By Nina Bachkatov and Romain Constantin
For the past two weeks, Russia—a country whose wealth has long been built on oil—has been facing an unexpected and politically embarrassing crisis: a severe fuel shortage. The crisis is spreading, with more than 31 regions, including Moscow and St Petersburg, imposing restrictions on fuel sales. In Crimea, relentless Ukrainian strikes on the peninsula’s supply routes have forced the authorities to limit petrol sales to essential users. As in the other occupied territories, residents are bearing the consequences of damaged infrastructure. But Crimea is both strategically vulnerable and highly symbolic. On 26 June, after two weeks of sustained attacks, the regional governor declared a state of emergency, allowing the authorities to respond more rapidly to the situation.
Those attacks highlight the Kremlin’s growing difficulty in protecting critical infrastructure across such a vast territory. More importantly, they show that Ukraine is no longer trying simply to defeat Russian forces on the battlefield. It is trying to reshape Russia’s political and economic calculations by combining drone warfare, economic disruption and technological innovation, while using the same technologies to compensate for Ukraine’s own demographic constraints.
Moscow has not ignored the risk. In November 2025, for instance, it authorised regional authorities to deploy military reservists to protect strategic facilities, particularly oil infrastructure. Yet, seven months later, the policy has failed to deliver the expected results. The authorities are now scrambling for solutions, including increasing fuel imports from Belarus. Meanwhile, companies, especially those operating critical infrastructure, resent being left largely responsible for their own protection.
Taking the war to Russia’s rear
Ukrainian attacks, now supported by increasingly sophisticated drones, Western intelligence and Starlink connectivity, have become more precise and more effective—not only against Russia’s armed forces but also against its civilian infrastructure. Ukraine has two objectives: to divert Russian military resources from the front line and to sow disruption deep inside Russia, fuelling public frustration with the Kremlin.
Until recently, the Russian leadership had largely succeeded in normalising the war for most of its citizens. For Russians without relatives serving at the front or living near the border, daily life had remained relatively unaffected. Ukraine’s latest campaign seeks to undermine that sense of normality. By creating fuel shortages—with knock-on effects on inflation and the wider economy—or by disrupting energy supplies and causing environmental damage along the Black Sea coast, Kyiv hopes to weaken the implicit social contract that has helped keep public discontent under control.
The timing is no coincidence. Summer is the peak season for domestic fuel consumption, with farmers harvesting their crops and millions of Russians travelling to their dachas or holiday destinations. Fuel shortages are not unprecedented—Russia imposed export bans and restrictions in 2023, 2024 and 2025—but this year’s crisis has emerged earlier and with far greater visibility. The pressure is therefore well timed, with regional elections due in September.
It is also the result of the strategic bet Ukraine has placed on robotisation over the past several years to offset Russia’s military superiority. Western weapons, once hailed as game changers, have ultimately fallen short of expectations. By contrast, Ukraine’s military innovations increasingly dominate the headlines, and drone attacks have become a routine feature of military operations.
The robotic battlefield
Ukraine’s accelerated investment in robotic systems—developed, tested and adapted in real time on the battlefield—serves several strategic purposes. Ukraine must continue to out-innovate Russia, which retains clear advantages in artillery, manpower, missile capabilities and air power. Robotisation also compensates for declining Western military assistance, including fewer aircraft, tanks and ammunition deliveries.
What began as experimentation has gradually become official military doctrine. The objective is no longer simply to support soldiers but increasingly to replace them wherever possible, thereby reducing casualties. The ambition is considerable. Mykola “Makar” Zinkevych, commander of the Third Separate Assault Brigade, has said he hopes eventually to replace one-third of his brigade with unmanned ground vehicles (UGVs). Mykhailo Fedorov, Ukraine’s Minister of Digital Transformation, has argued that robotic systems should eventually perform all logistical tasks currently carried out by soldiers.
This technological push also reflects a harsh reality: Ukraine is facing a severe manpower crisis that neither the Ministry of Defence nor President Zelensky can afford to ignore any longer. Hence the reforms unveiled this month as part of a broader overhaul of military recruitment and service. The package seeks to combat troop fatigue, reduce desertion and draft evasion—which together officially amount to around 350,000 cases—increase salaries, and introduce three fixed-term contracts ranging from 10 to 24 months. It also envisages recruiting between 30 and 50 per cent of assault troops from abroad through private recruitment companies, echoing measures previously adopted by Russia. Zelensky has also reportedly asked the European Commission to exclude Ukrainian men aged 23 to 60 from the temporary protection regime granted to refugees since 2022.
A strategy aimed at several audiences
For Zelensky, the challenge is to balance the optimism generated by the daily images of successful drone strikes against Russian infrastructure with the frustrations of soldiers who have remained on the front line, in some cases since 2022. The emphasis on high technology and artificial intelligence has created a sense of unequal treatment among those still fighting in the trenches. Most soldiers simply want predictable rotations to the rear or home leave based on clear rules rather than on their commanders’ discretion or the changing situation on the battlefield. Even drone operators complain of exhaustion. Many also remain sceptical that the new contracts will lead to a fairer distribution of combat duties.
Domestically, Zelensky can no longer ignore growing resentment among soldiers’ families or mounting public criticism of recruitment centres and their methods. Nor can he afford rising tensions between the high-tech innovation community, encouraged by the success of Ukraine’s drone programme, and the more traditional military establishment. Recent disagreements between General Oleksandr Syrskyi, Commander-in-Chief of the Ukrainian Armed Forces, and Fedorov appear to reflect more than a simple generational divide.
Internationally, drone technology has become an important diplomatic asset, as illustrated by Zelensky’s high-profile visits to Gulf countries and Ukraine’s efforts to conclude defence and technology cooperation agreements with as many partners as possible. The strategy also sends a message to the Kremlin. By increasing the costs of occupation and undermining Russia’s domestic stability, Kyiv hopes eventually to bring Putin to the negotiating table from a weaker position, facing both mounting logistical challenges and growing public dissatisfaction ahead of the September regional elections.
For now, however, Putin continues to believe that time is on Russia’s side. He sees Ukraine’s resilience as largely dependent on continued Western support. This explains the evolution of the Kremlin’s narrative: the justification for the war has shifted from the original objective of “denazification” to the claim that Russia is defending itself against a Western campaign, conducted through Ukrainian proxies, aimed at weakening and ultimately destroying Russia.