The regional road is almost empty, diverging from the main route linking Izium to Sloviansk and beyond, reaching small villages and the Sviatogorsk cave monastery. A 16th‑century Orthodox church stands imposingly, a relic that had once welcomed worshippers but now sits in the shadow of a brutal conflict. In this tense landscape, residents recall how the road has become a shelter for hundreds of locals during bombardments. The constant roar of artillery, the way shells lie buried in the asphalt, and the few drivers who still venture along the slums all signal that danger can erupt at any moment. The area remains a volatile, unpredictable zone that many avoid by choice or necessity.
Nearby, this region has turned into a testing ground for military movements in the Ukraine conflict. Kremlin forces are recalibrating tactics after early setbacks. Instead of charging columns of armored vehicles into hostile fire, they now press a different approach: heavy bombardment for days or even weeks before a cautious advance. The strategy aims to create slow, methodical occupation but often leaves civilians isolated and resources dwindling, a stark contrast to earlier, swifter maneuvers. In towns like Sviatogorsk and its surroundings, the impact on civilians is vast and distressing, highlighting the widening human toll of the fighting.
In Bohorodychne, the last town before reaching the monastery, Dima recounts the scene from the recently arrived van. The road is scarred by detonations and pocked with empty, exposed stretches where rockets once lay buried. Wooden houses sit silent, their doors unresponsive to the sounds of strangers. A hush hangs over the village, interrupted only by occasional bursts of flame that rattle the ground. Dimitri Marchuk, with a waning energy and a hint of drink on his breath, hurries to attend to cows that must be tended as soon as possible.
empty towns
“80% of the townspeople have left. I’d rather stay, but I have nowhere to go,” he explains, speaking into the microphone with little enthusiasm. He previously worked at the monastery and now, amid the bombardments, tries to move forward with his wife. The town appears deserted, yet the Ukrainian army operates in Bohorodychne to the north. A damaged Soviet vehicle, repurposed with Ukrainian camouflage, rolls through the area as three soldiers patrol, monitoring medical emergencies and keeping watch. A nearby woman and her husband, who cannot walk due to a long‑standing medical condition, long to leave but remain trapped by the situation, according to villagers.
That couple includes Vera Gerosimenko and Anatoli Dronichev, around sixty, whose mobility has been impaired by a stroke in 2016. The ongoing explosions take a heavy toll, exacerbating stress and causing shocks that linger. Anatoli sits on a bed with a distorted face and a vacant gaze, visibly distressed and unable to articulate his feelings.
Unable to access his regular medications, Vera has stepped in as nurse, urging someone to take her husband to Slaviansk, about thirty kilometers away, where a hospital currently exists and proper care can be provided. “We are responsible for this situation,” she says with a renewed resolve. The prospect of eviction has been mentioned repeatedly, but the couple has refused. At first Anatoli believed staying was safer, a chess game where the pieces could never win. Now the motive is simply survival: “We don’t care anymore, we have to get out of here.”
“I knew an angel would come soon”
Amid tears and prayers, Dima steps forward to help the trapped couple. What Bohorodychne has become in this war is a place where urgency and courage collide. As Anatoli groans and Vera gathers the couple’s identity papers, a few bags, and even a wheelchair, Dima’s urgency grows. Without hesitation, he drives away, leaving behind even the family dog, determined to ensure safety. “I’ve been praying for a long time; I knew an angel would come soon to take us,” Vera says with a quiet gratitude toward the moment of rescue.
About an hour later, the van arrives at the hospital’s main entrance, and Anatoli is taken in by local medical staff. With danger behind, Vera shifts focus to speaking with reporters, worried about potential repercussions. “I hope they don’t arrest me for giving an interview,” she says with a mix of resolve and fear, a reflection of the pressures that civilians face in this conflict.