Combat Readiness at the Speed of Relevance: Preparing for Tomorrow’s Conflicts Today

09/18/2025

By Robbin Laird

On September 18, 2025, the Sir Richard Williams Foundation held its 2nd seminar for the year which was entitled: “Fight Tonight: Combat Readiness at the Speed of Relevance.”

I will highlight the presentations at the conference in a series of articles over the next few weeks. I will conclude the series with an article providing my perceptions of what were the major answers suggested by speakers at the seminar for a way ahead.

The Chairman of the Sir Richard Williams Foundation, ACM (Retired) Mark Binskin (pictured in the featured image) opened the seminar by highlighting its key focuse. Let me paraphrase his thoughts which provided a key orientation to the day’s presentations and the subject.

The comfortable certainties of the post-Cold War era are dissolving before our eyes. The global rules-based order that has underpinned international stability and prosperity for decades is under unprecedented strain, leaving like-minded democracies to confront an uncomfortable truth: the luxury of time may no longer be on our side.

For generations, Western nations have operated under the assumption that conflicts would unfold with sufficient warning time and that diplomatic channels would provide opportunities for de-escalation, that international institutions would serve as buffers, and that the sheer complexity of modern warfare would necessitate lengthy preparation periods. This comfortable paradigm is crumbling as rapidly as the geopolitical landscape itself.

In this shifting landscape, the concept of “combat readiness at the speed of relevance” takes on critical importance. It’s not enough to possess advanced military capabilities if they take a decade to develop and deploy. When adversaries can move at the pace of modern warfare, measured in hours and days rather than months and years, our defense industrial base must match that tempo. The question is no longer whether we can build the best equipment, but whether we can build it fast enough to matter.

The challenge extends far beyond traditional military preparedness. Future adversaries will not simply mass forces at borders and declare their intentions through formal diplomatic channels. Instead, they will wage sophisticated campaigns designed to fracture our decision-making processes before the first shot is fired. They will exploit divisions within international organizations, whisper to allied nations that “this is not their fight,” and systematically undermine the social cohesion that democratic societies depend upon for effective governance.

These adversaries understand that modern conflicts are won as much in the information space as on traditional battlefields. They will flood social media platforms with carefully crafted disinformation, orchestrate social unrest through targeted manipulation of grievances, and probe critical infrastructure, not necessarily to destroy it, but to create doubt about a government’s ability to protect its citizens. The goal is to paralyze decision-making through uncertainty and division. By the time political leaders recognize they are already in a conflict, the adversary may have achieved decisive advantages across multiple domains simultaneously.

This reality represents a fundamental asymmetry that democratic societies must address. While authoritarian regimes can pivot quickly from competition to conflict, democratic nations must navigate complex political processes, build public consensus, and maintain alliance cohesion. These are strengths in peacetime but can become vulnerabilities when facing opponents who have already decided on their course of action and are actively working to exploit the deliberative nature of democratic governance.

The answer lies in building “strategic depth” but not just in terms of geography or resources, but in time itself. By accelerating the development of critical capabilities now, by strengthening industrial partnerships today, and by synchronizing efforts across all domains of warfare, democracies can compress the decision-making cycle that adversaries seek to exploit. This requires a departure from traditional procurement timelines and bureaucratic processes that were designed for a more stable world.

Consider the implications for defense industrial capacity. In previous conflicts, nations could rely on their ability to mobilize and scale production during wartime. Modern warfare may not provide that luxury. The industrial base must be prepared to surge immediately, with supply chains that are resilient, diversified, and capable of rapid expansion. This means maintaining production capabilities even during peacetime, accepting higher costs in exchange for reduced vulnerability and increased responsiveness.

The human dimension proves equally critical. Military personnel cannot simply be trained for yesterday’s conflicts; they must be prepared for scenarios that may unfold with unprecedented speed and complexity. This demands not just technical proficiency, but cognitive agility—the ability to adapt rapidly to changing circumstances and make effective decisions under extreme time pressure. Training programs must emphasize not just what to think, but how to think quickly and effectively in chaotic environments.

Alliance structures, too, must evolve to match the speed of modern threats. Traditional consultation processes that unfold over weeks or months become irrelevant when adversaries can achieve fait accompli in days. This doesn’t mean abandoning democratic principles or alliance consultation, but rather pre-positioning decision-making frameworks that can respond rapidly to emerging crises while maintaining legitimacy and coordination.

This transformation requires that defense discussions cannot remain confined to policy circles and academic conferences. The urgency of the moment demands that military leaders, defense contractors, allied partners, and civilian leadership work in unprecedented coordination. Industrial executives must understand operational requirements with the same clarity as battlefield commanders. Political leaders must grasp the technical constraints of modern warfare. Alliance partners must synchronize not just their strategic objectives, but their tactical decision-making processes.

The goal extends beyond merely deterring conflict. Deterrence assumes rational actors making cost-benefit calculations. Some adversaries may not be deterred by traditional means, or may calculate that the benefits of action outweigh the costs, particularly if they believe they can achieve decisive results before effective responses can be mounted. In such scenarios, the ability to respond immediately and effectively becomes paramount.

The speed of relevance is ultimately about preserving choice in an era when adversaries seek to eliminate it. By preparing now, with the urgency the moment demands, democratic nations can ensure they retain the initiative in shaping their own security environment, rather than merely reacting to threats already in motion. This preparation must be comprehensive and able to span technological capabilities, industrial capacity, human resources, and alliance coordination, because future conflicts will test all these dimensions simultaneously.

The alternative is to cede the initiative to adversaries who have already embraced the speed of modern conflict, leaving democratic societies perpetually reactive and vulnerable to opponents who understand that in the modern era, timing isn’t just important — it’s everything.

 

 

 

Australia’s Strategic Dynamic: Redefining Alliance Partnership in the Indo-Pacific

09/17/2025

By Robbin Laird

The comfortable certainties of the post-Cold War era are dissolving. For Australia, this transformation presents both unprecedented challenges and opportunities to reshape its role as a strategic actor in the Indo-Pacific.

Australia is moving from alliance dependence toward more strategic independence while deepening operational integration with trusted partners.

The traditional model of alliance partnership, where Australia provided bases and political support in exchange for American security guarantees, is proving inadequate for contemporary challenges. There is a growing recognition within Australian strategic circles, as noted in a conversation with a senior strategic analyst recently with me, that “we can’t rule out the possibility that we might actually have to conduct some operations, major operations, to deter and demonstrate capability to deter even China, but also cause enormous damage to the baddies if the United States decides it’s going to sit on its hands.”

This stark assessment reflects a broader realization that has been developing across multiple Australian governments: the reliability of any single patron, even the United States, cannot be taken for granted in an era of domestic political volatility and competing global priorities. The experiences of Ukraine and Israel, where American support came with significant operational constraints and political interference, have reinforced Australian concerns about maintaining decision-making autonomy in potential conflicts.

It is clear that Australia needs to ramp up its own capabilities, which work with regional allies and support the broader American forces as well. But its own capabilities is the rub – which ones are central to shape a more independent posture and how to build, operate and pay for such capabilities?

In other words, the strategic dynamics have outpaced current budgets and policies.

Australia’s strategic independence cannot be built on traditional military thinking focused on capital ships and large platforms alone. With a population of 25 million and constrained defense budgets, Australia must invest in one Australian analyst called “high-leverage capabilities”. systems that can “stop even a major aggressor in its tracks” through technological sophistication rather than numerical superiority.

The recently announced $1.7 billion investment in Ghost Shark autonomous underwater vehicles exemplifies this approach. Unlike traditional submarine programs that deliver small numbers of expensive platforms over decades, the Ghost Shark program is designed for rapid scaling and continuous technological evolution. The difference between deploying 15 Ghost Shark systems versus 180 represents a qualitative shift in deterrent capability that potential adversaries must factor into their planning.

This modular, rapidly deployable approach extends beyond underwater systems. The goal of a diversified more independent capability is to create multiple, simultaneous threats that complicate adversary decision-making while avoiding the catastrophic loss scenarios associated with traditional platform-centric strategies.

The technological sophistication of these systems often reflects joint development with the United States, but their operational deployment and tactical employment will be determined by Australian strategic requirements. This represents a fundamental shift from technology transfer to collaborative development, where Australian operational insights shape system capabilities from the design phase.

Strategic independence requires more than advanced weapons systems. It demands industrial capacity to sustain those systems independently of vulnerable supply chains. The Ghost Shark program’s emphasis on domestic battery production illustrates this broader requirement. As defense analysts have noted, producing sophisticated autonomous systems while importing all critical components from potentially hostile nations represents a fundamental strategic vulnerability.

The concept of “embedded logistics” offers a framework for addressing these challenges while serving broader alliance interests. Rather than relying on expensive, vulnerable supply lines stretching from Hawaii to forward deployment areas, the United States could dramatically reduce Pacific logistics costs by supporting Australian industrial capacity development. This approach could reduce American logistics costs signifcantly while providing Australia with the industrial foundation for sustained military operations.

This industrial development serves multiple strategic purposes. It reduces Australian dependence on any single supplier, including traditional allies whose domestic politics might disrupt supply relationships. It provides the foundation for supporting regional partners who lack sophisticated defense industries. Most importantly, it enables Australia to maintain military operations during the extended periods when great power politics might limit access to traditional suppliers.

Strategic independence does not mean strategic isolation. Australia’s future security depends on deepening operational integration with trusted partners while maintaining decision-making autonomy. Recent developments in military-to-military cooperation illustrate how this balance might be achieved.

The level of operational integration already achieved between Australian and American forces extends far beyond traditional alliance cooperation. As one Australian strageic analyst noted in a conversation with me, current systems integration means “if you’ve got a sensor saying, here’s a PLA task group here, what’s the best asset for actually striking that in 15 minutes time, if it’s an Australian F-35 flight… it’s a joint thing.” This represents genuine operational integration where tactical decisions are made based on capability and positioning rather than national boundaries.

Similar integration is developing with other regional partners. Australia’s expanding training relationships, from long-standing arrangements with Singapore to new partnerships with Germany, reflect a diversification strategy that reduces dependence on any single relationship while building interoperability across multiple partnerships. The recent German request to conduct pilot training in Australia, driven by recognition of Australian operational excellence, illustrates how capability development can create strategic options.

The key insight from these developments is that operational integration can coexist with strategic independence when partners maintain genuine capabilities rather than depending solely on a dominant ally’s systems. Australia’s ability to contribute meaningfully to integrated operations depends on having independent capabilities to contribute, not just political willingness to follow American leadership.

Australia’s evolving strategic role extends beyond self-defense to regional leadership through capability sharing and operational cooperation. The expanding relationship with the Philippines illustrates this potential. Australia’s new treaty arrangements and joint exercises with Manila represent more than bilateral cooperation for they demonstrate how middle powers can create alternative security networks that complement rather than compete with traditional alliance structures.

The autonomous systems focus provides a particular opportunity for regional leadership. Maritime autonomous systems offer an ideal platform for sharing operational information and coordinating responses to gray-zone activities without requiring the massive infrastructure investments associated with traditional military cooperation. Australia could position itself to serve as a regional hub for autonomous systems development and deployment.

This regional role serves broader strategic purposes by creating multiple decision-making centers that complicate adversary planning. Rather than focusing solely on potential American responses to regional aggression, potential adversaries must account for Australian capabilities, Philippine responses, Japanese actions, and other variables that cannot be controlled through bilateral pressure on Washington.

The Pacific Island fingerprinting campaigns by Chinese forces illustrate the importance of this distributed response capability. Australia’s ability to respond independently to such provocations, without requiring American approval or support, provides options for graduated responses that might be impossible within traditional alliance frameworks where every action requires extensive coordination.

The challenge lies in maintaining operational cooperation while political relationships fluctuate. The Trump administration’s demand for 3.5% GDP defense spending from Australia, while politically problematic, reflects genuine recognition that increased ally capability serves American strategic interests. However, increased capability necessarily means increased autonomy in employment decisions.

The solution requires reframing alliance cooperation from patron-client relationships toward genuine strategic partnerships. This means American acceptance that capable allies will make independent decisions about capability employment, while Australian recognition that strategic independence requires genuine capability development rather than political posturing.

Australia’s strategic independence must address economic as well as military vulnerabilities. The Chinese economic coercion playbook, demonstrated globally over the past decade, requires capabilities for economic as well as military resistance. This connects strategic independence to broader questions of industrial policy and economic diversification.

Strategic independence requires economic policies that support both military capability development and resistance to economic coercion. The embedded logistics concept serves both purposes by creating industrial capacity that supports military requirements while reducing dependence on potentially hostile suppliers.

This economic dimension extends to regional leadership opportunities. Australia’s capacity to provide alternative economic relationships for Pacific Island nations and regional partners creates strategic options that complement military capabilities. The combination of economic alternatives and security partnerships provides a more robust foundation for regional influence than either element alone.

Australia’s approach to strategic independence through high-leverage capabilities would offer lessons for other middle powers facing similar challenges. The emphasis on rapidly deployable, modular systems that can be scaled quickly provides an alternative to traditional platform-centric approaches that require decades for development and massive resource commitments.

The technological sophistication required for this approach demands genuine innovation rather than license production of foreign designs. Australia’s success with autonomous systems development reflects investment in domestic technological capacity rather than simple technology transfer arrangements. This model requires patient investment in research and development capabilities but provides the foundation for genuine strategic autonomy.

The deterrent effect of these capabilities depends not only on their technical performance but on adversary uncertainty about their capabilities and employment concepts. The psychological impact of facing an unknown number of sophisticated autonomous systems operating in contested waters may exceed their direct military effect.

This uncertainty principle applies more broadly to strategic independence. Adversaries who could previously predict Australian responses based on American decision-making patterns now face genuine uncertainty about Australian capabilities and intentions. This uncertainty serves deterrent purposes regardless of the specific capabilities involved.

Australia’s de facto movement toward more strategic independence represents neither abandonment of alliance relationships nor pursuit of complete autonomy. Instead, it reflects adaptation to a strategic environment where traditional security guarantees are no longer sufficient for national survival. The goal is developing sufficient independent capability to deter aggression while maintaining the partnerships necessary for broader regional stability.

This transition requires sustained political commitment to capability development, industrial investment, and regional engagement. It demands American acceptance that genuine partners exercise genuine autonomy in strategic decision-making. Most importantly, it requires recognition that strategic independence and alliance partnership can reinforce rather than contradict each other when properly structured.

The stakes extend beyond Australian security to the broader question of whether democratic middle powers can maintain autonomy in an era of great power competition. Australia’s success or failure in developing genuine strategic independence while maintaining productive partnerships will influence similar efforts across the Indo-Pacific and beyond.

The comfortable assumptions of the post-Cold War era offered the illusion of permanent security through alliance dependence. The emerging strategic environment demands the reality of security through capability and partnership. Australia’s challenge is managing this transition successfully while contributing to broader regional stability. This transition is not only possible but essential for long-term security in an increasingly contested world.

Brazil at the Crossroads: Why Resource Sovereignty Requires Democratic Partnership

Brazil stands at a critical juncture that will determine whether it emerges as a strategic power or remains trapped as a raw material supplier in China’s sphere of influence. While President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva’s administration pursues deeper integration with Beijing through initiatives like BRICS expansion and transcontinental infrastructure projects, this path threatens to foreclose the very opportunities that could establish Brazil as an indispensable global partner.

The fundamental question facing Brazil is not whether to leverage its vast mineral wealth, but whether it will do so as a sovereign nation or as a subordinate supplier in China’s economic empire.

The Trap of Raw Material Dependency

Leonardo Coutinho’s analysis in “The China First Doctrine” reveals how Brazil’s current trajectory leads inexorably toward economic subordination disguised as partnership.

Despite Brazil’s position as a supplier of “nearly a quarter of China’s food imports,” Brazilian leadership has failed to recognize this as leverage, instead believing “they cannot upset their client, at the risk of retaliation and sanctions.” This mentality transforms what should be strategic interdependence into dangerous dependency.

The proposed railroad connecting Brazil through Peru to Chinese-controlled ports epitomizes this subordination. As Coutinho notes, Brazil has “committed millions in taxpayer funds to building regional infrastructure that complements China’s strategic investments,” particularly supporting “corridors and financing structures linked to the Port of Chancay in Peru.”

This infrastructure project, while marketed as regional development, actually locks Brazil into a permanent role as raw material exporter to Chinese processors, ensuring that “the central axis of the Chinese plan to reconfigure trade routes between South America and Asia will only be viable with the massive involvement of South American countries.”

Robert Muggah’s vision in “Brazil’s Critical Minerals Moment” of Brazil becoming a “cornerstone supplier” rather than a “warehouse of stranded potential” cannot be realized within this Chinese-dominated framework. The fundamental problem is that China’s strategy explicitly prevents the downstream processing that Muggah identifies as essential for capturing value. As his analysis reveals, “without investment in midstream separation, metals, magnets and chemical conversion, Brazil will export concentrates while most of the value accrues offshore.”

The BRICS Straightjacket

The BRICS framework, far from offering Brazil strategic alternatives, increasingly serves as a mechanism for Chinese dominance over member nations. Lula’s proposal at the recent Rio de Janeiro summit for “a BRICS-exclusive submarine cable system” represents what Coutinho describes as an attempt to “establish a parallel online ecosystem governed by countries largely composed of authoritarian regimes and dysfunctional democracies.” This digital infrastructure would further entrench Brazil’s subordination to Chinese technological standards and surveillance capabilities.

The contrast with Argentina under President Javier Milei demonstrates the viability of alternative approaches.

As Coutinho observes, Milei has shown “how Latin American countries can maintain profitable trade with the Chinese regime without ideological alignment, safeguarding national sovereignty, and guaranteeing benefits for their people.” Crucially, “while selling more products than ever before to the Chinese, Milei has made strides towards establishing trade agreements that will boost trade with the United States.”

This balanced approach, maintaining commercial relationships while avoiding strategic subordination, offers a template for how Brazil could pursue Muggah’s vision of resource-based leverage. However, it requires abandoning the ideological framework that currently drives Brazilian foreign policy.

The Infrastructure of Dependency

The transportation corridor to Chancay represents more than logistics. It embodies a strategic choice that forecloses alternatives. Once completed, this Chinese-financed and controlled infrastructure will create path dependencies that make it increasingly difficult for Brazil to pursue the value-added processing that Muggah identifies as essential. Brazilian minerals will flow directly to Chinese ports and processors, bypassing potential partnerships with democratic allies who might support domestic processing capabilities.

Muggah’s analysis emphasizes that “midstream build-out” in areas like “rare-earth separation, lithium chemicals, nickel sulphate and graphite anodes should be located where power is clean and logistics are reliable.” Brazil possesses these advantages—its “unusually clean grid (90% comes from renewables) confers a reputational edge” over Chinese coal-fired processing. However, the Chancay corridor ensures that these advantages will benefit Chinese processors rather than Brazilian industry.

The timing is crucial. As Muggah notes, “the AI era will test Brazil’s balancing act” as “data-center build-outs and electrified logistics are pushing demand” for critical minerals. If Brazil commits its mineral exports to Chinese-controlled infrastructure before developing domestic processing capabilities, it will miss the window of opportunity that current technological transitions provide.

The Democratic Alternative

For Muggah’s vision to succeed, Brazil must pivot toward partnerships with democratic allies who have both the technology and the strategic interest to support Brazilian value-addition.

The United States, despite current tensions, represents a natural partner for developing downstream processing capabilities. As Muggah observes, “Washington, despite an escalating trade war, wants to ‘friend-shore’ inputs for clean-energy, defence and AI supply chains, and sees Brazil as a possible partner precisely because of its resources and rule-of-law reputation.”

India offers another promising partnership avenue. Unlike China, India lacks the processing dominance that creates exploitative relationships, and its democratic institutions align with Brazil’s stated values. European partners similarly seek to diversify supply chains away from Chinese control while supporting environmental and labor standards that match Brazil’s comparative advantages.

The emerging “Minerals Security Partnership” framework that Muggah references provides a concrete mechanism for this democratic cooperation. Unlike Chinese Belt and Road initiatives that lock countries into dependency relationships, this partnership model envisions “tailored offtakes and joint R&D” that could support the domestic processing capabilities Brazil needs.

The Environmental Imperative

Brazil’s environmental advantages become meaningless if its minerals simply feed Chinese processing facilities that operate under different standards. As Muggah warns, “any perception that licensing guts safeguards or that deforestation rises with mining logistics would swiftly puncture ‘green’ claims.” The Chancay corridor and associated infrastructure development risks exactly this outcome, creating environmental pressures without corresponding domestic benefits.

Democratic partnerships offer superior environmental frameworks. As Muggah notes, “processing powered by hydro and bioenergy scores better on Western ESG screens than coal-fired equivalents in Asia.” However, this advantage only matters if processing occurs in Brazil rather than simply exporting to cleaner-energy partners.

The “Global Minerals Trust” concept that Muggah discusses “led by a coalition of producing and consuming nations” to “pool data, reduce volatility, buffer shocks with shared stockpiles and set audit protocols” represents the kind of multilateral framework that could support Brazilian sovereignty while ensuring responsible development. China’s bilateral approach offers no such safeguards.

The Strategic Choice

Coutinho’s warning that Brazil faces isolation “economically and diplomatically, at a time when its national interests require independence and balance” becomes particularly relevant when viewed through Muggah’s framework. The infrastructure investments that Lula’s government is pursuing will create irreversible dependencies that make the strategic flexibility Muggah envisions impossible.

The recent U.S. sanctions, including tariffs and Magnitsky Act designations, represent what Coutinho describes as “a geopolitical warning aimed at halting a shift that threatens to destabilize the Western Hemisphere.” Rather than viewing these as attacks on sovereignty, Brazil should recognize them as signals that alternative partnerships remain available—but only if Brazil demonstrates genuine strategic independence rather than Chinese alignment.

The Window of Opportunity

Muggah’s analysis reveals that Brazil possesses unique advantages that could support genuine strategic autonomy: vast mineral resources, clean energy, democratic institutions, and environmental leadership. However, these advantages have value only if Brazil maintains the flexibility to partner with multiple actors rather than locking itself into Chinese-dominated supply chains.

The contrast between Brazil’s niobium success and its struggles in other minerals is instructive. As Muggah notes, Brazil “already controls 97% of the global supply via CBMM, whose technological edge and long-term contracts make it a key node for high-strength steels and emerging battery chemistries.” This dominance provides leverage precisely because Brazil developed processing capabilities domestically rather than simply exporting ore to foreign processors.

Replicating this model across other critical minerals requires partnerships with countries that have both the technology and the strategic interest to support Brazilian value-addition. China, with its dominant processing position, has no incentive to support competitive Brazilian capabilities. Democratic partners, seeking to diversify away from Chinese dominance, do.

Conclusion: Sovereignty Through Partnership

The fundamental insight emerging from both analyses is that Brazil’s current path toward Chinese integration forecloses the strategic opportunities that Muggah identifies. The railroad to Chancay, BRICS digital infrastructure, and deepening economic integration all serve to lock Brazil into a raw material supplier role that prevents the domestic value-addition essential for genuine sovereignty.

For Brazil to achieve Muggah’s vision of becoming a “cornerstone supplier” that can “court both East and West without becoming anyone’s appendage,” it must first escape the strategic dependencies that current policies create. This requires recognizing that true sovereignty comes not from ideological alignment with authoritarian powers, but from maintaining the flexibility to partner with democratic allies who share interests in responsible development and strategic autonomy.

As Coutinho concludes, “the United States has drawn a line. The question is: does Brazil know which side it stands on?” The answer should be clear: Brazil’s interests lie with partners who support its development as a processing power rather than its exploitation as a raw material supplier. The geological wealth beneath Brazil’s soil offers unprecedented opportunities—but only if Brazilian policy choices preserve the strategic flexibility necessary to realize them.

Sources:

Leonardo Coutinho. The China First Doctrine: How Lula’s Foreign Policy Threatens Brazil’s Balance, Linkedin (August 1, 2025), https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/china-first-doctrine-how-lulas-foreign-policy-brazils-coutinho-64tle/

Robert Muggah, “Brazil’s Critical Minerals Moment, Linkedin (August 18, 2025), https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/brazils-critical-minerals-moment-robert-muggah-grvsf/

Next year we are publishing our book looking at Middle Powers and Global China:

 

Not the Russian Empire: Putin Brings Back Soviet Scientific and Technological Decline

09/15/2025

By Robbin Laird

My friend and colleague Erik Hoffmann and I worked extensively on analyzing the efforts to change the Soviet system under the pressures of the technological revolution of the 1970s and 1980s. This was when Brzezinski published his book on the technotronic age and described the challenges a Soviet autocratic system faced to try to modernize.

The Soviet leadership recognized the challenge in part and spoke of the need to modify their system to deal with the scientific and technological revolution. Erik and I wrote about this attempt as one of aspiring to create technocratic socialism. This was the Soviet leadership’s attempt to adapt their system through concepts like “developed socialism” and scientific management of society, putting science and technology to work for the renovation of their system.

Yet the system became less innovative over time because of the nepotism and repression of the bureaucracy of the decaying Soviet system.

The Farewell Affair, which unfolded in the early 1980s, provided dramatic confirmation of the Soviet Union’s systematic dependence on Western technological espionage rather than indigenous innovation. The operation centered on Colonel Vladimir Vetrov, a KGB officer codenamed “Farewell” by French intelligence, who provided the West with over 4,000 documents detailing the extensive Soviet program to acquire Western technology. These documents revealed that the KGB’s Directorate T had been operating a massive intelligence network specifically tasked with stealing scientific and technical secrets from the United States, Western Europe, and Japan across virtually every sector of advanced technology.

The revelations exposed the profound structural weaknesses in the Soviet innovation system that had developed since the more creative early decades.

Rather than fostering original research and development, Soviet military-industrial planners had become increasingly reliant on reverse-engineering stolen Western designs and acquiring embargoed technologies through elaborate procurement networks.

The Farewell documents showed that Soviet weapons systems, computer technology, and manufacturing processes were often direct copies or adaptations of Western counterparts, sometimes implemented years behind the original innovations.

This technological parasitism had become so institutionalized that when the CIA and other Western agencies used the intelligence to feed disinformation back through these channels including deliberately flawed software and specifications, it caused significant disruptions to Soviet military programs, demonstrating just how dependent Moscow had become on this illicit technological transfer rather than developing genuine innovative capacity.

This is a completely ignored contribution of the Mitterrand Administration to the Reagan Administration which at the outset was fixated on tossing France out of NATO because Mitterrand had put three communists in his government.

Ironically, Putin with his invasion of Ukraine is bringing back the Soviet empire more in terms of spirit than of territorial expansion. The brain drain he has created of Russian scientists and engineers due to the “special military operations” recalls the state of Soviet science in the 1970s and 1980s.

It recalls the warnings by Andrei Sakharov of the fate of Russia with the decline of its scientific dynamism. Andrei Sakharov occupied a unique position in 20th-century history, simultaneously one of the Soviet Union’s most celebrated scientists and its most prominent dissident. As the brilliant physicist who developed the Soviet hydrogen bomb, Sakharov enjoyed unprecedented access to the inner workings of the Soviet scientific establishment.

Yet it was precisely this privileged position that allowed him to see, with devastating clarity, how the authoritarian system was strangling the very scientific enterprise it claimed to champion.

Sakharov’s most damning critique centered on the Soviet system’s subordination of scientific truth to ideological orthodoxy. He witnessed firsthand how political doctrine could override empirical evidence, most notoriously in the case of Lysenkoism. Trofim Lysenko’s scientifically fraudulent theories about genetics gained official support because they appeared to align with Marxist principles about environmental determinism. Meanwhile, legitimate geneticists were persecuted, their research suppressed, and some even imprisoned or executed.

“Science cannot develop normally under conditions where scientific concepts and scientific theories are subject to the commands of an outside force,” Sakharov argued in his seminal 1968 essay “Progress, Coexistence and Intellectual Freedom.” This external control created an environment where scientists learned to self-censor, avoiding research directions that might conflict with party doctrine, regardless of their scientific merit.

Equally destructive, in Sakharov’s view, was the Soviet system’s isolation of Russian scientists from the global scientific community. The Iron Curtain wasn’t merely a political barrier. It was an intellectual one that prevented the free exchange of ideas essential to scientific progress. Soviet scientists were largely cut off from international conferences, collaborative research projects, and the rapid dissemination of new discoveries that characterizes modern science.

This isolation created a kind of scientific inbreeding, where Russian researchers developed in relative isolation from global trends and methodologies. Sakharov recognized that science is inherently international and collaborative; breakthroughs in one laboratory must be freely shared and verified by others worldwide. The Soviet system’s paranoid secrecy and control over information flows fundamentally violated this principle.

Perhaps most insidiously, Sakharov observed how the climate of fear and repression stifled the intellectual courage necessary for scientific breakthrough. Revolutionary scientific ideas often challenge established orthodoxies, a dangerous proposition in a system where challenging authority could lead to imprisonment or worse. Scientists learned to play it safe, pursuing incremental research rather than bold hypotheses that might attract unwanted attention.

The brain drain that resulted was catastrophic. Talented researchers either emigrated when possible, were reassigned to military projects away from basic research, or simply abandoned science altogether. Those who remained often focused their energies on navigating bureaucratic hierarchies rather than advancing human knowledge.

Sakharov also criticized the heavy bureaucratic apparatus that governed Soviet science. Research priorities were set by political appointees rather than scientific merit, funding decisions reflected ideological considerations, and career advancement often depended more on party loyalty than scientific achievement. This created perverse incentives that rewarded conformity over creativity and political reliability over intellectual brilliance.

Sakharov’s analysis remains relevant today, offering lessons about the fragile relationship between scientific progress and political freedom. His life demonstrated that authentic scientific achievement requires not just material resources and talented individuals, but the intellectual freedom to pursue truth wherever it leads even when that truth challenges those in power.

What Putin has done is to take Russia from a country which was engaged with modern Europe to one at war with modern Europe which now is benefiting from the scientists, engineers and technicians who have fled Russia to the West.

See the following as well:

Putin’s War: How Russia’s Invasion of Ukraine Triggered a Scientific Exodus

 

Russia’s Adaptation to Drone Warfare

09/14/2025

By Pasquale Preziosa

In recent months, Russia has radically transformed the way it uses drones, making these low-cost tools a pillar of its strategy.

What appeared at the beginning of the war to be a rudimentary bombing campaign, conducted with Iranian-made aircraft adapted for local use, has gradually evolved into a much more sophisticated approach, capable of integrating industrial production, technological innovations, exploitation of civilian networks, and even cross-border reconnaissance operations.

This evolution did not happen spontaneously.

It is part of a mutual adaptation between the two contenders. For some time now, Ukraine had demonstrated the effectiveness of conducting attacks deep into Russian territory, striking air bases, depots, and energy infrastructure hundreds of kilometers from the front line. Those raids, carried out with improvised but increasingly autonomous drones, had undermined Moscow’s perception of invulnerability, forcing it to disperse its defenses and recognize that relatively inexpensive systems could produce significant strategic effects.

The Russians learned their lesson and turned it into doctrine.

The production of Geran-2 drones, a local evolution of the Iranian Shahed models, was brought to industrial level and enhanced with foreign components capable of improving their accuracy and endurance. The new versions incorporate anti-jamming systems, 4G and 5G communication modules, advanced cameras, and even automation capabilities.

But the real innovation concerns integration with civilian infrastructure: Russian drones exploit domestic and foreign mobile networks, use SIM cards to ensure continuity of communication, and make them more difficult to intercept.

At the same time, tactics have changed.

Whereas in the past drones were used almost exclusively for direct attacks on energy or logistics infrastructure, today many missions are of a reconnaissance nature. The devices are sent across borders not so much to destroy targets as to measure radar response times, test NATO readiness, and identify vulnerabilities along the Alliance’s eastern borders.

The incursions into Poland and Romania have clearly demonstrated this new dimension, in which the military instrument also becomes a political message and diplomatic pressure.

Multiple objectives can be glimpsed behind this transformation.

  1. First and foremost is intelligence gathering: every flight is a source of data on enemy defense systems.
  2. Second is psychological pressure: demonstrating that no border is impervious serves to undermine confidence in NATO’s defensive capabilities.
  3. Third is the expansion of the operational space: not limiting oneself to the Ukrainian front, but extending the feeling of vulnerability to neighboring states as well.
  4. Fourth, sustainability: inexpensive drones make it possible to prolong the conflict while reducing operational costs.
  5. Finally, ambiguity: small aircraft can be presented as accidental errors or deviations, complicating legal and diplomatic responses by the adversary.

However, this strategy is not without risks.

Cross-border incursions can provoke unwanted escalation with NATO. The West is developing increasingly effective technological countermeasures, from enhanced radars to low-cost interceptor drones.

Furthermore, dependence on foreign components exposes Moscow to vulnerabilities in the event of tougher sanctions, while the logistical management of increasingly numerous swarms requires complex resources and coordination.

For Ukraine and its Western allies, Russia’s adaptation requires a qualitative leap in defense.

It is no longer enough to strengthen frontline protection: mobile radars must be developed, intelligence shared, the use of civilian networks regulated, suspicious SIM cards checked, and economically sustainable interception systems introduced.

Deterrence must also be rethought: it is not enough to react to attacks; the use of civilian infrastructure as a multiplier of military power must be prevented.

Russia’s drone strategy, therefore, stems from its observation of Ukraine’s deep strikes and represents a mirror adaptation of them.

However, Moscow has not limited itself to copying, as it has transformed that insight into a systemic doctrine of hybrid warfare, capable of combining mass production, technological innovation, and psychological and diplomatic pressure.

The result is a new phase of conflict, in which adaptability and resilience count more than conventional force, and in which air superiority is no longer solely that of fighter jets or missiles, but increasingly that of drones, which are redefining the boundaries of modern warfare.

From a theoretical point of view, this evolution is in line with the wars of attrition already described by Clausewitz, in which victory is not achieved by brute force but by the ability to resist longer than the enemy.

At the same time, it is part of the dynamics of asymmetric warfare, in which low-cost tools can produce disproportionate strategic effects, and hybrid warfare, where the line between military and civilian, between armed action and psychological pressure, is becoming increasingly blurred.

In this sense, drones become the emblem of a conflict that is not just a confrontation between armies, but a h r continuous adaptation of complex systems, in which technology, politics, and society are intertwined in an unstable and constantly changing balance.

This article was published on September 4, 2025 by European Affairs in Italian and is published with permission of the author.

Echoes of the 1930s: Comparing International Coalitions in the Spanish Civil War and Ukraine Conflict

09/12/2025

History rarely repeats itself exactly, but it often rhymes with haunting resonance. The international coalitions that formed around the Spanish Civil War of 1936-1939 and the ongoing conflict in Ukraine since 2022 reveal striking parallels in how major powers align themselves during ideological and geopolitical crises.

Both conflicts transformed from local disputes into global proxy wars that tested the resolve, capabilities, and alliances of the world’s major powers.

Yet the mechanisms of international involvement, the nature of the coalitions, and the broader strategic context have evolved dramatically between these two pivotal moments separated by nearly a century.

The Spanish Laboratory: Prelude to Global War

The Spanish Civil War emerged from a perfect storm of domestic political polarization and international tension. When Francisco Franco’s military uprising began in July 1936, Spain quickly became what one historian called “the dress rehearsal for World War II.” The conflict drew in major European powers not merely as observers or diplomatic mediators, but as active participants testing their military capabilities and ideological commitments.

The international coalitions that formed around Spain reflected the broader political alignments of the 1930s. On one side stood the fascist powers: Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy threw their support behind Franco’s Nationalist forces. Hitler’s Germany provided the infamous Condor Legion, an expeditionary force that gave German pilots combat experience and allowed testing of new aircraft and bombing tactics. The bombing of Guernica in April 1937 became a symbol of fascist brutality but also demonstrated Germany’s willingness to experiment with terror bombing against civilian populations.

Mussolini’s Italy committed even more extensively, sending approximately 50,000 troops, modern aircraft, and substantial military equipment to support Franco. For Mussolini, Spain represented an opportunity to challenge French and British influence in the Mediterranean while advancing fascist ideology.

Opposing them, the Soviet Union under Stalin became the primary international supporter of the Spanish Republic. Moscow provided military advisers, pilots, tanks, and aircraft, though this support came with significant political strings attached. Soviet involvement allowed Stalin to purge Spanish communists and anarchists who didn’t align with his vision, extending his domestic terror campaigns into the international arena.

The democratic powers, Britain and France, officially maintained neutrality through the Non-Intervention Committee, a diplomatic fiction that allowed fascist powers to intervene while constraining aid to the Republic. This neutrality reflected both domestic political divisions and strategic miscalculations about the nature of the fascist threat.

Modern Proxy War: The Ukraine Coalition Structure

The Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 triggered the formation of international coalitions that echo but don’t precisely mirror those of the Spanish Civil War. The supporting coalition for Ukraine centers on NATO and EU member states, with the United States providing the largest share of military and financial assistance. This Western coalition has demonstrated remarkable unity, coordinating sanctions regimes, military aid packages, and diplomatic isolation of Russia with a level of institutional sophistication unavailable in the 1930s.

The breadth of support for Ukraine extends beyond traditional Western allies. Countries like Japan, South Korea, and Australia have provided significant assistance, reflecting how the conflict has been framed as a defense of the international rules-based order rather than merely a European regional dispute.

Russia’s coalition presents a more complex picture. While China provides crucial economic and diplomatic support, it has been careful to avoid direct military assistance that might trigger Western sanctions. Iran has supplied drones and military technology, while North Korea has provided artillery shells and missiles. This coalition reflects shared antagonism toward Western hegemony rather than ideological alignment, marking a significant difference from the more ideologically coherent fascist alliance of the 1930s.

Mechanisms of International Involvement

The methods by which international powers have involved themselves in these conflicts reveal both continuities and dramatic changes in the nature of modern warfare and diplomacy.

In Spain, international involvement was direct and relatively transparent despite official denials. German and Italian pilots flew combat missions, Soviet advisers directed military operations, and foreign volunteers formed entire military units like the International Brigades. The technology of the 1930s required physical presence for effective military assistance—pilots had to fly the planes, advisers had to be present to operate complex equipment, and meaningful intelligence sharing required face-to-face coordination.

The Ukraine conflict operates in a fundamentally different technological environment. Satellite intelligence can be shared in real-time across continents, precision-guided munitions can be operated with minimal training, and cyber warfare capabilities can be deployed without any physical presence. This has enabled what might be called “high-tech proxy warfare” or the provision of sophisticated military capabilities without the direct personnel commitments that characterized earlier conflicts.

Western support for Ukraine has emphasized providing advanced defensive and offensive systems from Javelin anti-tank missiles to HIMARS rocket systems to sophisticated air defense networks while maintaining the fiction of non-belligerent status. Training of Ukrainian forces occurs outside Ukraine’s borders, intelligence is shared through secure channels, and even targeting information is provided for strikes deep into Russian territory.

Russia’s supporters have adopted different approaches reflecting their capabilities and constraints. Iran’s provision of Shahed drones represents a new model of asymmetric military assistance, relatively inexpensive systems that can be produced at scale and cause disproportionate impact. North Korea’s supply of artillery ammunition demonstrates how isolated states can still contribute meaningfully to modern conflicts through traditional military hardware.

Ideological Framing and Global Narratives

Both conflicts became global ideological battlegrounds, but the nature of the competing ideologies and their appeal has evolved significantly.

The Spanish Civil War was framed in stark terms that resonated globally: fascism versus democracy, capitalism versus socialism, tradition versus modernity. These ideological frameworks had clear adherents worldwide and inspired volunteers to travel thousands of miles to fight for their beliefs. The International Brigades attracted approximately 35,000 volunteers from over 50 countries, including prominent writers like George Orwell and Ernest Hemingway who chronicled the conflict for global audiences.

The ideological framing of the Ukraine conflict is both more complex and more contested. Western narratives emphasize democracy versus authoritarianism, international law versus aggression, and the rules-based order versus revisionist powers. These frames resonate strongly in liberal democracies but have less universal appeal than the anti-fascist narrative of the 1930s.

Russia’s counter-narrative focuses on resistance to Western hegemony, protection of traditional values against liberal decadence, and the defense of a multipolar world order. This messaging appeals to countries and populations that have experienced Western intervention or feel marginalized by the current international system, though it lacks the revolutionary appeal that communism held for many in the 1930s.

Economic Warfare and Economic Globalization

Perhaps the most significant difference between the two conflicts lies in the role of economic warfare and the constraints imposed by economic globalization.

The Spanish Civil War occurred in an era of relatively limited economic interdependence. Trade relationships, while important, could be severed without catastrophic economic consequences for the major powers. Financial systems were largely national, and energy dependencies were minimal compared to today’s interconnected global economy.

The Ukraine conflict has been shaped fundamentally by economic warfare on a scale unprecedented in modern history. Western sanctions against Russia have targeted not just military and political figures but entire sectors of the Russian economy, including exclusion from the SWIFT banking system and freezes on central bank assets. Russia’s weaponization of energy exports, particularly natural gas to Europe, has created economic vulnerabilities that didn’t exist in the 1930s.

These economic dimensions have complicated coalition formation. Countries like India and Turkey have maintained relationships with both sides, balancing geopolitical alignments with economic necessities. China’s position reflects similar calculations whereby they provide diplomatic cover for Russia while avoiding sanctions that would damage Chinese access to Western markets and technology.

Military Innovation and Technological Testing

Both conflicts served as laboratories for military innovation, though the pace and nature of technological development has accelerated dramatically.

Spain saw the testing of new aircraft designs, tank tactics, and coordination between different military branches. The lessons learned influenced military doctrine development that shaped World War II. However, the technological gaps between different systems were manageable, and innovations could be countered with existing technologies and tactics.

Ukraine has become a showcase for emerging technologies that are reshaping warfare. Drone swarms, artificial intelligence-assisted targeting, cyber warfare capabilities, and electronic warfare systems are being tested and refined in real combat conditions. The conflict has demonstrated the vulnerability of traditional military assets to relatively inexpensive precision munitions, potentially revolutionizing military planning worldwide.

The speed of innovation has also increased dramatically. New drone designs, software updates, and tactical adaptations can be deployed within weeks rather than years. This has created a continuous cycle of innovation and counter-innovation that keeps both sides constantly adapting their approaches.

International Institutional Context

The institutional frameworks governing international relations have evolved dramatically between the two conflicts, fundamentally altering how international coalitions form and operate.

The Spanish Civil War occurred in the dying days of the League of Nations system, with international institutions proving largely ineffective at managing great power competition. The Non-Intervention Committee became a symbol of institutional failure rather than effective diplomatic mediation.

The Ukraine conflict unfolds within a complex web of international institutions, NATO, the EU, the UN, the G7, and numerous other multilateral organizations. These institutions have provided frameworks for coordinating coalition responses, though they have also constrained the speed and scope of some responses due to consensus requirements and bureaucratic processes.

NATO’s role has been particularly significant, providing a ready-made alliance structure for coordinating military assistance while maintaining the legal fiction that NATO itself is not a party to the conflict. The EU’s coordination of sanctions demonstrates how modern institutional frameworks can enable rapid, comprehensive economic warfare in ways that were impossible in the 1930s.

Regional and Global Power Dynamics

The broader international power structure has shifted fundamentally between these two conflicts, affecting coalition dynamics and strategic calculations.

In the 1930s, the international system was still multipolar, with several European powers maintaining significant global influence alongside the emerging superpowers of the United States and Soviet Union. This allowed for more fluid alliance patterns and gave smaller powers greater agency in choosing sides.

The Ukraine conflict occurs in a transitional moment in international relations when the unipolar moment of American hegemony is fading, but a stable multipolar system has not yet emerged. China’s rise, Russia’s revisionism, and the relative decline of European power have created new dynamics that don’t map neatly onto historical precedents.

This transition has complicated coalition formation. Traditional allies sometimes have divergent interests, Turkey’s position in NATO while maintaining relationships with Russia exemplifies these tensions. Emerging powers like India and Brazil have charted independent courses that reflect their own regional priorities rather than alignment with either major coalition.

Lessons and Implications

The comparison between these conflicts reveals both the persistence of certain patterns in international relations and the dramatic evolution of the mechanisms through which great power competition unfolds.

The tendency for local conflicts to become global proxy wars appears constant where geography and ideology combine to draw in external powers seeking to advance their interests and test their capabilities. However, the methods of involvement have become more sophisticated and less direct, reflecting both technological capabilities and the constraints of nuclear deterrence.

The role of economic interdependence as both a constraint on conflict and a weapon within it represents perhaps the most significant evolution. Modern conflicts must account for complex economic relationships in ways that were unnecessary in earlier eras.

The speed of technological innovation and adaptation has accelerated dramatically, creating more dynamic conflicts where advantages can shift rapidly. This has implications for military planning, alliance structures, and the duration of conflicts.

Finally, the institutional frameworks governing international relations, while more developed than in the 1930s, still struggle to manage great power competition effectively. The UN Security Council’s paralysis during the Ukraine conflict echoes the League of Nations’ ineffectiveness during the Spanish Civil War, suggesting that institutional evolution has not kept pace with the changing nature of international conflict.

Conclusion

The coalitions that formed around the Spanish Civil War and the Ukraine conflict reveal both the enduring patterns of great power competition and the dramatic evolution of international relations over the past century. While the fundamental dynamics of alliance formation, ideological competition, and proxy warfare remain recognizable, the mechanisms of involvement, the role of economic factors, and the pace of technological change have transformed how such conflicts unfold.

Understanding these parallels and differences is crucial for policymakers navigating current challenges and anticipating future conflicts. The Spanish Civil War served as a preview of World War II; the Ukraine conflict may similarly be shaping the contours of future major power competition in ways we are only beginning to understand. The coalitions forming today around this conflict will likely influence international relations for the period ahead, just as the alliances and enmities forged in Spain echoed through the global conflicts that followed.

The study of these historical parallels reminds us that while the tools and methods of international conflict evolve, the fundamental human dynamics of power, ideology, and alliance remain constants in the international system.

How contemporary leaders navigate these dynamics will determine whether the current moment leads toward greater international cooperation or slides toward the kind of global conflict that the Spanish Civil War foreshadowed in the 1930s.

The King Stallion Works with the Joint Force

09/10/2025

U.S. Marines with 2nd Marine Aircraft Wing (MAW) and 2nd Distribution Support Battalion (DSB) perform external lifts at U.S. Coast Guard base Sector Key West, Florida, July 28, 2025.

Marines with 2nd MAW and 2nd DSB are training alongside elements of the U.S. Army, U.S. Navy, and U.S. Customs and Border Protection to refine humanitarian assistance and disaster relief capabilities while also refining the CH-53K King Stallion’s ability to support distributed aviation operations in a joint environment.

U.S. COAST GUARD BASE SECTOR KEY WEST, FLORIDA

07.28.2025

Photo by Cpl. Mya Seymour 

2nd Marine Aircraft Wing  

 

From World War I to Modern Warfare: Ukraine’s Vintage Drone Hunters

In the early hours of a spring morning in 2024, a beaten-up Soviet-era propeller plane taxied to a halt on a rural Ukrainian runway. Two unlikely warriors emerged from the cockpit, a 56-year-old pilot who had learned to fly as a hobby before the war, and a 38-year-old former auto mechanic who had never been in an aircraft before Russia’s invasion. Together, this improbable duo represents one of the most innovative and cost-effective solutions to emerge from the ongoing conflict: using vintage training aircraft armed with shotguns to hunt sophisticated enemy drones.

This remarkable story illustrates how Ukraine’s defenders have turned necessity into innovation, reviving World War I-era aerial combat tactics to counter 21st-century threats. What began as a desperate improvisation has evolved into a proven military capability that has influenced tactics on both sides of the conflict and offers lessons for future warfare.

The Birth of an Unlikely Solution

The Ukrainian approach to drone hunting with propeller aircraft emerged organically from the Civil Air Patrol of Ukraine, a civilian organization consisting mainly of amateur aviators and private aircraft owners. Evidence of Ukraine using the Yak-52 to attack Russian drones first appeared in spring 2024, when videos surfaced showing Ukrainian pilots engaging Russian reconnaissance aircraft in what observers described as reminiscent of World War I dogfights.

The aircraft at the center of this innovation is the Yakovlev Yak-52, a Soviet primary trainer that first flew in 1976 and was produced in Romania from 1977 to 1998. Originally designed as an aerobatic trainer for students in the Soviet DOSAAF training organization, which trained both civilian sport pilots and military pilots, the all-metal Yak-52 is powered by a 268 kW (360 hp) Vedeneyev M14P nine-cylinder radial engine. At 998 kg (2,200 lb) empty weight, the aircraft is responsive and capable as an aerobatic platform, with fuel and oil systems permitting inverted flight for up to two minutes.

The conversion of these training aircraft into drone hunters represents the simplest possible approach: arming the backseat crew member with handheld weapons. Ukrainian forces discovered that the Yak-52’s low stall speed allows the plane to pursue drones and carry out maneuvers at slower speeds, enabling a gunner in the rear seat to engage targets at close range.⁷ The aircraft’s cruising speed of just 225 km/h and forgiving low-speed handling characteristics make it ideally suited for this mission.

Combat Operations and Effectiveness

The tactical approach developed by Ukrainian crews has proven remarkably effective. The two featured protagonists, pilot “Maestro” and gunner “Ninja”, have flown around 300 combat missions as part of the 11th Army Aviation Brigade and downed almost half of their unit’s total of 120 drones eliminated, according to Deputy Commander Col. Mykola Lykhatskiy. Their success rate represents a significant contribution to Ukraine’s overall counter-drone efforts.

The operational methodology is straightforward but requires considerable skill and courage. When a drone appears on military radar screens, crews scramble to their two-seater Yak-52 trainers, which feature sliding glass canopies reminiscent of World War II fighters. Usually, they are airborne within 15 minutes. The Yak-52 is so basic that it has no radar of its own and must fly in daylight hours, with crews guided by radio before achieving visual contact.

The Ukrainian prop planes typically fly within 200 to 300 feet of their targets before the gunner opens the canopy, leans out, and fires. This extreme close-quarters engagement requires exceptional piloting skills and nerves of steel. As the gunner described the experience: “There is such great new technology now, yet I am still hanging out of the cockpit shooting at drones with a shotgun.” He likened the experience to shooting a gun while riding a horse.

The primary targets are Russian Orlan and Zala reconnaissance drones, as well as Shahed explosive drones. The propeller-driven Orlan and Zala resemble a miniature plane and kite respectively, while the distinctive triangular shape of the Shahed has become one of the most recognizable sights of the war. These propeller-powered models fly at speeds of up to 115 miles per hour, making them relatively easy prey for the Yak, which can exceed 180 miles per hour.

Combat effectiveness data suggests the approach has genuine military value. The successes of these planes and helicopters account for around 10% to 12% of the drones intercepted by Ukraine on a typical day. By summer 2024, photos had emerged showing a Ukrainian Yak-52 with kill marks indicating the destruction of two ZALA 421-16E and six Orlan-10/30 series drones. Through these methods, one Yak-52 reportedly achieved at least eight confirmed drone kills.

Historical Parallels and Tactical Evolution

The Ukrainian squadron has brought military aviation back to its very beginnings in World War I, engaging the enemy at close range with a marksman leaning out of the cockpit with a gun. This parallel to early aerial warfare is more than superficial. Before aircraft were fitted with purpose-designed gun mountings or fixed forward-firing guns, aircrew would resort to using standard infantry weapons fired by hand to bring down enemy aircraft.

The historical precedent extends beyond mere weaponry. Like World War II pilots, Ukrainian drone hunters stencil their kills onto the side of their aircraft, maintaining the tradition of aerial victory markings that has persisted throughout aviation history. The psychological and morale aspects of this practice should not be underestimated, as it reinforces the human element in what has become an increasingly technological conflict.

The tactical innovations continue to evolve as both sides adapt. Sometimes pilots get close enough to use their plane’s wings to physically tilt the drone’s wings and send them off course, a tactic British pilots used in World War II against Germany’s V-1 flying bombs, widely considered the world’s first missiles. This demonstrates how historical precedents remain relevant in modern warfare when adapted to contemporary circumstances.

Combat missions can be extraordinarily demanding and dangerous. In one documented engagement, Maestro and Ninja spent 40 minutes trying to destroy an Orlan drone that began flying in tight circles after they approached. Maestro flew the Yak underneath the Orlan, matching its movements on a wider radius to allow Ninja time to line up his shot. Eventually, they scored a hit, sending the Russian craft spiraling to the ground.

Technological Arms Race and Countermeasures

The success of Ukrainian drone hunters has not gone unnoticed by Russian forces. Russia is continually updating its technology and tactics, including adding cameras to the rear of Orlan drones that allow them to spot approaching planes or missiles and trigger evasive action. This represents the kind of rapid technological evolution that characterizes modern warfare.

The antidrone squadron’s aircraft have also become targets for Russian forces, whose air-defense missiles now cover as much as half of Ukraine. The Yaks venture closer to front lines because they are more maneuverable than helicopters, but this increased proximity brings additional risks. In May of one year, the crew reported their plane came under attack from a Russian air-defense missile, forcing them to descend at speeds of up to 450 miles per hour in an evasive maneuver.

The targeting has extended beyond tactical engagement to strategic strikes. Russia has deliberately targeted the squadron, and in July, its commander, Kostyantyn Oborin, was killed when the hangar he was in was struck by a ballistic missile. The famous drone-hunting Yak-52 operating over Odesa was also reportedly destroyed in a Russian Iskander ballistic missile attack on their air base, though Ukrainian forces have since acquired replacement aircraft.

Russian Adaptation and Reverse Engineering

Perhaps the most significant validation of the Ukrainian approach came when Russia decided to copy it. The first images of Russia’s Soviet-era Yak-52 trainer aircraft modified to the Yak-52B2 standard for airborne intercept of Ukrainian long-range attack UAVs emerged in 2025. This development represents a clear case of battlefield innovation being reverse-engineered and adapted by the opposing force.

The Russian adaptation goes beyond simple imitation. The Yak-52B2 includes sophisticated enhancements not found in the Ukrainian version. The aircraft features a PEGRAM S400 comprehensive surveillance system to detect UAVs, a modified cockpit, and a Saiga-12 12mm automatic shotgun mounted under the wing. The modified aircraft also includes a sensor turret under the left wing that can operate in air-to-air, air-to-ground, and weather-avoidance modes.

Other equipment reportedly includes an onboard fire-control computer that generates targeting information, while a navigation system allows operations at night and in poor weather conditions. This represents a significant technological advancement over the Ukrainian approach, which relies on daylight operations and handheld weapons.

The Russian development came after previous experiments using American-designed Cessna 172 four-seat propeller aircraft and the Yak-18T four/five-seat propeller utility aircraft. The Yak-52B2 is intended to defeat both purpose-designed long-range one-way attack drones like the AN-196 Liutyi, as well as propeller aircraft that have been adapted to operate pilotless and deliver explosive payloads deep within Russia.

Strategic Implications and Cost-Effectiveness

The economic mathematics of drone hunting with propeller aircraft are compelling. Shooting down a $100,000 Russian drone with an air-defense missile might cost hundreds of thousands or even millions of dollars. Shooting it down with a shotgun from a light plane might cost only a few thousand dollars. This cost differential represents a fundamental asymmetry that favors the defender when properly exploited.

The Yak-52, which costs mere hundreds of dollars per flight hour, presents a cost-effective solution against drones valued around $100,000. In a remarkable three-month period starting in May 2024, one aircraft reportedly shot down at least a dozen Russian drones. The increasing kill markings documented the aircraft’s effectiveness and demonstrated the viability of the approach.

Ukraine has some of the West’s most advanced air defenses, including the Patriot missile system, and F-16 jets that are sometimes used to down missiles and drones. However, it has also developed a series of lower-cost tactics to counter aerial threats, ranging from nets to signal jamming. The propeller-driven drone hunters represent one element of this layered defense approach.

The success has been sufficient to inspire expansion of the program. Ukraine’s Main Intelligence Directorate has been so impressed with the Yak-52’s performance that they have begun training gunners to hunt Russian unmanned aerial vehicles using locally-made Aeroprakt A-22 sport planes. This suggests the approach is being systematized and scaled rather than remaining a one-off innovation.

Operational Challenges and Limitations

Despite its successes, the drone-hunting approach faces significant operational limitations. The Yak-52’s basic systems create multiple constraints on its effectiveness. The aircraft has no radar of its own and must operate during daylight hours when crews can be guided by radio before visual contact. The cockpit becomes extremely cold in winter, requiring crews to wear thick jackets, gloves, and old-school, fur-lined flying helmets.

The inherent vulnerability of the Yak-52 limits the areas in which it can conduct drone-hunting missions.⁴² While Russia doesn’t face this problem when using the Yak-52B2 for homeland defense in largely uncontested airspace, Ukrainian operations must contend with Russian air defenses covering much of the country.

Training requirements present another significant challenge. While the aircraft itself is relatively easy to maintain and operate, forming effective units of aerial drone-killers requires substantial training investment. The skills needed for close-quarters aerial combat with handheld weapons are specialized and cannot be quickly developed.

Availability also constrains expansion of the program. In Ukraine, there are reportedly only around a dozen Yak-52s available for counter-drone work. While these aircraft are relatively common at flying clubs and civilian organizations, converting them for military use and training crews takes time and resources.

Broader Context of Drone Warfare Innovation

The Yak-52 drone hunters represent just one element of the broader drone warfare revolution occurring in Ukraine. The conflict has become a critical “innovation hub” for drone warfare, accelerating advancements in the scale, speed, and range of drone operations. Both Ukrainian and Russian forces have benefited from the vast knowledge base in the civilian FPV (First-Person View) community, using forums, video tutorials, and trial-and-error engineering to optimize performance for combat scenarios.

Unlike conventional military drones requiring lengthy procurement processes, commercial FPV drones can be purchased directly by soldiers and modified in the field. Their open-source nature allows for rapid customization, whether by attaching explosives, installing thermal optics, or enhancing maneuverability for combat scenarios. This accessibility has democratized drone warfare in ways that traditional military procurement systems cannot match.

The conflict has demonstrated that innovations in drone technology can change the balance of power in air defense, especially when combined with effective countermeasures. Electronic warfare in the form of jammers, spoofers, and high-energy lasers has become crucial for preventing drones from reaching their targets. Both sides continue investing in and adapting electronic warfare tactics to counter their adversary’s innovations.

Future Implications and Lessons Learned

The Ukrainian experience with vintage aircraft converted for drone hunting offers several important lessons for military planners and defense analysts. First, it demonstrates that innovative tactics can emerge from resource constraints rather than abundance. The Civil Air Patrol of Ukraine developed this capability not because they had access to advanced systems, but because they didn’t.

Second, the approach highlights the value of preserving and maintaining older military systems that may find new relevance in changed operational environments. The Yak-52 was designed as a training aircraft in the 1970s, but its characteristics, low speed, good maneuverability, two-seat configuration, proved ideal for a mission that didn’t exist when it was created.

Third, the rapid adaptation and counter-adaptation cycle demonstrates the accelerated pace of military innovation in the modern era. What began as a Ukrainian improvisation was reverse-engineered and improved by Russian forces within months. This compression of the innovation timeline has implications for military procurement, training, and doctrine development.

The success of simple, cost-effective solutions against sophisticated threats also challenges assumptions about the direction of military technology development. While there’s an understandable focus on advanced, high-technology solutions to military problems, the Ukrainian experience suggests that sometimes the most effective approach combines old platforms with new missions.

Looking forward, the lessons from Ukraine’s drone hunters may prove applicable to other domains and conflicts. The fundamental principle, namely, using available assets in innovative ways to create cost-effective solutions to emerging threats, has universal relevance. As drone proliferation continues globally, military forces worldwide may find themselves adapting similar improvised solutions to counter aerial threats.

The psychological and morale dimensions should not be overlooked either. The image of pilots in vintage aircraft taking on modern drones with shotguns captures something essential about human ingenuity and courage in warfare. As one Russian military blogger lamented, “No, this is not footage from World War II… this is just the enemy… appearing in the viewfinder of our UAV.” The combination of historical continuity and technological adaptation resonates beyond its tactical effectiveness.

Conclusion

The story of Ukraine’s vintage drone hunters represents more than a curious footnote in military history. It illustrates fundamental principles about innovation, adaptation, and the human element in warfare that remain constant even as technology evolves. The sight of a 1970s training aircraft pursuing a 21st-century drone may seem anachronistic, but it reflects timeless military virtues: resourcefulness, courage, and the ability to find solutions where others see only problems.

As the conflict in Ukraine continues to evolve, the lessons from these unlikely aerial warriors will undoubtedly influence military thinking far beyond the current battlefield. The success of Maestro, Ninja, and their fellow drone hunters proves that in warfare, as in many human endeavors, innovation often comes not from having the most advanced tools, but from using available resources in unexpected and creative ways.

The fact that both sides have now adopted variations of this approach suggests it has moved beyond novelty to become an established counter-drone tactic. Whether this represents a permanent addition to the military toolkit or a temporary adaptation to specific battlefield conditions remains to be seen. What is certain is that the vintage drone hunters of Ukraine have already earned their place in the annals of military innovation, proving once again that in war, necessity truly is the mother of invention.