Voices of occupation. Lysychansk

Soldiers of the military armed formation "L/DPR" and the Russian military first captured Lysychansk in early May 2014. On July 24, 2014, Ukrainian troops liberated the city after two days of fighting. From the beginning of the full-scale invasion, the Russian army constantly shelled Lysychansk, and on July 3, after heavy fighting, the Defense Forces of Ukraine were forced to withdraw. The city was and is still occupied.

"Svidomi" recorded the stories of the people of Lysychansk about shelling, battles for the city, and the Russian occupation.

All names have been changed for safety reasons.

Now hear from the people themselves.

We worked in Lysychansk as Hospitallers from the end of April. We left the city on June 24 because, due to constant shelling, we had no opportunity to stay there and maintain the medical aid point.

The smell of death was palpable. The Russians were firing 24/7, so it was necessary to help all the wounded: both civilians and military.

When I was helping civilians, some of them, hearing the Ukrainian language from me, said in Russian: "our troops will come here and finish you all off," while I was stitching them up.

Lysychansk was fired at every day with everything possible — the legs had already become accustomed to the feeling of vibration. We were stationed in a local hospital: there was no electricity or water. The morgue was half-ruined — the equipment and refrigerators did not work.

The Lysychansk — Bakhmut road was constantly shelled. Volunteers who were supposed to deliver help to us died, civilians who were trying to evacuate died, soldiers died, and then we drove over severed human limbs to pick up the wounded and dead bodies.

We didn't know if we would be able to leave the city, but we had our duty. We were simply doing our job — trying to save someone's life. There was a feeling that we were going to die, so we lived off bare enthusiasm and faith in God.

I come from Lysychansk and had lived there all my life before the full-scale invasion began. I left the city immediately, on February 24. My uncle stayed in Lysychansk, he moved there from Luhansk in 2014. When the full-scale war began, he did not want to move again. My parents were also there until the end of March. They left only after the shell hit the neighbors' house. The Christmas tree decoration factory where my mother worked was also destroyed. My uncle's house was destroyed, he lives in ours. My friends also stayed there — I don't understand why.

"Hi, we are alive! Grandfather died of natural causes on the 1st of the first summer month, he was buried in the garden. There were problems with the food, we even ate rusty herring. Now everything is more or less alright, it's like we have almost peace. We were putting out a fire in a neighboring house, the explosion of a gas cylinder was horrifying.

My grandfather's brother on our street died from shelling — they were picking him up in parts, it was not a pleasant sight. A woman's leg was torn off on the street, and her son had died from shelling a week before.

We garden whenever possible, and we bring water from the forest and the Muravske spring. We got humanitarian aid once per person. I hope you're all well. We are waiting for peace and we miss you. The city was badly damaged — a lot of destruction. Although compared to Popasna, Severodonetsk, and Rubizhne, we have a "redecoration." There is still a lot to tell, but that's for another time. We are waiting for cellphone service and any civilization. Take care and may the sky be peaceful!” I received this message on July 19.

People have no money, prices are high, and the so-called "authority" does not care about the well-being of the city. Friends, who have houses in the detached house, tried somehow to cultivate the beds under shelling. They get electricity very rarely, there is no water supply, and it is extremely difficult to find a Ukrainian phone service, but there were still places where it was possible to catch. My friends now have the SIM cards of the mobile operator of the illegal military formation "LPR", which does not allow calls to Ukraine. If possible, I send them money, but the problem is how to withdraw them — you have to go to the neighboring cities. My acquaintances are forced to work as loaders or dismantle rubble because there is no work and no money, but they have to survive. However, they don't even know if they will be paid at all.

Friends living under occupation cannot say anything about the Russians, because it is scary — they check their phones, and read text messages. All they are trying to do is to survive. But in winter it will be extremely difficult: the houses are destroyed, it is almost impossible to restore electricity, water supply, and heating, and no one from the so-called "authorities" is trying to do this.

On August 26, I received another message:

“I'll try to explain why we don't want to leave now. First, to leave is to leave all the property and the house. We've never had enough money saved up to be sure of the future. We can't go, having abandoned everything, because then we will be homeless. Moreover, if we had left immediately, our house would have already burned down, we were putting out the fire in the neighboring one — you can't call the firemen, there were almost none. Even if the house was intact, everything would have been taken out of it.

The winter will be hard, but at least we have coal that will last us about a month. The money you sent should be enough to buy a gas cylinder and not cook on the stove or waste wood and coal.

Besides, everyone is afraid now. For example, you evacuate, having experienced these horrors, and, God forbid, later everything will happen again. It is difficult for us now, but at least they don't shoot so much anymore, and something is starting to work in the city. We hope to get a job because a lot of things need to be restored, and we could live off of it.

We simply cannot drop everything and go with nothing in our pockets. Even when we decided to stay, it was risky, but we were ready to die in our hometown and our home. Thanks to you and the guys for your help. We are sincerely grateful because now we live one day at a time, but the fear of a hungry and cold winter does not leave us, and we are preparing for it as best we can. Take care! And may there be a peaceful sky above us all!”

At first, I did not believe in the beginning of a full-scale invasion, although it was reported on television every day that Russian troops were gathering at the border. When it started, we weren't going anywhere and didn't plan to leave, because we had already survived the occupation in 2014, but we quickly got rid of the Russian occupiers back then. This time we also hoped that everything would happen quickly. My husband is a doctor, so he continued to work.

On February 24, we already heard explosions, although they were from afar, somewhere behind Severodonetsk and Rubizhne, but they were louder and louder each day. Later, there were explosions already in our city. We didn't sleep, we used the two-wall rule, and we couldn't go down to the basement, because my mother is disabled, she has difficulty walking.

On March 29, we left the city in our car because the authorities were constantly calling for evacuation. I know that in the beginning, people did not want to leave the city, and the buses left empty.

I feel so bad for Lysychansk. Our gymnasium was completely burned down. Only the walls remained, although it was one of the best institutions in Ukraine. Two of my graduates, whom I taught since the fifth grade, have already died. One was 21 years old, the other was 23.

During the war, you hope only for luck. Four times I came under fire, and four times I was lucky. I was in Lysychansk until the very end. I left on July 1, when the illegal military formation "LPR" had already arrived.

I did not believe that a full-scale invasion could even happen. I am a master of sports and the vice-champion of Ukraine in powerlifting, and somewhere on the 20s of February, my certificate came. I made a reservation at a restaurant to celebrate it on February 25.

On February 24, there were huge queues at ATMs and shops everywhere. People were leaving the city en masse. I was notified of the full-scale invasion over the phone. At the same time, on the first day, a volunteer movement began to be built. I was unloading humanitarian aid. At first, there were many volunteers, but when the fighting near the city began, the volunteers started leaving.

When there was less humanitarian aid because the shelling became more and more frequent, I reached out to new volunteers, journalists, and the administration to get medicine. I tried to make sure that nothing was left at the headquarters and that everything went to the people. When there was no fuel, I got on my bicycle and delivered gasoline to people. I was begging everyone to leave.

On the night of July 1, the Armed Forces of Ukraine left Lysychansk, and in the morning there was silence. This rarely happens. I realized that the countdown was not in days, but in hours.

There was an ambulance at the humanitarian headquarters. I drove to the hospital where I took a seriously injured man, an eight months pregnant woman, and a mother with a child. It took about 2.5 hours to Bakhmut, and even I, as a local, could barely find my way through these damaged roads. It takes up to 50 minutes at normal times.

On the way, we were shelled with mortars. About 100 meters away from the car, I saw smoke rising from the shells. I could hear the shrapnel falling under the car wheels. It was the hardest day of my life. It was a test for me.

I considered a full-scale invasion inevitable. One way or another, Russia is an existential problem, so sooner or later it would resort to an act of aggression. For half a year, we heard about the accumulation of troops, and most experts believed that the invasion would not take place because from a military point of view there is no expediency, the parity in the troops has not yet been achieved to carry out an invasion. But there was still a feeling that something would happen.

I am not a professional soldier and not a military person at all. It just so happened that I went to the frontlines in 2015, and now I am here again. At the end of May, when we arrived in the Luhansk region, there was an active phase of hostilities. At best, people sat in basements. To see them on the streets was impossible.

After what happened in the Kharkiv region, the Russians changed their tactics: they began to blow up everything in their path with heavy artillery. There was no surviving house in the settlement. People were buried in the gardens.