In Kherson, a frontline Ukrainian city, small Russian drones have been hunting civilians for months. Like birds of prey, they chase their targets and either drop explosives upon them or self-detonate in kamikaze strikes. Lacking effective countermeasures, locals say they are living in a “human safari” — nowhere is safe anymore. This is the dystopian future of war that may yet come to the West, should great power conflicts proliferate.
Kherson sits on the Dnipro River in south Ukraine, by the Black Sea coast. Once home to almost 300,000 people, the port city was liberated after months of Russian occupation in late 2022. Since then, Moscow’s troops have waited across the river, less than a kilometre away from the city’s shores, and besieged residents with incessant artillery, missile and sniper attacks.
Even so, parts of Kherson remained somewhat safe until recently, according to Zarina Zabrisky, a freelance American journalist who has lived in the city for months. As Russian attacks came from the south, residents simply hid on the other side of their buildings and relocated to north-facing apartments.
But everything changed in late May, when the Russians began sending in small drones. “I couldn’t recognize the city by July because of the number of attacks, which changed the dynamics of life here completely. You cannot step outside safely,” said Zabrisky.
Small drones have already been widely deployed throughout Ukraine’s front lines by both sides. Yet over the past few months, they have increasingly been used by Russia, along with countries like Syria, to terrorize noncombatants.
In Kherson, the drones fly approximately 120 metres above the ground and then, after descending upon a suitable target, either drop explosives — including grenades, landmines and napalm — or complete a kamikaze strike. They sometimes work in pairs: higher-quality models, with better cameras, scout, while cheaper ones attack.
Every moving thing in the city is a potential target. Civilians are injured on a daily basis while driving, shopping for groceries or simply walking down the street. Old women have had their cars bombed. Men have been killed while waiting for the bus.
Last month, there were around 140 casualties, including 10 fatalities, according to Zabrisky, who regularly shares videos of the aftermath of such attacks on her X account.
Civilians in war zones have historically hid indoors to protect themselves. So long as there are two walls between a person and the outside — one wall to absorb a blast, and another to protect from flying debris — the chances of surviving an artillery attack are high.
But Russian drones can blow small holes in ceilings and then drop napalm inside, setting everything aflame. These fires are difficult to extinguish, as the drones often destroy nearby diesel generators beforehand, cutting off most running water, and then target first responders who come to help.
Many of these drones are purchased through fundraisers organized by Russian civilians, said Zabrisky. Moscow’s soldiers then share their drone footage online, showcasing Ukrainian deaths, so that supporters can see their “return on investment.” Sometimes pop music is added to the videos.
The drones generally operate on extremely low radio frequencies, which change often, making them hard to detect and intercept. While radio frequency analyzers can track these drones with some success, this equipment is unavailable to the average civilian.
Most locals simply watch the sky and listen for the dreaded, wasp-like buzz of drone propellers. Attempts to shoot down the drones with hunting rifles have been ineffective, so the only recourse is to hide beneath the city’s foliage, where the drones cannot see, and venture outside when bad weather — fog, rain and wind — makes it harder for them to operate.
“Regardless of where you are, anywhere in the city, at all times, the only protection people in the city have is the trees,” said Caolan Robertson, a British journalist who spent two days filming a documentary in Kherson last month. “When I was in the market, I was shouted at immediately for walking through the centre of it, where there was no tree cover, and everyone was basically hiding under the trees.”
Despite taking precautions, Robertson said he was twice chased by drones during his short stay — an experience he partially documented in his film. He was able to evade one of the drones by running between different groups of trees and slipping into a cafe, where the walls and tables were nicked with shrapnel damage.
But autumn is here and the leaves are quickly falling, robbing residents of their most reliable defence.
“No one knows what to do, and everyone is terrified,” he said. “The last bit of joy — of listening to music in Kherson — is now gone in the car, because everyone has to sit in silence and not have conversations and have the windows down to hear the sound of buzzing.”
An estimated 80 per cent of the population has left the city, according to Zabrisky, but those who remain try, as best they can, to carry on with life. She recounted how a local woman, Olena, missed a small party in celebration of the city’s birthday because drones had hovered above her apartment for hours, effectively trapping her inside.
As visitor permits for Kherson are difficult to obtain, few international journalists come to the frontline city these days, so its status as a testing ground for drone-on-civilian warfare has mostly gone unnoticed. Yet there is a good chance that what is being done there now — war as a cruel, sci-fi video game — will be widely replicated elsewhere.
National Post