Lessons Learned From Russia’s War Against Ukraine

Executive Summary:

Russia’s February 2022 full-scale invasion of Ukraine has become both the largest armed conflict in Europe since World War II and the most technologically saturated war in history. Over four years of combat, both sides have moved through several cycles of tactical adaptation: from the classical combined-arms operations of early 2022, through the positional warfare of 2023–2024, to the current phase of small-group infantry assault dominated by ubiquitous unmanned systems and networked electronic warfare (EW). The Russian military—despite catastrophic losses and the systemic failures of its first year of invasion—has demonstrated a meaningful capacity for organizational adaptation and doctrinal reworking.

The Russian offensive operation as observed in 2025–2026 differs fundamentally from the model envisaged in the Russian military’s general-purpose doctrine of 2010–2014. Current Russian practice includes virtually no armored wedges designed to penetrate rapidly deep into enemy defenses. Instead, Russian forces apply continuous pressure with small assault groups across a wide front. A typical assault group consists of four to eight personnel moving in pairs at intervals of seven to nine meters, conducting its assault in successive waves that attack the same objective to exhaust the defender’s fire system.

This evolution is the direct result of contact with the saturated reconnaissance-strike complex fielded by the Armed Forces of Ukraine (AFU). Reconnaissance unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) detect armored formations concentrating at jump-off lines within minutes, and a composite combination of artillery, first-person view (FPV) drones, and loitering munitions engages them before they can step off. Adaptation to this environment required a radical reduction in the attacking formation’s visual and thermal signature. Russian tactics have similarly evolved. As a Russian military blogger wrote:

Our tactics have changed: the front is being ‘stretched’ by small groups of our assault troops who ‘seep’ into the most vulnerable sectors of the defense, creating bridgeheads that are then expanded and reinforced. Classically, a company’s offensive frontage has been 1.5 kilometers [about 1 mile], and a battalion’s 3–4 kilometers [about 1.9–2.5 miles]. New means of delivering ammunition, material, and provisions to the line of contact are playing an important role. In addition to motorcycles and quadricycles, our forces are now using a ground assault drone with a payload of up to 20 kilograms [about 44.1 pounds].[1]

Using the first assault group as a disposable element of reconnaissance by fire is a characteristic feature of Russian small-group tactics. This group’s primary task is to uncover the defender’s fire system by drawing return fire. Only after the defenders have revealed their positions are subsequent waves committed. These subsequent waves carry heavier weapons and operate in coordination with FPV drone crews and artillery. This phenomenon has fundamental significance for the tactical training of defending forces: platoon and company commanders must be conditioned to recognize that the first detected enemy group is bait and to defer committing primary fire assets until a second or third wave is confirmed.

In parallel, the Russian side systematically employs the tactical method of “distraction.” This typically involves a demonstrative strike on one flank intended to draw the defender’s reserves, followed by the main attack on a previously quiet sector. Demonstrative actions are often accompanied by false artillery fire, the placement of linear and area aerosol screens, and even feigned damage to friendly equipment to deceive the defender about the true axis of advance.

Personnel and supplies move within 5–15 kilometers (3.11 to 9.32 miles) of the line of contact primarily on motorcycles, quadricycles, and buggies. This solution is dictated by the need to minimize exposure time to FPV drones. Infiltration by reconnaissance-assault groups through weak points in the defense is well documented: drainage ditches, irrigation channels, and culverts under roads are all used as routes of advance. Personnel use thermal-insulating capes to suppress their infrared signature. In the Baltic theater, analogous infiltration paths are formed by drainage systems in agricultural land, forest tracts, and marshy belts along the frontier. Ukrainian open-source intelligence (OSINT) material documented Russian UAV training in regions near the Lithuanian border and the practice of emergency UAV landings on unprepared sites in marshes as early as 2021.[2]

A key element of the Russian small-group method is 13- to 21-day pre-operation training cycles centered on full-scale physical mock-ups of target localities. Holding groups train in forest belts using equipment, while assault groups drill the specific tactical task assigned by combat order, study the objective on the mock-up, and rehearse its seizure with organic weapons combined with FPV drones. Night training develops silent movement and orientation skills, with UAVs equipped with thermal and night-vision cameras recording trainee actions for debrief. Daily intelligence from UAV reconnaissance flights of the target locality is incorporated into the next day’s training scenario, allowing the assault personnel to “live out” the actual tactical situation in advance. For the Baltic states, the implication is direct: pre-conflict training centers should incorporate full-scale mock-ups of likely targets in predicted operational sectors—particularly Narva, Daugavpils, and the Suwałki Gap—and reservist mobilization cycles should plan for a minimum 14–day cohesion phase.

The capture of the village of Berestki in Donetsk oblast by Russian forces in late 2024 illustrates Russia’s small-group, wave, and distraction tactics. The 114th Independent Motorized Rifle Brigade (114 omsbr) of the 51st Combined Arms Army carried out the main thrust of the campaign from November to early December 2024. Initial clearance of Ukrainian Armd Forces (AFU) positions in the village was reported in late November.[3] The brigade’s own announcement of the village’s seizure followed at the end of November.[4] The formal Russian Ministry of Defense communiqué came one week later.[5] The brigade’s operational chronology appears in open Russian reference compilations and OSINT analytical material.[6]

Two battalions of the AFU 35th Independent Marine Brigade (35 obrmp) held a prepared defense organized within the village’s residential fabric. The defense delivered up to 30 mortar and artillery strikes and up to 25 FPV drone attacks per day against advancing Russian positions, while approaching routes were mined remotely. Berestki blocked the Novoselydivka–Kurakhove road, the principal communications route for AFU forces operating west of the Kurakhove reservoir.

The Russian brigade commander allocated 22 assault groups, totaling 126 personnel, across four axes. The plan concentrated the first attacks on the northern and northeastern axes, anticipating that the AFU would shift reserves from the southern and western flanks to those axes. At that point, the southern and western groups would launch their own assault into the weakened sectors.

Movement and pre-positioning

The Russian assault detachment moved from its assembly area along the Novoselydivka–Berestki road on motorcycles with sidecars (two–three motorcycles per group, at high speed), then dismounted and moved on foot through the shelterbelts, occupying their attack positions overnight in radio silence. Brigade artillery conducted harassing fire on AFU command-post candidates and on approaches to the northern edge, disrupting the AFU’s ability to maintain reconnaissance and vigilance ahead of the main attack.

The assault

Brigade artillery, reinforced by an army-level artillery battalion, began the artillery preparation, destroying up to two platoons of the 1st and 2nd Marine Battalions, 35 Separate Marine Brigade (OBRMP), in northern-edge buildings and in the “Son” forest belt. Two “Karakatitsa” robotic ground vehicles deployed a 15-minute smoke screen covering the northern axis, concealing the assault from FPV drone observation. The northern and northeastern groups attacked from shelterbelts. By midday, the first peripheral buildings on the northern outskirts were captured; high-rise buildings, whose upper floors became observation platforms, followed in the afternoon.

Decoy effect

As anticipated, the defender shifted forces to the northern axis. This was the trigger for the southern and western groups (10–22) to launch under hand-thrown smoke grenades. The defender, observing each smoke screen, opened intensive fire on the screened areas, exposing his own fire positions, which the assault groups then bypassed on the flanks and struck from the rear.

Encirclement and reduction

A defender’s attempt to evacuate personnel on a “Kirpi” MRAP toward Stari Terny was destroyed by ambush fire from the brigade’s assault detachment in the forest belts. A counter-attack by up to two companies of the AFU 88th Independent Marine Infantry Brigade, reinforced by a tank platoon and attacking from Stari Terny, was disrupted by integrated Russian artillery and UAV fire. After this attempt, the encircled 35th OBRM remnants in Berestki could not be rotated or resupplied. Over the next several days, the brigade employed massed FPV drone fire to complete the reduction of the position.

Implications for Baltic defense

The case shows the small-group, wave, and distraction methodology in successful, compressed form. The inverse implication for Baltic defenders is equally instructive. Despite an organized defense and a heavy daily fire output (30 mortar/artillery strikes and 25 FPV drone strikes per day), the defenders could not compensate for the loss of resupply once isolation occurred. This argues for pre-positioned cache networks, alternate routes, and the disciplined avoidance of provoking fire when smoke screens are detected—three elements that any urban-defense plan for Narva, Daugavpils, or the Suwałki sector should incorporate.

More than 250,000 UAV applications of various types were recorded on a single operational direction during 2024–2025, with FPV drones accounting for over 93 percent of that total. The share of FPV drones in the destruction of Russian armored vehicles approached 70 percent. By the end of 2025, the Ukrainian Defense Procurement Agency had supplied the AFU with approximately 2.4 million FPV drones during the calendar year, with an additional 200,000 units delivered via the DOT-Chain Defense digital procurement platform—a cumulative annual delivery approximately two-and-a-half times that of 2024.[7] Any armored vehicle detected and unable to change position within five to ten minutes is highly likely to be destroyed.

The unmanned threat falls into four functionally distinct categories. The first category consists of small commercial quadcopters (DJI Mavic, Autel) employed for reconnaissance and small-payload drops within five kilometers (about 3.2 miles) of the line of contact. The second comprises FPV drones across various frequency bands, carrying warheads of 0.5–3 kilograms (about 1.1–6.6 pounds) and operating at ranges of 15–20 kilometers (about 9.3–12.4 miles). The third category consists of heavy multirotors known as “Baba Yaga” and “Vampire,” carrying 15–20 kilograms (about 33–44 pounds) of payload and operating primarily at night with thermal-imaging cameras and Starlink satellite control. A documented engagement saw a Baba Yaga bomber drone strike a Russian Buk-M3 air-defense vehicle at a distance of 57 kilometers (about 35.4 miles) from the line of contact, with the target spotted only 40 minutes before engagement.[8] The fourth category consists of loitering munitions (the Russian Lancet, Shahed/Geran-2, and fixed-wing UAVs) for striking targets at ranges of 35–2,000 kilometers (about 21.8–1,242.7 miles).

No universal counter exists for all four categories. Each requires its own combination of detection and engagement means. Attempts to cover a unit with a single type of jammer or counter-UAV rifle invariably leave gaps. This creates an enduring requirement for both density and diversity of air-defense and EW assets at every tactical level.

By mid-2025, fiber-optically controlled FPV drones had risen to over 20 percent of total drone use. These systems are immune to classic radio-frequency suppression—the only effective countermeasures are physical engagement (small arms, anti-drone nets, shotguns) and pre-emptive destruction of launch crews. Both Ukraine and Russia are introducing machine-vision software (SakerScout, RAM X, and analogs) that allows drones to autonomously recognize a target and complete a strike after losing the control signal. Flight suppression, therefore, no longer guarantees target survival. Pre-emptive engagement alongside passive defenses has become essential: anti-drone netting, awnings over roads, cope cages on armored vehicles, and thermally-distorted camouflage.

Each unit on the front now averages around 30–40 FPV drone launches per day. On a 50-kilometer (about 31.1 miles) front, this requires several thousand units per day—a volume foreign procurement cannot sustain. For the Baltic states, this creates a direct requirement to localize FPV drone and heavy multirotor production within national industrial bases. Every infantry company should be assigned no fewer than three permanent FPV crews, and every battalion should retain an organic UAV platoon. The Ukrainian model—culminating in the establishment of the Unmanned Systems Forces (USF) as a separate combat arm in June 2024 and the launch of the “Drone Line” project in 2025, designed to integrate infantry and UAVs into a 10–15 kilometer-deep (about 6.2–9.3 miles) kill zone—offers a directly transferable organizational template.

Russia integrated army aviation forces into the air-defense fighter-cover system to counter the UAV threat. For the first time in Russian practice, attack helicopters were placed under the operational subordination of air-defense (PVO) division commanders, forming tactical groups of army aviation, each composed of two attack helicopters and one retransmission helicopter, held at Readiness State No. 2 (25 minutes from order to takeoff). The selected platforms are the Ka-52M “Alligator” and the Mi-28N, with the Ka-52M proving demonstrably more effective owing to its onboard radar. The principal munition for engaging UAV-class air targets is the 9M342 Igla-S missile. Targeted Ukrainian UAV types include the Yuzh-22 “Airbone,” the Yuzh-26 “Beaver,” the Liutyi, and the PD-2.

The first successful intercept occurred on August 30, 2023. A Mi-28N crew destroyed a Yuzh-22 “Airbone” unit 30 kilometers (about 18.6 miles) southeast of Zmiivka at a range of 250 meters (about 820 feet), expending 29 rounds of 30-mm cannon fire. Another instance occurred on December 19, 2024, when a single Ka-52M crew over Oryol oblast destroyed three approaching UAVs at ranges of 22, 10, and 45 kilometers (about 13.7, 6.2, and 28 miles) over 46 minutes, expending two Igla-S missiles and 65 rounds of 30-mm cannon fire. The aggregate statistics for November–December 2024 illustrate both the achievement and a sharp seasonal limit: across the two months, Army aviation tactical groups destroyed 59 UAVs in the general PVO system, with 39 (66 percent) destroyed in November and only 20 (34 percent) in December—halving effectiveness despite comparable UAV traffic, attributable to seasonal weather (cloudiness, icing) that restricts attack-helicopter availability. Of the 59 UAVs destroyed, 42 (71 percent) were struck with Igla-S missiles and 17 (29 percent) with 30-mm cannon fire.

The C-band Doppler meteorological radar (DMRL-S, originally a civilian meteorological asset) can detect NATO UAVs and loitering munitions at ranges up to 70 kilometers (about 43.5 miles), presenting another implication for Baltic defense. Russia can operate meteorological radars that, with software modifications, could be incorporated into the national air picture without significant capital expenditure. The broader implication is twofold: helicopter-borne counter-UAV is operationally feasible but degraded by adverse weather—an argument against over-reliance on rotary-wing assets in the cloudy and icing-prone Baltic climate—while dual-use of national meteorological radar offers a low-cost addition to the layered counter-UAV picture.

The AFU has built an EW maneuver-group structure on each operational direction that has proven effective in modern war. Up to ten EW and signals intelligence (SIGINT) maneuver groups defend a single direction, often fielding Bukovel-AD jammers. These jammers have a detection range against the Orlan-10 of up to 100 kilometers (about 62.1 miles) and a jamming radius of 15–20 kilometers (about 9.3–12.4 miles) against UAV control channels.[9] Other jammers include the Anklav (operating in the 400–2,500 MHz band, directional range up to 40 kilometers (about 24.9 miles), omnidirectional up to 20 kilometers (about 12.4 miles); Nota (detecting UAVs at 20 kilometers (about 12.4 miles) and jamming satellite channels at 15 kilometers (about 9.32 miles); Tuman; Khmara; and the SIGINT and direction-finding complex Plastun-RP of Ukrainian design, alongside Western TCI-903S systems. These assets are positioned on dominant heights 5–10 kilometers (about 3.1 to 6.2 miles) from the line of contact and shift positions at least once every 24 hours. The system can block adversary UAV command and navigation channels to a depth of up to 20 kilometers (about 12.4 miles) behind the enemy’s front lines.

Ukrainian EW assets suppress satellite-correction channels of Russian guided air bombs equipped with UMPK glide-kit modules, reducing their accuracy by a factor of two to three. The Pokrova system, unveiled in 2023, operates on the principle of GPS spoofing, supplying the adversary’s UAV with a false satellite signal to deflect it from course.[10]

Russian forces concede a lack of effective counters to commercial UAVs of the DJI Mavic, Autel, and DJI Phantom families, particularly under mass employment. Heavy octocopters such as the “Baba Yaga” and “Vampire,” controlled via Starlink commercial satellite channels, are often beyond the reach of standard Russian jammers. In early 2026, Russian UAV crews, EW and SIGINT units, fire assets, and infantry positions lost reliable internet access after the Russian government throttled Telegram and Starlink was interrupted on Russian-controlled territory. With no broadcasts and no battlefield picture, Russian decision-making slowed notably.

The AFU has systematically exploited a saturation problem of Russian air defenses and artillery. When five or more FPV drones are deployed simultaneously on different frequencies within a narrow front sector, the Russian EW system “selects” targets for suppression, allowing some drones to get through.

Russia has acknowledged these systems as the “blind spots” of its electronic suppression capability. For the Baltic states, this has a direct implication: priority should be assigned to the large-scale procurement of upper-segment commercial copters (DJI Mavic, Autel), heavy platforms for ordnance delivery, and the layered deployment of Starlink networks.

Tube and rocket artillery retain a key role in combat, but their use has fundamentally changed. Both Russian and Ukrainian artillery—faced with the FPV-drone and loitering-munition threat—have moved firing positions to 10 kilometers (about 6.2 miles) or more from the line of contact and adopted the principle of “one or two rounds—immediate displacement.” The Russian “active defense” of a brigade-tactical-group configuration usually operates in a kill zone of 3–5 kilometers (about 1.9–3.1 miles) along the front and 10 kilometers (about 6.2 miles) in depth.

Long-range precision weapons have proven highly effective against rear infrastructure. According to open-source reporting from Ukraine, Ukrainian unmanned systems conducted more than 220 deep-strike operations against targets on Russian territory during 2024, with confirmed strike depths exceeding 2,000 kilometers (about 1,242.7 miles).[11] For the Baltic theater, this generates a direct requirement to hold in national arsenals stocks of systems with ranges of at least 150–200 kilometers (about 93.2–124.3 miles), sufficient for sustained strikes against railway hubs, Kaliningrad-region ports, and transshipment bases in the Pskov and Leningrad oblasts.

Counter-battery work should be a distinct priority. An effective solution is to create reconnaissance-strike batteries that combine artillery-reconnaissance radar—with a detection depth exceeding 60 kilometers (about 37.3 miles)—fixed-wing reconnaissance UAVs, and loitering munitions.

Engineering and Fortification in the Drone Age

Tree lines and other elements of natural concealment, traditionally relied upon for cover, lose their protective properties within several weeks of combat due to artillery and FPV drone strikes. Defensive positions must therefore rely from the outset on artificial overhead cover, anti-fragmentation awnings, and dug-in shelters. Equipping a single operational sector during a single operation requires more than 3,400 wooden panels and over 14,500 earth-filled bags. A three-person engineer crew can prepare up to 40 meters (about 131 feet) of trench and up to two dugout pits in one night, using explosive methods to disrupt the soil.

Mine-laying should be planned with attention to current conditions. Up to 20 percent of mines should be set with anti-removal fuzes; booby traps and remotely emplaced engineering munitions, including UAV-delivered mines, must be available. The Russian army systematically employs remote mining with cluster artillery munitions and UAV-dropped mines within ten kilometers of its forward edge.

Open compiled combat-experience materials record the disproportionate diversion of manpower to engineering preparation: relocating a single calibrated overhead beam over two to four kilometers (about 1.2–2.5 miles) requires diverting two to four servicemen. Where centralized supply is lacking, units must fell tree lines, dismantle abandoned structures, and improvise anti-drone protection from scavenged materials.[12] For the Baltic states, this implies stockpiling prefabricated fortification kits (dugout sets, anti-fragmentation panels, cope cages for armor, thermal-distortion camouflage netting) in peacetime to reduce manpower diversion in the first weeks of conflict.

Moving rear columns during daylight hours near the line of contact has become essentially impossible. Within fifteen kilometers (about 9.32 miles) of the forward line, small-form transport is preferred: motorcycles, buggies, quadricycles, robotic ground platforms, and agricultural payload-carrying multirotors. Layered caches are applied to intermediate depots with five to seven days of supply, located no farther than 5–10 kilometers (about 3.11–6.21 miles) from front-line units. Standard motor transport resupplies these caches from fixed depots, primarily at night.

Russian information operations begin long before the kinetic phase and continue in parallel. Mass SMS distribution to mobile-network subscribers in the front-line zone is used (up to 80,000 messages per individual mobile EW system, such as Svirel, during a single operation), aimed at demoralization, desertion calls, and discrediting command structures. Generative artificial intelligence (AI) tools are actively used to produce photo, video, and audio content, including deepfakes. A separate operation aims to discredit specific defending units on social networks and international media. Countermeasures include preparing a national strategic communications system, resourcing press services for rapid rebuttal, and maintaining a proactive social media presence with documented evidence of force activity.

The Adversary’s Self-Reflection: Compiled Experience and the Telegram Segment

Beyond AFU-compiled combat experience, an essential resource for verifying this report’s conclusions is the Russian military community’s open self-reflection. The most systematic open compilation is the three-volume series of Notebooks on the Generalization of Combat Experience of the Special Military Operation (SVO), the third installment of which covers operations through July 2025.[13] The notebooks are based on interviews with Russian soldiers and officers and are distributed to active Russian forces as a manual. Their analysis reveals strong convergence of lessons learned between the two sides.

Functional division of infantry

The notebooks record the division of Russian infantry into “holding” and “assault” categories. This division is absent from pre-war manuals but has become normative. For the Baltic theater, this implies that the preparation of reservists and territorial-defense forces should be planned from the outset along this functional division.

Degradation of classical table of organization

Motorized rifle squads, as elements of the platoon battle order, have functionally ceased to exist; tactical groups are “cut out” freely according to the specific task. BMPs and BTRs increasingly operate separately from their dismounts. The real combat capability of a unit is described as a “fluid value” that cannot be derived automatically from establishment strength. This conclusion has direct relevance to Baltic staff work: capability assessment must be confirmed from below rather than presumed from above.

“Plastic” contact instead of stationary defense

Stationary occupation of a single position for more than twenty-four hours leads the adversary to identify and effectively engage the position; cumulative losses in holding an unprepared position exceed losses in assault action. The conclusion is that future “plastic” contact—with constant forward-and-back movement—may replace classical positional defense altogether. For Baltic forces, this implies that even on defensive lines, units must be trained to execute a controlled withdrawal with a break of contact.[14]

“Lower sky” as a distinct combat arm

Current Russian force organization has no permanent positions for low-altitude counter-UAV operations at the company–battalion echelon. This function must be improvised from available manpower, reducing the unit’s real combat capability. The Baltic states should preemptively introduce a counter-UAV platoon at the battalion level, equipped with detection assets (acoustic, optical, thermal), fire means (heavy machine guns, shotguns, counter-UAV rifles), and tactical-level EW.

Constant air-defense movement; built-in adaptation

Some air-defense vehicles move continuously on chaotically routed circuits, halting only for maintenance—stationary complexes in modern war are mere targets. No force keeps pace with tactical change, and the armed-forces structure must therefore incorporate an adaptation mechanism: a sub-unit with “fluid” structure, decentralized procurement for the adaptation element, and “with-surplus” training.

The Russian Telegram milblogger segment reinforces this convergence. Notable observations include the Russian Baltic Fleet’s slow absorption of war lessons, as documented in critical commentary on a Baltic Fleet exercise video showing an FPV operator launching on open, unprepared terrain.[15] Russian FPV-crew commanders have characterized the rise of “highly mobile assault regiments”—pure infantry formations without organic armor, heavy weapons, or UAV components, redeployed rapidly to threatened sectors—as a fundamental and irreversible shift in the Russian operational pattern.[16]

The Baltic Theater: Forces, Hypotheses, and Defense Implications

Given limited strategic depth, the center of gravity of Baltic defense should shift toward lines that maximize adversary attrition within the border zone. A layered system of company- and platoon-strongpoints in populated localities and at key road junctions, to a depth of 20–30 kilometers (about 12.4–18.6 miles), with organized fire control of the FPV-drone and artillery kill zone between strongpoints, is likely the most resilient defensive model. Two analytical contributions from Ukrainian military commentary in 2025 frame the Baltic question more sharply: an operational hypothesis of how a Russian attack on Latvia might unfold, and a sober force-generation assessment of whether such an attack is realistic in the near term.

Open Ukrainian analytical commentary published in mid-2025 traces structural changes in Russian force deployments adjacent to Latvia that, in aggregate, are consistent with preparations for a concealed Baltic offensive rather than rotation to the Ukrainian front.[17]

Structural indicators

In the Leningrad Military District (LMD) and Belarus, Russia has begun deploying new motorized rifle divisions—the 116th, 72nd, 74th, and 86th Guards motorized rifle divisions (MRDs), among others—with coordination, relocation, and re-equipment proceeding outside the focus of Western monitoring.[18] Russian rail echelons carrying the latest artillery and multiple launch rocket system (MLRS) platforms—including  Malva self-propelled howitzers and equipment of North Korean origin—have been observed moving through Petrozavodsk, Pskov, Tikhvin, and Gatchina, but not heading for the Ukrainian front lines.[19] The pattern is consistent with a deep strategic reserve forming for an alternative theater rather than routine rotation.

Belarus as flank bastion

Belarus intensified the formation of expanded divisional structures based on its brigades and mobilized reservists under the guise of territorial defense over 2024–2025. Soviet-era weapons storage facilities, dormant for decades, have been reactivated. In the western part of the country—particularly in Hlybokaye, Polatsk, and Braslaw—engineering works have intensified, including the modernization of highways and bridges leading toward the Latvian border. The pattern matches the classical Soviet doctrinal model for the concealed phase of preparation for an offensive operation.[20]

Russian logistical preparation

Multiple signs of preparation have been visible. The reconstruction and expansion of railway hubs in the Pskov region, the modernization of storage facilities at Ostrov, Velikiye Luki, and Palkino, and the restoration of Soviet-era auxiliary stations, backup overpasses, and ammunition depots—together with the publicly reported restoration of the Pskov–Gdov–Slantsy railway line—all make limited sense for Ukrainian-front supply but align with rapid deployment toward the Latvian direction, particularly given that these regions border Daugavpils and Rēzekne.

The likely axis of advance

The Russian operational concept does not envisage a frontal contest for the major Latvian cities. Rather, it projects an advance along the trajectory Daugavpils–Rēzekne–Preiļi–Jēkabpils–Jelgava, following the A6 highway and parallel railway lines, with the operational objective of reaching Tukums or the approaches to Riga. Three strategic effects are achieved simultaneously: the dissection of Latvian defenses; the blocking of the transfer of forces from southern Lithuania toward the Estonian border; a flanking threat to Riga producing political and psychological destabilization; and the creation of a coastal foothold via Tukums or Ventspils on the Baltic Sea, potentially used for seaborne reinforcement or as the basis of a “Courland Enclave.” The historical analog is the August 1944 Šiauliai Operation of the First Baltic Front: not a frontal battle for major hubs, but rather an envelopment, the seizure of critical communications, and the destabilization of the adversary’s coordination.

The “pulsing offensive”

Drawing on the Russian experience in Ukraine—particularly the failure of dense broad-front offensives in saturated Intelligence, Surveillance, Target Acquisition, and Reconnaissance (ISTAR) environments—a “pulsing offensive” model seems most likely. The model includes mobile forward detachments that penetrate deep into territory, operating outside a dense logistical framework that is supported by heavy artillery at the tactical level, with assault companies followed by narrow-corridor logistical extension and no waiting for flank stabilization. In this framework, the target set consists of junctions rather than cities: Jelgava, Tukums, and possibly Ventspils. The decisive effect is not classic territorial control but operational and political: splitting the country and isolating Riga, then offering an ultimatum—a ceasefire and recognition of a “new status quo” in exchange for a humanitarian corridor and a halt to further Baltic operations. Combined with a mass EW campaign and the on-ground presence of “peaceful representatives,” the intent would be to manufacture an atmosphere of partial collapse of state power—repeating elements of the reactive-pressure model previously used in Transnistria, South Ossetia, and Crimea: not taking everything, but cutting off, intimidating, and offering a “negotiated exit” from a “dead end” the adversary itself has manufactured.

The operational concept above must be placed in a realistic force-generation timeline as analyzed in open Ukrainian commentary in early 2026.[21] The central observation is that while the Russian General Staff planned to deploy approximately 17 division-level and up to nine brigade-level formations in 2025, the realities of the war against Ukraine necessitated a substantial postponement. As a result, Russia formed and deployed only four new divisions in 2025: the 68th Motor Rifle Division within the 6th Combined Arms Army; the 71st MRD within the 14th Army Corps; the 55th Marine Division within the Pacific Fleet; and the 120th Marine Division within the Baltic Fleet. Notably, at least three of the four sit within the Leningrad Military District or Baltic Fleet—adding to the earlier (2024) formation of the 44th Army Corps in the LMD with its own new 72nd MRD, and the expansion of the 6th Combined Arms Army (CAA). The LMD now hosts the 6th CAA alongside three army corps (11th, 14th, and 44th Army Corps), at least one of which (11th or 14th) is planned to be reorganized into a further combined-arms army in 2026–2027.

The remaining nine motor rifle divisions, two artillery divisions, one air-assault division, one coastal-defense division, and a series of independent brigades projected for 2025 have been postponed by the Russian General Staff to 2026–2030. Among the most consequential of these postponements are: a second artillery division in the LMD; two MRDs in the Central MD (based on the 15th and 74th Independent Motor Rifle Brigades (OMSBrs), joining the 2nd and 41st CAAs); two MRDs in the Moscow Military District; two MRDs in the Eastern Military Distric t(based on the 57th and 60th OMSBrs of the 5th CAA); three MRDs in the Southern Military District opposite Ukraine (based on the 123rd and 114th OMSBrs within the 3rd and 51st CAAs); an additional Southern Military District artillery division; and the 88th Coastal Defense Division based on the existing 126th independent coastal-defense brigade. The Russian Airborne Forces (VDV) are additionally projected to gain the 103rd Air Assault Division.

Daily Russian losses on the front in 2025 fluctuated between approximately 850 and 1,150 personnel (killed, wounded, captured, missing), depending on the intensity of combat. U.K. military intelligence has estimated cumulative Russian losses from the start of the war to mid-2025 at 230,000–236,000 (the figure most widely circulated in Ukrainian and Russian analytical commentary). Against this attrition, Russia contracted approximately 400,000–405,000 personnel during 2025—barely enough to offset losses and maintain very modest expansion of strategic groupings deployed in Ukraine. For 2026, the planned recruitment target is about 410,000, but expert estimates suggest the Russian command can allocate no more than 70,000 personnel to its strategic reserves—a figure plainly insufficient for the full list of planned new divisions and brigades. The postponement of most Russian formation plans will likely continue through 2026 and beyond.

The operational hypothesis and the force-generation assessment fit together as two halves of the same picture. In the near term, a large-scale Baltic operation is constrained by simple math: Russia does not yet have the freshly formed divisions in the Leningrad Military District and Western strategic direction that the announced plans envisaged. In the medium term (2027–2030), if attrition rates and contract recruitment hold at 2025 levels and the geographic concentration of newly formed Russian formations in the Leningrad Military District and Baltic Fleet continues, the cumulative weight of forces in the Western strategic direction will reach a level at which the operational concept becomes materially supportable. The defining lesson for Baltic defense planning is therefore not panic but pacing: a limited window—three to five years—to absorb the war’s tactical and operational lessons and translate them into national defense reform.

The narrow strip at the Lithuanian–Polish border separating Kaliningrad oblast from Belarus is a particularly vulnerable axis. In Ukrainian practice, attempts to close such a “bottleneck” have been undertaken in combined fashion: tactical air-assault landings, mass UAV strikes against road-network nodes, and artillery against reserve-concentration areas. Defense of the Suwałki Gap should therefore be planned as a circular defense, with prepared alternate detour routes and organic short- and medium-range air defenses distributed across multiple batteries.

Narva’s proximity to the Russian border and the density of urban development on both sides make this axis a priority for urban-defense preparation. The Berestki case shows what a successful attacker can accomplish in two weeks against a settlement of comparable size when given pre-positioned mock-ups, smoke-deception robotics, and integrated FPV-drone fire. The inverse—what a defender can hold for months with timely fortification, subterranean communications, and a cache network—is shown by the AFU experience at Bakhmut, Avdiivka, and Pokrovsk. The Narva defense plan should explicitly emulate both the AFU fortification methodology and the lesson drawn from Berestki: preserve resupply corridors at all costs, and treat any encirclement as fatal.

The Maritime Axis

The Gulf of Finland, the approaches to Riga, and Klaipėda require separate defenses against reconnaissance-sabotage groups delivered by surface craft and submersible carriers. Maritime infrastructure (ports, cables, pipelines, wind parks) should be incorporated into the general protection scheme through underwater sensors and routine patrols by small anti-sabotage forces.

A review of AFU-compiled combat experience, open Russian operational reporting, and open analytical commentary in both languages indicates that the modern Russian army, despite its adaptation to a high-technology battlefield, is not invincible. It can be halted and forced onto the defensive provided the defending side adapts in time to the new tactical reality. For the Baltic states, the analysis yields seven priority directions for defense planning.

First, localize the mass production of FPV drones and heavy multirotor carriers within national industrial bases. Second, equip every squad and every armored vehicle with tactical-level EW. Third, maintain in national arsenals stocks of precision-strike means with ranges of 150–200 kilometers (about 93.2–124.3 miles), sufficient for sustained strikes against the Russian rear during the first 30–45 days of conflict. Fourth, prepare national territory in advance, with stockpiles of prefabricated fortification kits and a network of dug-in shelters, plus the advance construction of full-scale mock-ups of likely contested settlements for cyclic reservist training. Fifth, build layered air defense with emphasis on inexpensive mass-engagement means against small aerial targets, including the dual-use incorporation of national meteorological radar for low-altitude UAV detection. Sixth, train reservists and territorial defense forces to the standard of regular forces, with mandatory division into “holding” and “assault” categories and a minimum 14-day cohesion phase before deployment. Seventh, prepare the national strategic communications system in advance and foster societal information resilience.

The window for this adaptation is limited but real—measured by force-generation arithmetic over three to five years rather than months. The Ukrainian experience is, above all, the experience of a side capable of halting and reversing a numerically superior adversary through the systematic application of solutions developed under fire. Reproducing this experience in the national armed forces of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania represents the fastest and least costly path to a qualitative increase in defense capability.

Hlib Parfonov is an analyst with The Jamestown Foundation. Since 2020, he has headed security policy at the Doctrine Center for Political Studies in Kyiv. He specializes in geospatial intelligence, open-source intelligence (OSINT), signals intelligence (SIGINT), including electronic support measures (ESM), and electronic warfare. He serves in the Armed Forces of Ukraine and is a combat veteran.

This article appeared originally at The Jamestown Foundation's Eurasia Daily Monitor (EDM).

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