‘Russians are just lying there, no one picks them up. They're only good for crows and foxes’ — Drone pilot working on contact line

People run at you with rifles: they think you're a spy

35-year-old Oleksandr Vovchenko is a squad commander in the control and artillery reconnaissance battery of the 59th Assault Brigade, part of the Unmanned Systems Forces.

By profession — a geodesist; in the last year before the invasion, he worked with industrial UAVs in semi-automatic mode: you set a mission, it flies, takes photos, you process them manually, and compile a terrain plan.

After the full-scale invasion, Oleksandr volunteered immediately — he knew his experience would be needed.

His 59th Brigade's permanent deployment point was in Haysyn. The barracks were packed. An incredible number of people wanted to go to war.

"There we went through minimal military training, but there were no drone instructors yet, no one was teaching," the soldier recalls. “So, to not waste time, I decided to train myself: I had my industrial drone with me. Flying on unit territory requires permission — such bureaucracy! We decided with the guys to go outside the perimeter, no permission needed. We took off a few times at the stadium when some kid runs up: 'Better land, because people with rifles are already running toward you.' Back then, everyone was on edge, constantly watching for saboteurs and spies. That's what the locals thought we were. Soldiers tied us up right away. Fortunately, they were from our unit and recognized us. They asked us to calm down because people were angry. A bit later command gave us tasks, but now, from my experience, I understand those flights were amateurish — kindergarten level.”

After Haysyn, fly trained at the military school Boryviter from Serhiy Prytula's Charitable Foundation.

"A week learning to fly Mavics (DJI Mavic — ed.). It's a small quadcopter, a type of drone commonly used in civilian life for filming weddings. Another week on the Matrice 300 RTK — a flagship industrial drone designed for complex tasks in inspections, mapping, search and rescue, patrolling, and detecting objects at long range. For example, in Mykolaiv Oblast we climbed to 500 meters — and could see Chornobayivka or even the outlines of Kherson, that's 30-50 kilometers. We could detect artillery firing positions 20 kilometers away."

Since 2023, Oleksandr has served exclusively in Donetsk Oblast, dropping explosives using DJI Mavic drones. The crew consists of a pilot and an engineer. The pilot handles all work with the controller and drone, the engineer — arming the payload, carrying the drone outside, checking the generator, internet on it.

Previously there was also a navigator working with coordinates. Now the pilot does that.

No one gets past us

What is the task of quadcopter pilots? Hold the contact line so the enemy does not pass. The front is divided into sectors; each crew has its own area of responsibility.

"No one gets past us," Fly says. "Enemies first push head-on, then with tricks: try to flank, seep through in small groups of two or three, look for weak spots, blind zones, go with artillery support and everything they have. We start finding and neutralizing each one from zero positions: the closest I was (I hear him stand up and measure on the map — ed.) — 660 meters. We push them (Russians — ed.) as far back as possible; they try to dig in at intermediate points to develop any intensity. We find them there too, kill them. Sometimes 100 in three days, sometimes 50 in two weeks.

We pull back those who remain to clusters— that could be a settlement. They think it's their rear there. And we hit them there too — fly in, and they hide in holes like mice."

The DJI Mavic can dive to a depth of seven and a half kilometers.

"For enemies to march those kilometers to our infantry gives Ukrainian troops a lot of head start to really hammer them with everything we have," Oleksandr clarifies.

How many crews and thus pilots are in his brigade is classified information. Two crews go to position, alternating every six hours. In a day they make about a hundred sorties.

Sometimes they get so close they hear enemy conversations and smell their odors.

"In May this year I spent almost a month on a position near one ravine they really wanted to take — really wanted. We bombed them hard: we recorded 430 KIAs and over 300 WIAs during that time. When the wind blew our way, the smell was tremendous — they all lie there, no one picks them up. They're only good for crows and foxes."

How to know an occupier is dead?

"Sometimes command asks: 'Is the enemy KIA or not?'" Fly recounts. "And I answer: 'When the death penalty was by electric chair, they still called a doctor to confirm death. From the board I can't feel if the enemy has a pulse or not.' If I see flies crawling on him later — oh, there it is."

First come first served

The hardest part of a pilot's job is finding a position where the enemy pilot will not detect you — because they will drop grenades and that will be the end of it. In fall-winter the task gets harder: no greenery, everything wet. No matter how careful you are, you leave tracks or a trail. There is also thermal cameras. If you hide the generator in a dugout, it gives off heat. And if it is zero degrees outside and +18 comes from the hideout, it is easy to detect at night.

"And then during the day the enemy pilot will fly to the coordinates, conduct recon, and no matter how you hide or camouflage — he will find you 100 percent. What to do? Work ahead: find them first," the soldier calmly dispels my worries.

In Oleksandr's practice there were cases when his hideout was detected:

"Serious Hollywood starts: KAB bombs fly near the position, enemy FPVs — maybe 20 in 15 minutes into the dugout. They do not let you out, and you have to think how to exit properly so everyone stays intact."

Every creature except birds leaves traces

I ask: how has the war changed over these years?

"The enemy improves, we improve. They outnumber us for now. In equipment, pilots, means, artillery, especially infantry. We have somewhat better quality, I think. And that is our advantage.

See, there was terrible weather, and a video spread of the enemy driving equipment into Pokrovsk. I could not imagine them doing that in clear weather. There would have been a wipeout right away."

Fly says the Russians constantly change movement tactics: sometimes at night because they got thermal capes and decided they became invisible. When Ukrainians figured out how to detect and destroy them, they started moving "in the gray" (an hour after sunrise and an hour before sunset), when visibility is worse. But for a skilled pilot, time does not matter.

Hunting experience — he was a hunter in civilian life — helps a lot: Oleksandr knows where an enemy soldier will run if he hears a drone overhead. He explains:

"The more savage the unit, the better trained it is, the more predictable its actions. Sometimes just by template: spin around, three rolls one way, three back. Hunting also helps track. I know every creature except birds leaves tracks. I also know where an occupier can pass, sit, hide. He will look for thicker bushes, narrower paths, a ravine. Animals do the same. The enemy will run, and I will already be waiting on his path.

Sometimes we intercept conversations: 'You go there, there will be a net, then climb the fence, tank ditch, and behind it a grove, after it turn right.' Okay, I fly in, client on site. Or: 'It is dark now, no one will think to switch to day camera, take a flashlight and shine ahead.' I am like: good. I fly, look where the flashlight is — all, hello. He won't get up anymore. There was this: I see a Russian jump into greenery (vegetation — ed.). Can't see him there. I'll try dropping into this bush. Boom — explosion. And he yells into the radio: 'I'm WIA, WIA, brothers, save me, it hurts. Drop on me, missed.' Aha, so another bush. Boom. Silence."

Sometimes Ukrainian pilots wait for comrades to come for a wounded enemy and drop on the whole group. Once they managed to wound someone important from command. Heard the order on the radio to retrieve him at any cost. And no matter how reluctant the Russians were to go, knowing death awaited, they had to. Our pilots hammered them, and after a while heard a desperate call on the radio: "No one returned, no one!"

For me, the positive is that enemy infantry and assault troops do not reach our infantry

I ask if Fly has awards.

"They don't skimp on awards for us," he laughs. "We have orders and medals. Once they brought us badges 'For 250 f***ers.' The commander joked we each needed five of those."

Drones need to be conserved. In ten days, they lose about three quadcopters. Sometimes, they have to go retrieve a drone that did not make it "home" because the battery ran out or there was strong wind. Even across mined fields. The guys risk it — losing a flying machine is a catastrophe because this model of Mavics they are used to is no longer produced.

Plane pilots give their birds tender names like swallows — they fly the same one. But drone pilots, whose birds do not live long, name them by characteristics: tilts to one side — "crooked," flies poorly — "dead."

Drones deliver water to infantry who are unable to move. Drones bring provisions, water, ammo, gasoline from base — even to the pilots themselves if they are on position long. They only drop not near the hideout, but 150 meters away. The operator quietly goes out at night and retrieves it.

Fly has observed various animals through the drone camera: hares, deer, boars, and foxes. Seen pigs, feral dogs, crows, and cats eating enemy corpses.

Oleksandr once used a drone to guide a brother-in-arms who got lost after a mission. Since drones have no microphones, the pilot was oriented by video: they described the guy to him. He thought Russians were taking him prisoner, threw away his phone on the way, followed the light. When the drone led him to our position, they asked his call sign, disarmed him, and checked. One of ours. And he went back for the phone and found it.

Fly recalls a few more inspiring stories from his experience:

"Once, my brother-in-arms and I were on the fifth floor of a building, and below was a dug anti-tank ditch. Big, deep. The enemy started using it as a tunnel to our positions. Russians ran into it and went along it, thinking it would protect them from artillery and shrapnel. And from the Mavic we could see this movement perfectly. Started picking them off, and they run like mice from one end to the other, unable to climb out. And we hammer hard. Already started wondering why they keep coming like idiots, they see their own lying on the path. But they climb and climb. That's how we worked against them day and night — laid down many."

Another time, in fog, the pilots flew into a "sea of enemies" who could not see further than 20 meters. Ukrainians took advantage: hammered them so hard they got into a frenzy.

Finally, I ask when Fly feels satisfied.

Without hesitation, he answers:

"When I stopped their movement. I know our guys will finish them off with various means further on. For me, the positive is that enemy infantry and assault troops didn't reach our infantry. Sometimes we pilots meet our soldiers, and they thank us: 'Guys, thanks, damn, you're awesome — I didn't see a single f***er during my shift.' Those are the best compliments. Because if a storm group reached ours, they'd have to fight close. And we didn't let that happen. That's awesome.

I'm glad I don't let the enemy onto my native land. That's exactly why I'm standing here."