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sides oi tne emoanKment trom tne Kiev Bridge for a quarter of a mile right up to the Kutuzovsky Prospect bridge, directly in front < i the parliament building that was under attack. The White House was now billowing black smoke like a hugh Mississippi riverboar chugging upstream. Making my way along the embankment, I was emboldened to go closer to the front line by the absence of fear among the Russians.
More young than old, more men than women, the atmosphere was a strange mixture of carnival and wake. Anxiety, concern, laughter, amusement, joking and sadness were all reflected in the moods and faces around me. But not fear. Cars whose radios were carrying event live became listening posts for those desiring commentary on the action in front of them.
Armored personnel carriers clanked along the embankment road joining others parked beyond the Kutuzovsky Bridge in front of the White House. These seemed to act as a phalanx of fire-power and shelter for the government troops besieging the building.
I worked myself gradually nearer the fighting line looking for signs of hesitation in others, but did not find them. If the distribution of onlookers from the Kiev bridge to the Kutuzovsky Prospect presented a prudence/timidity-boldness/foolhardiness index of the people present, then the foolhardy and timid were about equally represented. The biggest clusters were at the extreme positions of either safety — the Kiev bridge, or danger — the
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