In Sumy, Ukraine, Ukrainian soldier Oleksandr spoke from the hospital where his injured stepdaughter remains in critical condition. He recounted that he was attending a military commendation event in a university basement on Sunday when two Russian ballistic missiles struck nearby areas. The impact scattered shrapnel among pedestrians and ignited fires throughout the town’s roads.
As the soldiers, along with members of his 117th Brigade, remained securely sheltered below ground awaiting the signal that it was safe to emerge, Oleksandr’s spouse—who had been strolling with their kids—used her hand to seal the 6-year-old’s shrapnel injury while blood flooded the child’s lungs, according to him.
The Russian missile attack on the center of this crowded city on
Palm Sunday killed 35 people
and left over 100 people injured, mostly civilians, as reported by local officials. This atrocity outraged Ukraine, reinforcing the belief among Ukrainians that Russia continues to be determined to harm them and destroy their cities despite this.
President Donald Trump’s negotiators
pay multiple visits to Moscow, hoping the Kremlin will consent to an agreement.
The strikes occurred merely two days following a visit by Trump’s representative, Steve Witkoff, who traveled to Moscow for an extensive discussion with Russian President Vladimir Putin lasting about an hour. Subsequently, when Trump addressed journalists, he indicated his belief that the assault on Sumy was unintentional, thereby further eroding trust between Ukraine and Washington regarding their perspectives on the conflict.
However, many residents of this mourning city, like Oleksandr, who is 38 years old, have also expressed anger towards the organizers of the military medal ceremony, possibly the intended target of the Russian attacks. During a one-hour conversation, Oleksandr, whose last name is being withheld by The Washington Post as per military regulations and to prevent retaliation from commanding officers, mentioned that the arrangements for the wartime event likely caught Russia’s interest.
Under international law, both sides must take measures to avoid civilian harm. Russia’s launch of ballistic missiles into a busy intersection in a major city amounted to the highest number of civilian casualties in a single incident in Ukraine so far this year. However, the law also requires Ukraine to avoid placing military targets in heavily populated civilian areas.
That arrangement can prove extraordinarily complicated in Ukraine as troops defend civilian areas from assault, but events such as medal ceremonies,
that Russia has previously targeted
, do not constitute essential defensive roles.
Oleksandr stated that organizing the event in Sumy was both superfluous and unwise. The city is merely 18 miles from the Russian border, has insufficient anti-aircraft protection, and
comes under regular attack
. Russians may have intercepted communications or been informed by a local collaborator about the plans.
Oleksandr had recently been fighting just inside the Russian region of Belgorod and was annoyed to be called home for the ceremony. Soldiers were needed on the battlefield, he said, not in a basement in the center of Sumy.
I don’t require these medals or documents,” he stated while at the children’s hospital where his stepdaughter, Elina, underwent surgery to remove shrapnel and bone fragments from her lung. “My only desire is to eliminate every single Russian soldier and return to my normal life as a civilian.
We’re battling for Ukraine,” he said. “To me, Ukraine is represented by that young girl in her hospital bed. It’s also embodied by the woman beside her.
On Tuesday, Kyiv removed Volodymyr Artiukh from his position as the leader of Ukraine’s local military office. Although he admitted attending an event covered by Ukraine’s national media outlet, he refuted having organized it. Oleksandr stated that Artiukh bore “100 percent responsibility” for casualties and injuries resulting from attacks. Attempts to get comments directly from Artiukh were unsuccessful.
The Ukrainian administration has not officially admitted to the occurrence of a ceremony; however, they have concentrated their efforts on addressing the significant number of civilian casualties—confirmation of which was provided by Post reports—including individuals en route to church services.
Meanwhile, Russia has alleged without providing proof that the assault resulted in over 60 deaths among Ukrainian soldiers. The overflowing hospitals and cemeteries of Sumy, now brimming with civilians, paint a contrasting picture. As for reports of civilian casualties, Russia’s Defense Ministry has yet to respond to inquiries regarding this matter.
Spring comes to Sumy
It was the first mild spring weekend of the season, and Sumy’s downtown area—which includes a sizable community center and the state university—was bustling with residents taking advantage of the break from winter weather.
Congregants were celebrating Palm Sunday. Children were preparing to put on a play. Residents strolled the streets and others boarded bus No. 63, heading to church, picnics and family visits. And in a basement, soldiers, commanders and Artiukh had discreetly gathered for a ceremony that Oleksandr said began at 10 a.m.
Soon after 10, the first missile hit, shattering the community center’s glass atrium and smashing through the ground floor and into the basement, where the children’s play was about to begin. Outside, witnesses said, chaos broke out as people scrambled for shelter. Stunned, Ivan Marunchak and Mykhailo Zubakiev, both 13, turned toward the scene. Ivan’s phone rang and his mother, Tetiana, frantically asked if he was okay.
Then came the second missile, tearing through the roof of a university building and sending Ivan’s phone flying from his hand. The boys were thrown to the ground. Ivan, his leg numb, tried to drag himself up a flight of steps to shelter. He saw Mykhailo running for help, but his friend wouldn’t get far — he had taken shrapnel to the stomach.
Kyrylo Ilyashenko, who was also 13 at the time, sat waiting on the floor of a red city bus as shards of glass continued to fall around him. The driver was lifeless behind the wheel. Corpses sprawled across the seats and the aisle below. Kyrylo understood that his mother was caught within this chaos somewhere. Using only adrenaline and skills honed over years of wrestling practice, he managed to break open the bus door from the exterior using just his hands. He assisted others in escaping safely, among them his mother, Marina, her face and pristine white jacket stained crimson with blood.
Oleksandr bolted out of the basement and contacted his spouse, Viktoria, as he surveyed the chaos beyond. She responded with a shriek: “Elina is 300!”—employing a military term indicating injury—to convey their child’s condition. She added they were heading towards the medical facility at that moment.
Just as usual, the streets soon teemed with assistance providers: medical personnel, service members, casual bystanders. Those injured were swiftly transported to healthcare facilities. As for those who didn’t survive, they were initially draped with aluminum sheets before being placed into body bags.
Ivan’s and Mykhailo’s parents were frantically searching through the streets. Both boys wound up at the same hospital for operations — Ivan needed surgery on his leg, while Mykhailo required it for his abdomen.
Not until Tuesday morning did Mykhailo open his blue-gray eyes. His initial query pertained to Ivan, who was recuperating downstairs.
Mykhailo’s mother, Alla Zubakieva, expressed fear and stress over her son and his friend’s situation but was also livid with Artiukh and other officials who had planned a medal ceremony in the city. “Today I learned that he has been dismissed, and thank goodness,” she commented about Artiukh. “I am not only upset with the Russians; I hold the government accountable as well.”
‘It was a holiday’
At another hospital in a different part of town, injured grown-ups were dispersed throughout, recuperating from operations conducted several days post-strike. Among them was Nataliya Nartayeva, aged 66, who had lost her left arm during the assault. When questioned about leaving Sumy, she lifted her right arm as a sign of resistance and declared that she wouldn’t go. “We shall emerge victorious,” she stated firmly.
In another room, Viktor Vovtenko, a security guard at the university physics building, was flat on his back. He was rushing to the shelter after the first strike when the second threw him to the floor, breaking his spine. Now he can’t feel his legs. His family stayed in Sumy in hopes a ceasefire might pan out. When asked what message he had for Trump after the latest attack, he lifted his hand over the edge of his hospital bed and raised his middle finger in the air.
In another room, Lyudmila, 62, lay under her sheets and wept. Her curly gray hair had been shaved, her head wrapped in white bandages after a surgery to remove a hematoma in her brain. “My husband died in the bus,” she said quietly. “You can’t imagine what kind of hell it is.”
The couple had been on their way to church for Palm Sunday. “It was a holiday — a special day,” she said. She sat near the bus window, and her husband, Mykola, 60, a truck driver, stood next to her. After the blasts, everything was echoing as she dug through bodies on the floor. She found Mykola already dead. Emergency workers dragged her to the street, then to the hospital. “I don’t want to live right now,” she said, tears streaming. “I want the entire world to know what’s happening in Sumy.”
The funeral for Mykola was scheduled for Wednesday, she mentioned, however, the doctors did not permit her to attend.
So many people died in the strikes that several funerals have happened in Sumy each day this week. Mourners have gathered again and again in black at churches, in cemeteries and by the attack site to lay flowers and stuffed toys in honor of the dead. The risk of the next attack is constant. On Monday morning, locals paused cleaning the streets to look up in fear as a Russian drone buzzed overhead.
On Wednesday morning, a crowd gathered to bury Nataliya and Mykola Martynenko and their 11-year-old son, Maksym — a whole family eliminated in an instant on their way to church three days before.
As their bodies were displayed in front of the family’s village house, a double rainbow appeared in the sky. The crowd looked up. “A rainbow around the sun. It’s a sign,” one woman said.
Then another air raid alert: a ballistic missile threat. Telegram channels warned civilians to take cover. A fighter jet flew overhead. The crowd dispersed.
Serhiy Morgunov in Potsdam, Germany, contributed to this report.
