Every step could be the last: Life under Russian drones in Kherson

It was time to pick up the children from daycare. As other parents and children moved through the hallways, Tanya Leshchenko sat on a bench in one of the indoor spaces, dressing her 5-year-old daughter in a thick purple winter coat. Before they could leave, however, there was one last task left, one necessary for survival.

Leshchenko picked up his phone and checked an online chat group where citizens shared warnings about approaching attack drones. The group posts alerts based on testimonies from residents of Kherson, a city in southern Ukraine, where the daily threat from deadly flying robots creates the appearance of a frightening, almost post-apocalyptic future.

A warning from last fall contained only the words: “I hear a drone!”—a sharp, ominous noise that has now become a dark, constant soundtrack to city life. That day, when Leshchenko picked up her daughter from daycare, the sky was calm and free of danger signs. They stepped outside and headed for the bus stop.

"You can't run away from a drone," Leshchenko said, before adding in a low voice: "It's scary."

In Kherson, a city of wide, tree-lined boulevards and grand tsarist-era mansions, residents fear the open sky. The entire city is within range of free Russian quadcopter drones that Moscow's forces launch from territory they control across the Dnipro River.

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According to authorities, about 200 civilians have been killed and nearly 2.000 injured in drone strikes over the past year. Ukrainians call these attacks “human safaris,” implying that civilians are being treated like hunting prey. Russian drone operators drop grenades on people working in their gardens or walking peacefully on sidewalks.

Protective measures

Kherson, whose population has fallen to around 65.000 after three-quarters of its citizens fled, has become the place where the use of drones for war crimes is more intense than anywhere else in the world, according to human rights organizations.

Life is moving underground. Hospitals, a maternity hospital, government offices, a theater, and dozens of other institutions have been moved underground. Children's activities that once took place in parks and courtyards are now held in basements. All schools operate online only.

The city is experimenting with a variety of anti-drone measures, though none are completely effective. The military has set up antennas along the riverbank to disrupt drone signals. Tens of kilometers of nets, designed to catch drones before they reach their target and explode, have been stretched across the city’s main streets and avenues. Meanwhile, about 250 concrete emergency shelters have been placed along the sidewalks, where people can take shelter for a few moments in case of immediate danger.

Municipal workers, working outside repairing bomb damage or fixing anti-drone nets, carry handheld drone detectors. These devices work by capturing the signal from drone cameras and displaying on a screen what the Russian operator sees when it focuses on a target. Seeing yourself or your car on the detector screen is extremely bad news and warns of imminent danger.

This happened to Yaroslav Shanko, the city’s military-civilian administrator, a role similar to that of mayor. How did he react? “You have to reach maximum speed and constantly maneuver” to get out of the drone’s field of vision, Shanko explained. By taking sharp turns, navigating narrow alleys, and traveling at over 130 miles per hour, his driver managed to escape the drone’s pursuit.

Human rights organizations warn that other cities around the world, devastated by war or engulfed by criminal violence, are likely to resemble Kherson in the near future.

Small quadcopter drones have significantly reduced the cost and threshold for using precision-guided munitions, which previously cost tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars. According to Belkis Wille, associate director at Human Rights Watch, these drones have been used to attack civilians in both the civil war in Sudan and gang conflicts in Mexico.

“Kherson is the clearest example of a direct campaign to strike civilians with quadcopter drones, but this is just the beginning of what we fear will become a reality for civilians in conflict zones around the world,” Wille said. “The cost of targeting civilians has fallen significantly.”

"There is no escape"

Kherson never had a period of peace during the four years of war. Russian forces occupied the city for nine months at the beginning of the full invasion, before retreating. An 18th-century Russian aristocrat and lover of Catherine the Great, Prince Grigory Potemkin, is considered the founder of the modern city and was buried in a local church. During the retreat, Russian soldiers took his remains with them.

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After Ukrainian troops liberated Kherson in November 2022, Russian forces began shelling the city with artillery from across the river. When small drones became effective weapons the following year, a new form of terror began.

Drone wounds have become so common that, according to surgeon Oleh Pinchuk, “car accidents have been forgotten here.” Sometimes, the wounded, still lying in hospital beds days after the attack, stare blankly at videos posted online by Russian forces, filmed by the camera of the drone that hit them. They see themselves on the screen, getting bigger and bigger as the drone gets closer.

Once the drones get close, it's almost impossible to escape them.

Mykola Hyadamaka, 67, a retired driver, remembers hearing a drone following his car. He tried to rush home and run through the courtyard door, but got tangled in the gate. A grenade exploded near him, and metal fragments seriously injured him.

"There is no escape," he said during an interview from his hospital bed.

Serhiy Shevchenko, 36, a plumber, told how he was chased by a drone around a tree, before it exploded near him.

"There was no place to hide," he said.

Volodymyr Oleinichuk, 52, a parking lot guard, quickly ducked under a small shelter as soon as he heard the sound of a drone overhead. According to him, the drone began circling around, as if waiting for him to come out of the shelter. When he didn’t move or come out, the drone dropped a grenade near the foundation of the shelter, scattering metal fragments under him and seriously injuring him.

One of the most frightening aspects of drone attacks, Oleinichuk emphasized, is the sense that the machine is not acting blindly, but is guided by a human intelligence that thinks, searches, and maneuvers with clear purpose.

"There's someone behind him, checking him out," he said. "I could hear him looking for me."

With schools closed, underground spaces used for activities are among the few places where children can meet and socialize. They offer dance classes, art and other creative activities, as well as children’s film screenings. A dance class at one of these centers was called “United by Love.” Organizers also installed sandboxes in the underground play areas, with the idea that children needed a substitute for the feel of the ground they once touched in outdoor playgrounds.

Outside, the danger is ever-present. When drones appear, “you have to hide in a shelter, or just anywhere where you can’t see the sky,” said Daria, an 11-year-old girl who hid under trees in a park this summer when a drone flew over her.

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Although many residents have fled Kherson, Leshchenko - the woman who was picking up her daughter, Alyonan, from kindergarten - said she had no intention of leaving. She said her family has nowhere to go and leaving was not a realistic option for them.

Once she arrives at the bus stop, a concrete shelter will offer her some protection. She will check the online group once more for warnings. Then she will hurry home, holding Alyona tightly by the hand.