IAN GALLAGHER: Hunt for bodies in debris of city that protects Odessa

Hunt for bodies in debris of city that protects Odessa: IAN GALLAGHER sees the devastation in Mykolaiv just days after Russian cruise missile hit local government HQ

Blinds and ripped curtains hang from blown-out windows, fluttering in the spring breeze like bunting. 

A crane swings slowly back and forth, removing debris loaded by firemen searching for bodies. In the vast, normally bustling square below there is silence, save for the hum of the crane’s motor.

It has been five days since a Russian cruise missile tore a gaping hole in the nine-storey regional government headquarters in Mykolaiv, the city at the front line of the battle for southern Ukraine, and the gap between life and death has all but closed.

‘It is highly unlikely that there will be any more survivors,’ says Lieutenant Dmytriy Pletenchu, guarding the scene. He confirms the death toll has risen to 36. ‘But there are still bodies in there,’ he says.

Olga Maliarchux, 36, and Tanya Vyaznikova, 25, explain that they are special advisers to Mykolaiv’s governor Vitaliy Kim, the early morning rocket’s intended target who escaped the attack because he overslept 

And so the firemen, bent over, framed by jagged masonry, continue to work. Not with the same frantic urgency as before but methodically and with great purpose, as if on the site of an archaeological excavation.

Intense bombardment has left Mykolaiv nervy but unbowed. The Russians want to take the city because it blocks the route to the port of Odessa, the cultural and economic prize eluding Vladimir Putin.

Over the weekend all eyes in Mykolaiv were on Kyiv. The Russian retreat from the capital would, the people argued, focus minds elsewhere and sharpen Moscow’s desire to control the Black Sea coast.

And so it proved. Early yesterday Russian missiles launched from sea and air destroyed an oil refinery in Odessa, sending black smoke drifting over the city’s Franco-Italian central streets. Whether the attack heralds a long-feared amphibious assault remains to be seen. But Odessa is ready to repel invaders – just as its neighbour is already doing further east along the coast.

We travelled to Mykolaiv along the M14, the road scarred at the halfway point between the two cities by shelling, the result of an unsuccessful attempt by Russian marines to come ashore in the early days of the war.

It has been five days since a Russian cruise missile tore a gaping hole in the nine-storey regional government headquarters in Mykolaiv, the city at the front line of the battle for southern Ukraine, and the gap between life and death has all but closed

If Odessa is well guarded, then Mykolaiv is more fortified still, and for good reason. Awaiting permission to visit the administrative HQ we hear thudding artillery from the north-eastern suburbs.

Apart from Lieutenant Pletenchu, the only witnesses to the firemen’s labours are two women, clinging to each other on a low wall.

Olga Maliarchux, 36, and Tanya Vyaznikova, 25, explain that they are special advisers to Mykolaiv’s governor Vitaliy Kim, the early morning rocket’s intended target who escaped the attack because he overslept.

‘We missed it too because we weren’t due in until 9am,’ says Olga. ‘But we have come here every day since it happened because we feel we need to honour the dead and show we are not scared.

‘We know them all, every single person who died. And we know also the ones buried in the rubble. We understand that the time for survivors has passed. We just want those missing to be found.’

‘It is highly unlikely that there will be any more survivors,’ says Lieutenant Dmytriy Pletenchu, guarding the scene. He confirms the death toll has risen to 36. ‘But there are still bodies in there,’ he says

Both look dead-eyed, shattered. Attempts to console them are waved away. ‘There will be a time for tears, but not until victory, when we have torn Russia to pieces,’ says Olga. ‘So for now we are keeping it all in.’ Nearby, Lieutenant Pletenchu is feeling similarly defiant. ‘This was done to try to frighten people into pressurising our leaders into capitulating,’ he says. ‘The Russians think this will weaken our resolve. But I can tell you that the opposite is true. This has only made the city more determined.’

As he talks he gestures towards a monument commemorating Mykolaiv’s liberation from the Nazis in 1944. ‘My grandfather was one of the heroes who saved this city,’ he says. ‘He would be sickened to know that the country he fought for is turning its guns on its own – and on this city.’ Across the road stands a children’s arts centre, a grand piano dominating its foyer. Mercifully, the building was empty when the missile struck.

Its windows are shattered and shards of glass, masonry and mangled door frames litter every room. All the centre’s activities were cancelled at the start of the war.

‘In the normal way there might have been a ballet class when the rocket hit,’ explains a staff member who has come to help clear up.

In a 1940s-built apartment block next door, few of the mainly elderly residents remain. On the fourth floor, though, we find Victor and Olena Makukha, a charming couple whose tiny flat looks out over the wrecked government building.

Down the years, a rich tapestry of protest and pageantry has passed their window. But Victor says there has been little to compete with the sight of a cruise missile whizzing across the square last Tuesday.

As the 83-year-old retired engineer crossed from the bathroom to the living room, he was knocked off his feet and covered in glass and splinters.

‘I wasn’t frightened though,’ he insists. ‘Yes, he was,’ says his playful wife. Olena, 73, was at the shops at the time buying bread. ‘I leave him for five minutes and this happens. Seriously, he could have been killed.’

‘Not a chance,’ shoots back Victor. Olena then disappears, plunders a display cabinet and returns with a bundle of family photographs. These include one of a handsome, moustachioed soldier – her great-grandfather Konstantin – who was honoured for his marksmanship while fighting with the Russian army in the First World War.

Echoing the words of Lieutenant Pletenchu, Olena says: ‘Now the Russians are trying to kill us all. My great-grandfather would be horrified. What a crazy world we live in.’ Then she sticks up her fists and adds: ‘If I was 15 years younger, I’d fight those Russians myself, wouldn’t I, Victor?’

‘Yes, darling,’ he replies. After we say our goodbyes, our army escort notes: ‘If only everyone was as plucky as those two.’ The truth is that Mykolaiv’s citizens all seem blessed with a rare fortitude, though few are as plucky as Arthur Akopyan whose five-storey, 47-room Hotel Ingul, a three-minute drive from the square was destroyed a fortnight ago.

He closed for business after the invasion but was in his office when a bomb fell. ‘There was me and a security guard in the building at the time. I was at my desk and was thrown from my chair. I think I must have hit my head on a wall. There was dust and smoke and glass everywhere.

‘I found the security guard who had been catapulted along a corridor and had also banged his head. Both of us had concussion and scratches but were fine. Nobody who has seen this wreckage can believe that we got out alive.’

Asked why he thinks he was targeted, he says: ‘The Russians mistakenly thought we were about to house some Ukrainian military. In fact, we were due to open to international journalists.’ 

A few days later, Mr Akopyan’s was caught up in the cruise missile attack. ‘Our apartment is near the building that was hit,’ he says. ‘I was left with glass wounds when it shattered our windows and blew a door off.

‘Again, I escaped. I’ve patched up our apartment and now I’m going to build a new hotel from scratch. People tell me I’m the luckiest man in Mykolaiv. Like everyone else, I’m just trying to get by in this war the best way I can.’

Source: Read Full Article