Monday, April 11, 2022

Russia lost the battle for Kyiv with its hasty assault on a Ukrainian airport


Patrick J. McDonnell
Sun, April 10, 2022

A Ukrainian soldier passes the destroyed Antonov An-225, a six-engine behemoth that had been a source of intense national pride. (Celestino Arce / Associated Press)

Days after Russian forces retreated from Kyiv, the northern outskirts of the Ukrainian capital are littered with the charred remains of blown-up and abandoned Russian tanks, armored personnel carriers and other equipment.

The debris is a stark testament to an assault that was meant to oust the Ukrainian government but became a humiliating blunder for Russian President Vladimir Putin.

Russia's failure to take the capital came down to a series of misjudgments and strategic errors: an emphasis on vulnerable armored columns, inadequate use of air power, an attack plan that overstretched supply lines, and — most significantly — a clear miscalculation of the Ukrainians’ ability and determination to resist.

But experts say there is one place, more than anywhere else, where Putin's vision of a lightning strike victory ran aground: Antonov Airport.


A Ukrainian serviceman walks by the destroyed Antonov An-225, the largest aircraft in the world.
(Vadim Ghirda / Associated Press)

This sprawling cargo airport and military base 15 miles northwest of downtown Kyiv was supposed to be the principal staging ground and logistics hub for a battle-defining Russian thrust into the heart of the capital.

The Ukrainian government was supposed to fall and President Volodymyr Zelensky was supposed to be killed, captured or forced into exile. Experts said that Putin probably planned to install a puppet leader.

The thinking was that a hasty collapse of the central government would trigger deep disarray in Ukrainian units fighting in the east and the south, possibly resulting in a broad surrender.

“They needed to get into the middle of Kyiv as quickly as possible and raise the Russian flag over a government building,” said John Spencer, a retired U.S. Army major who now chairs urban war studies at the Madison Policy Forum think tank in New York. “At that point you’ve won the war. Yes, you may start the greatest insurgency in history. But you’ve won the war.”

Parts of destroyed aircraft at the Antonov Airport in Hostomel, Ukraine. 
(Felipe Dana / Associated Press)

He said capturing the airport was “critical” to the Russian strategy. Antonov has a long runway, ideal for flying in supplies and troops on heavy transport planes.

“You need airfields to bring in force, to bring in tanks, engineers, the necessary armor,” Spencer said.

Unlike the United States in its 2003 assault on Baghdad, Russia launched its ground assault immediately, without first pounding military bases, command and control structures and other strategic sites from the air. There was no shock and awe. That decision continues to baffle many.

“We all expected that Russia would do several days of airstrikes, precision missile strikes, that kind of thing — ‘softening up,’ so to speak,” said Dmitry Gorenburg, an analyst with CNA, a think tank in Arlington, Va. “But then they launched a ground operation rather than waiting a few days. I’m not sure why they were in that kind of hurry.”

Russia did expend plenty of air power in its assault on the airfield.

On the morning of Feb. 24 — the first day of what Putin called his "special operation" — low-flying Russian Mi-8 assault helicopters appeared over the airport and began firing rockets. Plumes of smoke rose from the airfield. Russian paratroopers ferried in by helicopter were soon redirecting civilian traffic outside the airport gates.

A satellite photo of the Antonov Airport, which was supposed to have been the principal staging ground and logistics hub for a Russian thrust into the Ukrainian capital, Kyiv. But those plans failed in the face of fierce Ukrainian resistance. (Maxar Technologies)

By all accounts, attempting to grab the air base at the very outset of the war made a lot of sense, helping to complement a prospective pincer movement on the capital with nearby motorized columns.

“The initial idea was that cargo planes with paratroopers and vehicles would land here and it should have been an entry point to Kyiv,” said Denys Monastyrsky, Ukraine’s internal security minister, speaking to reporters Friday.

Once the airfield was secured, Russia “could start pouring in a lot of other troops, and start manning checkpoints in the middle of Kyiv,” said Jonathan Eyal, associate director of the Royal United Services Institute, a think tank in London. “If you think about it, had they succeeded, I think the war may have gone very differently.”

A day after the initial attack, Maj. Gen. Igor Konashenkov, a Russian defense ministry spokesman, announced that Moscow had sent 200 helicopters to take control of the airfield.

In fact, authorities here said fighting at the airport continued for days, and Ukrainian forces shot down several helicopters, even as Moscow ferried in wave after wave of paratroopers.

Weeks of fierce combat transformed the airport into a dystopian post-battle debris field, strewn with spent ammunition, rockets, Russian ration boxes, gas masks, and burned and tattered uniforms.

The most conspicuous monument to the fighting is the smashed hulk of an Antonov An-225.

The six-engine behemoth, long the world’s largest aircraft, is known in Ukrainian as Mriya, or Dream, and was a source of intense national pride. No more.


A Ukrainian serviceman touches the nose of the Antonov An-225 destroyed in fighting at the Antonov Airport in Ukraine. (Vadim Ghirda / Associated Press)

The plane looks like it was gouged by a giant can opener, its fuselage sheared in a blackened jumble of wires and metal, the yellow and blue Ukrainian colors still visible outside the cockpit.

Russia finally secured the airfield, but its forces remained under constant fire, according to Ukrainian officials.

Russia was never able to land large transport aircraft to reinforce besieged forces here and elsewhere in the Kyiv area. Rather than thrusting forward to the heart of the capital, Russian troops at the air base were stuck fighting for their survival.

“That was a turning point,” Eyal said.

With Zelensky and the Ukrainian government still in power, Russian attack columns — lacking anticipated resupply and reinforcement — got bogged down in the capital’s dense northern suburbs.

Ukrainian troops used Western-provided Javelin portable antitank systems and Turkish-supplied drones to pick off the Russian armor, much of which is now rusting away in the suburbs of the capital.

Moscow somehow didn't anticipate the effect of the sophisticated equipment, and training, that Ukrainian forces had received from the West in recent years. Experts said that Russia’s multi-pronged attack across several fronts was clearly undermanned against a well-armed opponent.

“They tried to do too much,” Gorenburg said. “If they had focused on one objective, like taking Kyiv, they might have done better.”


A Ukrainian serviceman uses his weapon to hold up a Russian beret he retrieved from a destroyed Russian military vehicle at the Antonov Airport.
 (Vadim Ghirda / Associated Press)

Putin may have more success as his troops shift their efforts to the east, where pro-Russia separatists have been fighting for years. But Russia’s retreat here has also bolstered Ukrainian confidence that its troops can hold off, and even defeat, its colossal adversary.

Such a notion would undoubtedly draw derision from Putin. The Russian leader has long questioned Ukraine’s status as an independent state, publicly declaring its territory, and people, as an extension of historic Russia.

In the view of some, it is Putin’s distorted view of Ukraine that may have led him to misjudge what it would take to win this war — and to disregard the notion that Ukrainians would staunchly resist the Russian onslaught.

“I think the bottom line, the essence of the story, is that Mr. Putin believed the nonsense that he was spouting, which is that Ukraine is a fake state hijacked by a small clique — and the moment you put a finger on it the entire thing would collapse like a house of cards, with the Ukrainian president running away,” Eyal said. “Everything else followed this original error.”

On the streets of Kyiv, where the retreat was greeted with relief and pride, many agree: Putin underestimated people’s willingness to stand up to Russian force.

“I can't get inside Putin’s head, but I think that, yes, he really expected to take Kyiv in like three days,” said Vitalii Hemych, 28, a restaurant owner. “But our nation is now united. That is the main reason why his plan failed.”

Special correspondent Ilona Shubovych in Vinnytsia, Ukraine, contributed to this report.

This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
Putin takes ‘nuclear football’ to funeral of Russian politician

Vladimir Zhirinovsky was a far-right politician and head of the ultranationalist Liberal-Democratic Party 

Aisha Rimi
Sat, April 9, 2022

(AP)

Russian president Vladimir Putin was spotted with the Russian “nuclear football” as he attended the funeral of a far-right politician on Friday.

Mr Putin was accompanied by a man in a dark suit who was carrying a briefcase, which contains the codes needed to authorise a nuclear attack remotely.

Mourners were cleared from the Christ the Saviour Cathedral as the Russian leader paid his respects to the ultranationalist, Vladimir Zhirinovsky, amid fears of an assassination attempt.

At the open casket, Mr Putin picked up a bunch of roses and placed them at the bottom of the coffin and then made the sign of the cross. No armed guards were standing by the coffin when he approached to pay his respects.

Mr Putin placed flowers on Mr Zhirinovsky’s coffin as he paid his respects (AP)

“For Vladimir Putin, the hall where people bade farewell to Zhirinovsky was completely emptied of people – even from relatives on chairs,” reported Telegram channel VCHK-OGPU.

Much like the nuclear football carried by presidential military aides in the US, the Russian nuclear briefcase, known as the “cheget”, was designed to be within reach for the president at all times. A similar briefcase is thought to accompany the minister of defence and chief of general staff.

Vladimir Zhirinovsky was a far-right politician and head of the ultranationalist Liberal-Democratic Party. He died from Covid 15 weeks after predicting in advance the date of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.
World War ‘Z’: What’s the meaning behind Russian propaganda symbol emerging as ‘the new swastika’?


Megan Sheets
Sun, April 10, 2022

The letter “Z” has emerged as a prominent propaganda symbol in Russia’s attack on Ukraine, drawing comparisons to swastikas worn by Nazi soldiers in World War II.

At the start of Russia’s invasion, the letter – which does not exist in the Russian alphabet – was inexplicably painted on the rear of its tanks and other vehicles.

In the more than two weeks since, backers of the invasion have adopted “Z” as a logo to wear their support on their sleeves.

The origin of the letter’s connection to the war is murky, according to Kamil Galeev, a Galina Starovoitova Fellow at the Woodrow Wilson Center who has been compiling photos of the symbol on Twitter since before the invasion began.

“Some interpret ‘Z’ as ‘Za pobedy’ (for victory). Others – as ‘Zapad’ (West),” Mr Galeev explained.

“Anyway, this symbol invented just a few days ago became a symbol of new Russian ideology and national identity.”

Experts initially speculated that the marking indicated where a military unit was headed before deployment as a means to distinguish it and lessen the risk of friendly fire.

“It’s vital that any attacking force can be distinguished, particularly from the air where Russian forces will have complete control,” a source in the Ukrainian capital of Kyiv told The Sun.

“The Ukrainians have very similar tanks and vehicles and will want to reduce the risk of friendly fire.”

Michael Clarke, former director of the defence think tank Royal United Services Institute (RUSI), told Sky News that the symbols are likely to be connected to the geographic location of where the units would be deployed for combat.

"Often these symbols will be location-based – they will be communicating where a unit is heading. If they were only to mark the vehicles as being Russian, you could just use one symbol," Mr Clarke said.

A service member of pro-Russian troops in a uniform without insignia walks past a truck with the symbol

But now that the invasion is well underway, the letter “Z” has taken on new meaning, according to Mr Galeev.

“To put it simply, it’s going full fascist,” he wrote in a Twitter thread on Sunday.


“Authorities launched a propaganda campaign to gain popular support for their invasion of Ukraine and they’re getting lots of it.”

The thread included several photos of civilians and cars with the marking.

“Putin took a decision to start this war. But he got a wide support of the Russian people,” he wrote. “Nobody’s forcing them to participate in these shows of support, they could totally skip it. But they cheer. They cheer, because they feel good, they feel proud. Russia became great again.”

Merchandise with the letter “Z” is being sold online by Russia Today, with proceeds purportedly going to a charity which supports “children of war”. Amazon also appears to be selling similar items, according to The Times.

Russian gymnast Ivan Kuliak used the symbol to show his support for the invasion on Saturday, when he wore it as he accepted a bronze medal at the Gymnastics World Cup event in Doha on Saturday.

The stunt was made even more jarring by the fact that Kuliak was next to Ukraine’s Kovtun Illia, who took home gold.

The International Gymnastics Federation said it had opened disciplinary proceedings against Kuliak.


Russian gymnast Ivan Kuliak stands in a shirt that shows letter Z to receive his bronze medal (Screengrab/Video)

And in the Russian city of Kazan, children at a hospice were apparently forced to stand outside in the snow lined up in a “Z” formation to show their support.

The propaganda stunt captured on camera by a drone was reportedly organised by Vladimir Vavilov, chairman of a cancer charity who runs the hospice.

Mr Vavilov said 60 participants – including patients and staff – held one hand in a fist and leaflets with the flags of Russia, the Donetsk People’s Republic (DPR), Luhansk People’s Republic (LPR) and Russian republic Tatarstan in the other.


Children at a hospice centre stand in a “Z” formation to show support for Russia’s invasion of Ukraine (Kamil Galeev via Twitter)

Several politicians have also donned clothing and badges with the insignia, including Mikhail Delyagin and Maria Butina.

Ms Butina, who was convicted in the US of acting as a foreign agent in 2018, posted a picture of her and colleagues in “’Z” T-shirts with the caption: “The team in support of our army and president! Let’s get to work guys!”

The Independent has a proud history of campaigning for the rights of the most vulnerable, and we first ran our Refugees Welcome campaign during the war in Syria in 2015. Now, as we renew our campaign and launch this petition in the wake of the unfolding Ukrainian crisis, we are calling on the government to go further and faster to ensure help is delivered. To find out more about our Refugees Welcome campaign, click here. To sign the petition click here. If you would like to donate then please click here for our GoFundMe page.
Inside a Ukrainian village where farmers stay for the wheat harvest but fear Russian attack



Mon, April 11, 2022
By Thomas Peter

YAKOVLIVKA, Ukraine (Reuters) - The wheat has been sown for the coming season but nobody in Yakovlivka, a small farming village outside Kharkiv in northeastern Ukraine, knows if it will be harvested.

A week after Russian forces launched their invasion on Feb. 24, the village was bombed. The head of the village administration said four people were killed and 11, including children, were wounded in the attack.

"We were sitting in our cellar for four hours and read the Lord's Prayer. We wrapped the kids into blankets and just couldn't fall asleep until three or four in the morning," said Nina Bonderenko, who works on her cousin's farm.

Villagers said the attack may have been aimed at a unit of Ukrainian soldiers camping temporarily in the village school, although apart from some broken windows, the building was undamaged by the blasts.

Reuters was not able to independently verify the villagers' account of the bombing.

Russia has denied targetting civilians in what it calls a "special operation" to demilitarise and "denazify" its neighbour. Ukraine and its allies dismiss that as a baseless pretext for war.

Since the village was bombed, residents say all certainty has been lost.

"We have planted all the wheat. But will we be able to grow anything and harvest it under the current circumstances?" said Vadim Aleksandrovich, director of "Granary of Sloboda" - a farming company that emerged from a former Soviet-era collective farm.

"Only God knows. We are doing our best."

With the country at war, the uncertainty facing Yakovlivka is shared across the country by farmers who produce the grain that has historically made Ukraine, the world's fifth biggest wheat exporter, one of the great breadbaskets of the world.

DANGER IN THE FIELDS


Last season, Granary of Sloboda's harvest amounted to 3,000 tons of wheat, 3,000 tons of sunflower and 1,000 tons of corn. But at the moment, 80% of the firm's 7,000 hectares (17,300 acres) are not accessible because of mines or combat operations, Aleksandrovich said.

Only the fields immediately around Yakovlikva village can be reached relatively safely and there is heavy fighting around the firm's seed storage facility at its base in Izyum, some 140 km (85 miles) away, he said.

Before farm workers can go out to the fields, they call emergency services to find out if the area is safe. When rockets land in the fields, explosives disposal services remove any projectiles.

"The situation is very tense, and it is unclear what will happen to us," Aleksandrovich said. "We don't even know what will happen in one hour."

Despite the uncertainty, most of the villagers have remained, refusing to join a national exodus that has seen around a quarter of the country's population of 44 million flee their homes.

Of 533 permanent residents before the war, 380 have stayed, with refugees from outside boosting the population to 436, according to local authorities.

Although the village shop has closed, people have started to patch up the damaged houses that can still be repaired.

"I thought I could live my last days in peace and then this," said 66-year-old Vera Babenko, picking a bowl out from under a pile of rubble by her now door-less refrigerator.

She said a bomb landed just beside her house, about 200 metres (yards) from the school the attack was apparently supposed to hit but she said she had no plans to leave.

"I want to rebuild my kitchen."

(Editing by James Mackenzie and Frances Kerry)
The network protecting Ukraine's cultural heritage

As persistent attacks from Russia continue to destroy Ukrainian cities and age-old cultural sites, German experts are getting together to save the country's valuable heritage.


Sandbags protect a monument in Zaporizhzhia, in south-eastern Ukraine

In addition to the immense human suffering that has occurred since Russia invaded Ukraine on February 24, the ongoing war also means that Ukraine's cultural heritage is under threat.

This includes the country's churches, historical sites, museums, monuments and traditions. A week ago, UNESCO, the UN agency responsible for culture, estimated that more than 50 sites have already been damaged.

Beate Reifenscheid, president of the German branch of the International Council of Museums (ICOM), believes that number is much higher.

"From Mariupol, we don't even know what substantial damage there is," Reifenscheid told DW. "You have to assume that everything is lost there."

In March, Claudia Roth, the German Federal Government Commissioner for Culture and the Media, launched the Network for the Protection of Cultural Property in Ukraine together with the German Foreign Office.

The aim is to better protect cultural treasures, gather information and coordinate aid measures. Much of the work will be done from Germany, with ICOM Germany serving as the central contact point.

Too much going on at the same time


ICOM, founded in 1946 along with UNESCO, consists of 151 national committees. "Thanks to this international network, we didn't have to start from scratch," says Reifenscheid.

During protests against the Belarus dictatorship in 2020, she says cultural institutions had also asked for help. "[However] the fact that such a situation could occur in Ukraine was not on our radar," Reifenscheid added.

The difficult task now is to maintain a clear overview of the situation amid a confusing and constantly changing war scenario.

"Because everyone wants to help as quickly as possible, there is still too much going on all at once; we need to coordinate measures more closely."


ICOM Germany's President Beate Reifenscheid

Funds are currently limited to helping institutions on the ground in Ukraine. There are no immediate plans to evacuate objects across borders as "this would deprive Ukraine of cultural assets," explains Reifenscheid.

Moreover, in the case of temporary storage of artworks outside Ukraine, a significant and ominous question would be raised: What would happen if Russia won the war and occupied Ukraine? Would the art then have to be returned to the aggressor?
Protecting wood from flames

The Network for the Protection of Cultural Property includes numerous institutions such as the German National Library, the Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation and the Federal Archives who decide about measures in digital meetings with other ICOM committees.

At the beginning of the war, it was agreed that packaging materials should be sent.

"They were brought to the Polish-Ukrainian border, and then sent through new routes to respective destinations," Reinfenscheid explains.

Currently, material is needed with which new boxes can be made to store and transport movable material, as well as fire extinguishers, fireproof blankets and non-flammable pastes to paint the wood.

It is more complicated to find technical equipment, for example air-conditioning for objects that need to be protected from heat or humidity.

"These devices cannot be provided by local museums because they are being used," Reinfenscheid says, adding that costs are high and financial support for the network is not finalized.

Participating institutions are supporting Ukraine with different kinds of expertise. The German Archaeological Institute is helping in the evaluation of satellite photos to document and verify damaged cultural sites. The Ukrainian Ministry for Culture and Information policy has created a website through which eyewitnesses and residents can report damages.

Already, 166 entries have been listed, though they have not yet all been verified. Photographs show bullet holes or bombings on museum or church facades.

"Windows, facades, the roof and the inner rooms of the old building of the cultural palace have been severely damaged by bombing," according to an entry from Mariupol.
Documenting war crimes

The documentation is also important because the destruction of cultural goods is considered a war crime. The General Director of UNESCO, Audrey Azoulay, wrote to the Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov in March demanding that cultural heritage in Ukraine be protected.

Russia is a signatory to the 1954 Hague Convention for the Protection of Cultural Goods in armed conflict. According to international law, the signatories commit to protecting cultural heritage during a war or armed conflict from damage, destruction, robbery, plundering and illegal occupation.

"The signing was not even worth the ink that was used," says Beate Reifenscheid, pointing at Russia, which denies Ukraine's cultural identity. "They want to destroy the soul and DNA of Ukraine," she says, and cultural heritage of a country is essentially a part of that.

THREATENED BY WAR: UKRAINE'S UNESCO WORLD HERITAGE SITES
Kyiv: Saint-Sophia Cathedral and related monastic buildings, Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra
This 11th-century Eastern Orthodox church was built to rival the Hagia Sophia, in present-day Istanbul. Its mosaics and frescoes are prized for their impressive condition. The church greatly influenced subsequent temples, and together with the nearby monastic complex known as Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra, or Kyiv Monastery of the Caves, it helped the area become a center of Orthodox faith and thought.


This article was originally written in German.
Trudeau pledges to take more Ukraine refugees as nations bolster support

By Adam Schrader

A refugee child from Ukraine upon arrival at the Humanitarian Aid Center in Przemysl, Poland, on Saturday. Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau pledged further support on Sunday as countries continue taking refugees fleeing the war in Ukraine.
 Photo by Darek Delmanowicz/EPA-EFE

April 10 (UPI) -- Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau pledged further support Sunday as countries continue taking refugees fleeing the war in Ukraine.

Trudeau told CNN that Canada has already taken in more than 14,000 refugees from Ukraine and will continue to take "many, many more."

"When I was in Warsaw a few weeks ago, I heard from people who don't want to go too far from their husbands, their families back in Ukraine," Trudeau said.

"But [they] are also looking at, if this does go on as long as it might, they need solace and a secure place to go and Canada will always be there for as many as choose to come to Canada."

RELATED Rep. McCarthy leads bipartisan lawmakers to Poland to discuss Ukraine

Filippo Grandi, the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees, has praised Canada for its "generous support to refugees, everywhere."

"My deepest gratitude to you, Canada," Grandi said in a tweet Wednesday, which included a picture with Trudeau. "In a troubled world, this is needed -- more than ever."

Assistant High Commissioner of Operations Raouf Mazou on Saturday also praised Romania and Moldova for "the remarkable solidarity displayed in both countries towards people fleeing Ukraine." More than 686,000 have fled to Romania while more than 410,000 have fled to Moldova

"In the past days, I have witnessed first-hand the generosity that has thus far characterized the response to the arrival of refugees from Ukraine," Mazou said.

"We must all express our deep appreciation to the governments and the people of both Romania and the Republic of Moldova for opening their hearts and their homes to those in need, in these very difficult times."

Their statements come as House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy, R-Calif., led a bipartisan group of lawmakers to Warsaw to meet with the prime minister of Poland and officials from Ukraine to discuss the ongoing war.

Data from the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees shows that more than 2.5 million Ukrainians have fled to Poland since the start of the Russian invasion. The lawmakers were pictured speaking with some of the Ukrainian refugees in Poland.

Another 419.000 refugees have fled to Hungary while more than 314,000 have fled to Slovakia, according to the UNHCR. Hungary and Slovakia, like Poland, are members of the Schengen area which allows travel within Europe. Many of the refugees may have since continued on to other countries

More than 4.5 million refugees have fled Ukraine in total since the start of the invasion, the data shows.

Ursula von der Leyen, president of the European Commission, met with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky in Kyiv after visiting the town of Bucha on Friday.

Von der Leyen said that the European Union would increase its support to Ukraine amid the Russian invasion and presented him with an envelope that contained steps on moving Ukraine toward EU membership.

Von der Leyen announced that the European Union issued "five waves" of sanctions against Russia and is "already preparing the next wave."

"We are now moving into a system of rolling sanctions. And these sanctions are biting hard. Exports in goods to Russia have fallen almost 71%. Inflation is around 20% -- and rising," von der Leyen said.

The European Union has also allocated 1 billion euross, which is $1.09 billion, to support the Ukrainian military and "will now propose another 500 million."

"In addition, EU member states are delivering military equipment on an unprecedented scale. Slovakia is a shining example for that," she said. "With this we support the brave Ukrainian soldiers, fighting for Ukraine´s freedom. And for everyone's freedom."

On Sunday, it was revealed that the governors of Iowa and Nebraska had announced in March that they would donate military-grade police protective gear to Ukrainian civilians.

"The state is providing 146 protective helmets and 714 ballistic vests to Ukraine through donations from the Department of Public Safety and 18 other law enforcement agencies," Iowa Gov. Kim Reynolds said in a statement.

"The retired equipment is past the manufacturers' recommended service life but still in usable condition. Nebraska contributed additional helmets and vests to send with Iowa's donation."

Meanwhile, a Ukrainian aid organization called Everything Will Be Fine has amassed around 1,000 volunteer bus drivers to operate a fleet of more than 400 buses and vans to shuttle Ukrainian civilians out of the war-torn Donbas region in eastern Ukraine, The New York Times reported.

"In my estimation, the Donetsk region could be encircled in three to four days," Yuroslav Boyko, who heads the organization, told the Times. "We need to make sure everyone who is looking to leave can get out."
German arms maker offers weapons to Ukraine - German government source


Sun, April 10, 2022

BERLIN (Reuters) - Ukraine has received an offer of a sizeable shipment of self-propelled howitzer weapons from a German armaments company, a German government source said on Sunday.

German weekly Welt am Sonntag had reported on Saturday that armaments manufacturer Krauss-Maffei Wegmann offered 100 howitzers, a type of artillery weapon, to Ukraine, quoting anonymous government sources in Kyiv.

"This offer exists," the German source said to Reuters, without providing further details.

The Welt am Sonntag report said that the manufacturer did not currently have the weaponry ready for delivery and so had suggested that Germany's military offer 100 of its own howitzers to Kyiv and the manufacturer would then deliver the new weapons to Germany's army once ready - likely from the second half of 2024

Krauss-Maffei Wegmann was not immediately available for comment. A spokesperson for the German defence ministry declined to comment.

Following Russia's invasion of Ukraine on Feb. 24, Germany reversed its long-held policy of not sending weapons to conflict zones and said it would supply Strela missiles, among other arms, to Ukraine.

Chancellor Olaf Scholz said on Friday it was important that Germany supply only weapons that Ukraine's army will know how to use, such as older equipment from the army of former Communist East Germany.

(Reporting by Sabine Siebold; Writing by Victoria Waldersee; Editing by Frances Kerry)

Germany ‘refused’ arms company’s offer to refurbish tanks to send to Ukraine

Jorg Luyken
Sun, April 10, 2022

Arms manufacturer Rheinmetall said 100 Marder tanks standing around in its factory could be made battle-ready for Ukraine - Jens Schlueter/Getty Images Europe

The German government is facing renewed criticism after it reportedly rejected an offer by an arms firm to repair 100 tanks to send to the Ukrainian front line.

Rheinmetall, an arms manufacturer, said 100 Marder tanks standing around in its factory could be made battle-ready, enabling the German armed forces to send an equivalent number of operative vehicles to Ukraine.

According to a report in Bild newspaper, the defence ministry responded that the decommissioned tanks would take too long to refurbish, leaving its own forces unable to meet their Nato obligations.

However, the ministry did not send anyone to inspect the tanks before refusing the offer, according to Bild.

“If it is true that the defence ministry has not yet even inspected the Marder tanks, then this is a scandal,” Ukrainian ambassador to Berlin Andrij Melnyk told the tabloid.

Mr Melnyk added that “Berlin is showing no urgency although this war of extermination by Russia against the Ukrainian population has been raging for 45 days.”

Kyiv is desperate for Germany to start delivering heavy weaponry as its outnumbered army prepares to face an intensified Russian offensive in the east.

The Ukrainians have identified the Marder, a light tank that is gradually being decommissioned by the Bundeswehr, as a suitable fix.

Germany's defence ministry said decommissioned tanks would take too long to repair - but Bild newspaper claimed the ministry did not send anyone to inspect the tanks before refusing the offer - Sean Gallup/Getty Images Europe

The 100 tanks in question are currently parked on the premises of a Rheinmetall factory and the company has said that it could refurbish 20 of them within the next eight weeks and a further 50 within half a year.

Military experts have cautioned that it could take months before Ukraine’s mechanised infantry would be able to use the Marder tanks owing to the time it takes to re-train soldiers and the need to set up effective lines of logistics.

At the same time, the Marder’s speed and agility would potentially hand the Ukrainians a battlefield advantage over the more cumbersome Soviet-era BMP light tanks that the Russians rely on, experts say.

Military analysts have also questioned the defence ministry’s argument that sending 100 outdated tanks to Ukraine would damage Germany’s own defensive capabilities.

“If the German national defence could really fail because of a few missing Marder tanks, then we might as well shut up shop altogether,” Frank Sauer, an expert from the Bundeswehr Academy in Munich, told Spiegel magazine.

Germany still has 370 operational Marder tanks. The fighting vehicle was first introduced into the Bundeswehr’s arsenal half a century ago and was supposed to be largely replaced by the cutting-edge PUMA tank by 2020.

But production delays and technical issues have plagued the new tanks, meaning that German soldiers still rely heavily on the Marder during training exercises.



Berlin is facing increasing domestic anger over its sluggishness in supplying Ukraine with arms.

Die Welt newspaper declared at the weekend that Berlin’s pledge to support Ukraine militarily as part of a “new era” of defence strategy was “a fairytale”.

Soon after the Russian invasion started, Chancellor Olaf Scholz gave a historic Bundestag speech in which he said that Berlin would abandon its age-old refusal to deliver weapons to war zones, while also spending an extra €100 billion (£83 billion) on its own armed forces.

But six weeks on, Die Welt said that Mr Scholz was only interested in improving Germany’s own defensive capabilities.

Der Spiegel was also scathing, pointing out that Estonia had so far committed to more arms deliveries than Germany. The political magazine declared that Mr Scholz had “lost his political courage immediately after his Bundestag speech”.

The German Defence Ministry has refused to discuss specifics of its arms deliveries to Ukraine, saying that Kyiv has asked for secrecy in order to keep the Kremlin guessing about its exact capabilities - a claim that has been denied by the Ukrainians.

Kyiv has become increasingly frustrated at delays in decision making in Berlin, where requests for the delivery of specific military hardware often take weeks to receive an answer.



Up until now Berlin has delivered weapons with a value of €186 million (£155 million), mainly anti-tank and surface-to-air missiles.

Mr Scholz has insisted that the delays are due to the fact that Germany is determined to deliver weapons that will be of real benefit.

During a visit to London last week, he said that “we strive to provide weapons that are helpful and effective. We have done that in the past, we will continue to do that.”

Defending Berlin’s record, Mr Scholz added that “the successes that the Ukrainian army has achieved shows that the weapons that we have supplied are particularly effective.”

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky tweeted on Sunday that he had discussed possible additional sanctions on Russia in a call with German Chancellor Olaf Scholz.

Mr Zelensky has called for an embargo on imported gas and oil from Russia, but Germany so far resisted pressure to do so.

Meanwhile, Pro-Russia protesters rallied in Germany demanding an end to discrimination they say they have been subjected to since the war began.


Pro-Russia supporters get a thumbs-down from an onlooker as they march through Frankfurt - YANN SCHREIBER

Around 600 people descended on Frankfurt on Sunday amid a sea of Russian flags.

Police threw up a large cordon to separate the protesters - marching behind a banner that read "Truth and diversity of opinion over PROPAGANDA" - from a pro-Ukraine counter-demonstration of around 100 people near the city's central banking district.

Germany is home to 1.2 million people of Russian origin and 325,000 from Ukraine. Authorities fear the conflict could be imported into Germany and the protests used to promote Moscow's war narrative.

Police have recorded 383 anti-Russian offences and 181 anti-Ukrainian offences since the Kremlin's invasion started on February 24.




Russian artists demand free speech, flee their homeland to protest Ukraine War

Tami Abdollah, USA TODAY
Mon, April 11, 2022

LONG READ

KOTKA, Finland – Two days after Russia invaded Ukraine, a bearded and distraught-looking Ivan Nikolaev, 35, posted a video on YouTube, denouncing President Vladimir Putin for the attack.

“Innocent Ukrainian citizens are being murdered as Russia continues to occupy an independent state of Ukraine,” Nikolaev said. “As citizens of Russia, we are all involved in this military crime.”

His wife, Alena Starostina, 38, shared the video on her Facebook page.

Soon after, Russia passed a law against spreading statements not in line with the government narrative. With that, both husband and wife, who had spent their days as longtime performers thoughtfully dissecting plays, were suddenly criminals, facing fines of 1.5 million rubles and up to 15 years in prison.

After a final performance by Starostina, the couple took out as much cash as they could and packed up their small car. They said goodbye to Starostina’s father, who couldn’t believe they were fleeing, and permanently left for Finland.

Within a few days, the couple realized that the war would not be over for many months.

“It feels like a person close to you is dying, not suddenly of a stroke, but of some terminal torturous disease,” Nikolaev said. But “there is always this silly hope that someone kills him (Putin) and this whole thing will be over.”

Nikolaev and Starostina are among the growing numbers of artists who have fled Russia to neighboring Finland in recent weeks. Many have long faced the threat of persecution in Russia for not supporting official stances, but their criticism of the war put them in danger of imprisonment, forcing them to give up their work and make a new home several hours from the Russian border.

Now, amid a harsh crackdown on opposing views, many are unsure if or when it will ever be possible to return. Many artists said they were also worried about the integrity of their work in Putin’s Russia, which has increasingly suppressed free speech and expression.

Starostina and Nikolaev, who worked at a small independent theater company in St. Petersburg, have found themselves closely following Russia’s actions in Ukraine with disgust while applying for work abroad. Nikolaev’s mother had long ago moved to the snowy, southeastern seaside of Kotka, and they have joined her in the tiny one-bedroom, third-floor walk-up flat.

They miss the lives they led, where they created elaborate worlds from words, sets and costumes to explore the futilities and ironies of Russian society. They are worried their art failed to transform the minds of their countrymen, to foster a more open and caring Russia.

“Theater is meant to talk to people and communicate with them, to explain things about the world,” Starostina said. “But it looks like we failed. We couldn’t stop this war and so, I think we are also responsible for it.”

The couple has through May to figure out whether they will be able to get a long-term visa to work in Finland or must otherwise leave. Meanwhile, they are still paying for their apartment back in St. Petersburg, using the rubles in their Russian bank account and saving the few hundred euros they converted before sanctions made it impossible to change the rest of their cash.

“We’re waiting to see which money runs out first,” Nikolaev said, the money in their Russian bank account or their cash.

Artists who oppose Putin face persecution in Russia

The threats to free-thinking artists in Russia have become more tangible with each passing day.

In the weeks leading up to the invasion, some of the actors, stagehands, directors and other theater staff faced warnings of possible “consequences” from authorities for speaking out against the state, Nikolaev said. Once war broke out, those who publicly opposed it were fired from official cultural posts and faced potential imprisonment.

Many artists in Russia work for theaters that are fully or partially funded by the Russian state, leaving them particularly vulnerable to censorship. That was the case for Starostina and Nikolaev, who ran “Theater Post,” a small theater that took grants from the Russian government to fund its performances. Even so, many of their performances were put on by activist playwrights and included subtle criticisms of the government.

Nikolaev was arrested once before for protesting. He received intimidating messages from authorities over the theater’s performances and his subscription to a newsletter belonging to opposition leader Alexei Navalny’s anti-corruption organization.

Then the theater group’s performances of “The Sad Deity Committee'' and “Ribbons,” by activist Belarussian playwright Pavel Pryazhko, set for March and April, were both canceled. The “Sad Deity” tells the story of patriotic, unskilled workers who do not understand that their poverty is the product of their society, Nikolaev said. “Ribbons” tells the terrible and ordinary stories of life under the regime of Belarusian President Alexander Lukashenko, known as “Europe’s last dictator."

While some Russian artists spoke out against the government or quit their positions, many others weren’t able to or chose not to speak up, Nikolaev said.

Nikolaev was sickened by his peers who would not join the opposition.

“Theater is supposed to be about common values, like good and evil, but the biggest names in the Russian theater industry, they all kept quiet,” Nikolaev said. “Just a few people made statements, but most of them, the best around, they haven’t said a word. So how can I keep working with them?”

Nikolaev’s mother, Valentina Lyakhova, who emigrated to Finland for work in 2004 was grateful when her son and his wife finally arrived at her small flat. They were finally safe.

She gave her son and wife her bed, choosing to sleep on the floor to give them comfort. She said she worries for their safety and obsessively monitors the news, but tries not to think of what may happen if her son and daughter-in-law must return to Russia. She, too, shared Nikolaev’s video on her social media and supports their outspokenness because “not doing anything is also a way of destroying yourself.”
Attending anti-war protests in Russia is dangerous

After Russia's invasion of Ukraine, celebrated playwright Mikhail Durnenkov went to protests in Moscow daily for a week, messaging friends on Telegram that he was “going for a walk” as code.

He worried his communications were being listened to by the Russian government.

Durnenkov has spoken out against the Russian government before. His most well-known play, “The War Has Not Started Yet,” was written after Russia’s 2014 annexation of Crimea and features characters bombarded by state propaganda. Durnenkov was arrested for protesting.

As the war continued, Durnenkov’s friends abroad urged him to leave. It was a difficult decision, he said.

“I’m a writer, I write in Russian,” he said.


Relatives cry at the mass grave of civilians killed during the Russian occupation in Bucha, on the outskirts of Kyiv, Ukraine, Friday, April 8, 2022.

It wasn’t until he, his wife, their 15-year-old son and their dachshund, Kubrik, crossed the border into Finland on March 18 in their Hyundai Solaris that he realized how much tension he had been holding in his muscles. His hunched body suddenly felt lighter and taller.

During his first few days, Durnenkov said he was in shock, but slowly came to realize, “my life is broken, it is completely ruined.”

“I’m between (worlds),” Durnenkov said. “Abroad you’re the invader and in your country you’re a traitor.”

While he is working in Finland on a play that was arranged prior to the war, he said he feels powerless and knows that he could be arrested if he returns to Moscow. At the same time, the destruction and violence he sees happening in Ukraine is unbearable: He’s never felt more Russian in his life, and never wanted to not be Russian more.

“When I was in Russia, I had a feeling this war was started in my name, and I wanted to be as distant from the country as possible, like my identity was part of the state,” Durnenkov said. “Now, I have a right to say, ‘them.’”

Durnenkov has been given space to work inside a former Helsinki psychiatric hospital along the Baltic Sea, a studio and common space run by the nonprofit Artists at Risk, which helps artists facing persecution flee their homeland and relocate to safety. The organization has assisted artists – including members of the famed feminist Moscow-based Pussy Riot punk rock protest group – in Belarus, Afghanistan, Ukraine, Egypt and elsewhere.

Finland and Russia have always had a close bond, especially among artists, said Marita Muukkonen, who co-founded Artists at Risk. She said at least 220 Russian artists have applied for a safe haven through the program, including Nikolaev and Starostina. She noted that when Finland was part of the Russian empire it flourished because many intellectuals went through Helsinki to St. Petersburg at the time. Now, there is a type of reverse migration, with Russian dissidents leaving for Finland.

"If we want to change governments and have more democratic governments, we need dissidents," Muukonen said. "We need those people who speak up. If we hope that there will be a new power in Russia, it means that the dissidents have to continue their fight."

Like many Russian dissidents, Durnenkov yearns to return to Russia one day and build change from within. He doesn’t know when or how, as long as his son is safe outside of the country.



Dead bodies are placed into a mass grave on the outskirts of Mariupol, Ukraine, Wednesday, March 9, 2022, as people cannot bury their dead because of the heavy shelling by Russian forces.

He worries he didn’t do enough to challenge the Russian government and its followers during all of his years creating art in Moscow. He said he lived in a liberal bubble, cutting off people who didn’t share his beliefs, unfriending people on social media after the annexation of Crimea. He yearns to listen and connect with people with different and contradictory opinions.

“It’s very nice to be brave in your bubble,” Durnenkov said. But “my words were invisible for them. Maybe this was my mistake.”

Or “maybe it’s not about art,” Durnenkov said. “Maybe art is not enough. I feel Russian culture has failed.”
War has changed how some Russians view Ukraine

For Aleksey Yudnikov, 48, an actor with the Moscow theater Teatr.doc, known for its artistic independent plays with social commentary, the last few weeks in Finland have felt like a “bad trip” in more ways than one.

Yudnikov lived in Russia for 30 years and mostly considers himself Russian – his father comes from a long line of Russian military officers – but he has a Ukrainian passport. That’s because he was born in Kyiv when it was ruled by the Soviet Union and spent his summers there with his grandparents. His background is emblematic of the complicated identities frequently found among former Soviet and Russian nationals.

Not many among his social group knew of his Ukrainian passport until war broke out, he said. It had not really mattered much before. But because his mother and brother live in Kyiv, he felt like he needed to leave Russia. He left by train for St. Petersburg, then by bus for Helsinki.

Yudnikov had hoped to stay with a friend in Tel Aviv, Israel, and hopped on the next flight there. But a wave of Ukrainian Jews fleeing to Israel instead resulted in him being placed overnight in a deportation holding cell equipped with bunk beds, a steel door and bars on the windows, and then, with official apologies from a Knesset member, spending a surreal two days at a COVID hotel where people are typically quarantined.

He was offered group therapy with other newly-arrived Ukrainians from cities across Ukraine, as he waited for the next Finnair flight to return him to Helsinki.

Once he returned to Finland, he was given space to work by Artists at Risk at their studio. Because of his Ukrainian citizenship, he is able to apply for temporary protected status.

“For many years I didn’t feel a deep identity with Ukraine, it was just the place I was born, the place where my grandfather and grandmother died,” said Yudnikov.

Everything changed for him eight years ago, after Putin annexed Crimea.

Since then, Putin’s push to merge Ukraine back with Russia and erase its unique identity has backfired for Yudnikov and friends of his who share a Ukrainian identity. He noted how some have moved from Moscow to Ukraine in the last few years, shockingly reclaiming their heritage while he has remained in Russia. Today, he feels a sense of guilt over his identity, as if having not staunchly identified as Ukrainian over the last eight years has helped validate Putin’s claim that Ukraine isn’t a sovereign nation.

In his new country, Yudnikov doesn’t eat or sleep well, glued to his phone checking Telegram channels for news, contacting his mother and brother every time there is a bombing, and processing his shock and PTSD over the situation.


Men wearing protective gear exhume the bodies of killed civilians in Bucha, on the outskirts of Kyiv, Ukraine, Friday, April 8, 2022.

During a recent group therapy session, he listened to Ukrainians from Mariupol and Kharkiv tell their stories of escape. Yudnikov, a man who almost never cries, teared up, he said.

“This has broken my life,” Yudnikov said
.
‘I wish I could forget’

On a recent afternoon, Nikolaev sat in a chair in his mother’s living room, taking long drags on a vape pen with the words “USA'' and an image of a New York cab on the outside. On the wall behind him was a framed photograph of his grandfather, with the same facial features, proudly wearing his Russian military uniform.

Seeing what Russian soldiers have done and the “disaster” that was Bucha, where hundreds of civilians were found murdered by Russian soldiers, some with their hands tied behind their backs or in mass graves, has made Nikolaev feel ashamed of his heritage.

“I wish I could forget my own language,” Nikolaev said, “but I don’t know any other one well enough yet.”

Starostina cried when she spoke to her father by phone the other day. He has bought into the Russian propaganda, she said, and claims Russia and its citizens are a victim of the Ukrainian state. Nikolaev’s father, a well-known Russian television star of police dramas, is also a staunch supporter of the Russian government.

Since fleeing home, Starostina and Nikolaev have been unable to create new art. Their faith in the value of art and its shared collective experience was shaken.

Still, Starostina said, there are embers of a brighter tomorrow.

On a recent night at the philharmonic in Kotka, the orchestra played the Ukrainian national anthem as Nikolaev and Starostina stood up and listened, tears rising in their eyes. They let themselves feel hope that in a country with more freedom of expression, it might be possible for them to make art again, and for it to matter.


This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: Ukraine War has Russian migrants moving to Finland to protest Putin
Russians traveling by train faced with posters depicting war in Ukraine to combat Putin's misinformation

Bethany Dawson
Sun, April 10, 2022, 

A poster with a picture taken by Ukrainian photographer Maxim Dondyuk of a damaged building, amid Russia's invasion of Ukraine, is displayed for Russian passengers on their way between Kaliningrad exclave and mainland Russia at Vilnius railway station, Lithuania.
REUTERS/Andrius Sytas

Russians traveling from the mainland to the enclave of Kaliningrad have to stop in Lithuania.

There, they are greeted by an exhibition showing the realities of the war in Ukraine.

"It's the least that we can do," a spokesperson for Lithuanian Railways said.


Russians taking the train from Moscow to the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad have to pass through Vilnius station in Lithuania. When their train pauses at the platform, they are greeted with 24 large posters depicting the war in Ukraine.

The posters show pictures of corpses, injured civilians, grieving families, destroyed homes and infrastructure, and child refugees.

All posters have the same message: "Today, Putin is killing civilians in Ukraine. Do you support this?"


A poster with a picture taken by Ukrainian photographer Maxim Dondyuk of a war scene, amid Russia's invasion of Ukraine, is displayed for Russian passengers on their way between Kaliningrad exclave and mainland Russia at Vilnius railway station, Lithuania March 25, 2022.REUTERS/Andrius Sytas


A map showing the location of Kaliningrad, a Russian enclave next to Lithuania and Poland
Google Maps/Insider

"As far as we know, Russians are shielded from what is happening in Ukraine.
"Maybe we can change the minds of a very small number of passengers," Mantas Dubauskas, a spokesperson for the state-owned Lithuanian railways, who have erected the posters, told Reuters.

"It's the least that we can do," he added.


A banner with a photo by Evgeniy Maloletka, a photographer working for Associated Press (AP), is seen next to other photographs of Russia's war in Ukraine at the railway station in Vilnius, Lithuania on March 25, 2022, where transit trains from Moscow to Kaliningrad make a stop over.
PETRAS MALUKAS/AFP via Getty Images


Workers attach a banner with a photo of a pregnant woman being carried on a stretcher after the bombing of a maternity ward in Mariupol during Russia's war in Ukraine that is displayed as part of an exhibition at the railway station in Vilnius, Lithuania
PETRAS MALUKAS/AFP via Getty Images

The Russian parliament recently passed a law criminalizing the spread of "fake" news regarding the invasion of Ukraine.

Russia has repeatedly stated that the atrocities witnessed in Ukraine, including the Bucha massacre and bombing of a Mariupol hospital, are fake.

Insider's Mia Jankowicz reported that Putin's disinformation is so effective, that Ukrainians can't convince their own families in Russia they are under attack.

‘We Are Tired of Killing’: How Long Can Ukraine Trade Land for Blood?


Mac William Bishop
Sat, April 9, 2022
Rolling Stone

LONG READ


Ukraine-MoD-Image-3 - Credit: MINISTRY OF DEFENCE OF UKRAINE

“The Russians are just over there.”

The Ukrainian marine driving the truck peers intently into the swirling snow, pointing to the line of trees about a half-mile ahead of us. The Russians, he tells me, “they leave their bodies where they fall,” and shakes his head.

His name is Oleksiy, and he has been full of bonhomie, quips, and curiosity — until we get close enough to the front lines that a forward observer could decide to direct an artillery round at our unarmored pickup. “Listen, if something happens, if something bad happens …” he says, and turns to look me in the eye. “You do whatever you need to do to get out of here.”

The dirt road runs between two wheat fields that are barren and unplowed. No one will plant crops here this year.

We are in Donetsk, where Ukraine has been fighting Russia for eight years in brutal trench warfare. The battle lines were static for most of that time. Now they are not. Russian soldiers have grabbed a chunk of Ukraine’s southeast, and are gaining ground. The marines are here to take it back.

Oleksiy begins driving forward again. The line of trees hiding units of Russia’s 163rd Tank and 11th Motorized Rifle regiments creeps closer.

More than a month into Russia’s invasion and the Ukrainian armed forces stand defiant against one of the world’s largest militaries. Here in Donetsk, members of an elite unit give a rare glimpse into how they continue cobbling together their country’s defense out of ad hoc supplies, mismatched weaponry, improvised tactics, and unlikely volunteers.

While the entire population has been mobilized for war, it is the Ukrainian military that has been fighting to the death in city streets, villages, and in the countryside. Against all expectations, they have routed mighty enemy formations, but the war is far from over. Russia is willing to endure the loss of thousands of its soldiers. For their part, the Ukrainians are united by shared national sacrifice. The last time there was an announcement of casualty figures by the government, more than 1,300 Ukrainian soldiers had been killed. That was two weeks into the war. About a month later, there is no updated tally: A presidential adviser has described military losses as “considerable,” saying the government won’t release figures until after the war. The Ukrainians grudgingly trade land for blood. Yet the price they are paying to save their country may be unbearable.

To get a clearer picture of the shape and course of the conflict, Rolling Stone traveled to multiple battlefronts, meeting with frontline soldiers, and observing conditions firsthand.


A sign marks the boundary of Donetsk province on a highway in eastern Ukraine. - Credit: Mac William Bishop

Mac William Bishop

It takes days to reach the eastern front from western Ukraine. Lyubomyr Zaboronnyy, who runs part of an aid group called East and West United, lets me tag along on his volunteer supply convoy. He was a battlefield medic and has been bringing home the bodies of fallen soldiers since the war with Russia started in 2014. His group works with the Ukrainian diaspora across Europe and America to gather supplies and vehicles to bring to soldiers in the field.

Zaboronnyy is a large man with a crew cut and a boisterous, over-the-top physicality. He will shepherd a string of land cruisers, pickups, and vans filled to capacity with boxes of fruit, vegetables, baked goods, pickles, dumplings, pasta, electronics, clothing, camping gear, and medical supplies across Ukraine.

“It’s all crowd-funded,” Zaboronnyy says. “I was even sent money from Moscow today. I don’t know what to do with it. We need a ton of money. But I won’t use money from Russia.”

Soldiers on the front send his group requests, and they deliver anything they can get. He said the hardest things to acquire now are the most critical: ballistic vests and plates, helmets, long-distance radios, and trucks.

“If we put stuff into the normal supply chain, it just disappears into the void,” he says. “This way I can ensure people get what they need by placing it in their hands.”

It’s what logistics specialists call “last-mile delivery.” Zaboronnyy and his team are a nonprofit Amazon Prime for combat supplies.

“Putin can suck my cock.” The bear of a man delivering this exclamation in a theatrical baritone says he should be called “Martin.”

Martin drives around the city of Kryvyi Rih pointing out landmarks, including the closed factory, where in peacetime he worked in the industrial demolitions department.

As Martin drives, he makes pronouncements like the one about Putin. He’s not having a conversation. Everything about Martin projects “Don’t fuck with me” machismo. He’s an amateur heavyweight boxer, two yards tall and muscular. His grizzled gray beard is cropped close, and so is his hair. His deep voice booms, and he pounds the table with his fist when he speaks. He carries a Kalashnikov variant, an RPG-22 rocket launcher, an RPK light machine gun, a Makarov pistol in a chest holster, grenades, and a long knife engraved with the words “Our freedom — their blood” in Ukrainian.

Within minutes of meeting him, he is giving tips on avoiding snipers and showing off a video of a Russian prisoner being questioned. The Russian was stripped down to his boxers, and his face and neck were covered in blood from what appeared to be a broken nose. His hands were tied behind his back, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

I ask what happened to the prisoner. Martin just shrugs and says nothing further about it.


Martin shows off his knife inscribed with the words “Our freedom — their blood.” - Credit: Mac William Bishop

The word is that Martin killed two Russians with his knife. It is rare in modern combat for anyone to get close enough to kill someone with a knife. And I think about the prisoner. I hope that isn’t what people mean when they say Martin killed two Russians with his knife. Later, I ask Martin to clarify about the knife. He understands the seriousness of the implications of what I’m asking. He tells me that indeed, he killed two Russians with the blade. But it was in close combat, he says: One was a sentry, and one was a commando. He hates the Russians for what they’ve done.

Kryvyi Rih is President Volodomyr Zelensky’s hometown. The Russians have advanced to within a dozen miles or so of the city, the farthest north they’ve gotten in their thrust out of Crimea. Martin is helping to organize the city’s defenses. He commands a large number of Territorial Defense Force volunteers, irregular soldiers responsible for their own equipment, and seemingly for their own command structure as well. He has to deliver one of his men to a rally point, where two units are in contact with the Russians, south of Kryvyi Rih.

We drop the volunteer off at the side of the road, where he takes cover in a copse of trees. I ask Martin what he can tell me about the Ukrainian forces, and what they are doing here.

He says no, he can’t tell me anything for security reasons. “It’s enough for you to know they are out there,” he says, gesturing at the landscape where his forces lie in wait for the Russian army.

The quiet morning is broken by the concussions of artillery, punctuated by the whoosh-whoosh-whooshing of Grad multiple-launch rocket systems, which can fire 40 10-foot-long rockets in seconds and can hit targets 25 miles away. The distinctive sound means the Grads are very close, but the fire is outgoing.

The Ukrainian army is counter-attacking the Russians near a hamlet called Vysokopillya. But it is slow going: Ukraine wins back a few square miles of land over a week of battle here. The fighting is village to village, and brutal. And it is just one small piece of Ukraine taken back from the enemy.

After four days on the road, the convoy arrives at a derelict schoolhouse in Donetsk just before dusk, a few miles from the front lines. From here, the Russians are both to the south and to the east.

A Ukrainian marine tries to get phone reception in an abandoned schoolhouse that’s become a base. - Credit: Mac William Bishop

The schoolhouse is being used by Ukrainian marines as a supply hub. It’s in the middle of a village that seems abandoned, but smoke wisps from a few chimneys, and an old man peeks out at passing vehicles from behind a fence. Many who have stayed behind here are just too old to contemplate becoming refugees. They’d rather die in their homes than take to the road to live among strangers.

The vehicles park, and two pirates step out of a van. They are both towering, lean, hard, and bearded. One carries a marksman’s rifle on his back, the other a camouflaged AK-74. They may look like pirates, but they are from the Ukrainian Naval Infantry Corps — they call themselves marines.

Bohdan Maslyak wears a forest-green bandanna over his head, a trim gray-and-blond beard framing his face. The other man has an earring and a forked beard, and wears a baseball cap with an American flag on the side.

Maslyak is a famous volunteer fighter in Ukraine. There are pictures of him in a recent photo essay called “What I Would Do If It Weren’t for the War.” But instead of a uniform, he’s wearing a chef’s jacket, and instead of a rifle, he’s holding a chef’s knife, cutting vegetables and smiling. The caption says if it weren’t for the war, he’d renovate a restaurant and travel the world.


Bohdan Maslyak (center), Oleksiy (right), and an unnamed marine with a flag reading “Russian warship, go fuck yourself.” - Credit: MAc William Bishop

Because of his age and his serious demeanor, I mistake him for the unit commander at first. Only later do I learn he is the lowest rank in the marines. You wouldn’t find a forty- or fiftysomething seaman in normal times. But it’s a war. Maslyak volunteered to join this elite unit. Who gives a fuck about rank, if it means a chance to go out and fight the people invading your homeland?

The marines take stock of the supplies that Zaboronnyy and his team brought, separating the urgently required items from those that can stay behind. Artillery rumbles a mile or so to the south. Maslyak’s radio crackles. A Russian attack is underway. The marines need to go. Now.

Zaboronnyy straps on his body armor and races off in his ambulance, following the piratical-looking marines.

As night descends, the artillery fire increases. The village is completely dark; there is not a light on for miles. In the distance there is the red glow of a spreading fire. It is far to the north, fanned by a biting wind that howls through the trees.

Inside the abandoned school, as the soldiers climb into sleeping bags, a young marine sits by the window in oblivion, watching a sitcom on his phone. A fierce spring storm arrives. The thunder of artillery and the wild wind blend together, echoing through the empty rooms. Soon, snores play a countermelody to the furious hum of the gale and the staccato rumbles of battle.

It’s snowing in the morning. Cold, wet, muddy, and miserable. Low-hanging clouds mean the Russians can’t use drones to spot Ukrainian movements or coordinate fire. An exquisite day for infantry.

Zaboronnyy arrives back at the schoolhouse with a strapping marine. He’s Oleksiy, and he’s here to figure out what to do with me.

“Do you want to see a Russian cruise missile that landed nearby?” he asks. “Let’s go.”

He hops into a used Nissan pickup newly delivered on a trailer by Zaboronnyy’s convoy, and we drive out to a field where there’s a crater filled with wreckage.

Before the war, Oleksiy was an IT specialist. His job was to troubleshoot network problems for foreign clients.

“Now, I’m still kind of a troubleshooter,” he deadpans.

He tells me that Russia is massing forces for an offensive, and the marines want long-range weapons that can destroy enemy armor in staging areas, before the Russians can start moving. When he finds out I had been in an anti-armor squad in the U.S. Marines, he asks if I have qualified on the Javelin anti-tank missile system.

“Can you teach me how to use it?” he asks. I laugh. Surely there are Ukrainians with more recent experience.

“I just really want to know how to use one. We need them.”

Haven’t the marines been able to use other anti-tank weapons effectively?

Yes, he says. But it’s not enough. They need to destroy Russian tanks before the tanks can get close. The factory that made Ukraine’s domestic anti-tank missiles is near Kyiv, he says. It’s no longer operating. Engaging armor with direct-fire or shorter-range missiles like the British-Swedish NLAW risks Ukrainian lives. The Russians massively outnumber them. They don’t have lives to spare.

“Well, shall we go to the front?” he asks. “Since you’re from Rolling Stone, you can meet some rock stars.”

It isn’t a metaphor. As soon as we arrive at a house serving as a combat outpost, I’m introduced to two rock stars, with the worn fatigues and informality of marines who’ve been in the field for too long.


Andrii Slieptsov, the lead guitarist for the band Haydamaky, is a reservist in the Ukrainian marines. - Credit: Mac William Bishopop

Andrii Slieptsov and Oleg are musicians with a band called Haydamaky. They’re pretty well-established in Ukraine. I ask Oleg how he would describe their music.

“Well, the simplest way would be to call it authentic Cossack rock.”

Haydamaky is named after peasant insurgents who resisted foreign control by the Poles, the Russians, and the Roman Catholic Church — as well as the local nobility — in the 18th century. Slieptsov plays lead guitar, and Oleg prefers not to be specifically identified. But they’re also marine reservists. When the invasion started, they immediately sent their families to safety and joined their battalion in the field. They’ve been in intense combat for more than a month.

The marines invite me to their outpost on the condition that I not reveal specific operational details or their precise location. Some, like Maslyak, are comfortable sharing their full names and even their faces in photos. Most of the rest are not.

Their unit was involved in savage urban warfare before being redeployed to counter Russia’s renewed efforts in the east. Their losses have been grievous. They provide a specific number, and it is staggering. The marines are exhausted. There are indicators of traumatic stress, but morale remains high.

“We feel the whole country is behind us,” Oleg says. “We know what we are fighting for. This is the most important thing.”

At the outpost, the marines are using Starlink, the satellite internet service created by Elon Musk. Zaboronnyy had delivered the equipment to them, and they had it up and running in hours. When Musk announced he would provide Starlink free of charge to Ukraine, there were concerns the Russians could use it to locate Ukrainian positions. But Oleksiy says the military has dealt with that.

“Can you do us a favor?” Maslyak asks. “Can you tell Elon Musk ‘Thank you, from Ukraine’?”

“I had a video chat with my son today for the first time in a while,” Oleksiy says happily. Then a brief flash of emotion creases his face. “He told me to make sure I didn’t die. What am I supposed to say to that?”

While Oleg is helping me log on to Starlink, about a half-dozen other marines are sitting around smoking, drinking tea, napping, or cleaning rifles. They are snipers. Their job is to scout and hunt. But all of the training, skill, and courage in the world are not enough for a rifle to defeat a tank. So they have to be creative.

They work to lure the Russians into ambushes, targeting vehicle operators at key moments of vulnerability. Then the marines use heavy weapons to destroy or disable the tanks.

Shortly before I arrived at the outpost, a Russian tank group tried to force its way across a nearby river. The marines were waiting in ambush, and eviscerated the Russian unit, destroying or capturing more than half of the enemy vehicles. A marine captain showed me videos of Ukrainian tanks towing captured Russian BMPs from the battlefield, to be repaired and put back into service by the marines. Pirates, indeed.

“These fucking guys brought their dress uniforms in their armored vehicles,” the captain said, laughing incredulously as he showed me pictures. “They actually thought they were gonna get a parade.”

But the long odds are against the marines.

“If you are playing chess, it doesn’t matter if your opponent is an idiot when they have 200 more pawns than you do,” Oleksiy says.

Marine snipers are among the most elite personnel in the Ukrainian armed forces. They are under tremendous pressure, not just because of the enemy’s numbers, but because the war is being fought in their hometowns. Their families and friends are stuck in the middle of the fighting.

Olena is from Mariupol. She’s shy and diminutive, thirtysomething with a long black ponytail. She has a fearsome reputation as a sniper. Even as her unit was sacrificing lives to stop the tide of Russian armor pushing into Donetsk, her daughter was trying to flee Mariupol. Olena could do nothing to help her daughter. Her duty was with her unit.

The Marines are using inexpensive tablets with a secure tactical operating system put together in weeks by Ukrainian programmers. The goal is to give them greater battlefield awareness. But consumer tech has serious downsides. They have stopped using DJI-brand drones, because one day after they launched a sortie, the Russians hit the pilots’ position with eight 120mm mortar rounds just minutes after the drones took off: Their transmissions had been located.

They wear whatever uniform items or tactical clothing they can get their hands on, with most sporting a hodgepodge of different camouflage patterns. They use civilian 4x4s to get around, repainting them or weaving camouflage netting into roof racks.

“This Chevy Tahoe is great,” Oleksiy says, resting his hand on a pre-2007-model truck. “That V8 has saved our lives. Twice.”



A marksman has decorated his rifle and uniform for combat.
 - Credit: Mac William Bishop

The marines have a low opinion of their adversaries. Oleksiy tells me how a single sniper managed to force a column of nine Russian armored vehicles to retreat. It sounds apocryphal. But one of the snipers nods and says, “Yeah, that was me. They’re terrified of Ukrainians.”

They make me sit down and feed me cabbage blintzes and coffee. The marines show me a stew they are making, and feed me cake. Their dining table is covered in cans of Red Bull, packs of cigarettes, instant-coffee canisters, a packet of baby wipes, and a large jar of homemade pickles.

“This war isn’t really fought with rifles,” Oleksiy says. He says Ukraine needs Western military drones, fighter aircraft, and anti-air systems. He goes into great detail about the capabilities of an integrated air-defense network when used with a specific model of the American F-15 Eagle fighter jet. “Give us 10 of those and we can destroy the whole Russian air force.”

I ask what the marines think about foreign support for their country. Will NATO “close the skies” over Ukraine, they ask. Almost everyone in the country asks this question. I say I know as much as they do, that Western leaders are afraid a “no-fly zone” could lead to nuclear war. Oleg nods thoughtfully. Oleksiy sneers: “Well, we have already fought Russia for eight years without NATO, anyways.”

It’s getting late, and it’s time to leave. Not a good idea to be on the road in the dark, where the use of headlights will draw enemy fire. But the marines need to go to work. The sniper teams start gearing up. They will go hunting Russians in the twilight.

Bohdan, Oleksiy, and another marine take a moment to pose for pictures with a flag that has Ukraine’s new unofficial slogan on it: “Russian warship, go fuck yourself.” This was the defiant transmission of a group of border guards on a small island in the Black Sea during the opening days of the invasion, when called upon by the Russian navy to surrender. The words now grace billboards, T-shirts, and posters the length of the country.

Oleksiy grips my hand and shoulder, and says he wants to drink a beer with me someday. In peace, after Ukraine’s victory.

“We are tired,” Oleksiy says. Then he clarifies his statement. “We are very tired of killing Russians.”

For all the marines’ bravado and success against the Russians, the Ukrainian military is suffering terrible losses. With Russia’s initial assault against Kyiv a failure against intense opposition, the Kremlin is turning its attention back to the east. It intends to consolidate and expand the swath of Ukraine’s southeast that its soldiers grabbed in the opening days of the invasion — a slice of territory roughly the size of Switzerland.

Tens of thousands of occupiers with hundreds of tanks and armored vehicles, supported by artillery, long-range missiles, and air power, continue to ravage Ukrainian cities and villages, and brutalize their inhabitants.

Zaboronnyy’s convoy covers a lot of ground, across 12 out of Ukraine’s 24 provinces. In the towns and villages, in the cemeteries we drive by, every burial ground has fresh graves, often with a funeral in progress or with mourners lighting vigil candles that seem to hover and flicker, like fireflies in the deepening gloam, as we speed past.

Unlike their adversaries, Ukrainians make every effort to return fallen soldiers to their hometowns. In Kryvyi Rih, Martin took me to the burial site of his friend, who was killed by Russians in Donetsk. The big man lit a cigarette and left it, placing it gently on the grave and saying a prayer. There are a dozen fresh mounds nearby for soldiers killed since the invasion, covered in wreaths and portraits of the dead.


Expanded burial site in Kryvyi Rih.
- Credit: Mac William Bishop

The gravediggers are using a backhoe to cut into the asphalt of the parking lot to make room for more. They want to keep all of the fallen soldiers together in one area, and there just isn’t enough space for the amount of death.

As the convoy rambles west, it has one last stop to make. At a morgue in Dnipro, it delivers boxes of body bags. In the parking lot, an orthodox priest chants a prayer song with three mourners. When the entrance of the morgue opens, I realize why the ceremony is taking place outside. There are dozens of dead inside, fresh bodies on gurneys right up to the entrance, their shrouded feet peeking out from inside the doorway.