‘In war you can’t start over’: Ukraine’s female drone operators reveal the reality of fighting Russia through a screen

In exclusive interviews with LBC, three Ukrainian servicewomen described the reality of drone warfare: the pressure of making decisions in seconds, the danger of being hunted by Russian forces, and the emotional weight of seeing the battlefield from above.

They are young. They are exhausted. They are angry. And they are clear about one thing, this is not a virtual war.

Kateryna Avdieieva, a 29-year-old UAV operator and sergeant in Ukraine’s 154th Separate Mechanized Brigade, said she understood why people in Britain might compare drone warfare to gaming.

“Honestly, as someone who enjoys video games, I can partly understand the comparison,” she told LBC.

“You really are sitting in front of a monitor, seeing the battlefield through a camera rather than with your own eyes, working at a distance from the target.

“But there is a fundamental difference between a game and a war. In a game you can save and start over. In war you can’t.”

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Kateryna was born in Donetsk and moved to Kyiv after Russia’s aggression began in 2014. Before joining the army, she worked as a journalist.

She joined Ukraine’s armed forces in 2020, first working as a clerical officer at an artillery headquarters before training, on her own initiative, as a reconnaissance drone operator.

She has since served in Vovchansk, carrying out reconnaissance missions and helping direct artillery fire. Since early 2026, she has served with the 154th Separate Mechanized Brigade, first operating the Shark reconnaissance system and now training on the Baton strike platform.

Her work has helped detect and destroy Russian artillery, armoured vehicles and other targets.

But she said the idea that drone crews are safe because they are behind screens is badly wrong.

“For most of my service I worked on reconnaissance drones,” she said. “There, the danger comes mainly when the enemy can locate your position, and that was especially true when we were flying Mavics, sometimes only about a kilometre from enemy lines.

“Once, the crew that relieved us at one of our positions ended up in a firefight with enemy infantry. That was the same position we had been working from not long before.

“So fighting through a screen is no guarantee of safety at all.”

For Daryna, a 21-year-old interceptor drone operator with the call sign “Navi”, the danger is just as real.

She serves in the BULAVA unit of the Third Mechanized Battalion of the Separate Presidential Brigade named after Hetman Bohdan Khmelnytsky.

“Very often, especially in combat zones, drone pilots are positioned in the same line or right alongside infantry,” she told LBC. “That makes it genuinely dangerous.”

Daryna’s role is different from many frontline drone crews. She works on interceptor drones, which are used to attack enemy drones in the air.

But even away from the very front, the war is close.

“I have experienced Shaheds flying over my head at twenty metres,” she said. “So I wouldn’t call it sterile conditions by any means.”

Asked what the hardest part of the role is, the personal danger, the pressure of making decisions quickly, or processing what happens afterwards, Daryna said it was the decision-making.

“You simply have to react quickly,” she said. “And very often you’re on your own, which means you have to decide independently.

“With every shift, I become more convinced that I still need to keep developing that independence and speed of decision-making.”

She described her first shift as the moment she understood what the job really meant.

“We spotted a target and I was the one at the controls,” she said. “I didn’t make it in time. The target went into a building.

“That was my first real experience of understanding what my work actually means.”

The operators spoke to LBC as drones increasingly dominate the battlefield in Ukraine.

They are used to find enemy positions, guide artillery, track troop movements, destroy vehicles, attack trenches and protect Ukrainian infantry before Russian forces can reach them.

For Yevhenia, a 22-year-old operator in the 10th Separate Mountain Assault Brigade “Edelweiss”, drone warfare is still war in its rawest form.

She serves in the “Barni” unit, the unmanned aerial systems company of a motorised infantry battalion.

Asked what it feels like to fight through a screen, she said: “It feels like war because you are playing, but with human lives.

“From the outside it might seem like you’re just operating a drone or working with equipment, but in reality there is no room for error here.

“Every flight, every mission, every piece of information passed along can affect the safety of fellow soldiers and the outcome of combat operations.”

For her, the hardest part is not fear for herself. “The hardest part is keeping our personnel safe,” she said, “because drones don’t fly with water balloons, they carry live munitions.”

Yevhenia joined Ukraine’s armed forces at 21. She had considered signing up after finishing her studies, but said the final push came when a close childhood friend was killed in the war.

Her motivation, she said, was revenge, but also responsibility.

“Invaders came to our Ukrainian land, people who don’t even understand what they want,” she said. “Who, if not us, will stand up to defend our homeland?”

The three women all described successful missions in similar terms: finding the enemy, protecting Ukrainian soldiers, and stopping Russian forces before they can strike.

Kateryna said the missions that stayed with her most took place in Vovchansk, when Russian infantry fighting vehicles and armoured personnel carriers were moving towards Ukrainian positions.

“We passed on the coordinates, artillery opened fire, and we adjusted their work,” she said.

“The enemy vehicles were destroyed before they could engage, and our infantry didn’t have to absorb that blow.”

Yevhenia said the purpose was simple.

“If we detect the enemy in time and pass on the information, our units can prepare for their actions or strike first,” she said.

“If we eliminate enemy personnel, we prevent them from advancing on our infantry and threatening their positions.

“If we destroy equipment or transport, we disrupt logistics: supply lines for ammunition, fuel, and other resources without which it becomes far harder for the enemy to conduct operations.”

But the work comes with pressure few outside the war can understand.

Drone crews do not just see dots on a screen. They see movement, vehicles, trenches, soldiers, and the moment before a strike lands.

Daryna said she once feared missing her target more than anything else.

“At the beginning, my main feeling was fear of missing,” she said. “Now, after everything, I’d say I approach it more neutrally.

“There’s a job, there’s a target, and I need to take it down.”

Yevhenia was blunter.

“I have no emotions toward these people,” she said. “They came to my country to kill. They knew where they were going. They know what they are doing to our cities and to innocent children.”

Kateryna said her view of the enemy changed after Russian forces entered the Kyiv region in 2022, where her mother and grandmother lived.

“I feel no sympathy for those who came here to kill Ukrainians,” she said. “On the contrary, every successful strike means they can no longer harm our people. That is what keeps me motivated.”

All three operators also pushed back against the idea that their role should be seen first through the fact they are women.

Daryna said she once heard the phrase: “In the army, there is no gender.”

“That became a kind of motto for me,” she said.

“I don’t feel any different from my teammates. Everyone is equal. Everyone does the job they’re supposed to do.

“I’m genuinely grateful to the guys for the fact that I do exactly the same work they do. That’s what tells me I’m contributing.

“Whether you’re a woman or not, you do the work that’s been assigned to you. And if you’re not doing it, why are you here at all?

“So I don’t need any special treatment, and I would be very unhappy if it were otherwise.”

Yevhenia said she did not care whether the role was widely seen as male.

“I don’t pay attention to that,” she said. “I do what I do well, whether the role is considered male or not, I honestly don’t know.”

Asked whether she had to prove her competence more than male service personnel, she said: “I don’t prove anything to anyone.

“I came to defend my homeland and I do what I’m supposed to do.

“In the military, you are judged not by your gender, but by your professionalism, responsibility, and results.”

Kateryna said in nearly six years of service she had almost never encountered prejudice.

“Only recently did someone suggest I transfer to another brigade and let me know that I wouldn’t be accepted onto strike drones simply because I’m a woman,” she said.

“It was the first time something like that had ever happened.

“In my current crew, as in my previous units, I have always been seen first and foremost as a soldier.”

She said men in the unit sometimes helped with physically demanding work, such as carrying equipment or putting up a tall antenna, but said that was about physical capacity, not gender.

“I have never felt that I had to prove my professionalism any more than a man would,” she said.

The women spoke of exhaustion, loss and the strange routines that keep them going.

For Kateryna, books are a lifeline.

“Army life often means living in small villages far from everything familiar, and books let you escape somewhere else, at least for a while,” she said.

“Conversations with friends and family matter enormously too. Even a short phone call can give you the energy to carry on.”

She said she often returns to the Brontë sisters, rereading novels she has loved for years.

Daryna said she keeps going because the work is not finished.

“It may not sound particularly thoughtful, but I don’t dwell on losses or setbacks or low moments,” she said.

“I still have work to do. I have people I’m accountable to. No matter what, you keep going.”

Yevhenia said she was sustained by “my family, my fellow soldiers, and the hope that none of this is for nothing”.

“That our efforts, our fight, and everything we’ve endured have meaning for the future of Ukraine, for the people beside us, and for those who will live after us,” she said.

Asked what would stay with her after the war, Yevhenia answered: “The fallen comrades will stay in my mind and in my heart.”

Daryna said the war had taught her “the ability to take responsibility and make fast decisions without fear”.

“And also the understanding that every decision has consequences,” she said, “and you alone are responsible for them.”

Kateryna believes the skills gained by drone operators will remain valuable long after the war, including in agriculture, policing, rescue work, infrastructure and other parts of civilian life.

But for now, those skills are being used every day against Russian forces.

Asked to complete the sentence “Russians are most afraid when...”, Kateryna said: “...an FPV drone is heading straight for them.”

Yevhenia gave a similar answer. “Russians are most afraid when they are alone in the middle of a field and our FPV drone is chasing them,” she said.

Daryna’s answer was shorter. “The sound of our FPV drones.”

For all three women, the pride is not in destruction itself, but in the decision to serve, the people beside them, and the belief that their work protects Ukrainian lives.

Daryna said she was most proud of joining the military, despite her family initially opposing it.

“I’m glad I joined, glad I didn’t betray myself, that I stayed true to my principles and continue to do so,” she said.

Yevhenia said she was proud of her commander and fellow soldiers.

“Despite all the hardship and danger, they carry out their work every day, risk their own lives, and remain committed to our shared cause,” she said.

“It is because of people like them that we continue to exist, to fight, and to move forward.”

Kateryna said she was proud to have been born in a country where so many people chose to defend it.

“I talk to a lot of soldiers,” she said. “Almost all of them are exhausted. All of them want to be with their families.

“But most of them keep doing their job anyway.

“That commands enormous respect.”