A barrage of blows against Putinism. On the front line in Odessa

Odessa, from our correspondent. Summer is everywhere, a brazen season even in the midst of war. It is in the skimpy clothes, in the fountains from which water gushes – fountains that are switched off in winter – and in the street parties; and Odessa is the queen of summer in Ukraine. It always has been, and it refuses to relinquish its role despite the missiles and drones fired at it several times a day from just a few kilometres away. Crimea, which for decades has vied with Odessa for the crown of sun and sea, is very close by; on the peninsula that Moscow has occupied since 2014, beach umbrellas and beaches sit side by side with military bases. This holiday paradise has become a bastion of the invasion that Kyiv has been trying to isolate from Russia since the start of the summer. The operation is proving successful, yet there are still enough weapons in Crimea to threaten Odessa – and the same is true of the Russian peninsula of Krasnodar, the other strip of land from which attacks are launched against Ukraine’s main port city. It is not difficult for Russia to target Odessa, and the first line of defence for the city, its port and its summer season lies at sea and is primarily entrusted to a fleet of small, fast craft that take to the water to shoot down drones before they strike land, identify mines surfacing or carry out rescue operations. These are the CB90s, the ‘mosquito’ fleet – fast, agile craft – which in Ukraine are tasked with protecting the city and also the shipping traffic, particularly the grain shipments passing by sea. Russia has always sought to block the port; doing so would mean suffocating Odessa and, with it, the whole of Ukraine. The port bears all the marks of war, from broken glass to scarred walls. When the siren sounds in Odessa, it is often because the threat is directed at the port, and those who work there must strike an impossible balance between protecting themselves and continuing to carry out their duties. In July alone, the siren in Odessa and the oblast bearing its name sounded between ten and seventeen times a day; missiles and drones targeted an average of fifty objectives daily. Sometimes the siren sounds even when the vessels are due to set sail and begin their patrols; in such cases, the crew waits for the threat to pass, as they cannot leave the harbour and expose themselves to attack. Today’s mission is delayed by three hours and, whilst waiting for permission to set sail, the crew follow the news and watch videos of the ongoing attacks: a Shahed drone has struck a residential building in the Arkadia district, which lends its name to one of the city’s most famous beaches.

The CB90s always set out in pairs, two identical vessels launched into the Black Sea, where, over these four and a half years of war, Ukraine has managed to destroy or drive away Moscow’s military vessels and has never ceased fighting against its drones and missiles. The ‘mosquitoes’ from Odessa head out about forty kilometres from the coast on missions of indefinite duration: they return only when the job is done.

As soon as the order to set off is received, a soldier takes up his position at the machine gun, sticking only his head out, protected by his helmet and goggles; there is always someone in the crew who can take his place. The first to take his position is Serhii, whilst Kolja stands by, ready to take over. The boats set off, leaving the harbour cranes behind them. During missions, Serhii spends hours behind the machine gun; he is the father of four children and could have avoided joining the army – men with three or more children are exempt from mobilisation – but he decided to enlist. After three weeks’ training, he was sent to shoot down the Shahed drones targeting the boats; he has been doing this job for about two years and is used to the sea: he is from Odessa and is protecting his city. “The situation is always changing,” he says as the boat waits in the water for permission to leave the harbour and he can afford not to stare at the sky. “There are always new threats; the latest are the jet drones,” upgraded Shaheds that Russia has been working on for years and which, with the Geran-5 version, have now achieved greater range, payload and speed. “They’re similar to a small cruise missile and are equipped with a camera,” explains Volodymyr, the Navy’s press officer. It has become almost impossible to hit them from vessels at sea; they fly too fast, and once they’ve passed over the crew, the conditions are no longer favourable for shooting them down.

The boats begin their patrols when the harbour’s sea gates open; before the invasion, getting in and out was much simpler, but now Ukraine has erected a barrier at sea, a necessary measure against Moscow’s worst intentions. As the CB90s head out to sea, they cut through the water and the wind; from the water, the beaches come into view, dotted with parasols, summer scenes, people, and the clamour that makes sandy beaches in August – from Ukraine to Italy – all seem a bit the same and unbearable. The sea is a necessity in Odessa, and only the locals stay away from it during the summer months; they proudly proclaim 1 September – the day the city empties of tourists – as ‘Liberation Day’, a private liberation of the beaches that return to being theirs. None of the crew look at the teeming coastline; it feels as though one can smell the sun cream and hear the clamour from afar, for soldiers at sea, a summer of war is no different from a winter of war; they scan the sky, on the lookout for threats, and are under strict orders never to fire towards the coast when shooting down a drone. “It makes no difference to us,” says Captain Viking, a nom de guerre that is perfectly embodied by his long, reddish Viking beard. Even Viking recognises the new threats; the latest upgrade to Russian drones is a problem for the fleet: “They’re difficult to shoot down, and as they’re equipped with cameras, they can decide to turn back and sink us.”

Not a glance at the coast, not a glance at summer; eyes are always fixed on the Ukrainian Black Sea, where the Russians will not return, but their drones and missiles continue to attack Odessa, which for the whole country is not just a holiday destination, it is the economy, it is wheat, it is resistance. There is one thing that immediately strikes you in the port: there aren’t many container ships. And not because the port isn’t open – all Ukrainian ports are – but because shipping companies have resumed entering it with caution after Moscow resumed attacking civilian vessels laden with wheat. The wheat shipping season from Ukraine peaks between August and October and continues at high volumes throughout the rest of the year; the sight of the empty port is a cause for alarm: the Black Sea is a place of great victories and immense concerns. According to the Navy, the increase in attacks on merchant ships along the grain corridor is linked to Ukraine’s successes in the Sea of Azov, where Madyar’s drones have begun to expand their operations, striking Moscow’s ships in areas where Moscow believed it was safe. Madyar, commander-in-chief of the unmanned systems forces, launched Operation Molochka with the aim of isolating Crimea and neutralising Moscow’s shadow fleet, managing to strike 130 Russian ships in just one month in the Sea of Azov alone. Russia’s response is now reportedly targeting the vital corridors of the Ukrainian economy and shows no regard for flag or nationality: it strikes any approaching ships, regardless of where they come from. It aims to inflict heavy losses on crews and grain stocks until shipping companies stop entering the port and the stockpiles of unsold grain become unsustainable for Kyiv. For the Ukrainians, the significance of their victories in the Black Sea still outweighs their fears and the threats they face. Perhaps it is the summer that makes everything seem lighter, but for the moment the mood is not one of alarm, but of careful assessment. The war proceeds with its ups and downs; those who lag behind for too long are overwhelmed.

The crew aren’t looking at the beach; rather, the beach is watching these fast boats as they speed by, oblivious to the changing seasons, elusive – they are the horizon of an Odessa holiday. “The waves are causing us a few problems,” admits Viking, who has been in the Navy for four years. He volunteered at the start of the invasion; he comes from the Vinnytsia region, a long way from the sea – a world away from Odessa. Viking, however, has experienced key moments in the history of the Ukrainian Navy: “One of the operations I remember best is when we were the first to arrive on Snake Island after the occupation.” The Russians occupied the island until June 2022; the outpost in the Black Sea had become famous after Russian soldiers ordered Ukrainian soldiers to surrender and were told in response: “Russian warship, go fuck yourself.” The Russian ship in question was the Moskva, which was sunk a few months later. When the Russians left the island, Viking was among the first to arrive there: “We didn’t know what we’d find; no one had been there yet; we could sense the danger.” There is another mission that Viking remembers well; he shares it with us – it is very recent, dating back to mid-July: “We carried out a rescue mission to bring the crew of the Atlas Bay to safety.” The motor vessel was carrying vegetable oil and was struck by Russian drones as it was leaving the port of Chornomorsk, in the Odessa region, whilst en route to Turkey. It was flying the Tanzanian flag but was Turkish-owned; all the sailors were brought to safety, except for the captain, who was of Azerbaijani origin.

Odessa has an unbridled obsession with its harbour; everything revolves around it: history, war, Ukraine. The city centre overlooks the harbour, and from above, passers-by can’t help but point it out. It is a magnet, a subject of study, a pilgrimage destination. Odessa, bursting with tourists, summer and explosions, at thirty degrees amidst street performers and people dancing and turning up the music when they hear the siren, seems to be asking for a break until winter. But the soldiers are right not to pay attention to the seasons, especially on the Black Sea: “The Russians won’t be coming back,” Viking assures us, “and if they try, if we don’t stop them with weapons, we’re ready to run them over.” The boundaries of the war at sea are a sleight of hand.