Drone operator Anton Borysevych: If we eliminate fewer than five occupiers in day, I consider it ineffective
When you hear a story about a drone operator charging at an enemy tank with a rifle and successfully hitting it, you know you’re dealing with an extraordinary person and warrior.
Kyiv native Anton Borysevych (Sham) is our interviewee. A printing technologist by profession, he was first mobilized during the Anti-Terrorist Operation. Having built an impressive track record as an artilleryman, he now commands a UAV platoon in the 72nd Separate Mechanized Brigade named after the Black Zaporozhians.
AFTER THE KYIV CAMPAIGN, OUR ENTIRE ARTILLERY DIVISION HAD ONLY 400 SHELLS LEFT
- "I first went to war in 2015 and served until mid-2017. In civilian life, I was actively involved in the ATO veterans’ association. All those years, we kept training and waiting: since October 2021, we had our weapons and backpacks ready. On the morning of February 24, I sent my wife and our three-month-old baby to her parents, and headed straight to the military enlistment office. I was part of the first-line operational reserve and was supposed to report to my unit—the 55th Separate Artillery Brigade. But the brigade is permanently stationed in Zaporizhzhia, and all train services had already been suspended, so I wouldn’t have made it there quickly. Over the phone, the brigade told me to go to the local enlistment office instead. I was there by 7 a.m. They asked if I’d join the 72nd, and that’s how I ended up here."
- The 55th Artillery Brigade earned its reputation back in the ATO days, and artillery played a bigger role then than it does now. Would you say the war before and after February 24 is that different?
- They’re two completely different worlds. During the ATO, that was my first war, I was scared. But we were all learning how to fight. I only remember a few officers and sergeants who had actual combat experience, mostly from peacekeeping missions.
If you compare the number of shellings and the types of weapons used back then and now, it’s simply incomparable. One artillery strike back then could be talked about for weeks. Now there are dozens of strikes a day, and it’s just part of the daily routine.
Some foam-body fixed-wing drones were already being used for reconnaissance back then. They flew along a set route, landed, and we would then act based on the recon data and video coordinates. But there was no real-time fire adjustment using drones at that point. At the time, artillery still operated in batteries of four to six guns and could fire from stationary positions. That wouldn’t work anymore—today, it’s nearly impossible to use more than a single gun at a time, because everything starts flying back at you immediately.
- I was surprised when you said you'd been packed and ready since October 2021. Usually, people who anticipated the war say they started preparing go-bags and military kits around December 2021 or January 2022.
- After experiencing combat firsthand, everyone in my circle understood a full-scale war was inevitable—it was just a matter of when. I went to the ATO without a personal weapon and with no prior military service. Later, I legally purchased two hunting rifles. At the very least, we would go to the range once a month to train.
We started planning more seriously after 2019, stocking up on ammo, for example. By late 2021, we began to notice the early warning signs: allies started sharing intel with Ukraine, field hospitals were being set up, and blood supplies were being delivered. That was our signal to finalize preparations—check our gear, charge our power banks… You could feel it coming.
In February, I called my father-in-law, who works in Kyiv, and asked him to keep a full tank, have some cash on hand, and be ready for three days—just in case he had to evacuate my wife and child. I think I called him on February 22. He didn’t believe me. And when I called him on the morning of the 24th and told him to get them out, he said he’d left the car in Vyshhorod. That morning, I heard the first incoming strikes near Vasylkiv (we live close to Teremky), and I immediately knew what was happening.
I had no idea where I would end up. At the time, there were rumors about Medvedchuk’s combat groups training on Trukhaniv Island. And to be honest, I thought the government might surrender the country. So we were preparing both for war as part of the Armed Forces and for partisan warfare.
In those final pre-war days, I had one thought: survive at least three days so my wife and child could get out. Later, when I saw the mobilization underway, I realized that the state would fight back.
- During the liberation of the Kyiv region, artillery played a major role. What’s your take on those artillery duels and the tactic of striking Russian forces during road movements?
- In the beginning, they had an overwhelming advantage in terms of firepower. I clearly remember that by the end of the Kyiv campaign, our entire artillery division had just 400 shells left—that wouldn’t even be enough for half a day of fighting. It got to the point where we were collecting scattered Russian shells from the forests as trophies. To jump ahead a bit: in the Bakhmut sector, for every one of our rounds, they fired about fifteen. By then, we already had NATO-supplied shells and artillery. If a situation like that had unfolded in the Kyiv region without NATO support, the losses would have been far greater. So ambushing them during road movements proved to be a good tactic.
THE FEELING THAT WE STOPPED AN ASSAULT IS PRICELESS
- How did you end up in a UAV unit?
- I started out in an artillery division. We defended Kyiv and the surrounding region using old equipment—D-30s and 2S3s. Then we received our first Paladins and went to Germany for six days of training in May. After returning, we fought near Bakhmut and Izium. Eventually, we were deployed to the Vuhledar area. I served there as an artilleryman until October 2023. After that, I joined the strike UAV unit "Bulava" of the 72nd Separate Mechanized Brigade (SMB).
In the artillery, I served as a gun commander. I wanted to become a platoon leader, but you can’t get an officer’s rank without signing a contract. So I started looking for something new. I was offered a spot in drone reconnaissance, and I agreed. After the transfer, I focused on recon, then trained further to become a bomber drone operator, and recently I took command of a bomber platoon.
Still, I enjoy flying Mavics and Matrice drones the most, there’s more adrenaline in it. Before the position change, I mostly operated those drones.
- Do you remember your first impressions from missions and early successes?
- In "Bulava," we have a set procedure: all newcomers first go through reconnaissance, because bombing runs require serious skills.
So my first recon assignment was actually pretty interesting—spotting enemy equipment that was either camouflaged or just starting to move (we were stationed near Solodke at the time). We immediately reported any movement and watched as our FPV operators or artillery struck enemy convoys. When an entire convoy was taken out at once—that feeling was absolutely unmatched.
And once I started bombing... I really liked watching the results. They crawl in like cockroaches, advancing on our positions—but we swarm them like bees, and under our fire they melt away, wave after wave. One time, the infantry guys told me: ‘It was like watching a movie—how you shredded them.’ The feeling that we stopped an assault is priceless. It means everything.
- Do you keep count of eliminated Russian troops, equipment, or ammo depots?
- We used to, but as the assaults got more intense and frequent, personal counts became unreliable. If we take out fewer than five occupiers in a day, I consider that an unproductive day." On the other hand, there were days with up to eight assaults. The enemy’s advantage in both drones and EW keeps growing, so there were days when we simply couldn’t do anything—we were completely outmatched.
Sometimes I check the stats in the Delta system, and I’m still pleasantly surprised by our unit’s effectiveness. That’s thanks to the entire battalion. And there’s a clear understanding: if not us, it would all look a lot worse. Take the last few months of defending Vuhledar—they were brutal. Temperatures hit +35 to +37°C during the day, with six to seven assaults. At times, the physical strain made you feel like dying.
UNDER +35°C HEAT NEAR VUHLEDAR, THE ENEMY LAUNCHED INSANE ASSAULTS. WE WERE LITERALLY DROPPING FROM EXHAUSTION
- You mentioned the battle for Vuhledar. It’s now known that very few of our forces were actually defending the city. Did you feel betrayed—left without reinforcements or rotation? And how did you cope with that?
- I can only speak for the people around me. There was no bitterness about not being rotated out or getting exhausted. What we felt was simple: we had to keep fighting, no matter what. You can’t unsee drone footage of a treeline with our captured guys executed and left lying there. So first and foremost, we felt rage—rage at the Russians who kept coming, dying, and then more of them came, stepping over their own dead.
There was resentment toward society. We ended up in a kind of mobilization-driven captivity. Life for those who’ve been fighting since day one feels like it’s been put on hold. We’re exhausted. We don’t see our kids. We’re not present in our homes. And after three years of non-stop combat, that becomes deeply demoralizing. You look around and see meatheads of conscription age strolling through cities—guys who could have easily spent those three years getting trained and could now be replacing us on the battlefield. What added to the frustration were all the manipulations around the draft bill that proposed demobilization after three years of service. A lot of us hoped there would finally be a fair mobilization of those who "weren’t ready for war before February 24, 2022" and that they’d be the ones to replace us.
After more than a year of defending Vuhledar, we started running out of people. There was no one left to reinforce or replace us when five Russian brigades started pressing on Vuhledar all at once... What we felt was rage and hatred toward the enemy. Every week we had to pull back because we simply couldn’t withstand that kind of pressure. I remember those insane assaults in +35°C heat. A Russian assault group would charge across an open field—700 meters, in full gear. They’d run, and they’d die. Three hours later, the next group would charge the same route, make it 50 meters further and die again. And after five such waves, by evening, we were completely drained—sleep-deprived, exhausted, with ammo running low. And still, one group made it across, through the corpses, and took hold in the treeline. The Russians had no issue sending a full company to die in one day on these meat-grinder assaults.
- Do you see any failures in command during that operation?
At that time, we had been holding Vuhledar for a very long time - almost a year of constant assaults, our brigade was depleted—both in manpower and equipment. Our UAV positions wouldn’t last more than a week. The enemy’s first major offensive, with frontal assaults by columns of up to 30 vehicles, started in late January 2023 and continued until the end of the city’s defense. Maybe, if we’d been replaced in the spring by a fresh, fully equipped brigade, we could have held Vuhledar. But by then, we were too depleted. Society, meanwhile, had distanced itself from the war. Almost no one wants to step up to defend Ukraine—they’re afraid to even go out for bread. And that, too, demoralizes us—knowing there’s no reserve combat brigade. It feels like we’re facing the enemy alone. As for mistakes—I think we shouldn’t have held Vuhledar until it was completely encircled. When it became clear we didn’t have the means to hold the city, we should’ve pulled people out in a planned withdrawal, maybe two or three weeks before the encirclement.
- So your main frustration is with those who refuse to mobilize?
People don’t want to fight, don’t want to defend their homes—and that’s why we’re getting more and more exhausted, both mentally and physically. Life in the trenches doesn’t do your health any favors. It would only be fair if my child finally got to go for a walk with me—while the one who’s been sitting at home for the past three years took my place. Let them spend the next three years protecting us the way we’ve been doing it. Imagine this: all our plans, goals, our entire lives—put on hold. And it just goes on indefinitely. Meanwhile, a whole bunch of healthy men are hiding in their homes.
- On the other hand, there are specific issues with how the whole process is organized and that’s on the state. For example, there are cases of wounded soldiers being discharged off the books, or denied demobilization despite serious health issues. There’s no support system for veterans with disabilities. And then there are stories of families of fallen soldiers having to fight tooth and nail just to receive those 15 million—that’s a story of its own.
- The state has completely failed the mobilization program. The army is still seen as punishment. When you hear people saying that every criminal should be sent to the front, it creates exactly that image. It starts to feel like we’re not defending the country—we’re serving a sentence.
There was a painful wave of those off-the-books discharges. One of my brothers-in-arms, who’d suffered a jaw injury, got caught up in that mess. When I found out he was getting 580 hryvnias a month, I raised hell—went all the way up to the battalion commander.
Only after I threatened to go public with the story did they finally fix the situation for him. And I know there were plenty more cases like that across the brigade.
So there are a lot of questions for the state. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight or defend our homes. Because if we don’t, they’ll make it to Kyiv again—and we’ll end up fighting in the Russian army against NATO, if we’re even still alive.
I GRABBED MY VEST, HELMET, A DISPOSABLE LAUNCHER, AND RAN TOWARD THE TANK THROUGH A TRENCH. I AIMED RIGHT WHERE ITS "ANTI DRONE COPE CAGE" HAD ALREADY BEEN FLIPPED OPEN
- Tell us about the battle where you stopped the tank.
- It happened near the village of Kotliarivka in the Donetsk region. By that point, I was more in a mentoring role—there were more positions to cover, and we needed to train more sergeants who could lead at the squad level. Then another assault began—two tanks and four IFVs, all armored up with cope cages and carrying infantry. The first tank and the IFVs were taken out by FPV drones and artillery. But the second tank made it through our minefields and broke through to our position. I saw it coming. I told Artem Horbach, who was with me, to launch the Mavic and track where the tank was headed. Then I grabbed my helmet, vest, and ran through the trench toward the road where the tank was likely to pass. About eight FPVs had already hit it, but it was heavily armored up with a cope cage.
Artem tried to reach me over the radio, but I couldn’t hear a thing. By the dust cloud and the sound I could tell the tank was closing in. When he passed by me, I got a good two-second look. On my side, the cope cage was partly shredded by earlier FPV strikes. I took aim and fired under the turret ring race, between the two rear road wheels. I thought the infantry would spill out, but instead, the tank started smoking and rolling into the field. It stopped, and our FPVs began picking it apart one by one. Eventually, it caught fire. Three Russians jumped out and ran into the nearby treeline.
I jumped into the dugout and told Artem to rig grenades on the Mavic and launch it to observe the enemy’s movements. I grabbed half a box of grenades, my rifle, and took up a position to defend our dugout. I planned to let them get close and then open fire. I heard the crackling of branches, they were coming, but suddenly they stopped about nine meters away. One of them said, "Give me a grenade." They probably saw the trench parapet we’d dug around the dugout. I spotted the silhouette of one of them and started firing at him. He began yelling, and the others followed. I shouted, "Surrender!" They said they were surrendering. I told them, "Come out onto the field." Just as I was about to check if they were coming out, a burst of automatic fire hit the trench parapet right across from me. Then they threw a grenade that fell just short. The firefight continued, grenades exchanged back and forth. While we were shooting and tossing grenades at each other, one of their FPVs flew overhead. I recognized it by its distinctive frame. But it was probably focused on the smoking tank, so it didn’t spot us—even though it flew right over.
At that moment, our battalion commander, call sign Student, redeployed all UAV units nearby to defend our position. I kept pressing from below with constant fire and grenades, while Artem and our other bomber drone operators attacked from above. They tried to retreat along the treeline toward the tank but failed. Only one wounded enemy managed to run to the opposite side of the treeline, where our mortar crews were positioned. They finished him off. One of the enemy fighters tried to destroy his phone and tear up his documents but I managed to gather everything.
The night was fueled by adrenaline. I barely slept—either because of new assaults or just couldn’t drift off. The next day, something very strange happened. I already felt like I was about to crash, so I told Artem I’d take a break while he kept watch. It felt like I’d just slipped into a deep sleep when suddenly I jolted awake and stood up. My partner Artem asked, "You were sleeping so soundly—why’d you get up?" I didn’t know myself. I grabbed my rifle, stepped outside, and started listening. I heard someone sneaking around. I shouted, "Who’s there?" Silence.Then I yelled, "Glory to Ukraine!" Still nothing. I realized it had to be someone unfamiliar. We thought we’d wiped out everyone from previous assaults. We always keep track of how many enemy troops have landed and how many we’ve taken out. But it could have been reinforcements strengthening the position, or new minefields being set up, or someone conducting reconnaissance.
We launched a drone to check who was sneaking around. Sure enough, it was a lone enemy trying to sneak up to our position. We started tossing grenades at him—from the ground and from the sky. He got within about four meters of our entrance. One grenade from the Mavic hit him, and he rolled back into the trees. I went after him while Artem kept watching and tossing grenades from the drone. He tried to crawl into a thicket of fallen trees—and that’s where we took him out. In the end, we found his documents, radio, weapons, and grenades. He had one grenade in his pouch, and another was lying near the entrance to our dugout—right where we spooked him.
So he was clearly getting ready to toss it into our position.
- Is he one of the crew that got hit?
- Either from the first tank or he jumped off somewhere along the way.
- What are your overall impressions of the Russians as soldiers and their tactics?
- They’re like something out of a zombie apocalypse. I never cease to be amazed by how they treat themselves and their own men. For example, two enemy bastards were charging. I blew one’s head off with a drone munition drop. The other just glanced at his fallen comrade and kept coming. In one area with intense, furious assaults, we counted 127 dead Russians by the end. And still, they kept marching over their own corpses. I can’t get used to it. They just keep coming, walking over the heap of their own corpses…
They have different kinds of troops. Unfortunately, most of them are motivated and trained. They’re fairly well equipped. The Russian I shot, for example, had ballistic protection that withstood assault rifle fire from about ten meters away, give or take.
- You’re now an officer. Obviously, many soldiers, men and women, are exhausted, maybe even disillusioned at times. How do you keep the team together?
- I officially became an officer just a month ago. In my opinion, the only way to earn respect from the guys right now is by showing genuine care. You have to communicate, consult, and discuss with your personnel. When they feel that you actually care about what they sleep on and what conditions they have. When they know you’re not hiding anything from them but talking to them like adults. But adults also mean responsibility. I always try to make it clear that no officer will tell you exactly what to do on your position. You have to analyze the situation yourself, make decisions, and identify the weak spots of that specific position. Right now, I’ve chosen this approach—communication and fairness. It is in equal relationships that the backbone of motivated anti-Russian "Terminators" emerges.
Olha Skorokhod, Censor. NET
