[ "In Kherson, a city that still stands under Ukrainian control but lies amid heavy Russian military activity, bus drivers do more than just ferry passengers. They supply the only reliable means for locals to reach hospitals, pharmacies, and even a bathroom. That role now carries a heavy price – every route is a high‑risk corridor that Russian drones continually target.
Anatoly Dmytrov remembers the October 2025 incident on Route 14. His bus, packed with standing passengers, was struck at an intersection. All the windows shattered, and many of the commuters were wounded. We can still hear his voice, shaken yet resolute, describing how the attack felt like a second strike waiting to happen, and how he barely reached a shelter and escaped. He says the drones “hunt buses,” sending service cars into a daily firefight.
The Kherson municipal transport company’s data confirms the escalating danger. Since last year, the company reports three workers killed, eight injured, and 21 of its trolleybuses plus eight privately owned buses destroyed. In 2026 alone the authorities listed six more bus attacks.
To counter the threat, the city has erected anti‑drone nets over busy streets, issued helmets and bullet‑proof vests, and supplied drivers with “chuyka” – a pseudo‑radar device that alerts drivers when a drone is approaching on familiar frequencies. But the system is limited: drones that use fibre‑optic guidance or new frequencies slip past. One driver, Eduard Zadorozhny, recalls how after a patrol‑van was hit on 3 May, the rescue ambulance that arrived was struck next, bringing up a stark reminder that healthcare workers are also targeted.
Even with the risk constant, the drivers refuse to abandon their routes. Maksym Dyak, who was bundled back to the hospital last year after a drone hit fractured his rib and embedded shrapnel in his chest, says the city cannot function without them. “No one else will get the people to their pharmacies or hospitals,” he says. He visualises his job as a lifeline for children, the elderly, and anyone who still lives in Kherson.
The story underscores the stark reality for civilians. Kherson – a city of about 300,000 before the war – continues to be a double‑tenured frontline: under Ukrainian control yet heavily targeted from across the Dnipro River, where Russian forces maintain a frontline that returns nightly attacks.
In short, the bus drivers’ bravery is not just heroic; it’s a necessity. By staying on the road, they make the very possibility of daily life in Kherson a reality, even as the threat of a new drone or a combustible bomb remains forever looming." ]
Anatoly Dmytrov remembers the October 2025 incident on Route 14. His bus, packed with standing passengers, was struck at an intersection. All the windows shattered, and many of the commuters were wounded. We can still hear his voice, shaken yet resolute, describing how the attack felt like a second strike waiting to happen, and how he barely reached a shelter and escaped. He says the drones “hunt buses,” sending service cars into a daily firefight.
The Kherson municipal transport company’s data confirms the escalating danger. Since last year, the company reports three workers killed, eight injured, and 21 of its trolleybuses plus eight privately owned buses destroyed. In 2026 alone the authorities listed six more bus attacks.
To counter the threat, the city has erected anti‑drone nets over busy streets, issued helmets and bullet‑proof vests, and supplied drivers with “chuyka” – a pseudo‑radar device that alerts drivers when a drone is approaching on familiar frequencies. But the system is limited: drones that use fibre‑optic guidance or new frequencies slip past. One driver, Eduard Zadorozhny, recalls how after a patrol‑van was hit on 3 May, the rescue ambulance that arrived was struck next, bringing up a stark reminder that healthcare workers are also targeted.
Even with the risk constant, the drivers refuse to abandon their routes. Maksym Dyak, who was bundled back to the hospital last year after a drone hit fractured his rib and embedded shrapnel in his chest, says the city cannot function without them. “No one else will get the people to their pharmacies or hospitals,” he says. He visualises his job as a lifeline for children, the elderly, and anyone who still lives in Kherson.
The story underscores the stark reality for civilians. Kherson – a city of about 300,000 before the war – continues to be a double‑tenured frontline: under Ukrainian control yet heavily targeted from across the Dnipro River, where Russian forces maintain a frontline that returns nightly attacks.
In short, the bus drivers’ bravery is not just heroic; it’s a necessity. By staying on the road, they make the very possibility of daily life in Kherson a reality, even as the threat of a new drone or a combustible bomb remains forever looming." ]
