Kyiv burns

In the language of science, this is called the morpholide of pelargonic acid and orthochlorbenziliden-malnutril. In practice, the sensation is like someone with hot forceps squeezes your nasopharynx. For two months that the shares that began with the rejection of European integration and grew into protests against the current government continue, the Ukrainians had several opportunities to find out the taste of tears of Teren-6. But on January 19, Ukraine will be remembered for the first truly serious clashes with the security forces.

If you try to narrow the events of this day before the chronicle, you will not be able to do without military terms. The attack, counterattack, captured, tactics of scorched land. The protest, for two months with all his might restrained and remained peaceful, is clearly tired of being so.

The beginning of the clashes I observe on the Internet. In the afternoon in Kyiv, another, already the eighth in a row, Sunday Veche has passed. Many considered him fateful - on Thursday the Verkhovna Rada adopted laws that seriously limit civil rights and freedoms. From the opposition in the person of Arseniy Yatsenyuk, Vitaly Klitschko and Oleg Tyagnybok, they were waiting for the appointment of a single leader, who would lead the struggle against President Viktor Yanukovych and explain how it was to lead. However, the opposition from the recognition of someone was the main thing traditionally drew and called the provocateurs everyone who did not agree with them.

There were several thousand disagreements. I see the live air on the unification of the nationalist forces, the Right Sector leads them from the Maidan towards the nearby Street Grushevsky, where the parliament building is located. Between the protesters and the cordon of the security forces, clashes instantly begin. Aggressively tuned youth sets fire to one of the buses of the Berkut special forces and throws the security forces with stones and firecrackers. Those respond with light -school and gas grenades, firing with rubber bullets. Vodoetes periodically water the protesters, but they work not at full power - it is rather strong rain than a jet knocking down. Activists, doused with water in five -degree frost, recall the festival of baptism that has fallen on the same Sunday and chants: “Drinking, watermers!”

In the houses, there are many expensive boutiques in the houses, the owners of which are probably watching the broadcast with ardent interest.

The number of victims is growing, but clashes do not subside. The Maidan living according to the laws of wartime has already learned to quickly change the tired fighters at the front line, and the special forces already knew how.

Events unfold right in front of the Dynamo stadium. Valery Lobanovsky. In the houses, there are many expensive boutiques in the houses, the owners of which are probably watching the broadcast with ardent interest. Meanwhile, on the Internet, they make fun of the nameless motorist, who parked his VAZ-2110 in an unsuccessful place, at the entrance to the stadium, where the hottest clashes occur. Facebook quickly gives rise to jokes like “I will sell“ Lada ”very cheaply. Pickup from Grushevsky. " For some reason, this machine, lonely standing among a whole hail of cobblestones and grenades, causes me warm feelings, and I want it to survive. However, after some time, protesters still put her to one side to hide behind this impromptu barrier. I am slightly upset, but I reassure myself that the car, in principle, is still intact, and the owner is to blame - you can’t park there.

In one of the direct broadcasts, I notice how the protesters are supervised by the security forces: on a defeated and burned bus "Berkuta", they play with spray cans. They play a draw. The confrontation with special forces unfolds about the same success.

The clashes continue in the evening, when I finally get to the city center. I go along the main street - Khreshchatyk, towards the place of basic events. Here, just a kilometer from Grushevsky Street, nothing says that large -scale clashes have been going on in Kyiv for several hours. The couples walk, someone walks the dog, an ordinary Kyiv evening.

True, a little closer to the Maidan I see a two -meter children in civilian clothes, but with a metal shield.

- Police? - I am interested in, pointing to the shield.

“Yeah, and the helmet too,” the kid proudly claps on the head. - I got to Grushevsky.

- And what did the Golden Eagle said to that?

- Well, we captured several cops, selected shields, photographed and released.

"Captured." Now I smelled of war significantly on me.

Meanwhile, the guy knocks on the window of the kiosk: "Americano and two sugars, be kind."

I go further to the Maidan. Here, too, nothing says that in just a few hundred meters buses of security forces are burning. Only firewood in the stoves burned here, around which peaceful protesters have been warming up for a month and a half.

In the tent town, they are just demonstrating a film about Yanukovych. People with interest watch how the former neighbor of the President of Ukraine in prison is indignant that he collaborated with the prison administration, and therefore does not deserve respect. On the Maidan, many clearly share her opinion.

There is already quite felt by the way out of the square, which is closer to Grushevsky Street. Heavily relying on some girl, a man of about 50 in Haki is limping me. “Everything will be fine, hold on, you have nothing serious there, everything is fine, don’t worry,” she reassures.

I come across a large company a little further.

- Yes, you understand, you can’t be here now, it is dangerous! - almost shouts one of the guys for several girls. His words adds the weight of the cannonade from the rushing out of the angle of grenades. To the street Grushevsky and the square in front of the Dynamo stadium named after Valery Lobanovsky is not far from here.

However, the attributes of peacetime are also visible here - the trading tent offers a wide range of patriotic products like flags, badges and magnets. A huge poster of the new film “Me, Frankenstein” rises above the tent. From the letter “I” stretches a fresh, with the help of a spray can, the inscription: “... Novich”.

The impromptu employees of the rear are a little further-some girls offer to treat themselves with domestic pies. They immediately distribute medical masks, lemons and water - this solution is advised to rinse the eyes burnt with tear gas. The solution is dismantled than pies.

Above the square in front of the Dynamo stadium is blazing a glow. The bus, settled by the protesters, has long burned out, but several freight cars are burning with might and main, forming a kind of barrier between the “golden eagle” and the protesters. The gun of the protesters as a world - a hail of cobblestones flies for special forces. The security forces are protected by no less old methods and become a “turtle”, hiding behind shields on all sides.

"Captured." Now I smelled of war significantly on me.

The “top ten” was turned onto the roof and dragged forward, turning into a barricade. Smoke creeps over the crowd. Black, caustic - from burning cars and white, burning face and throat - from tear gas.

I get ahead. The fact that the tonality of protests has seriously changed is clear even by ear. If earlier dissatisfaction with power in Kyiv was shown mainly by dancing to the music, now riot rumbles to the stadium. Once every half a minute, light -school and gas grenades are torn with a thunderous noise. Several protesters beat the rhythm on impromptu drums from empty barrels. A melody of a single pipe floats over the square, on which a man in glasses leads either the anthem of Ukraine, then “get up, a huge country”, and even “ Happy Birthday to You ” . The crowd periodically explodes with the shouts of Ganba and the formula “Glory to Ukraine - Glory to the Heroes of the Heroes!” The sound of a police loudspeaker sometimes breaks through all this mixing of sounds. Due to the noise, only fragments of phrases are heard, but it is also clear from them: citizens should disperse, otherwise it shines everyone for 15 years in prison. The protesters meet this offer with new volleys of stones and Molotov cocktails. The atmosphere is dashing and exciting blood.

The tactics of the attackers are simple: hiding behind a variety of shields (some guy uses the door from the dry closet in this capacity), run closer to the barrier from the cars behind which the Golden Eagle stands, and throw the cobblestone or Molotov cocktail in their direction. The security forces respond to this with volleys of grenades and finger with rubber bullets.

I climb onto the fence to observe the disposition on top. Immediately I lose my balance and forcedly leaning on someone. This turns out to be a priest in Black Sutan.

- How do you like all this?

“I think that here and now we all become men,” the clergyman replies. I notice that he stands right under Cityylite, on which is bred on top of the advertisement: “Molotov. Collection of bottles. " True, who collects is incomprehensible.

In general, the supply of ammunition here is really systematized. Several dozens of people at the edges of the square are picking paving stones. Volunteers immediately collect it in bags and are attributed to the front line, where the stones promptly throw it into the “golden eagle”. The security forces do not hesitate to throw her back.

Some guy asks me to move.

- Excuse me, please. It’s heavy, ”he explains and begins to crack the cobblestone on the curb.“ Still, Omelchenko was good, well done, well done, he laid out everything with a paving stones, came in handy! ”

Under the leadership of the former mayor of Kyiv, Alexander Omelchenko, most of the metropolitan center was indeed laid out with paving slabs, which has now become an instrument of the proletariat.

While I walk from one end of the area to the other, I involuntarily eavesdrop on the monologue of some girl:

- My father is a deputy from the opposition, when he found out that we were going here, he was very delighted. And the mother, on the contrary, was scared for us. For the first time in my life, with me, I swore obscenities, said that we are bitches and that she would curse us. And then she cried.

Many mothers also preferred to come to Grushevsky. There are many middle and older persons in the crowd. Many well -dressed. Some grandfather shocks his fists in the direction of the Silovik Cordon invisible behind the swaddling of smoke: “Shoot at your dads, shoot the children! This is how we got a holiday of water! ”

A huge poster of the new film “Me, Frankenstein” rises above the tent. From the letter “I” stretches a fresh, with the help of a spray can, the inscription: “... Novich”.

However, none of the protesters can really explain what is happening and how it will end. A breakthrough to the Verkhovna Rada on Sunday, when there is no one there, according to many, was initially not the most reasonable venture, and now this has completely grown into clashes for the sake of clashes. The hatred of the current government and its defenders in the person of the Berkut fighters accumulated for a long time - and spilled in the form of a hail of cobblestones and Molotov cocktails. In the crowd, one can hear every now and then: “This is how Viktor Fedorovich got the people what it came to this!”

Meanwhile, it comes to me that the temperature is approaching - 10, and I have been outside for several hours. I'm going to warm up to the nearest cafe. True, there is no getting away from protests. Everyone shows the opposition noisily and discuss who swallowed what gas. Some guy out loud reads from the phone data about the victims, in particular about the activist, who was torn off the grenade of the brush.

“He wanted to quit the grenade back to Golden Eagle,” the girl explains from behind the next table.

“Well, a fool,” another man enters into the conversation. “There can not be in any way, a fraction of a second.” Today I got a grenade in my leg, I only felt something hit the leg, looked down-and she rushed. I see nothing, deaf, scary. I thought that my leg was torn off, in horror I take a step - and I understand that there is, that I was standing. Then he looked, the whole sole in fragments, would go a little higher - he would become disabled.

The waitress is one for the whole hall and obviously does not cope. To facilitate the task for her, I myself go to the bar to ask for an account. The bartender is enthusiastically chatting with someone on the phone.

- What? 24th channel? Now I turn on, ”he puts on the remote control, not paying attention to me. Finally finds the desired channel, they just broadcast shots where they provide assistance to a man to whom a rubber bullet hit the head. “S-Suki,” the bartender closes evil. I pay and go back to Grushevsky.

Passing the outposts of Euromaidan, I talk with self -defense fighters:

- Guys, what do you think about it?

- It’s a pity for people who, tired, who slept all a month for three hours a day, with simple woods and construction helmets go to trained animals from Berkut. But already got out - there is no strength.

- If you get, then why are you here, and not there?

- So our change, after all, there is also work here. We are waiting for the assault. The shift ends - let's go there.

His words will later be confirmed by one of the commandants of the Maidan Andrei Parubiy, who will say that 40 Maidan self -defense members were injured in the clashes on Grushevsky. The security forces will declare that on their part there are more than 70 injured.

According to the medical volunteers, there are several hundred in total. I go to the column of ambulances, built near the epicenter of events. The doctor confirms that there is a lot of work.

- The wounds are very different. Shards from grenades, burns, a lot of bullets, a very young guy a rubber bullet in the temple hit. And they also threw stones in ours, these cops.

So she said - “cops”, in “ours”.

Two in the morning, but in the square in front of the stadium, the picture does not change much. The streets and hills around are occupied by protesters. On the forefront, grenades are still torn and cobblestones fly. In the crowd, groups of doctors scurry. The trumpeter, apparently, was tired and left, now the soundtrack of protest is only a rhythmic knock on empty barrels and a measured rumble of voices.

I notice that the security forces regrouped, and now Lada is right between them and the protesters. Someone throws Molotov cocktail into the car. After a few minutes, it turns into a flaming torch. They shout in the crowd: "Guys, who has good insurance, give your cars here too!"

The situation calmed down somewhat, unless, of course, one might say about the place where grenades are still torn. They are simply torn now much less often. As a result, collisions will continue until the morning. I return home and revise daytime broadcasts to understand how it all started. Again I run into the scene of the game of crosses-noliki on the destroyed special forces bus. Suddenly I understand that the “crosses” missed a winning move. Just one - and the game would be won. But no one could make this move.