Residents of Kherson, Ukraine, face the formidable and deadly threat of explosive drones, with reports indicating at least 24 civilians have died and hundreds more have been injured since July. These small but lethal machines, originally intended for photography and video, have become instruments of terror as they hunt down unsuspecting individuals on the streets.
Sasha Ustenko is among those who have lived through the horror of these drone attacks. An ordinary citizen of Kherson, he has survived three devastating encounters with the drones, which are known for dropping fragmentation grenades on anything moving. His first brush with death came in late July when one of these drones targeted a parked police car, sending him tumbling to the ground. The second attack came mid-August, aimed at a water tanker he was queued behind, killing the driver. Yet, the last incident left him with life-altering injuries—his left index finger was blown apart by shrapnel as he sought cover under a cherry tree, believing it would protect him.
The drones pose challenges well beyond just their explosive payload. They are small, agile, and fly at low altitudes, making them nearly undetectable by existing Ukrainian air defenses. According to military officials, thousands of attacks have been launched since July alone, with their toll on civilian life increasing alarmingly. By August, over 2,500 drone attacks were reported; September saw similar numbers, with many resulting injuries requiring amputations.
“Drones are much worse than artillery,” said Dima Olifirenko, another civilian victim of the attacks. While traditional artillery can signal its approach with sound, drones arrive silently, catching their prey off-guard. Olifirenko experienced this firsthand when he was injured at a bus stop; he recalls hearing the drone but not realizing the danger until it was too late. “There was nowhere to hide,” he lamented. These new aerial threats have fundamentally changed the fabric of life for Kherson’s residents, who are grappling with the psychological impact of this type of warfare.
Kherson's geographical location, straddled by the Dnipro River, adds to its vulnerability. While the river serves as a temporary buffer against outright military invasions from Russian forces, it also allows these drones to operate unchallenged, flying across the water and back. The drones have ranges of up to 15 kilometers, enabling them to reach civilian populations with ease.
Local officials have reported the systematic use of explosive drones by Russian forces as part of their strategy to demoralize and destabilize the civilian population. Serhii Kuzan, chairman of the Ukrainian Center for Security and Cooperation, described the drone assaults as part of “a systematic, well-planned operation to destroy civilian life.” This hybrid warfare aims to pressure the Ukrainian government through fear and civilian casualties.
The drones have transitioned from simply targeting individuals to deploying anti-personnel mines across the city’s streets and public areas. These mines, diminutive yet deadly, pose additional risks to residents who may inadvertently trigger them. Locals have taken it upon themselves to devise crude demining techniques, including using wooden planks to trigger mines remotely, highlighting the desperate measures inhabitants are forced to adopt amid the chaos.
Compounding these dangers is the system of accountability and medical response for the wounded. Reports show many of the injured are suffering from severe shrapnel wounds, receiving first aid only after significant delays, which could worsen their conditions. The local hospitals are overwhelmed with the influx of patients, leading to calls for greater security measures to safeguard workers and civilians.
On October 18, another attack saw five utility workers injured when their emergency services vehicle was targeted from above. The attack is emblematic of the broader risks faced by those trying to maintain some semblance of civil order amid the chaos. Utility teams, who often respond to emergencies related to previous damages, must now contend with the threat of drone attacks during their operations.
This relentless pattern of drone strikes paints a grim picture of life for those still residing in Kherson. Despite the notable dangers, many residents remain trapped by circumstance, unable or unwilling to leave their homes. They describe a growing hopelessness and fear—fear of the unpredictable drone attacks, fear of leaving their homes, and fear of the future itself. Ustenko's harrowing experience resonates; he no longer ventures out to tend to his vegetable garden, petrified of mines hidden among the weeds.
Kherson is not only battling military aggressors but also the pervasive dread and tension of daily existence under such aggressive tactics. “Our lives have turned upside down,” Ustenko reflects, speaking on the life-altering consequences many are facing. To combat this threat, Ukrainian civilians find themselves relying on pure luck or faith, as their air defenses struggle to cope with these new horrors.
Ukrainians living in Kherson have developed makeshift strategies for survival, all the meanwhile hoping for improved protection and the end of drone warfare's reign of terror.
