In one of Gaza’s last standing hospitals, Tamara Al-Maarouf’s eyes well up with tears as she stands helplessly by her baby boy’s hospital bed. A tumor, now removed, has been compressing the 4-month-old’s tiny heart and he desperately needs treatment abroad.

Meanwhile, 84-year-old Oded Lifschitz, who was kidnapped from his home in Kibbutz Nir Oz on October 7 last year by Hamas militants, is still being held hostage in the enclave. His family is still desperately trying to bring him home.

The stories of two lives, those of a Palestinian infant and an elderly Israeli man, tell the tragic tale of the countless innocent lives trapped in a war they did not choose. Their fates are now tied up in politics and negotiations that have all but failed.

The baby, Jihad, can barely breathe or feed. His mother, Tamara, struggles to find ways to comfort him as he cries and wriggles around, with tubes sticking out of his mouth and nose.

Like thousands of other patients in Gaza, he is in urgent need of foreign medical treatment, but these evacuations have all but ceased since May, when Israel took control of the Rafah border crossing.

Israeli authorities have only allowed a fraction of the estimated 12,000 Palestinians awaiting transfer – many of whom are children – to leave Gaza for treatment.

More than a year of devastating Israeli strikes and the accompanying siege of the enclave have decimated the health sector, leaving medical workers with very little with which to save lives. Hospitals are not only overwhelmed with those injured in the conflict, but they’re now dealing with preventable diseases that are spreading at an alarming rate.

In August, an 11-month-old boy became the first person in Gaza in 25 years to be diagnosed with polio after Israel’s military campaign destroyed water and sanitation systems, leading to a resurgence of the deadly disease.

In September, the World Health Organization administered the first of two doses of the polio vaccine to more than half a million children aged below 10 in Gaza, with the second round of the emergency vaccination drive now under way, according to the UN children’s agency, UNICEF. The UN said it cancelled vaccinations at one school being used as a displacement shelter after it was damaged by an Israeli airstrike.

And there are many like Jihad who are suffering from serious conditions, chronic illnesses and cancer who cannot be appropriately treated in Gaza.

Her parents were longtime advocates for peace. In recent years, the elderly couple were part of a volunteer group of Israelis who would drive Gazans from the border to hospitals in East Jerusalem and the West Bank for treatment. Her father, Oded Lifschitz, kept his driving license so he could continue these missions, she said.

On the morning of October 7 last year, Oded and Yocheved were kidnapped from their home in Kibbutz Nir Oz, the site of one of the worst massacres of the Hamas attack on that day.

Yocheved, now 86, was abducted while still in her nightgown, thrown onto the back of a motorbike and taken to Gaza. At the end of October, she was released by Hamas on humanitarian grounds.

The last time Yocheved saw her husband of more than 60 years was last October 7. He was lying on the ground injured, after he was shot in the hand by the militants who stormed their home.

It is that kindness and generosity, as well as his ability to speak Arabic, that the family hopes will have helped a frail, elderly man with medical conditions survive in captivity.

They have now been waiting for his return for over a year. In May, Oded turned 84 in Hamas captivity.

Lifschitz wears a dog tag around her neck with a photo of her father and “84” engraved on it, along with the message, “Waiting for you at home.”

“Hamas took elderly, elderly people; they did not need them, and they could have returned them without a deal,” Lifschitz said. “There is no deal needed to return an 84-year-old man. There is no deal needed to return a 1-year-old baby. The fact that Hamas is using them to reach a deal is horrific.”

But Lifshitz, like many Israelis, still believes the only way out of this nightmare is a deal between Israel and Hamas that would stop the war and secure the release of the hostages.

She fears they are losing what feels like a race against time to bring them home alive.

“We are so exhausted and so heartbroken again and again,” Sharone said. “We are not giving up. We do not have the luxury of giving up.”

Hopes for a ceasefire deal and hostage release deal have been shattered repeatedly by failing negotiations. Both Israel and Hamas have blamed each other for derailing the efforts, leaving mediators from the United States, Qatar and Egypt scrambling to save talks that have stalled for months.

Hanging in the balance are the lives of more than 100 Israeli hostages and Gaza’s population of 2.2 million, all trapped in a besieged enclave that has become a “hell on Earth,” according to aid agencies which have been pleading for a ceasefire to save lives.

Those who survive Israel’s bombardment, which has killed more than 42,000 people, according to Palestinian authorities, face what Gaza residents like al-Maarouf describe as a slow death under siege, with conditions growing more catastrophic by the day.

Lifschitz said she thinks the mediators could do more to get a deal done. She wants Egypt and Qatar to put more pressure on Hamas but, for her, it is US President Joe Biden who could make this deal happen.

“I believe it is President Biden at this very moment that must do what it takes to bring them back home… I believe he is our best hope,” she said.

Lifschitz refuses to compare her own government’s position to that of a militant group like Hamas, but said: “Anybody who is interested in history sees people that are caught in the tide of time and political and military fanatical regimes that are putting their own agenda above human lives… Both nations are incredibly unlucky in the leaders that are guiding them at the moment.

For Israelis like Lifschitz, the race to save the lives of their loved ones took a more urgent turn in early September after the Israeli military retrieved the bodies of six hostages executed by Hamas.

The Israel Defense Forces (IDF) said they had been “brutally” murdered “a short while” before Israeli troops were able to reach them. Hamas, meanwhile, issued a chilling threat that more hostages would return in coffins if Israeli forces tried to rescue them.

These were young people who had every chance of survival, and they survived for almost a year,” said an emotional Lifschitz. “It is a failure; we have failed them.”

The families of hostages fear for the safety of their loved ones, not only in relation to their captors, but also Israeli military operations, not least the relentless bombardment that has flattened much of Gaza.

Last month, the IDF confirmed that three hostages whose bodies were recovered in December were “most likely” killed in an Israeli strike. The military had previously admitted mistakenly shooting and killing three other hostages last year and said it was investigating the circumstances of the deaths of six hostages whose bodies were recovered in June.

While prospects of an agreement appear bleak, Lifschitz said she would not stop fighting for the release of her father and the other hostages.

Asked what she would tell her father if he could hear her, Lifschitz said, choking back tears: “Forgive us. Forgive us. We have tried so hard. And know that we hear your voice in our heads… You know, we tried the way he tried all his life. He tried for many years to avert this disaster.

“I hear him now saying, ‘work for peace, work for the possibility of humans in this region to live together,’” she added.

The spluttering roar of a propeller punctuates the perfect silence. Car headlights flick on, splitting the darkness. Their beams reveal not just a section of tarmac ahead, but one of Ukraine’s most top-secret weapons, controlled by its most clandestine agency.

Stuck to the nose of the gray machine is a yellow emblem of an owl, wings spread and grasping a sword – the unmistakable logo of Ukraine’s defense intelligence, the GUR.

Two pilots sporting the same owl patches on their fatigues make their final checks inside the car before a thumbs up: “Let’s go!”

A high-speed, 50-second chase ensues, before the 13-foot long, 23-foot wingspan AN-196 Liutyi drone disappears in an instant into the inky-black Ukrainian night.

The drone’s destination is a target deep inside Russian territory.

Only two people were authorized to speak on the record, and then only using their callsigns: Serge, the long-range drone operations commander of GUR, and Vector, unit commander. Serge said he had personally overseen more than 500 long-range drone attacks into Russia since its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022.

Their target: an ammunition facility, specifically train carriages sitting inside the depot loaded with recently delivered Iranian missiles, according to the Ukrainians.

The facility sits on the outskirts of the tiny village of Kotluban, in the Volgograd region of southwestern Russia.

Long-range drone attacks have become an increasingly prominent part of the Russia-Ukraine war. As the land war has become more attritional, the air war has gathered speed, with the major development being in drone warfare.

In September, the unit’s drones hit a Russian ammunition depot between Moscow and St. Petersburg, in Tver region. The attack on Toropets, the Ukrainians claimed, resulted in the destruction of a depot storing Iskander tactical missiles, as well as aerial glide bombs and artillery munition. The strike caused massive explosions, visible for miles.

And in July the Ukrainians say they hit an oil refinery on Russia’s Black Sea coast, causing a major fire there.

Russian President Vladimir Putin has warned, however, that Moscow would consider any assault on it supported by a nuclear power to be a joint attack, singling out a mass launching of drones as one potential example.

Vector said many of Russia’s airfields, the origin-point of many of the air raids it conducts against Ukraine, are out of range. His drones, while highly effective, are not always that efficient – swarms of them are required to ensure their targets are hit. “Of course, we can send the UAVs (unmanned aerial vehicles), and we destroyed many places. But it’s not enough,” Vector says.

“We’re not asking only about the permission to send the missiles anywhere in Russia, we speak about the weapons which can help us to move this war from our territory,” Vector adds.

Inside the mission

Serge and Vector have been leading their unit’s attempts to hurt Putin at home.

Regardless of targets, their missions follow a rigid set of operating procedures that include meetings at various locations across Ukraine.

In an underground office with dark brown, seemingly never-ending Soviet corridors, Serge sits across from Vector in a white-walled room. No pictures hang on the wall, even the whiteboard remains blank. The meeting is to the point.

“There will be about 12 drones,” Serge says to Vector, who has a map in front of him detailing the target and range of the Russian air defense and electronic warfare systems.  They then agree the target approach time of around 3 am and the launch intervals for the drones.

Vector scribbles two notes before standing abruptly and saying, “Everything is clear. Ready to complete the task.”

As dusk draws in, the convoy pulls into a compound, articulated lorries lined up. A tiny room with a desk and two sets of bunk beds serves as the only light source for miles around.

Men dressed in black, balaclavas over their faces, wait to hear their orders. Vector delivers a short brief, adding that this mission will also involve other units. He orders his men to start preparing the routes and hands over a small USB key containing the information for the mission ahead.

“Any questions?” he asks. “None? Okay. Let’s get working.”

He points to the quality of Russia’s air defenses, especially over the past 12 months. “We’re successful guys and we find the windows,” he says, but it’s a challenge.

Each drone will be programmed with more than 1,000 different waypoints, to evade Russia’s comprehensive air defense systems. There is tacit acceptance from Vector that some of this resembles a video game.

“It looks like we play with them,” Vector says jokingly, “but it’s not a game. It’s a war.”

Serge adds that not all men in his unit are career soldiers like him. He has served more than 20 years in the Ukrainian army and began flying drone missions in 2014 as Russian-backed separatists in Ukraine’s eastern Donetsk and Luhansk regions split away from Kyiv.

Decoy machines

In a warehouse, a Liutyi drone, produced predominantly in Ukraine, wingless for the time being, stands surrounded by green camouflage-painted crates containing multiple Rubaka kamikaze drones.

Vector explains that these smaller drones are crucial to the success of any mission. The aim is simple: to overwhelm the air defenses and draw Russian fire away from the Liutyi, which often carries a payload as great as 250 kilograms (550 pounds).

“They’re very simple, and we can use them with and without payloads,” he says of the smaller drones.

Cracking open one of the crates, he pulls out one of the decoy machines. Strips of metal foil have been added to the wings to fool Russian radar.

“We try to mix them, and we try to send them from different distances, different launch places… they try to destroy them. They send helicopters and missiles, they turn on the radio electronic warfare,” Vector explains.

Their targets are only military targets, Vector states. “Russia came inside our country. They destroyed a lot of electricity, a lot of houses, cities, villages.” But, he adds, “not all of them are stupid, and when they understand that war can come to them like they come to us, they will change something in their country. They will change the politics.”

One of the many articulated lorries has backed up for loading. In near darkness, drone bodies, followed by wings, are loaded three per truck by men whose faces are totally covered by balaclavas, and strapped down, ready to be taken to their launch sites.

Across other parts of Ukraine roughly 80 other GUR operatives are preparing 90 other drones, not all the Liutyi, for flight.

Some 30% of all the drones being launched will be on decoy missions, Serge says. The drones have been programmed to fly anywhere between 450 and 550 miles, with the Liutyis being the spearhead, destined for the small town-turned-ammunition hub of Kotluban.

The men load the warheads carefully into the bodies of the drones. Each compartment is then sealed with the squeal of a drill.

Serge and Vector, now in full combat uniform, observe the final preparations. This launch is one of the largest Serge has ever conducted, he says.

“Maybe (the Russian people) don’t understand what’s going on in Ukraine, but when these UAVs arrive, they understand clearly what we have been living (with) for the past 10 years,” Vector chimes in.

Tracking the drones’ flight

In total darkness, the drones are pushed into position. The car with the pilots moves in behind. The propeller spurts into life and the pilots ensuring a smooth takeoff begin their high-speed chase down the tarmac. Once airborne the fully autonomous drone starts ticking off the myriad waypoints.

Vector hurtles after the drone before slamming on the brakes and proclaiming “perfect.” He turns the car around and blasts a patriotic song from his radio.

Back at the planning base, the hours tick by and Vector, Serge and others keep tabs on the drones via trackers.

The success of the mission is monitored in three ways, they say: through human intelligence on the ground, the messages seen on Russian Telegram groups and, later, analysis using satellite technology. Only once all three have been assessed can a mission be deemed a success or not.

As the 3 am arrival window nears, Serge starts reading out messages he is seeing from Telegram channels across Russia. The widespread nature of this attack starts to become clearer. Various cities in southern Russia – Voronezh, Yesk, Rostov and Volgograd – all start reporting drones arriving in their airspace.

One video from Voronezh shows one of the decoy drones whizzing overhead. An audio clip of a woman in clear distress at what is happening above her head leaves Vector laughing.

Through these Telegram channels, he says, “we understand that we are having some success.”

Initial satellite imagery of the ammunition depot in Kotluban shows scorched fields, a result of burning grass, but seemingly little evidence of major explosions within – apparent signs of a near miss.

The video, sped up, shows 11 explosions all occurring in a 56-minute timeframe between 2:22 and 3:18 am – exactly the period during which the drones arriving from Ukraine were expected to land.

The image shows a number of objects scattered around the building and a building badly damaged.

The mission to destroy Iranian-delivered missiles was a total success, the Ukrainians insist.