If we don't kill them, they kill us. That is clear.
From a fortified bunker lit by the glow of surveillance screens, a former grain dealer turned military commander is waging a war of attrition not only against Russian forces, but against the will of a nation to keep fighting. Ukraine's unmanned systems forces — a sliver of its military — have become its most lethal instrument, carrying strikes thousands of kilometers into Russian territory to strike at oil, morale, and the quiet assumption that war remains something distant. In the long arc of modern conflict, this moment marks a threshold: the industrialization of drone warfare as a tool of psychological as much as physical destruction.
- A unit representing just 2% of Ukraine's military is responsible for a third of all battlefield targets destroyed, with casualty rates below 1% — a lopsided efficiency that is reshaping how the war is fought.
- Ukraine has sharply escalated deep strikes reaching 1,500 to 2,000 kilometers into Russian territory, hitting oil refineries and energy infrastructure that Moscow depends on to fund the war.
- Commander Brovdi has set a monthly kill quota exceeding 30,000 Russian soldiers, demanding video verification of each death and claiming his forces have exceeded the target four months running.
- Strikes on Russian soil are producing visible civilian distress — toxic rain near a Black Sea refinery, a weeping woman on camera — and Brovdi is watching for signs that the psychological pressure is spreading.
- The strategy is explicitly one of containment and erosion: not to retake territory, but to make the cost of invasion so unbearable that Russian morale fractures and Putin's grip on the war's narrative weakens.
Commander Robert Brovdi runs Ukraine's unmanned systems forces from a secret underground bunker, where pilots known by call signs like KitKat and Antalya track targets on glowing screens while sleeping pods line the walls. Visitors arrive in vans with blacked-out windows. Four years ago, Brovdi was a grain dealer and art collector from Uzhhorod — a man at home in Christie's auction rooms. When Russia invaded, he enlisted, fought through Bakhmut and Kherson, and discovered the transformative power of drones while pinned down by enemy fire. He bought a consumer device, introduced it to his unit, and within months soldiers were building their own and attaching munitions. The 414th Brigade — the Birds of Magyar — was born.
Today his forces account for a third of all targets destroyed while comprising just 2% of Ukraine's military, with annual casualty rates below 1%. In a rare interview, Brovdi disclosed that Ukraine has been intensifying deep strikes for weeks, pushing drones 1,500 to 2,000 kilometers into Russian territory. The targets are deliberate: oil export facilities, troops, and the psychological resolve of the Russian public. Locally produced drones are growing cheaper and flying farther — one model observed during the visit can travel over 1,000 kilometers; others reach twice that distance.
Brovdi frames the energy strikes in blunt strategic terms: refineries that generate revenue for war are legitimate military targets. Residents near a Black Sea refinery have reported toxic rain following strikes. He is unmoved. His calculus extends to personnel as well — his forces must kill more Russian soldiers each month than Russia can recruit, a target he sets above 30,000. Each death must be verified by video. Some of those clips loop on screens in the command center; others are posted to Telegram, where Brovdi casts his drones as birds and Russian soldiers as worms.
Softly spoken but unflinching, Brovdi rejects pity. Russian troops are on foreign soil at Putin's command, he argues, and the logic is simple: kill or be killed. His stated goal is not a sweeping counter-offensive but containment — preventing Russian advances while inflicting unsustainable losses. He dismisses Putin's ambitions in the Donbas as unrealistic. His deeper target is morale itself. A video circulating widely in Ukraine shows a Russian woman in tears near a burning refinery, lamenting that her quiet life by the sea has been destroyed. For Brovdi, it is evidence that the war's consequences are beginning to reach inward — and with every drone that crosses the border, he is betting that more Russians will begin to question the president who started it.
Commander Robert Brovdi sits in a high-tech bunker buried deep underground, surrounded by screens that flicker with real-time battlefield data. The walls are lined with sleeping pods. Men in T-shirts hunched over joysticks and keyboards monitor drone feeds from pilots with call signs like KitKat and Antalya. Bleeps and pings punctuate the air as fresh targeting information streams in. This is the nerve center of Ukraine's unmanned systems forces, and Brovdi runs it from a secret location so secure that visitors arrive in a van with blacked-out windows.
Four years ago, Brovdi was a grain dealer and art collector in western Ukraine, comfortable in auction houses like Christie's. He is an ethnic Hungarian from Uzhhorod, known by his military call sign, Magyar. When Russia's full-scale invasion came, he signed up to fight. He passed through some of the fiercest battles—Bakhmut, Kherson—and it was while pinned down by Russian fire in Kherson that he first grasped the potential of drones. He bought a device meant for his own children and introduced similar ones to his unit. Suddenly they could climb above Russian positions and stream live images to nearby artillery teams, enabling precise strikes. Within months, soldiers were building their own drones and attaching munitions. The unit became known as the 414th Brigade, the Birds of Magyar.
Today, Brovdi's forces make up just 2 percent of Ukraine's military but account for a third of all targets destroyed on the battlefield. Their casualty rate is less than 1 percent per year. In a rare interview, he revealed that Ukraine has been intensifying deep strikes for several weeks, pushing drones 1,500 to 2,000 kilometers into Russian territory—distances once considered safely beyond the reach of war. The targets are deliberate: Russian oil export facilities, troops, and the psychological will of the Russian people to continue fighting. "We're like a red rag to the enemy," Brovdi said. "Because we're taking the war to their territory so that they feel it too."
The technology is improving. Locally produced drones are becoming cheaper and flying farther. The model launched from a drizzly field in eastern Ukraine during our visit can travel more than 1,000 kilometers; others already go twice as far. But the escalation is also about strategy. Russia's energy exports have been identified as a priority target. President Volodymyr Zelensky calls such deep strikes "very painful" to Moscow, causing "critical" losses running to tens of billions of dollars in its energy sector. Brovdi justifies the attacks plainly: "If oil refineries are a tool to make money that's used for war, then they are a legitimate military target, subject to destruction." Residents in Tuapse on Russia's Black Sea coast have complained of toxic rain after strikes on the local refinery. Brovdi remains unmoved by the civilian impact.
But the drone campaign is not only about infrastructure. Brovdi has imposed a brutal calculus on his forces: they must kill more enemy soldiers each month than Russia can recruit. That target is over 30,000 men per month. "30 percent of all drone strikes have to be against military personnel," he said. "You can call it a kill plan, yes, and right now we are exceeding it." He claims his crews have met the target for four months in a row. Each death must be verified by video or it does not count. Some of those clips play on a grim loop on screens in the command center. Brovdi also posts them on Telegram, where he styles his drone forces as the "birds" and their Russian prey as "worms" to hunt and destroy. "The greatest mass killing of an enemy in the history of mankind is taking place in this room," he said, gesturing at the screens around him.
It is brutal talk from a softly spoken man, but Brovdi refuses to be "gnawed by pity." Russian troops are far beyond their own borders, sent by Putin "who wants to destroy our nation." "If we don't kill them, they kill us. That is clear." He insists his goal is containment, not mounting new counter-offensives or retaking huge swathes of land. "We have an effective weapon: not to conduct an offensive war, but to prevent the enemy advancing effectively on our territory." He dismisses Putin's stated aim of seizing the rest of the eastern Donbas region within months as absurd and unrealistic.
Brovdi has one more target: Russian morale. He hopes that a high casualty rate, combined with giant fires burning at facilities deep beyond the border, can create what he calls "a certain ferment" within Russia. He is aiming for the shock factor. One recent video widely shared in Ukraine shows a Russian woman in Tuapse in floods of tears. "I just wanted to live by the sea with my child, but everything's ruined," she sobs. "Those drones fly, destroying everything." For Brovdi, it is a sign that the fallout from Russia's invasion—and Ukraine's strong pushback—could be spreading beyond its so-far limited circles. His aim, with every drone, is to make more Russians question the war their country is fighting and the president who started it. He believes Putin cannot afford to end the invasion because the risks of failure are too great. So the drones will keep flying, deeper into Russian territory, as long as the war continues.
Citas Notables
We're like a red rag to the enemy. Because we're taking the war to their territory so that they feel it too.— Commander Robert Brovdi
If oil refineries are a tool to make money that's used for war, then they are a legitimate military target, subject to destruction.— Commander Robert Brovdi
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
You describe these drone strikes as taking the war to Russian territory so "they feel it too." But doesn't that risk escalating the conflict further?
Brovdi would say the conflict is already escalated—Russian troops are inside Ukraine trying to destroy the nation. The strikes are a response, not an initiation. And practically, hitting oil refineries that fund the war machine is more efficient than waiting for those resources to reach the front line.
He mentions a kill quota of 30,000 enemy soldiers per month. That's an enormous number. How does he justify that mathematically?
He frames it as a necessity born from Ukraine's manpower crisis. Ukraine is struggling to mobilize men for the front. So if Russia can recruit faster than Ukraine can kill, Russia wins through attrition. It's grim arithmetic, but from his perspective, it's the only math that keeps Ukraine from being overrun.
The video of the Russian woman crying in Tuapse—is that really the measure of success? Making civilians suffer?
He's not targeting her specifically. She's collateral to strikes on energy infrastructure. But he does see her tears as evidence that the psychological dimension is working. If Russians at home start questioning the war, that's a form of pressure on Putin that doesn't require more Ukrainian soldiers to die.
You mention he was an art collector before the war. Does that past life still shape how he thinks about this?
The paintings and sculptures by Ukrainian artists are still displayed in his bunker, right next to missile casings and captured drones. I think it shows he hasn't forgotten what he's fighting to preserve. But the man he was four years ago—comfortable, collecting—is gone. The war has made him someone else entirely.
What does he actually want to happen next?
Containment. Not victory in the traditional sense. He wants to make it so costly and painful for Russia to continue that Putin decides the invasion isn't sustainable. He's betting that enough dead soldiers, enough burning oil facilities, and enough doubt spreading through Russian society will eventually force a reckoning.