“This is the most dangerous of all,” said Oleksandr, head of the medical unit of the 25th Brigade of the Ukrainian army.
We are in the treatment room of a cramped temporary field unit – the first place for the treatment of wounded soldiers.
“The Russian Federation is pushing hard. We couldn’t sustain forward. Whenever it moves forward, we move too.”
We are near Pokrovsk, a small mining town about 60 kilometers (37 miles) northwest of the regional capital, Donetsk.
The doctors told us that they had just treated 50 soldiers in one day – numbers rarely seen before during this war. The wounded are brought for treatment to this secret facility after dark, when there is less chance of being attacked by Russian armed drones.
Ukrainian soldiers were wounded in the fierce battle to defend Pokrovsk. A few months ago, this was considered a relatively safe place – home to around 60,000 people, its streets lined with restaurants, cafes and markets. Soldiers often came from the front to the city to rest.
Now, it feels like a ghost town. More than a third of its population has left.
Since Russia captured the town of Avdiivka in February, the pace of its advance in Donetsk region has accelerated. In early October, it captured the important city of Vuhledar.
The Ukrainian government agrees with the soldiers we meet on the ground, that the fighting around Pokrovsk is very intense.
“The Pokrovsk route leads the number of enemy attacks,” Kyiv said this week – saying that, in total, the Ukrainian Armed Forces have repelled about 150 “enemy” attacks in as many days over the past two weeks.
In the field wing, six miles from the front, army medic Tania takes the arm of Serhii, a soldier with a bloody bandage covering most of his face, and guides him to an examination room.
“His condition is critical,” said Tania.
Serhii has injuries to one of his eyes, his skull and brain. The doctors quickly cleaned his wounds and injected him with antibiotics.
Five more soldiers arrived soon after – not sure how they got their injuries. The mass of fire can be very heavy and sudden, their wounds may have been caused by mud or explosives dropped from drones.
“It’s dangerous here. It’s tough, mentally and physically. We are all tired, but we are facing the situation,” said Yuriy, the commander of all the group’s medical centers.
All the soldiers we see are injured at different times in the morning, but they only come in the evening, when it is safer.
Such delays can increase the risk of death and disability, we are told.
Another soldier, Taras, tied a tourniquet around his arm to stop the bleeding from the wound, but now – more than 10 hours later – his arm looks swollen and pale and can’t feel it. The doctor tells us that it may have to be cut off.
In the last 24 hours, two soldiers were brought dead.
What we see in the field section indicates the intensity of the battle for Pokrovsk – an important transportation center. The railroad crossing was regularly used to evacuate civilians from former cities to safe areas in Ukraine, and to transport military supplies.
Ukraine knows what is at stake here.
The threat of Russian drones is always there – one flew just outside the medical unit while we were there. It makes getting out of the front row very difficult. The windows of the building are placed high up so drones can’t look inside, but the minute anyone walks out the door, they’re in danger of being hit.
The drones are also a threat to the remaining citizens of Pokrovsk.
“We always hear them whispering – they stop and look in the windows,” said Viktoriia Vasylevska, 50, one of the remaining, war-weary residents. But even he has now agreed to be evicted from his home, on the city’s most dangerous eastern edge.
Surprised how far the front line has moved west towards Pokrovsk.
“Everything happened very quickly. Who knows what will happen here next. I’m running out of energy. I have a panic attack. I’m afraid of the night.”
Viktoriia says she has no money and will have to start her life somewhere else, but it’s too scary to stay here now.
“I want the war to end. There should be discussions. There is nothing left in the lands taken by Russia anyway. Everything has been destroyed and all the people have fled,” he said.
We find demoralization in many of the people we talk to – the grief of a hard war of more than two and a half years.
Most of Pokrovsk is now without power and water.
At the school, there is a line of people with empty cans waiting to use the public tap. They told us that a few days ago four taps were working, but now they are down to one.
As you drive through the streets, pockets of destruction can be seen, but the city has not been bombed like some of the hard fought ones.
We meet Larysa, 69, buying sacks of potatoes at one of the few food stalls still open in the closed central market.
“I’m afraid. I will not be able to live without sedatives,” he said. On his meager pension, he doesn’t think he can afford to rent somewhere else. “The government may take me to another place and shelter me for a while. But what about after that?”
Another shopper, 77-year-old Raisa cries. “You can’t go anywhere without money. So we just stay in our house and hope this goes away. “
Larysa thinks it’s time to negotiate with Russia – a sentiment that may have been unthinkable for many in Ukraine in the past. But at least here, near the front line, we found many to express themselves.
“Many of our boys are dying, many are injured. They sacrifice their lives, and this continues,” he said.
From a mattress on the floor of a pick-up van, 80-year-old Nadiia has no sympathy for the advancing Russian forces. “Hell this war! I will die,” he recounts. “Why [President] Putin wants more land? Doesn’t he have enough? He has killed many people.”
Nadia can’t walk. He was dragging himself around his house relying on the help of his neighbors. Only a few have stayed but because of the threat of bombings, they have decided to leave even though they don’t know where they are going.
But there are still people who haven’t left the city.
Among them are local people who are working to repair the infrastructure destroyed by the wars.
“I live on one of the streets near the front line. Everything burned in my house. “My neighbors died after their house was bombed,” said Vitaliy, as he and his colleagues tried to fix the electric lines.
“But I don’t think it’s right to abandon our men. We must fight until we win and Russia is punished for its crimes.”
His decision is not shared by 20-year-old Roman, whom he meets while repairing a damaged home.
“I don’t think that this place we are fighting for is suitable for people’s lives. Many of our soldiers have died. Young men who could have a future, wives and children. But they should have gone ahead.”
Early one morning, we drive towards the battlefield outside the city. Fields of dried sunflowers line the roadsides. There is no cover, so we drive at high speed to protect ourselves from the Russian drone attack.
We hear a loud explosion as we are close to the front line.
At a Ukrainian armory, Vadym fires a Soviet-era rifle. It makes a deafening noise and blows up dust and dried leaves on the ground. He runs to take shelter in a basement, keeping himself safe from Russian retaliation and waiting for links to the next Ukrainian strike.
“See [Russia] have more personnel and weapons. And they send their men to the battlefield as if they were fodder,” he said.
But he knows that if Pokrovsk falls, it will open the gateway to the Dnipro region – just 32 kilometers (20 miles) from Pokrovsk – and their job will be even more difficult.
“Yes, we are tired – and many of our men are dead and wounded – but we must fight, or the result will be a disaster.”
Additional reporting by Imogen Anderson, Anastasiia Levchenko, Volodymyr Lozhko, Sanjay Ganguly
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