The orders started coming in at around 7:30 on a Thursday morning — ordinary shopping lists under extraordinary conditions.
Smoked bacon. Oatmeal cookies. Mayonnaise. Mashed potatoes.
“Copy that,” radioed the commander.
These aren’t typical grocery orders; they’re vital requests from Ukrainian soldiers entrenched in frontline bunkers and trenches, soon to be delivered by drone. Ukraine has adapted its use of drones dramatically. While often associated with destruction, these unmanned aircraft are now critical for humanitarian aid.
“We try to make it a bit nicer for them, to lift their spirits, so they don’t feel too down out there,” said a soldier with the call sign Lesyk, who meticulously packs these parcels in the eastern Dnipro region.
“Even small things matter,” he added.
On the battlefield, constant drone surveillance makes conventional supply routes incredibly dangerous. Ukrainian forces have innovated, using unmanned aircraft to deliver essentials like water, power banks, and other vital items, often under the cloak of night.
A significant portion of this delivery work is carried out by robust Ukrainian-made Vampire drones. These versatile aircraft can seamlessly transition from combat missions to delivering comfort items. They are built to withstand harsh weather conditions and are reportedly more resistant to enemy fire. The Russians have dubbed these drones “Baba Yaga” after a fearsome witch, but Ukrainian soldiers, when receiving treats, affectionately call them “mama drones.”
Cigarettes. Wet wipes. Coffee. Shawarma. Even a chocolate hazelnut birthday cake. Lesyk’s unit, the Da Vinci Wolves, strives for daily, same-day delivery—a service level that would impress even major e-commerce giants.
A 22-year-old soldier, Zhurba, (like others, identified only by his call sign due to military protocol), handles the daily shopping based on radioed lists. He brings the provisions to a small room that functions as a pantry and packing hub.
On a recent morning, Lesyk, 29, stood amidst five waist-height canvas bags, markers, and more empty sacks. A whiteboard above him displayed the frontline positions and their unique requests. He laughed when told his work was like “Santa Claus,” a notion he admitted could be true with a tired twinkle in his eyes. His hands moved continuously, adding loaves of bread and cans of Red Bull to bags, then wiping completed requests from the whiteboard. Having recently recovered from a frontline injury, Lesyk deeply understands the morale boost “something nice” can bring to soldiers in forward positions. “You can’t sit there on dry rations for long,” he noted, as he tossed onions into a bag.
During winter, moisture from snow limits parcel weight to about 10 kilograms (22 pounds). If a bag is underweight, Lesyk fills it with Camel cigarettes and wrapped candies. He cherishes moments when returning soldiers thank him, saying, “so it was you who kept sending us sweets.”
Careful packaging is crucial for drone drops. Liquids are secured to prevent explosions, and delicate items like clementines find refuge in Pringles cans, while sandwiches and cabbage rolls are cushioned in takeout containers with extra plastic.
This entire delivery operation is a meticulously orchestrated logistical ballet. Parcels are packed and loaded into a car by noon, then rushed to larger trucks. These trucks navigate anti-drone nets to reach forward positions, where unmanned ground vehicles then ferry the packages to the Vampire drone pilots.
On the front lines, the distinct buzzing sound of a Vampire drone brings relief and even “glee” to Ukrainian troops, rather than fear. “The guys can tell the drones apart by sound,” Lesyk affirmed. “The enemy doesn’t fly these.” Around 7 PM on a recent evening, Vampires launched into the darkness. Their cameras transmitted night-vision views, showing small red lights on the ground – beacons for the drop zones. A white parcel tumbled down, and a soldier quickly emerged to retrieve it. “Thanks for the gifts, really nice of you,” came a voice over the radio. The command post warmly replied, “Roger that. Love ya.”
Soon after, the next day’s orders began to flow in: Water. Apples. Newspaper. Crushed buckwheat. Instant noodles. Sugar. Condensed milk. Loose-leaf tea. Toilet paper. Onions. And “Hand warmers — lots.” Again, the commander radioed back, “Copy that.”