Kherson: A City Under Siege

 

Kherson stands eerily silent. The once-bustling main square is nearly deserted, with only a lone cyclist and an elderly woman, cane in hand, hurrying to a grocery store. Traffic is sparse, and life moves cautiously under the looming threat of war.

Just across the Dnipro River, Russian troops remain dangerously close—less than three miles away—while Ukrainian forces struggle to protect the civilians still living in the embattled city.

Daily Life Under Constant Threat

At the grocery store, makeshift wooden barriers cover shattered glass doors. Most shoppers are elderly men and women who quickly gather necessities before retreating to their homes, avoiding the open streets for too long.

Kherson was the first major Ukrainian city to fall in the early days of Russia’s invasion. When Ukrainian forces liberated it eight months later, crowds flooded the streets in celebration, draping themselves in blue and yellow flags, embracing soldiers, and honking car horns in triumph.

Today, the flags remain, fluttering from buildings and lampposts, but the joy is gone. The city is a shadow of its former self, scarred by years of relentless bombardment.

Drones: The New Weapon of Terror

Buildings still bear the wounds of war—shattered windows, crumbling facades, and debris scattered from previous attacks. Shells continue to explode in the distance, but a new terror dominates the city: drones.

“It’s impossible to explain how terrifying it is,” says Olena Vassilievna Shigareva. “They buzz overhead, unseen at first. Then, when you spot one, it stops—watching, following.”

Shigareva recounts how she and a friend were targeted by a drone while walking. Residents describe these attacks as a “safari,” where armed drones chase civilians, dropping explosives with chilling precision. Videos circulating on social media appear to confirm these disturbing tactics, with footage of drones pursuing unarmed people set to music.

“They could see we were women, not soldiers,” Shigareva says. “We did nothing to them. It’s just horror.”

Speaking from her hospital bed, she is being treated for shrapnel wounds and a knee injury sustained in the attack.

Hospitals Overwhelmed

Inside Kherson’s hospitals, the only signs of movement and activity come from exhausted medics rushing through the hallways, treating an influx of war casualties. The majority are civilians—victims of drone strikes.

Every available room is packed with patients. An elderly woman’s ankle has been pinned together. A teenage boy, Boris, was injured when his bus was hit. A man stares at the space where his legs used to be, both amputated above the thigh.

The city’s mayor, Roman Mrochko, works from an underground bunker to avoid drone attacks. He estimates that up to 100 drones are launched toward Kherson daily.

“A large number are suppressed by our jammers, but some still reach their targets,” he says. “The Russians send fresh drone units to Kherson, training by attacking civilians.”

International law considers targeting civilians and non-military infrastructure a war crime. Ukraine, along with its Western allies and international organizations, has repeatedly accused Russia of these deliberate attacks. Moscow, despite mounting evidence, denies these allegations.

A City Too Dangerous to Walk In

The outskirts of Kherson, more exposed to Russian positions, suffer the most from drone strikes. Residents there rarely step outside. Volunteers delivering food aid work quickly, knowing the risk.

In the early morning, the safest time to move, a truck arrives to distribute aid. Women emerge cautiously, bundled against the cold, collecting their boxes before hurrying back inside. No one lingers to talk.

Then, within minutes, the warning comes—drones have been launched from across the river. The aid workers scramble to pack up, abandoning undelivered supplies.

For the families still waiting, there is no choice but to go hungry or take the risk of stepping outside. In this ghost city, survival depends on knowing when to move and when to disappear.