Andriy & Inna’s Frontline Diary
Frontliner Reporter Andriy Dubchak and his colleague Inna Varenytsia have traveled to the Donetsk region to document life in frontline towns and villages. They will visit Ukrainian military positions, speak with locals, and share photos and reports from their journey. Follow their diary on the Frontliner website.
Day Two: Lucky
Rented apartments near the front line are hardly different from any others, and the problems are much the same.
This time, we find ourselves without water, and it’s not a planned outage. In the morning, Andriy goes to buy milk and drinking water at the store in our own building, only to discover the store has been flooded, apparently by our rented apartment. Another day, another household repair was added to the list of tasks.
Outside, the temperature holds steady at 35 degrees Celsius. While negotiating upcoming work with military personnel, what else is there to do? Naturally, we head to the beach. The most popular, resort-style spot lies on a lake near Sloviansk, known for its salty water and healing mud.
Older residents apply mud to their elbows, knees and backs. I find a marshy puddle and stand in it for a while before entering the lake. The water is warm and salty enough to sting the skin. Visitors rinse off at several taps along the beach. At one, a toddler named Yesenia plays.
The Sloviansk beach is evolving, expanding with shops and rental stalls for inflatable mattresses. It even has a shelter of a concrete bunker.
A man walks near the shelter with a German shepherd. Pavlo, a soldier recently stationed in Kostyantynivka, took in the dog during the winter. She was pregnant, and the birth was difficult. Pavlo helped deliver the puppies. Of the ten born, one did not survive. Pavlo named the mother dog Lucky. She stays close to him, nuzzling gently.
Pavlo heads for a swim. Lucky avoids the salty water but keeps a watchful eye on her owner. Nearby, a young soldier trains on a sports field. His shoulders are covered with tattoos, from stylized images of death on his right arm to scenes of life on his left. He celebrates life openly, having survived mine injuries. Among the cartoonish depictions of smiling mines on his right arm, scars from shrapnel are visible.
Meanwhile, in another part of the region where the morning had been just as busy and peaceful, a massive FPV drone attack struck the market, post office and shops. Dobropillia, a logistics hub and center for people fleeing Pokrovsk and surrounding areas, was hit. That’s where we headed the next morning.
Day One: When will the war end?
Kyiv. Late morning in the capital. Andriy drives his dust-covered frontline car, roof rack loaded, and eases to a stop at a traffic light near Independence Square. Another car pulls up alongside. Behind the wheel, a bearded man in his forties leans out the window and calls over:
“Yo, brother, when will the war end?” the man asks.
I’m not sure what’s more startling in that moment – the tactlessness, the ignorance, or the indifference. This fracture in society isn’t new. It existed even when the war felt distant, confined to the East, to those whose lives were consumed by it during the early years of the war. But now, it cuts deeper. It triggers more sharply.
To truly grasp the reality of the front line, you have to go there. So we go. The last time I worked with Andriy was before the full-scale invasion, in what now feels like another life.
This time, instead of taking the usual highway to Donetsk region, Andriy opts for lesser-known backroads.
“I like discovering new routes,” he says. Yesterday, he fixed the car’s air conditioner, so I don’t protest. It’s 34°C outside. Our journey stretches in time, melting like Camembert in a Picasso painting. The rural roads of the Kharkiv region wind through fields of rye and sunflowers. The viewfinder jitters – these roads haven’t seen repairs in years. And as frontline experience shows, the closer you are to the fighting, the more logistics can cost lives.
But here, for now, there’s still a feeling of childhood summers and something like safety.
“Deer! Go back!” I shout to Andriy, and we turn around to try and photograph the small herd, though I’m not entirely sure they were deer. They had been basking in the sun among the wheat, but startled by our approach, they leap across the golden sea and disappeared into the treeline.
We share a simple dinner of carp soup by the shore of a lake where an elderly couple raises the fish. The warmth of the moment lingers as dusk falls. Soon, we are back on the road.
Flashes resembling fireworks burst above the road to the left, to the right, accompanied by explosions, tracer rounds streaking through the air, and pickups carrying mobile fire teams racing by.
We missed the alarm. Checking the news and reports, we learn Russian forces launched some 400 Shahed drones. About a third of them swept over the Kharkiv region, and the impact is clear.
Authors: Andriy Dubchak & Inna Varenytsia
