stories. Once, we pulled into a big courtyard where people were supposed to come out. But from five entrances of a five-story building, there was just no one—only two elderly women. And they said things like 'we didn't know,' 'military recruiters walk around here,' 'someone's staying home'... But I think those are just excuses," she says angrily.

I ask her what the toughest part of this job is.

“The hardest is when you’re transporting fallen heroes, and sitting next to you are their mom, daughter, wife. Some faint—and you have to hold smelling salts under their nose. They often ask you: ‘Why him?! Why? How?’ But there are no answers to those questions. What can you say? ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or something?”

"At first, no one stopped at all"

"Ternopil is already trained now," Oksana replies to the question of whether everyone freezes when a funeral cortege moves through the city.

"The time when we started and now — this is a very big difference. At first, no one stopped at all. A couple of people. Now most do stop. Schools come out on the streets. People have started to pay more respect.

… But not without exceptions. Some drivers do not stop or try to wedge into the column. There are people who still do not even know what it is (mostly out-of-towners). Or they walk with headphones and hear nothing."

She no longer tries to explain anything to anyone. She says: she realized that it makes no sense. "Now I can only swear to myself, like, you such-and-such... And that's it. I drive on."

Once, under a video with her interview, she came across comments that she allegedly earns money from escorting. Oksana was stunned.

There are myths going around that we get paid for this. We don't. I invite everyone to come see for themselves how it works. Feel it on your own dime, as they say. After all, everyone understands that you need to fuel the car, spend time that could have been given to family, your favorite hobby, or a walk with the dogs. But instead, you give it up and head out for the escort.Oksana Perniak, volunteer, driver of the "On the Shield" mission

"You haven't lost anyone in the war. You won't understand this."

"And then there are these phrases: 'The same people keep fussing over this all the time. And they're hauling him [the fallen—ed.] around like it even matters to him anymore...'" Lesya adds angrily, who always rides in the convoy with Oksana.

Since her husband died a year and a half ago — she has not missed a single escort.

"I picked up my husband’s body from a military unit in Khmelnytskyi. And there, they just load it into the vehicle, and that's it. No one stops along the way, no one escorts... That's why I know how vital this is for the families. When your loved one is accompanied by a large convoy with flags, and people know they're carrying a hero..." she says as her voice trembles.

Lesya works in a hair salon. Her clients are used to it: she can reschedule an appointment at any time. Because information about the escort can appear either in advance or just a few hours before.

Initially, some people were outraged. I tell them: "You've never buried anyone in your life or lost someone in the war, so you can't understand this. I've been through it myself and know how crucial it is to have as many vehicles as possible to pay respects to the hero. That's just my way of thanking him."Lesya, volunteer of the "On the Shield" mission

Unlike Oksana, this woman has little patience for apathy and sometimes clashes with drivers.

"I say: 'You didn't even get off the bus. Do your legs hurt or what?' I'm not asking anyone to drop to their knees. Just step out. And he goes: 'What difference does it make? Does it even matter to him [the fallen] if I get out or not?'

I tell him, he gave his life—the most precious thing he had! For you to be driving around now, working here in Ternopil, your kids sleeping safely in warm beds, and so on. It's just basic humanity—to thank him. Step out and bow your head."

"All we can do is see them off honorably"

Escorts of fallen soldiers are morally hard, says Oksana Perniak. Although she has already learned to control her emotions. She says: what tires her is not so much the work itself as the fact that some people question its necessity at all.

"Sometimes the thought arises to quit everything. But I drive it away from myself, because I understand that these heroes need to be seen off."

In closing, the woman appeals to all Ukrainians:

"People, be a bit more caring and look around when convoys are passing. Stop. Pay your respects to those heroes who laid down their lives so you could live, work, and rest. They deserve it. This is the one and only thing—and probably the last—we can do for them."