The Sky is Burning: How Russia’s Drone Swarms Redefine War

The night of September 6 to 7 over Kyiv began with a distant hum, barely louder than a swarm of mosquitoes on a summer evening. But the people of the Ukrainian capital knew this sound better than their own heartbeats. It was the sound of modern war - the monotonous buzz of Iranian-inspired Shahed drones gliding through the darkness like mechanical harbingers of death. What made headlines three years ago with 43 drones in a single attack wave had become a nightmarish routine: 810 drones and decoys that record night, an apocalyptic swarm that darkened the sky and pushed Ukraine’s air defense to its limits.

In the vast production halls of Russia’s hinterland, the assembly lines continue to run around the clock. President Putin had declared drone production the nation’s highest priority, and the result of that decision manifests itself in numbers that leave even seasoned military analysts speechless: 34,000 attack drones and decoys this year alone - a ninefold increase over the previous year. It is an industrial revolution of death, orchestrated with the precision of a state machine that has mobilized every available resource. Students assemble drone parts in their school workshops, regional governors proudly present their production numbers at the economic forum in Vladivostok, and foreign workers are assigned to shifts to keep the machines running.

Footage from the factory where the "Geran" drones are built in the industrial park of the Alabuga Special Economic Zone (Republic of Tatarstan). The Geran-1/-2 are an integral part of Russian attacks in 2025 - tactically deployed in large swarms

The technological evolution of these flying bombs has unfolded at breathtaking speed. What were once primitive, GPS-guided kamikaze drones have developed into a sophisticated arsenal. New control systems withstand electronic jamming, improved warheads maximize destructive power, and - in a particularly insidious innovation - fiber optic cables several kilometers long physically connect the drones to their control units, immune to any form of electronic warfare. The drones no longer fly in straight lines to their targets but dance in convoluted patterns across the night sky, follow river courses and forest edges, avoid open ground where Ukrainian air defense teams might be waiting.

On that September night, it was not only the real drones that spread terror. Between the explosives-laden machines floated decoys made of painted foam and plywood, some equipped with small charges, others completely harmless - but from a distance, in the stress of battle, they were indistinguishable from the real threats. Each had to be treated as a potential danger, each tied up valuable resources. It was psychological warfare in its purest form: the defenders had to respond to everything, could afford to ignore nothing, exhausting themselves in an endless cat-and-mouse game in the night sky.

The Ukrainian defenders have adapted as best they can. Mobile teams race through the darkness in pickups, heavy machine guns mounted on their beds, chasing the low-flying drones like modern cavalry. An invisible net of jammers stretches over the rooftops of the cities, trying to confuse the attackers’ navigation systems. Western high-tech air defense systems, originally designed to intercept ballistic missiles, were hastily repurposed to combat the primitive but effective aerial threat. And yet: of the 810 drones that record night, 63 hit their targets, striking in 33 different locations, leaving behind burning ruins and broken lives. The impact extends far beyond the immediate destruction. In Ukraine’s cities, sleep has become a precious, often unattainable commodity. The constant wail of air raid sirens, the rattle of anti-aircraft guns, the explosions in the distance - and sometimes far too close - have burned themselves into the collective consciousness of a nation. Children no longer draw flowers in their school notebooks, but drones. Adults have developed a kind of sixth sense for the characteristic engine noise, able to distinguish within seconds between an approaching Shahed and the harmless hum of a generator. It is the creeping normalization of the abnormal, perhaps the most dangerous weapon in Moscow’s arsenal.

What makes this development particularly alarming is its scalability. Analysts estimate that Russia is currently capable of producing around 30,000 attack drones per year - a number that may double by 2026. The infrastructure is already in place: two large production facilities operate around the clock, supported by a network of smaller factories and workshops across the country. The technology, originally imported from Iran, has been Russified, improved, and made suitable for mass production. China discreetly supplies components, from microchips to carbon fiber parts, while officials in Beijing deny any involvement.

The NATO countries, long spectators of this drama, suddenly found themselves in the crosshairs this week. When 19 Russian drones entered Polish airspace on Wednesday night, a regional conflict turned into a direct threat to the Western defense alliance. The response was telling: only a fraction of the intruders could be shot down, the rest disappeared without a trace into the night. Then on Saturday, the Romanian Defense Ministry reported that two of its fighter jets had intercepted a drone in Romanian airspace. They were warning shots, fired deliberately or not, that revealed an uncomfortable truth: the West’s heavily armed armies are ill-prepared for this type of asymmetric threat.

In Washington, President Trump tried to counter these incidents with economic pressure. His demand that all NATO countries stop buying Russian oil sounded logical on paper but met significant resistance in reality. Turkey, since 2023 the third-largest buyer of Russian oil after China and India, balances between its NATO membership and its own economic interests. Hungary and Slovakia, dependent on Russian energy supplies, hesitate to bow to Washington’s dictate. The threatened tariffs of 50 to 100 percent on Chinese goods may work as a threat, but their actual implementation would trigger a trade war with unforeseeable collateral damage.

Meanwhile, Russia continues to perfect its drone doctrine. The newly created elite unit "Rubicon" is experimenting with swarm tactics in which dozens of drones act in coordination, assign targets to each other, and autonomously perform evasive maneuvers. Plans for a separate military branch called "Drone Forces" are already sitting in Moscow’s drawers. It is the vision of a war in which humans become spectators of their own destruction, orchestrated by algorithms and carried out by soulless machines.

The Rubicon Center for Advanced Unmanned Technologies, founded in August 2024 by order of Russian Defense Minister Andrei Belousov, is considered the command hub of Russia’s drone warfare. It unites training, analysis, research, and combat deployment: UAV instructors are trained here, data from the front is evaluated, new systems are developed and immediately put into action. Rubicon breaks with the rigid command structure of the Russian army and operates more like a technology company - fast, flexible, experimental. Its units deploy the most modern reconnaissance and strike UAVs, from Lancet to Molniya, and are present in almost all sectors of the front. For the Ukrainian side, their arrival means noticeable pressure on logistics - but despite their professionalism, Rubicon’s fighters are not invincible, as Azov commander "Bud" emphasizes: they must be fought methodically like any other unit.

Ukraine is fighting back with remarkable ingenuity. New interceptor drones equipped with radar and artificial intelligence hunt their Russian counterparts like birds of prey stalk their quarry. Just on Sunday, a spectacular counterstrike was carried out: Ukrainian drones hit a large oil refinery near St. Petersburg. Electronic warfare has been elevated to an art form, Ukrainian hackers penetrate Russian drone networks, take control, redirect the attackers back across the border. But for every technological advance, there is a countermeasure, for every new defensive tactic an improved offensive method. It is an endless cycle of innovation driven by the cruel logic of war. In the rubble of a residential building recently hit by drones in Kharkiv, an old woman stood staring at what was once her home. She told of the night when the sky began to hum, like a giant beehive hovering over the city. She described the feeling of helplessness as the first explosions shattered the windows, as the walls began to shake, as the world she knew turned to dust and ashes. Her story is one of thousands, each a testament to how drone warfare has completely erased the line between front and home, between combatants and civilians.

The strategic implications of this development extend far beyond the current conflict. Military experts worldwide are studying the lessons from Ukraine, revising their doctrines, investing billions in drone defense and their own swarm technologies. What we are witnessing is nothing less than a revolution in warfare, comparable to the introduction of gunpowder or the development of air power. The difference: this revolution is happening not over decades but within months, driven by the relentless dynamics of a war that never pauses.

On the night of September 9 to 10, 2025, around 19 to 23 Russian drones entered Polish airspace, marking the largest documented incident of its kind to date. According to official reports, Polish and NATO units shot down up to four of the drones, while the others continued flying or were later found as wreckage in fields and forests. The Lublin prosecutor’s office stated that no explosives were found in any of the recovered aircraft - suggesting that some of them were decoys. The incident prompted a sharp reaction from Warsaw and renewed consultations with NATO partners.

The international community is struggling to respond. At the UN Security Council’s emergency meeting after the drone incidents over Poland, it was declared that "every inch of NATO territory will be defended." The G7 finance ministers had already called on September 12 to impose tariffs on countries buying Russian oil. They are discussing frozen Russian assets and their possible use for rebuilding Ukraine, but the sums involved pale in comparison to the sheer destructive power unleashed day after day. The UK took concrete steps this week: banning dozens of ships allegedly used for Russian oil transport and imposing new sanctions on individuals and companies that supplied arms and dual-use goods.

Although Polish authorities and international observers assume that these were Russian drones, there is still no final official confirmation that the object that hit the house in Wyryki-Wola came from Russia. It is also unclear whether the impact was a deliberate attack or whether the drone strayed off course due to technical problems or navigation errors.

Particularly insidious is the psychological dimension of this war. The drones come at night, when people are most vulnerable, when children should be lying in their beds, when families seek shelter in their homes. They turn the sky, once a symbol of freedom and vastness, into a source of constant threat. The monotonous hum of their engines has become the soundtrack of a collective trauma that will shape generations. Psychiatrists in Ukraine report an epidemic of anxiety disorders, of children panicking at every engine noise, of adults unable to sleep even when the nights are quiet.

The economic cost of this new form of warfare is paradoxical: for the attacker it is minimal - a Shahed drone may cost $20,000 in mass production. For the defender it is astronomical - each Patriot missile fired in defense costs many times more, not to mention the cost of radar, personnel, and infrastructure. It is an asymmetry that turns the traditional calculations of military power upside down. David versus Goliath, only David has thousands of stones and Goliath must spend a fortune for every shield. Shahed - 136

The Shahed-136, known in Russia as "Geran-2," has become the cipher of a new war of nerves. Developed by Iranian manufacturer HESA, the kamikaze drone is only 3.5 meters long, weighs around 200 kilograms, and carries a warhead of up to 50 kilograms. Its simple propeller engine allows ranges of up to 2,500 kilometers - enough to penetrate deep into the hinterland. Russia uses it in dense swarms, often dozens at a time, to overwhelm enemy air defenses. It follows programmed GPS coordinates, can be redirected in flight, and at the end dives onto its target like a precision bomb: power plants, radar stations, ammunition depots, or homes. Its effect is twofold: militarily limited, psychologically enormous. The droning buzz in the night, the moment of impact, the cheap reproducibility of these weapons - all this makes the Shahed-136 an instrument of terror that relies less on precision than on permanent threat.

In Moscow, this development is celebrated as a triumph of Russian engineering and strategic foresight. Propaganda videos show proud workers in drone factories, students patriotically assembling parts, generals standing in front of maps with drone swarms racing like arrows toward Ukrainian cities. It is the staging of a technological awakening, the suggestion that Russia has become innovative not despite but because of Western sanctions. The reality - the dependence on Iranian know-how and Chinese components - is conveniently ignored.

What does all this mean for the future, however sick it may sound in supposedly civilized times, of war - not just this war but war itself? We are at the beginning of an era in which conflicts are no longer decided by the number of soldiers or tanks but by the production capacity for autonomous weapon systems. An era in which the line between war and peace blurs, in which drone swarms can strike anytime and anywhere. An era in which the traditional rules of warfare, painstakingly developed over centuries, become obsolete.

Russia’s development of satellite-independent navigation systems for drones is less technological pioneering than a direct response to the painful losses of recent years. Since 2022, Russian developers have been looking for ways to bypass Ukraine’s massive GPS and GLONASS jamming, which rendered many drones inoperable. In 2023, the first prototypes of BINS modules followed - compact inertial navigation systems that are technically impressive but also make war more autonomous. With the Bur-P navigation module and experiments with sensor fusion, the system was to become more precise without relying on satellite signals.

In 2024, Moscow proudly presented the results at the "Army-2024" military exhibition: drones that could navigate several kilometers without GLONASS or GPS signals. Critics warned even then that such systems would make attacks on critical infrastructure even harder to repel. At the same time, the military-industrial complex began testing the technology in partner programs with private UAV manufacturers - a close intertwining of state and arms industry aimed at rapid mass production.

In 2025, Russia finally announced successful tests with the UAV HEXA-KRAN and VTOL models and declared its intention to develop the technology into a plug-and-play module that can be retrofitted without firmware intervention. This brings a drone fleet capable of operating even in electronically "blind" airspace within reach. For the defenders, this means even more targets that are difficult to disrupt - and another step toward automated attacks whose political and ethical control is hardly guaranteed. This development is also becoming a security policy problem: NATO analysts warn that such systems could further lower the threshold for cross-border drone attacks, as they reliably find their target even under massive GPS jamming. The OSCE sees in this an escalating arms race in the field of autonomous weapons systems that requires new control mechanisms and international legal rules to prevent uncontrolled attacks on civilian infrastructure.

The lessons from Ukraine are already being absorbed in military academies from Beijing to the Pentagon. Countries that have so far relied on conventional forces are hastily investing in drone technology. The arms race of the 21st century will not be fought over nuclear weapons but over artificial intelligence and swarm technology. It is a Pandora’s box that, once opened, cannot be closed again. While diplomats are still negotiating ceasefires, while Trump threatens tariffs and Putin ramps up production numbers, the drone war continues. Every night they take off, these faceless messengers of death, hum through the darkness, search for their targets. Every night people in Ukraine are awakened by the wail of sirens, run into basements and subway tunnels, pray that this time it will not be their house, their street, their family.

Ukrainian President Zelensky, who only last year asked Trump for long-range weapons in case Russia refused a ceasefire, now faces an even more fundamental challenge: how to defend a nation against an enemy that does not tire, that knows no morality, that can be reproduced in any number? The answer to this question will decide not only the fate of Ukraine but the way wars will be fought in this century.

In these September nights, while somewhere over the plains of eastern Ukraine the drones are humming again, while in Moscow’s factories the next generation of killing machines rolls off the assembly line, while in Washington sanctions are debated, a bitter realization crystallizes: we are witnessing not just a war between two nations but a turning point in the history of human conflict. The future has arrived, and it carries the sound of a thousand humming engines in the night.