15 Days in Hostomel Under Russian Occupation; 15 Days of Hell
A story of Olena Trutneva, a design studio owner who thought Hostomel might be a good place to wait out the hostilities.
When we saw Olena’s story told in the Facebook post, we immediately realized it should be translated into English. We made a short call with Olena to negotiate the process. Olena seemed so lovely and courteous.
It seemed a miracle that she managed not only to survive but also to remain safe and unharmed, both physically and mentally. No wonder she’s convinced angels were guarding her and her family all these 15 days.
My story is not the worst, and there will be no horrible photos. I’m writing it not because I want attention or pity, but because I can’t hold it anymore. And because we should never forget what has happened there to me and to all those people who suffered from Russian aggression.
The outbreak
February 24, 5:25AM. Suddenly, the phone rang. That was my brother Andrew on the line.
“The war has begun!” he shouted, “They’re bombing our cities! Hurry up and go to your mother’s dacha now!”.
My son Ivan and I lived in Hostomel. And our dacha, where my mom lived, was seven kilometers away from our apartment. We packed our essentials, like documents and snacks, and went to my mom.
I’ve been divorced for a long time, so all the responsibility for the kid, our apartment, the car was on me. And of course, my mom is also my concern, because my brother is far away, on another side of the country.
Usually, it takes just 10 minutes to get to our dacha. But we were running low on fuel. As I drove past the gas station, I saw a very large queue of cars. The pumps there were not working, because the power grid was damaged by explosions. People were waiting and hoping it’ll get fixed. I decided not to waste time and moved forward.
We made a stop at the grocery shop. I knew that there’s probably nothing at my mom’s house, so I decided to buy some food. There I discovered that bank cards didn’t work anymore. And I didn’t have any cash. So things were already not going well for us.
At 6:30 AM we were at our dacha. I was overwhelmed with anxiety, but I also believed it should end soon. Our neighbors started coming from Kyiv to wait out.
But we all got trapped instead.
The village turned into a battlefield.
A couple of hours later, around 30 Russian helicopters flew over us towards Vyshhorod and Kyiv. We were not sure if they were Russian at first, but no doubts were left when they started to strike civilian houses with heat missiles. Then they made a loop and moved in Kyiv’s direction again.
Those helicopters flew just above the treetops, and a terrible wind came up along with a vicious rumble caused by their blades. I saw then how one of the pilots turned his head, and our eyes met. At that moment, shooting started. An animal fear pierced me.
Fighter jets appeared in the sky and started to fall down. Ukrainian air defense commenced its work. It was like in a movie, and I couldn’t believe this was a reality.
Looking back, I see that our defense wasn’t strong enough. We lacked anti-air defense systems that the Western partners only start providing now. If only they would act swifter…
On the first day of the war, the Internet was still available. We didn’t have any problems with electricity as well, but we couldn’t call anyone. Networks were overloaded with messages and calls. From the news on the Internet, we discovered that most of the helicopters we had seen earlier landed in Hostomel. Three of those were shot down by our air defense. The airfield and the power plant in Vyshhorod got destroyed.
We also learned that when under fire, we need to go to a shelter. And we also need to stay away from windows, so the broken glass can’t hurt us. We didn’t have any cellar, so we agreed with our neighbor, Olha, that we would use her basement to hide.
Shooting and explosions did not stop for the whole day. We tried to stay in that basement, but it was too cold and wet. We wanted to eat and sleep. And we had no idea for how long we should stay there. So we decided to move inside the house for the night. We laid blankets on the first floor since there were no windows and slept in clothes, so we could be ready to dart outside the house in the case of fire or destruction.
However, we could not sleep. We couldn’t stop but listen to the sounds of gunfire, explosions, planes passing by. We were just waiting for morning to come in a half-dreaming state of mind. I’m glad my son slept well. He took it all in stride, and even tried to calm us down. He even started a war diary.
The occupation
February 25. We knew that all the bridges across the Irpin were destroyed so that Russian troops couldn’t get closer to Kyiv. It was too late to run. We were under the Russian occupation.
Mobile networks no longer worked; cell towers were damaged. Village locals started uniting to help each other. Together, we were cooking food and warming ourselves by the fireplaces. We found old wells to get water. It was yellow due to the excess iron. To drink it, we first infused and waited.
Meanwhile, clashes were still very close to us. Our village turned into a battlefield. Russians were moving towards Kyiv, and the Ukrainian army was stopping them with heavy fire. Bullets were constantly whipping past us, and the ground was trembling with explosions. We saw rockets that flew over our heads and enemy vehicles in the woods nearby. We prayed that our military response would be mighty. But also that they would be accurate and beat the enemy, not us.
February 26. The morning was quiet. I went outside for water and saw a cruise missile sticking out of the ground not far from the house. Miraculously, it didn’t hit a neighbor’s car, which was full of gas. Then I realized that angels were guarding us. We had to survive!
On the same day, our neighbors broke into the local grocery shop and everyone lined up for food. For free, of course. While we were standing in the line, explosions and shooting started over again. The sounds made us fall down on the ground and press against the fence, but still, we were following the line and desperately waited for our turn to get into the shop. After all, it was already clear that this was going to take a long time, and we needed to stock up on food.
Then, all the days merged into one.
We learned how to distinguish the distance to the battle. Where their missiles come from and where they fall down. We knew the sounds of the machine-gun fire, mortars, and rockets. This knowledge helped us survive. Different types of weapons create various kinds of danger, and you need to know how to act according to each type of threat. In one case you need to fall down on the ground, in another, you must crawl into a cover. Sometimes it’s better to stay in the house and pray.
Despite the sounds of a battle, there were also moments, when we thought, “It’s actually a good time to go outside and to breathe with some fresh!”. We adapted to the new reality.
One night, we saw houses burning. But there was no one to put them out. There could have been people still there, but there’s nothing we could do about that. Only to watch with a terrible feeling of helplessness.
We made friends with some of our neighbors and formed a small group we called “Battle buddies”. We became like one big family with gatherings all together by a fireplace, drinking coffee, making jokes, and listening to the news in a car with the engine running (so our phones can recharge). My mom even made pancakes for the whole group during Butter Week (also known as Maslianytsa, a religious and folk holiday in Eastern Slavic culture), and opened a jar of jam. Someone pulled a long-forgotten bottle of homemade liquor from their cellar. We cheered ourselves up as best we could.
One day, Russian soldiers started breaking into houses, smashing doors and windows. Our house became their target as well. The door was opened, so they just came in. We hid in the sauna under the bench with our legs tucked under us. They did not see us, but they were looking for something in every room, opening all the cupboards, and throwing things around. I don’t know what they were looking for exactly. And I was scared to think about it.
Our fences were broken down, and tanks and anti-aircraft rocket launchers stood right in the garden. They were shooting in the direction of Kyiv or Vyshhorod, and then changed the position and moved to another house. Hence, Russians made us their human shield.
From that on, Russian soldiers were frequent “guests” on our streets, and it got dangerous to go outside. We spent most of our time at home on the floor. Every morning, military vehicles moved forward through the village, and at the end of the day, they were coming back, dragging their wounded soldiers through the streets, smearing blood on the asphalt. Sometimes a huge military truck hauled out corpses.
In a break between battles, we found out from our neighbors that there’s going to be an evacuation route for civilians in Hostomel. And to get to the necessary point we would need to drive seven kilometers through the bloodbath.
The inferno
March 9. The evacuation of Hostomel, Bucha, and Irpin was officially announced.
It was an especially loud fight that day, and we were hiding in our shelter as usual. A rocket was launched somewhere very close to us, and it sounded like it had struck someone’s house. When it quieted down, I decided to go out to see what had happened and if anyone had been killed. I saw ruins instead of the house next door.
Some of our neighbors came over as well. Andrew, a friend of mine, was among them.
Suddenly we heard the piercing whistle of a missile.
“Get down!”, he shouted and pressed me to the ground near the concrete fence. He covered me with his own body. A rocket flew into the house next to us behind that fence. I saw shards of glass, pieces of windows and stones, some metal parts, everything went up in the air. We were covered with debris. That concrete fence protected us from injuries or maybe even death.
We ran, but a new whistle cut the air again.
“Get down!” I heard again. Andrew covered me one more time. I saw the same things blown up in the air, like a horrifying déjà vu. And then another rocket.
I was no longer counting, but just running, lying down, and running again trying to get back to my house. We got there together with Andrew, and at that moment the rocket attack stopped.
I saw that the house was unharmed. My mom and my son were alive.
That missile’s rain was a turning point for me. I decided to evacuate immediately. Chances of dying under the rubble of our own house were now too high. Neighbors poured gas from plastic bottles into my tank, and we were off. There was no time to change the clothes, and I realized that for the last couple of weeks I’d been wearing only warm pajamas, a coat, and old sneakers. My mother and son didn’t have any chance to change either.
The escape
We were not alone on our trip. Apart from my mom, son, and cat, our neighbor Olha, my friend Ksusha, and her dog George also joined us. Three of our friends escorted us to the way out of the village but didn’t go further with us. The evacuation was only possible for women, children, and men over 60.
We hit the highway. From that point on, the most frightening and dangerous hours of our lives began.
We had a white sheet taped to our car with the word “CHILDREN” on it. We held white flags out of the windows, that we had made with a stapler, sticks, and a piece of sheeting, right before we left. I drove cautiously, with my hazard lights on. My heart was jumping out of my chest, and we all were whispering prayers.
The road was strewn with iron trash. People who tried to leave before, couldn’t make it because their cars were shelled. Some managed to escape and crawled back wounded. Some never returned.
After about a kilometer, we saw Russian soldiers. I slowed down even more and raised my hand out the open window. The soldier gave me a sign to drive closer with his machine gun. I drove up and got out of the car with my hands raised. They ordered to open the trunk, show the documents, and hand over all the cell phones. I hid my phone under the seat and gave them my son’s old phone as my own. They allowed us to keep going, and we drove on. Six kilometers of a terribly scary road until we reached the evacuation site.
I drove pretty slowly and kept my eyes on the road, not to let metal fragments pierce my tires. Lots of cars rowed on the side of the road, burned, and crushed by tanks. I was afraid to turn my head and look longer. Some cars had bodies inside.
We passed several more of these checkpoints with armed Russian soldiers. Each time, I got out of the car with my hands up and said that we were evacuating to Hostomel. They let us pass, and we drove on.
When we arrived at the designated evacuation point, we saw a crowd and a huge column of cars. People came from nearby villages hoping to escape, just like us. Many of them were coming on foot with children, carrying belongings in their hands. I saw an old paralyzed woman who was carried in a wheelbarrow. It was like in a World War II movie. The only difference — it was our reality. The convoy didn’t move, but more cars were still coming. No one understood what was going on. People began to pass information back and forth, saying that the evacuation had been canceled and Russians had blown up the road ahead.
Suddenly, military helicopters flew, and shooting and explosions started. All the people scattered, cars started to turn around and go back. A shell hit the intersection where we had come from, so a car mashup appeared there. But there was no way back for us.
I drove down the street looking for a safe place.
Then some people from behind one of the fences waved and shouted to us, “Come here! Hurry up!”. They opened the gate, and I quickly turned into their yard. I accidentally tore off the bumper of my car by hitting a high curb. But it didn’t matter.
The house was small and in a low spot of the street. All the neighboring big houses were destroyed entirely. Yura, the owner of the house, his wife Zhanna, and their nephew Roman, warmly welcomed us and shared their dinner. We stayed overnight at that house. There were eight people, three dogs and three cats. We all laid wherever we could find a place, on the couch, on a chair on the floor. The entire night, a terrible fight was happening. Of course, it was impossible to sleep. The sky was lightened up with explosions, and we could see from the window how the neighboring houses were burning. We could see the lights of automatic weapons fire. The unbearable sounds were ringing in my ears. The house was shaking, its windows were trembling, things were falling from the bookshelves.
By morning, everything had fallen silent.
March 10. The sun was rising through the clouds of smoke. It was 11 °C below zero. A tire factory was burning, spreading a burnt rubber smell. I think the angels were still watching over us; our house was unharmed, while all others were annihilated.
We boiled water over a fire, cooked breakfast, and listened to the news. There would be another attempt to evacuate people from our town. We quickly got into the car and drove to the evacuation site.
Cars and people were already gathering. I discovered that some had to sleep that night in their cars with engines running to stay warm. Some women were hysteric, children were screaming and crying. The horror people endured that night was written on their desperate faces.
We kept waiting on that destroyed street full of cars. We were hoping for a miracle.
Someone said that we had to leave the cars and walk, and evacuation buses were awaiting us on the other side. But then I saw two cars that were going in the opposite direction. I waved for them to stop. One driver said he knew a way around the damaged section of the road, and I decided to follow them in my car. In the end, we formed a column of five daredevils, and we drove down the center of Hostomel.
The war movie turned into another one, but about the end of the world. There was not a single intact house in the town. Stores were burnt out together with the parked cars. Every door and window was broken. Tons of destroyed military equipment, torn tanks, and corpses were everywhere around.
Guys in the lead car stopped every time they saw Russian soldiers. They came out with their hands raised, asked to let our column through. I don’t know what exact magic words they used, but every time soldiers granted us the way.
We passed by the house where my son and I lived. There were no windows anymore, and the entire building was covered with holes from bullets and various shells. I’m afraid to imagine what would have happened if we stayed there.
All of a sudden, Russian tanks started to come out from the corner at a fast speed. Our first two cars made it through the crossroads where we met the tanks, but I didn’t.
Russians started to turn right at us and weren’t going to stop. I quickly swerved to the side of the road, miraculously not hitting anything sharp, and the tanks whizzed past us. I saw cars crushed by tanks on the road before, and I knew it could have happened to us, but we were lucky again.
We survived one more time.
The salvation
We continued our way through Hostomel, Bucha, and Vorzel, and everywhere we saw ruins and corpses. I remember a stroller left on the roadside, shot-up cars, blown-up tanks. And, of course, armed Russian soldiers everywhere.
I saw all of this with my peripheral vision. I tried not to take my eyes off the road, to avoid hitting a mine, or any sharp objects, and watched the gas sensor carefully.
Sometime after we drove through Vorzel, we saw a large column of cars moving towards Kyiv. These were people just like us, desperate and brave, who set out to evacuate on their own without waiting for help.
Cars flocked from different directions in one big column. Our lead car parked on the side of the road, and we all stood behind it. I got out of the car and ran to hug the man I didn’t even know. The man who the responsibility and fearlessly led us out of this hell.
This was not the end of the way yet. The convoy moved very slowly, and we could see all the horrors and ruins that those Russian “liberators” were leaving behind.
Finally, the last Russian checkpoint. They checked documents and luggage again. And from there on we drove through villages and saw fewer and fewer damaged houses until we noticed Ukrainian flags!
We all hugged, smiled, and cried at last. We did it! We were finally in Kyiv!
During these 15 days of the war, I had never cried or panicked. I knew it would only harm us, I had to survive and save my family. Both my mom and my son coped with great courage. And our whole team: our neighbor Olha and our good friend Ksyusha were hardy and stayed strong. In fact, even a corgi and a Siamese cat showed incredible patience. It seemed like they understood that we were rescuing them. All our animals sat quietly and still.
Unfortunately, not everyone was as lucky as we were. I learned afterward that during the evacuation days of March 10, 11, and 12, many cars with women and children were shot or blown up.
But we made it through. My neighbor Olha met her husband in Kyiv. Ksyusha reunited with her mother. And we drove to the hotel where my friend sheltered us. There I had my first hot shower in 15 days.
We were fed in the soldier’s canteen, and we slept on beds. It was also the first time we heard the air-raid sirens because there were none in our village near Hostomel. They kept us awake. Only my son Ivan managed to sleep.
March 11. We had breakfast and set off again. Now we were faced with the task not of survival but of endurance. A long and grueling 16-hour drive from Kyiv to Lviv. The next day we had a 4-hour line at the Hungarian border. Then Budapest, and then we drop to Germany through Austria, Munich and finally came to Stuttgart, where my eldest son Vlad was waiting for us.
We did not want to stop anywhere to admire the beautiful countries and cities. We wanted to come as quickly as possible to a place where we would be welcomed and safe.
I was looking forward to a chance to start smiling again.
We arrived in Stuttgart with our passports, a laptop, and our cat. But I brought the most precious thing I have. I brought my family.
I believe in our victory, and I am grateful to our army, which despite the numerical superiority of the enemy has been giving a heroic response. I hope that our partners have had time to see our resilience. And also had time to decide on priorities. With their immediate help, with weapons and jet fighters supply, our army will be able to stop this invasion. To stop the killings of innocent people. And then, along with Ukraine, the whole Europe will be saved from another war.
Glory to Ukraine!
This is the story of Olena Trutneva: Facebook | Instagram
Suggested for publishing by Nastya Popandopulos. Translated by Vadim Grin. Supervised by Max Sushchuk.
