How drone warfare is turning Kherson in Ukraine into an underground city

How drone warfare is turning Kherson in Ukraine into an underground city (File image)

• Kherson residents live under constant threat from Russian drone attacks
• Life in Kherson has moved underground, with schools and hospitals in bunkers
• Over 200 civilians killed and 2,000 wounded in drone strikes in the past year

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It was time to pick up her daughter from day care, but before stepping outside, Tanya Leshchenko did one more thing. Sitting on a bench in a corridor, she checked a local messaging group on her phone, scanning for warnings of incoming drones.

Sometimes the alerts are detailed. Sometimes they are starkly simple. One recent message read: “I hear a drone.”

On this afternoon, there was no warning. Leshchenko bundled her 5-year-old daughter into a winter coat and headed toward the bus stop. Even so, the danger did not feel distant.

“You can’t outrun a drone,” she said quietly. “That’s the scariest part.”

A city exposed to the sky

Kherson, a southern Ukrainian city of wide boulevards and 19th-century buildings, lives under constant threat from the air. Russian forces positioned across the Dnipro River regularly launch small quadcopter drones into the city, many adapted from commercial models and armed with grenades.

Every part of Kherson lies within range. Residents have learned to fear open spaces, intersections and even their own doorways. About 200 civilians have been killed and roughly 2,000 wounded in drone strikes over the past year, according to local authorities. Ukrainians have come to call the campaign a “human safari”, the New York Times reported.

Drone operators drop explosives on people walking to shops, tending gardens or waiting at bus stops. Rights groups say the scale and consistency of these attacks make Kherson one of the clearest examples in the world of drones being used systematically against civilians.

The United Nations has described the strikes as war crimes.

Life goes underground

With the sky unsafe, life has retreated below ground. Hospitals, government offices, maternity wards and even a theatre now operate from basements and bunkers. Schools are entirely online. Children attend dance and art classes in underground rooms that double as bomb shelters.

Playgrounds no longer exist above ground. In their place are subterranean activity centres, some fitted with sandboxes so children can still touch soil.

“Outside, you must hide anywhere you cannot see the sky,” said Daria, 11, who spent part of the summer ducking under trees when drones buzzed overhead.

Kherson’s population has shrunk from more than 280,000 before the war to about 65,000 today. Those who remain often say they have nowhere else to go.

Defences that are never enough

The city has tried to adapt. Along key roads, anti-drone nets stretch for miles, designed to snag drones before they can dive onto targets. Concrete shelters line sidewalks. A belt of jamming antennas has been erected near the river to disrupt drone signals.

Municipal workers carry handheld drone detectors that intercept the live video feeds from drones’ cameras. When the screen suddenly shows a magnified view of a street, a car or a person, it means the operator is locking in.

“If you see yourself on the screen, that’s very bad,” said one worker.

Even officials are not immune. Yaroslav Shanko, Kherson’s military-civilian administrator, recalled being chased by a drone while driving. His driver sped through narrow streets at more than 80 miles an hour, swerving sharply to break the drone’s line of sight.

“You need maximum speed and constant manoeuvring,” Shanko said. They escaped that time.

The injuries of a new kind of war

Doctors in Kherson say drone wounds now dominate their work. Shrapnel injuries, amputations and burns have become routine.

“We forgot about car accidents,” said Oleh Pinchuk, a surgeon. “This is what we treat now.”

Some patients later see footage of their own attacks online, posted by Russian forces from the drones’ onboard cameras. From hospital beds, they watch themselves growing larger in the frame as the drone descends.

Volodymyr Baiadarov, 53, lost a leg after stepping on a small mine dropped by a drone. Volodymyr Oleinichuk, a parking lot attendant, hid under a shed as a drone circled overhead. When he did not move, it dropped a grenade beside the foundation, spraying shrapnel beneath.

“The worst part is knowing someone is watching you,” Oleinichuk said. “It’s not a machine deciding. It’s a person.”

A warning for other wars

Human rights researchers say Kherson may be a preview of conflicts to come. Cheap drones have dramatically lowered the cost of targeting individuals with precision weapons, once the preserve of advanced militaries.

“These systems have democratized violence,” said Belkis Wille of Human Rights Watch. “What we’re seeing in Kherson could easily spread to other conflicts, or even criminal violence.”

Drones have already appeared in wars in Sudan and in gang conflicts in parts of Latin America. Kherson shows how quickly a city can become unliveable when such weapons are turned on civilians.

Endurance, not escape

Kherson’s history is marked by repeated trauma. Russian forces occupied the city for nine months early in the invasion, then withdrew under pressure in late 2022. Artillery fire followed. Drones came next.

Even so, many residents refuse to leave.

Leshchenko said her family has stayed because there is nowhere else to build a life. When she reached the bus stop that afternoon, she stepped into a concrete shelter and checked her phone again for drone alerts. Then she took her daughter’s hand and walked quickly home.

Every trip outside is a calculation. Every quiet moment feels temporary.

In Kherson, survival has become a daily act of vigilance — one that unfolds beneath the ground, under concrete, and always with an eye on the sky.