At 04:14 hours, local time, inside the command post of a Russian electronic warfare unit in Velyka Novosilka, an occupied Donetsk Oblast, Russian officers are holding an emergency meeting.
They are trying to find an answer to one urgent problem.
Why Ukrainian UAVs keep slipping through Russia’s modern electronic warfare network so easily.
But while they are focused on reports of failure, they do not know that a new threat has already taken off.
40 miles to the north from a secret launch site near Pokrovsk, 12 Ukrainian FP2 UAVs are racing straight toward Velyka Novosilka.
Each one carries a 280-lb penetrating warhead powerful enough to turn that command post and Russia’s electronic warfare systems into a pile of wreckage.
At first, everything goes according to plan.
But only a few minutes later, Russia’s SKVP airspace control system detects small, low-flying signals at a range of 37 miles.
At that moment, on Ukraine’s electronic monitoring channel, strange signals begin to spike.
An S-band radiation source operating between 2.
7 and 3.
1 GHz is sweeping across the approach corridor from the direction of Donetsk.
The Ukrainian control team reacts immediately.
The FP2 swarm drops lower, spreads into a wider formation, and hugs the folds of the terrain.
Their engines hold a steady rhythm in the darkness as the entire formation moves into the most dangerous zone.
If one stable target lock appears, the entire attack could be broken apart.
The warning is immediately passed to the S-400 Triumph battery on combat duty.
The 91N6E surveillance radar expands its scan zone, while the 92N6E Gravestone fire control radar turns toward the UAV swarm.
On the Russian screens, 12 small flickering points appear and disappear among the terrain clutter.
The Ukrainians understand that they have been detected.
The FP2 swarm immediately drops even lower, splits formation, and stays close to the ground.
The small engines growl steadily in the darkness trying to maintain speed as they enter the danger zone.
From a 5P85T2 launcher, a 48N6DM missile leaves the launch tube, flares in a blue-white burst of fire, and races toward the interception point.
The missile does not chase each UAV It flies to the place where the S-400 computer predicts the FP2 swarm will appear in the next few seconds.
But with 12 small targets flying low, dispersed, and constantly changing direction, every calculation can drift off course.
A delay of only a few seconds would send the missile into the exact position the UAV swarm has just left behind.
And that is the opening Ukraine has been waiting for.
At an altitude of 200 ft over the steppe of eastern Ukraine, the FP2 swarm dives along shallow valleys using the terrain itself as a layer of armor.
The curvature of the earth, low tree lines, and folds in the ground create radar shadow zones that prevent the S-400 Triumph from maintaining a stable line of sight.
At this distance, the radar horizon hides most targets flying below 300 ft.
The 92N6E Gravestone fire control radar can now hold only intermittent signals.
The last target was seen on a bearing of 15 degrees, moving at 110 mph with altitude constantly changing.
Ukraine is forcing this interception to depend on probability.
The S-400’s fire control computer combines what the radar has just seen with physical predictions, speed, approach direction, exact altitude, and the terrain ahead.
The FP2 swarm can follow the valleys or disappear into the tree lines, but if it wants to reach Velika Novoselka, it still has to pass through several predictable approach corridors.
Previous missions have left patterns behind.
UAVs cannot fly randomly if they want to reach the target accurately.
They have to follow routes that avoid open radar zones, then rise for a few seconds to correct their flight path during the final phase.
The S-400 now has to predict where the FP-2 swarm will appear next if it wants to catch the entire formation.
Inside the 55K6E command vehicle, the operator watches the broken signal tracks.
Each time the FP-2s change direction to avoid the scan zone, they reveal their position on the radar screen.
At low altitude, turbulent airflow and constant steering corrections force the engines to maintain higher RPM while the formation begins to stretch out.
The battery commander gives the order to fire.
48N6 DM missiles leave the 5P85T2 launcher, rising vertically from their tubes, [clears throat] turning in midair, and then racing toward four different interception points.
They are not flying to where the UAV swarm is now.
They are flying to where the computer predicts the targets will appear in the next few dozen seconds.
The first missile arrives just as one FP-2 rises above the tree line.
The proximity fuse activates and the warhead detonates 12 ft from the target, sending fragments through the UAV’s wings and fuselage.
The FP-2 loses lift, spins, and falls into the field below.
A few seconds later, the second missile locks onto another signal trying to break away from the formation.
A brief explosion flashes in the air.
The second target disappears from the screen.
The third missile hits an FP-2 just as it changes course to cross the gap between two lines of trees.
The proximity fuse triggers at the right moment, tearing the UAV apart before it can drop back down.
But, the fourth missile arrives only a few seconds too late.
It detonates at the exact point where an FP-2 has just passed through.
The fireball blooms behind the target while the UAV has already slipped below the edge of the terrain and vanished from the radar’s line of sight.
Three FP-2s have been shot down, but the remaining nine drop even lower and spread into a wider formation.
The signal tracks on the 92N6E radar begin to flicker, then break apart.
At this distance, even the S-400 Triumph needs a clean enough line of sight to maintain tracking.
And the UAV swarm has just regained the one thing it needs most.
The terrain.
The interception data is immediately passed down to a more flexible defensive layer where a Pantsir-S1 system is already waiting on combat duty.
On the 1RS11E search radar, the remaining FP-2 signals do not appear as clear targets, but as a chain of small, low, [music] broken points, sometimes rising above the ground clutter, sometimes disappearing behind the valleys.
For the Russian crew, this is the moment when decisions must be made within seconds.
The range is closing.
The UAV swarm is pressing in, and the firing window is closing very quickly.
At 04:24 hours local time, the four lead FP-2s suddenly climb to 500 ft to confirm the route for the entire formation and make their final flight corrections.
But that exact moment exposes them.
The 1RS21E fire control radar catches all four signals almost simultaneously.
The operator does not wait.
457E6 missiles leave the launchers, accelerate to more than Mach 3, and race toward four different interception points the computer has just calculated.
The lead UAVs do not even have time to realize they have just been locked.
The first missile explodes beside one FP-2, sending fragments through its wings and fuselage.
The second is hit just as it banks to return to formation.
The third vanishes in a brief flash in midair.
The fourth tries to drop back down, but it is too late.
The proximity blast tears it apart before it can slip below the edge of the terrain.
The Russian commander orders the Pantsir S1 to prepare another launch of four missiles, but Ukraine reacts faster.
The control team immediately drops the entire formation lower, spreads it out in multiple directions, and activates the RF jammer mode.
This system suppresses a wide frequency band disrupting radio communications and interfering with the GPS signals the enemy needs to maintain accurate tracking.
The effect appears immediately.
On the Pantsir S1 screen, the number of targets begins jumping wildly.
At one moment, 30 signals appear.
A few seconds later, there are only 12.
Then the number rises again to 18.
Some points are bright and clear, others fade inside the interference.
The radar can still see activity ahead, but it can no longer be certain which signals are real, UAVs, which are noise, and which are false returns created by the environment.
They realize that missiles are no longer the best option.
The commander switches to cannon fire.
The two twin barrel 30-mm 2A38M automatic cannons elevate, then begin pouring rounds into the path of the UAV swarm.
With a firing rate of up to 5,000 rounds per minute, the Pantsir S1 creates a wall of metal above the fields.
This is no longer precision interception.
This is probability-based suppression, filling the area with fire where the remaining 18 FP2s may pass through.
But the FP2 swarm is no longer flying in a tight cluster.
It spreads out in multiple directions.
Some follow the riverbank.
Some slide along the edge of the forest.
Others drop close to low strips of land to use the terrain.
At an altitude of 150 ft, every tree line, every mound, and every low rooftop becomes part of a natural shield.
Cannon fire can sweep across the sky, but it cannot bend around every fold in the ground.
Ukraine understands that breaking through this defensive layer will require sacrifice.
Four FP-02s on the right flank suddenly reveal themselves, climbing to 500 ft to pull fire away from the main formation.
If they are not shot down, they will accelerate directly toward the Pantsir-S1 position.
Immediately, the entire stream of 30-mm fire turns toward them.
The first three are shredded almost instantly in the hail of rounds, but the fourth keeps diving.
The UAV’s body shakes violently, its wings are torn apart piece by piece, but it holds its course long enough to crash into the edge of the battery.
In its final seconds, it looks like a guided block of explosives falling from the sky.
The FP-02 slams into the edge of the Pantsir-S1 position.
Its 220-lb warhead detonates at extremely close range, throwing soil, rock, and metal fragments around the air defense site.
The sensor cluster shakes, the 30-mm fire is interrupted, and the crew is forced to stop firing at the most critical moment.
And that amount of time is enough.
The remaining 14 FP-02s pass through the fire zone at extremely low altitude, winning not through speed, but through electronic interference, terrain, and the sacrifice of those that went ahead.
Russia’s strongest air defense layer has been pierced.
At 04:32 hours local time, the remaining 14 FP-02s had escaped the direct fire zone and were only 8 miles from the Velyka Novosilka command post.
In just a few short minutes, Russia’s most advanced air defense layers had all been beaten.
But, at that exact moment, Russia’s electronic warfare layer entered the fight.
The commander activated a cluster of jamming vehicles deployed around the Russian command post in Donetsk, where Krasukha-4 and Palantin had been positioned as the final defensive layer.
Krasukha-4 began spreading wide area interference across the approach zone, emitting extremely powerful radio frequency waves to overwhelm GPS, GLONASS, Galileo, and satellite communication channels.
Meanwhile, Palantin jammed the area directly around the command post, focusing on strangling the radio control channels and data links the UAVs might use during the final phase.
The mechanism of Krasukha-4 is not to shoot targets down, but to make them lose their precise sense of location.
The system scans, captures, and analyzes electronic signals in the area, then transmits stronger interference back against them to drown out the original signals.
It can weaken satellite navigation, distort communication data, and create false returns that make a UAV’s guidance system see a space that is no longer stable.
For the FP2 swarm flying at extremely low altitude, this is a completely different threat from missiles.
GPS signals are already weak when flying between low buildings, tree lines, and folds in the terrain.
When Krasukha-4 spreads wide area jamming, navigation signals are buried beneath a layer of electronic noise.
When Palantin tightens the zone around the command post, the communication channels begin to stutter.
Position correction data arrives slower, more distorted, then disappears for short intervals.
The first two FP2s fly straight into the strongest jamming zone.
Their navigation error suddenly increases.
The flight controller tries to hold course using inertial data, but the positioning signal begins to fluctuate at the exact moment both drones are flying close to each other inside the dispersed formation.
The forward camera loses its optical reference point for several seconds.
The target recognition algorithm begins to drift out of alignment.
In one chaotic moment, the two UAVs misidentify each other’s signals as the point they need to fly toward.
They bank almost at the same time, cross each other’s flight paths at low altitude, and slam directly into one another over the sky of Donetsk.
A flash erupts in midair.
Debris falls below, and two signals disappear from the formation.
At that moment, the entire mission is at risk of falling apart.
The Russians have made the UAV swarm lose orientation in the final 10 seconds.
If the remaining FP2S scatter around the target area, the mission will fail, and the wreckage, GNSS receivers, guidance modules, flight memory, and technical traces could fall into enemy hands.
But just as Russia’s electronic warfare network seems to have regained the initiative, Ukraine activates its backup layer.
The control team switches the remaining UAVs into anti-jamming mode.
The CRPA anti-jam antennas begin filtering out the extremely powerful signals coming up from the ground, while focusing on receiving weaker, but correctly directed satellite signals from above.
The system only needs to separate the real signal from the wall of electronic noise during a few decisive seconds.
Immediately after that, the FP2S switch into autonomous AI mode.
From this point on, they no longer wait for GPS or remote control commands to continue flying.
The onboard AI chip combines INS data, the forward camera, and a preloaded terrain map.
It reads the shapes of rooftops, road angles, tree clusters, road lines, gaps between buildings, and the outline of the target area.
Everything is familiar, because this was once Ukrainian territory.
Instead of asking, “Where does the GPS signal say I am? The system begins answering a different question by itself.
Does the scene ahead match the target map? And then the formation stabilizes again.
The remaining 12 FP-2s drop even lower, keep a wider separation, and continue racing toward the command post.
Krasukha-4 is still spreading wide area interference.
Palantyn is still trying to choke the communication channels around the target.
But this time the UAV swarm is no longer fully dependent on external signals.
It is finding its own way through inertia, optical imagery, and terrain recognition algorithms.
Behind them, Russia’s EW network continues transmitting interference.
Dense bands of signals still fill the frequency spectrum, but every response is a few seconds behind the rhythm of the attack.
And at the final range, those few seconds are everything.
The air defense layer has shot down many UAVs.
The electronic warfare layer has caused two of them to collide with each other, but the FP-2 swarm still has enough numbers, enough speed, and enough backup guidance systems to continue the mission.
Now the question is no longer whether they can break through the defensive line.
The only question left is how many seconds the command post ahead still has to react.
When the remaining 12 FP-2s are only 2 miles from the Russian command post, the Russian commander understands that the outer defensive layers have been pierced.
At this point, he has only one last hope.
Hide the command post, move the officers out of the danger zone, and pull the mobile electronic warfare vehicles to another position before the UAV swarm arrives.
The final plan is activated immediately.
Russian soldiers begin dragging camouflage nets over the command area, covering the electronic warfare vehicles that are still operational, and clearing a path for several vehicles to leave their position.
But to To that, they need more time.
And at this moment, time can only be bought with firepower.
Two 2S38 PVO batteries are ordered to move out and block the approach route.
This is the final defensive layer around the base.
Their 57-mm automatic cannons begin firing at a rate of 120 rounds per minute, building dense streams of fire across the low sky.
Against UAVs rushing in at high speed, [music] each burst does not need to hit the entire formation.
It only needs to force the FP-2 swarm to change direction, break the rhythm of the approach, and buy the command post a few dozen more seconds.
The first two FP-2s try to push straight into the curtain of fire to open a path for the main formation.
But the Derivatsiya reacts faster.
The first burst of 57-mm rounds cuts across the flight path, hitting the lead UAV just as it rises above the edge of the terrain.
The second tries to turn right, but the next burst catches up and blows it apart midair.
A few seconds later, another FP-2 that is changing direction is also hit, loses lift, and falls near the edge of the base.
Three UAVs have been shot down in a single exchange, but Ukraine does not stop.
The Ukrainian control team immediately switches to a risk reduction plan.
The remaining 10 FP-2s split into two groups.
One group stays at extremely low altitude and continues racing straight toward the command post using terrain, low walls, and abandoned structures as shields.
The other group climbs higher, accelerates, and emits a clear attack signal as if it is the main strike formation.
The idea is simple.
Whichever group gets through will crash into the command post.
If the Derivatsiya focuses on the high-flying group, the low group will break through.
If it chooses the low-flying group, the upper group will have a better diving angle.
After being deceived many times by Ukrainian UAV decoys, the Russians believe that this time they have learned their lesson.
The commander chooses to fire at the low-flying group because that is the group closest to the command post.
The 2S38s immediately lower their firing angles and sweep rounds toward the heat signature sliding close to the ground, but that is the fatal mistake.
While Russian fire is pulled downward, the upper UAV group gains the perfect diving angle.
Two FP2s break away from the formation, lower their noses, and accelerate straight toward the Derivatsiya position.
Below them, the 57-mm cannons have just shot down three more UAVs from the low-flying group, but that exact moment exposes the battery’s position and costs it the reaction angle against the threat from above.
The two FP2s dive almost at the same time.
The first crashes into the edge of the position, its 250-lb warhead detonating and blasting soil, rock, and metal fragments around the battery.
The second strikes near the remaining vehicle, creating a follow-up explosion that shakes the entire final defensive line.
The 57-mm fire falls silent for the most important few seconds, and those few seconds are all Ukraine needs.
Behind the smoke and debris, the five remaining FP2s have passed through the final defensive layer.
They drop low again, lock their heading with autonomous guidance, and race straight toward the Russian command post.
The camouflage nets have not been fully spread, the electronic warfare vehicles have not managed to leave their positions, and the officers inside have still not escaped the danger zone.
The FP2s begin entering the final attack phase.
The onboard guidance system switches to visual target lock.
The forward camera compares the shape of the building, the windows, the roof angles, and the positions of parked vehicles with the stored data.
INS holds the basic flight direction while the optical algorithm corrects the final deviations as the UAVs race through the fire zone.
Below them, the Russian soldiers fall into panic.
Some run away from the unfinished camouflage positions, others raise their AK-12 rifles into the sky and keep pulling the trigger at the dark shapes diving down.
But at this range, that is no longer real air defense fire.
It is only a desperate reflex.
The 5.
45 mm rounds tear upward into the sky, slipping behind the UAVs as they have already locked onto their targets and entered the final attack line.
At 04:37 hours local time, the area around the Russian electronic warfare command post had turned into chaos.
Only a few minutes earlier, Russian soldiers had still been trying to drag camouflage nets into place, move jamming vehicles, and use ground fire to stop the final FP-2X.
Now they were staggering through black smoke, concrete dust, and red-hot metal fragments.
Alarm sirens echoed across the base, but they were no longer a signal of defense.
They were only a late attempt to restore order inside a system that had already been broken.
The first strike hit near the operations building where Russian officers coordinated the electronic warfare network around Donetsk.
The 250-lb warhead detonated at close range, creating a fireball of more than 1,000° C in the first instant.
The shockwave swept through the corridors, ripping steel doors from their frames, shattering partitions, and cutting signal cables.
Within a radius of several dozen meters, the blast pressure was strong enough to break glass, distort metal frames, >> [music] >> and throw communications equipment off its mounts.
But the greatest damage was not inside the building.
It was in the electronic warfare network that had been torn apart.
Radio transceivers, spectrum analysis stations, antenna clusters, and equipment linked to Krasukha-4 and Palantin were heavily damaged.
Several jamming vehicles that had not yet managed to leave their positions were struck by fragments.
For an EW network, losing these systems was like blinding one eye and severing a nerve.
A few hours later, reconnaissance data confirmed that the electronic warfare command post had been hit with precision.
This was the place where Russia coordinated GPS jamming, strangled UAV control channels, and protected logistics routes around Donetsk.
Once this center was disabled, Russia’s electronic suppression capability weakened immediately.
Corridors that had once been covered by dense interference began to show gaps.
Losing the command post also meant losing the coordination link.
Krasukha-4 might still be transmitting interference, Palantin might still retain part of its capability.
But with the command center destroyed, they no longer operated as one unified network.
They became separate sources of interference, powerful, but lacking coordinated rhythm.
The consequences would last far longer than the explosion itself.
EW systems are expensive assets and difficult to replace quickly because they require specialized components, control software, and trained crews.
Once the electronic protection net was punctured, ammunition depots, logistics stations, and nearby command posts around Donetsk would become far more vulnerable to Ukrainian UAVs and missiles.
Tactically, the FP-2S proved that they are not merely harassment drones.
They penetrated the S-400, broke through the Pantsir-S1, survived Krasukha-4 and Palantin, and then struck directly at the brain coordinating the electronic warfare system.
Russia used radar, missiles, guns, jamming, camouflage nets, and even soldiers firing AK-12s into the sky.
They shot down many UAVs, but they failed to stop the main strike.
The psychological message was even heavier.
Even the units specialized in disabling UAVs can be found and destroyed by UAVs themselves.
If an electronic warfare center is no longer safe, then how long can ammunition depots, logistics routes, and rear command posts continue to hold? If you think this strike could change the situation around Donetsk, leave a comment below.
Should Ukraine target
Russian electronic warfare command posts, ammunition depots, or logistics routes next >> [music] >> in order to restore peace sooner?
Disclaimer : This content may be created by AI for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.
