Ukraine: Shells rain down on Kharkiv as Ukraine’s army stands firm

Kharkiv, Ukraine’s second largest city, has been the constant target of Russian attacks for three weeks. The BBC’s Quentin Sommerville and cameraman Darren Conway report from the front line as Ukrainian troops continue to repel the enemy advance.

We went into the house where the back door used to be. Now there’s just a blanket flapping in the icy wind. The long-vanished owners would have had a view of the rich farmland north of Kharkiv, but much of that, too, is unrecognizable.

In the garage, next to an abandoned skateboard, are a dozen empty shipping crates for some of the world’s best anti-tank weapons. A dead Russian soldier lies face down in the front garden.

The house has become a frontline base, and the worn suitcases are an indication that the soldiers here have had the fight of their lives: a fight for independence from Ukraine.

We have gained exceptional access to the Ukrainian military, which after three weeks of heavy fighting is still holding its ground on the outskirts of Kharkiv, preventing Russian forces from capturing Ukraine’s second largest city.

“Do you want to go later?” asks Yuri, a commander of the Ukrainian army’s 22nd Motorized Infantry Battalion, pointing to the wreckage of two Russian armored personnel carriers and the shattered pieces of two of their tanks. The battalion was reconstituted in 2014 after Russia invaded Crimea and backed Donbass separatists.

“They used drones, planes, attack helicopters, everything,” says Yuri, as Russian shells rumbled overhead and hit nearby roads and apartment blocks.

The Russians have continued to attack again and have been repelled many times. In their frustration at being denied entry, they bombard the city, once home to 1.4 million people, day and night.

The ground is churned up and the thick mud sucks at your boots. A glance back shows the dilapidated structures of the row of houses we just passed. Suburban gardens have become battlefields of Europe’s past.

“The first three days were the worst. It was raining, we were covered in mud, we looked like pigs,” says Olexander, 44, who is standing nearby.

Next to one of the destroyed armored personnel carriers, its Z marking having already faded, is a large crater, 20 feet (6 m) wide. On the first day of the invasion, February 24, a Russian attack killed six Ukrainian soldiers at this very spot. Many more have died here since then, but official figures have not been released.

A green military boot stands on the edge of the crater, a Russian corpse beyond. A large black crow sits nearby, unperturbed by the roar of shelling and Grad rockets from Russian positions.

The men here can tell you the precise date and time they arrived at the front, which means that if you weren’t here the first three days, you don’t know the real fighting. “Jump into the crater if there’s more shelling,” says Uri.

Constantine, 58, was a pilot in the Ukrainian air force until he retired and became a journalist. He is now back at the front, walking with a limp and using a broken broomstick for support. Russian shrapnel wounded his leg, but he refuses to leave the front.

“This is the last line of defense for the city, if they pass through here, they will enter Kharkiv. This road takes you from Russia to the heart of the city,” he says.

There’s a boom and a whoosh, and a wire-guided missile flies right over our heads. We entered the crater. It hits along the highway, a gas pipeline bursts into flames.

As we take cover, a tall recon soldier with a blue helmet ribbon tells us to stay below. Roman is 34 years old, although he jokes that he was 24 when the war started three weeks ago.

He says the Russians won’t show up now. “They are chickens. We will respond well and appropriately.” She stops and asks for a selfie. We later learned that she transported the bodies of her fallen comrades in his own vehicle, which was barely a month old, from the front lines to the city morgue.

As we leave, Constantine catches something in midair: a thin copper wire, stretching for miles. He served to guide the Russian missile that just passed over our heads.

Waiting for us is Olexander, 44, from the nearby Poltava region. He has been with the unit since its founding and has fought in Donbas. “This is so much worse,” he says, adding, “For the first three days, we couldn’t figure out what was going on. We were lost and couldn’t believe what was going on. positions”.

I ask him why he is fighting. She laughs and replies: “For a free Ukraine, for my family and for you too. For our independence and for peace.”

Yuri, the commander, takes us back to the collection of Soviet-era apartment blocks, still inhabited. Russia says it came to Ukraine to demilitarize the country, but here we see what that means for civilians. A 20-story block is still smoking from a Russian attack, it was two days ago, according to Yuri.

The official number of civilian deaths in Kharkiv stood at 234, including 14 children, on March 16. The last few days have been tough, as we were reminded in an instant.

A volley of Russian Grad rockets rained down on the neighborhood, hitting just meters away. The soldiers around us had taken cover and were unharmed.

In the same housing complex live husband and wife Svitlana and Sasha. Svitlana is 72 years old and welcomes us to her house, saying that they haven’t spoken to anyone in weeks. “We’re glad you came,” she says.

Their building has already been attacked, the back windows are gone and they sleep in a central room on sofas. They manage to sleep two hours a night, the bombardment is relentless. “When it stops, it’s like a spring thaw,” she says.

I ask him if he has a message for Vladimir Putin. “No,” she replies firmly. “No, it seems to me that this man has already lost his sanity and is not thinking clearly. Because a sane human being cannot do something like that: bomb the elderly, children, kindergartens, schools, hospitals. He would not understand.” what do I say.”

But later, when I ask him about the men who are not far from his house and who defend the city, he cries. She says, “Yes, I am very grateful to you for protecting your homeland. Wait guys. We will always support you. You are so brave, both boys and girls.”

There are still hundreds of thousands of people living in Kharkiv, despite the bombing. If Russia and Ukraine are brothers, as the Kremlin professes, then this is fratricide.

When we leave the neighborhood, much of it is on. Russia’s fury with this city can be seen and heard. At night, the whole of Kharkiv is covered in a cloud of smoke, the incessant pounding of weapons continues, but the defenders of Kharkiv still keep the enemy away from the city gates.