Drones now outnumber inhabitants in front-line town of Dobropillia, unrecognizable after years of war
Plumes of smoke rise from a dozen different locations, buildings lie in shattered ruins and many apartment blocks bear massive scars from Russian glide bombs.
The remaining inhabitants of Dobropillia, a coal-mining town just a few kilometres from the front line in Ukraine's eastern Donbas region, shuffle to find food or water under the constant gaze — and hum — of the drones that now rule the battlefield.
On a cloudy day in mid-October, the inclement weather was one of the few defences against the drones that fly constantly overhead as Russia seeks to destroy and conquer the few remaining cities in the region it does not yet hold.
Viktoriya Sergeeva, who runs one of the city's remaining supermarkets, arrived here from Pokrovsk, a city about 30 kilometres south. "My parents insisted on staying there, so I stayed with them until they were both killed a few weeks ago," the 45-year-old said.
Refugees like Sergeeva have helped bolster the population of Dobropillia, which rescuers estimate has dropped to less than 1,500 residents, from 28,000 in 2022, just prior to the Russian invasion.
But Russian soldiers, alone or in pairs, are also walking the streets after sneaking through Ukrainian lines — part of the new reality in a battlefield that is nearly unrecognizable from the more conventional war it resembled two years ago.
'Nothing resembling a front line anymore'
Dobropillia, Pokrovsk and its twin city, Myrnohrad, make up what may currently be the most intense front of the entire war.
Russia is pushing to seize the area, and much of Ukraine's strength is also deployed here. This includes one of Ukraine's most-trusted infantry brigades — one whose exact location is kept from public knowledge.
At a field camp away from the front — and out of reach of Russian first-person view (FPV) drones — the brigade's soldiers and commanders describe the changing conditions on the ground and the new realities both sides contend with.
"There is nothing resembling a front line anymore," said Psycho, a deputy commander with the unit. "It would be better to call it a 'front zone,' where our guys and theirs are mixed all over the place in tiny groups. In some areas, we are in front. In some, they are."
The soldiers interviewed don't use their full names, in keeping Ukrainian military restrictions, but instead identify themselves by their call signs or first names.
"The Russians just keep coming," said 28-year-old Achilles, a junior officer with the infantry brigade. "They have been pushing all year, trying to capture territory no matter the cost. Their attacks do not stop even for a day."
Challenges of fighting against drones
In the first two years of the war, Russia's assaults were characterized by massed armour and artillery, using the enormous stockpiles of tanks and ammunition inherited from the Soviet era. Those stocks are now largely gone. In their stead, Moscow has turned toward infantry, deploying soldiers backed by drones to attempt to move through Ukraine's own depleted lines.
The proliferation of drones has forced units to scale back from dozens of men to barely a handful. Anything larger than a pair risks being targeted almost immediately.
Drones have made it a challenge for Ukrainians to even reach their defensive positions. Soldiers are forced to cover 10 kilometres or more on foot, often crawling to avoid being spotted. Resupply in these forward positions is possible only by drone: packages of food, water and cigarettes wrapped tightly in plastic film and dropped as closely as possible to their intended recipients.
Combatting the drone threat remains a work in progress, with new solutions constantly being tested.
"Electronic warfare — signal-jamming and the like — is unreliable and doesn't work at all against fibre-optic drones," said Vova, referring to cable-guided drones that are physically tethered to their operator up to 30 kilometres away.
"The only reliable defence is a shotgun — to shoot it out of the sky before it hits you."
Guidance from above is another key part of the equation. Vova and his fellow commanders constantly observe their soldiers using their own drones, checking for threats those on the ground cannot see.
Vova pulls up a video on his phone to underscore the importance of this.
"Look on the right," he said, as a high-definition feed shows a pair of Ukrainian soldiers moving along a dirt footpath. One of them suddenly pauses before raising his rifle, letting off several shots. An explosion ahead of them fills part of the screen.
"That was a Russian fibre-optic drone, lying and waiting for our guys to get closer," Vova said. "We spotted it from our command drone and warned them so they could destroy it. It would have been a guaranteed kill if we hadn't."
Scale of losses
Vova and his unit are well equipped. The camp larder features fresh meat, produce and plenty of top-quality Western cigarettes. Parked to one side is a mobile banya, or sauna — something "we had to fight to get," joked Psycho.
It becomes apparent, however, there is a darker reason for the unit's posh treatment: the astounding scale of losses it incurs.
Vova pulls up another video, showing a group of men under his command in a half-destroyed building, receiving orders before they head into combat. The soldiers appear to be younger and in good health — not a given among Ukrainian units, where many recruits are in their 40s and 50s.
"This was in Pokrovsk a month ago," Vova said. "There are 40 guys in this group here; 30 of them are now dead."
This is not a rarity.
"I've been a commander for seven months now," said Vova. "In that time, about 2,000 guys have passed through my unit. Three-quarters of them are no longer here. It's only because they have given their lives that we are sitting here now, instead of the Russians."
There is little avoiding this, especially with how the war is playing out; drones are a powerful tool, but they cannot take and hold ground. Only men can do that.
"It never gets easier, sending them out," said Achilles. "I don't lie to them about the risks, that there is a very high chance they will die. Half the time I am on the verge of tears watching them go."
Commanders don't face the same physical risks, but the mental toll is high.
"The wives, mothers, children are always calling [me]," Vova said. "Asking, 'Where is my husband? Where is my dad?' Not one or two times, but 2,000 times."
Russian losses are far worse. Leaked documents indicate Russia lost more than 86,000 men from January to September — a figure Vova agrees with given what he's seen.
Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy claimed in February that just over 46,000 Ukrainian soldiers had been killed in three years of war.
What's left of Ukrainian-held Donbas, meanwhile, is being steadily depopulated and demolished.
"There are three groups of people left there: refugees, bandits and pro-Russians," said Ilia Tarasenko, a police officer carrying out evacuations from Dobropillya. "The last group is the largest one. Normal people have left these places long ago. We meet people that refuse to evacuate, and it's clear that they are waiting for Russia [to take over]."
Dobropillia is not yet the front line, but it may be soon. Russian soldiers entered Pokrovsk by force in late October, with street battles across much of the city. Mapping groups like DeepState, a site widely considered reliable, now depict most of the city as a grey zone, under firm control by neither side.
For Achilles, any talk of a ceasefire might as well be occurring on a different planet.
"I don't pay attention to such things," he said. "They are always talking, the politicians, just talking. We die all the same."
