This reporting was supported by the Pulitzer Center.
A pitch black bird smokes in the sky and glides into a field. It silently lands on the plowed soil and doesn't take off again.
"Sergeant, what is that? A Gerbera?" asks Tom, peering at the horizon. Tom has already fired about 50 rounds from a Browning mounted on the back of a Humvee.
"I don't know yet, but it looks like a Shahed," replies the commander of the mobile fire group, looking through binoculars at the black bird with a damaged wing.
Although this area is quite far from the front—about 30 kilometers from the line of contact—reconnaissance and strike drones still reach here. Gerberas, Zalas, Lancets, Molniyas, and Gerans are a constant presence in the region. Modified versions of these UAVs can carry FPV drones, acting as "mother drones." Fiber-optic reels for drones can easily reach 25 kilometers, and Russia produces them on a massive scale.
As a result, the "killzone," which was previously defined as a 15-kilometer radius from the front line, is expanding, and life in Donbas is relentlessly changing.
Indeed, this is now a "war of robots." Drones replace humans wherever possible. Heavy bombers deliver supplies to the front lines, and UGVsUnmanned ground vehicles. evacuate the wounded and deliver ammunition. But despite all the advantages of robots in war, no drone will work as it should without a human.
Suspilne spent two weeks in Donbas with various units of the Ukrainian Defense Forces—from drone crews delivering supplies to infantry to mobile fire groups shooting down Russian UAVs behind the lines. This is a report on how robots are changing not only the front but also daily life in the Pokrovsk, Kostiantynivka, and Novopavlivka directions.
All military personnel are referred to by their call signs only.
First and Foremost
Prince Vandal of Novgorod lies on a table in Moderator's workshop. Heavy and large, it's held together on a square yellow frame made on a 3D printer. This is a fiber-optic drone, mass-produced in Russian factories and supplied to units like Rubikon and Doomsday—some of the most effective and brutal combat structures of the Russian Ministry of Defense.
This "prince" won't fly anywhere already. It ended up on Moderator's table after trying to hit an FPV crew from the 68th Separate Jaeger Brigade's "Dovbush Hornets" drone battalion. Moderator is an engineer in the fiber-optic drone workshop. He used to moderate internet content, first on OnlyFansAn online platform specializing in adult-oriented (18+) content., then on streaming platforms. After mobilization, he went from a drone loader to a crew commander. When the fiber-optic workshop opened, Moderator began working with these drones. In 2025, it became a new challenge.
The Russians began using fiber optics much earlier than the Ukrainian army. Now, the number and activity of these drones are so high that getting a pilot to a position is a whole special operation. Fiber optics haven't replaced radio-controlled drones; they’ve simply added new challenges.
"Electronic Warfare (EW) doesn't work on them, and they can't be tracked like regular drones," Moderator explains. "If you have a receiver on the frequency the drone is flying, you can tune in and seeThis refers to the interception of a video signal from a drone, where it is. It’s not like that with fiber optics, so it can fly where a radio-controlled drone can't."
By the end of 2025, the journey to the position for FPV pilots looks like this: the crew sets out almost a day before their shift starts. Pilots drive to the safest possible point to unload equipment, ammunition, and personal belongings onto a small UGV. From there, they must go on foot.
For a civilian, a 5-12 kilometer walk takes three to four hours at most. For a soldier in full gear leading a loaded UGV through the killzone, the trek can take anywhere from a few hours to three days. You never know how long you'll have to sit in a shelter before the airspace is clear or even passable.
Given such difficult logistics, everything that reaches the positions must work perfectly. Imagine finally reaching your spot only to find your weapon won't fly—and no one is bringing you a new one.
With new technologies, problems happen often.
When the "Hornets" first got fiber-optic drones, they needed people to maintain them: solder fuses, make detonators, check every wire for exposure, and program the initiation system. This is what Moderator does.
"The first flight of our fiber-optic drone I remember was a 'holy s***, hello' moment," Moderator recalls. "Our pilot, Lyopa, found and hit two enemies hiding in a pipe. The guys knew where to fly. A Mavic had dropped a grenade nearby but couldn't reach inside the pipe. A radio-controlled drone couldn't fly in because of the low altitude. It was a target specifically for fiber optics. Lyopa flew in, saw the Russians, and said: 'Holy s***, hello.'"
Before every mission, Moderator gives each loader a special pencil for cleaning optical connectors. For the first few weeks, the pilots didn't understand what it was or why it was necessary. But a dirty connector can cause loss of control or a lost video feed. Moderator showed the soldiers under a microscope what happens to connectors if they aren't cleaned. Gradually, they learned.
"The most common request I get is: 'Moderator, what kind of s*** did you give us? It's not flying!'" people call from positions at 5 AM or 7 AM. "When they report a detonation on takeoff, I worry until they confirm everyone is okay. I'm responsible for the people working with the drones I give them," says Moderator. "First and foremost, I work for them, for our pilots."
And next—for those in front of the pilots. For the infantry.
Delivering the Present
"This was our car, this is a burned-out dugout, this is where a Russian was hiding, and this is our car again," says Lyutiy, the commander of the "Hornets," showing a gallery of burned-out pickups on his phone. In a short period, fourteen vehicles in his unit were destroyed by drone strikes in the Pokrovsk direction.
"We try not to drive to the positions anymore. But a drone operator's work requires the basics—not just the drones, also a Starlink module, a generator, an EcoFlow. To work effectively, they must always be connected. We have to protect them, and to know how, you have to feel what's happening yourself. That's why I go to set up positions, and our chief sergeant spent two weeks there. Even the company commander took a machine gun when entering Pokrovsk to be ready for a firefight. And a single pickup is not enough to set up a position."
Drone crews have taken on another task: delivering supplies to infantry positions. The life of an infantryman in a hole or a basement depends on whether a drone can reach them and whether the pilot can drop the package close enough for someone to safely retrieve it. The heavy bomber crews know this well, as some were infantrymen themselves.
"It’s not hard to guess what’s in these packages," says Kordon, a loader for the heavy bomber crew. Another loader, call sign Zyat, attaches a large package to a Nemesis drone.
The package likely contains power banks, gas canisters, cigarettes, and food, weighing about six kilograms. The Nemesis can lift up to twelve, so the team adds three bottles of water on top.
The pilot controls the Nemesis remotely, far from the killzone. This drone flies via satellite link, so it can be operated from virtually anywhere.
Meanwhile, soldiers Klapan and Molot are prepping another night bomber, the Perun. While the Nemesis delivers supplies, the Perun will work along the roads leading to Pokrovsk. Collector is flying the Perun tonight. While his comrades prep the drone, he waits in the basement, checking the flight path and navigation.
"Did you see that video of the enemies entering Pokrovsk? Like in 'Mad Max.' How did they do it? Simple—they drove in during the fog. Now we’re going to work on that road," says Collector.
Both the Nemesis and Perun were designed as bombers for high-value targets like armored vehicles or ammo depots. But with the creation of the killzone, they have the extra task of delivering supplies to infantry positions that may be cut off for months.
"When did the enemy drones become so numerous? Since Rubikon entered our sector," says Molot.
"I think it happened around August," Zyat adds.
"They have factories making these f***ing drones," Collector says. "They can send 200 FPVs a day against one small treeline just to control a road. On the Pokrovsk-Bilytske highway, 350 FPVs were flying in a single day over one 10-kilometer stretch."
"If the battery runs low, it just flies into the nearest house or car," Molot shrugs. "Or it falls in a field, and the next one takes off."
"Their drones are constantly improving," says Kordon. "In the last six months, you can see better cameras and longer flight ranges."
"And the quantity. They don't even fly toward specific targets anymore," Molot continues. "It’s just free patrolling."
"The killzone is already 20-30 kilometers wide, and soon it could reach 50Fiber-optic spools of this length are also already available.," Collector explains calmly. "The Russians don't have a drone problem; they have a logistics problem. By using Rubikon to cut our logistics, they saved themselves 10 kilometers. They can send their 'walkers'—one guy loaded with FPVs, another with batteries, a third with ammo. If our FPV hits one, the next guy takes his backpack and keeps going. If they take the high ground in the Donetsk region and set up antennas, their FPVs could reach as far as Pavlohrad. Bulochka, are you up?" Collector asks the Nemesis pilot.
"Yes, but try to load it a bit lighter next time, it’s flying heavy," Bulochka replies over the stream.
Collector takes the controls and sends the Perun after the Nemesis. From the street, a hum is heard, like a giant hornet has flown into the apartment.
"I'm flying. Let's hide in the clouds," Collector reports, lifting the drone above the thick monochrome mist.
The flight is quick—about forty minutes for both drones. Collector describes flying over the edge of Pokrovsk, a city that was accessible just a year ago.
The Nemesis returns. The package is delivered. The Perun will follow shortly. These are night drones, so in the morning, Zyat and Kordon prepare to leave the position to swap batteries and drop off the journalists.
They drive out in total darkness. The foggy weather makes it slightly safer, but the pickup first gets stuck in the mud, then starts skidding. As soon as the car leaves the most dangerous 10-kilometer zone, the smell of a burnt clutch fills the cabin. The car stops in the middle of the road and won't start again.
"That’s the second time," says Zyat, kicking a tire. "This time we’re lucky; we’re in 'relative safety.' If it died five kilometers earlier, we’d be walking and looking for cover. All the good cars were burned, so we have to drive this. But someone should be coming for us."
Rulya arrives to pick us up in a massive armored Humvee. Three soldiers attach the pickup to it with a cable. Rulya takes off, bypassing a loaded UGV slowly rolling toward the front line.
Through the tiny gaps in the windshield—hidden under a welded anti-drone cage—bright orange flashes appear on the horizon.
Four KABsGuided bombs. have fallen near Dobropillia.
"That's the f***ing northern lights," Rulya jokes.
The World of Robots in Kostiantynivka
A burgundy Lanos parks near a gate of an ordinary village house. A man and a woman step out and watch with curiosity as a Ratel-M UGV rolls slowly past. It carries two smaller UGVs, tires, and other equipment to test its capacity. The couple smiles as they watch the robot turn the corner.
"You have no idea what kind of crazy tasks this drone will have," says the 24-year-old UGV operator of the 28th Separate Mechanized Brigade, call sign Mazhor. This brigade is fighting in the Kostiantynivka direction.
Logistics in Kostiantynivka aren't just difficult—they are perilous. KABs fall daily, destroying what’s left of the houses. FPV drones cut off vehicle access, forcing people to dismount five or six kilometers before the city. Nets along the main roads hang in gray shreds. Houses have no roofs, and Russian sabotage groups are already being spotted on the city's outskirts.
Heavy bombers deliver packages, but they can't lift more than 15 kilograms and can't carry a person. These tasks fall to UGVs.
Mazhor attaches a camera to the drone. The Ratel-M can carry 300-400 kilograms. This specific robot is brand new. Theoretically, it will deliver supplies to positions unreachable by car and evacuate the wounded and the dead.
"It’s going to travel twenty kilometers one way, and we need to see if it can handle it," Mazhor explains.
Working with Mazhor is 25-year-old Akim. Not long ago, they were BMP-2A Soviet tracked infantry fighting vehicle (IFV). gunners.
"We switched from a big machine to a small one," Akim says. "The drone is delivered to positions near Kostiantynivka, loaded with supplies, and we control it from here in the workshop. It carries food, ammo, medicine—whatever they ask for. It can also be used as a medevac. It’s rare and dangerous because these UGVs don't have an armored capsule, just a platform. But we do it. We mostly try to use quad bikes for evacuations to a safe spot where medics can meet them."
Parked next to the large UGV are several smaller ones called Lynx. They can carry up to 150 kilograms, but the platform is much smaller. Still, Akim says it’s his favorite: easy to control, fast, and field-proven.
Some Lynxes are in the workshop for repairs after being hit by FPVs. Mechanical damage can disable them, but they are hard to hit and can hide if necessary. Once patched up, they return to service.
"Before, a pickup could drive into Kostiantynivka with EW, but now there are 'waiting' drones and fiber optics. EW doesn't save you, but a UGV saves lives. Even this small," Akim points to a Lynx, "we’ve evacuated people. They curl up on the platform and ride. One wounded man crawled for a week from his position—without a leg—just so we could pick him up. When there’s no other way, you do what you have to."
"Remember the 'road of life' to Bakhmut?" asks Luka, the commander. "In the BMP, six people would feel cramped. But when leaving positions, fourteen people would pack in and no one complained. Now, only one thing has changed. Now it's a war of drones."
Luka tells a story of loading a UGV with 200 kilograms of explosives and driving it into a building full of enemies. "The explosion was so powerful, everything was wiped out. Yes, UGVs are slow, but they aren't as loud as armor. We camouflage them. UGVs are consumables that we need more and more of. This isn't the war of 2022, 2023, or even 2024. Everything has completely changed."
Day of the Dead Grad
Svitlana leads five cows along a road on the border of the Donetsk and Dnipropetrovsk regions, under an anti-drone net. Two black, two spotted, and one small ginger cow. They walk slowly through the morning fog. Olive pickups, cargo trucks, and civilian cars slow down to let them pass, trying not to snag the net.
When a cow gets its horns tangled, Svitlana helps it break free. She smiles and mentions that all her cows are pregnant, meaning there will be calves by summer.
"If only all of this wouldn't get in the way," she sighs, nodding toward the nets.
By "all of this," she means the war. The nets appeared recently as the Pokrovsk and Kurakhove fronts expanded. Now, all roads are being shielded.
Nearby is a position for the "Highlands Predators" drone crew of the 59th Separate Motorized Infantry Brigade.
A soldier nicknamed Ivanych is loading an HF-1 wing drone. It looks like a plywood toy plane but can fly up to 50 kilometers. HF-1 first appeared in the Ukrainian army in January 2025. While it can't replace FPVs for small targets due to its price, it is highly effective against heavy armor.
The crew commander, Sanchez, gives a tour of the dugout. Two pairs of bunks and a long wooden table—the control center.
"Good morning, Vietnam!" Sanchez greets the stream in a Robin Williams voice. "Anything interesting for us today?"
On the wall is the crew's name: Los Muertos. Below the name are notches for every target hit.
"We are the crew that first encountered FPVs in impossible places," Sanchez says. "In 2023, an FPV hit us eight kilometers from the front. People didn't believe us back then; they said it was impossible."
Sanchez shows a screen where a Mavic flies over lakes, searching for targets. The killzone works both ways: while the Ukrainian army struggles to move armor, the Russians face the same problem. As soon as something larger than a motorcycle appears, everything flies at it. When they spot a Russian Grad rocket launcher entering a treeline, Los Muertos prep for takeoff.
"Our sector has intense frequency suppression now; it's hard to find a working one," Sanchez explains. "Plus, they are shooting down our drones. Rubikon came in and just overwhelmed us. We weren't ready. The killzones are growing. In Russia, the state handles the technology, not volunteers. Now they are showering us with MolniyasA Russian kamikaze drone used for striking long-range targets in the rear, slightly smaller than a Shahed.. An FPV was sound in the village next to Pavlohrad already"
The navigator, Kremen, notes that Russians are testing "mother drones" that carry FPVs to increase their range. "When those go into mass production, the killzone will expand even further."
Ivanych had prepared the winged drone for flight well in advance, charging and calibrating it. As he checks the connectors, he touches the damp earth with his fingers, grounding the static electricity into the soil. Working alongside him is Kuba. They mount the small plane onto a mini-catapult, and when Sanchez gives the command, the catapult fires. The wing glides over a field of black, frozen sunflowers.
"This is where the MLRS drove into the bushes and stopped," Kremen explains. "I wish we could see it a bit better. It looks like an FPV tried to hit it, but I don't know if it worked."
How did a Grad manage to enter the killzone? The answer is simple: likely under the cover of fog. Consequently, spotting such a launcher is also difficult. But once it’s spotted, the sequence begins: "Shot," "two quick onesFPV drones,," "another quick one," "shot’s away"—and it continues until the stream echoes with "Impact."
"The target is right below you, just dip," Kremen tells Sanchez, who tilts the drone. The plane "disappears" from the screen.
"Command, we hit the target. But there was no stream; the Mavic [reconnaissance drone] was looking the wrong way," Sanchez reports into the radio. "Ivanych cooked up a warhead so heavy there should’ve been a radioactive blast."
While the pilots confirm the hit, Ivanych smiles with satisfaction and heads back up to prep the next plane.
Browning vs. Geran
Gerberas and Gerans appeared in the Dnipropetrovsk region in late summer 2025—and we’re not talking about flowers. These are Russian UAVs, cheaper alternatives to the Iranian Shaheds.
One Gerbera lies on the porch of the house where the mobile fire group of the 59th Separate Motorized Infantry Brigade lives. Its wing is crumbling into foam; the body is made of plywood. In September alone, this single group shot down 18 of these drones.
The difference between a Gerbera and a Geran-2 is that the former has a smaller warhead but carries a camera—meaning there is a human on the other end. The Geran-2 has a larger warhead but flies by pre-set coordinatesApproximately a week after the events described in this report, the deployment of what appeared to be a manually controlled Geran-2 UAV was recorded. The drone attacked a mobile fire group in the Chernihiv region, abruptly changing its trajectory—a move untypical for such drone models. It was equipped with a Mesh system, which allowed it to be steered manually during flight.. Sometimes a Gerbera carries no explosives at all, used only for reconnaissance. The Geran-2 has a wider wingspan, is heavier, carries significantly more explosives, and flies faster and higher.
"We mostly shoot down Gerberas because Gerans are hard for us to reach," explains the mobile fire group commander, call sign Topik. "They hunt for equipment and vehicles, carrying fragmentation charges. Often, the Gerbera's job is to exhaust air defenses. If there are many of them flying for several days and getting shot down, they might abruptly change direction the following nights. They use them to harass the air defense. We might sleep only an hour or two a day because if it’s flying, we’re obligated to react. But whether it reaches us or not, no one knows. Personally, I don’t care where it’s headed. I don’t think about it. My main goal is to take it down."
At the alarm, a driver called Lebid quickly starts the Humvee. Tom jumps onto the back, where a Browning is mounted. Topik slides into the back seat and directs the driver toward the intercept point. It’s freezing in the car; this Humvee was not built for a Ukrainian November.
"See what’s written on it? 'US Marine Corps,'" Lebid says. "This is a desert machine."
As the vehicle moves, the thick fog is pierced by flashes of red and blue lasers, looking like something out of Star Wars. Air defense units use them to track targets in the sky. A deafening explosion and a flash erupt from the side—someone has already grounded a drone.
"Have you ever heard an FPV drone flying nearby?" Topik asks as the car comes to a halt. "If you hear a similar sound, but two or three times louder, run as far from the car as you can. Preferably in different directions."
Lebid flips on the blue laser. In the darkness, he peers through a thermal imager. Tom points the Browning at the sky, and when the drone's hum grows so close it feels like it’s right overhead, he lets out a burst. Spent brass casings clatter against the truck bed. The drone explodes in the sky and falls slowly into the field.
"You hear that?" Tom calls out.
"And saw it, too!"
Tom calmly swings the Browning the other way. The sky begins to clear as dawn breaks over the Dnipropetrovsk region. Another pitch-black bird hums over the horizon. Tom fires a few more bursts. The bird starts smoking, then glides down onto the plowed soil, sending a flock of real birds scattering into the air.
"Sergeant, what’s that? A Gerbera?" Tom asks.
"Not sure yet—but it looks like a Shahed," Topik replies.
The Geran-2 lies in the field, less than a kilometer from the soldiers' position. It’s unclear why it didn't explode from the gunfire or the impact. Most likely, its guidance system was damaged, and it simply landed. Topik reports the incident in a group chat; capturing an intact drone is a prime opportunity for study.
"They say we’re the best," Topik says.
"Well, we already knew that," Tom grins. He grabs an energy drink from the cab, takes a swig, and adds, "That’s how it goes: either they get us, or we get them."
Yura and Molodyi arrive to retrieve the Geran. They drive their car out into the field, the wet earth clinging to tires and boots. The drone vibrates slightly, humming. But once Yura finishes disarming it, the nearly 200-kilogram robot—defeated by ordinary Ukrainian soldiers with a Browning—goes helpless and silent.
"No camera?" Topik asks.
"No, these fly by coordinates," Yura explains. He opens his car to show the deactivated warhead. "But look at this piece of work. Fifty kilograms of high explosives."
"Big bastard. Through the sights, it looked like a matchbox," Tom says.
It takes six men to lift the Geran-2 onto a trailer marked with the sign "NO TURN LIGHTS." The weight of the drone presses the car down into the mud. They hitch it to the Humvee for a tow, and the procession pulls onto the road. They unhook the car with the drone and part ways. The drone will be taken to a workshop to be stripped and analyzed. Meanwhile, the mobile fire group heads back to work; a Lancet is reportedly circling nearby.
The air raid alert is not over yet.
Translated from Ukrainian by Anton Semyzhenko.
This report was produced with the support of the International Insurance Fund for Journalists from the Association of Independent Regional Publishers of Ukraine, which is part of the Voices of Ukraine support program coordinated by the European Centre for Press and Media Freedom. Voices of Ukraine is implemented as part of the Hannah-Arendt-Initiative and is funded by the German Federal Foreign Office. The program provides insurance for journalists but doesn't influence editorial policy; this material contains exclusively the views and information obtained by the editorial office.