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| Ustinovskaya, Yekaterina |
| Уже 22 года... |
| 24/10/24 13:38 more... |
| author Аноним |
| Kurbatova, Christina |
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Детки Милые, хорошие наши детки!!! Так просто не должно быть, это больно, это нечестно, это ужасно. |
| 30/06/24 01:30 more... |
| author Ольга |
| Grishin, Alexey |
|
Памяти Алексея Дмитриевича Гришина Светлая память прекрасному человеку! Мы работали в ГМПС, тогда он был молодым начальником отдела металлов, подающим боль... |
| 14/11/23 18:27 more... |
| author Бондарева Юлия |
| Panteleev, Denis |
| Вот уже и 21 год , а будто как вчера !!!! |
| 26/10/23 12:11 more... |
| author Ирина |
| Ustinovskaya, Yekaterina |
| Помним. |
| 24/10/23 17:44 more... |
| author Аноним |
| Journalist A. Rafayenko tells his story |
| Written by Алексей Рафаенко | |
| Пятница, 25 Октябрь 2002 | |
|
THE VIEW FROM THE WINDOW In ‘Moskovskaya Pravda’ 21.35 6.55 The theatrical center of the Moscow state ball bearing plant was submerged in the light of street lamps. Scattered in various directions along the facades of nearby buildings were security service commandos. Snipers occupied the heights around the perimeter of the target. The police hastily blocked off the street, set up a police cordon, and restored order. Audible above the focused, excited buzz of human voices were the cries of children: scared, coatless kids, wandering among the journalists, onlookers, and security officers, calling up their parents. They were the first to see the terrorists. They were the first to experience the panic. They were the first to leave that terrible place, and they were the last to understand anything: “Daddy, Daddy! I’m calling you on my cell phone. Bandits grabbed Mom! Dad, I don’t know. I don’t know. Where am I? They let us go. Dad, I’m sorry…” The little hostages were still keeping together. They huddled in a heap, and cautiously pressed the adults, naively asking why “the soldiers with the guns” would not go and get their parents released. “We were watching the show when a man ran onstage with a gun. He shouted that the building was seized and began shooting in the air. The girls started crying. Then came a lot of people wearing masks and carrying guns, even women, and they told us to shut up and don’t move. Their boss said we could make one phone call, and he promised to let the kids under 13 go. My parents said to get out fast, but they didn’t let go a lot of us who looked older. They didn’t let us get our coats. They just opened the doors and chased us out.” Meanwhile, the police cordon has been sealed, and journalists, rather roughly, pushed from the scene. A correspondent from ‘MP’ and some colleagues managed to “reinforce themselves” inside an apartment in a building facing the right side of the fateful theater. The windows offered an excellent view of the parking lot in front of theatrical center, and the facade and roof of nearly every surrounding house was visible. Looking out the windows, we understood how the criminals entered the concert complex. They drove up from two directions in three minibuses — two foreign makes and a ‘Gazel’. These can accommodate 25 −30. The terrorists acted quickly: they leaped from the vehicles and in the wink of an eye ran inside, through the main entrance. One of their vehicles was still running. I am getting ahead of myself, when I say that for eight hours no one would touch the minivan with the open doors and running engine — security officials feared fire from the building, or a bomb. It was not until five in the morning, when a man in a dark jacket with a dog came by. He inspected the van, turned off the engine, and then walked inside the main entrance of the theater. Ten minutes later he shot out of there like a bullet. I also saw how the assault team set up a foothold in front of the theater. A squad of commandos infiltrated an adjacent building, the Institute of Man, where our ‘MP’ cameraman was located. Despite the glare of the lights, you could see the group sneaking along an overhead street crossing. I was made aware that the terrorists continue to release children and the sick, but these apparently were not from the main entrance. I managed quite by accident to find out what was going on inside. Going out into the stairwell, I encountered a company of young men who had come to rescue a girlfriend in the hands of the criminals. The boys managed to talk with “Hello, Svetka! How are you there?” "Svet, aren’t they going to let you go?” “Definitely not me. They’re now going to release pregnant women. When are they going to rescue us?” “I don’t know. We’re really worried. You just hold on and don’t provoke them. Are there a lot of bandits?” “It’s hard to count: 20, maybe more. Several women. They’re mean. Everyone’s covered in grenades. I can’t say anything else…” A few minutes later there were bursts of gunfire outside. A terrorist was shooting at cars from the translucent The terrorists released a pregnant woman. Reeling, she turned onto Melnikov Street, where detectives immediately picked her up. At literally the same moment, law enforcement officials began going around apartments. The police officers were searching for the media. “Are there any journalists?” The intonation the officer used while asking our hostess reminded me of a raid on guerrillas in Belarus during the summer of 1942. Fortunately, we went unnoticed and listened to the instructions the police supplied the household: “Don’t panic. Turn off the lights in the apartment, draw the curtains, and don't go to the window. Be prepared for immediate evacuation.” Several times a firefight started up, but it was not known who shot at whom, and in any case the representatives of law enforcement agencies did not comment on the shooting. During my watch I counted six hostages freed. Sometimes into my zone of visibility there would appear mysterious persons. A girl, who walked freely through the parking lot and went inside the building, was particularly intriguing. I did not see that she ever left. |
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