‘The Flood’ by Yevhen Lir : Texas’ Story

On June 6, 2023, Russia destroyed the Kakhovka Dam in Ukraine, committing a war crime that caused an ecological catastrophe, claimed the lives of hundreds of people, and devastated thousands more whose homes and futures were swept away by the flood.

Today, we are publishing an excerpt from “The Flood” by Yevhen Lir, a Ukrainian writer, translator, and volunteer. Told in the style of narrative non-fiction, this novel takes readers deep into the heart of the Kherson steppes, offering a powerful story of loss and resilience through the eyes of those who lived it.

It was 4 a. m. and Texas lay in his bed at home—a rare moment of peace for a frontline soldier. A warm June breeze lifted the curtain at the open window. The neighborhood was asleep, birds and animals resting in the final hour before dawn. The night was perfectly still—until the phone shattered the silence. Texas answered immediately.

“Texas, wake up. Get to the base. Now.”

“The Flood” is set to be published in the Ukraїner Publishing House in August 2025

In five minutes, he was dressed, bag in hand, and out the door. As he arrived, the base buzzed with energy, as if it were midday. It seemed the Russians had launched an unexpected offensive. Every hurried moment on base felt like a déjà vu. Before Texas could ask his fellow soldiers what was happening, the officers arrived. The soldiers lined up, greeting them with a resounding, “Wish you health!” 

“Gentlemen,” an officer announced, “the Russians have blown up the Kakhovka Dam.” 

A chorus of curses erupted from the ranks. 

“We don’t know their endgame yet. Stay alert. Water levels are rising fast. In a few hours, Kherson will be flooded.”

Silence gripped the soldiers; many had families in the Kherson region.

“You’ll receive orders from your sergeants. We must prevent the enemy from exploiting this disaster. Now move!”

The morning passed in a fog of uncertainty. Texas and his comrades awaited motorboats from Mykolaiv, then spent hours prepping them. Texas didn’t know how to pilot one yet—but he would soon learn.

As he worked, the situation became clearer. The Kakhovka Dam, built on Ukraine’s mighty Dnipro River in the 1950s, had created a vast reservoir, essential for the region’s agriculture and water supply. The dam’s hydroelectric power plant provided clean energy. Now, it was destroyed.

Imagine a pencil pulled from a cup of water, spilling everywhere. That was the dam, only thirty meters high.

By noon, reports confirmed the Russians hadn’t warned their own troops about the flood. Their forces in Nova Kakhovka and beyond were the first to be inundated, along with the captives and civilians.

With the motorboats ready, Texas’ squad received their orders: evacuate people from Kherson’s Korabel district. The water had already reached the city, and this was just the beginning.

On the way, Texas saw rooftops drifting down the Dnipro, eerily out of place. The Korabel district looked surreal: submerged ground floors, smoke rising from a fresh shelling crater. Soldiers, rescuers, and locals worked together, clad in whatever they managed to grab.

“Some escaped by car early this morning,” a rescuer told Texas. “Now, it’s impossible. Good thing you brought motorboats.”

Launching the motorboat, Texas navigated through half-submerged traffic signs. The irony was not lost on him. 

Korabel was different from the rest of Kherson. Known as “The Island,” it was an isolated community with a rich shipbuilding history. Now, its residents were trapped.

Texas’ boat met a makeshift fishing vessel, overloaded with people and pets.

“Many left?” Texas shouted.

The boatman drew a line above his head, signaling more than they could handle.

“There,” a comrade pointed. “A woman on the roof.”

As they approached, Texas spotted movement in the water.

“Wait! Come here, boy.”

An exhausted dog paddled towards them. A soldier hauled the trembling animal aboard, wrapping it in a towel.

Moments later, they rescued the woman from the roof, taking only her essentials to make room for more.

Back on land, a territorial defense soldier warned, “Be careful. They’re shelling us harder.”

“That’s not hard shelling yet.”

Texas’ squad made trip after trip until nightfall. They ferried young and old, pets and belongings. Despite the fears, the shelling remained light—at least for that day. Relief arrived late at night, and only then did Texas rest.

“Quite a story, huh?” Texas smirked at me.

I was speechless. Kherson had that effect. Texas finished his coffee, giving me an excuse to make more.

“We did it for days. If they didn’t notice at first, they sure did later.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shellings. They didn’t evacuate anyone. They thought we’d take advantage and attack. But when they saw us—soldiers, rescuers, volunteers—saving civilians, they reacted.”

I handed him another cup.

“But, you know, it wasn’t as tragic as it sounds. I used humor to lift spirits. We’d assess the situation, see who needed help, and go. Just shout ‘evacuation!’ and people would signal us.”

He took a sip.

“Not everyone wanted to leave, though.”

“How come?”

“Well, some were afraid for their belongings. You tell them the water is rising, their house is flooding, and it’s time to go. But they worry about marauders robbing their homes. I remember seeing someone frying potatoes just above water level.

Those were interesting times. But we tried to evacuate everyone who wanted to leave.”

“Quite a story indeed.”

I was slowly realizing that all of this happened here—not in some distant place on TV, but in the very city I had moved to. I decided I’d visit the Korabel district as soon as I could.

“But that’s not the most interesting part.”

“You mean there’s more, even more interesting?”

“There was one operation… I’m pretty sure I damaged my watch then. I’ll keep it short; I’ve got to run soon. It was… I don’t know what day of the Flood it was. Everything felt like one long day. We got a mission…”

The motorboat cut through the waves of the Dnipro. The wind was calmer than the day before, when they had completed a task at the same destination. Texas and his brothers-in-arms weren’t working in Kherson anymore. There was enough work done in the city, and the volunteers with rescuers would handle the rest. This time, the squad was heading East, crossing the Dnipro to the Left Bank. And they weren’t alone.

There were three motorboats in their group. The largest—where Texas was—was meant for evacuation. Two others provided cover in case of enemy fire. The fourth boat waited further to the West. The day before, everything had gone smoothly. The squad planned their route, entered the village of Kardashynka, collected the people from the rooftops, and left for Kherson. Even though it was June, the nights were still cold, especially if you slept on a roof. They hadn’t met any resistance; it seemed almost no Russians were left in the village. So the next trip wasn’t expected to be different.

Texas wore a cheap civilian jacket with his hood up. It was dark blue. His brothers-in-arms had similar attire, but everyone had tactical gear hidden underneath. Inside the boat, under a tarp, lay a stock of assault rifles and a machine gun—just in case. There were also blankets and towels for the rescued. 

The village lay silent. The roar of the engine sounded almost welcoming: hey, we’re here, come evacuate with us! The squad knew where to find those who needed evacuation. Reconnaissance drones provided live updates. Texas scanned for danger but saw none. Well then… The team filled the boat with people and pets and prepared to leave. It was cramped on board: the Left Bank was dangerous, and the fewer trips you made, the better.

The motorboat had nearly left the village when shots rang out from a nearby building. Texas reacted immediately, firing back. Civilians panicked. Some prayed, others covered their heads. Shots came from a two-story building with a red roof and cream-colored walls. The first floor was underwater. Texas quickly identified four shooters.

A woman cried out in pain. A combat medic rushed to her, but Texas had no time to look—enemy fire was relentless. Bullets shattered plastic and wood. Another cry came from the bow.

No, not four. Five shooters targeted the evacuees.

While reloading, Texas radioed for help.

“Falcon, Falcon, this is Texas. Under heavy fire. Civilians WIA. Need support. Over.”

“Texas, this is Falcon. Copy. We see you via drone. Hold on, artillery support is on the way. Over.”

“Roger. Over and out.”

The boatman desperately maneuvered to escape the gunfire. It was clear the Russians targeted him and the medic. If they were hit, the squad was doomed.

A row of trees loomed ahead—not dense enough for full cover, but it was their best option. Two other motorboats awaited further along, along with the security boat. They just needed to get there.

Texas nearly hit one of the Russians. The bullet struck brick just below his chest, making the sniper disappear. Texas continued firing at the others. Suddenly, he heard a sound no one wants to hear on a boat. When an engine runs smoothly, its roar becomes background noise. Until a bullet hits. The sound changes.

That was when Texas realized Fortune was on their side. Despite being shot, the motor still worked. Somehow. Moments later, they reached the trees and found shelter from the barrage.

Then, the artillery thundered. A shell hit the building with brutal precision. Dust clouded the remains. The second shot landed nearby. Even if any snipers had survived, they couldn’t continue fighting.

Texas quickly regained his senses, and soon, all three boats were rushing to the other bank. The fourth boat was ready to join them, along with additional evacuees. The squad had completed their mission.

People were safe.

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