Some 35 kilometres north of Kharkiv and with the Russian army at a distance, the soldiers of the 127th brigade are waging electronic warfare. In only three years, artillery combat has given way to drone warfare. With surveillance of enemy positions and attacks using kamikaze drones, now even the slightest movement can be detected by the enemy. As a result, the front is frozen, soldiers are buried in trenches, and rotations of personnel and medical evacuations have become perilous.
Roughly 6 kilometres from the nearest Russian army posts, “Oskil” and his men build a trench. The 15-metre-long ditch leads to an observation and firing post that protects a road used to supply frontline troops belonging to the 127th brigade of the Territorial Defence Forces of Kharkiv.
“Ten days ago, this trench didn’t exist. We started with two people, and now there are five. We do everything: digging with shovels, carrying and laying logs, collecting and taking out bags of earth. It’s not easy,” said ‘Burkun’, a mechanic and machine operator who, like most of the soldiers he meets, chooses to use an alias to protect his identity.
“Normally we dig trenches with an excavator, but here we can’t, we dig them by hand because of the drones,” he said.
The main threat to these military posts, which have been held by Ukrainian forces for three years, is from surveillance and attack drones. Besides the need to take cover, the threat requires a constant vigilance.
“The Russians fly a lot of drones here,” said ‘Dym’, a supply manager. “The guys in the battalion radio us when they spot them to tell us to hide. We then keep working in the sheltered part of the trench, and they let us know by radio when it’s safe to work outside. If the weather is fine, it’s best not to leave the trench, as we’re easily spotted.”
High-tech warfare
According to military engineers, the advent of drones has meant that life on the front line is not unlike the conditions experienced by infantrymen during World War I. Stationed in the trenches for 10 to 15 days, these men endured sleeping in an underground space heated by a kerosene stove, two black walls between them, and frozen earth underfoot. Their only comfort came at night when they could seek refuge in an abandoned house, build a fire in the kitchen and drink some coffee.
Oskil, the lieutenant in charge of the battalion’s logistics and supplies, is adamant that in just three years the face of war has changed profoundly. “At the beginning, in 2022, there was constant artillery fire. It was simply horrible. It was a never-ending bombardment. Now there’s less artillery fire. The threat is from drones.”
Before he leaves his station, as day breaks among the ruins of nearby villages, a soldier shows off the drone jammer installed on the roof of his vehicle.
“It protects us from attack by creating an invisible dome about 200 metres in diameter. If an attack drone approaches, radio communication is interrupted, the image is lost, and it collapses. This jammer is in great demand. Warfare is now electronic, and without this equipment it would be impossible to guarantee logistics.”
Vital for survival
At the battalion command post located in the basement of an abandoned house, the walls are covered with screens. Filming and photography are forbidden. During our conversation, a smiling 37-year-old lieutenant in charge of operations confirms that one of his drone pilots shot down two Russian soldiers.
“What you see in this room didn’t exist in 2022,” said the officer who, before the war, was an entrepreneur in commercial franchising.
A low-ranking volunteer soldier three years ago, Taras Shevchenko rose to become a battalion commander in record time. Like many other young officers, he succeeded senior personnel who, according to Shevchenko, were career soldiers with a “Soviet” mentality.
“Given the armaments our allies have provided us with, we have been forced to resort to new technologies,” he said, without elaborating on the devices used by his battalion.
“Hard times create strong men,” he added, quoting Winston Churchill.
“It’s not a question of merit, it’s a question of survival. If we hadn’t tipped over into a technological war, we’d have lost already.”
He said that it was thanks to FPV (first-person view) surveillance and combat drones that the 127th brigade was able to push back Russian forces in an attack on the city of Kharkiv in May and June last year.
“Right now, the situation is under control,” Shevchenko said. “The front is stable. This is the result of our actions over the last eight months. When we arrived here, the situation was completely different (Kharkiv was then under siege by Russian forces).
“Nowadays, we’ve settled in, and the enemy is no longer carrying out any assault operations in our direction. That’s because they know they won’t be effective.”
Drones become the new normal
A few kilometres away, another young lieutenant reiterates how electronic warfare has become the new normal at the front. Most of the serious injuries this 30-year-old surgeon has treated in recent months were caused by kamikaze drones, which fly at 60 km/h and can carry up to a kilo and a half of explosives.
“When they explode, pieces of metal can reach soldiers’ arms or legs. Shrapnel can pierce a helmet, and more rarely a bulletproof vest. Sometimes the explosions also cause burns,” Mykyta Shchetynin said.
Drone warfare kills and maims. It also isolates soldiers, who hunker down in their positions where even the slightest movement can expose them to harm.
“War has changed. Fewer soldiers are wounded by bullets or artillery shells. As soon as there’s a rotation, it’s detected from the air by drones, and kamikaze drone operators spring into action,” the young surgeon said.
Another difficulty is evacuating the wounded. Emergency workers must avoid detection by drones, so it can often take hours to safely evacuate the wounded. Military doctors are left powerless as they wait and watch the soldiers suffer.
In the early part of the war, Shchetynin was still at medical school in his hometown of Kharkiv. Russian troops were about to enter Ukraine‘s second-largest city, which is largely Russian-speaking. During those dark hours in February 2022, he barely hesitated before deciding to join the city’s territorial defence.
After spending three years crossing the country as a frontline combat medic, he is now in charge of a medical post 35 km from downtown Kharkiv. Despite being closer to home, he only manages to see his wife and son once every six months.
“My mental state was different when it was long and difficult to travel from one garrison to another to see my family. Now I’m just a stone’s throw from home and can’t get home. It’s frustrating, very frustrating, but that’s the reality of this war.”
Worn down and exhausted, like so many others, by three years of war, Mykyta recalls with resignation his former university colleagues who are pursuing their surgical careers in civilian or military hospitals. He’d like them to be able to replace him for a few days every now and then, so he can pause to take a breath.
But the drone war has stalled all movement and condemned him to another icy winter far from home, among the ruins of war.
This article has been translated from the original in French by Nicole Trian.
Leave a Comment