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Scrubby foliage conceal the entryway. A descending timber tunnel descends to a well-illuminated reception area. There is a operating ward, outfitted with gurneys, heart rate sensors and ventilators. Plus shelves stocked of healthcare supplies, drugs and organized stacks of spare clothes. Within a break area with a laundry appliance and kettle, physicians keep an eye on a display. It shows the movements of enemy surveillance UAVs as they zigzag in the air above.

Medical personnel at an underground hospital look at a screen displaying Russian suicide and reconnaissance drones in the area.

This is Ukraine’s covert underground medical facility. The facility opened in August and is the second such installation, 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 six meters below the ground. It’s the most secure method of providing help to our injured military personnel. It also ensures healthcare workers protected,” stated the facility's surgeon, Maj Oleksandr Holovashchenko.

The stabilisation point treats 30-40 casualties a each day. Cases differ widely. Certain individuals suffer from catastrophic leg injuries requiring amputations, or severe abdominal injuries. Others can walk. Almost all are the victims of enemy first-person view (FPV) drones, which release explosives with lethal accuracy. “Ninety per cent of our patients are from FPVs. We encounter minimal gunshot wounds. This is an age of drones and a different kind of conflict,” the doctor explained.

Maj Oleksandr Holovashchenko at the underground facility for treating wounded troops in the eastern region.

On one day recently, three military members walked with difficulty into the facility. The least severely hurt, 28-year-old Artem Dvorskyi, reported an first-person view drone explosion had torn a minor wound in his limb. “Conflict is horrific. The guy next to me, a fellow soldier, was fatally wounded,” he stated. “He fell down. Then the enemy forces dropped a another grenade on him.” He added: “All structures in the village is destroyed. We see drones all around and bodies. Our side's and theirs.”

The soldier said his squad spent over a month in a wooded zone close to the city, which Russia has been trying to seize for many months. The only way to get to their location was on foot. All supplies arrived by drone: food and drinking water. A week following he was hurt, he traveled 5km (roughly three miles), requiring three hours, to a point where an armoured vehicle was able to pick him up. At the clinic, a medical staff assessed his vital signs. Following care, a nurse provided him with new non-military attire: a shirt and a set of light-colored denim trousers.

Artem Dvorskiy, twenty-eight, said a first-person view drone caused a minor injury in his leg.

A different casualty, 38-year-old a serviceman, recounted a UAV explosion had left him with concussion. “My position was in a trench shelter. It suddenly became black. I couldn’t feel anything or any sound,” he explained. “I believe I was lucky to survive. My cousin has been killed. We face continuous explosions.” A construction worker employed in a neighboring country, Filipchuk noted he had come back to his homeland and enlisted to serve days before Vladimir Putin’s large-scale attack in February 2022.

Another military member, Taras Mykolaichuk, had been struck in the upper body. He expressed pain as doctors placed him on a medical cot, took off a bloody bandage and cleaned his recent shrapnel wound. Wrapped in a foil blanket, he borrowed a mobile phone to call his sister. “A fragment of mortar struck me. The cause was a ricochet. My condition is stable,” he informed her. What were his plans now? “To recover. This may require a several months. After that, to go back to my military group. Someone must defend our country,” he affirmed.

Doctors care for Taras Mykolaichuk, who was injured in the dorsal area by a fragment of mortar.

Since 2022, enemy forces has consistently targeted medical centers, clinics, maternity wards and emergency vehicles. Per human rights groups, 261 medical personnel have been fatally attacked in nearly 2,000 attacks. This subterranean hospital is constructed from four steel bunkers, with timber beams, earth and granular material laid on top reaching the surface. It is designed to resist direct hits from large-caliber artillery shells and even three eight-kilogram TNT charges dropped by aerial means.

The Ukrainian steel and mining company, which financed the construction, intends to build twenty units in all. The head of the nation's security agency and former military leader, the official, declared they would be “critically important for preserving the lives of our armed forces and supporting troops on the frontline.” The organization described the initiative as the “largest-scale and challenging” it had implemented after the enemy's military offensive.

An example of the centre’s operating theatres.

Holovashchenko, explained certain injured soldiers had to wait hours or even days before they could be evacuated because of the danger of aerial attacks. “We had a pair of severely injured casualties who arrived at 3am. I had to carry out a double amputation on a patient. The soldier's bleeding control device had been applied for such an extended period there was no other option.” How did he cope with severe operations? “I’ve been medicine for two decades. One must focus,” he remarked.

Medical assistants wheeled Mykolaichuk through the tunnel and into an emergency vehicle. The vehicle was stationed under a shrub. He and the other military members were transferred to the urban center of Dnipro for additional medical care. The subterranean hospital staff took a break. The facility's ginger cat, Vasilevs, walked up to the doorway to greet the incoming patients. “We are open 24 hours a day,” the surgeon said. “The work is continuous.”