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Scrubby foliage conceal the entrance. One descending wooden tunnel descends to a well-illuminated reception area. There is a surgery unit, outfitted with beds, heart rate sensors and breathing machines. Plus cabinets stocked of healthcare supplies, medications and neat piles of extra garments. In a staff room with a laundry appliance and kettle, physicians keep an eye on a display. The screen reveals the movements of Russian spy drones as they zigzag in the sky above.

Medical personnel at an underground hospital observe a monitor showing Russian kamikaze and surveillance UAVs in the region.

This is Ukraine’s covert underground hospital. The facility began operations in the eighth month and is the second of its kind, situated in the eastern part of the country not far from the frontline and the city of a key location in the Donetsk region. “We are 6 metres under the earth. It’s the safest method of delivering care to our injured soldiers. And it keeps healthcare workers protected,” said the clinic’s lead doctor, Major the chief surgeon.

This medical station treats 30-40 patients a each day. Their conditions vary. Certain individuals suffer from catastrophic leg injuries requiring surgical removal, or serious abdominal injuries. Some patients can walk. The vast majority are the victims of enemy FPV aerial devices, which release explosives with deadly accuracy. “Ninety per cent of our patients are from first-person view drones. We encounter few bullet injuries. It’s an era of drones and a new type of war,” the surgeon explained.

Maj the senior surgeon at the subterranean facility for caring for wounded soldiers in eastern Ukraine.

During one day recently, three military members walked with difficulty into the facility. The most lightly injured, 28-year-old one soldier, reported an first-person view drone blast had torn a minor wound in his limb. “Conflict is terrible. My comrade beside me, a fellow soldier, was fatally wounded,” he said. “He collapsed. Then the Russians dropped a another grenade on him.” He added: “Everything in the village is demolished. We see drones all around and bodies. Our side's and theirs.”

Dvorskyi explained his squad spent over a month in a forest area near the city, which Russia has been trying to seize since last year. The only way to get to their position was by walking. Necessary provisions arrived by quadcopter: food and water. Seven days following he was hurt, he walked five kilometers (about 3 miles), requiring three hours, to a point where an armoured vehicle was able to pick him up. Upon arrival, a medical staff assessed his physical condition. Following care, a medical attendant provided him with fresh non-military attire: a T-shirt and a pair of light-colored denim trousers.

Artem Dvorskiy, twenty-eight, stated a FPV aerial device ripped a small hole in his lower limb.

Another patient, thirty-eight-year-old Pavlo Filipchuk, said a drone blast had resulted in a head injury. “My position was in a dugout. Suddenly it became black. I couldn’t feel anything or hear anything,” he said. “I believe I was lucky to survive. My cousin has been killed. We face ongoing detonations.” A builder employed in a neighboring country, he said he had come back to his homeland and volunteered to serve shortly before the Russian leader's large-scale attack in early 2022.

Another military member, a serviceman, had been struck in the back. He groaned as doctors laid him on a medical cot, took off a bloody dressing and treated his recent injury from fragments. Covered in a thermal sheet, he used a mobile phone to ring his family member. “A piece of mortar hit me. It was a deflected projectile. My condition is stable,” he told her. What were his plans now? “To get better. This may require a several months. After that, to return to my unit. Someone must protect our country,” he said.

Doctors care for Taras Mykolaichuk, who was injured in the dorsal area by a piece of artillery shell.

Since 2022, Russia has consistently targeted hospitals, health facilities, maternity wards and emergency vehicles. Per international monitors, over two hundred medical personnel have been killed in nearly two thousand assaults. The underground facility is constructed from multiple steel bunkers, with wooden supports, soil and granular material placed above reaching the surface. It is designed to resist direct hits from 152mm artillery shells and even multiple 8kg explosive devices dropped by aerial means.

The Ukrainian industrial group, which financed the building, intends to erect 20 facilities in all. The head of Ukraine’s security agency and former defence minister, the official, declared they would be “critically essential for preserving the survival of our military and supporting troops on the frontline.” The company referred to the project as the “largest-scale and demanding” it had undertaken after the enemy's military offensive.

An example of the centre’s operating theatres.

Holovashchenko, said certain wounded soldiers had to endure delays many hours or even multiple days before they could be transported due to the threat of aerial attacks. “We had a pair of severely injured patients who arrived at 3am. I had to perform a removal of both limbs on one of them. The soldier's bleeding control device had been on for such an extended period there was no other option.” How did he cope with severe surgeries? “I’ve been healthcare for 20 years. One must focus,” he said.

Medical assistants transported Mykolaichuk through the tunnel and into an emergency vehicle. The transport was stationed under a bush. The patient and the other soldiers were taken to the urban center of Dnipro for further treatment. The subterranean medical team paused for rest. The facility's orange feline, the mascot, walked toward the doorway to await the next arrivals. “We are open 24 hours a day,” Holovashchenko said. “The work is continuous.”