The reality of Ukraine's impersonal, sci-fi drone war

A Russian soldier huddled, seeking refuge behind a tree, acutely aware of the Ukrainian drone hovering above, desperately trying to conceal himself. However, the sparse vegetation offered little effective cover, and the drone clearly captured his silhouette.

Inside a nearby Ukrainian bunker, I witnessed the Russian soldier's terror through the drone's real-time feed. He was aware that he was facing imminent death.

We arrived under the cover of night to evade Russian attack drones. This underground bunker was located just one kilometer from the eastern Ukrainian front lines, the confrontation line with Russian forces. The Four Corners team was escorted to the bunker at 4 a.m., the Ukrainian military escorts speeding along muddy roads, the vehicle shaking violently.

The cramped bunker housed a four-man squad from the Achilles unit, the drone forces of the Ukrainian army. This team was led by a 26-year-old former IT recruitment manager, whose call sign was "East." "I'm not hunting Russian soldiers, I'm just killing them," East told me. His team members included drone pilot Skuba, ammunition technician Strelok, and reconnaissance drone pilot Trevan. They quickly emerged from their sleeping bags, dressed in minutes, and took their positions. Skuba put on his headset, picked up the controller, and began piloting a bomb-laden drone toward its target.

Moments later, they hit their first target—some Russian armored vehicles located across the Oskil River, the front line between Russian and Ukrainian forces. But for me, what most symbolized how this three-year conflict has completely transformed warfare was that Russian soldier futilely trying to hide in the vegetation—warfare has transformed into an inhumane, science-fiction-like horror, conducted by remote aerial assassins.

I watched the real-time footage as the Russian soldier cowered against the tree. Then, a wisp of smoke appeared, and he shifted slightly. "Did you see that? He's shooting himself," a Ukrainian soldier said over the radio. He seemed to want to stand up, but couldn't. "He tried to kill himself, but... damn. Did he miss?" East said. The Russian soldier had attempted suicide but failed. "He's still alive," East said, watching the real-time feed. On the screen, the Russian soldier remained lying by the tree, struggling in pain.

A blue and black flash entered the frame as a second drone accelerated toward the soldier. Then, he vanished, replaced by flames. "Oh no, he's dead," East said calmly. The Ukrainian drone had completed what the doomed Russian soldier had failed to do. This is 21st-century warfare. It is inhumane, remote, conducted through joysticks, headsets, and screens. The weapons these soldiers control rarely miss. They search, hover, and strike. They not only kill but also record the victims' final moments and the fear etched on their faces.

I saw East and Skuba spot another Russian soldier in the woods. Unlike his comrade, this soldier was trying to run. Skuba skillfully maneuvered the drone, diving toward the Russian soldier. The screen dissolved into a black and white snowstorm of static. The drone detonated its payload. After completing the mission, Skuba picked up his phone and scrolled through Instagram. I rewound the video's final seconds and paused it a millisecond before impact. In the frame, I could see the Russian soldier looking up at the drone. Was it fear or disbelief on his face? Or both? Strelok left the bunker to prepare another bomb for the next drone.

We spent a morning in the bunker with the Achilles squad, watching them kill Russian soldiers. I decided to ask East what it felt like to fight the enemy with drones. To kill so remotely. "I don't feel anything. Maybe other people would. I'm just killing the enemies who came to my land, who are trying to kill me, my friends, my family. Since I'm now serving in the Ukrainian Armed Forces, they are also trying to kill me and my team," he said. Some days, the team goes through 40 drones. Today so far, East's team had killed or wounded nine Russian soldiers and destroyed hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of Moscow's armored vehicles.

In another secret bunker, not far from the front lines, enormous screens revealed the full scale of Ukraine's drone war effort. Each screen was broken down into smaller screens, showing all of the Achilles unit's frontline drones in the air. There were dozens of drones searching the skies. Some were attacking tanks, others were circling around Russian soldiers. Still others were simply observing and feeding all of the action back to this command bunker. Yuriy Fedorenko was watching, the creator and commander of the Achilles unit. "The enemy has a multiple advantage in equipment and personnel, but due to the active use of unmanned systems, they are being held back on the battlefield," Fedorenko told me. "More than 30% of all enemy forces destroyed on the battlefield are destroyed by drones. Without drones, the enemy would have greater success on the battlefield."

Drones have transformed the Ukrainian battlefield space, providing Kyiv with a cheap and effective tool to target, and in some cases repel, the enemy. Before Russia's full-scale invasion in 2022, Ukraine had almost no drone production capacity. Three years later, it can produce 4 million drones a year. A few days later, we were taken to another secret location, one of the factories in Ukraine's drone war effort.

The production line stretched from one room to another, and we tracked the entire production process, from the soldering of electronic components to the 3D printing of parts, the assembly of the drones, the testing of the final product, and finally to packaging and shipping. This secret factory produces about 12,000 such aerial assassins each month. These $300 (A$478) machines can easily destroy a $3 million Russian tank. "It can carry a kilogram, a kilogram and a half, or even two and a half kilograms of explosives. So you can calculate for yourself that it can destroy almost anything," said Mykola, the factory's manager.

Back at the Achilles drone bunker, just 1 kilometer from the front lines, East and his team continued their killing. Another group of Russian soldiers was spotted in the open, snowy field. "They're running, they're running somewhere," East yelled to his team. "Yes, to the right, to the right!" East was directing the pilot, Skuba, to attack the unlucky one in the group of Russian soldiers they had chosen to strike. "Stop! Stop! Go back."

The Russian soldier crouched behind a tree, trying to hide. But the tree was too thin. His back was exposed, providing a clear target for the drone, and the Russian soldier had no chance. As the drone approached, he tried to crawl away. Then the screen turned to static. The drone had hit. The Russian soldier was dead. "I can see their faces, but I can't see their eyes," East said when I asked him what it felt like to watch and record the final moments of this Russian soldier's life. "Let's say you live in your house, and some thieves or murderers break into your door, trying to kill your wife, your children, trying to steal your goods, trying to burn down your house. What do you feel about him?" "I understand they are people... but there is only one rule—kill or be killed."