If Donald Trump fails to persuade Vladimir Putin to agree to a ceasefire at their upcoming Alaska meeting, this training could prove crucial for saving lives. The defense isn't sophisticated—their main weapon against drones is the shotgun. Troops practice shooting at fast-moving targets, standing still and on the move. Instructor Ihor explains: "A shotgun is currently the most effective close-range defense against a drone."
Ihor has fought on the eastern front since 2014, when Russia annexed Crimea and moved into Donbas. His call sign is "The Knifer". He also teaches hand-to-hand combat. Over the past ten years, Ihor is adamant against any potential "land swap": "Neither I nor my comrades are ready for this. We’ll fight until we liberate our territory."
Despite determination, many frontline units are depleted, and recruitment efforts have been described as a "disaster" by some. Oleksii, one of the trainees, has already lost his father and friends to the war: "This war must be stopped someday," he says. But on the idea of handing over additional territory, Oleksii is against it: "That wouldn’t be my suggestion, I dislike that idea."
The troops note that Russia is also suffering, losing close to 1,000 men per day, its resources gradually drained. At the same time, cities and towns across Ukraine have endured massive waves of missile and drone strikes—last month, more than 6,000 drones were launched, compared to only a little over 400 a year before.
In Kyiv, the desire for peace is everywhere. One resident, Oleksandr, likens war to gambling in a casino: "The more you play, the more you lose," he says. Another, Volodymyr, is pessimistic about Trump-Putin talks: "We’ll likely have to give up even more territory for a truce. We lack resources—our boys are either dead or in hospital."
President Zelensky regularly expresses frustration that Ukraine is excluded from these discussions, insisting: "I cannot surrender Ukrainian territory—it’s not my private property." Still, recent polls show more Ukrainians have resigned themselves to the idea of sacrificing land for peace.
Outside Kyiv, over 500 displaced people now live in temporary shelter—elderly and children whose homes are in occupied territory. "I don't believe I’ll ever visit my mother's grave again," says 78-year-old Hennadii, eyes welling with tears. Valeria, an 18-year-old student, summarizes the mood: "I wish something good would come out of the Alaska talks, but I have very little hope."
Seventy-eight-year-old Valentyna is resolute: "This is our land and our people are dying for it. How can we give it up?" In Alaska, presidents will discuss Ukraine's future without it at the table. Ukraine may be losing ground, but it hasn't been defeated—and many believe no one should be able to force a peace that Ukraine cannot accept.