KOSTIANTYNIVKA, Ukraine — In Eastern Ukraine, one town stands between Russia and the Donbas heartland.
“Kostiantynivka is almost encircled,” said Gorb, a drone operator with Ukraine’s 28th Brigade, speaking on Friday from the basement of a building in the city. “The enemy is attacking us from three directions.”
The battered industrial town has in recent weeks become one of the most critical flashpoints of the war. Sitting astride the vital axis linking Bakhmut — now under Russian occupation — to the fortified twin strongholds of Sloviansk and Kramatorsk, the town serves as a logistical lifeline for Ukraine’s defenses.
Its fall would open the road for Russian forces to push deeper into Donetsk and potentially outflank Ukrainian positions, a scenario commanders in Kyiv warn could have cascading consequences across the front.
Russian troops are pressing from three sides, striking supply routes with swarms of attack drones and artillery fire.
“Their drones hit our logistics hard and disrupt everything. Still, we’re holding,” Gorb said.
For Moscow, capturing the town would deliver not only a symbolic victory but also weaken Ukraine’s ability to defend the larger Donbas conurbation.
For Kyiv, holding Kostiantynivka has become a test of endurance, both for the soldiers rotating through its ruins and for the estimated 6,000 civilians still trapped inside, where artillery fire and the ominous buzz of Russian drones have become part of daily life.
The battle for the city is unfolding as the wider war seems to be escalating: On Wednesday, Poland became the first NATO member to down Russian drones after its airspace was violated, prompting an emergency consultation under Article 4 of the NATO Treaty and intensifying calls for stronger allied air defense.
Just days earlier, Russia launched its largest aerial barrage of the war, firing more than 800 drones and missiles in a single night — an assault Ukrainian forces largely repelled, though it caused fresh blackouts and rattled Western capitals.
Diplomatically, Kyiv’s partners have also moved to reinforce long-term planning: a “Coalition of the Willing” of 31 European and Commonwealth nations is now working on contingency measures to secure any future ceasefire, underlining how the conflict is shaping not only Ukraine’s fate but NATO’s posture across the region.
Along the frontline, first-person-view drones — small quadcopter “kamikaze” UAVs piloted via virtual-reality style goggles — have proven especially troublesome. Many are single-use, packed with explosives and flown into vehicles, buildings or personnel, offering a cheap, precision-strike capability.
Ukraine has scaled up production to about 200,000 FPVs a month, with 4.5 million planned for 2025, but Russian forces are still believed to have much greater capacity with drones — by some Ukrainian estimates, the Russians have as much as six times more.
Russia has increasingly used FPV drones to strike the roads threading through the Donbas, severing supply lines and harassing convoys. In Kostiantynivka, the charred wrecks of civilian cars abandoned along the avenues stand as stark evidence of the tactic.
“The Russians have a lot of drones because they have a lot of resources. We have to hide everything: the car, the antenna, the ammunition,” said Gorb. “It becomes especially dangerous after 11 a.m., when curfew ends and people go out shopping or walking around. That’s when the Russians usually start operating,” warned Yevhenii, a press officer with Ukraine’s 28th Mechanized Brigade.
As he made his way through a maze of bombed-out residential blocks and backyards toward the operators’ shelter, Yevhenii kept his eyes on the sky and gripped a semi-automatic shotgun, a last resort against enemy drones.
For days, Gorb and his fellow soldiers had been methodically targeting Russian positions, vehicles and personnel around the city, sustained by cigarettes and energy drinks.
“The number of sorties depends on how hard the enemy is pushing: during assaults, it can be 25–30 flights a day; for planned targets, 15–20,” Gorb said. “A month ago, when they attacked almost daily, we were flying up to 38 missions.”
In Kostiantynivka, Ukrainian troops are facing Russia’s 4th Separate Guards Motor Rifle Brigade, a battle-hardened formation once part of the so-called Luhansk People’s Republic militia.
“Most of their commanders are former Wagner,” Yevhenii said, referring to the globe-trotting, state-funded Russian security firm often described as Russian President Vladimir Putin’s private army. “They’re very good fighters, arguably better than many regular Russian units.”
Gorb explained that Russia’s current targets are infantry moving under tree cover, located by reconnaissance units before being struck.
At times, the Russians deploy tanks or heavy equipment, but more often they rely on light vehicles such as motorcycles and quad bikes.
Asked if Russian reconnaissance groups were already operating within the city limits, he replied tersely: “Yes, I believe so.”
On this day, however, the drone operators had been tasked with destroying an antenna used by enemy pilots.
After one drone ran out of battery without finding the target, Murakha (“the ant” in Ukrainian) prepared another, carefully attaching a fragmentation shell. “We work mostly against infantry,” he said, pointing to the charge. “But we’re also equipped to destroy vehicles.” He lifted a shaped charge meant for tanks or armored vehicles such as BTRs and BMPs.
Meanwhile, Gorb and Aries coordinated over the computer with battalion headquarters to find their next target.
“It’s exactly like the air force,” Yevhenii explained. “We have a dispatcher monitoring the feeds from all the drone units, coordinating them and making sure they don’t interfere with each other.”
Gorb, who once worked for Nova Poshta, Ukraine’s largest postal service, offered a dark joke: “I used to deliver parcels. Now I deliver the future.”
Outside the relative safety of the basement, the war is never far.
Birdsongs are drowned out by artillery and occasional bursts of automatic fire.
“They’re probably trying to shoot down a Russian drone,” Gorb muttered, eyes fixed on his monitor.
Moments later, a female operator’s voice crackled through the speakers: a Russian assault group on motorcycles was on the move.
The operators scanned their screens but found nothing.
“Finding them is the hardest part,” sighed Aries. His phone lit up with a notification, revealing a wallpaper of his toddler — the spitting image of his father.
A few minutes later, he went upstairs to adjust an antenna concealed under camouflage netting.
From the balcony, devastation stretched in every direction: to the left, an apartment block burned, plumes of smoke billowing from shattered windows; in the distance, multiple fires rose against a cerulean sky, the rhythmic thud of artillery echoing across the city’s leafy avenues.
Yet thousands of civilians remain, unwilling or unable to leave. And the soldiers, exhausted but unyielding, know the cost of retreat. “The front is held together by unmanned systems now. We have to hold here, no matter what,” said Gorb. “And we will.”
