Anna Nemtsova
Despite the supposed truce, the front moves back and forth, destroying
civilian lives and property at every turn.
MARINKA, Ukraine — It was wet and freezing cold
inside: bare earth floor with a dozen mattresses scattered around it,
unfinished tea in an aluminum mug, a few pieces of bread on a plate on top of a
dark green wooden box with army ammunition; a bunch of muddy rubber boots by a
pile of bags with sand, a soldier’s jacket drying on a nail in dim light. It
could be a scene of the soldiers’ life in World War I, but it is modern times.
The Ukrainian soldiers in the dugout outside of Krasnohorivka,
like those in the trenches a century ago, find themselves endlessly stuck, each
side watching the other through binoculars.
Inhabitants of the front line towns of Marinka and
Krasnohorivka in eastern Ukraine, more than 20,000 people in all, live a grim
life without heating and without gas, because it is too dangerous for city
services to fix the holes in the pipeline, which stretches above the ground
along the war front. Besides, once you fix it, there is a high chance it will
be destroyed again.
The fear of death locks every door at about 5 p.m.
“Last time I felt safe outside in the evening was before the 3rd of June in
2014,” says Alina Kosse, director of the House of Arts for children. “That was
the day our nightmares began, thousands were fighting on our streets, tanks
destroyed buildings, dozens were killed, wounded or captured.”
The fighting in eastern
Ukraine has
intensified this year, and local people can hardly sleep a single night in
peace. The truce between Kiev and Moscow is very shaky, the front line
constantly moving back and forth, killing civilians and destroying their
property in the crossfire.
Here in Marinka there is no sign of peace. Every day
people disappear from the streets after 4 p.m., as the first sounds of machine
guns firing or RPGs exploding echoes through the cityscape and sniper fire
comes as if out of nowhere.
“They must be Russian professionals shooting at us
with super powerful sniper rifles,” Lt. Col. Alexander Pashkevich, told The
Daily Beast. “On Monday our soldier Yuriy Koval was shot in the back from
hundreds of meters away, right here in town, on Oktiabryskaya Street.”
Almost every day and night, Ukrainian Armed Forces and
Russia-backed rebels of the self-proclaimed Donetsk People’s Republic exchange mortar fire,
machine-gun fire, or launched grenades in each other’s directions; and both
sides report of each other’s truce violations.
On Wednesday night the Ukraine 14th Brigade units
based in Marinka were under fire from a “sabotage group” of about 15 rebels,
coming in the dead of the night as close as about 100 meters to the brigade’s
headquarters on the outskirts of town. Dozens more rebels backed up the group
from the closest entrenched positions, the Ukrainian commander told The Daily
Beast.
At about 8 p.m. the town of more than 6,000 people,
including more than 200 children, was shaken up by RPGs and machine guns, then
again a second time at around 10 p.m.
“They have better uniforms than ours; we cannot see
them through our night thermal vision optics. Their corrections of fire are
more accurate, they must have had better optics on every gun,” Vlad Yakushev, a
press officer of the brigade told The Daily Beast after the night of fighting.
The 14th Brigade “West” of the Ukrainian Armed Forces
has defended nearly 40 kilometer long front line outside of Marinka and
Krasnohorivka towns since September. A cruddy Opel given by volunteers and a
few armored vehicles represent the only transport the brigade has for thousands
of personnel.
But the lack of comfort has become the norm, and the
soldiers complain about more serious issues, how many months overtime they have
served on the frontline. Many of the brigade’s soldiers and officers signed an
agreement for one year but have been fighting for much longer; and many
salaries are unpaid.
Such issues are feeding frustration in the units. On
Feb. 1, Vlad Yakushev, the same press officer, published a blog on a news
website giving a detailed description of the issues in the 14th Brigade. He
mentioned that most of the soldiers spending nights fighting never received
their 1,000 UAH or $36.86 battle premiums.
The next day Yakushev was detained by army officials
and kept in detention for three days without his friends knowing where he was.
Looking for him, soldiers and journalists raised an outcry, made calls,
organized a flash mob on social networks to demand his release.
“Even if this war lasts for five more years, soldiers
should know exactly how long they are supposed to spend on the front; they
should receive the money promised by the state,” Yakushev told The Daily Beast.
Five more years of war in Ukraine? To locals it already
feels like a decade.
Drive along the most dangerous streets in
Marinka—Telmana, Matrosova, Okrtiabrskaya, Lenina—and you will see ruined
buildings, fences, and gates riddled with bullets, the history of the war.
The road to the nearby Krasnohorivka is the saddest
picture. Almost every building—factories, farms, warehouses, apartment
buildings, and private homes have signs of destruction.
“We do not have money to reconstruct this city’s
ruined buildings,” the head of the Krasnohorivka administration, Igor Robochiy,
told The Daily Beast. “People who still live here, about 16,000, live without
gas or heating, sometimes without electricity for weeks.”
Among the worst issues the city manager mentioned was
Ukraine losing the propaganda war in the region.
“Our citizens in towns along the front cannot watch
any of the Ukrainian television channels, only separatist channels aired from
Donetsk, and Russian channels,” he said. “We sent Kiev our inquiries about this
bad issue many times but authorities still have not solved the problem.”
Back in Marinka children were gathering at the
regional House of Arts to work on their creative projects. Some took classes
for dancing or singing, some knitted toys, painted, or studied music—all
classes were free for about 600 children living in several neighboring towns
and villages.
Parents chatted in the hallway, while kids studied,
and although both walls and windows were perforated by bullets and pocked by
shrapnel after multiple artillery attacks, the atmosphere was homey. The
Marinka community was coming together.
Maybe the war was almost over?
“No, the war goes on, said 9-year-old Katia, shaking
her head. She looked serious, almost like a careworn adult. Nobody in Marinka
can tell when the disaster will be over.
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