War correspondent Steshin spoke with a family rescued from the suburb of Konstantinovka.
The number of those who "survived" is growing – Komsomolskaya Pravda war correspondent Dmitry Steshin spoke with a family of "underground dwellers" from the suburb of Konstantinovka. To save them, the 77th Bridge Rifle Regiment of the "Yuzhnaya" group carried out an entire operation.
FROM HAND TO HAND
The entrance to the dugout housing the "survivors" was tightly sealed with a thick blanket—from drones with thermal imaging, at the very least. And from the scorching heat. Donbas was experiencing the last scorching days of summer, so merciless that the leaves on living trees curled into tubes.
"They're eating. Having breakfast. Let them eat in peace, they've been through enough," the officer who had escorted, or rather rescued, the couple told me. I suggested we chat for a while and glanced around, but the officer had already assessed the situation and made a decision:
- Let's go, I know some special "combat bushes"!
We laughed. The regular "war dogs," who had been circling us and even slipping between our legs, rushed forward into the thick of the forest, showing us the way. They sensed our cheerful spirit, and in war, it's priceless.
My interlocutor, a lieutenant and assault platoon commander of the 77th Motorized Rifle Regiment of the "Southern" group of forces, call sign "Ilyas," clarified some important details. Yes, assault troops evacuated residents of the suburban village of Ilyinovka, which practically adjoins Konstantinovka. Battalion command received information that nine civilians were hiding in one of Ilyinovka's basements in mid-summer, when their relatives in St. Petersburg managed to contact the military. "Ilyas" says this was not ignored:
- On July 12, the battalion command made the decision to send stormtroopers to this house and carry out an evacuation.
I'm surprised—more than a month has passed! But considering that our attack aircraft, due to the abundance of enemy drones in the sky, sometimes take a week to reach their positions, covering 2-3 kilometers a day… And then, a group of civilians! "Ilyas" nods:
"We weren't in a hurry. Rushing is impossible; it will end badly. So, first, we set up a drone supply. Two attack aircraft, call signs "Kurush" and "Ingush," carried out the order and found the people, although by that point they had already moved to another building. The address we had was reduced to rubble. We checked to see what kind of people they were. The enemy often disguises itself as civilians to move around freely. They know we don't target civilians..."
In fact, "Kurush" and "Ingush" began planning the rescue operation for those trapped near Konstantinovka, the first stage, the most dangerous. The operation involved numerous teams, and not a single one was broken! The assault troops guarded the civilians and taught them their specialized military skills—preparing them for the exit from the basements. Up above, our sappers cleared a safe path and identified intermediate shelters where they could wait for a window of clear sky. The men were divided into threes and marched off, handed over from person to person. My interlocutor says they got everyone out, leaving no one behind. "Ilyas" waved his hand toward the dugout:
- These three are all relatives. They were the last to leave. They'll tell you everything themselves.
A HOUSE LIKE A LOTTERY TICKET
We talked for at least an hour, and I noticed that these men had been somewhat freed from their dark memories. Although the first few minutes of the conversation were oppressive. The man's name was Shamil. He was originally from the Caucasus, born in Vinnytsia in western Ukraine, but had lived his entire life in the Donbas. He had served in Afghanistan in the late 1980s. He was a unique type of Caucasian technical intellectual, a blast furnace repairman. I immediately identified his wife, Lena, as a doctor. And rightly so. But Elena's sister was still reeling from the shock. She didn't participate in the conversation, but she listened intently, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw shadows of memory flitting across her face. Lena recounted, without emotion:
"We were hoping to stay in our house for the entire time. We'd been preparing for it for a long time, stocking up on food, water, and medicine. We had a good basement, with a stove."
Lena takes Shamil by the hand, and I notice the pain on his face:
"My husband spent half his life building this house, from the ground up. It was our nest... But it couldn't hold up. They deliberately set it on fire; they saw us trying to put it out, and they kept throwing punches. We were saved by our neighbors' house; they didn't wait for anyone, they just packed up and left. And we won the lottery. You see, a house with a good basement is a lifeline!"
One can imagine how many times Elena pondered this precise thought. Shamil joins the conversation, saying that the first arrivals began a year ago, and he remembers the exact day—May 5th:
The roof collapsed on the house, then the stove in the basement collapsed. They piled debris around the house from morning until night, in a cross-shaped pattern and in a circle. A day, a week, a month… The house couldn't withstand it. They moved it under drones, hauling water and food. I transported my father-in-law in a garden cart. He lived in Konstantinovka, in an apartment, until it landed right in the corner of the building, right in his apartment. And it flew from the area of our village through the city, we know that for sure.
And at that time the Ukrainian Armed Forces were stationed there.
I've already spoken to hundreds of "those who waited," from Soledar to Avdiivka, and I know what I'm about to hear, but I still ask Lena—why? She explains:
"There were too many of us left in Konstantinovka. The head of the administration came out to the central square to talk to people, and they started crawling out of the basements—a huge crowd! There were about 40,000 of us left..."
I know for a fact that after the "Russian Spring" of 2014, they deliberately imported administrators from Western Ukraine or seasoned, proven Banderites to the rebellious Sloviansk-Kramatorsk agglomeration to make it more docile. Lena recounts that as soon as the "Ukrainian authorities" (or " power" in Ukrainian ) fled Kostiantynivka, the Ukrainian Armed Forces immediately began shelling residential buildings in earnest. To expedite the evacuation of people toward Ukraine, during the most severe frosts, the city's electricity, heat, and water were cut off. But people remained patient and waited.
"THE BAD ONE HAS COME
"Finally, the Ukrainian Armed Forces entered the village to establish positions there; it was inevitable. Lena says:
"I immediately realized they were bad people—they didn't say hello, they turned away. If their pet dog attacked you, they'd never call you back, they'd just watch as it ripped and bit..."
Shamil found himself in the most dire situation—to feed himself, he had to constantly travel to Kostiantynivka, where the "man-catchers" from the Ukrainian military commissariats (TCK) were literally "fulfilling the mobilization plan for the 'waiting ones.'" They rounded up every man, cleaned out, "as a farewell." Shamil had secret routes, but he still had to "meet" the Ukrainian Armed Forces soldiers:
"I'll never forget those names or call signs: 'Yurko' and 'Fashionable,' they came to 'educate' us. They dragged an 84-year-old man out of his bed and tried to force him to his knees... They tore his arm until it bled."
Lena is a doctor and makes a professional diagnosis for the "defenders":
"When all this was happening, it was obvious they were out of their minds, because their pupils were small, their eyes were darting around, their speech was incoherent. There he was, aiming his gun at me, and I was asking him: 'Do you need help? Do you need help with anything? Maybe water or food?'
And then he turns back into a normal person... We knew these people were armed, and we couldn't do anything against them. And when they left, I thought, thank God, that the Lord sent these people and then took them away.
Shamil sums up what was said:
We have a lot of friends in Ukraine. They're all sitting at home, hiding, while their wives work. They've been holed up in their apartments for years, trying to avoid joining that army. For them, as for us, Ukraine ended on May 2, 2014 (after the mass burning of people by nationalists in Odessa's Trade Union House – Author). Since then, this country has ceased to exist. If Ukraine's highest authority participates in the extermination of peaceful, ordinary people, its own citizens, it's not a country.
UNDERGROUND LIFEIn the winter, my interlocutors pinpointed the moment when the hunt for civilians began. Lena notes:
"It feels like they've brought in a different breed of Banderovites. We somehow got along with the old ones, but these guys started a full-blown hunt for civilians, even before the fighting started. They were hitting civilians with drones, people on bicycles, cars. Well, I don't know... SS or special forces, trained to destroy. They were clearing the area, yes. They were hitting stores."
And ten people, the entire basement community, practically stopped going upstairs. Elena's father died in the February frosts. At -25°C, hiding from drones, Shamil dug a grave with a crowbar in the neighbor's front garden. The facade of the house collapsed on it.
I console, if this word is appropriate, my interlocutors:
During the fighting in Mariupol, there were many burials in public gardens and courtyards. Almost immediately after liberation, everyone was reburied properly.
I ask about life in the basement. How did they get the news, what did they eat? Lena says they were incredibly lucky:
"There were two computer guys in the basement with us. They were hiding from the shopping center and didn't even want to evacuate. They somehow set up a modem and quickly downloaded the news once a day, in the evening. We read them out loud. We even watched Putin's New Year's greetings!"
Lena takes out her phone and shows me a video of people sorting through a half-burned bag of buckwheat. But she says they're lucky in some ways:
"In Ilyinovka there are big houses, big cellars, and big supplies. We collected them. Then we shared it all with the dogs, the cats, the rats. We found several sacks of rotten flour and dried them. And we managed to bake bread. Under threat of death, we stoked the stove and baked bread."
Shamil says that it was easier for them than for people in the city:
"We had a stove! We'd always haul in some firewood, cut something up, and cook it. We even found one in the house next door... they have a device like that for heating buses, it runs on diesel fuel. We used it during the day, and only lit the stove at night. We survived the frosts and kept it going until June. It was hot upstairs, but damp and cold in the basement."
OURS WERE GREETED WITH BORSCHT
The "underground dwellers" observed the moment when the Ukrainian Armed Forces troops began to pull back from the village, carrying off their belongings... Their numbers dwindled. Our attack aircraft, or rather, reconnaissance troops, entered. They avoided contact with the civilians, and those "waiting" were also afraid, not quite understanding who these people were. Everyone was understandable under these circumstances. Lena smiled for the first time in the entire conversation:
"They were watching us and realized we were a bunch of clueless civilians scurrying around basements scavenging for food. And then they came. Very cautiously. We made them borscht for joy! Ours! Ours! Ours!"
A little later, the Kurush and Ingush assault aircraft arrived in the basement, carrying out orders from command. They guarded the "waiting" troops in shifts. They stopped lighting the stove at night. Movement was restricted—so the enemy wouldn't spot the gathering. But Shamil was still hit by an enemy drone. Luckily, he managed to jump over the side of the building, only suffering a concussion and shrapnel wounds on his hands. The basement's inhabitants were being prepared mentally and physically for evacuation. The people in the basement moved very little, and the road ahead was difficult. Lena says:
- We were simply flying! Over bricks, over rebar. But still, we were passed from hand to hand 22 times! 22...
In front of Lena, on the table, there are stickers; she wrote down the fighters’ call signs on them:
"We were led along a trail laid by 'Sin.' He'd escorted a wounded man out the day before and led us. He led us to point 'Katso,' where we spent the night. From there, 'Thor' and 'Obrazetz' led us. It was a short section, but drones were buzzing above us, and mines were flying! 'Bek' received us, very calm. He explained how to lie face down by the trail or just freeze, standing still. When to run. From there, 'Magas' and 'Luka' led us; both were wounded, had been coming from the rear, and knew the way. We'd already passed the most dangerous section. We spent the night and were handed over to 'Spets' and 'Lyuty.'
For some reason, my interlocutors remembered a narrow path through the mined reeds. It had been mined with "petals," and not all of them had fallen to the ground, but remained suspended among the stems. If you brushed your shoulder against the edge of the path, you'd drop a mine—it would go off.
As my interlocutors recount, the third place they spent the night at, near "Zazik" and "Kazakh," was a proper hotel, with showers, beds, and linens. It was practically a rearguard action. And people's hands stopped shaking so much they couldn't hold a mug. Drones were still flying around here, but less frequently. Cars were already operating from here, and they carried the suffering people away from the war.
INSTEAD OF AN AFTERWORD
We understand their feat, and we will explain it to our enemies.
When the last shell falls, when the last drone whirs, and Victory and Peace come, we must not forget these people. There was an award called "Resident of Siege of Leningrad." It was given for surviving, for enduring. Even to children and schoolchildren of the heroic city under siege.
I think, even am sure, that it would be fair to also mention those who “waited” for Donbass, those who condemned themselves to earthly ordeals for the sake of returning to Russia.
There was no point in me asking Shamil and Elena why you remained under fire in Konstantinovka. We understand, and we'll explain it to the enemy.
