Ukrainians along front: Digging deeper, and waiting, waiting ...

On the farthest northeast edge of Ukraine’s front line against Russian invaders, east of Kupiansk and not far from the Russian border, the rows of “dragon’s teeth” stretch across frigid, muddy fields as far as the eye can see.

Designed to slow an expected Russian armored advance, the lines of solid concrete pyramids are bound by cables, on ground laced with land mines and spun with endless coils of razor wire.

Farther back are multiple sets of muddy trenches – all indications Ukraine is digging in for a long defense. Even as Russia mounts scores of attacks daily along the 600-mile front, Ukraine’s outnumbered and outgunned forces await supplies from the United States and Europe.

“The Russians have been having some tactical advantages; the situation is hard, but controlled,” says officer Maksym Radchenko of the 123rd Kupiansk Separate Battalion of Ukraine’s Territorial Defense Forces, as darkness falls and distant explosions sound.

At this point, Russian units are north, east, and south, less than a mile away as the shell flies.

“The advancing capacity of the Russians is very low; it’s exhausted,” says the officer, when asked about reports Moscow has amassed armor and troops just over the border.

“Our enemies are looking for weak spots. ... We look for their weak spots,” says officer Radchenko. “The changes here are tactical, not strategic.”

Ukrainian military planners hope that assessment and all their defenses hold, as Russia seeks to capitalize on momentum gained in mid-February by capturing Avdiivka, much further south, after a costly four-month onslaught.

Visits by the Monitor to half a dozen points along Ukraine’s front line indicate that the quiet expectation of extensive battlefield progress on display a year ago has given way to much more subdued ambitions.

After the failure last summer of a heavily promoted Ukrainian counteroffensive, and with critical American military supplies held up by U.S. congressional gridlock, the prospect now is of a gritty and determined defense, with no end in sight.

Commitment to fight

President Volodymyr Zelenskyy said last month that 31,000 Ukrainian soldiers had died during two years of war – though Russia is estimated to have lost tens of thousands more, including 17,000 dead to seize Avdiivka alone. Yet despite obvious exhaustion and a host of sacrifices, Ukrainian troops still exude confidence and often a personal commitment to fight.

The bearded and bespectacled officer Radchenko, for example – who has a soft spot for American culture – closed his Wild West-themed bar and grill in Kharkiv when Russia invaded, donated the cooking equipment to the military, and volunteered to fight. He is certain that the U.S. will “never abandon” Ukraine, despite the lull in support.

Similar resolve is found in a cramped bunker dug out of the earth, outfitted with a small stove and cans of Non-Stop energy drink. There, a stocky sergeant nicknamed Tyson – a graduate of boxing school in nearby Kupiansk – says his “main job” is to keep building the defensive line.

In past fighting, three of the seven members of his squad were killed, the others wounded – including Tyson, in his leg and stomach. He could have taken longer to convalesce, instead of manning a sodden trench system where his soldiers captured 600 mice in one multiday shift.

But the army veteran of seven years saw his stepfather, more than twice his age, at the front, and knew that was also where he belonged.

“For me, this is not abstract,” says Tyson, matter-of-factly. “This is my house. I don’t have any place to go. ... We are here until the end. The minimum that I ask for is to survive.”  

“On the same spot”

Some reasons for Ukraine’s defensive posture can be found at a position 55 miles to the southeast, near the Kreminna Forest, where the sound of explosions never stops.

The artillery unit was lauded as an elite battalion when formed for last summer’s counteroffensive, which was stopped by Russian defenses choked with mines. Even during training, the soldiers say, they realized there was a shortage of ammunition and equipment.

And when they went to the fight?

“We had some Iranian mortars we got from somewhere, but it was not the Western equipment we were promised,” says one soldier, Vadym, clearly disappointed after such fanfare. “We lost a lot of good specialists.”

These days, when they get coordinates for their 105 mm gun – an aging Italian howitzer – the Ukrainians race from their underground bunker, remove camouflaging, and fire several rounds.

But this unit has also just been ordered to substantially cut back the number of shells it fires each day.

“Don’t underestimate the enemy; our enemy is very smart, and he is developing and progressing,” says Sasha, a squad leader of the 1st Presidential Brigade of the Ukraine National Guard.

He understands Russia is preparing for a spring offensive. “We can’t see the larger picture,” he says. “But what we can see is we are on the same spot for a long time, and short of ammunition.”

Humor in a dark bunker

Some miles away, a 120 mm mortar position is carefully hidden among trenches in the forest. Half a dozen soldiers eat, drink, and sleep, in an underground command center filled with the rich scent of earthen walls.

When the order comes to fire, the team sights the mortar and a soldier nicknamed Yakut shouts, “Welcome to Ukraine!” as he drops the shell into the tube and ducks for cover.

These troops know what they are firing at: Russians in trenches the Ukrainians themselves built, but which they withdrew from in December. A commander points out the precise firings on an iPad. Aboveground, trees are shredded from months of shrapnel.

In the dark bunker, a dark humor pervades. A rucksack in a corner has a velcro patch that reads, “Mom says I’m special.”

“I am working well with a shovel,” jokes one soldier, about the need to dig even deeper defenses.

At another artillery position in the Donetsk region, the battery commander, who asks not to be named, says, “The gods kissed us on the forehead and gave us this gun.” But ammunition has dwindled.

The unit’s gunner was trained in Germany, by New Zealand officers. Back then, he says, optimism about defeating Russia ran high, and there was no doubt NATO support would see the conflict through.

Still, the unit has other means of fighting. At a command center a few miles from the front, large screens show live footage seen by Ukrainian drones as they hunt for targets. At 5:05 a.m., the drone’s thermal imaging camera shows a cluster of Russian troops.

The screen then also shows grenades dropped from drones on the Russians, apparently killing or incapacitating them.

Drone wars

Along the far southeast of Ukraine’s front, the Russians, too, have stepped up their drone expertise.

At the back of an evacuation bus carrying wounded soldiers for treatment is a somber scene of gauze-covered wounds and exhaustion following the retreat from Avdiivka. The bus carries six seriously wounded men in beds, and a cluster of others, many wounded by drones.

Artilleryman Lt. Oleksandr Lytvynenko – his hands wrapped in bandages – recalls firing through a truckload or more of ammunition every day a year ago to stop waves of advancing Russian troops, what he calls “meat assaults.”

“The meat assaults are continuing,” he says, but as Avdiivka fell, his gun was lucky to have one truckload of ammunition per week.

Lieutenant Lytvynenko still seems in shock at the loss of his position, after not retreating an inch for 1 1/2 years. He asks about apocryphal rumors of a forgotten NATO ammunition stockpile.

“If we had as many shells as they have, we would be in Belgorod by now,” he says wistfully, referring to the Russian city 25 miles northeast of Ukraine.

“I am in an optimistic mood,” says Lieutenant Lytvynenko. “I want to get back and keep kicking them in the teeth.”

That is happening at some points along the front, some 90 miles west of Avdiivka toward Zaporizhzhia, where the 108th Territorial Defense Brigade is testing a six-rotor attack drone they call the Vampire. It can carry four 82 mm mortar shells and sees in the dark.

Pilot Artem wears a camouflage balaclava and says the drone recently killed 16 Russian soldiers advancing in two groups, with two separate flights.

“A mortar unit would take seven to eight shots to get the target,” he says. “But we can do that with one flight, because we can see.”

That doesn’t mean that drones like the Vampire make Ukraine’s urgent need for artillery shells any less desperate. A commander, who gives the name Andrii, talks about drone battles with the Russians, and Ukraine’s overall needs.

“Americans, don’t let us down. We rely on you,” he says in English. “We have the spirit and the will to fight, [but] without help it’s going to be much harder for us, and there will be many more victims.” 

Oleksandr Naselenko supported reporting for this story.