Ukrainian frontline under constant Russian surveillance

On the outskirts of the small Ukrainian town of Velika Novosilka, the wooded avenue that used to wind towards the Russian positions is now a bare patch.

Dima, an infantryman from the 1st Separate Tank Brigade of the Ukrainian Army, moved cautiously. The spring clovers on the road were already lined with military boot marks. Behind the zero line (last ditch) in front of us, the Russian army is only 700 meters away.

Ukrainian troops sent further north than Bakhmut had to gradually fall back. But here in southern Donetsk province, Ukrainian tanks and infantry are still standing strong.

Despite vicious Russian attacks over several months, Dima said the brigade had lost less than 10 m of territory. And he said it was causing heavy losses to the Russian army.

The well-established wasteland is vulnerable to Russian outposts and surveillance drones. Russian forces on the front line are always watching and waiting for an opportunity to attack.

After going through the infantry trenches, you’ll see mud and bomb craters instead of clovers. Shells and unexploded mines cover the ground. The tops of the trees, which have lost their leaves since the winter, are now split and shattered. “There was a tank battle here recently,” said Dima. “We are driving the Russians out.”

In the trench, a soldier was digging very quietly through the soft, red earth. Shots from automatic weapons rang out in the wind from nearby villages.

“There was frequent fighting in the village. Sometimes whole villages were burnt down. They throw phosphorus (chemicals) or something,” said Dima. Standing over 193cm tall, Dima’s light blue eyes contrasted with the dark circles under her eyes, making them look brighter. An AK-47 was slung over his shoulder, and a spoon, a can opener, and small pliers hung from his body armor.

It’s dangerous outside the trenches. Even if you smoke, if you are careless for a moment, a mortar or grenade may fall nearby and you may lose your life. “We fire almost every day,” Dima pointed to Russian positions. Although recent casualties have been reported, they pale in comparison to Ukrainian losses in close combat at Bahmut.

Suddenly there was a noise overhead and a shell landing to our left. Six people ran for cover and fell to the ground. I couldn’t see Dima from my side, but someone shouted that Russian tanks were firing.

A second explosion erupted and covered the ground. It was closer this time. It felt like a distance of 3m. I went for cover and saw Dima standing in the trenches. Inside was a shelter covered with wood, and the four of us covered it. As Dima lit a cigarette, there was another explosion nearby.

“Russian shells are unlimited,” said Dima.

“Russian forces have the whole warehouse [포탄으로] fill it Shooting all day and you will not run out of shells. But we will run out of shells this year. That is why we are building various assault brigades. I got the tank and I think we’re going to win. Because we are Kazak people. I am brave. I can win.”

When the attack comes close, he explains that he hides in a trench and one soldier stands guard to look for enemy infantry and drones. Dima says she has learned to cope.

“I was scared the first time. The first time I was deployed. Now somehow the fear is gone. It’s hard as a rock. Well, I’m a little bit scared, though.”

Another shell landed close enough to knock Dima over. “He shoots well,” said Dima, shaking his head to shake off the dust.

Dima, 22, hails from the central industrial city of Kremenchuk. Before the war, he worked in a petrochemical factory. Like many other soldiers fighting here, Dima’s adult life was just beginning.

When asked how he connected with his family, he said, “I haven’t started a family yet. I only have a mother.” Dima calls home twice a day, in the morning and in the evening. “You don’t know, Mother. I won’t tell you everything,” said Dima, her voice growing softer.

There is disagreement among the soldiers about what the Russians are firing at. It could be tank fire, mortars, grenades exploding in Ukrainian positions, or a combination of the three. A bearded soldier twiddled his fingers as he entered the trenches, the front of his uniform dirty. A Russian drone was overhead. But I don’t know if it’s an armed drone or a reconnaissance drone. We have no choice but to wait until the bombardment stops or until it gets dark.

I left these soldiers a little after sunset. The tanks of the Brigade were firing back at the Russians. When I returned, new troops took up positions along the trenches. I cleared my mind in the fading light, remembering the anti-personnel pits everywhere on the road.

Ukrainian Bulat T64 tanks and artillery used in the brigade dominate the area. “The tanker is like the infantry’s older brother,” said the tank commander, Serhi, “When the infantry are hurt, the tank comes.

The 1st Separate Tank Brigade is considered the most decorated unit in the Army. The commander, Colonel Leonid Koda, is waiting for Western tanks to arrive, including the British ‘Challenger 2’. It has already sent troops to train German Leopard tanks.

He says that “the goals of the Red Army are completely different.”

“We want to protect our country, our territory and our families. Our motives are different. There is no way out for the Russians. The Russian leadership said they could not go back. To retreat would mean prison and execution. So they moved on. like a flock of sheep heading for the slaughterhouse. will do.”

In February, Russian forces tried to break through the front line at a distance of 30 km. It was a daring attack that endangered the rest of Donetsk, which had not yet been occupied. The advance was disastrous, with hundreds of Russians killed, dozens of tanks lost, and an armored brigade nearly destroyed.

Recalling an attack around the village of Brillither, 13 km away, one day in February, Colonel Leonid Korda described it as “a desperate attack”. As a result, the enemy brigade was almost destroyed.

“But recently we have started to change tactics.”

Most of the Donbas region remains a harsh landscape scarred by the fighting spirit of the industrial age. What you mostly see is a huge abandoned factory and piles of ore debris. However, the market town of Velika Novosicka, specially protected by Colonel Koda’s men, is different.

Before the war there was a modern school, a neat fire station and a three story nursery school. All of them are now deserted ruins.

An army driver driving a reporter to the village swerved to avoid a rocket embedded in the road. Another Russian shell landed in the nearby area, leaving a long cloud of dust in the gray sky. The small houses of the village went quickly out the window. It is broken now, but it was easy to guess how crowded it was before the war.

The population of about 10,000 has now shrunk to less than 200. One of the soldiers in the car said, “Right now, this place is full of rats, cats and dogs, and the animals this also hides from the shell.”

In one of the shelters I met the piano teacher Irina Babkina. He looked after the people left in the village. Irina, with her fiery red hair, decided to stay in the village quietly. Dozens of residents live in cold, damp shelters, and Irina looks after the elderly.

Fewer than 200 people remained in the village of Velika Novosilka, which used to have about 10,000 people. Irina Babkina, who teaches piano, is one of them.

Irina explains that what happened to the village is like “grief”. “It was a very beautiful place in the past,” he said. “Now the scenes are close to sadness. The sadness that the past is gone, the sadness you have to go through now.”

Russian bombs often increase that mountain of sorrow. In the underground shelter, a wood burning stove provides dim light and warmth. A voice was heard between them. Maria Vasilievna, 74, was sitting alone in bed.

Before introducing us, Irina whispered, “Grandma has a hard time talking. Her husband died recently from shrapnel.”

Maria grabbed the reporter’s hand and tried to melt it with her own two hands, saying, “My hands are cold.”

Maria’s husband, Sergey, 74, was very ill and could not come to the shelter, and stayed at home when a Russian bomb fell on his neighbour’s house.

Maria said in a soft voice.

“My husband was bleeding to death all night. I was here and he was at home. I went in the morning and he was already dead. And I buried him. That’s it.”

It happened a day after 54 years of marriage between the two couples.

Maria Vasilievna said her husband was so sick he couldn’t go to the shelter and he bled to death after a Russian bomb attack.

Irina led the village school. The lilac colored hallways were covered in debris, and the windows had long since been blown out by Russian bombs. The children’s jackets were still hanging on the hangers, and the homemade Christmas decorations were left on the shelves.

Above the sky-blue radiator hangs a group photo of the children’s football team celebrating their victory. There was a pool I often saw outside the window, and the nearby jungle gym was destroyed by artillery fire. The tail of an unexploded Russian rocket was sticking out of the asphalt of the playground.

Irina sat at the piano in the hall and played. But it didn’t sound good. The piano is too damaged. Now there is no music to play and no children to teach. The last of the children were removed from the village by the police last month and sent to safety. Among them was Irina’s daughter.

“All I hear is the sound of shells,” said Irina.

“The school collapsed and the instruments were broken, but that’s okay. When we rebuild the school, the music will resonate with the children’s laughter.”

This thought connects people firmly here, regardless of their civilian and military background. The determination to resist is an inexhaustible weapon in Ukraine’s arsenal, as vital to the country’s survival as any armored tank or infantry trench.