Russia invaded Ukraine on Feb. 24, beginning a devastating war that has left untold numbers of civilians dead and prompted millions of people to flee the country.

Associated Press photographers have captured the conflict, showing both the suffering and destruction the war has wrought as well as the ways people find to cope when their lives are upended. The images have helped the world understand the war and its horrors.

The Shot is a monthly series showcasing top photojournalism from staff photographers at The Associated Press. Each month, AP photographers will share the stories behind some of their iconic imagery.

Produced by AP News staff. The sponsor was not involved in the creation of this content.

Emilio Morenatti

Two weeks before the war started, in the streets of Kiev, the atmosphere was of total normality. Everything changed on the morning of Feb. 24, when the first sirens sounded. The chaos began. Thousands of desperate people were fleeing without knowing where to go. I could see almost apocalyptic scenes of people fighting to get on the trains and buses and leave Kiev, dragging their few things and many holding their babies above the crowd.

The things that struck me the most were the emotional farewells where men said goodbye to their wives and children so they could stay behind to defend their country. As I photographed it all, my own tears blurred the viewfinder of my camera. At times I embraced some of those men who collapsed and broke down in disconsolate weeping as the crowded trains pulled away to uncertain destinations.

Evgeniy Maloletka

Mstyslav Chernov and I were the only journalists left in Mariupol, and as the city was razed to the ground, we felt like our lives were hanging by a thread. Worse than the destruction itself was that the locals begin not to live but merely survive. The dead are buried either in a common grave or an improvised cemetery in front of their houses. Hospitals and shelters with children are bombed by aircraft, tanks and artillery. Russians are bombing Russian-speaking cities in eastern Ukraine.

We saw how children and adults who became hostages of the war were killed. This is beyond words. How can you not show this to the world?

Vadim Ghirda

I’d seen death from wars in Bosnia and Kosovo, but the scenes of so many fatalities in Bucha, a northern suburb of the Ukrainian capital, deeply affected me. I guess I had hoped things like that could never again happen.

Walking around with a camera, photographing the survivors falling apart after identifying yet another deceased relative, it's hard not to feel like you’re adding to the suffering. At least the fact I could shoot without making a sound reduced the impact of my presence.

Every day I was in awe of the Ukrainians’ ability to cope with such traumatic events, the solidarity and the will to not leave anyone behind – not just people but pets, from the smallest bird or hamster to huge dogs. Sometimes too traumatized by the noise of shelling to walk, pets were carried in extremely difficult circumstances to safety.

Every photographer takes photos in a war zone hoping to help stop or limit the horrors. Yet the mission of correctly informing people is becoming more and more difficult every day.

Nariman El-Mofty

Lviv in western Ukraine is distant from the frontlines of the war. It is the hub and transit point for people fleeing from other parts of Ukraine. A place where millions took refuge and feel some sense of safety with a 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. curfew.

Restaurants, shops, cafes only stop serving when air sirens blast throughout the city.

In my photograph that was taken inside the home of Ivan Kilgan, the head of the regional agricultural association, in Luky village. His wife and daughter-in-law made a traditional breakfast for guests –‘Kalganivka’ liquor, bacon, cheese, olives, freshly cut vegetables, and bread.

Everyone had just left the table.

The violence is far away from but it’s hard to ignore the fact that this reality can change in a single moment.

Rodrigo Abd

The days spent photographing in Bucha will be difficult to forget. Going to sleep listening to sirens. From the hotel balcony, seeing the fire and smoke, the houses that were destroyed followed by the faces full of sadness and desolation.

The conviction that our work is essential for the historical record keeps us going. We remain focused on documenting the conflict in Ukraine in the most professional and humane way possible.

Efrem Lukatsky

War has come to my country. Many of my colleagues have quit journalism to take up arms and defend their values. I choose instead to tell the stories of the people, the executed civilians, the burned houses and tears. I look at the dead Russian soldiers too and try to guess who they were and how they lived.

What can I do as a photographer to make the war shorter, even if only for a minute? I fall asleep and wake up with this thought.

Bernat Armangue

Within the madness of war, people need moments of silence, comfort, and even joy to digest or forget their new reality.

A child about to leave her country plays with snowflakes. A man leans next to a piano thinking about his old life. Two actors embrace each other. A displaced child puts together a puzzle. And, every night, a father reads a story to his children, who are far away since the start of the war.

The noise disappears and they connect with themselves once again.

Felipe Dana

I’ve been to Ukraine several times in the past few years and saw the rise in tensions in the country’s east. Even so, I never expected to see an invasion like this, with Russian troops reaching the capital so fast. When I arrived back in Kyiv, hundreds of civilians were trying to flee the outskirts towns of Irpin and Bucha every day. The destroyed bridge separating them from the capital became the new entry point and start of a journey for those trying to reach safety in other countries. But many could not flee. I remember walking down into basements for shelter and finding entire families, especially elderly women, living with no electricity and no water, staying underground as their homes got bombarded above them.

When Russian troops moved back, I saw horrific scenes there. Incredible destruction, streets full of burned tanks, bodies of civilians still lying on the streets, inside homes, in shelters. Scenes hard to imagine, but even harder to forget.

Petros Giannakouris

Even in the ruins and horror of war, you can find life.

On the last day of March I visited the town of Bashtanka, in the Mykolaiv district. Suddenly, a bombing alert drove everyone to take refuge at a shelter in the basement of a nearby church. I saw women and children in devastating conditions. Some women were crying. Most looked scared.

A few minutes after this picture was shot, a guitarist appeared and starting playing. Almost everybody started singing. I felt that something pure and magical was happening. Even for a moment, all the problems had faded.

When the alert ended hours later, the artist told me that he was playing the guitar to keep everybody busy and, most importantly, to make sure they were not listening to the shelling outside.

Sergei Grits

The war changed millions of lives in an instant. I could capture only moments of the panic and pain. Every day I struggled to hold back tears watching the refugees stream through Ukraine, into Moldova and Poland. Lives contained in one or two suitcases. Pet owners trying to save their animals as if they were children.

Our cameras won't be out of work any time soon.

Spotlight is the blog of AP Images, the world’s largest collection of historical and contemporary photos.

Produced by AP News staff. The sponsor was not involved in the creation of this content.

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