Drones, death in real time: the war in Ukraine perfects their use as lethal weapons

Kramatorsk (Ukraine)Drone operator Oleksandr (not his real name for security reasons) shakes his head in resignation, closes his eyes wearily and leans against the cold wall of the bunker. “Sometimes I wonder whether it’s worth eating today or not… It depends on the weather. You think: today I’ll fast, tomorrow I’ll eat a couple of chocolate bars. And the day after tomorrow I’ll eat well, because I can go out to the toilet,” says the Ukrainian soldier, with a mixture of irony and resignation.

In the area where he usually fights, leaving the shelter is a mortal risk. Russian drones patrol the air in search of any target. Now he is enjoying a short break, a kind of recuperation. Before that, he has changed bunkers countless times: all of them have been reduced to rubble. On one occasion, he suffered burns.

The day began before dawn. First, the strong smell of men’s cologne filled the room. Something has fallen to the ground with a metallic thud, followed by a murmur of swearing. A fat dog, asleep in a corner, has moaned softly as it stretches. All this is almost a ritual for drone operators Student and Vuyko., They also give each other code names. A few minutes later, they begin packing up the expensive equipment and carrying it to the vehicle.

There was a time when I thought that operating drones was an easy task, one that did not require much physical preparation. But that illusion was quickly dispelled. They had to carry heavy equipment, they were always in the enemy's sights, and their casualties were significant. A drone operator with sophisticated equipment is increasingly a priority target, and the Russians spare no ammunition against them. The war in Ukraine has perfected the use of drones as lethal weapons. Both sides know this.

Check call

By the time they reach the position, the sun is already illuminating the impressive landscape from above. Here, the fighting is only perceived as distant vibrations of explosions. While waiting for an opportunity to attack, Student talks about his studies in geodesy – a branch of geophysics – a profession he considers promising and with which he hopes to earn a living after the war.

"And how do you attend class? Online?" "No, I don't have time," he answers, smiling. "From time to time, the university calls me just to ask if I'm still alive."

They call this war "the drone war," a term that became popular a year ago, when the nature of combat changed completely. Futuristic films about remote battles have become reality, with FPV and Mavic as protagonists. Now, the death of the enemy – or one's own – can be seen in real time.

The relative dominance of drones has been a cause for cautious optimism, even amid the suspension and uncertain future of US military aid. Kiev insists that the need for independence from Western allies is nothing new: Ukraine currently manufactures 40% of the drones.% of their weapons, and most of this arsenal is drones.

Often, people outside the military are involved in production. Programs like Social Drone allow virtually anyone to assemble one. However, it is still premature to talk about drones as a Wunderwaffe (wonder weapon) capable of replacing all other weapons. Offensive operations still require air support, armored vehicles and artillery, military expert Serhi Grabovsky stresses. The main function of drones now is to prevent enemy advance and buy time for Ukraine.

In the south of Pokrovsk, for example, constant drone attacks on Russian supply lines, command centers and troops have brought an already precarious logistics to a standstill. Despite pessimistic forecasts, the city continues to resist. However, this ability to hold is not the result of a technological miracle, but of the extreme efforts of operators working on the battlefield in all directions.

We meet Dean, commander of a guerrilla group of drone operators from the 112thTerritorial Defense Brigade, belonging to the 244th battalion, in a cafe in Kramatorsk. He has just returned from the funeral of two of his colleagues. A technology specialist, he left his job for defending his hometown, Kiev, from the first day of the invasion. After the Russian assault failed, his life in the army did not end. His experience in the Safe City system, which analysed images from surveillance cameras, came in handy at the front: he developed Vezha, a platform that transmits drone images in real time. After the offensive in Kharkiv, his unit was transferred to the Kreminná front, where they lost a large part of their personnel, and then to Bakhmut. There, the war is different. And the losses, too.

Like any good commander, Dean suffers from the losses of his people. Especially those that could have been avoided. He criticises the disorganisation in the defence lines, which sometimes block access to positions for his own troops. He questions commanders who draw up battle strategies with a ruler on a map, without considering reality. "You arrive at the site and it's just an open field, without any cover," he says, checking the messages on his phone out of the corner of his eye.

Reality forces you to adapt. The line of defense on maps does not always match the one on the ground. The same goes for soldiers: the lack of infantry has forced drone operators to be placed closer to the front. Getting to the position is a lottery. The more you move, the more likely you are to be shot down. That's why many prefer to stay in their positions longer rather than risk their lives on the way. Newcomers, who are few, have difficulty adapting to this pace of war.

Dean explains that two members of his team were killed after being hit by a KAB. The third, who survived, was on his first day of combat. After that experience, he was unable to recover psychologically. Returning him to the front line in that state would only endanger his new team.