"This isn't an act of war. It is sheer terrorism' Sumy mourns its dead

On a warm spring day relatives gathered to say goodbye to Viktor Boiko and his wife, Olha. Their open coffins were laid out next to one other.

- Luke Harding

Viktor wore his best suit. Olha was in a flowery blouse, with carnations heaped round her slippered feet. A priest sang prayers. Gravediggers lowered the couple into the ground and shovelled earth on top. It landed with a percussive thud.

"Give me a weapon. Any weapon. I want to kill those butchers in Moscow," said Viktor's brother-in-law, Anatolii Prykhodko, as his wife stood sobbing next to him. "They have murdered so many people. Adults, kids, peaceful citizens. If you lose a house or a car in a war, you can get it back. If you lose a person, a loved one, they are gone for ever."

On Sunday morning, the Boikos were on their way to church to celebrate Palm Sunday. Like most hard-up pensioners, they went by public transport. A ride costs eight hryvnia (15p). Their bus, No 62, was driving down Petropavlivska Street in the centre of Sumy, northeastern Ukraine. On either side were elegant buildings belonging to Sumy State University. It was 10.23am.

A Russian Iskander missile carrying cluster munitions plunged down from the sky, exploding next to the bus. A tsunami of shrapnel engulfed the Boikos, other passengers and people in the street strolling past cafes and shops. The couple died instantly.

Another missile hit the university's conference centre, 200 metres away, punching through its glass atrium and balcony.