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Sparse foliage hide the entrance. One sloping timber passageway leads down to a brightly lit reception area. There is a surgery unit, outfitted with beds, cardiac monitors and breathing machines. And cabinets full of medical equipment, drugs and neat piles of spare clothes. In a staff room with a laundry appliance and hot water heater, physicians monitor a display. It shows the flight patterns of Russian surveillance UAVs as they zigzag in the sky above.

Hospital personnel at an underground medical center observe a screen displaying enemy kamikaze and reconnaissance UAVs in the area.

Welcome to Ukraine’s covert underground hospital. The facility opened in the eighth month and is the second of its kind, situated in the eastern part of the country close to the combat zone and the urban area of Pokrovsk in Donetsk oblast. “We are six meters below the earth. It’s the most secure method of providing help to our wounded military personnel. And it keeps healthcare workers protected,” stated the facility's lead doctor, Maj Oleksandr Holovashchenko.

The stabilisation point treats thirty to forty patients a day. Cases differ widely. Certain individuals suffer from catastrophic limb trauma requiring surgical removal, or severe stomach wounds. Some patients can move on their own. The vast majority are the victims of Russian first-person view (FPV) aerial devices, which drop grenades with lethal accuracy. “Ninety per cent of our cases are from FPVs. We see minimal bullet injuries. It’s an era of unmanned aircraft and a different kind of conflict,” the surgeon said.

Major Oleksandr Holovashchenko at the underground facility for caring for injured soldiers in eastern Ukraine.

During one day last week, a group of three soldiers walked with difficulty into the hospital. The least severely hurt, 28-year-old one soldier, reported an first-person view drone explosion had ripped a small hole in his leg. “War is horrific. The guy beside me, Vasyl, was killed,” he said. “He fell down. Then the enemy forces dropped a second grenade on him.” He continued: “All structures in the village is destroyed. There are drones everywhere and bodies. Ours and the enemy's.”

Dvorskyi said his unit spent 43 days in a wooded zone near the city, which Russia has been attempting to capture since last year. The only way to get to their position was by walking. All supplies arrived by quadcopter: rations and drinking water. Seven days after he was hurt, he walked five kilometers (roughly three miles), taking several hours, to a point where an armoured vehicle was able to evacuate him. At the clinic, a medic assessed his physical condition. After treatment, a nurse gave him new non-military attire: a T-shirt and a pair of light-colored denim trousers.

Artem Dvorskiy, 28, said a first-person view drone caused a small hole in his leg.

A different casualty, 38-year-old Pavlo Filipchuk, recounted a drone blast had resulted in a head injury. “I was in a trench shelter. It suddenly became black. I couldn’t feel any feeling or hear anything,” he said. “I believe I was fortunate to remain alive. A relative has been lost. We face ongoing detonations.” A construction worker working in Lithuania, Filipchuk said he had come back to his homeland and enlisted to fight days before the Russian leader's full-scale invasion in early 2022.

A third soldier, a serviceman, had been struck in the back. He expressed pain as doctors laid him on a bed, took off a stained dressing and treated his two-day-old shrapnel wound. Wrapped in a foil blanket, he used a cellphone to ring his sister. “A fragment of mortar hit me. The cause was a deflected projectile. I’m OK,” he told her. What were his plans now? “To get better. This may require a few months. Subsequently, to go back to my military group. Someone has to protect our country,” he said.

Medical staff care for Taras Mykolaichuk, who was hit in the back by a piece of mortar.

Since 2022, enemy forces has consistently targeted hospitals, clinics, obstetric units and emergency vehicles. Per international monitors, 261 medical personnel have been killed in almost 2,000 attacks. The underground facility is constructed from multiple steel bunkers, with wooden supports, earth and sand laid on top reaching ground level. It can withstand direct hits from 152mm projectiles and even three eight-kilogram TNT charges dropped by aerial means.

The Ukrainian steel and mining company, which funded the building, plans to build 20 facilities in total. The head of Ukraine’s national security council and former military leader, the official, declared they would be “critically important for saving the lives of our armed forces and assisting troops on the frontline.” The organization referred to the initiative as the “largest-scale and demanding” it had undertaken after the enemy's military offensive.

An example of the centre’s surgical rooms.

The surgeon, explained certain injured personnel had to wait many hours or even multiple days before they could be transported due to the threat of air assaults. “Our facility received two critically ill patients who came at 3am. It was necessary to perform a double amputation on a patient. The soldier's tourniquet had been on for such an extended period there was no other option.” How did he cope with severe operations? “I’ve been medicine for two decades. You have to focus,” he said.

Orderlies wheeled the soldier up the passage and into an emergency vehicle. The vehicle was parked beneath a bush. He and the two other soldiers were taken to the city of a major city for additional medical care. The underground hospital staff paused for rest. The hospital’s orange feline, the mascot, walked toward the entrance to greet the next arrivals. “Our facility operates active 24 hours a day,” the surgeon said. “The work is continuous.”