Inside The Old Skydiving Plane Hunting Drones in Ukraine

new video loaded: Inside The Old Skydiving Plane Hunting Drones in Ukraine

Inside this old skydiving plane, a crew of Ukrainian volunteers is hunting down Russian drones. Russia is sending thousands of its one-way attack drones into Ukraine every month. Many are shot down, but the country’s air defenses can’t stop them all. On the side of the fuselage here, they’ve mounted this American-made machine gun that’s capable of firing up to 3,000 rounds per minute, or 50 rounds per second. And they’re picking off drones one by one. It takes about $500 of ammunition per drone kill — a bargain considering that the Iranian-designed Shahed drones are mass-produced for tens of thousands each, and surface-to-air missiles to counter them can run into the millions. It’s a cost-effective way to combat the new threats of modern warfare. “And came out right here. So someone’s sitting here.” “Yeah.” “And that shrapnel came out right here.” For nine months, Valerey Slipkan has lived on this remote airstrip waiting for missions. After losing his son in the first days of the full-scale invasion, he moved into a trailer on the landing field, and began transforming this old skydiving plane for war. Since mid-2025, Ukraine has allowed and even encouraged civilians exempt from military service to fight drones. Valerey is the only one in the crew with combat experience. Although they are all volunteers, they take their orders from Ukraine’s air defense coordinators. Long waits for missions at a safe house near the airfield have strengthened their bond as a team. Drones aren’t just the most lethal weapon in Ukraine, they are redefining modern warfare. This year, Iran responded to Israeli and U.S. attacks by sending waves of drones across the Middle East. The Gulf’s glitzy cities, once considered a safe haven, suddenly woke up to the threat of cheap, but effective drones. Now, nations are turning to Ukraine for expertise — from interceptors to armed helicopter units, its anti-drone arsenal, forged by necessity, is among the most effective in the world. “And so these mark all of the drones that you’ve downed?” “Yeah, actually we have also this comma. So you can identify how much we did per flight. Valerey’s co-pilot is an aerobatic world champion who once won millions performing seemingly impossible stunts. Timur now flies this Soviet-era AN-28 that had been used as a civilian skydiving plane before Russia’s invasion. “Here’s the door gunner.” Their drone kill count is still just a drop in the bucket against the tens of thousands Russia has launched. However, Timur sees this experimental unit as a blueprint that Ukraine can scale. He’s building his own personal fleet of drone-fighting aircraft to prove a human touch is still needed to kill machines. As a father of five, he’s also exempt from service. But he sold his business and poured his winnings into the project. “You said it’s important for you to shoot these things down over unpopulated areas.” “It’s a law for us. Sometimes we have to accompany it for five or seven minutes. Overfly populated area, then we’re able to shoot it down.” “Would you do this job if you had to point your weapon at a human being?” “Well, I definitely prefer to kill machines.” It’s 1 a.m. The team gets an alert. Drones have been launched across Ukraine. They rush to the airstrip and ready the plane for takeoff. Then they’re told to stand by. “And then it either could be command to take off and do the mission, or we have command standby.” So some nights can be like this. Whatever was seen on radar can be lost. Or they’re told to stand down and over and over and over again. They have to do this. They’re on call 24/7. “I’m constantly reminding myself that it’s good — we’re not flying, it means there’s no massive attacks. It’s exhausting, but it’s part of the job.”

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