When Russia began its violent assault Feb. 24 on Ukraine, a country smaller than Texas, it upended the lives of 44 million men, women and children living in the long shadow cast by Russian President Vladimir Putin.

Not long after the conflict began, ASI began to receive real-time updates from Ukrainian technology colleagues working remotely from the now war-torn country, along with several employees in the U.S. fearful for family and friends still living in a once-peaceful homeland that’s come under full assault by the Russians.

Vlad, a 26-year-old ASI front-end engineer, lives in Lviv, Ukraine. (We’ve decided not to use his photo or last name, out of ongoing concern for his safety). He spent the early days of the conflict helping his family flee to safety. His life now revolves around air sirens, curfew, urgent appeals and devastating updates from the country’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, along with breaking news reports and, especially, messages from loved ones. Like much of the western part of the country, so far Lviv, with a population of about 721,000, has largely escaped Russia’s wrath. Shops stocked with food remain open. Public transportation is running. For now.

“No bombs right here,” says Vlad. “But we have saboteurs who put a lot of marks on the streets, we think to guide the bombs in, but it could also be a psychological move to make people panic.”

When war began, Vlad traveled to his hometown of Kalush, also in the west, to drive his mother, elderly grandmother, 25-year-old sister and 17-year-old brother to the Polish border, where they joined the 2 million refugees, half of them children, who’ve already fled Ukraine for border countries and beyond. Ukrainian males like Vlad, ages 18 to 60, are banned from leaving the country now that Zelenskyy has declared martial law and imposed forced conscription in response to the invasion.

“My brother was supposed to graduate this year from school and go to university,” says Vlad in a calm voice during a Microsoft Teams interview. “I never thought this would happen. I never imagined it would be real.”

The line of cars trying to reach the border stretched for over 12 miles. Luckily, Vlad knew smaller, less-traveled roads to take, getting him within three miles. From there, his family walked into Poland, carrying one backpack and one bag each, bound for his grandmother’s sister’s house. For Vlad’s grandmother, becoming a refugee triggered dark memories of invasion, war and defeat. She was born in Poland before Hitler invaded, triggering the start of World War II, with Russian troops entering weeks after the Germans in a double-barreled assault. She was forcibly deported to Ukraine in 1945. 

There is not enough food to give out or shelter for the crowds arriving in Lviv, where Ukrainians are trying to escape Russian forces, said Victoria Khrystenko, a city lawmaker. Volunteers in Lviv are racing to avert a humanitarian crisis in Lviv. https://t.co/Wz2xcz6rCJ

— The New York Times (@nytimes) March 4, 2022

“They’re frightened and really stressed,” Vlad says of his family. “When we were leaving, all the lights were turned off and there were sirens. Everybody just wants it to stop. Here, there are a huge amount of people ready to fight, ready to go. I might have to go.”

His go-to bag is already packed, and he sleeps every night in his clothes. In his bag, he will carry water, something to eat for a day or two, a sleeping bag, T-shirt, medical supplies and laptop. 

Of President Zelenskyy, Vlad says, simply, “He is a hero.” Every day, Vlad watches Zelenskyy’s strong, defiant, inspirational messages televised and shared online to Ukrainians, and the world, even as the country’s capital, Kyiv, comes under assault from Russian ballistic missiles.

“I really hope this ends really soon,” says Vlad. “Really hope. I still want to believe it’s possible. We do need protection.”

Of the donations, aid, weapons and other support pouring into Ukraine from around the world, Vlad says, “It’s wonderful people can get together at such a time and help each other.” (Some of those donations will come from ASI employees and members of the promotional products industry who donate to a fundraising drive launched on Monday, March 7. For more details, see sidebar.)

Artur is another ASI front-end engineer who lives in Kharkiv, Ukraine’s second-largest city, bombed heavily and hit by deadly attacks from Russian air strikes. Back in Pennsylvania, Artur and Vlad’s supervisor Ryan Hutchison, ASI’s vice president of development, tries his best to keep in touch, sporadically speaking to Artur via the Telegram app.

The center of #Kharkiv after shelling. pic.twitter.com/GiObC4oiUS

— NEXTA (@nexta_tv) March 2, 2022

“Artur was staying in a house with his best friend, but when the shelling intensified, they went to the subway to be underground,” says Hutchison of the transportation centers turned bomb shelters. “They’ve been sleeping there. Right now, they’re running low on food and trying to figure out what to do next. He says he’s trying to figure out a good time to try to leave the city.”

Meanwhile, Nataliya Royzman is one of the million Ukrainians who have settled in the U.S. over the past several decades. Today, Royzman is the senior financial business system analyst in ASI’s Business Applications department, having immigrated to the U.S. in 1997 from Chernivtsi, a city in southwestern Ukraine. Her mother and sister joined her, “but everyone else is there,” she says. Since Russia mounted its invasion of Ukraine on Feb. 24, she’s communicated any way she can with friends and family, while staying glued to the news and tracking falling bombs, fireballs and troop movement.

Royzman at age 16 in Kyiv, Ukraine, the capital city under threat from a massive Russian convoy.

Another source of information: YouTube videos posted by the media as well as Ukrainians in the path of war, showing in living color the faces and spilled blood of the resistance.

“Everybody is trying to find iodine as a precaution against radiation leaks, but there isn’t any – in Ukraine and across Europe,” says Royzman of Russian shelling and seizure of the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant, Europe’s largest. “I’m scared for my family but right now they’re in an area that didn’t get war. But if the region becomes unsafe, no one is safe.”

When asked what she can do in the specter of such horror, Royzman says, “Pray. Organize. We’re collecting donations to send to help. Everyone is pitching in.”

Right now, she thinks the U.S. and NATO are doing enough through sanctions, donations of sophisticated weapons and humanitarian assistance, fearing that if troops move in, “Putin [will] send nukes,” she says. “They’re sending in weapons, and a lot of people from all over the U.S., and some people with military backgrounds, are going into Poland and then Ukraine to fight. It means a lot. I’m amazed how people are reacting.”

Royzman wears a T-shirt that says “Freedom” in Ukrainian. She breaks frequently into tears, unable to speak. She also voices a dread shared by many in the Baltic countries of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania who worry their countries might be next: “Even though the spotlight’s on Ukraine, if Putin prevails, he’s not going to stop…We just need to get rid of one person: Putin.”

Royzman (middle) visiting family in Ukraine in 2002.

Like Royzman, Max Stepanskiy, ASI assistant VP of enterprise architecture & platform services, is anxiously watching the war unfold on TV and online. Stepanskiy came to this country 25 years ago and still has family in Kyiv, the capital city turned war zone. Nineteen miles away from Stepanskiy’s aunt and cousin, a 40-mile-long Russian convoy of tanks, artillery guns, armored personnel carriers and other heavy weaponry await, reportedly slowed by Ukrainian resistance.

“My aunt’s neighborhood in Kyiv is being bombed, the food supplies are scarce, medication is scarce,” says Stepanskiy. “My aunt and uncle are both elderly and we were trying to find channels for them to flee to the western border. They refused to go, and every day is a lottery for them … It’s their new reality, one never knows if they will see another day.”

“This is a crime against people of Ukraine,” adds Stepanskiy. “It is hard to comprehend as it sounds so surreal. This is something my city hasn’t seen since 1943.”

Right after the invasion began, Stepanskiy called a former classmate in Bila Tserkva, his hometown. His friend’s wife decided to stay with relatives in a village in Ukraine instead of crossing the western border. “He was supposed to go back to Bila Tserkva to join the town defense,” says Stepanskiy. “Russians bombed our town the next day. I haven’t heard from him since. This is very hard to write, especially after I’ve seen what bombings did to my hometown.”

Stepanskiy wants people to share stories from the frontlines because, he says, “I feel awareness of these events ultimately helps Ukraine’s battle against the aggressor.”

The porridge on the field kitchen is being cooked on Sportivnaya Street in Kharkiv#StopRussianAggression pic.twitter.com/62iGocYlMn

— Ukraine - War - Police - SID (@Ukraine_SID) March 1, 2022

Alex Shilman, ASI senior application developer, tries to keep in touch with some of his former classmates, now spread across Ukraine. “Some I am unable to reach because they are defending Ukraine against Russian aggressors, others are continuing to teach kids, one is maintaining a nuclear power plant, and the rest are preparing to defend their homeland by building heavy barricades,” says Shilman. “There are no words that can describe the feeling of anger and helplessness when Russian bombs are falling on peaceful populations across Ukrainian cities.”

Shilman recently received a photo from a friend back in Ukraine, showing someone holding an artillery shell that says “For Shepetivka,” Shilman’s hometown.

A Ukrainian fighter holding an artillery shell that says “For Shepetivka,” Shilman’s hometown.

“Shepetivka is a small town in western Ukraine where I was born,” Shilman says. “The last time I saw or heard something similar was in movies or from the numerous stories told by grandparents who fought against the Nazis in World War II. My heart and soul are with the people of Ukraine.”

Caitlyn Macikanycz, an ASI sales specialist, thinks every day about her cousin Mariana, who fled Kyiv the second night of the invasion with her 10-year-old daughter, making it to Poland with hopes of reaching Italy to be with family friends. Mariana left behind her parents and brother, who live in Lviv.

“They plan to stay and fight for their homeland,” says Macikanycz. “This war has the same feeling as 9/11. That’s the best comparison I have for how my family feels right now. It’s our second 9/11 … Slava Ukraini! (Glory to Ukraine!)”