Ukraine’s frontline cities filled with dread and defiance

In his new clothes store in the heart of Ukraine’s frontline city of Kramatorsk, Maksym Lysenko suddenly stops talking and listens. “There,” he says, leaning towards the window looking onto the street. “It’s going to dive. It’s going to drop.” Lysenko had heard the high-pitched whine of a Russian suicide drone. Moments later there is a loud explosion. “Boom! This is Kramatorsk!” he says with a smile. “This is Kramatorsk.” It’s the third attack witnessed by Reuters in less than an hour by Russian kamikaze drones terrorising the skies over one of Ukraine’s final bastions in the fiercely contested region of Donetsk. Thousands of unmanned aerial vehicles hover above more than 1,000 km (620 miles) of frontlines in Ukraine’s east and south at any one time, making even small infantry advances dangerous and costly.

The airborne threat extends to villages, towns and cities sucked into the strike zone, a belt of land 20 to 25 km either side of the front line where fast and nimble remote-controlled first-person view (FPV) drones and other models fly. As Russian troops grind westward in Donetsk, Kramatorsk is on edge. Some parts of the city are less than 20 km from Russian positions, and tens of thousands of people still living there must decide whether they want to stay. For Lysenko, 29, there is no question of leaving. He opened his Zaboy store on a pleasant, tree-lined street in June. Barely flinching at the explosions, soldiers and civilians browse the racks of T-shirts and sweat tops, or buy a coffee at the bar.

The bright lights, pristine white walls and background music would not be out of place in a store in New York or Paris. On the wall behind the payment desk is a board covered in insignia badges donated by military units. “All of the T-shirts have the message: that we must be free from occupying forces,” Lysenko says, sifting through his collection. “For us it is not just words, it is life.” On the main city square, street cleaners sweep up the debris from a drone blast that damaged a car. A covered market was also struck, causing damage and minor injuries. One shopkeeper, her face still covered in dust from the blast, stands at her counter, refusing to leave.

Reuters met up with three people who were in and around Kramatorsk and neighbouring Sloviansk for different reasons: Lysenko for his shop, a farmer whose land lies west of the two cities, and a 25-year-old woman returning to the places she knew as a teenager. “I started to feel like I have to be here, because I would not forgive myself if I failed to see this place if it was to be occupied at some point,” says the woman, Darka Harnyk, who works on the Energy Security Marshall Plan for Ukraine, which seeks to attract investment in energy infrastructure. She travelled to Kramatorsk from Kyiv by train.

“As soon as I came out of the train you could hear explosions, literally from the station. It’s a new reality,” she says, standing outside the boarded up “Vilna Khata” — or Free House — a community centre where she volunteered when she was 16.

All three of them rejected the idea of ceding territory to Russia in return for peace, as proposed by Russian President Vladimir Putin. His main territorial ambition is to control all of Donbas, comprising the Donetsk and Luhansk regions.

Russia has occupied virtually all of Luhansk and the Institute for the Study of War research group estimated that Ukraine only holds about 25% of Donetsk as of August 7.

Kramatorsk and Sloviansk, both cities of around 200,000 people before the war now barely half that size, lie on what some call the “fortress belt” and are among the only viable major settlements still standing in Putin’s way in Donetsk.

To the east lies Luhansk, south are the garrison towns of Kostiantynivka and Pokrovsk — all but surrounded by Russian forces — and looking west there are mostly villages and fields.

Those fields include land managed by Serhii Kurinnyi, 61, director of the KramAgroSvit agricultural group which includes a dairy plant and cattle farm. Kurinnyi, whose family has worked the land for generations, doesn’t think Putin would stop at Donbas if it were surrendered in a peace deal.

“If we make concessions and give up part of our territory, the hooligan state will occupy Kharkiv, Zaporizhzhia and Kherson regions,” he says, looking over farm machinery and fields leading to Russian positions beyond the horizon.

“And then they will say, ‘What about Odesa? ... So give us Odesa and Mykolaiv too’.”

Their views are widespread among Ukrainians. The Kyiv International Institute of Sociology said its latest opinion poll showed that 75% of Ukrainians categorically reject Russian proposals to end the war under which Kyiv would withdraw its troops from Donbas. At the same time, 62% of Ukrainians are ready to endure war as long as it takes, the poll conducted on September 2-14 showed, against 71% in May 2022 and 54% in March 2025. Only 18% expected peace this year.

The survey polled 1,023 respondents in territories controlled by Ukraine.

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky has flatly rejected Russia’s territorial demands. He wants a ceasefire, backed by security guarantees from international allies, with territory to be discussed later through diplomacy. The distance between the positions is wide, and Putin appears in no mood to back down. Kyiv is urging European partners, and especially US President Donald Trump, to impose tough new sanctions that may force the Kremlin to compromise.

But Trump has shied away from doing so. With little sign of the deadlock breaking, Sloviansk and Kramatorsk are slowly being dragged into greater peril. Some residents remain defiant. “There can be no doubt that Russian troops are getting closer, not far from the edge of town,” Lysenko says. “We have seen three attacks literally in the last half an hour, but it will definitely stay under the Ukrainian flag.”

Sloviansk and Kramatorsk have long been within easy range of Russian missiles, which are far more powerful than drones. The number of buildings reduced to rubble continues to mount. In Kramatorsk, fresh flowers sit outside a restaurant struck by a Russian missile in June, 2023 that killed at least 12 people including twin 14-year-old girls. The twisted metal and rubble remain untouched, and photos of the dead are on display. Nearby, a bus full of residents drives past the ruins of an apartment block destroyed by a missile this July.

What is changing now is the development and proliferation of drones, often cheaply made, capable of locking on to pre-set targets or being guided remotely. They carry payloads small and large, but all can be deadly. Both sides are racing to develop more effective jamming systems that scramble signals, while fibre-optic drones connected via fine cables that unspool in flight present a new menace precisely because they cannot be jammed. These tend to have a range of between 10 and 20 km, but are extending to 25 km and beyond, according to experts. All of this makes the skies above the cities less safe. It also complicates logistics, making roads in and out dangerous.