PHOTO ESSAY: Chernobyl liquidators return to where they faced an invisible enemy

Audio By Carbonatix

CHERNOBYL, Ukraine (AP) — Their mission was to clean up the worst nuclear accident in history.

Following the April 26, 1986, explosion and fire at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, soldiers, firefighters, engineers, miners and medics were summoned from across the USSR. They were known as “liquidators” — an ominous Soviet-era catchall term for those assigned to eliminate a problem.

Over four years, 600,000 people joined the dangerous cleanup. Helicopters hovered above the exposed radioactive core, dropping sand and other materials to smother the fire. Workers washed radioactive dust from buildings and roads, buried poisoned machinery, cleared forests and even hunted animals to slow the spread of radiation.

Many had little knowledge of the dangers they faced.

A group of the workers who live in Ukraine's Poltava region returned ahead of the 40th anniversary of the accident for a one-day excursion to Chernobyl, which is transliterated in their native language as “Chornobyl.”

They spoke of duty carried out without hesitation, the loss they endured, and of a catastrophe that continues to haunt Ukraine.

Prylipko first arrived nine days after the accident and drove a fire truck for a month, working two-hour shifts to limit his exposure. He initially was unaware of the risks but suffered a health crisis in 1990 and couldn't work for a year.

Returning now for the first time since that deployment, he found the landscape disorienting, with villages erased and the reactor sealed under protective layers.

“Back then, the whole place was packed: machinery, helicopters, they were everywhere,” he said. “The road to Kyiv was so crowded you couldn’t pass anyone.”

In summer 1986, Anatolii Krutik was deployed as part of an army battalion to fence off contaminated territory and designate “exclusion zones.” He first went to villages in what is now Belarus, which also received heavy radioactive fallout, before he headed to Chernobyl to clean areas around remaining reactors that were still running.

At the time, he said, there was little sense of fear.

“No one really thought about it. We didn’t know what it was — this invisible enemy,” he said, adding his comrades saw it simply as their duty after being mobilized.

But there also were virtually no safety precautions, Krutik said, with workers wearing whatever they arrived in and leaving in the same clothes, with no decontamination procedures.

Vechirko also was sent to Chernobyl in summer 1986 to, clear away topsoil, clean buildings and make the other still-functioning reactors on the site safe. He has been ill for much of his life, which he attributes to working at the disaster site, including chronic dizziness, weakness and frequent pain. Because of his poor health, he said, he lost touch with colleagues from that time.

“Being back here now, the emotions are overwhelming,” he said. “It’s incredibly sad to compare what this place was to what it is now.”

From May to September 1986, Harbyz, a medical officer and dentist, treated patients while his unit worked on decontamination. He also worked in Belarus, which put him close to the human costs of the disaster.

Returning for the first time in decades, he recalled colleagues who have since died and the bonds formed among survivors.

“This 40th anniversary represents both a deep tragedy and a vital chance to reunite with my brothers-in-arms,” he said. “So many of our colleagues have passed away over the years, but those of us remaining hold on. Being back here for the first time in 40 years is overwhelming. I feel a deep sense of pain, and it brings tears to my eyes. It is good that we can meet like this.”

Firefighter Mykola Chudak served for six months, beginning in November 1986, working within 10 kilometers (6 miles) of the plant.

He focused not on his own role but on the first responders who acted immediately, saying they prevented a far greater catastrophe, often at the cost of their own lives. His service was extended because of a lack of replacements, and years later he was forced into early retirement due to disability.

For him, Chernobyl carries both personal and national significance.

“Ukraine must always be grateful to the heroes of Chernobyl,” he said. “Being back here, my first feeling is one of immense gratitude for the sacrifice made by my comrades. In many ways, the independence of Ukraine was born on April 26, 1986, in Chernobyl. Without their heroism, an independent Ukraine might not even exist today.”

Lebedynets served in the military from 1986 to 1991, building fences in contaminated areas. He suffered from headaches for the rest of his life. Returning now, he stopped at Pripyat, the nearby city for Chernobyl’s workers that has been abandoned since the accident.

“It’s heartbreaking to see Pripyat now,” he said. “I remember those houses when they were full of life, and now everything is overgrown and in ruins. It was such a beautiful city.”

He drew comparisons with the current Russian invasion of Ukraine. “Today’s war is different: You see bullets flying and shells exploding,” he said. “Back then, the enemy was invisible. It tore you up from the inside and shattered your health.”

Tolumnyi said his experience as a firefighter from 1987 to 1988 shaped his life and is central to his identity. He worked on decontaminating buildings and equipment in Pripyat. On his return, he described a mix of pain and gratitude.

For him, Chernobyl’s significance has a broader context.

“Those who do not remember the past have no future. I am confident in our country — we have a future because people remember the past,” he said. “The memories are flooding back, but this is our history, and you can’t simply erase it. On the other hand, I also feel a sense of gratitude that I was able to see this place again in my lifetime.”

Buriak served in a special Interior Ministry unit in 1988, patrolling Pripyat and nearby areas to guard against looting. His duties included securing abandoned buildings.

He said his return visit reconnected him with the sense of duty he felt, while many liquidators still struggle for recognition.

“Returning here after 40 years is a massive adrenaline rush for me. It brings back so many memories of my youth and what life was like during those times,” he said. “It was important for me to come back to remember those years and to show my son where I fulfilled my duty to my country.”

In 1989, Taranenko was a security officer, guarding facilities and abandoned homes. Deployments were short due to radiation, and orders were followed without question. He has returned several times since, despite the grief that accompanies each visit.

“Back then, that was just how it was: If you were needed, you went,” he said.

He said he still is treated for health problems at a veterans hospital in Poltava and does his best to stay fit.

“We are military people -– once a soldier, always a soldier. That's how I live my life. You have to hold yourself together," he said. "You can’t just give up.”

Hluhovstov was sent to Ukraine and Belarus, where large areas had to be fenced off due to radiation in the soil and abandoned buildings.

With dark humor, he jokes about his many illnesses. “As my wife says, I have a whole bouquet of ailments,” he says.

After being hospitalized for weeks this year, he recovered and said he hopes to see Ukraine push back the Russian invasion.

“The doctors didn’t know what to do with me, but thank God I survived,” he said. “Now I just hope to live long enough to see the end of this war -– long enough to see victory.”

___

This is a documentary photo story curated by AP photo editors. Volodymyr Yurchuk, Hanna Arhirova and Derek Gatopoulos in Kyiv, Ukraine, contributed.