Armor shortages, blocked routes, and conscription risks – the challenges of evacuation under fire

Traveling from Kramatorsk to Kostiantynivka now takes 20 to 25 minutes – about 10 minutes faster than two months ago. Russian drones are already lurking in the skies as vehicles leave Druzhkivka: Orlan drones track cars, while smaller FPVs attack them on the move, either by dropping explosives or striking head-on. Sometimes people don’t manage to get out of their vehicles in time and are killed inside.

A blue Volkswagen, marked on the sides and roof as a humanitarian vehicle, speeds into the outskirts of Kostiantynivka. Proliska driver Vladyslav Yizhakov navigates at over 80 kilometers per hour from memory, having driven this route for several months.

The drone slowed down to get a clear look at its target.
It seemed to hesitate, but then it went for it.

Every day, Russians drop mines along this road, and sometimes ‘waiter’ drones lie dormant on the asphalt. During a single evacuation, volunteers can encounter up to ten of them at intersections. The danger isn’t just accidentally hitting one and triggering it – it’s also being targeted by a kamikaze attack. These drones strike within five seconds, flying straight at the windshield, leaving no time to evade. Above, enemy drones hover, ready to descend on vehicles at any moment. On November 8, Proliska volunteers Yevhen Tkachov and Oleh Tkachenko narrowly survived such an attack when an FPV drone struck their armored vehicle with an anti-tank warhead, piercing the front and exiting through the rear armored doors.

“Once a drone ‘shadowed’ us, flying straight at the windshield. We didn’t have time to stop. About five meters before impact, it veered upward and attacked the vehicle behind us. We were spared that time. This time, it was a precise strike. The drone slowed down to get a clear look at its target. It seemed to hesitate, but then it went for it. In those few seconds, we jumped out of the vehicle. If there had been people inside, the armor wouldn’t have saved them – the projectile pierced it,” explains Yevhen Tkachov, head of the humanitarian mission Proliska in the Donetsk region.

Even though Proliska’s Volkswagen is now riddled with holes, volunteers continue collecting evacuation requests. But the damaged vehicle isn’t their only challenge: each month, fewer and fewer people are willing to risk entering the “gray zone” for an evacuation run.

[Translator’s note: A gray zone is a contested area between opposing forces where neither side has full control.]

Military Recruitment Offices are detaining volunteers; few have exemptions or insurance

Today, roughly a dozen people still carry out evacuations from Kostiantynivka. Most are volunteers running missions without any protected status granting military exemption. Only a few have life insurance, and getting health coverage can take years of fighting for it. The risk of not making it back keeps many away. Others, those who are willing to take the risk, end up detained at checkpoints.

Several Proliska staff members received draft notices
while on evacuation runs and are now serving

At Proliska, only about 10% of the staff have official exemptions. Forced cancellations of evacuation missions have already happened: when volunteers are stopped at a checkpoint, they are taken by bus to the Military Recruitment Office, and their vehicles are impounded. The people they were evacuating then have to be picked up by other organizations.

“I was granted an exemption only a year ago. Several Proliska staff members received draft notices while on evacuation runs and are now serving. One volunteer from the Donetsk mission became a marine. Even drivers with disabilities are checked during evacuations. From time to time, surprises come up: someone turns out to have an outstanding warrant, someone else has to redo their medical commission because of an error in the app,” says Yevhen Tkachov.

One of the volunteers who was handling evacuations from the Kostiantynivka area has already been killed. Working alongside him was volunteer Bohdan Zuiakov, who explains that in order to take part in evacuations, he has to work at a job that provides a military exemption.

Bohdan spends his free time evacuating people from Kostiantynivka, using only the money he earns himself.

I cover the cost of getting people out. Right now, an international donor is providing money for fuel. But we don’t receive any compensation or salaries, even though this work is expensive. In my case, two evacuations have cost me the equivalent of two vehicles.

Each evacuation costs a volunteer 2 to 3 thousand hryvnias (roughly $55-$80) out of their own pocket

Bohdan Zuiakov evacuates people from the most dangerous areas of Donetsk using donated vehicles. He previously used a Ford he bought himself, but during an evacuation, it was hit by a Russian FPV strike. The car was repaired, but the cost was equivalent to the price of a new vehicle. Later, people he had evacuated from Chasiv Yar gifted him another car. Three months later, it broke down in Myroliubivka, just 3 to 4 kilometers from Russian positions, forcing him to abandon it. The next day, the vehicle was destroyed in a strike.

“Right now, we’re using a third vehicle, but we understand that the most important thing is to stay alive. The vehicles will come. Experience shows that everything you need will arrive if you’re doing the right work. That’s how I not only got cars, but also electronic warfare equipment and a drone analyzer,” says Zuiakov.

The vehicles used to evacuate people from the kill zone in Kostiantynivka don’t last long. Over the past two months, an armored van, the one destroyed by an FPV carrying an anti-tank projectile, evacuated up to a thousand residents from the most dangerous areas. The vehicle had originally been provided, already armored, by donors from the Czech Republic. In Ukraine, armoring a vehicle like this would cost between 300,000 and 500,000 hryvnias (roughly $5,500-$9,000).

Without its own armored vehicle, the Proliska mission took a car on its balance sheet and provides fuel vouchers. Until three years ago, volunteers had to cover fuel costs out of their own pockets. Now they still have to fund vehicle maintenance, oil changes, spare parts, the installation of electronic warfare equipment, and the purchase of new tires.

“Replacing punctured tires costs between 300 and 1,000 hryvnias (roughly $5-$18). On my last tire, which I had to discard, there were 17 patches – there was no room for an eighteenth. We also carry a powerful air compressor in the car to make it back to civilization”, explains the volunteer.

Black listed evacuations

Two-thirds of Kostiantynivka are so dangerous that neither the police nor the State Emergency Service enter them, even in armored vehicles, says Yevhen Tkachov. Evacuations from these areas are handled by Proliska, Bohdan Zuiakov’s team, and a small group of other volunteers. In the past, the risks were lower – the most dangerous zones were those the Russians shelled with mortars and artillery. Today, the entire city has effectively become a kill zone because of drones. And about 30% of all evacuation requests are for people who refuse to leave. Most often, these requests come from relatives of Kostiantynivka residents in the city’s most perilous districts. Simply reaching these locations is often a matter of luck.

“When I can guess how an evacuation will go, I ask in advance for a thousand dollars. If the people actually evacuate, I promise to return every penny. If they refuse, the money stays with the team for taking the risk… So far, no one has sent it,” the volunteer laughs.

As of today, the city administration has created a general chat for Kostiantynivka to record all evacuation requests. A “black list” has since taken shape there – addresses of those who refuse to leave.

“For example, we arrive for an evacuation, and the elderly woman sends us away – she doesn’t want to go anywhere. We record her refusal and send a video to her granddaughter. A few days later, the elderly woman stops answering the phone. The granddaughter calls everyone again, asking for her grandmother’s evacuation. They arrive – but she refuses. This happened sometimes five times before there was a shared chat,” explains Yevhen Tkachov.

Being placed on the “black list” means that volunteers will no longer go to that address. Only if there is a genuine evacuation request nearby might they stop and offer evacuation again.

Liudmyla Raiter, a resident of Kostiantynivka, left immediately when her neighborhood came under heavy artillery fire. She worried not only for herself but also for her dog, who began trembling from the shelling and barking so loudly that the whole building could hear him whenever drones buzzed overhead. For several days, she didn’t take him outside. During the evacuation, she left her apartment for the first time in a week.

“A chill ran through me in recent days as everything has been raining down here. This never happened before – this is how they ‘greet’ us now. They hear that we’re going”, Liudmyla Raiter nervously comments on the mortar fire.

According to the volunteer’s observations, only about 10% of the pre-war population remained in the town after the city fighting began. Currently, 5 to 6 thousand civilians live in Kostiantynivka, and a few thousand hope to evacuate to escape the cold and ongoing shelling. Children are among them – in October alone, Proliska evacuated about ten minors.

While the grandfather was pestering me, the grandmother led the granddaughter through the gardens to another basement. We had to involve the police and forcibly evacuate the child.

Some residents of Kostiantynivka still don’t understand that volunteers are not taxi drivers.

Meanwhile, private transport providers are making money evacuating people from Kostiantynivka. Renting a van to Kramatorsk costs 50,000 hryvnias (roughly $900), and people are given just one hour to load their belongings. A trip in a passenger car costs 5,000 hryvnias ($90) one way, although a few months ago it was only 800 hryvnias ($15). Sometimes people wait for hours for the transport to arrive. All appliances are brought out onto the street to ensure they can be loaded in time. Sometimes people wait six or seven hours, only to find that no one shows up. Scammers are common, since an advance payment for the risk must be made up front, and after the transaction, the drivers stop responding.

Yurii Vinhur, who submitted an evacuation request to Proliska, has only one bag with him. In it, he packed winter socks, sweatsuit and a sweater, documents, and a charger for his aged phone. He says he last charged it several weeks ago, back when there was still electricity at home.

“It doesn’t take me long to get ready. I don’t have anything worth taking”, Yurii explains.

Those waiting for evacuation through Proliska are allowed up to 3 bags per person, though sometimes people request that a refrigerator, washing machine, or microwave be taken as well.

We don’t want to evacuate people without a shirt on their backs. But we’ll still need to fit several more people from Kostiantynivka with their belongings into the vehicle. After that, people are put on trains or taken to shelters. Who will carry those washing machines and refrigerators? People don’t think about that.

During evacuations from Kostiantynivka, in which Frontliner reporters took part, six civilians were successfully evacuated. Three others, whose relatives had submitted evacuation requests, categorically refused to leave. Four more residents of Kostiantynivka, encountered by volunteers on the street, also refused evacuation despite repeated attempts to persuade them.

Some residents still don’t realize that the city will soon become a combat zone. When they finally decide to evacuate, it will either be at the volunteers’ own risk, or no one will be willing to risk their lives for those who “waited too long.”

Text: Alina Evych
Photos: Marharyta Fal

Adapted: Irena Zaburanna

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