Oleksandr Kryvtsov had enough.
The owner of an agricultural company in Hrakove, near Kharkiv, Kryvtsov found his land littered with land mines. That region of Ukraine, occupied by Russian forces for nearly eight months, had been pockmarked with explosive ordinances. The threat meant that farmers like Kryvtsov had to let their fields lay fallow. Even though Kryvstov’s fields were once part of Europe’s breadbasket, Ukraine’s mine clearance teams were overworked and under-resourced.
So Kryvtsov came up with his own solution. He jimmyrigged a plow onto an old tractor, with massive steel rollers underneath. On the side, he painted the yellow and blue Ukrainian flag. Kryvtsov connected a remote-control steering system and, from afar, he drove his Mad Max-style tractor over his fields, detonating any mines lurking under the soil.
The makeshift operation has worked well, Kryvtsov told Reuters, even clearing an anti-tank mine.
Kryvstov’s story is an example of incredible Ukrainian ingenuity—a nation of gilders, working to invent, adapt, and repurpose technology to defend themselves against a better-resourced, larger, determined enemy. But it’s also an ominous sign of just how bad the problem is.
In recent months, WIRED has investigated the technological challenges and opportunities facing Ukraine as it tries to defend itself and recapture its territory. One particular problem, unsung by the Western media but frequently cited by Ukrainian officials, are the haphazard minefields across Eastern Ukraine.
WIRED has spoken to a range of engineers, government officials, and humanitarian mine-clearance experts, and consulted Ukraine’s new mine clearance plan. It is apparent that Kyiv is prioritizing the problem, but without a significant new influx of money, personnel, and technology, the threat of these mines could hobble Ukraine’s economy, frustrate future counteroffensives, and pose a humanitarian crisis for decades to come.
Ukraine’s mine problem has been acute for a decade. The full-scale war with Russia has only made it worse. From 2014, when Russia first invaded, to the end of 2021, the United Nations says 312 Ukraines were killed by land mines. Since Russia’s February 2022 invasion, Ukraine has recorded at least 269 civilian casualties, including 14 children. Prime Minister Denys Shmyhal has taken to calling Eastern Ukraine “the largest minefield in the world.”
Those casualty figures only capture the deaths on territory currently held by Ukraine. Behind the front lines, in the Russian-occupied regions of Eastern Ukraine, at least a hundred more have reportedly been killed.
“Twenty percent of the whole territory is dangerous,” Ihor Bezkaravainyi, Ukraine’s deputy minister of finance, tells WIRED. “Right now we’re talking about 150,000 square kilometers.” (The total area, including water littered with naval mines, is nearly 175,000 km².)
Bezkaravainyi is a veteran of the war in Eastern Ukraine—he lost a leg to an anti-tank mine in 2016. He’s now responsible for coordinating the mine-clearance effort behind the front lines, giving Ukrainians back their property and recovering damaged agricultural lands. It’s not an easy task.
“It looks like the zone rogue in France after World War One,” Bezkaravainyi says, referring to the areas near Germany and Belgium that remain contaminated by land mines to this day.
Conducting surveys to identify those mines will be a gargantuan challenge. Actually clearing them will be even more taxing.
Russia has deployed older anti-tank and anti-personnel mines—of the kind the world has ample experience dealing with. But it is believed that this is the first time the sophisticated PTKM-1R anti-tank mine, which detonates only when it picks up a certain seismic signature, has been used in battle. Russia has also made liberal use of the more advanced PFM-1 mine, also known as the “butterfly mine,” made mostly from plastic and liquid explosive. These mines are particularly odious because they can be scattered in huge quantities from afar or from the air, meaning that they are impossible to track. Because they are colorful and plastic, they can be mistaken by children as toys.
Beyond purpose-built mines, Russia has also littered Ukraine with unexploded munitions and “improvised explosive devices and booby traps,” according to a draft version of Kyiv’s plan to decontaminate the country, prepared late last year and provided to WIRED.
Until now, Ukraine has not had a national plan on how to deal with the mine problem—its ad hoc response has been split between the military, NGOs, a small number of private mine-clearance companies, and a small network of government mine-clearance operators.
In 2021, before Russia’s full-scale invasion, Ukraine had certified just four “mine action operators” to conduct the mine identification and clearance. Since the start of the war, that number has grown to “only 23.” That number is simply “not adequate,” the plan states.
This National Mine Action Strategy was devised to bring consistency and focus to this effort. But it warns that the scope of this problem “cannot be solved in a short-term perspective.” Kyiv hopes it can assess the entirety of its lands, to identify which areas are actually contaminated and which are safe to use, by 2029. By 2033, Ukraine aspires to have decontaminated 80 percent of its previously occupied territory. The strategy does not provide a date for when the whole country might be free of mines.
If Ukraine wants to meet these goals, it will need significantly more staff, technology, and equipment than it has now.
This will be a tough hill to climb. Humanitarian demining groups are spread thin across many global conflict zones, while commercial operators tend to be prohibitively expensive.
This is the reality that pushed Kryvtsov, the farmer, to take matters into his own hands. But Kyiv warns that these “black sappers”—unlicensed and unsanctioned mine-clearance operations—are dangerous and unreliable. Still, the government recognizes that, unless it can dramatically scale up its own operations, these freelance mine operators will become a popular choice for locals frustrated by the slow pace of progress.
Like many aspects of Ukraine’s war effort, Kyiv believes the solution is at home. The strategy calls for a substantial investment in Ukraine’s industrial capacity to produce mine-clearing equipment, research demining technology, and train demining teams. The World Bank estimated in early 2023 that the total cost of identifying and clearing these mines would be nearly $38 billion. Kyiv expects the true cost will be higher.
In the snow-covered fields near the front lines, the Ukrainian Armed Forces have been deploying autonomous demining vehicles—which, although purpose-built and donated by European allies, look an awful lot like Kryvstov’s homemade version.
Since the start of the war, these military demining teams have cleared more than 280,000 mines—at a pace of more than 2,200 every week. Its work is entirely separate from the humanitarian teams run under Bezkaravainyi's department.
The military may have cleared a staggering volume, but the work is impeded by a lack of equipment. The military boasts 262 separate demining teams, but it has just six demining vehicles.
In an essay for The Economist, former commander-in-chief of the Ukrainian Armed Forces Valerii Zaluzhnyi wrote that his forces were initially relying on “technically outdated pieces of equipment” to conduct this operational mine clearance. With Western donations, “it was possible to slightly augment the capabilities of engineer units … but given the unprecedented scale of these barriers, even such capabilities are objectively lacking.”
Much of the analysis of Ukraine’s failed summer counteroffensive has focused on the offensive gear it lacks—artillery shells, fighter jets, drones, and long-range missiles. But even if it had managed to pierce the Russian front line, Ukraine faced layers of other defensive structures, including between 15 and 20 kilometers of minefields.
As Zaluzhnyi notes, Russian reconnaissance drones have kept a watchful eye on these minefields, targeting any Ukrainian teams dispatched to clear them. “In case of successful mine barriers breaching, the enemy quickly restores minefields in these areas,” he wrote.
European allies, in particular, have donated mine clearance vehicles—including retrofitted German-made Leopard 2 tanks—but they have been hard hit by Russian forces.
While clearing fields near the front lines is difficult, risky work, Russia is capable of laying these fields remotely and quickly. The ISDM Zemledeliye, a mobile mine-laying system that sits on the back of a truck, can carry 50 rockets, each filled with anti-personnel or anti-tank mines that scatter over a targeted area. The system allows the operator to lay minefields from as far as 15 kilometers away. One pro-Kremlin Russian media outlet recently remarked that the Zemledeliye, which translates to “agriculture” in Russian, “sowed” the defeat of the Ukrainian summer counteroffensive.
“The Ukrainians didn't necessarily have the equipment, the type of trained brigades, etc, to break through that defense and overcome the Russians, who were defending in a doctrinally consistent and actually quite sound way,” Karolina Hird, an analyst at the Institute for the Study of War and the deputy team lead for their Russia desk, tells WIRED. “Which brings us to where we are today.”
Even if Kyiv manages to overcome all of those other problems, if it cannot figure out how to clear the Russian-laid minefields, its progress risks being squandered.
“One of the big operational problems is, how do you increase by an order of magnitude the detection of mines, mapping of minefields, and the clearance of them—whilst denying the Russians visibility of them?” Mick Ryan, a 35-year veteran of the Australian Army who has traveled to Ukraine frequently during the war, tells WIRED. “And these are pretty significant problems, but they’re known problems, right?”
Ryan says there needs to be a deeper recalibration of the relationship between Ukraine and NATO. At the beginning of the war, the transfer of knowledge and expertise from NATO to Ukraine may have been largely one-directional, but today, Ukraine’s expertise in modern warfare certainly rivals many of its benefactors.
“Ukrainians and NATO, they just need to divide up the problems and solve them,” Ryan says. “I mean, this isn't inventing the nuclear bomb.”
As the National Mine Action Strategy notes, research on mine clearance has been sorely lacking.
There has been, the strategy says, a “lack of systematic and centralized work on the introduction of innovative technologies in the field of Mine Action, in particular, unmanned aerial vehicles, the use of satellite images, artificial intelligence, data collection and analysis systems.”
It’s a frustration that Federica Mezzani knows well. Since 2019, she’s been researching how new technologies can help improve mine detection strategies—but it is a field, she says, which had been “completely forgotten.”
Despite the fact that an estimated 110 million mines are still active around the world, they are primarily distributed in poor and war-torn countries. While NGOs such as the HALO Trust have worked to steadily decontaminate those territories, the research and development has been piecemeal and slow. It simply hasn’t been a priority.
But Mezzani, along with her colleagues in the Department of Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering at Sapienza University in Rome, set out to prove that new technology could help with this old problem. There had been some research testing how drones could be used to identify unexploded ordinances, but not much. Mezzani wanted to take it a step further, dispatching drone swarms equipped with ground-penetrating radar to methodically scan each section of the ground, the way a human team might. Algorithms could essentially automate mine detection, she believed.
In a series of small-scale experiments, Mezzani’s technique worked.
“The experimental campaign proved the effectiveness of the algorithm, which appears as a powerful tool to automatically detect buried objects with even small metal content,” reads her paper, published in Advances in Nonlinear Dynamics in 2022.
“The technology is ready,” Mezzani tells WIRED. “I think that it's been ready for many years, actually.”
When the full-scale war began, research efforts like Mezzani’s were few and far between. That meant figuring out these strategies from the ground up.
Part of the challenge is about confidence. As Bezkaravainyi explains, humanitarian mine clearance operates on a zero-tolerance policy for civilian deaths—if they mark a territory as uncontaminated, they must be absolutely sure it is entirely safe. Where possible, that also means defusing the land mines instead of exploding them and further contaminating the soil.
This process is significantly slower than how the military clears territory. Prioritizing speed, the army may blast a path through an active minefield in order to advance quickly without fully clearing it. To that end, humanitarian mine clearance operates on the Swiss cheese model: applying multiple imperfect strategies on top of each other.
Bezkaravainyi explains that their process normally involves consulting high-resolution satellite imagery of the territory and identifying land mines from the sky. From there, drones may be dispatched to confirm those locations and identify mines that may be buried or tough to spot. After that, teams are dispatched to sweep the territory.
Last fall, at an international conference on Ukraine’s demining efforts held in Zagreb, Bezkaravainyi’s department unveiled a prototype, developed by American surveillance technology giant Palantir, which used artificial intelligence to help inform how Kyiv approaches mine clearance.
This multilayered approach is increasingly necessary. Magnetometers and thermal scanners, which identify mines by identifying the metal amidst the organic material, were once the gold standard for mine identification. Some mines have electromagnetic shields, protecting them from ground-penetrating radar. The PFM-1 mine, in particular, contains very little metal, making it difficult to detect.
This problem is mostly, but not entirely, of Russia’s making. Reports suggest that Ukraine has also deployed these PFM-1 mines against Russian forces in Eastern Ukraine.
Difficult terrain, such as forests or mud, makes this work more difficult. Ukraine has difficult terrain in spades: It even has a word, bezdorizhzhya, for the mud that covers the eastern part of the country in the spring.
“If all the technologies in the world were given to Ukraine, it would not be enough,” Bezkaravainyi says.
Ukraine is not merely contemplating how to buy and acquire enough technology to do this job—they are developing a plan to become a world leader on mine clearance.
That sort of focus has been sorely lacking for decades. “It’s a type of research that doesn't bring in profits,” Mezzani says. It’s a problem she crashed into during her own research project. “I wouldn't say that we have a technological issue. We have a willingness issue.”
Some 70 countries worldwide are still contaminated by land mines, according to the United Nations, and they kill or maim thousands every year. Most, however, are located in the Global South. The conflict in Ukraine may finally be the impetus to develop the technology and expertise to address that problem.
Indeed, Bezkaravainyi says his department has fielded plenty of offers from companies professing expertise in mine clearance, but many have been unreliable, haven’t delivered, or were outright scams.
If Ukraine can develop both the technology and the industry to do this work, it could provide a critical advantage in the war, boost its battered economy, and provide an enormous service to the entire world.
Brave1, a platform launched by the Ukrainian government to identify innovative projects and connect them to public and private financing, has identified mine clearance as one of its main priorities. Thus far, 30 projects—which range from autonomous land vehicles to more sophisticated detection systems—are part of the Brave1 platform.
If the Ukrainian government can spur the creation of a domestic demining industry, it will speed up its economic recovery, help war-torn countries the world over, and maybe even help win the war.
