OPINION PIECE: Operation Polyphemus — Ukraine Blinds Russia and Opens the Skies Over Moscow

Maxime Marquette

2026-07-04 03:32:30

Bryansk as a Strategic Testing Ground

The Bryansk region occupies a crucial geographical position in the drone war: it serves as a buffer zone between Ukrainian territory and Russia’s strategic depth, including Moscow. For a drone launched from Ukraine or from Ukrainian forward positions in temporarily occupied Russian territory to reach Moscow without being intercepted, it must pass through the radar coverage of this region. These radars—long-range surveillance systems and fire-control radars for the Pantsir and S-300/S-400 systems—constitute the first line of defense for Russia’s strategic depth. Destroying them means blinding the air defense system before the drones even enter the covered area.

The Roni unit of the Ukrainian Special Operations Forces did exactly that—systematically, patiently, using the logic of an engineer rather than a warrior. They identified the radar systems, prioritized them based on their contribution to air coverage, and neutralized them one by one until they created exploitable gaps in the coverage. This methodical approach resulted in the documented corridor: “When the enemy loses its eyes, the sky opens up for our long-range strikes,” the Roni group stated in its public announcement. This is not rhetoric—it is the description of an operational result.

200 air defense systems destroyed in six months

The figure of 200 Russian air defense systems destroyed since the beginning of 2026—including 31 in June alone, among them Pantsir systems and two radars in Crimea during the last week of June—is staggering when put into perspective. Russia spent decades building one of the world’s most dense air defense architectures. The S-300, S-400, Pantsir, and Tor systems—developed and produced during the Soviet era and later modernized—were supposed to make Russian territory impregnable to conventional air strikes. Ukraine, lacking an air force capable of conducting conventional deep-penetration missions into Russian territory, has circumvented this defense architecture by using drones that fly low, slowly, and in large numbers—and by destroying the architecture itself before exploiting it.

The pace of 31 takedowns in June is also significant. It suggests an acceleration—a ramp-up of the campaign, improved targeting and strike methods, and perhaps increased pressure on Russia’s replacement resources. Russia can replace its destroyed systems—but that takes time, industrial resources, and trained crews. Every system destroyed is a lost investment and a gap in coverage that lasts until it is replaced. At this rate, the map of Russian air defense looks less and less like a continuous shield and more and more like a cheese riddled with holes.

200 air defense systems in six months. 31 in June alone. These figures don’t make headlines like a major ground offensive—but they say something about how this war is actually being won. Not through spectacular breakthroughs. Through the methodical attrition of the enemy’s defensive capabilities.

Dubna: The Second Strike on the Military Space Center

Zelensky Confirms: Space Communications Center Hit Twice

On June 30, 2026, President Volodymyr Zelensky confirmed a second Ukrainian strike on the Dubna Space Communications Center, located about 500 kilometers from the Ukrainian border. The first strike, on June 22, 2026, had damaged the 32-meter MARK-IV main antenna and the central control building. The second strike, a week later, further damaged the facility. Zelensky described these strikes as “long-range sanctions”—a deliberately political framing that positions Ukraine’s precision strikes not as indiscriminate acts of war but as targeted and measured responses to Russian aggression, equivalent to economic sanctions in their logic of imposed costs.

The Dubna Center is no ordinary military target. It is used for military communications, coordination of occupation forces, and Russian space intelligence. Its 32-meter antenna is part of the command-and-control infrastructure that enables the Russian military to maintain secure communications across the vast expanse of its military deployment. Damaging this infrastructure undermines Moscow’s ability to coordinate its operations—to communicate in real time between central command and units deployed along a front stretching thousands of kilometers. This strategy of striking command nodes is consistent with Operation Polyphemus: to blind, then disorient.

500 kilometers of penetration: the new map of the war

500 kilometers from the Ukrainian border. This distance is significant—it redefines what strategic depth means in this war. For a long time, the prevailing view in Western capitals was that Ukraine should strike only Russian military positions directly linked to the attack on Ukrainian territory—not deep-seated infrastructure, not logistics centers far from the front lines, and certainly not 500 kilometers away. This logic—understandable politically, but debatable strategically—has evolved under pressure from realities on the ground. Ukraine has demonstrated that it can strike deep into enemy territory with precision, without uncontrollable escalation, and with a measurable strategic impact.

The strike on Dubna is the most visible evidence of this shift. But it is part of a broader picture: strikes on Moscow, on oil refineries in the Samara region, on deep-seated ammunition depots, and on military production facilities hundreds of kilometers from the front lines. Russia no longer has any absolute sanctuary on its own territory. This reality is changing Moscow’s military calculations: it forces the dispersal of critical infrastructure, increases the costs of protecting the rear, and imposes a psychological burden on populations in cities that believed themselves to be safe. This is not decisive on its own—but it is significant.

Zelensky calls these “long-range sanctions.” It’s a brilliant political move—he frames a military strike on a site 500 km away as the equivalent of an economic sanction. The framing is powerful. And substantively, the logic is sound: imposing a real cost on Russian command capabilities, just as a sanction imposes an economic cost.

The Penza Institute: Strike the factory that manufactures the missiles that kill

Sensors for Missiles Striking Ukraine — Now in Smoldering Ruins

On July 1, 2026, Euromaidanpress reported that a Ukrainian strike had hit the Penza Institute—the industrial facility that manufactures guidance sensors for the missiles used by Russia in its strikes on Ukrainian cities. This is no trivial target. It is industrial warfare taken to its logical conclusion: if you cannot stop missiles in flight—or if missile defenses are prohibitively expensive—you destroy the factory that makes them. The Penza Institute is both a legitimate military target and a symbol: Russia has been using these missiles to kill Ukrainian civilians for years, and Ukraine has just struck at the source.

This strike illustrates the evolution of Ukraine’s deep-strike strategy: it no longer targets only ammunition depots or military bases. It targets the industrial base of Russia’s war effort—arms factories, missile production facilities, and military research centers. This strategy is consistent with a long-term military approach: weakening Russia’s industrial capacity to replenish its arsenals is just as important as destroying the arsenals themselves. And the Ukrainians, with their long-range drones and refined intelligence on Russian industrial targets, have developed the capability to wage this industrial war from their own territory.

Mapping Russian Industrial Targets

The strike on the Penza Institute was no fluke. It required precise intelligence on the Russian arms industry’s supply chain: which institutes and factories manufacture which components, where they are located, what their physical vulnerabilities are, and what their priority level is within the military value chain. This industrial mapping effort—carried out with the likely assistance of allied intelligence services—represents one of the most valuable capabilities Ukraine has developed in this war. It transforms drone warfare from an opportunistic strike tactic into a strategic industrial campaign.

The cumulative impact of this campaign is difficult to measure publicly, but several indicators suggest it is real. Russia has increased its purchases of ammunition from North Korea and Iran—suggesting that its domestic production is insufficient to make up for its losses. It has shifted some of its military industrial production to the Urals and Siberia—out of reach of Ukrainian drones, but with the logistical costs that such a relocation entails. These Russian adjustments indicate that Ukrainian strikes have had a significant enough effect to warrant costly operational changes. This is the definition of a strategic campaign that is working.

The factory that manufactures the sensors for the missiles killing Ukrainians is burning. I won’t pretend to be emotionally detached on this point—this strike is just, documented, and militarily necessary. Striking the tools of death is a form of defense.

The Ukrainian Drone Ecosystem: From Startup to Strategic Force

How Ukraine Became the World’s Leading Power in Combat Drones

In 2022, Ukraine had no military drone industry to speak of. Four years later, it is producing hundreds of thousands of FPV drones per month, has developed long-range drones capable of striking targets 1,000 kilometers away and beyond, and has created an operational doctrine—of which Operation Polyphemus is the most sophisticated example—that integrates drones into every level of warfare: reconnaissance, targeting, strikes, electronic warfare, and logistics. This transformation is not solely due to Western military aid—it stems from a unique combination of existential necessity, homegrown technological talent, and an extraordinarily agile innovation structure.

Ukrainian drone companies—Ukrarmor, Skyeton, UA Dynamics, and dozens of others—have developed capabilities in a matter of months that Western defense industries would have taken years to produce through their procurement processes. They did so because they received immediate feedback from the front lines: drone pilots sent daily reports on malfunctions, necessary improvements, and new Russian countermeasures. This accelerated innovation cycle—feedback looping from the battlefield to the factory in a matter of days rather than years—has produced rapid technological evolution that continues to surprise the Russian military.

Electronic Warfare: The Invisible Standoff

Drone warfare is also electronic warfare. Russia has deployed GPS and communications jamming systems that render Ukrainian drones blind or uncontrollable. Ukraine has adapted by developing navigation systems that do not rely solely on GPS, refining autonomous vision-based navigation algorithms, and developing drones that can fly in formation and guide one another. Operation Polyphemus likely incorporated these adaptations: if you destroy the enemy’s radars, you also reduce its ability to detect and target jamming sources, creating a more favorable electronic environment for subsequent strike drones.

This aspect of electronic warfare is rarely mentioned in public reports—but it is central to Ukraine’s recent successes. The ability to maintain a high level of effectiveness for strike drones despite Russian countermeasures is what makes Operation Polyphemus sustainable rather than merely a one-off operation. Every radar destroyed is also a potential jamming system eliminated; every antenna destroyed is one less layer of passive electronic warfare. Victory in the drone war is fought as much in the electromagnetic spectrum as in the physical realm.

Electronic warfare is the invisible war. It has no spectacular photos. No columns of smoke. But this is where much of the effectiveness of Ukrainian drones lies—in their ability to continue operating despite Russian jamming. And this is where Ukraine continues to innovate faster than its adversary.

The Black Sea Coast: Ust-Luga and Maritime Strategy

Strikes on Russian Energy Infrastructure

Operation Polyphemus facilitated strikes on the port of Ust-Luga, a major oil and gas facility in the Leningrad region on the Baltic Sea. Ust-Luga is one of the main export terminals for Russian petroleum products to Europe and Asia—a critical piece of infrastructure in the Russian financial machine that funds the war. Striking Ust-Luga means cutting off the oil supply on which Russia depends to finance its armed forces. It is economic warfare and military warfare converging toward a single objective.

Ukrainian strikes on Russian energy infrastructure—refineries, oil terminals, and fuel depots—have, according to several analyses, cost Russia billions in reduced export capacity and repairs. These costs are difficult to quantify precisely, but their strategic logic is clear: Russia finances its war largely through hydrocarbon revenues. Reducing these revenues by striking the infrastructure that generates them is therefore directly equivalent to reducing Russia’s war-fighting capacity. And with the corridors opened by Operation Polyphemus, these targets are now within regular range of Ukrainian drones.

Crimea Under Increasing Pressure

Late June 2026 also saw Ukrainian strikes on air defense systems in Crimea—one Pantsir system and two radar stations, according to reports by Euromaidanpress. Crimea remains a priority target for Ukraine for several reasons. It serves as a logistical rear base for Russian operations in southern Ukraine. It is home to crucial naval infrastructure, including the Black Sea Fleet base in Sevastopol—although this fleet has suffered significant losses since 2022. And it is symbolically central to Putin’s vision of Ukraine: its recapture would be the clearest sign that the war is definitively turning against him.

The strikes in Crimea follow the same logic as Operation Polyphemus: methodically dismantling the air defense layer, creating corridors, and then exploiting those corridors for precision strikes on high-value targets. The peninsula, whose air defense was considered particularly dense at the start of the war, is now much more vulnerable. This is the result of a two-year systematic campaign—one that has been costly in terms of resources and lives, but whose strategic results are now visible in every Pantsir that burns and every radar that goes dark for good.

Crimea is losing its radars. Ust-Luga is in flames. These are not isolated incidents—it is a map taking shape, an architecture of Russian vulnerability patiently constructed by Ukrainian military engineers. Polyphemus is going blind. And Odysseus is escaping.

The Psychological Dimension: Striking Moscow, Striking the Narrative

The Strikes on Moscow as a Political Message

The strikes on Moscow—made possible, in part, by the corridors opened up by Operation Polyphemus—have a psychological and political dimension that goes beyond their immediate military impact. Moscow is the capital, the symbolic and administrative heart of the Putin system. Sending drones into the city, triggering air raid alerts, and damaging infrastructure—even on a modest scale—contradicts the narrative the regime has imposed on the Russian population: the war is over there, far away; everything is going well here. Every alert in Moscow is a crack in that narrative.

The psychological impact on the Russian population is difficult to gauge from the outside—independent Russian media operate in exile or underground, and public opinion polls are unreliable in an increasingly authoritarian state. But indirect evidence—conversations on Russian forums, evacuation patterns in border regions, and lines at border crossings in the months following the strikes—suggests that the reality of the war is beginning to seep into the daily consciousness of Russians who have no loved ones on the front lines. This is not decisive. But in a war of attrition, every factor that erodes cohesion on the home front counts.

Information as a Battlefield

The Roni unit’s communication regarding Operation Polyphemus—with its evocative name, tactical explanations, and imagery—is itself an information operation. It tells the world that Ukraine possesses sophisticated capabilities, thinks strategically, and is making progress despite three years of war. It tells NATO and Western allies that investments in military support are paying off. It tells the Ukrainian people that their soldiers are winning, innovating, and making progress. And it tells Russia that its territory is no longer a sanctuary—that even its most advanced defense systems are vulnerable to Ukrainian determination and ingenuity.

This strategic communication is not propaganda—it is based on verifiable facts: destroyed radars, established corridors, and documented strikes on Dubna, Ust-Luga, Moscow, and Saint Petersburg. The line between military communication and public communication has blurred in this war—and Ukraine has mastered the art of strategic communication better than any other modern army. This is also a product of democratic freedom: the Ukrainian military can communicate its successes because it is accountable to a civil society that demands transparency, in a democracy where the press is free.

The operation is called Polyphemus, and the unit discusses it publicly with precise tactical explanations. This is masterful strategic communication—not bragging. Ukraine knows that every documented success is political and moral capital for the future. And it’s right.

The Russian Response: Escalation, Adaptation, Limits

Missiles on Ukrainian Cities: The Inability to Respond Otherwise

Faced with Ukraine’s successes in carrying out deep strikes, Russia’s primary response remains what it has always been: massive missile and drone strikes on Ukrainian cities and infrastructure. This strategy of terrorizing the civilian population is morally reprehensible and, militarily speaking, indicative of tactical impotence. If Russia could effectively counter the Ukrainian drones striking its territory, it would do so. The fact that it responds by targeting civilians rather than protecting its own facilities speaks volumes about its actual ability to challenge the superiority of Ukrainian drones.

Russia has, however, developed countermeasures. It has increased its purchases of Iranian Shahed drones, stepped up the deployment of electronic warfare systems, and begun dispersing its critical infrastructure away from the borders. It has also used Kinzhal hypersonic missiles—which are difficult to intercept—to compensate for the vulnerability of its more conventional ballistic missiles to Ukrainian Patriot systems. These adaptations reveal a military that is learning—but more slowly than its adversary, and with an industrial logistics system that is beginning to show its limits.

Losses in Air Defense Systems: A Growing Vulnerability

The loss of 200 air defense systems in six months is no small matter for Russia. These systems are expensive, take a long time to produce, and require trained crews to operate effectively. Replacing them requires an industrial priority—diverting resources from other programs—or increased reliance on allies. North Korea has supplied artillery ammunition; Iran, drones. But advanced air defense systems are not manufactured in Yemen or North Korea. They require a sophisticated electronics and precision manufacturing industry that only Russia itself—or China—can provide.

China, so far, has avoided supplying lethal weapons to Russia—under Western pressure and to protect its own economic interests with Europe and the United States. If this red line were to be crossed—if Beijing were to begin supplying air defense systems to Russia—the implications for the effectiveness of Operation Polyphemus and its successors would be direct. This is why U.S. policy on designating Chinese companies, pressure regarding the transfer of dual-use technologies, and monitoring of Chinese exports to Russia are directly linked to Ukrainian successes on the ground. The war in Ukraine and the Sino-American technological competition are two sides of the same coin.

200 systems destroyed. Russia cannot replace them quickly enough on its own. It is looking to Beijing. And that is precisely why U.S. sanctions on Chinese technologies—the 1260H list, export controls—are not abstract. They have a specific target in Ukraine.

Western Support: What More Needs to Be Done to Enable Deeper Strikes

Western Long-Range Drones and the Restrictions That Remain

The success of Operation Polyphemus and Ukraine’s long-range strikes has reignited the debate in Western capitals over the limits imposed on the use of weapons supplied to Ukraine. In 2025, the United States lifted certain restrictions on the use of ATACMS missiles against targets on Russian territory—but limitations remain on other systems. The United Kingdom and France have provided Ukraine with Storm Shadow/SCALP cruise missiles, with usage authorizations gradually being expanded. But certain systems—notably the German Taurus missiles—are still being withheld, in the name of political caution that is becoming less and less justified as Ukraine demonstrates its ability to use its weapons judiciously.

The argument for continuing restrictions—avoiding escalation, not striking targets that would provoke a disproportionate Russian response—now clashes with operational reality. Ukraine is already striking targets 500 kilometers away with its own drones. It has struck Moscow. It has struck Saint Petersburg. Russia has responded by continuing its strikes on Ukrainian cities—exactly as it would have done anyway. The escalation feared by Western allies has not materialized. What has materialized is the demonstration that Ukraine can strike with precision, that these strikes have a strategic impact, and that holding back on them deprives Ukraine of an advantage that could shorten the war.

The Roadmap to More Effective Aid

What military analysts close to Ukraine are asking of Western allies is not new, revolutionary systems—it is the lifting of artificial restrictions on the use of systems already provided, and the faster delivery of the ammunition the Ukrainian military needs to maintain the pace of 31 air defense system takedowns in June. This pace is unsustainable if precision-strike munitions are in short supply. Ukraine needs large quantities of long-range drones, anti-radar missiles to complement strikes on surveillance systems, and precision munitions for strikes on industrial targets.

Western support for Ukraine has been substantial—and decisive for its survival. But it remains below what would be necessary for a swift victory. The political compromises that have limited the weapons supplied—understandable politically in 2022—have become strategically costly in 2026. Operation Polyphemus demonstrates what Ukraine can achieve with the capabilities it has developed. It also suggests what it could accomplish with more comprehensive capabilities—and the gap between these two scenarios is directly measurable in terms of Ukrainian lives and the duration of the conflict.

Ukraine is striking targets 500 km away with its own drones. It has demonstrated restraint, precision, and strategic thinking. Yet some allies are still withholding systems out of fear of an escalation that has not materialized. At some point, this caution becomes complicity in prolonging the war.

The Polyphemus Doctrine: What It Means for the Future of Warfare

Destroy the Eyes Before Striking the Body: A Doctrine for the 21st Century

Operation Polyphemus is not just a Ukrainian tactical victory. It illustrates a military doctrine for the 21st century: before striking a target, destroy the systems that allow the enemy to see, aim, and respond. This doctrine—let’s call it “suppression of the enemy’s eyes,” by analogy with traditional SEAD (Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses) campaigns—is made possible by drones because drones are inexpensive, numerous, and capable of operating autonomously or semi-autonomously in environments with high-density air defenses.

Armies that understand this lesson and invest in drone capabilities to conduct autonomous SEAD campaigns will have a considerable strategic advantage in future conflicts. Armies that continue to think in terms of conventional air superiority—with piloted fighter jets and long-range missiles—risk being caught off guard by adversaries who adopt the Ukrainian doctrine. Ukraine has pioneered something—not ex nihilo, since the doctrine already existed in part within military theory, but in its actual application, under the pressure of an existential war and with limited resources. This is one of the most significant contributions of this war to contemporary military theory.

Lessons for NATO Allies

NATO allies are closely observing Ukrainian operations and drawing lessons from them for their own doctrines. The French, British, German, and American chiefs of staff have sent observer delegations to Ukraine to gain a concrete understanding of how drones are being used, how the industry is adapting, and what tactical innovations the allies should incorporate. These visits have influenced procurement decisions—several member countries have increased their drone budgets after observing Ukraine’s effectiveness.

But the lessons go beyond the procurement of equipment. They concern a culture of innovation, the organization of the decision-feedback-innovation loop, and the ability to rapidly adapt doctrine in the face of an adversary who is also adapting. The Ukrainian military has developed a culture of rapid military innovation that is unparalleled in NATO armies—precisely because the cost of failing to innovate is death. NATO allies have much to learn from this culture, and integrating Ukrainian veterans into NATO exercises and training schools would be a particularly valuable investment in collective security.

Ukraine has devised a military doctrine under the pressure of survival. NATO observers watch, take notes, and return home to give presentations. That’s good. What would be better: letting the Ukrainians train NATO officers directly. They have experience that no one else has.

The Geopolitical Context: The Moscow-Tehran Axis and Drones

Iranian Shaheds vs. Ukrainian Drones: A Reversed Asymmetric War

One of the most significant aspects of the drone war in Ukraine is its role as a technological proxy conflict: on one side, Ukrainian drones developed with Western technological and financial support; on the other, Iranian Shahed drones supplied by Russia to strike Ukrainian cities. This opposition reflects broader geopolitical alliances: the West supports Ukraine; the Moscow-Tehran-Pyongyang axis supports Russia. The war is also a test of the technological prowess of these two alliances—and so far, Ukraine and its allies maintain a qualitative advantage.

Iranian Shahed drones are relatively inexpensive and can be mass-produced. But they are also relatively slow, difficult to maneuver, and increasingly vulnerable to Ukrainian defense systems that have learned to intercept them. Iran’s response has been to improve the Shaheds—creating faster, smaller versions with evasive flight paths—and to transfer the technology so that Russia can manufacture them domestically. This technological evolution on the opposing side is proof that drone warfare is an ongoing technological race, not a competition with a permanent winner.

North Korea and Ammunition for the War of Attrition

North Korea plays a different role in supporting Russia: it primarily supplies artillery ammunition and ballistic missiles rather than drones. These shipments have partially offset Russian ammunition shortages resulting from insufficient industrial production and Ukrainian destruction of ammunition depots. But they also have their limitations: North Korean munitions have a higher failure rate than modern Russian-made munitions, and their guidance systems are inferior. These are munitions designed for a war of attrition—relying on quantity, not precision.

This Russia-Iran-North Korea triangle in military supply speaks to the limitations of Russia’s defense industrial base. It can still fire millions of shells, launch hundreds of missiles, and deploy drones en masse. But it cannot do so alone, indefinitely, without compromising other priorities. And every Ukrainian strike on its industrial capabilities—the Penza Institute, refineries, ammunition depots—further tightens this constraint. The war of attrition that Russia hoped to win while waiting for the West to grow weary is slowly turning into an industrial war of attrition that it risks losing.

Russia orders its drones from Iran and its shells from North Korea. This is not the hallmark of a major military power—it is the hallmark of a war economy under strain. Ukraine does not need to win spectacularly. It needs to hold out longer than Russia’s industrial capacity can take to recover.

Human Casualties and the Cost of Freedom

Behind the destroyed radar systems, lives lost

The statistics—200 air defense systems, open corridors, strikes on Dubna—are abstractions that obscure the human reality of this campaign. The drone teams that carried out Operation Polyphemus operated in active combat zones, under Russian fire, at considerable personal risk. Ukrainian drone pilots—often young technicians, engineers, and former gamers—have paid a real human price for every radar destroyed. The figures are not public, but every successful military operation comes at the cost of courage and the risk of death.

It is important to acknowledge this human reality, because it serves as a reminder that behind every tactical victory, every documented strike, and every success of Operation Polyphemus, there are men and women who have chosen to risk their lives to defend their country against an unprovoked attack. That choice deserves respect and support. And that support—in the form of weapons, funding, and political backing—is the very least that democracies can do for those fighting on their behalf against the advance of authoritarian regimes.

Human Sustainability: Ukraine’s Demographic Challenge

Ukraine faces a severe demographic challenge. Before the war, its population was approximately 44 million. Millions have fled abroad—to Poland, Germany, and other European countries. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers have been killed or wounded. The military recruitment pool has shrunk, and mobilizing new cohorts is politically and socially difficult. This demographic constraint is one of the reasons why drone technology is so crucial for Ukraine: it multiplies the military impact of a limited workforce by substituting machines for soldiers on the most dangerous missions.

Operation Polyphemus is precisely this type of strategy with high human leverage: a small, specialized unit—the Roni Group of the Special Operations Forces—is conducting a campaign that opens corridors for strikes that would have required entire armies using conventional methods. This is smart warfare as opposed to mass warfare—and given Ukraine’s demographic constraints, it is the only viable long-term strategy. It deserves to be supported, funded, and scaled up by every means at the allies’ disposal.

Ukraine is replacing soldiers with drones because it has no other choice—its demographics do not allow for an indefinite war of mass. This constraint has spurred innovation. Necessity, once again, has given birth to ingenuity. But ingenuity is no substitute for support—and support remains insufficient.

NATO's Support Over the Months: What Polyphemus Owes to the Allies

Decisive Weapons: Patriot, ATACMS, Storm Shadow

Ukraine’s successes in the war of drones and long-range strikes did not happen in a vacuum. They were made possible by Western support that has evolved significantly since the start of the war: from an initial refusal to supply tanks and long-range missiles to the gradual delivery of increasingly advanced systems. The Patriot batteries supplied by the United States and Germany have transformed Ukraine’s air defense, protecting cities and critical infrastructure. ATACMS missiles have enabled precision strikes on Russian ammunition depots and logistical infrastructure at distances that were previously out of reach. British and French Storm Shadow/SCALP missiles have added precision strike capability against fortified targets.

These weapons directly contributed to the logic behind Operation Polyphemus: had Ukraine not had access to long-range precision strike systems, the methodical destruction of Russian radars would have been much slower and more costly. The combination of locally produced Ukrainian drones and Western long-range weapons has created an operational synergy that is greater than the sum of its parts. This is precisely why the debate over restrictions on the use of Western weapons is not an abstract one—each restriction limits this synergy and slows the opening of corridors.

What the Allies Have Not Yet Provided

Despite this substantial support, significant capabilities remain withheld. German Taurus missiles—long-range and high-precision—are still blocked by political reluctance in Berlin. Certain types of precision munitions are being supplied in quantities insufficient to sustain the operational pace that Ukraine has demonstrated is possible. Training on certain advanced systems has been delayed by bureaucratic processes that make little sense in the context of an existential war. These shortcomings do not reflect a lack of goodwill—they reflect the internal political tensions within allied democracies, where every military decision must navigate parliamentary, media, and electoral constraints.

But these political tensions come at a real cost. Every month of delay in delivering decisive capabilities is another month of war—with its deaths, destruction, and unbearable human cost. The fact that Ukraine is using its weapons with precision and discernment—as demonstrated by Operation Polyphemus—should speed up delivery decisions, not slow them down. Allies who understand this and act accordingly are directly helping to shorten the war. The others, by hesitating, are—unintentionally—helping to prolong it.

Berlin is holding back the Taurus missiles. Allied bureaucracy is delaying the delivery of ammunition. Every delay has a price—the targets Ukraine was unable to hit that week. I’m not saying this out of anger toward the allies. I’m saying it because it’s true, and because the uncomfortable truth must be told.

Intelligence Infrastructure: The Eyes That See Before the Drones Strike

Allied Intelligence as a Force Multiplier

Operation Polyphemus requires exceptional targeting capabilities: precisely identifying enemy radars, their exact locations, their technical characteristics, and their relative importance within the air defense architecture. This capability does not come out of thin air. It relies on a massive intelligence infrastructure: reconnaissance satellites, high-altitude surveillance drones, electronic intelligence (intercepting radar transmissions to locate and characterize them), and human intelligence gathered by Ukrainian special services in occupied areas. Intelligence sharing by allies—particularly the United States and the United Kingdom—has been an essential component of this infrastructure.

U.S. Keyhole satellites, RC-135 reconnaissance aircraft flying outside Ukrainian airspace, and NATO SIGINT systems operating from neighboring countries—all of this contributes to a picture of the Russian military situation that Ukraine could not construct on its own. This discreet yet crucial intelligence sharing is one of the least visible but most strategically important forms of aid provided by the allies. Without this view of Russian positions, the precision of Operation Polyphemus would have been impossible.

Electronic Warfare as Intelligence: Locating Through Emissions

The location of Russian radars in the Bryansk region likely involved a well-established technique: electronic intelligence. Radars emit electromagnetic signals that specialized sensors can detect, characterize, and pinpoint with precision. Ukraine has developed significant SIGINT capabilities since the start of the war—notably by deploying drones equipped with sensors to map enemy radar emissions. These electronic intelligence drones fly high, out of range of many ground-to-air defense systems, and are gradually building a precise map of Russian transmission systems.

This map then enables strike planning: which radar to target first to create the most exploitable gap, which sequence of takedowns opens the optimal corridor, and which electronic jamming systems to neutralize before sending in the strike drones. This is engineering-style planning—rigorous, systematic, and based on precise data rather than instinct. And it is precisely this type of planning that distinguishes an effective military operation from a series of opportunistic strikes. Operation Polyphemus is the result of excellence in electronic intelligence—an excellence that Ukraine has built, with the help of its allies, out of an existential necessity.

Satellites see. RC-135s listen. SIGINT drones map out radar systems. And then the strike drones arrive. Modern warfare is, first and foremost, about intelligence gathering. Polyphemus begins in an analysis room, not in a drone’s cockpit.

Conclusion: Polyphemus and the War Being Waged in the Interstices

Victory Is Forged in the Blind Spots of Media Coverage

Operation Polyphemus did not make global headlines with the same intensity as a ground offensive or a diplomatic agreement. It was built in the blind spots of media coverage—in the technical reports of the Ukrainian Special Operations Forces, in the statistics on destroyed air defense systems, in the presidential confirmations of strikes on Dubna. But it is precisely there—in the methodical, patient, invisible work—that victories in modern wars are forged. Not in grand tank battles. In the radars that go dark one by one, in the corridors that open silently, in the teams working behind the scenes with the precision of watchmakers.

This invisible reality of the war in Ukraine deserves to be publicly acknowledged. It deserves the continued support of allies who understand what is at stake. And it deserves to be incorporated into Western military doctrines—not as an anecdote from the war in Ukraine, but as a fundamental lesson on the nature of war in the 21st century. Polyphemus is blind. Ukraine is advancing. The outcome is not yet determined. But the direction is clear.

What History Will Remember

When historians write about the war in Ukraine, they will note Kyiv’s initial resistance, the humanitarian convoys, and the debates over arms deliveries. But they will also note—I am convinced—the invention of an entirely new military doctrine under conditions of improvisation and survival. The Ukrainian Special Operations Forces, the Roni Group, Operation Polyphemus—these names will, I believe, become points of reference in military academies around the world for decades to come. Because they represent something that only wars of survival can produce: military thinking without compromise, without institutional bias, without fear of radical innovation. A way of thinking forged in the fire.

Polyphemus. A blinded Cyclops. A doctrine born of necessity. A war fought in the blind spots. I don’t know how it will end. But I do know that Ukraine, with very little, has done what no one expected—and that this very improbability deserves to be supported to the very end.

Signed, Maxime Marquette, columnist