Russia has turned to a terrifying new tactic in its assaults on Ukraine, launching nonstop waves of armed drones in recent days into busy areas of the capital, Kyiv. The relentless attacks have left residents exhausted and on edge as air raid sirens bellow nearly constantly.
With Moscow firing drone after drone into Kyiv, including many powered with jet engines that help them fly so fast they are difficult to intercept, many in the capital have begun to accept that they may be facing a new phase of the war.
This period threatens to be more dangerous and unpredictable for Kyiv than any since the first weeks of Russia’s 2022 invasion. It comes as the city already faces increased danger from powerful Russian ballistic missiles as Moscow capitalizes on depleted Ukrainian air defenses.
While Russia has long conducted deadly drone attacks on Kyiv, the weapons have often come in overnight barrages and have not tormented the city throughout the day. Residents long ago grew used to the menacing hum of slower-moving drones but now face the danger of the jet-powered models, which crash into a target before anyone nearby has a chance to run.
The waves of drones have arrived in Kyiv just as residents are trying to enjoy the waning warm days of summer, craving some normalcy. On Saturday morning in the bustling Obolon neighborhood, dozens of customers were seated on the popular See You Cafe’s shaded terrace for brunch even as air raid sirens blared.
Inside the cafe, the owner, Artem Rudychenko, 40, and the manager, Ihor Kuzmich, 35, chatted by the dessert stand. A barista made two lattes and a waitress picked them up to carry outside.
Then a shock wave tore through the room.
A Russian drone had slammed into a tree in the park below, just 65 yards from the terrace. Terrified customers rushed inside for cover. A confused corgi ran to and fro. One young woman tried to jump toward the basement and broke her leg.
Mr. Rudychenko heard a man screaming for help and ran outside, where he saw the man running toward a nearby clinic, a tiny, bloody body cradled in his arms. The police later told him the girl had been killed by a piece of shrapnel that pierced her lung, he said.
Drones kept flying in and out of Kyiv, and the air raid sirens turned on and off, over and over again, as Mr. Rudychenko and his stunned staff cleaned up and shut the cafe. Meanwhile, the death toll from a Russian strike the night before on an arms depot near civilian homes just outside the city grew to 38.
The pop-pop of air defense systems countering new waves of drones and occasional explosions from strikes or interceptions continued into the night. Plumes of smoke rose over different parts of the city. Still, in a group call that evening, Mr. Rudychenko’s staff agreed they were ready to return to work the next day.
By Sunday, the cafe had reopened. One window was boarded up and another badly cracked. Customers trickled in and out. In the park below, flowers and stuffed animals were stacked in a makeshift memorial for the girl killed the day before. Sirens blared, more drones sped toward the capital and in the park below the cafe, parents pushed strollers past bits of drone debris and what remained of the scorched tree.
An unsteady new rhythm has emerged in the city, with many residents who had grown blasé about attacks now frantically checking air raid alerts and sleeping in shelters, even as they cling to what they can of their routines.
Russia had launched nearly 1,500 drones into Ukraine in four days, President Volodymyr Zelensky said on Sunday, with many targeting energy plants, food warehouses and shopping centers.
In Kyiv, a main focus of the strikes, there is a widespread view among officials and civilians that the escalation is intended to wear down Ukrainian morale, complicate school reopenings and further damage the economy. Warnings have circulated that a massive ballistic missile attack may also be imminent, an extreme vulnerability for Ukraine, which is severely lacking Patriot interceptors — the only weapon in its arsenal capable of shooting down the missiles. Mr. Rudychenko had planned to send his 9-year-old son, Ostap, to the first day of school on Tuesday. Now, fearing classes will be impossible if children must be ushered into and out of a bomb shelter all day, he is considering moving him to another part of Ukraine.
Mr. Kuzmich, the cafe manager, said: “It’s tough for me because I also have a little kid. We can’t sit all day in the shelter. This air raid is all day, every day. We need to have some fresh air. And I understand why the little kid was in the park,” referring to the girl who died.
Mr. Kuzmich’s wife often buys a coffee from the cafe and sits with their son, Danyl, who is 3, on a bench just near the tree that was struck by the drone.
“When a little girl dies and you have a son a similar age,” he said, his voice trailing off. “It’s very hard.”
Outside, Yevhenii and Olena Velychko walked with their sons through the park and past the place where the child had been killed. For two days, the couple had stayed home to protect their children — Tymur, 8, and Artem, 2 — but by Sunday afternoon, the boys were restless.
Tymur is to start at a new private school on Tuesday, which has built underground shelters where classes will continue during air raid alerts. But if the situation worsens, the parents said, the family is considering moving to western Ukraine, which is attacked less often than Kyiv and is far enough from the Russian border to give residents time to hide. “They are acting like Germans during the First and Second World Wars,” Mr. Velychko said of the Russian military. “But these tactics don’t bring any military results. They’re trying to spread chaos. They want people to flee Kyiv. They want to interrupt our regular life.”
At a nearby shopping mall, employees sat on folding chairs in the parking garage or outside huddled in small groups, waiting for the sirens to cease. The mall mandates that all shops shut when the alarms are wailing. Before, when the worst Russian attacks often happened at night, stores might have to close once or twice a day. By Sunday afternoon, the shops had opened and closed at least five times, said Nataliia Lipinska, 33, a manager at JYSK, a Danish home goods chain. Outside, throngs of shoppers waited for the alarm to lift and the doors to reopen. An hour later, the alarm sounded again, restarting the routine. “It always causes anxiety,” Ms. Lipinska said.
In another neighborhood, Kateryna Demkevych, 72, walked home with a small shopping bag.
“It’s terrible. I just wait when the air raid is over, go out to buy something; I go home and it’s on again,” she said.
The Russians “understand that nothing works against us to bring them victory in this war, and they’re just trying to terrorize us, ” Ms. Demkevych added. “We will not give up.” On a bench nearby, Anna Kucher, 80, took advantage of a brief lull in the air raid sirens to sit with two friends. During this latest surge of drones, the women have started wearing regular clothes to bed instead of pajamas so they will be ready to rush downstairs during explosions. They check Telegram channels constantly to monitor incoming drones. And they fear they could go hungry this winter, they said, if Russia keeps up the attacks on food warehouses, and nearby grocery stores are unable to stock their shelves.
“Yesterday, there were drones there and there and there,” Ms. Kucher said, pointing to the sky. “Today, it’s the same.”
When the women were asked how they were coping with this new Russian tactic, Ms. Kucher quickly replied on their behalf. “Don’t ask,” she said, tears welling. “Because we will cry.”
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