In a modest Kyiv apartment, a 30-year-old drone operator named Pavlo unpacked his equipment—a small, four-rotor machine that once hunted enemy soldiers on the front lines. But today, it wouldn’t start. He shrugged, but the silence was a rare relief.
For Pavlo and countless others, the war isn’t just a memory—it’s an ever-present hum in their ears. First-person-view (FPV) drones, now a staple of Ukraine’s battlefields, don’t just vanish when soldiers return home. Their distinctive, high-pitched whine lingers, triggered by the most mundane sounds: lawnmowers, motorcycles, even buzzing insects.
“You Are Being Hunted”
On the front, FPV drones are relentless. They chase armored vehicles, stalk infantry through forests, and pick off soldiers one by one. “You can’t hide. Running is pointless,” Pavlo said. “You just pray.”
Even when unseen, their sound is unmistakable—a mechanical scream that soldiers learn to dread. And when they come home, that terror doesn’t fade. Pavlo now flinches at bees, at air conditioners, at anything that mimics the drone’s buzz.
“Droneophobia” – A New Kind of Trauma
Military psychiatrists report a surge in soldiers suffering from acute stress linked to drone sounds. “We call it droneophobia,” said one leading specialist. “It’s not just combat stress—it’s a conditioned fear of a noise that once meant death.”
For some, the trauma manifests in sudden reactions—switching off lights, ducking under furniture, or avoiding open spaces. Others find forests, once battlegrounds, strangely comforting—the dense canopy offers imagined shelter from drones.
But the psychological scars run deeper than just fear. The war has rewired soldiers’ instincts. “Silence is worse,” one doctor explained. “It means a drone could be coming.”
A War Without Safe Spaces
The terror isn’t confined to soldiers. In cities like Kherson, civilians live under the constant threat of Russian FPV attacks. Bus stops, markets, and streets have become hunting grounds.
One survivor, Dmytro, was waiting for a bus when a drone dropped explosives beside him. Now, he hears phantom buzzing everywhere—even in safer cities. “There’s no escape,” he said. “Your body is always tense.”
The Sound of War, Long After the Battle
For Pavlo and others, the war never truly ends. The world itself feels like a battlefield, every unknown noise a potential threat.
“You can see danger and process it,” Pavlo said. “But a sound? Your brain can’t ignore it. Because out there, ignoring it meant death.”
The drones may be machines, but their legacy is human—an invisible wound carried home by those who survived. And for now, there’s no turning off the noise.
