AVDIYIVKA, UKRAINE — In the industrial zone of Avdiyivka, known as the Promzona, Russia’s war on Ukraine is close-up and personal.
On other parts of the front, the two sides are hundreds of meters apart, and the fighting mainly takes the form of artillery duels, or long-range sniping. But in the Promzona, the sides are close enough to exchange insults along with small-arms fire.
Avdiyivka, a Ukrainian-controlled frontline city some 600 kilometers southeast of Kyiv that boasted a pre-war population of 35,000 people, is one of the war’s hot spots.
Here, the two armies are locked in a daily struggle for control of the industrial district on the city’s southern edge, which sits on strategic high ground. The Promzona has long been the scene of exhausting building-to-building urban war fought in enclosed areas, with blood spilled for every meter of territory lost or taken back from the enemy.
It is also a symbol of Ukraine’s tenacious resistance — the Promzona’s defenders are sometimes called “Promborgs” by their fellow soldiers — echoing the “cyborg” nickname given to the Ukrainian defenders of Donetsk airport.
The industrial zone consists of a single road, Yasinovsky Lane, flanked by industrial buildings, most of which are in ruins from nearly three years of relentless shelling by Grad rockets, high-caliber artillery, and mortars. The eastern end of the road is controlled by Russian-backed forces.
Among the buildings, trucks belonging to the businesses that used to operate here have been reduced to twisted hulks of rusting metal, nestled among shell craters.
The whole of the private housing sector just to the south of the Promzona was abandoned long ago — staying in the open here for too long is extremely dangerous, and the military prevent civilians from getting too close to the killing zone. Fighting has been going on here since the summer of 2014, and no one really knows how many lives have been lost on both sides.
A Ukrainian serviceman goes scouting in the Avdiyivka industrial zone on May 17. (Volodymyr Petrov)
Skeleton Position
Since November 2016, the industrial zone, along with other strategic points south of Avdiyivka, has been defended by combat units belonging to Ukraine’s 72nd Mechanized Brigade, nicknamed the “Black Brigade” for its fearsome record in combat.
The Ukrainian soldiers’ main defensive position is a former textile factory, now heavily damaged by shelling. Most of the roof has been torn away, and all that remains of it are rib-like steel support girders — so the soldiers call this place the Skeleton Position.
The factory floor is strewn metal roof parts, girders, and broken blocks of concrete support pillars. Amid the rubble, the soldiers have constructed a labyrinth of defensive walls and passages, using wooden ammunition crates, lumps of rubble, and sandbags, regularly dotted with firing points.
Just beyond the ruined building there is a line of trenches — the final frontier of Ukraine’s forces. Thirty meters beyond that, the notorious. Somali Battalion of Russian-backed fighters mans its forward machine-gun nests, their weapon muzzles pointed at Ukraine’s ruined factory fortress.
There, among the twisted metal and crumbling concrete, a gory, deadlocked battle has been waged for nearly three years, with no end in sight.
“Each and every day we’re shelled by 120-millimeter mortars,” says Gennadiy Sabdiyev, codename “Khan,” the commander of the company defending the Skeleton Position. “The militants also shoot at the roof blocks with heavy machine guns, hoping to hit soldiers with ricocheting bullets from above.”
Most of the remaining part of the building’s roof crashed to the factory floor in early May during a barrage of shelling by the enemy. The soldiers seem to sense their foes’ frustration.
“Recently, the militants started throwing three-man commando groups against us,” Khan goes on. “And we slay them immediately, right here, at the Skeleton. We don’t understand what’s going on — either they’ve gone nuts or they just don’t respect us anymore. Those weak infiltrating groups are all doomed to die here, with no exceptions.”
As he speaks, a walkie-talkie on his shoulder buzzes with short encoded reports from soldiers manning the nearest positions.
Overnight on May 17, the Skeleton Position was hit by tank fire, and then the Ukrainian defenders were hit by two big infantry assaults. Khan’s soldiers believe it was revenge for their earlier destruction of an enemy rocket-propelled grenade fire team.
“Our neighbors are now bitter at us,” the commander says.
A young soldier, Oleksandr, who refuses to give his full name and who goes by the nom-de-guerre “Psycho,” is well used to tank warfare.
“When a tank is engaged in combat, you can hear its engines roaring from two kilometers away in the dead of night,” he says. “And if you see a blast of fire on the horizon, get ready — a 125-millimeter tank shell is on its way to you.”
The two sides are so close they can shout at each other.
As per the rules of urban warfare, the Ukrainian defenders of the Promzona try to stay as close to the enemy as possible in order to prevent enemy artillery from targeting them. Even so, the Skeleton Position sometimes comes under fire from 122-millimeter self-propelled guns, and stray rounds hit the nearby positions of Russian-backed forces.
The fighting has become so routine for the men of the Black Brigade here, that peace seems unusual, even threatening. When it’s quiet, they wonder what the enemy is up to.
“It’s very hard to distinguish one day from another here,” says soldier Gennadiy Chernin, codename “Father.” “In fact, we’ve been stuck in here for many days. The same faces, the same fighting, the same tension happening every day. We’ve learned not to be afraid of the shooting — it’s the silence that’s really scary here.”
An older, robust man with a gray-stained beard, Chernin is heating up a small washbowl with rainwater over a fire — it’s the only way to have a good wash there.
“We don’t even know how much manpower our enemies have against us,” Chernin says. “On May 15, a dozen Chechen fighters reinforced that position beyond the Skeleton. Our snipers got a couple of them.”
“Take cover!”
The silence on the morning of May 17 did not last for long.
By midday, heavy shell blasts start shaking the factory’s walls. “Look out! 120-millimeter mortars!” soldiers shout. They immediately run to their shelters.
The blasts are so hard that the shockwaves can be felt through several walls. After several impacts, the Ukrainian mortars outside the building open up with return fire, and the factory floor rings to the rattling firing of assault rifles and machine guns.
Some of the soldiers off combat duty rest deep inside the building. Despite the sounds fighting, some of them sleep peacefully on the double bunk beds they have constructed from wooden planks.
“We usually sleep with our body armor on, and with our rifles in our hands,” Chernin says. “The action zone is just meters away, so we can be thrown into battle again any minute.”
“Let’s roll”
In a murky passageway next to the soldiers’ barracks, the company commander has set up his operations point, with a soft armchair and a TV set broadcasting Russian channels only. As the sounds of war outside gradually fade away, Khan puts his radio set on a coffee table next to a Kalashnikov assault rifle, and sinks back into his comfortable chair.
“Well, you guys know what a peaceful person I am. I’m even afraid of blood,” he says smiling, and his young soldiers laugh in the half-dark.
The fighting is over for now, and the soldiers’ minds are turning to food.
“A kitchen is the most important place at war,” says soldier Valery Fedan as he stands by a gas stove frying potatoes in a pan.
At the Promzona positions, the soldiers cook for themselves in small groups. As Fedan cooks, a couple of other soldiers sit at a table strewn with rifles and water bottles.
“Sometimes, some of us have to bring food to the guys in the frontline trenches,” Fedan says. “And as you do it, your main mission is to try not to drop hot fried potatoes when jumping in front of separatists — and not to get shot, of course.”
After eating, Fedan, Psycho and two other soldiers take their rifles and go straight to the line of fire — with loud jokes and laughing.
Their mission, for now, is to get to the forward trenches outside the Skeleton Position to reinforce their comrades-in-arms, who are containing enemy fire while the civilian journalists are in the Promzona.
“Let’s roll, fellas,” Oleksandr the “Psycho” says, pulling back the bolt of his gun.
With obscene battle cries, they run outside, along the right side of the building, towards the forward trenches.
“We haven’t had any casualties for a couple of weeks here,” says Chernin as he watches the four soldiers run off through the ruins. “And every day I pray to God to save those boys. They’re only 20 years old at most. I hate this war for ruining their lives for nothing.”
Soon, the silence is broken by the loud detonation of a hand grenade near the building — and a new firefight in the Avdiyivka industrial zone begins.
