Quite interesting evidence has appeared that indicates that the Malaysian Boeing was hit not by a Buk missile, as the Junta and the USA are trying to claim, but by a Ukrainian aircraft which was close to the Boeing at the time of the crash.
On Tuesday [November 11, 2014—ed.] at the APEC Summit in Beijing, discussions about the crash of the Malaysia Airlines Boeing-777 in eastern Ukraine arose once again. According to Western media, the Australian Prime Minister told Vladimir Putin the Australian version of the accident according to the Australian intelligence service. Nothing new—the Australian, as well as the European and American intelligence agencies, assert: the liner was destroyed by a missile fired from a rocket launcher.
However, the facts tell us a different story. A document, certifying that at the time of the disaster a military aircraft was near flight MH17, has been made available to “MK”—a fact which the West is trying hard to ignore. Continue reading
Preamble: Of the two texts published below, the first is a translation of an article written some weeks ago from Lugansk for the Basque language magazine, Argia. Following its publication on Slavyangrad.es, in Spanish, part of the Spanish (mostly Catalan) Left used the article to try to discredit the volunteers. They argued that the fact that they were fighting alongside French nationalists meant that the Novorossiyans are no better than Kiev. In their argument it does not matter who bombs who and both sides are bad. In practice this meant whitewashing almost all Kiev’s actions, as well as mocking the Spanish volunteers themselves.
The second text is a follow-up by the author of the first text, in which he discussed with the volunteers their recent transfer to the communist unit of the Prizrak Brigade. The author felt he owed it to the volunteers (very likely to get in trouble when they return to Spain—if they make it out of the war) to give them the opportunity to have their say. The interview is original and exclusive to Slavyangrad.
A Day in the Life of the Prizrak Brigade
A group of Spanish volunteers fighting in Lugansk met up with ARGIA journalists to show them their day to day life, perfectly aware that it is an alternative publication far removed from the mass media. “We haven’t talked to the media so far, even though we’ve been offered money in return. We are not interested in talking to those who are lying about Donbass,” says Andrés, a communist from Extremadura.
We are in the industrial city of Alchevsk, the second largest city in the Lugansk People’s Republic. It is Sunday, so no factory is working. We visit the market, crowded with people shopping. After a couple of hours exploring the city, we head to the headquarters.
“There are eight Spaniards in the Prizrak Brigade—two of them have just arrived and another two are about to leave for Spain,” explains the group leader. We have arrived at the headquarters, where we meet Victor Lenta and Nikola Perovic. “Welcome to Novorossiya.” Lenta and Perovic, French nationalists, command the Continental Brigade, formed by Spanish and Serbian fighters. Both French Army veterans are now considered terrorists by their country. “We can’t go back to France or the government will give us a ten year sentence.” They have a very clear goal: “Our unit, a part of the Prizrak Brigade, is a very diverse one. You can find nationalists, ultra-nationalists or communists here, but it’s no problem. We don’t discriminate against anybody for their religion, race or ideology. NATO is our enemy and we welcome anyone as long as they are willing to fight our common enemy,” says Victor Lenta.
This interview and the translation were kindly provided to Slavyangrad by the author of the article, Andrey Borodulin, who spent a few months in the epicentre of the Ukrainian conflict, following it from the very beginning up to the present day, and reporting from the ground under the pseudonym Krasnoschekov.
Being in Donbass, I heard about European volunteers fighting for the Militia, but I had no opportunity to meet them either in Donetsk or at the front. However, I managed to come across them in the centre of Moscow. At the metro station there were two men in military jackets waiting for me. One of them, who decided to hide his face from the camera—he introduced himself as Jean-Pierre—had a St. George ribbon on his sleeve. He has spent only a few days in Donetsk and does not consider himself a soldier yet. Jean-Pierre told me that he was of Russian origin, though he was born and grew up in France.
With him was Victor Lenta. He was wearing a camouflage winter jacket with a sailor’s vest under it. He is that very charismatic and smiling Frenchman of Colombian origin who appears in many photos with a long moustache and with a sniper rifle in his hands. Besides being the informal leader of the “soldier-internationalists”, he is also a field commander. It was with him that I mainly spoke. Continue reading
The heroic history of two wars is intertwined at Saur-Mogila. And, for Abdullah—even of three.
A fighter from Donetsk’s Vostok Brigade told us how he was sent to the USSR on a semi-secret programme, called ‘Watan’, and why he came to the Donbass.
We became acquainted with Abdullah at Saur-Mogila. Meeting extraordinary people in war is always a random affair. They cannot be invented; there is no schedule for meeting them. They just appear in your way, painting the harsh greyness of combat with unexpected tones.
In the Donbass, wearing beards is fashionable among the Militia. Thus, we did not immediately recognise the swarthy lad with a sub-machine gun as a native of sunny Afghanistan. The more so because he spoke Russian very fluently.
“Where are you from?” asked the writer, Alexander Prokhanov, at the top of Saur-Mogila.
Abdullah was accompanying him as one of his guards.
“I am a Pashtun from the Alokozai tribe,” smiled the bearded guy. “It is from near Waziristan.”
“Kipling has a poem called ‘Ford o’ Kabul River’,” recalled Prokhanov.
“He was a British spy,” Abdullah continued, unexpectedly. “They had this institution of Political Agents in Afghanistan a hundred and fifty years before the Russians came.”
“What is your Alokozai tribe famous for?” we asked.
“My second uncle is Gulbuddin Hekmatyar,” (leader of the Hizb-e Islami political party -auth.), the Pashtun explained, unembarrassed.
Putin left the G20 summit without waiting for the end of the programme. Of course, the President of Russia has the right to sleep on his arrival in Moscow, all the more so as he had ‘to work on Monday’.
It is possible that Putin cannot sleep on the plane which flies for ‘eight hours to our Far East and another eight from there to Moscow’. It is hardly believable that the cabin of the leader of a superpower is not equipped with a bedroom—such an option exists even on ordinary run-of-the-mill business jets. For people who spend much of their lives in the air (often for many hours), crossing several time zones, this is not just whimsy, but a necessity. And it is impossible to assume that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs or the Head of the Presidential Protocol did not inform him of the summit’s programme in advance.
Thus, Putin knew perfectly well when the summit would come to an end. In such cases the programme used to be served until the very end. It is impossible to imagine that the hosts prepared, planned and coordinated the event whereas the guests simply departed when it suited them. All the more so, as dinners and cultural events also are used for negotiations.
That is to say, the Russian president pointedly left the Summit without caring about even a more or less polite explanation of his actions. One could, after all, have said that the President had an illness; but the desire to sleep after a sixteen hour flight—such an explanation would have been insulting to the Australians, yet the insult was defiantly given.
The Gorlovka-Enakievo junction is the front line of Donbass defence: to the East of these two cities merged into a large agglomeration, there is a big group of the Ukrainian Army in Debaltsevo, which is a real operational threat.
The road block—it is a forward patrol of the Militia at an important crossroads. Its small garrison is ready to meet everyone who decides to break the fragile truce.
“We have the best tea, with honey… Want some?” The Militiamen greet us with these words. The war has not embittered these people—on the contrary, they are willing to share their last crust with their guests as well as with their neighbours.
“We were delivered coal, so we said to the local people to come and take some,” the commander tells us. “Once, a woman came for a help to our roadblock: she had seven children, but they had nothing to eat at home. We packed what we had and gave it to her; we ourselves had to tighten our belts… But that’s all right, it could be worse…”
The township population recognizes the Militiamen as their protectors, although they had to find ways for mutual understanding in the beginning—there are few who would be pleased at the establishment of a military facility next to their house. Continue reading
Preamble: The interview below is taken from Colonel Cassad. However, the material at Cassad is a translation into Russian of a Serbian language original from KM Novine. The opening paragraph and the final sentence are comments from Colonel Cassad, the remainder of the text is the interview conducted by the Serbian news agency. Our translation made use of both these versions, which contain slight variations between them.
An excellent interview with the Serbian sniper, Dejan Berić, who since the summer has been actively engaged in fighting for the Novorossiya Army against Ukrainian fascists. In autumn, as there was no information about him, many people were worried that Dejan might have been killed; however, he is still alive and healthy, and he continues fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with his comrades.
Despite the “boyish” nickname and character, ‘Deki’ has displayed an honourable and courageous attitude toward life. We talked with him about Novorossiya, his motives for fighting there, how to be a sniper, events on the battlefield, and the people and the authorities who make up and who lead Serbia.
The Serbian volunteer in Novorossiya is the kind of man who would appear to be already extinct in Serbia: a man who neither deals nor compromises with the devil; a man who considers it an honour to die in the struggle against injustice; the kind of man who made our nation brave and who, for centuries, preserved the uniquely Serbian quality of keeping the sword unsheathed, both in epic songs and on the battlefield. Dejan Berić, a Serbian volunteer in Novorossiya, though he never expected to, took up the fight on all our behalves and has become one such man.