"We Agreed That My Father Would Give Me a Sign"

With the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion, the rescuers of the State Emergency Service have become the new heroes for Ukrainians. Day and night, they extinguish fires sparked by Russian shelling and rescue people from beneath the rubble of destroyed homes.

On April 4, 2024, during a rescue operation at a missile strike site in Kharkiv, a second Russian attack claimed the lives of three firefighters: Vladyslav Lohinov, Volodymyr Matiushenko, and Serhii Baidalinov.

Among the rescuers on shift that day was also Vladyslav’s son, Volodymyr. Photos of him, crying over his father’s body, quickly spread around the world—an image of unbearable loss and unwavering duty.

We spoke with Volodymyr Lohinov about his work, his father, the bond they shared, and why he chose to follow the same path into rescue service.

 

The Moment of Tragedy

“At the moment when my father died, I was just around the corner—barely a hundred meters away,” Volodymyr recalls, pointing to a darker patch of asphalt where the Shahed drone struck. “My crew was extinguishing a private house fire sparked by the same missile that hit the building my father was working on.”

The fire engine Vladyslav Lohinov was driving was parked just two meters from the blast. Shrapnel still clings to a nearby tree. Debris from the fire truck litters the area beneath it, left there by civilians as a memorial for the rescuers who died doing their duty.

“My father and I both knew the risks of this job,” Volodymyr says. “We even agreed—whoever dies first would send a sign from the other side, to prove the afterlife exists.” He smiles faintly. “But I forgot what the sign was. I’ve been trying to remember ever since.”

They had another agreement, too: no matter how busy they were, they always answered each other’s calls—even if only to say, “I'm busy, will call later.” That night, for the first time, his father didn’t pick up.

“When I got to the site of the second strike, my colleagues held me back. They said, ‘Vova, don’t go there.’ That’s when I knew the worst had happened.”

Father and Best Friend

After his father’s death, Volodymyr became the only man in the family. Now he’s responsible for caring for his mother and finishing the renovations on their home. He was Vladyslav’s only child.

We drive with Volodymyr to a small lake near their house. Kids leap off rope swings into the water; men fish along the shore. The Lohinov family used to spend time here too. They often gathered for walks, and fishing—it was one of their favorite shared pastimes.

“He always gave me his full attention,” Volodymyr says. “Almost everything I know—he taught me. How to ride a bike, rollerblade, and play water polo. It runs in our family—my dad, uncle, grandfather, and I—all were engaged in water polo.”

He recalls the open practices on weekends, when parents could sit in the stands in the pool and watch their kids train. 

“My father never missed a single training session. When I grew up, our bond only grew stronger. All my friends, with whom I studied, played sports, and now work, all knew him and were very happy when I said that my father would be coming to the meeting, and all his friends knew and welcomed me.”

Not everything was always perfect in the relationship between father and son. Like many teenagers, Volodymyr rebelled. His parents decided to send him to the National University of Civil Protection of Ukraine.

“Imagine being 17, having your freedom and nightlife taken away, and being sent to live in a barracks,” he laughs. “Of course, I didn't want it. I was furious and offended. But now, I’m grateful to my parents for that decision.”

The Choice

Usually, when a father and son have the same profession, the immediate thought comes to mind that the son followed in his father's footsteps. But in the Lohinov family, it was the opposite.

When Volodymyr enrolled in the academy to become a firefighter in 2010, his father owned a business. Later, Vladyslav closed it down and began rethinking his path.

“I think he chose the SES because it combined two things he loved—helping people and working with vehicles,” Volodymyr explains. “And maybe he also just wanted to be closer to me.”

Although they often had the same shifts, they worked in different units and fire stations—by regulation, a father can’t report to his son. But their districts were adjacent, so whenever large fires broke out and extra support was needed, their crews often responded together.

“It was always special when someone you love showed up at a fire scene,” Volodymyr says with a smile. “I felt his support.”

After the drone strike, only the son can visit the father now. 

We drive to the cemetery where Vladyslav Lohinov is buried.

“Hi, Dad,” Volodymyr says quietly, approaching the grave. Wreaths still look fresh. One is blue and yellow, shaped like the Ukrainian coat of arms. The SES flag flutters nearby.

“My father always stood by me,” Volodymyr reflects. “He supported me no matter what. He told me, ‘Even if you’re wrong, I don’t care what others say. I’ll be on your side—because you’re my son.’ And I’ll do the same for my kids.”

A Day at the Fire Station

We got access to spend a day with Volodymyr’s unit—watching their training and, if a call came in, riding along. During the war, SES shifts last 48 hours straight. Crews start at 8 a.m. and finish two days later.

Inside the station, Volodymyr is already in uniform, fills out reports. As crew commander, he is responsible for keeping the equipment and vehicles combat-ready, overseeing personnel training, coordinating response scenarios, and leading his team during operations.

"In the morning, we often have training. We analyze cases of other fires, repeat what we have learned, model situations, and determine what we would do in certain cases," explains Volodymyr.

Від початку повномасштабного вторгнення в роботі ДСНС зʼявилися певні зміни. Since the full-scale war began, some changes have come in the work of firefighters. Now, when responding to a strike site, they wear body armor and helmets in addition to protective gear—now their equipment weighs about 30 kilograms. Despite that, they often spend hours battling fires.

When the alarm sounds, they have just one minute to suit up and take their places in the truck. Since the guards do not change and the rescuers have been working in their teams for years, everyone knows their area of responsibility very well and is confident in their colleagues, so the work is done very clearly.

Fortunately, no emergency call came in during our visit, so the team drilled simulated scenarios under Volodymyr’s command.

“We spend a third of our lives here,” he says. “My colleagues—they’re like a second family.”

In the station kitchen, where the men cook and eat together, we meet Oleh—one of Volodymyr’s closest friends. He also knew Vladyslav well.

“We were brought together by the work, then we started talking outside of work, then the war brought us together too,” Oleh says. “We had a tradition: after each shift, we’d grab coffee together, talk about what we saw, where we went, what happened. Every case is different. Vlad was always with us. After he died, it left a wound. A real loss. There’s not much more to say.”

Volodymyr says that this tradition no longer exists. He now drinks coffee alone at home after work.