Drushkivka, eastern Ukraine —
Pockmarked, loaded with torched vehicles and covered with netting to deter drones, the Road of Life belies its name. The stretch of asphalt from Drushkiivka to Kostiantyniivka is a lifeline that supplies supplies to the Ukrainian military on the harshest front, sometimes delivered by robots, making it a matter of pure survival.
Ukrainian troops often emerge exhausted after being held in the same position for months, moving mostly on foot, passing burned-out vehicles of soldiers who tried to evade the drones, which were smaller and faster.
The war in Ukraine is now dominated by drones, and the only protection from Russia’s endless airstrikes is to hide in the trees, shoot them down, and hope they eventually settle on another, larger target, usually a vehicle or munitions.
This is a technological change that has reshaped modern warfare, given that, at least for now, Ukraine has more leeway against a much larger enemy. But for troops operating in so-called “kill zones,” which extend miles deep along the front lines, any action in the field is at deadly risk.
The CNN team, accompanied by Kosta, Sasha and Bohdan of the 24th Mechanized Brigade, walked through a narrow, supposedly secure stretch of land between two Ukrainian military positions. What was supposed to be an hour-long walk each way turned into a five-hour ordeal, with at least 14 attacks and close encounters by Russian drones.
The first attack happens quickly, rarely after two tanks have passed. The sound of drones and gunshots rang out in the sky, and the surrounding forest and damaged houses suddenly came to life as Ukrainian troops hiding inside opened fire into the air. This is the signal to flee into the courtyard, where the guards try to see if there is a target to fire on in the gray cloudy soup above.
Outside on the road, Sasha and Costa take bolder shots from the open. Then they hit their target, and the boom of the drone’s explosives detonating flashed on the tarmac about 500 feet away. We must keep moving because others may follow.
Drone warfare overturns common sense on the front lines. Armor is a prime target and a danger. A group of military personnel becomes a target. The protective nets arched over many roads in the eastern Donbass region are blocking the path of drones, but here they are no friends and are restricting their movement. When you hear the sound of a drone, you have to run towards the leaves. You can hide there, but the drone cannot fly. Walking through the protective net, you will need to find or open a hole to enter the forest.
Avoiding drones also reverses the human instinct to seek safety in numbers. Being alone will not be of interest to Russian attack pilots, so you will have to split up and run away from each other. Radio alarms blared and the team raced back to the green, commotion echoing above and gunshots echoing all around.
After an hour, it becomes difficult to distinguish the ubiquitous hum of a drone. Is it your ears or just your mind? The senses don’t relax, but it’s hard to keep paying attention to all the droning noises like in the first few minutes.
Encounters with drones usually end in an explosion with the drone falling nearby. It is unclear who shot it down, where it was headed, or whether it was shot down alone. But the need to move quickly disappears once you have time to process.
A drone is flying over our heads. Shots from Sasha and Bohdan, rifles from afar and shotguns from nearby, calm the situation. The damaged propeller tumbles onto the road with an eerie sound, and the escort flees. The device hit the asphalt, but there was no explosion. It may have been a reconnaissance device, but it was circling, a typical pattern for Russian attacks. Sasha picks up the smoking ruin and throws it into the foliage, clearing the road for the tires to tread on.
We passed the burnt remains of a pickup truck that had been hit two days earlier, killing one of the unit’s lieutenants, Roman. We meet a group of exhausted frontline troops rising from weeks of hell. Drones swarm the trenches to deadly effect, Russian troops launch an attack, and artillery continues to destroy the trenches.
They look frail as they walk, supplies being carried by small robot trucks, some with their arms over their dirty faces to avoid the cameras.
Sasha and Bohdan take a 30-minute break for tea and water at their destination, another bunker just a few minutes’ drive from their starting point.
Inside is Afina, a 25-year-old technical operator with the call sign. He joined the military before the war, but he didn’t anticipate the wave of drones and robots that Ukraine has brought in on short notice to fill a severe manpower shortage. “I never expected anything like this,” she said. “It’s hard. Over time, you get a little burnt out from all this. But you get used to it. You see what you have to do.”
Just as we were on the ground and about to make the arduous return trip, another round of gunfire rang out and we shot down several ambushed drones. During the walk home, multiple drones crashed into surrounding roads, causing debris to clatter and attempting to hit cars and speeding armored vehicles.
It’s relentlessly exhausting, but oddly enough, it’s a moment when Ukraine’s dexterity and quick adaptability give it the upper hand – keep walking, automate some tasks, lean heavily into technology, and watch its adversaries waste human resources on inefficient and deadly ground attacks.
Kiev may not have won the war, but it stopped losing. Holding on to something like the Path of Life might be enough to turn Russia around.
