On March 04, Yevhen and I and our basement-mates made an attempt to flee from war-torn Bucha in our two cars, and failed. We drove up to Irpin, which is about 5−7 minutes from our shelter.
Russian occupiers greeted us with rounds of fire from their ambush position. My husband managed to turn off into an alley, but the car I was driving was hit directly in the hood from a grenade launcher.
My amazing Jaguar E-PACE withstood the blow but caught fire. Two other girls, the Pomeranian Spitz and I jumped out, but the russians kept firing at us with machine guns.
The girl in the passenger seat got 9 bullets in her stomach. While Yevhen pulled her out of the fire, we hid behind the Jaguar. Then, I figure it was while the orcs reloaded their weapons, we ran across the road that was exposed to their fire and jumped into my husband’s car. He managed to drag the wounded girl there as well.
We ended up going back to our cellar. Five more days passed until our second, this time successful, attempt to evacuate.
When they began to publish photos of our hellish suburbs and audio conversations of the «liberators» with their women, I was beside myself. First of all, I began to understand that, for the russians, shooting up a car with civilians was routine in this war—and maybe not just this one. Secondly, I couldn’t accept the fact that some bag from Vorohezh who had no idea of their worth would now be wearing things of mine that meant a lot to me
Yet some good news came today. They found my Jaguar. I doubt anyone got anything out of it.
But we did manage to get the most valuable things out of it: the three of us and the dog.
So, when my grandchildren ask me some day, «Gram, what did you do to win that war?» I’ll say, «I took a couple of rounds from a machine gun and a grenade—and lived to tell the tale.» Not much, but I did what I could.)))