This story contains images and descriptions that will disturb you.
IRPIN, Ukraine—This suburb northeast of Kyiv has become one of the most hotly contested and iconic battlegrounds of Russia’s brutal invasion of Ukraine. It was claimed this week that Ukrainian forces managed to defeat the invaders after hundreds of civilians were slaughtered as Russia advanced on the capital.
A few days after the mayor announced the liberation of Irpin, we set out to see for ourselves.
After a 20-minute drive from Kyiv on Thursday, a French colleague, myself and our driver Sasha arrive in Stoyanka on the western outskirts of the capital. The place is devastated: a gas station collapsed under fire, burnt-out vehicles are scattered on the highway to Jytomyr. This is one of the last checkpoints on the way to Irpin.
The weary members of the Territorial Defense manning it are trying to dissuade us from going any further. “It’s not safe there!” warns Viktor, a twenty-something carrying an AK-74 in a sling. He invites us to their base for coffee, a former Georgian restaurant called Radio Tbilisi. We share a cigarette and discuss our idea of going to Irpin. He refuses. The entire city has not been declared safe and remains within range of artillery and missiles.
After weighing the risks, we decide to try our luck anyway. “It’s your responsibility,” Viktor sighs as he shakes our hands.
A winding road through a forest leads us to the entrance of Irpin. As we approach the city, Sasha stops the car. About 500 meters further, a black car with a white “V” sprayed on is blocking the road. His windows seem broken, his trunk is open. We hesitate. “It could be the Russians,” says our driver wearily. About five minutes later, a Ukrainian soldier emerges from the forest. We ask him if it’s safe to move forward. He shrugs. “Maybe.” We choose it.
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A few kilometers further we meet members of the Ukrainian special forces who are evacuating the city. After some negotiation, their commanding officer, Phil, agrees to show us around the city. “I can only show you around the area we cleared. The rest of the city is not safe,” he said. We set off on foot to a nearby two-story house where soldiers are taking a break.
Phil barks orders in Ukrainian and the men start picking up their gear. One of them displays his Savage sniper rifle with childish enthusiasm. “It’s American!” he tells us with a smile. Once they’re done, Phil turns to us: “Have you ever seen a body without a head? It’s not pretty.” We were warned that there were four dead civilians further up the road, killed by either shrapnel or snipers. According to the city’s mayor, Oleksandr Markushyn, between 200 and 300 residents of Irpin have been killed since the Russian invasion began.
“Let’s go,” says Phil. We weave our way through alleys and keep close to the walls of the houses. Every building in this residential area bears the scars of the fighting: the windows are destroyed, the facades are riddled with bullets or shrapnel. Around the corner of a house we come across a red cross bus that was shot at and its windows shattered. Inside is a teddy bear lying face down, covered in dirt. “They shoot at children, the damned bastards!” shouts a soldier. A first-aid kit is open on the front seat of the bus, the contents of which are scattered on the floor.
We move further up the road. As we advance into the city, the rhythmic roar of air defense systems echoes through the surrounding forest. “This is ours,” says one of the soldiers, smiling. We are led through a construction site where we meet the first dead man, a man in blue jeans and a blue jacket. “Get ready,” says Phil, while pointing to another body a hundred yards ahead. It’s a man. His face has rotted away, exposing his skull. Part of the torso is missing. His belongings are scattered everywhere. After we got the all-clear from a spotter, we continue, always covered by a shooter. Soldiers stand guard behind us.
“Watch your feet,” a soldier tells me as we move through an open field. “For mines?” I ask. “Yeah, that kind,” while pointing to the dog shit scattered around. He laughs.
A man’s body is rotting about 50 meters away, his chest bared. Another, a woman, lies face down next to a small crater. Her body was covered with a jacket. “A mortar killed her,” says Phil. As we stop to take photos of the scene, one of the soldiers escorting us spots another body behind a fence nearby: it’s a woman in a pink jacket, the always still clutching her purse. “She’s probably been there for a few days,” he says, while hanging her things on a nearby post. To facilitate their identification later, he tells me.
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We walk back onto the main road to a gray Renault that is said to have been run over by a Russian tank. Luckily no one seems to have been inside at the time. A school bag is leaning against the left rear wheel. That’s as far as we want to go in Irpin. “The rest of the city hasn’t been cleared yet,” says Phil, pointing to high-rise apartment buildings in the distance. On the way back, the Ukrainian soldiers insist on showing us a car allegedly stolen by Russian soldiers trying to flee the city. The car, a white BMW with a “V” spray-painted on the doors, is crammed with laptops, phones and ammunition. We are told that the Russians looted the surrounding houses on their way out of town. We ask about the fate of the driver. “He was killed.” Despite our inquiries, we have not received any further details.
Guillaume Ptak/The Daily Beast
After being assured over the radio that the path is clear, Phil leads us back to the entrance of the city. As we get into our car, he waves to us and shouts “Glory to Ukraine!” before heading back to Irpin.