Russia’s Unexpected Ally in Ukraine: The Horse Makes a Comeback
In the shadow of buzzing drones and thundering artillery, an unlikely figure has trotted onto the battlefields of eastern Ukraine: the horse. Amid a war dominated by cutting-edge technology, Russia has turned to one of history’s oldest military companions to outmaneuver Ukraine’s relentless drone surveillance. On the shattered outskirts of towns like Druzhkivka and Chasiv Yar, these four-legged soldiers ferry supplies and troops, evading the mechanical eyes in the sky that spell doom for traditional vehicles. It’s a curious twist in a conflict that has otherwise raced toward futuristic warfare, revealing how necessity can resurrect tactics from centuries past.
Horses have a storied legacy in combat, stretching back to 1500 B.C. when they hauled chariots across ancient battlegrounds, as documented by the American Museum of Natural History. By the time of the Cossacks—Ukraine’s famed horse-mounted warriors—they were indispensable, charging into battle or transporting goods across vast steppes. Paintings like Aleksander Orlowski’s Battle between the Kirghiz and Cossacks capture their historical might. Yet, as tanks and trucks rolled onto the scene by the end of World War I, equine warriors faded into ceremonial roles in most modern militaries. That is, until now.
In Ukraine’s eastern theater, where drones reign supreme, Russia has dusted off this antique playbook. Ukrainian Army Sgt. Ihor Vizirenko, a veteran of the brutal fighting around Chasiv Yar, recalls his surprise when drone footage revealed Russian soldiers astride horses. “I thought, ‘They’re clever,’” he says, reflecting on the sight. “Vehicles don’t stand a chance near the front—our drones shred them.” The low rumble of hooves, it turns out, draws far less attention than the roar of an engine.
This isn’t a full-scale cavalry revival. Horses and donkeys remain a niche tool in Russia’s arsenal, deployed alongside other low-tech adaptations like motorbikes and human runners—nicknamed “camels” by Ukrainian troops for their burden-bearing sprints. But their presence underscores a broader trend: a war defined by high-tech drones and precision strikes is forcing both sides to scramble for creative countermeasures, blending the archaic with the advanced.
Drones Drive a Return to Roots
The technological arms race in Ukraine is relentless. Drones have transformed the battlefield, spotting targets with eerie precision and delivering payloads that obliterate armored columns. Ukraine has countered with innovations like sea drones that crippled Russia’s Black Sea Fleet and robot dogs designed for surveillance. Russia, meanwhile, has upgraded its drones with optic cables—thin as fishing line—to dodge Ukrainian jammers. Yet, for all this ingenuity, the simplest solutions sometimes prove most effective.
Take Vizirenko’s unit, part of the 21st Separate Motorized Infantry Battalion. Stationed in the rubble of Chasiv Yar—a town reduced to a ghost of its former self—they’ve resorted to hand-pushed trolleys to haul wood, food, and even wounded soldiers. These oversized dollies, reminiscent of warehouse carts, keep their precious vehicles beyond the reach of Russian drones. “It’s basic, but it works,” Vizirenko explains. “If shells start falling, you drop it and run.”
Russia’s equine strategy follows a similar logic. Lt. Gen. Viktor Sobolev, speaking to a pro-Kremlin outlet last month, admitted the military faces shortages of ammo, gear, and rations. In such a pinch, he argued, losing a donkey to a drone strike beats losing a truck—and the men inside it. Social media posts from Russian military bloggers and Telegram channels have showcased these animals in action: a donkey laden with supplies, a soldier galloping through a forest. The footage is grainy, but the message is clear—old-school grit still has a place.
Forests, in particular, favor the horse. Vehicles struggle through dense trees and uneven ground, while bikes can falter. A horse, however, weaves through with ease, its quiet steps muffled by leaves. Vizirenko, who worked with horses in his youth, sees the sense in it. “I wouldn’t use them myself,” he admits, “but in that terrain, it’s smart.”
A War of Contrasts
The conflict’s fourth year has laid bare its paradoxes. Trenches coil through muddy fields, evoking World War I, while drones hum overhead like something out of science fiction. Russia has strung nets along roads to Bakhmut to shield vehicles, a tactic as rudimentary as it is desperate. Ukraine’s 13th Khartiya Brigade recently unveiled unmanned ground vehicles that fire machine guns and lay mines—yet Vizirenko’s men still trudge behind trolleys.
Analysts like Phillips O’Brien, a strategic studies professor at the University of St. Andrews, question the staying power of these throwback methods. “Horses, nets, shotguns—it’s not innovation,” he says. “It’s survival. Drones have them cornered.” He’s not wrong: Russia’s horseplay is less a masterstroke than a stopgap, born of dwindling resources and Ukraine’s aerial dominance. Still, in a war where adaptability is king, even stopgaps can shift the tide.
Across the Atlantic, diplomacy stirs. As of March 10, 2025, the U.S. has opened talks with Moscow, spurred by a tense Oval Office clash between President Trump and Ukraine’s Volodymyr Zelensky. The White House’s recent suspension of military aid and intelligence sharing has left Kyiv reeling, amplifying the pressure on troops like Vizirenko’s to make do with less. Russia, too, grapples with its own deficits, making the horse’s return all the more telling.
The Horse’s Last Stand?
Horses aren’t storming trenches or leading charges—not yet, at least. Vizirenko chuckles at the thought. “Motorbikes in assaults shocked us, so maybe horses aren’t far off,” he muses. “They’d outrun a man across a field.” For now, their role is logistical, a quiet lifeline in a deafening war. Ukrainian forces, by contrast, lean on drones for supply drops—Peche, a local food company, even boasts of delivering hot sauce to the front via air. But drones can only carry so much, leaving troops to improvise.
Manunya, a junior sergeant in Vizirenko’s unit, embodies the war’s blend of old and new. By day, he drags trolleys through Chasiv Yar’s ruins; by night, he tattoos wolves and loved ones onto his comrades’ skin. He estimates that 90% of Russian drones in their sector now sport optic cables, a tweak that’s kept them deadly. Horses, though, remain a rarity—a footnote in a conflict racing toward automation.
History offers scant precedent for this equine encore. American special forces rode horses in Afghanistan in 2001, a brief nod to the past amid a modern invasion. But in developed militaries, horses have long been relegated to parades. Ukraine’s Cossack legacy stirs pride in men like Vizirenko, yet his army hasn’t followed Russia’s lead. “I love horses,” he says, “but I’d rather keep them safe.”
As the war grinds on, its shape shifts daily. Ukraine pushes the boundaries of robotics; Russia clings to whatever works. The horse, humble and steadfast, stands as a symbol of that scramble—a reminder that even in the age of drones, the past can still gallop to the rescue.
