KYIV, Ukraine -
Ukrainians have a nickname for the Iranian-made drones that Russia is now firing at their towns and cities: flying mopeds.
They sound like airborne motorbikes as they drop from the sky, the new weapon of choice, or desperation, for Russia’s flailing military. A lot of noise; not much firepower and relatively easy to shoot down.
Six of them hit the town of Bila Tserkva, not far from Kyiv, in one night. “There was a roar and then boom,” as described by an 80-year-old man who survived untouched, except for the terror of it all.
Iran of course has blatantly and ridiculously denied its role as supplier, which just adds to its reputation for deceit and mistrust.
The drone’s official name is Shahed-136, otherwise described as a “loitering swarm munition.” The version now swarming down on Ukraine has been re-painted in Russian colours and re-christened with a Russian name, the Geran-2.
Judging by the noise, it sounds like a V-1 buzz bomb or “doodlebug” used by the Nazis to terrorise London towards the end of the Second World War. Today we call them cruise missiles, same technology, only faster, more accurate and more lethal than a mere doodlebug.
Ukraine claims it has shot down 60 per cent of all the kamikaze drones fired its way. Still, it’s a weapon of fear that complicates civilian life with another level of danger.
Looking at the bigger picture, Britain’s Ministry of Defence says the Shahed is unlikely to be the kind of “deep strike” tool Russia was hoping for. Unnerving perhaps, but not a game changer.
At any rate, as drones and deadly missiles were targeting civilians this week, Ukrainians were hiding in the city’s subway system singing the country’s national anthem. It goes like this: “Ukraine’s glory has not yet perished, nor her freedom.”
It was an abrupt and frightening replay of what the city went through during the early days of the invasion. Until that moment, people had almost returned to their old, comfortable habits and lifestyle. Lulled perhaps into a false sense of normalcy.
The streets around Independence Square were teeming just a day before the Russians unloaded with their massive aerial revenge attack. If the goal was submission; the result was a raised middle finger.
Within hours, the streets were cleared of bomb debris and shops were open again, albeit with a renewed sense of wariness.
Even the prospect of a Russian nuclear attack has had a liberating and energizing effect. Fifteen thousand people have signed up to join a mass orgy on the top of a famous Kyiv hill, if Vladimir Putin does decide to drop the bomb.
It has grown into a cry of defiance and bravado, more than a date with destiny.
“It’s the opposite of despair,” as one woman told Radio Free Europe. “Even in the worst scenario, people are looking for something good.”
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