The Donetsk region of eastern Ukraine has long been a focal point for Moscow. Reports indicate that Vladimir Putin seeks to freeze the conflict in exchange for complete control over the territory.
Currently, Russia controls 70% of Donetsk, in addition to nearly all of neighboring Luhansk, and is making gradual but consistent progress.
I am en route to Dobropillia, a front-line town in Donetsk, accompanied by two humanitarian volunteers. Located just 8km (five miles) from Russian positions, their mission is to evacuate vulnerable residents, including the sick, elderly, and children, to safer areas.
Initially, the operation proceeds smoothly. We enter the town in an armored vehicle equipped with drone-jamming technology, reaching speeds of 130km/h (80mph). The road is concealed by high green netting, reducing visibility from above and providing protection from Russian drones.
On their second trip of the morning, the streets appear largely deserted. The few remaining inhabitants only venture out to quickly gather essential supplies, as Russian attacks are a daily occurrence.
The town already exhibits signs of abandonment, compounded by a week-long disruption in water supply. Nearly every building bears signs of damage, with some reduced to ruins.
Over the past five days, Laarz, a 31-year-old German, and Varia, a 19-year-old Ukrainian, both affiliated with the charity Universal Aid Ukraine, have undertaken numerous evacuation missions.
A week prior, small detachments of Russian troops breached the town’s defenses, raising concerns about the potential collapse of Ukraine’s “fortress belt,” a heavily fortified section of the Ukrainian front.
Additional troops were rapidly deployed to the area, and Ukrainian authorities claim the situation has been stabilized. However, the majority of Dobropillia’s residents feel it is time to evacuate.
As the evacuation team arrives, Vitalii Kalinichenko, 56, awaits them at the entrance of his apartment building, carrying a plastic bag containing his belongings.
“All my windows were shattered; they were blown out on the second floor. I am the only one left here,” he recounts.
Dressed in a grey t-shirt and black shorts, his right leg is bandaged. Mr. Kalinichenko points to a crater beyond some rose bushes, marking the spot where a Shahed drone crashed a few nights earlier, destroying his windows and injuring his leg. The engine from another drone lies in a neighbor’s garden.
As we prepare to depart, Laarz notices a drone overhead, and we take cover under nearby trees. His handheld drone detector indicates the presence of multiple Russian drones in the area.
An elderly woman in a summer dress and straw hat walks by with a shopping trolley. He alerts her to the drone, and she quickens her pace. An explosion occurs nearby, its sound reverberating off the surrounding apartment buildings.
However, before we can leave, there remains another family to be rescued just around the corner.
Laarz proceeds on foot to locate them, turning off the idling vehicle’s drone-jamming equipment to conserve battery power. “If you hear a drone, the two switches in the middle console, turn it on,” he instructs as he disappears. The jammer is only effective against certain Russian drones.
A series of explosions impact the neighborhood. A woman, out to collect water with her dog, runs for cover.
Laarz returns with additional evacuees, and with drones still active in the air above, he drives out of town at an even greater speed than upon arrival.
Inside the evacuation convoy, I sit beside Anton, 31. His mother remained behind, tearfully bidding him farewell, and he hopes she will evacuate soon as well.
In war, front lines are fluid, towns change hands repeatedly, but with Russia advancing and the region’s future uncertain amidst ongoing negotiations, this may be the last time Anton and the other evacuees see their homes.
Anton mentions he has never left the town before. Over the engine’s roar, I ask him if Ukraine should relinquish control of Donbas, the resource-rich region encompassing Donetsk and Luhansk.
“We need to engage in negotiations and ultimately resolve this conflict peacefully, without bloodshed or casualties,” he states.
However, Varia, 19, holds a different perspective. “We can never trust Putin or Russia, regardless of their pronouncements, and we have learned this from experience. Ceding Donbas would not end the conflict but would only provide Russia with more space for further aggression,” she asserts.
The situation in Donbas is becoming increasingly precarious for Ukraine as Russia makes steady gains. President Volodymyr Zelensky has dismissed suggestions that the region could be lost by the end of the year, predicting it would take Russia four more years to fully occupy the remaining territory.
However, it is unlikely Ukraine will reclaim significant territory without new weaponry or increased support from Western allies.
This area of Donetsk is crucial to Ukraine’s defensive posture. If it is lost or ceded to Russia, the neighboring Kharkiv and Zaporizhia regions, and potentially beyond, would be at greater risk.
The cost of defending this territory is measured in the lives and limbs of Ukrainian soldiers.
Later that day, I travel to a nearby field hospital under the cover of darkness. Drone activity is constant, and the retrieval of war casualties, both injured and deceased, can only be safely conducted at night.
Russian casualties are considerably higher, perhaps three times as many or more, but Russia possesses a greater capacity to absorb losses compared to Ukraine.
The wounded begin to arrive, with the severity of cases escalating as the night progresses. The casualties stem from fighting in Pokrovsk, a city that Russia has been attempting to seize for a year and is now partially encircled. It is a key city in Donetsk’s defense, and the fighting has been intense.
The first man arrives conscious, having sustained a bullet wound to the chest during a firefight. Next is a man in his forties covered in shrapnel wounds. It took two days and three attempts to rescue him due to the intensity of the fighting. Following him is a man whose right leg was almost completely severed by a drone strike on the road from Pokrovsk to Myrnohrad.
Surgeon and Snr Lt Dima, 42, attends to each patient in turn. This is a medical stabilization unit, and his role is to provide immediate treatment and prepare the injured for transfer to a main hospital for further care. “It’s challenging because I know I could do more, but I don’t have the time,” he explains.
Amidst this carnage, I ask him if Donbas should be surrendered to achieve peace.
“We have to stop [the war], but not like this,” he replies. “We want our territory and our people back, and Russia must be held accountable for its actions.”
He is exhausted; casualties have increased significantly, with dozens arriving daily since Russia’s incursion, and the injuries are the most severe the doctors have witnessed since the war’s onset, primarily due to drone warfare.
“We simply want to return home and live in peace, free from this nightmare, this bloodshed, this death,” he expresses.
During the afternoon drive, between fields of corn and sunflowers, miles of newly uncoiled barbed wire gleam in the sunlight. They run alongside raised banks of red earth, deep trenches, and neat rows of anti-tank “dragon’s teeth” concrete pyramids. All designed to impede any sudden Russian advance.
It is believed that Russia has over 100,000 troops poised to exploit any opportunity similar to the earlier breaches around Dobropillia.
These new fortifications etched into the Ukrainian landscape reflect the deteriorating situation in Donetsk. What remains of the region may yet be ceded through diplomacy, but until then, Ukraine, battered and weary, remains determined to defend every inch of its territory.