The first warnings began circulating in Kyiv early on Wednesday evening. Russia's strategic air force has provided six armed Tu-95 bombers, and Tu-160s are also said to be on their way west from the Far East. The relocation of fighter aircraft to certain airfields is considered an indication of an impending combined air attack. The changes are noticed during satellite reconnaissance. Sometimes even President Volodymyr Zelensky warns the population of possible air strikes. But even if he remains silent, the information finds its way into one of the many Telegram channels that specialize in warnings.
Concern about Russian missiles is particularly high in Kyiv right now. The Ukrainian defenders are desperately lacking anti-aircraft ammunition. Ballistic missiles cannot therefore be defended against. Air defense is also having a hard time with modified drones and new cruise missiles. Moscow is taking all of this as an opportunity to intensify its air campaign against cities far from the front lines.
The first impacts occur shortly before midnight
After dusk, the Kiev night sky appears calm. You can now see fewer and fewer vehicles on the roads. After midnight they are almost completely empty, because that's when the curfew begins. Anyone who is still outside should have a good excuse ready. At 11:53 p.m., the Ukrainian Air Force warned about ballistic missiles on Telegram. Sirens are wailing in Kyiv. The Russians are firing their Iskander and S-400 missiles in the darkness from the endless forests in Bryansk. The area borders northeast Ukraine and begins around 250 kilometers north of Kiev.
The first ballistic missile warning on social media is followed by another, then another, and another. Air Force notifications are piling up on the phone screen.
And it's already happening. Around midnight, more than a dozen loud explosions were heard. If the impact is far away, you will first see the sky flash, followed by the sound seconds later. When the impact is close, you can hear the bang and the flash almost at the same time. The warnings continue to pour out in the Ukrainian Air Force channel.
Now, at the latest, many Kiev residents are making their way to a shelter. More and more people are seeking shelter in the subway during the bombing nights. When there is a crash, over 50,000 people often end up in the depths. The residents around the Lukijanivska metro station have particularly good reasons for this. Russia repeatedly attacks the area; almost all the buildings in the streets around the station are now windowless. All that remains of the Kwadrat shopping center directly at the subway entrance is a charred skeleton.
The student spent five days in the metro in one week
During the air alert, the doors to the underground stations are open. Those seeking protection take an escalator down around 70 meters for minutes. Many have already pitched their tents in the basement. New arrivals put down their bags and inflate air mattresses. The people lying down are lined up both in the central hall and on the platforms themselves. The mood is serious, but not restless. Some people work intently on their laptop, others watch films or type away on their cell phones.
The pensioners Lidia and Elvira don't have much more than their small folding chair with them. This is your sixth time staying here. Lidia says she used to go upstairs to her apartment as soon as the air raid alarm ended. But now she stays all night.
Student Marina says she gets about five hours of sleep on the subway nights. In the past week alone, she has stayed here five times, says the 18-year-old woman. And now it's the second night in a row. Actually, she only comes here to support her sister. 24-year-old Mykyta and his friends have card games and snacks with them. He has been coming here ever since he experienced a rocket strike in the immediate vicinity. Until that day, he says, he had never been on the subway at night once.
Meanwhile, the Telegram channels say that the bombers took off from the Olenja and Ukrainka airfields. They are expected to fire their cruise missiles over the Russian regions of Vologda and Saratov. It takes hours for the missiles to reach Ukrainian airspace. The night of the attack is far from over. What has come down so far has only been rockets from areas near the border. Journalists have already counted more than 20 impacts in Kyiv. Videos of rocket hits in Brovary are making the rounds.
But it wasn't just this suburb in the north of the city that was hit. A residential building was hit in the Solomyanka district, which is near Kiev's main train station. There are already many fire engines around the block, and the ground is creaking because of the many shattered windows. It smells like gasoline. The sun has not yet risen and the building that was hit is in complete darkness. You can hear water splashing down and a constant ringing from one of the apartments. Since all the windows are shattered, every little noise comes out. The firefighters sit silently in a tent on the edge. Nobody else is here yet. The neighbors, onlookers and reporters usually don't arrive until after daybreak.
An old woman's sobs can be heard from the side of the road. There is something glittering golden on the floor in front of her. There are two dead people, wrapped in an emergency blanket. She stands there bent over, moaning a name over and over again and touching her bare feet that stick out of the blanket. The woman is beside herself and runs away through the darkness, sobbing. There are dented and deformed cars in front of the house. Missiles and debris pierced their bodies as if they were made of paper. The incessant ringtone still comes from the house, smartphone screens illuminate the faces of the firefighters.
Now another, strong woman stands in front of the dead, bends down and murmurs. The firemen receive a radio message and they rush towards the school opposite. Air alert, jet-powered drones. The woman simply stands on the street and waves her off. She won't get to safety.
In the basement of the school, residents sit tightly packed, with children between them. Some people have fear written all over their faces. The firemen with their dirty uniforms and protective vests remain standing in the hallway. After silent minutes, a brief radio message. The rescue workers stream outside again.
There, the first light of day reveals the extent of the devastation. Roof tiles, stones and toys lie in the shards on the floor. The apple tree in the yard has spread its unripe fruit everywhere. People wrapped in blankets climb into the broken apartment building, some with cuts on their legs. One carries out an e-scooter. A few photographers with long lenses huddle silently next to the grieving woman. A red clearing robot carries a deformed car past.
It is difficult for journalists to determine which air strike was aimed at which specific target. Hits on military facilities, arms factories or energy facilities are kept secret by Kyiv wherever possible. It is often impossible to tell whether damage was caused by a direct hit or by falling debris. Nor did I know exactly which weapon was used. But regardless of this, there are civilian victims every night of Russian bombing. Residential buildings are almost always hit. Hardly anyone always has the time and energy to go to a shelter. People die in their beds. Or in the hallways where they wait for fear of splinters.
According to the United Nations, 437 Ukrainian civilians died in July alone, the highest number since May 2022. Of all the cities, Kiev had the most civilian deaths, namely 54. So that night was just one of many. “We found another body,” crackles from the firefighters’ radios.
