The threats facing the Ukrainian city of Sumy

Sumy is just 30 kilometers from the border with Russia's Kursk region, where Ukrainian soldiers are defending the last bit of territory they seized in a surprise offensive last summer. Residents say there have been more frequent attacks on Sumy in recent weeks, though not as bloody as the airstrike on Sunday, April 13, which targeted a busy intersection. The attacks on their cities have left many Ukrainians fearful of where the next attack will come from and have cast a shadow over ongoing U.S.-brokered ceasefire talks.

The routine of daily life in Sumy also includes the constant threat of death, which its people have lived with since Russia began its invasion of Ukraine three years ago.

Days after Russia targeted the city center in a series of missile strikes, killing 35 people and wounding more than 100 in the deadliest attack on Ukrainian civilians this year, neighbors gossiped outside their apartment block as their children played soccer in the yard. They stopped and looked up only when they heard the drones and the familiar roar of Ukrainian air defenses before continuing what they were doing. 

Sumy is just about 30 kilometers from the border with Russia's Kursk region, where Ukrainian soldiers are defending the last bit of territory they seized in a surprise offensive last summer. Residents say there have been more frequent attacks on Sumy in recent weeks, though not as bloody as Sunday's airstrike on April 13, which targeted a busy intersection. 

The attack on Sumy, which had a pre-war population of about 250, came just over a week after a Russian missile strike killed about 20 people, including nine children, in the central Ukrainian city of Kryvyi Rih. Russia said it had targeted several soldiers, but there is no evidence to support that claim.

The attacks on their cities have left many Ukrainians fearful of where and when the next attack will come and have cast a shadow over ongoing U.S.-brokered ceasefire talks. The talks have yielded only tepid results, as Russia insists on conditions that Ukraine considers impossible and Kiev believes Moscow's forces are preparing for a new offensive.

Destructive attack

For the residents of Sumy, the talks seem very abstract compared to their daily lives.
As some of the victims of Sunday's attack were buried on Tuesday, Viktor Voitenko, 56, described how he ended up paralyzed in a hospital bed. He was working as a security guard when the second rocket hit nearby, severely damaging his spine. As he spoke, his wife Hanna, 40, lovingly applied deodorant to him, a simple act he could no longer perform himself.

The mention of the ceasefire negotiations brought a tired smile to his face. 

"It's empty talk. It doesn't get you anywhere. It seems to me like public relations," said Hanna Voitenko. "Nothing happens that brings comfort to ordinary people."

Her husband gave his opinion: "They are buying time."

Work, daily errands, and planned family visits brought the victims of the attack to the intersection of Petropavlivska Street and the university on Sunday morning.

Asia Pohorila, 20, was working in a cafe and was considering whether to buy sweets after her shift when the first rocket attack left her in shock with blood pouring from her legs.

A teenage hero

Maryna Illiashenko and her 13-year-old son, Kyrylo, heard the sound of the first explosion in the city center while waiting for the bus.

They had set out to visit his grandmother, but the teenager was more excited about wrestling practice later that afternoon. Undaunted, they boarded the bus, which arrived a few minutes later. As soon as they passed a stop, a second rocket slammed into the vehicle a few meters away, burning nearby cars, burning passengers alive, killing the bus driver, and causing extensive shell debris. Three fragments of this debris tore off Kyrylos’ head and scratched Maryna’s face.

Amidst smoke and shrapnel, the teenager jumped out of the bus's shattered window and opened the locked door from the outside, rescuing dozens of passengers trapped inside, witnesses said.

"I don't want to think of this as a new kind of reality for the city of Sumy. We can clearly see that our cities on the front line are disappearing," said Oleh Strilka, spokesman for the city's State Emergency Service, while standing outside the collapsed University building, where the second rocket hit.

"The most painful thing for me is our children. Why should they suffer?" he asked. "I don't want our 13-year-old children to become heroes."

Liudmyla Shelukhina, 70, was waiting at a neighbor's house to get her hair cut. She was standing in line in the kitchen when the windows suddenly shattered.

She said the refrigerator she was next to saved her life. 

"My head would have been crushed."

"Don't be so dramatic," joked her husband, Victor, a former soldier. 

Their son was hospitalized as a result of the attack.

Challenges of first responders

First responders, like Dmytro Shevchenko, 31, must be prepared to go to the scene of the next attack at any time. He was among the first to arrive at the university campus on Sunday. Most of the people he found were too injured to provide first aid, he said, wiping away tears.

He has little hope that the ceasefire talks will bear fruit. "I just don't believe in it," he said.
The children's hospital where Kyrylo Ilyashenko is being treated bears the marks of repeated drone attacks. More than 100 windows were shattered just two weeks ago when a massive drone strike hit a nearby area, said Dr. Ihor Zmyslya.

As workers cleared rubble from the sites of rocket attacks and Kyrylo explained his favorite computer games, an explosion was heard in the distance. From the window of the hospital where the teenager lay, clouds of smoke could be seen rising from a nearby railway line.

“This is our reality,” Zmislya said. “It happens all the time.”