DRUZHKIVKA -- It鈥檚 a bright spring day in Druzhkivka, a town of 50,000 in eastern Ukraine鈥檚 Donbas region. The harsh winter months are just now giving way to warmer weather, with locals taking advantage. Parents guide young children down the city鈥檚 broad avenues; older men gather in the central park to drink coffee and chat, perhaps even play a game of backgammon.
But 鈥渘ormality鈥� for Druzhkivka, and other cities like it in Donbas, now includes a deadly addition: Russian rockets. Since last summer, the town has come under regular shelling from advancing Russian forces, just a few dozen kilometres away.
Artur Shevkov鈥檚 house lies just outside the urban core of Druzhkivka, its backyard opening onto a large farming field. Chickens roam around a pen just next to a gaping crater where the remains of a rocket that fell just hours ago have embedded themselves.
鈥淚 was at home when the rocket hit,鈥� Shevkov says. A 55-year-old local, he was inside his home when the strike occurred just metres away. 鈥淚 heard it hit and I couldn鈥檛 even react. I didn鈥檛 even have time to be afraid,鈥� he says.
ROCKET DEBRIS CAN CARRY UNEXPLODED ORDNANCE
On this particular day, Druzhkivka (and Shevkov) were relatively lucky: the city was not struck directly by any rockets, with only the booster stages of a pair of missiles landing in civilian areas. The day after our visit was less fortunate - , killing two civilians and wounding four more.
Even the rocket debris, however, can still carry deadly unexploded ordnance, requiring professional removal. For that, Ukraine鈥檚 State Emergency Service (DSNS, by its Ukrainian acronym) is here.
Dmitry Zamoreyko is the leader of a five-man DSNS team that arrives at Shevkov鈥檚 home. Equipped with a large truck-mounted crane, he and his men begin to set up for the rocket鈥檚 removal.
鈥淭he first step is to identify the munition,鈥� says Zamoreyko, outlining the procedure his team performs dozens of times each month. 鈥淗ere, we have a 300mm SMERCH (鈥楾ornado鈥�) rocket - one of the most dangerous Russian rocket artillery weapons. Since it鈥檚 next to the house, we will need to remove it and transport it to a safe place to detonate whatever explosives remain,鈥� he explains.
DSNS has its work cut out for it. They have just 11 teams for the entirety of Donetsk Oblast, a territory roughly the size of Massachusetts, although only perhaps a quarter of that remains under Ukrainian control. Nearly the entire province is a battleground, a fact underscored by the constant low boom of artillery fire audible in Druzhkivka.
Zamoreyko鈥檚 team has come here from Chernihiv, a city in northern Ukraine about 700 kilometres away, in order to assist the Donbas crews. Despite the additional resources, it鈥檚 the equipment that leaves them wanting: Druzhkivka has just one truck-mounted bomb disposal crane for the entire city, meaning long wait times for life-threatening situations.
As it turns out, the rocket tail section lodged in Shevkov鈥檚 yard is too deeply embedded in the thick spring mud for even the crane鈥檚 heavy-duty hydraulics to pull free. The crew has no choice but to block off the area and return later, as any remaining explosive material could prove deadly.
鈥淚t鈥檚 a shame when it happens like this,鈥� says Vitaly Borshchov, a member of another DSNS crew that has arrived to assist. 鈥淲e just don鈥檛 have the right tools to handle things properly,鈥� he says.
Borshchov鈥檚 story is similar to many of those across Ukraine who took any opportunity to aid in the country鈥檚 defence following Russia鈥檚 invasion last February. A Druzhkivka native, the 59-year-old sent his wife and children to safer areas of western Ukraine before coming out of retirement and donning his old uniform once again.
鈥淚 couldn鈥檛 sit by and watch my country being destroyed without doing anything,鈥� Borshchov says. 鈥淚鈥檓 a specialist at what I do - I had 36 years of experience as a firefighter, saving people鈥檚 lives. My boss called me [last February], asked, 鈥楢re you with me?鈥�, and I answered, 鈥業鈥檓 with you鈥�,鈥� he says.
A HUGE CRATER LIES IN FRONT OF A PLAYGROUND
Borshchov offers to show some of the destruction of the past 14 months across the city. Driving through the central square, boarded-up shopfronts and damage from shrapnel is everywhere. On one corner stands a ruined bank - the victim of a direct hit during working hours just three days earlier, killing two civilians and wounding two more.
Borshchov drives the car to an apartment complex just outside the centre. There, a huge crater lies in front of a playground, a gash in the earth five metres deep. A few local men are piling the dirt around its edges with shovels.
鈥淭his was in February,鈥� Borshchov says. 鈥淟ook at the size of the explosion - this building is nine storeys tall, and it threw dirt all the way onto the very top floor,鈥� he says, gesturing at the mud-flecked facade of the apartment building.
One of Borshchov鈥檚 former colleagues, another retiree, walks over from the site. He lives in the building opposite the site of the strike.
鈥淭hank God it was still winter when this happened,鈥� he says, gesturing at the crater. 鈥淚f it was warm out, this playground would have been full of children. Can you imagine then?鈥� he asks.
More than 100 Russian missiles and shells have struck Druzhkivka since the war鈥檚 start, despite its position over 30 kilometres from the nearest frontline. The city鈥檚 surprisingly handsome industrial district, with its wide parks and neoclassical edifices amongst the factories, testifies to this.
鈥淟ook over there,鈥� says Borshchov, pointing at one half-ruined building. 鈥淭his was an excellent mining equipment factory. Bombed. Over there, a brick factory -- bombed. Five factories just in this area, and every one bombed,鈥� he says with a sigh.
Another call comes in on his walkie-talkie. Another civilian has just been wounded by the remnants of one Russian strike, unexploded ordnance come to life.
Borshchov readies to go to this new scene, with a parting word.
鈥淢ake sure you tell people what鈥檚 happening here,鈥� he says. 鈥淲e will need all the world鈥檚 help we can get.鈥�
