KIEV, Ukraine —“There’s an old Russian joke,” a Ukrainian named Oleksandr told me, as we drove down a steep winding road on the outskirts of Kiev. “Russia has two problems: roads and fools.” He paused to negotiate a particularly tight corner, grunting as he leaned into the steering wheel. “Well, in Ukraine we have three problems: roads, fools and Russians.”

Oleksandr’s aphorism, leaden with Ukrainian black humor, articulated perfectly the mixture of anger and fear that has increasingly gripped the country. Convoys of trucks are now rumbling towards Ukraine purportedly carrying (much-needed) humanitarian aid for the country’s occupied eastern cities. Armored columns have already reportedly crossed the border. Kiev has said it may be the start of an all-out invasion.

Whether or not Russia actually invades, Ukrainians have been getting armed. The price of guns has doubled here in the last year. The favored gun is the classic AK-47. Last year you could get a gun on the black market for around $800-$1,000; now they run between $1,500-$2,000 and prices continue to go up, said Oleksandr, adding that there were still bargains to be had.

A man learns to use a gun at a training camp for the Donbass Battalion, a pro-Ukrainian militia, on May 19, 2014 in Dnipropetrovsk Region, Ukraine. Image: Brendan Hoffman/Getty Images

“Some of those separatist idiots from Luhansk turned up at a flea market in Kiev a while back,” he said. “They had brought dozens of Kalashnikovs from weapons stores they had looted in the city. The idiots were selling them for just $250 a pop.”

Ukrainians are angry about the ongoing crisis in the east, but the overwhelming majority remain rational. They just want to get on with their lives, free from violence or conflict. But on the fringes, a more militarized element of Ukrainian society has been preparing for a Russian invasion for some time.

A while ago I met with Vlad, a well-off entrepreneur. Like Oleskandr, he spoke to me only on the condition that his last name not be used. At his house high in the Kiev hills, this squat man with thick arms and a grim demeanor set out his position on the pro-Russian rebels.

Pro-Russian protestors armed with guns in Donetsk on April 16, 2014. Image: Burak Akbulut/Anadolu Agency/Getty Images

Spouting wartime propaganda, he seemed the mirror image of the pro-Russia separatist I met earlier this year in Odessa who told me how he was going to “rid Ukraine of Kiev scum.”

“They are pigs,” Vlad snorted as his downed a whiskey to go with a barbecued dinner of spicy meat. “Sub-human pigs. Rednecks.”

He handed me a glossy hardback book as if to prove his point. Illustrating the propaganda were drawings of people in eastern Ukraine, mostly dressed in tracksuits, but with the faces of pigs.

Vlad was expressing something I’ve increasingly heard across Ukraine over the past few months: Each side now paints the other in reductionist terms. The Ukrainian government habitually refers to pro-Russian protestors as ‘terrorists’ while the separatists in the east refer to Kiev supporters as Nazis and the government itself as a ‘fascist Junta.’ The employment of the term ‘fascist’ in particular is a calculated one. In a region where tens of millions died fighting the Nazis, it is a deliberate appeal to collective and emotional memories.

Recruits walk to a firing range to practice shooting guns at a training camp for the Donbass Battalion, a pro-Ukrainian militia, on May 19, 2014. Image: Brendan Hoffman/Getty Images

Vlad evoked history in other ways, too. When the Russians attacked Chechnya’s capital city during the Battle of Grozny, he told me, the Chechen government opened up their weapons stores and handed out guns to the people. “But we don’t believe our government will do the same for us if the Russians come. We will be forced to rely on ourselves – and we will.”

I asked him if he had any guns in the house. “No, absolutely not,” he replied. “No guns here.” He poured another round of whiskeys and settled back in his chair to vent his disgust with various aspect of modern life. Time passed, more whiskey was drunk. Vlad was clearly enjoying himself. “Ok, ok,” he said after we had shared another toast. “I have one, little, gun.”

He barked an order to Ivan, a friend, who briefly disappeared before returning with what appeared to be a three-feet long suitcase. Panting, he rested the case on the floor and opened it. Inside, encased in foam, was the biggest gun I have ever seen.

“Jesus Christ, Vlad what is that?” I asked.

“It’s a hunting rifle,” he said.

“What does it hunt?

“Elephants!” he bellowed with an uproarious laughter. “And Russians!”

As I learned later, the gun was in fact an SC-76 Thunderbolt Rifle. "It’s a serious bit of counterterrorism gear and built to be a bit civilian friendly,” Simon Schofield, Head of the Security and Defence Division of the Humanitarian Intervention Centre, a London-based think tank told me when I showed him a picture of the humungous gun, which retails for $2,500 to $3,000. “It’s a brand new top of the range sniper rifle,” Schofield said. “This guy is serious.”

I asked Vlad if the gun was legal. “Absolutely,” he replied while swigging from a can of Stella Artois, his whiskey chaser. When I asked him if there were any other guns on the property, he seemed at first indignant. “Of course not,” he snapped. This time, though, he was interrupted by his 15-year-old daughter, Irini, dressed in trendy jeans and a brightly-colored top, who scolded him with a sharp “Papa!” “Ok, ok,” he said, throwing his hand up in resignation.

He barked another order and out came Ivan carrying an AK-47, which he happily posed with under a painting of a famous Ukrainian general that was hanging on the wall. “Is this one legal, too, Vlad?” I asked. “Totally,” he replied through a mouthful of pork.

I turned to Irini, “You’re the only person here who isn’t armed,” I joked. Wordlessly, she stood up and left the room only to return five minutes later clutching a huge crossbow. The arrows were decorated in girlish yellows and reds.

A crossbow belonging to a Ukrainian girl

“Christ, everyone has a weapon,” I said.

“Yeah,” she replied. “And mine’s the only one here that’s legal.”