Ukraine's frontline cities filled with dread and defiance

In his new clothes store in the heart of Ukraine's frontline city of Kramatorsk, Maksym Lysenko suddenly stops talking and listens. “There,” he says, leaning towards the window looking onto the street. “It's going to dive. It's going to drop.” Lysenko had heard the high-pitched whine of a Russian suicide drone. Moments later there is a loud explosion. “Boom! This is Kramatorsk!” he says with a smile. “This is Kramatorsk.” It's the third attack witnessed by Reuters in less than an hour by Russian kamikaze drones terrorising the skies over one of Ukraine's final bastions in the fiercely contested region of Donetsk. Thousands of unmanned aerial vehicles hover above more than 1,000 km (620 miles) of frontlines in Ukraine's east and south at any one time, making even small infantry advances dangerous and costly.

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A staff member makes coffee in the Zuboy clothing and coffee shop, amid Russia's attack on Ukraine, in the frontline city of Kramatorsk, Ukraine on Sept 10, 2023.

(File/Reuters)

The airborne threat extends to villages, towns and cities sucked into the strike zone, a belt of land 20 to 25 km either side of the front line where fast and nimble remote-controlled first-person view (FPV) drones and other models fly. As Russian troops grind westward in Donetsk, Kramatorsk is on edge. Some parts of the city are less than 20 km from Russian positions, and tens of thousands of people still living there must decide whether they want to stay. For Lysenko, 29, there is no question of leaving. He opened his Zaboy store on a pleasant, tree-lined street in June. Barely flinching at the explosions, soldiers and civilians browse the racks of T-shirts and sweat tops, or buy a coffee at the bar.

The bright lights, pristine white walls and background music would not be out of place in a store in New York or Paris. On the wall behind the payment desk is a board covered in insignia badges donated by military units. “All of the T-shirts have the message: that we must be free from occupying forces,” Lysenko says, sifting through his collection. “For us it is not just words, it is life.” On the main city square, street cleaners sweep up the debris from a drone blast that damaged a car. A covered market was also struck, causing damage and minor injuries. One shopkeeper, her face still covered in dust from the blast, stands at her counter, refusing to leave.