Duck and Cover in Ukraine: A Pulitzer Center Grantee's Story

This report was originally published in Science magazine.

Last month, I spent 11 days in Ukraine—my third reporting trip there since Russia launched its full-scale invasion more than three years ago. I fully expected that I would experience an aerial attack and feel the accompanying dread that Ukrainians are having to endure with increasing frequency and severity. And no surprise, Russia delivered.

First though, I’d like to explain why I’ve chosen to travel to Ukraine for Science, rather than report developments from the relative safety and comfort of my homebase in Washington, D.C. Each trip to a hotspot like Ukraine requires a careful weighing of risks versus benefits. This time around, I was investigating the vast mobilization of civilian scientists for Ukraine’s war effort. Much of the country’s defense R&D (research and development) is a state secret, and though I was aware of broad topics, such as laser weapons and new materials, Ukrainian science officials were adamant that revealing further details could paint targets on the institutes and scientists involved. But they were willing to lift the veil on certain projects that were deemed less sensitive. It was clear to me that to produce a compelling story, I would need to visit the researchers in their labs and workshops.

That was the benefit of a reporting trip, but what were the risks? I wasn’t planning on going near the front lines, so unlike a war correspondent, I would not be exposed to the terror of shelling, glide bombs, or first-person view drones. The main risk was the low but non-negligible chance of being injured in one of Russia’s long-range aerial bombardments involving Geran kamikaze drones and missiles. During my first wartime reporting trip in October 2022, I had the surreal experience of watching three cruise missiles fly low over my head, one after another, as a few Chornobyl experts and I were sitting in an outdoor café near the town of Ivankiv. (A video clip of the experience is embedded in this article.) The missiles weren’t targeting Ivankiv—they were heading to western Ukraine. But it was an in-your-face reminder of what Ukrainians were up against. After the last missile whizzed by, I tried to pick up my coffee cup, but I was trembling so much from the adrenalin rush that I had to use both hands.

Just as memorable from that trip three years ago was the appreciation expressed by the Ukrainian researchers that a Science journalist had come to meet them in person. We had heart-to-heart conversations that would have never happened over email or Zoom and resulted in storytelling that reflected those conversations and firsthand observations.

That spirit of compassionate inquiry persuaded me to return to Ukraine, this time with support from the Pulitzer Center. Despite frequent air raid warnings, the first several days of my trip last month in Lviv and Dnipro were quiet. Then in Kyiv, in the early morning on June 17, Russia launched what up to then was its biggest aerial bombardment of the war. Shortly after midnight I heard an explosion outside my hotel window, and rushed downstairs to the lobby and outside, where I heard the telltale buzz of a Geran, something like a moped engine. I could not see the drone. But it seemed prudent to retreat to the hotel basement and wait out the attack, which ended only after daybreak and comprised 440 drones and 32 missiles. Thirty Kyivans lost their lives, and scores were injured.

Later that day I visited three institutes, where sleep-deprived scientists candidly shared their feelings about how the unrelenting nighttime terror is taking a heavy toll on their mental health. Being on the ground allowed me to offer Science readers a perspective they will not find in other coverage of science in Ukraine during the war. Here’s to hoping that my next reporting trip there will focus on postwar reconstruction.

Read the full Pulitzer Center-supported story.

Caption for homepage photo: Burned cars are shown in a parking lot after a drone attack in the Ukrainian city of Dnipro in April 2025. Image by rospoint/Shutterstock.