Conscious of how several border guard posts were shelled, overrun and wiped out during the war in Donbas in 2014, a mobile reserve stands ready to respond to the first sign of an attack.

Nonetheless, it is by no means a heavily militarised place, and as in most of Ukraine there was little sense of an imminent threat. Stray cats pick their way between lorries queuing for clearance to carry their cargoes between all three countries and far beyond.

“I’ve been driving this route for nearly two years and I’m here about twice a month, and I haven’t seen any change,” said a Serbian trucker hauling cargo from Russia’s Volga region all the way to Belgrade.

“It’s the same as ever on both sides. There’s no extra checks, no unusual security or anything. And no,” he laughed, gesturing at the Russian side of the border from whence he came. “I didn’t see any tanks when I drove through.”

Maybe it is the snow here that muffles the beat of the war drums sounding so loudly in Moscow and Washington. But everyone is listening hard, lest they miss the first distant thump that presages disaster.