Anatoly Dmytrov was driving his bus on Route 14 in the southern city of Kherson when the bus was struck by a Russian drone. The bus was full and many passengers were standing in the aisle when, at a cross‑road, the drone descended and hit the vehicle. All the windows got smashed, Dmytrov said. Following the impact, he barely made it to a nearby shelter, where he saw blood on his face from the hail of shrapnel. He was shocked by the attack, and at least eight of his passengers were injured.
“Work here is no fun,” Dmytrov added, noting how bus operators have been seeing drones hover and scout vehicles, sometimes even line‑dropping bombs that penetrate the cabin roof. Kherson’s municipal transport company reports that attacks on its bus fleet have been ongoing since last year and appear to be increasing. In 2026 alone, three staff members have been killed, eight wounded, and twenty‑one public and private buses damaged.
Other drivers echo Dmytrov’s experience. Eduard Zadorozhny, who was traveling in a company van with colleagues on 3 May, was struck by a drone just as an ambulance had arrived to provide medical assistance. The attack on the ambulance further underscored the risks to first responders, highlighting the broader context of the war.
The city’s status remains contentious. Kherson is firmly under Ukrainian control but is also the administrative centre of one of the five republics Russia says constitutes a new “union” despite an ongoing southern conflict. The region remains under heavy Russian fire from across the Dnipro River, where airstrikes and drone attacks are frequent.
In response to the growing threat, Kherson authorities have tried to safeguard bus drivers and passengers. On main streets, anti‑drone nets protect pedestrians while a company‑issued bullet‑proof vest reaches some drivers. Each driver receives a helmet and a “chuyka”, a drone‑detector that announces the presence of a navigating drone via its known frequencies. The system can signal the approximate distance to the drone, but new drones that use fibre‑optic cables or covert frequencies evade detection.
The drivers themselves are motivated by the duty to deliver essential services to those who remain in Kherson. Maksym Dyak, who was also wounded by a drone strike, said he consciously decides not to leave: We need to get people to pharmacies and hospitals – children, elderly, everyone who stays here. No‑one else will do this. If we abandon the city, no one else will drive for our residents. He describes the work as a kind of “rat‑like cage”, where the threat from all sides feels constant.
Despite the dangers and the growing list of injuries, the drivers insist on continuing to serve the community. Their stories weave together the human cost of the conflict and the determination of civilians that remains amid the war’s escalation, raising questions about how force is wielded and how modern warfare affects ordinary lives across contested borders.
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“Work here is no fun,” Dmytrov added, noting how bus operators have been seeing drones hover and scout vehicles, sometimes even line‑dropping bombs that penetrate the cabin roof. Kherson’s municipal transport company reports that attacks on its bus fleet have been ongoing since last year and appear to be increasing. In 2026 alone, three staff members have been killed, eight wounded, and twenty‑one public and private buses damaged.
Other drivers echo Dmytrov’s experience. Eduard Zadorozhny, who was traveling in a company van with colleagues on 3 May, was struck by a drone just as an ambulance had arrived to provide medical assistance. The attack on the ambulance further underscored the risks to first responders, highlighting the broader context of the war.
The city’s status remains contentious. Kherson is firmly under Ukrainian control but is also the administrative centre of one of the five republics Russia says constitutes a new “union” despite an ongoing southern conflict. The region remains under heavy Russian fire from across the Dnipro River, where airstrikes and drone attacks are frequent.
In response to the growing threat, Kherson authorities have tried to safeguard bus drivers and passengers. On main streets, anti‑drone nets protect pedestrians while a company‑issued bullet‑proof vest reaches some drivers. Each driver receives a helmet and a “chuyka”, a drone‑detector that announces the presence of a navigating drone via its known frequencies. The system can signal the approximate distance to the drone, but new drones that use fibre‑optic cables or covert frequencies evade detection.
The drivers themselves are motivated by the duty to deliver essential services to those who remain in Kherson. Maksym Dyak, who was also wounded by a drone strike, said he consciously decides not to leave: We need to get people to pharmacies and hospitals – children, elderly, everyone who stays here. No‑one else will do this. If we abandon the city, no one else will drive for our residents. He describes the work as a kind of “rat‑like cage”, where the threat from all sides feels constant.
Despite the dangers and the growing list of injuries, the drivers insist on continuing to serve the community. Their stories weave together the human cost of the conflict and the determination of civilians that remains amid the war’s escalation, raising questions about how force is wielded and how modern warfare affects ordinary lives across contested borders.
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