By Kyiv Post

Copyright kyivpost

This op-ed, written exclusively for Dzerkalo Tyzhnya by Ukraine’s Ambassador to the UK and former Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces (2021–2024), is reprinted with permission. Read the original here.

While visiting the DSEI-2025 international exhibition in London—one of the world’s premier gatherings in the defense and security industry, showcasing new warfare technologies—I couldn’t help but recall the events of 2023, which were, if not fateful, then certainly significant for me.

Although most of the exhibits at this event still displayed weapons from the war of yesteryear, it was truly gratifying to see Ukraine represented at such a high level. Dozens of our companies showcased innovative solutions that, unlike in 2023, already command great interest, not only among foreign manufacturers eyeing business opportunities but also among the military, many of them conspicuously non-European.

Even more striking is that some foreign projects already build directly on the experience of the Russian-Ukrainian war—above all in drones, electronic warfare and artificial intelligence.

What, then, has happened in the past two years? Was I right when I argued that today’s war would be so dynamic and so technological? And, most importantly, do we now have any clear sense of what the next two years will bring?

My article in a prominent British media outlet in November 2023 was meant to prod our partners into rethinking modern warfare and reshaping their doctrines. I was, and remain, convinced that we needed time to seize the technological initiative—something impossible on our own without access to cutting-edge systems. That was why the strategic defence plan we drew up for 2024 depended on their support.

However, things turned out differently. But as I explored the exhibition, I realized that I was right about something.

A profound reappraisal of the 2023 summer offensive arose not only from the attempt to turn a most difficult phase of the war into a kind of reality show—first, when our plans somehow reached Russia, and then as the course of the operation was narrated online by would-be prophets, many of whom later found themselves sanctioned or on wanted lists. I still feel the sting of that failure. Yet the essential point was that lessons had to be drawn and strategy had to change, immediately. A strategy for survival in a wholly new kind of war.

What did I write about then and what did I mean?

The First World War, with its trench-bound attrition, in many ways resembled the autumn of 2023. In the absence of open flanks, the only offensive manoeuvre was a frontal breakthrough of the enemy’s defences—which, as artillery’s rate of fire, range and firepower grew, came to be composed of multi-layered fortified defensive positions and lines.

The result was positional warfare: a relative lull along the front, where neither side could conduct offensive operations. This form of fighting had the following distinct features:

a continuousfrontline along the entire line of engagement; heavily fortified positions protected by dense engineering obstacles; a “grey zone”separating warring parties that neither of them control; defensive infrastructure designed for long-term occupation by large numbers of troops, from field hospitals tofield

The prevalence of this form of warfare during World War I reflected the fact that the weapons of that era made defence far more effective than offense.

Heavy artillery, aircraft, machine-guns, mines and barbed wire all favoured the defender. Few offensive weapons and equipment existed to break through. Only in the final phase of the war did breakthroughs become possible, but exploiting them remained elusive. It was not until World War II—with the mass use of fast tanks supported by strike aircraft—that the deadlock was truly broken.

A large number of technically new types of weapons and military equipment helped in the defense—heavy artillery, aviation, machine guns, mines, barbed wire. But there were few equivalent offensive weapons and military equipment that would make it possible to break through the enemy’s defenses. Only at the end of World War I was the problem of breaking through defensive lines partially solved, but the issue of capitalizing on the breakthrough remained unresolved. The widespread use of high-speed tanks, supported by strike aviation, became possible only in World War II, which led to a way out of the stalemate.

Today, reviewing my own notes, I can only repeat that both Russia and Ukraine have reached a similar deadlock.

Since late 2022, fighting in the Donetsk area has gradually become positional.

The stalemate differs in form, of course.

Despite the overall stability of the line, advances still occur—slow, local or broader, with troops creeping forward at the cost of disproportionate losses that can fairly be likened to a meat-grinder, rather than the sharp blows of manoeuvre armour.

The Russian army’s assaults on Bakhmut and Avdiivka are the vivid examples.

Unlike classical operations aimed at destroying the enemy, Russian tactics focused on squeezing our units from defensive positions. But with the exception of Bakhmut, our forces preserved their combat effectiveness.

Another feature of the stalemate is that without rapid breakthroughs, there could be no encirclements, and without completely neutralising enemy air defence, airborne operations—so central in NATO doctrine—were impossible.

The principal factor that produced the deadlock during our 2023 offensive was, above all, the classic insufficiency of forces and means in the assault formations.

Breaking such a front required decisive superiority in capabilities at the breach point, together with mobile reserves capable of rapidly entering the created gap and moving into the operational depth before enemy reserves could counterattack or establish a new defensive line. For both objective and subjective reasons we were unable to generate that superiority prior to the assault.

This shortfall in capabilities stemmed chiefly from the dispersal of the already-prepared assault grouping across other axes, and from the creation of land components drawn from other ministries and agencies—which, as a consequence, were, putting it mildly, not fully ready for contemporary combat. It was also made possible by some commanders’ failure to appreciate the need to rotate combat-ready units and train them specifically for offensive operations.

Finally, newly-formed units lacked even a minimum level of armament or were inadequately armed—a situation entirely dependent on the choices and resources of our partners.

The result was a shortage of much-needed trained reserves for large-scale manoeuvre and thus a drift into mostly positional fighting across all areas of the offensive.

The Russians, for their part, constructed vast defensive lines, well-engineered and deeply layered.

Yet their decisive advantage came from drones. At first, these were mainly for tactical aerial reconnaissance, enabling the enemy to detect our concentrations of manpower and materiel in real time and to shift reserves accordingly.

That same data fed targeting for precision strikes, missiles and artillery, with wide usage of tactical reconnaissance UAVs to detect our actions and adjust fire.

These drones provided round-the-clock aerial surveillance on the line of engagement, including with night-vision. They were likely reinforced by satellite reconnaissance, radar reconnaissance and airborne radar patrol and guidance systems.

Having the necessary capabilities, we relied on similar methods. In such conditions, any concentration of armour or men was bound to be detected—at the front or even in the rear. Add long-range missiles, cluster munitions and the locations of reserves thus revealed, and surprise became almost impossible.

One might, of course, respond by invoking the Kursk campaign launched in August 2024. Such actions can certainly be undertaken where the human cost is judged acceptable and the objectives tightly limited. But experience shows that an isolated tactical breach on a narrow sector rarely produces the operational success the attacker seeks. Defending forces were able to exploit both technological and tactical advantages and, over time, not only prevented a tactical breakthrough from developing into an operational gain but even mounted their own local advances—again without achieving operational success. I do not know the exact price paid for those actions, but it is plain that it was extremely high.

In sum, the essence of the stalemate is not only the impossibility of breaking through defensive lines but, above all, the inability to achieve operational aims, including reaching operational depth.

Interestingly, the major military conflicts of the early 21st century—in Syria, Iraq, Libya and elsewhere—did not culminate in a positional deadlock. This stemmed from two principal reasons.

First, enemy forces were defeated largely through remote air strikes and the employment of precision-guided munitions, specifically air- and sea-launched cruise missiles, supplemented by the manoeuvres of a limited contingent of ground troops.

Second, these wars pitted high-tech armed forces—such as those of the United States and NATO allies—against deliberately weaker adversaries, often scattered remnants of organized Soviet-style armies or irregular partisan formations. n Ukraine, by contrast, Russia faces for the first time in this century a near-peer adversary—high-tech thanks to our partners—though smaller in size and resources.

The experience of our war so far shows that stocks of precision weapons are quickly exhausted. Large-scale air operations are blunted by air defences. And once again, as in the mid-20th century, classical ground combat has returned to the centre of war.

So it was then. And it was precisely then that the idea of large-scale ground operations ran up against another problem demanding a solution: mobilization

We will discuss this below. The problem of positional warfare has revealed another pattern. The transition to positional warfare leads to its prolongation and carries great risks for both the Armed Forces and the state as a whole. In addition, it benefits the enemy, who makes every effort to restore and increase its military power. This may have been the single most important point: without a radical rethink of strategy, success in the field was in jeopardy.

Thus, the search for a way out of positional deadlock offered any belligerent a chance of true victory. What, then, has unfolded over the past two years? Has there been any success in breaking free of this cul-de-sac, which, from the standpoint of Ukraine’s resources, is already predictably unacceptable? That is what we seek to understand.

I know this hands my opponents another pretext to complain that I study Russia too much—an offence, in their view, while the war continues on. Still, I choose Sun Tzu over my critics: know your enemy.

Back in early 2024, as Ukraine’s army undertook a sweeping reorganisation of command and control under new leadership, Russian military thinkers launched their own effort to break the deadlock. On their research platforms they acknowledged that the defining novelty of their “special military operation” lay in the widespread use of drones at the tactical level. To be fair, by then our own strike-drone companies had already been operating for almost a year—though still short of the numbers required. Russia, until then, had treated drones largely as auxiliary tools for artillery and missile forces.

By spring 2024 the Russians, a year behind us, noted the rapid spread of small FPV quadcopters, flown in first-person view. These were used to carry improvised explosives of several kilograms, to drop mortar rounds up to 120mm or even warheads from rocket propelled grenades. They proved indispensable in ferrying ammunition and supplies promptly to the line of engagement.

Russia saw in them one way out of the stalemate: the covert massing and subsequent use of FPV drones and loitering munitions to smash defensive lines, fortifications, armour and troops in depth. Yet practice soon disappointed. Our electronic-warfare systems advanced quickly, blunting this supposed advantage. That forced Russia to develop new communications and control systems for its drones and loitering munitions. This gave our forces room to use armoured vehicles in the Kursk area, where Western equipment shielded by EW systems achieved a successful penetration into enemy territory. But that, in turn, prompted a counter-move. By summer 2024 a new type of FPV drone appeared: one guided not by radio but by wire, ushering in a new phase of the war and new challenges of the positional deadlock.

This certainly has an impact on the tactics of the infantry, which has to bear the brunt of the war.

Soldiers found themselves trapped under the “lower sky” of constant drone surveillance and attacks. The battlefield became completely transparent, manoeuvre all but impossible. Here the link with mobilization is obvious: manpower is still needed to hold the line.

Today the picture on the battlefield is clear: large concentrations of personnel—even in defence—are no longer tenable. Any massing of troops invites near-instant destruction by FPV strike drones or by artillery adjusted by UAVs. Consequently, defence is organised as dispersed positions held by small groups operating autonomously under extreme strain. The lethal zone is widening: the recent strikes on civilian traffic on the Sloviansk–Izium and Sloviansk–Barvinkove routes illustrate how precision fires now reach deep into what used to be the rear. Naturally, not only are lines of communication wrecked; the very idea of a secure rear is fading, since its customary location behind the forward echelons—anywhere within 40 kilometres—is no longer tenable under persistent enemy fire control. As a result, defence is shifting away from active defense of positions in concert with second echelons, reserves and supporting firepower, toward the bare survival of small units constantly pressed by both remote reconnaissance-strike systems and the enemy’s tactic of swarming attacks by small infantry groups.

Consequently, this defensive configuration tends to blur what ought to be a continuous front line, at times leaving even commanders uncertain of the actual layout of their positions. So Russians came up with another way to break the deadlock through so-called infiltration—the penetration of individual soldiers and small infantry groups through gaps in our defenses. We saw this vividly in Dobropillia, Pokrovsk and now in Kupiansk.

The same applies to the attackers. Unable to mount massed assaults, Russia instead inundates our positions with small groups. Most of these attacks fail—and fail bloodily. One captured soldier admitted that eight out of nine assaults end in failure. Yet each attempt exposes our positions, observation posts and firepower; destroys them where it can; and forces us to expend scarce ammunition and medical supplies, wearing our troops down physically and morally.

As that same prisoner testified, Russian tactics dictate that assaults continue after failure for as long as there is manpower available.

Sooner or later, with logistics increasingly cut off by drones, this pressure forces our units to give up their positions. This inevitably alters the configuration of the front line and creates a threat to neighbouring sectors. In this way, through the tactic of “burying” our defences under a constant stream of assaults by small groups, the front creeps, relentlessly, towards us.

By the way, lost ground is often recovered in exactly the same way, by assault units, and in exactly the same manner, resulting in the natural erosion of those formations, with the expected outcome already described and with no prospect of a deep breakthrough.

Another factor that ought to restrain such actions is the obligatory timely detection of the enemy and timely response thanks to UAVs. Yet launch sites and the operators themselves have already become priority targets.

In short, the positional stalemate does indeed exist, with all its characteristic features. Yet there is also a persistent tendency to break out of it—and it is Russia that is driving that effort.

Until Russia finds a way out of the deadlock, thanks to amassing enough manpower to smother our positions and push through by infiltration, it will likely continue to wear down our troops, coupling assaults with the deliberate aim of inflicting maximum casualties. In its strategy of attrition, such losses are consciously accepted: hostilities aim to ensure a level of casualties that will become unbearable for us, while sustaining constant social pressure, not least through intensified mobilization. The cumulative effect of this systematic depletion of capabilities will, sooner or later, be the complete burnout of the defenders. Russia also sees a potential path out of the stalemate in denying us the “lower sky” now dominated by tactical-level UAVs.

All of this makes countering tactical-level UAVs an immediate priority if we are to preserve the lives and health of servicemen working at the front and beyond. The battlefield’s transparency—created by thousands of drones and sensors—has produced a kill-zone more than 20 kilometres deep, with a high probability of engagement: every heat signature, radio pulse or unnecessary movement can trigger an almost instant, lethal response. In practice, death, wounding or psychological collapse are the predictable consequences of prolonged exposure to today’s frontline. This is the reality known both to those who stubbornly evade mobilisation and to those who, having once hunted Shahed drones, now await their fate after going AWOL or in a reserve battalion.

Worse still, the situation looks set to deteriorate. Advances in artificial intelligence will give rise first to semi-autonomous and then to fully autonomous strike systems, creating a qualitatively new level of threat to humans on the battlefield.

A conceivable response would be to remove personnel from the forward edge and substitute robotic systems. That would, of course, reduce casualties from strike drones and reconnaissance-strike complexes. But technology is not yet at that point: current unmanned and autonomous systems remain short of abilities required to replace humans at scale.

Moreover, the Russian tactic of “flooding” positions with repeated assaults still demands trained personnel in the forward positions, albeit not in large numbers. The only viable escape today is to invent, as fast as possible, systems and measures that will improve troop survivability. That imperative is inseparable from questions of mobilization and training. It is a challenging task, requiring not only the development and scaling of appropriate technological solutions but also a fundamental reconsideration of methods of employment and, consequently, of the armed forces’ structure with respect to anti-drone defence. Historically, force protection focused on threats from artillery, air power small arms and even weapons of mass destruction—risks of physical destruction or injury that were constant. Today, however, we must build a system to counter a new threat in a new kind of warfare: drones. They have become the principal driver of personnel losses and, therefore, a decisive factor in the outcome of combat operations.

As of today, strike UAVs account for almost 80 percent of personnel and equipment losses. That shows that the protective measures of the previous era—fortifications, vehicle armour and even personal body armour—have been largely neutralized by the scale, lethality and precision of modern drones. It also calls into question current approaches to training: human qualities alone cannot match the reaction speed or accuracy of an AI-powered robotic system.

So, while Russia leans on technology and keeps throwing ever more people at our positions—imposing that attritional tactic on us—we need a different path: a reliable means of deterring the lethal power of these new weapons.

To devise such protection we must first grasp the dynamics of technological development itself and anticipate the challenges ahead.

Obviously, the “digital operation” I wrote about in 2023 remains a useful frame: the modern battlefield should be seen as a single, integrated network of cyber-physical systems. In practice this means unmanned and robotic platforms are linked by sensors and supporting command-and-control and communications infrastructure to software. In that digital domain mechanical systems—today’s UAVs and UGVs—are fused with onboard and remote software control to deliver situational awareness, coordinate forces and execute combat tasks in real time.

It is evident today that this cyber-physical system operates through a network of devices that both collect and relay visual, acoustic, seismic and other data to command posts or intermediate processing nodes and carry out actions in response to commands from those centres.

All of this runs over a communications network, which remains one of the principal weak links on the modern high-tech battlefield.

Because communications are so vulnerable, autonomous systems will inevitably develop in which most information processing, situational analysis and decision-making happens directly on board. Centralized control would intervene only in exceptional or emergency cases. It may be precisely such onboard systems that will not only perform strikes effectively but also provide dependable protection.

Accordingly, to realize this aim the state must address a number of key problems:

Develop a clear strategy and mechanisms for advancing cutting-edge defence technologies at the national level. As with the development of nuclear energy, this strategy must encompass state-led approach to scientific support, production and operation, with responsibilities clearly assigned to each institution. It should be preceded by the creation of a dedicated state research programme in advanced defence technologies. Secure the necessary cadre of specialists, above all in software engineering, to design, implement, integrate and sustain these systems. War complicates matters, but many such experts are already serving in the Armed Forces of Ukraine and could significantly strengthen the country’s scientific potential. Tackle the most difficult challenge: access to chips. This poses acute geopolitical risks, since the supply of these critical components depends on the stability and openness of markets in a handful of regions—chiefly China, Taiwan and the United States. Exploit Ukraine’s existing defence technology exports to build security alliances and tap into the technological and scientific potential of future partners. Ensure Russia’s complete exclusion from international scientific and technological cooperation, while also making full use of Western research potential, particularly institutions with unique capabilities such as CERN.

It is obvious that Ukraine’s victory today means denying Russia the ability to dictate its terms through war. That is the bare minimum for survival.

Accordingly, the resilience of the state in a war of attrition depends ultimately on the situation at the front, even though the forms and methods of combat have changed dramatically. The front’s condition, in turn, rests on many factors, foremost among them the pace of technological development, which is changing daily and with unmistakable momentum. Rapid mastery of those technologies, their practical testing and scalable deployment will enable us to adapt to new conditions and escape the positional cul-de-sac before our adversaries do.

Only by embracing military innovation can Ukraine offset its chronic resource shortfall and inflict disproportionate losses on Russia. Moscow knows this too, and is already taking countermeasures that we feel on the battlefield.Ukraine’s advantage lies in its people, who not only stopped the invader but have already made the country a hub of battlefield innovation.

It follows that innovation must underpin a strategy of sustained resistance in an era that may bring not continuous war but continuous hostility. That strategy will allow us to survive, adapt and prevail without illusions, rendering the conflict operationally meaningless for Russia.

To achieve this, it is crucial to seize and then hold the technological initiative, forcing Russia to react, absorb pressure and defend itself.