In Ukraine’s south, marines are waging a grueling battle that could decide the region

Ivan, a Ukrainian soldier convalescing in the port city of Odesa, has carried out four combat deployments since volunteering to serve his country in March 2022. By far the worst, he says, was his experience in Kherson.

“It’s a horror,” murmurs Ivan, his voice hoarse from exhaustion and chain-smoking. “You hear the sound of explosions 24/7.”

(Ivan, like the other soldiers in this story, requested to be identified using only a single name for privacy and security reasons.)

But neither the experience nor the injuries he endured have dissuaded him from returning to the front. Ivan wants to go back as soon as a doctor gives him the all clear.

For in the heart of the Kherson region, along the embattled banks of the Dnieper River, a struggle rages that embodies the spirit of sacrifice and determination of Ukraine’s civilians-turned-soldiers.

Initially intended to be a launching point from which to outflank Russian forces in the south, the hard-won foothold on the Dnieper’s eastern bank is now a critical defensive front. Outgunned and in swamplike terrain, Ukrainian marines must withstand Russia’s relentless artillery and mortar fire if they are to retain that ground.

“It’s the safest and narrowest point for Russians to cross, so it is important for us to be there to stop them from advancing and for us to use that point to advance further,” says Ivan, who has only seen his wife and daughter for 10 days since the war started. “My family gives me the courage to fight. ... My message to those there is hold on.”

A crucial bridgehead

The battle to get a foothold in the east bank of the Dnieper began with the destruction of the Kakhovka hydroelectric dam in the summer of 2023. The resulting floods rendered Ukraine’s initial battle plan obsolete. Ukrainian special forces adapted, spending months strategizing to secure a crossing. With the help of speedboats and helicopters, they succeeded in gaining a tactical foothold across the river in November.

Holding that bridgehead has been costly. The tide of war shifted in Russia’s favor over the winter as Ukraine fought with dwindling Western supplies. But Ukraine appears determined to hold on, deploying at least three marine brigades and several artillery units in the zone.

Breaking out from the bridgehead would allow Ukrainian forces to outflank Russian defensive lines and pave the way on the southeast front toward Crimea, territory that Russia annexed in 2014.

“That would radically change the situation in Ukraine’s favor and to Russia’s disadvantage,” says Mykola Bielieskov, research fellow at the Ukrainian National Institute for Strategic Studies. “That’s why Russians are so desperate to reduce this bridgehead to zero.”

Ukraine does not comment on combat losses. But the battle for the east bank of the Dnieper is widely perceived as one of the most costly of the war, due to the combination of difficult terrain, superior Russian firepower, and Moscow’s willingness to throw large numbers of soldiers into suicidal assaults that Ukrainian soldiers have dubbed “meat attacks.”

Mr. Bielieskov estimates that the Russians are devoting 15,000 to 20,000 troops to this part of the front line to keep up the pressure, twice as many soldiers as Ukraine has. While the defenders have not advanced, as planners had hoped, he considers their success in preserving the bridgehead a major achievement.

“We need to highlight the level of sacrifice and commitment of the Ukraine marine corps that is engaged in this kind of battle,” he says.

A dangerous crossing

In the unforgiving terrain of the Dnieper River’s east bank, evacuation is a perilous endeavor fraught with danger at every turn.

That’s how Ivan was wounded in April, ferrying fresh troops in and evacuating wounded soldiers from the east bank. The drone attack that almost took his life as he navigated the river’s treacherous waters under cover of night is a moment he recalls with chilling clarity.

On the riverbank behind him, buildings lay shattered and crumbling, their skeletal remains serving as a haunting testament to the ferocity of a war now in its third year. Amid the ruins, soldiers sheltered in the few surviving basements, their only sanctuary from the incessant barrage of artillery, Grad rockets, and drone attacks.

A badly wounded soldier lying on the boat guided Ivan as he steered away from the wreckage. Ivan himself had incurred shrapnel wounds. In the chaos of it all, a Russian drone, its ominous silhouette barely discernible against the darkened sky, zeroed in on the boat. “Jump!” yelled the recumbent soldier. That warning proved lifesaving.

“We were all wounded, but we were able to reach the other bank and get evacuated,” Ivan recounts, sitting at an outdoor café in Odesa’s picturesque port.

As veterans vividly describe, the landscape itself is a formidable adversary. Craters, debris, and uneven ground hinder every step. Most evacuations are carried out not by combat medics, but by fellow soldiers. Sometimes they carry their wounded comrades for over half a mile before reaching an evacuation point.

Why they fight

The marines know when they deploy that they are heading for a fierce battle.

“Fear and cold” is how Dima, a native of Zhytomyr, sums up his experience on that front. He was wounded in a grenade explosion in an earlier deployment.

“It’s the hardest place I have served,” he says, but he has resolved to push on no matter the cost. “The most important thing is that the enemy suffers huge losses there,” he adds.

Many of the soldiers serving in the marine corps had ordinary jobs not so long ago. Maksym, from Orikhiv, was a welder and was transferred to a brigade of marines after volunteering his welding services to the army. He was angling for a short leave in order to marry his partner.

“I worry about my children – that they will stay alive and not end up on their own,” says the father of three, sitting with his thoughts.

Andrii, a former construction worker who is now a marine combat medicine trainer, is also torn between duty and family, but finds solace in a morning text exchange with his son. The boy just turned 12 and was disappointed not to see his father for the celebration – a disappointment allayed with promises of wonderful gifts. Such moments of fleeting normality, and contact with home, help feed the marines’ resolve.

The cost of holding on against Russia on the Dnieper bridgehead is high. But the cost of defeat would be even higher.

“I don’t want my family to see the kinds of things that happen here,” says Andrii. “I want my son to grow up in a free country and never have to bear arms. That’s why I fight.”

Reporting for this story was supported by Oleksandr Naselenko.