In the former industrial hub of Kherson, buses are more than a means of getting from Point A to Point B – they are lifelines that tabulate the city’s resilience in the face of ongoing Russian drone attacks.
The city’s municipal transport company reports that since the war erupted, that same fleet has suffered 27 bombings this year alone, claiming three transport workers and leaving eight injured. “We’re being hunted every day,” says Anatoly Dmytrov, who drove Route 14 when a drone smashed through the bus’s windshield, shattering windows and splattering blood across the aisle.
Bus Mavcl trips on a crowded street, when a drone’s impact detonates in the cabin. The passengers, some too frightened to move, cling to the seats as stunted wind chimes toss shrapnel nearby. “Another drone hits right after – it’s a nightmare for everyone,” he says.
Even when idle, the transport company’s 30-vessel fleet is under threat because the Russians now employ fibre‑optic‑guidance drones that can’t be jamming‑blocked. “The detector ‘chuyka’ only alerts you to familiar frequency drones,” explains manager Rita Dulbinova. “It’s a useless threat from a new generation of unmanned aircraft.”
To mitigate risk, Kherson’s authorities have erected anti‑drone nets over the most frequented thoroughfares, provided drivers with bullet‑proof vests and helmets, and installed new radar‑based early‑warning units. Both drivers and passengers must evacuate to emergency shelters within legs of a drone strike.
“Every time we see the alarm, we’re expected to halt, open doors and guide people to the nearest shelter,” claims Eduard Zadorozhny. “Large ambulances that arrive to help us are still struck by drones doing what is now classified as a war crime under international law.”
Yet the drivers persist. “I don’t think about leaving. I’m born here, I live here, and I'm stuck here until the end,” says Maksym Dyak, who was once bitten by a shrapnel‑laden bomb that fractured a rib. “We are one of the few people delivering essential medication to pharmacies and hospitals. If we leave, nobody else will help them.”
The continued movement of buses across Kherson not only protects residents but also safeguards the city’s fragile environmental infrastructure. Nearly 300,000 people live in an area heavily damaged by war, as the city lies at the edge of the conflict’s front line, with Russian artillery and drone attacks inflicted from across the Dnipro River.
The war’s effect on the region’s economic and environmental health is huge. Damage to public‑transport reduces efficiency, increases dependency on private cars, and raises carbon emissions while the city’s green initiatives must go on to keep the local air quality and water supplies sustainable.
This story highlights how, amidst escalating warfare, the human element of resilient transportation maintains a line of hope for Kherson’s residents. In a world where environmental and humanitarian crises are intertwined, the decisions of one group of drivers are a powerful, if bittersweet, reminder that progress can thrive despite the most violent of disruptions.
The city’s municipal transport company reports that since the war erupted, that same fleet has suffered 27 bombings this year alone, claiming three transport workers and leaving eight injured. “We’re being hunted every day,” says Anatoly Dmytrov, who drove Route 14 when a drone smashed through the bus’s windshield, shattering windows and splattering blood across the aisle.
Bus Mavcl trips on a crowded street, when a drone’s impact detonates in the cabin. The passengers, some too frightened to move, cling to the seats as stunted wind chimes toss shrapnel nearby. “Another drone hits right after – it’s a nightmare for everyone,” he says.
Even when idle, the transport company’s 30-vessel fleet is under threat because the Russians now employ fibre‑optic‑guidance drones that can’t be jamming‑blocked. “The detector ‘chuyka’ only alerts you to familiar frequency drones,” explains manager Rita Dulbinova. “It’s a useless threat from a new generation of unmanned aircraft.”
To mitigate risk, Kherson’s authorities have erected anti‑drone nets over the most frequented thoroughfares, provided drivers with bullet‑proof vests and helmets, and installed new radar‑based early‑warning units. Both drivers and passengers must evacuate to emergency shelters within legs of a drone strike.
“Every time we see the alarm, we’re expected to halt, open doors and guide people to the nearest shelter,” claims Eduard Zadorozhny. “Large ambulances that arrive to help us are still struck by drones doing what is now classified as a war crime under international law.”
Yet the drivers persist. “I don’t think about leaving. I’m born here, I live here, and I'm stuck here until the end,” says Maksym Dyak, who was once bitten by a shrapnel‑laden bomb that fractured a rib. “We are one of the few people delivering essential medication to pharmacies and hospitals. If we leave, nobody else will help them.”
The continued movement of buses across Kherson not only protects residents but also safeguards the city’s fragile environmental infrastructure. Nearly 300,000 people live in an area heavily damaged by war, as the city lies at the edge of the conflict’s front line, with Russian artillery and drone attacks inflicted from across the Dnipro River.
The war’s effect on the region’s economic and environmental health is huge. Damage to public‑transport reduces efficiency, increases dependency on private cars, and raises carbon emissions while the city’s green initiatives must go on to keep the local air quality and water supplies sustainable.
This story highlights how, amidst escalating warfare, the human element of resilient transportation maintains a line of hope for Kherson’s residents. In a world where environmental and humanitarian crises are intertwined, the decisions of one group of drivers are a powerful, if bittersweet, reminder that progress can thrive despite the most violent of disruptions.
