As Trump and Moscow align their vision, the battle to stabilize the Donetsk front rests on a knife edge

 

Amid the intensifying geopolitical turmoil, Ukrainian soldiers battling between order and chaos insist that the only way to halt Russia is on the battlefield.

DONETSK OBLAST – From a command post in an abandoned summer house, mortar battery commander Tymur "Babai" closely monitors nine video feeds, searching for enemy movement.

These are not ordinary work calls. Each screen displays live footage from a Ukrainian drone, scanning the battlefield for Russian targets. Some cameras capture the slanted tower and massive pulley of a nearby coal mine—a landmark of the region and a backdrop to relentless combat.

Just yesterday, drone operators from the 23rd Special Purpose Battalion of Ukraine’s Presidential Brigade targeted Russian infantry hiding in the mine’s buildings. Videos on Babai’s phone show the final moments of enemy soldiers, caught off guard as drones maneuvered through windows.

"It’s just meat, meat, meat," Babai says, describing Russian tactics. "They mobilize people, and within a week, they’re sitting in a trench. It’s a human conveyor belt—they’ll keep sending more."

According to him, these soldiers are untrained, not elite forces, but mere cannon fodder. "They hand them a rifle, tell them ‘Go there, those are your comrades,’ and they fire at anything that moves."

Rising beside a railway outside the village of Kotlyne, this small mine—one of many scattered across Donetsk Oblast—marks the frontier of Russia’s attempt to outflank the embattled city of Pokrovsk. After failing to break through Pokrovsk’s southern outskirts since September, Russian forces have shifted tactics, attempting a broad encirclement from both the west and east.

Each day, the offensive inches closer to a grim milestone: a potential Russian incursion into a new Ukrainian region. Open-source mapping shows Russian forces now within five kilometers of Dnipropetrovsk Oblast’s border, an area that has yet to see ground combat.

While Pokrovsk is not yet surrounded, the situation further south is significantly more precarious. Since the fall of Kurakhove in January, depleted Ukrainian brigades have clung to a shrinking pocket west of the city, encircled on three sides. By mid-February, that pocket collapsed, raising urgent questions about whether a stabilized front line could slow Russia’s offensive, even temporarily.

On the geopolitical stage, the last weeks of winter have cast ominous signs for Ukraine. Yet as global attention turns to U.S. President Donald Trump’s rhetoric echoing Moscow’s war narrative, Ukrainian troops continue the desperate fight to hold Donetsk Oblast.

The Kyiv Independent spent two weeks on the front lines in Pokrovsk and Kurakhove, speaking with infantry and artillery commanders, medics, and drone pilots. Despite describing intense combat and frequent Russian attacks, many reported a relative lull in late winter.

"When you look at the whole picture, you could say there’s a small operational pause," Finnish military analyst Emil Kastehelmi told the Kyiv Independent. "They’re keeping contact, making small advances, but large-scale offensives have slowed."

In a frost-covered treeline, three Ukrainian mortarmen work under the dim red glow of headlamps. They load 82mm shells into a century-old weapon, relying solely on coordinates relayed by Babai’s command post. Throughout the night, they fire a half-dozen rounds, hoping to disrupt the next Russian assault.

These positions lie less than two kilometers from entrenched Russian forces near Kotlyne and the coal mine. A week earlier, mortarman Artem "Rio" recalls, the situation was far more chaotic. "When we arrived, things were in disarray. We held our ground, but our flanks collapsed—we were nearly surrounded."

According to Babai, his unit’s brutal month outside Pokrovsk reflects systemic problems in Ukraine’s military organization. "When we got here, our battalion was already not combat-effective. We had fewer than 30 infantrymen left," he says.

"We were thrown into chaos—no established positions, no proper supply routes. Some of us were killed disembarking near trenches we thought were ours, but they were occupied by the enemy."

Command miscommunication and a severe manpower crisis only compound the chaos. Babai has had to make the agonizing decision to transfer his artillerymen into infantry roles. "High command sees 400 troops on the roster and assumes we’re combat-ready. They don’t check company assignments, realize there’s no infantry, and send us in any way."

The collapse of positions often leaves neighboring units dangerously exposed. Mortarmen like Rio’s crew risk getting caught in direct firefights, while infantry hold hastily dug defenses, often without relief rotations.

"A soldier might sit there for a week, two weeks, a month—until he’s wounded or someone returns from the hospital to replace him," Babai explains. "Under constant assault, guys hold out as long as they can, but eventually, we see desertions. These are fighters who repelled dozens of attacks, but their minds break."

With mid-February’s freezing temperatures, Russian offensives in Kotlyne have slowed, even allowing for successful Ukrainian counterattacks. Ukrainian troops recaptured Pishchane on Pokrovsk’s outskirts, while Babai’s sector saw assault battalions retake the coal mine.

"In the Pokrovsk sector, the initiative is shifting to us," says a Ukrainian Special Forces sniper. "They’re taking insane losses—I’ve never seen anything like it."

Babai believes Ukraine must capitalize on this moment to fortify its defenses. "If we can establish a solid line and push with infantry, we can halt their advances. We have mortars, UAVs, and strike drones—we just need a strong defense. Relying on Western partners is pointless."

Southwest of Pokrovsk, company commander Oleksandr "Willy" arrives at dusk with his team in an armored vehicle. He settles in front of a computer screen in a dugout, checking in with infantrymen stationed along the front.

"I hope it’s a quiet night," he says. "But their infantry might try to sneak up on us."

Willy’s unit belongs to the 14th National Guard Brigade, known as Chervona Kalyna (Red Viburnum), after the iconic Ukrainian folk song. Formed in 2023, the brigade fought in Zaporizhzhia’s counteroffensive before transferring to Pokrovsk’s defense later that year.

Despite constant attacks, Chervona Kalyna has held the same positions for months, aided by well-organized defenses and favorable terrain. But Willy notes that Russian forces relentlessly probe for weak spots. "If they find one, that’s when they bring in vehicles—from motorcycles to tanks."

Ukraine’s challenges in building fortifications have been well-documented. In Donetsk Oblast, rapid Russian advances and the proliferation of drones make excavation dangerous, while chaotic retreats leave defenses incomplete. Near Kurakhove, an otherwise formidable Ukrainian defensive line along the Vovcha River was rendered useless—built to face south, while Russia attacked from the east.

Further west, however, Dnipropetrovsk Oblast’s prepared fortifications offer a better chance to halt Russian advances. "There are better places to defend, new lines to retreat to," says Kastehelmi. "But if you don’t have enough troops to hold weak spots, the entire line collapses."

For Babai, the war will not be won through diplomacy, nor by Western intervention. "The global balance of power shifts here, on the battlefield," he says. "And we have to be the ones to tip the scale."

Back in his dugout, Willy has stopped paying attention to international politics. "I don’t watch the news anymore—it’s just too much," he admits. "I must protect my people, not listen to politicians."

"Three years in, I don’t care about negotiations anymore. Maybe once, I thought I’d be on a beach with my fiancée, planning a family. But now? I focus on the fight. That’s all that matters."