On the night of June 18, Moscow and the surrounding region were hit in the largest Ukrainian drone attack in the war so far. Moscow Mayor Sergei Sobyanin said that nearly 200 drones had been shot down. An oil refinery in Kapotnya caught fire, and drones struck the Sadovod market and the Mega Belaya Dacha shopping mall. Governor Andrei Vorobyov said 17 people, including two children, were injured in cities across the region in the overnight attacks. In our daily war roundup, we asked readers in and around Moscow to tell us what the night was like. Here are some of their letters.
Warning: The following text contains obscene language.
Natalya
Moscow
All these years I felt sympathy for Ukrainians as I read the news about attacks by our “brave” special-military-operation [sic] boys. Today there was the most powerful attack since this whole “grandpa’s show” started, right in the area where I live (just next to the oil refinery). I ran straight down to the parking garage. There weren’t many neighbors. Some people were standing on their balconies, some at their windows, but most were just out in the courtyard — below the windows, right up against the facade of a building that could have collapsed from a drone strike.
I saw the building where my friend lives get hit. I watched a drone fly over my building, watched an air-defense missile streak by… But you know what? There isn’t a drop of hatred for Ukrainians in my heart. And at the same time, trading anxious words with my neighbors, two times out of ten I hear something like: “Just bomb them all in Kyiv and be done with it!”
And that’s when I run up against the hard reality: here he is, a flesh-and-blood person living right next to me, and he holds that opinion. Not some abstract crackpot firing off Z-comments online — no! This person is right here next to me, and he sees no real reason why tonight and this morning all of us, terrified, were waiting for the raid to end. And I realize, with pain, that any attempt to explain to him that Russian forces need to stop the bloodshed will at best get me showered with insults, and at worst earn me a few very “interesting” nights down at a police station somewhere.
I’m sorry about what’s happening. And I’m very sorry that people are dying on both sides of the front line because of one man’s imperial ambitions.
Sergei
Moscow
I don’t care anymore. The world has shrunk to the size of my family. Didn’t get hit today — great. We hope it won’t hit us tomorrow. No regret, no compassion, no reflection, not after listening to the insane crap about a “righteous war” from the people around me.
My behavior is like a cockroach’s: survive and keep my family alive. Keep my head down, don’t stick my neck out. Heroism is a sign of desperation, when normal human principles stop working. And right now, heroism — like criticizing the authorities or sabotage — is a road to nowhere.
They killed my emotions, killed my hopes, killed my joy. And it wasn’t only, or even mainly, the authorities that did it. It was also the wretched mindset of Russian citizens, who cling in a frenzy to ideas of being chosen, of being unique, of some God-given historical role. So you live for the handful of people right next to you.
Burn in hell, all of you.
Nadezhda
Moscow, Tekstilshchiki
I live in fear. The strikes are practically on top of us. On May 17, drones flew over our building, and it was in the direct line of fire. Today’s attack was even bigger. Every single day on my way to work, I’m dying inside. Because my child is at daycare and, sad as it is, there’s no one to protect him. Nobody’s prepared the staff, and they’re not even being told the attacks are getting more frequent. The teacher doesn’t know where the shelter is and apparently wouldn’t even know how to get the children out.
No one warns us of the threat — we stay alive by finding information ourselves from radar trackers on banned Telegram channels. We tried to find shelters, and there simply aren’t any in the area: everything’s been turned into car washes, private shops — anything at all except shelters… We’re cannon fodder in this pointless war, statistical casualties.
Artyom
Lyubertsy
What shocked me most about this attack was that there was no alert, no warnings of any kind. I woke up to the buzzing of drones and explosions. The only information I could find about the scale of the attack was on Telegram and Instagram. I’m very worried about my family — if attacks like this keep up, I may be forced to leave Russia with them.
Anton
Moscow, Timiryazevsky district
I saw the aftermath. My attitude toward the war hasn’t changed. I don’t approve of the war, and I’m waiting for it to end. To me, the war is like a natural disaster. I’m glad there’s no oil refinery or other dangerous facility near my home.
Ellie
Odintsovo
What did anyone expect — that by year five of a full-blown war, drones just weren’t going to reach Moscow? An eye for an eye: our guys are hitting apartment towers in Kyiv and the Pechersk Lavra, and Ukrainian drones are flying straight into factories.
The only thing I hope for is that as few people as possible are hurt, and it seems to me that the Ukrainian armed forces do less harm to civilians than our troops do.
Either way, this war is awful — and even one person hurt by a Ukrainian drone or a Russian missile is one person too many.
Peaceful skies, everyone.
Irina
Moscow, Southeastern Administrative District
It was only a matter of time before the refinery got hit. Everyone with any sense knew it and felt it, especially after the first strike in 2023. The booms were loud, the sky black and blue. What’s next — black rain?
My attitude toward the war is only hardening into intense hatred of what’s happening, of how everything is being taken away from people. Instead of space, new technology, and breakthroughs in medicine, we’ve got gas at nearly 100 [rubles], rising prices, constant fear for ourselves and our loved ones, and no visible future. What can you plan in today’s reality?
Polina
Moscow, Teply Stan
The war is returning to where it began. We should be grateful that Ukraine, unlike Russia, is hitting military targets, not residential buildings and cultural landmarks.
Alina
Lyubertsy
Today I woke up to explosions. Drones were flying right over my head, literally. It’s terrifying: it flies, it buzzes, and you lie there in bed and pray — please let them shoot it down, but please don’t let it fall on me. Please let this be the last one. I’ve lived here for two years, and from time to time at night I hear a downed drone explode nearby. But usually it’s one or two. And farther away. Today I counted 12 explosions.
In the morning I read in the news: private homes were hit here and there. Meaning it could have been my house. Terrifying.
Thank God my child wasn’t home — my daughter is at summer camp. I don’t know how I would have explained it to her.
The scariest thing is just not knowing what’s going on. If the government would just put out some news, tell people how to stay safe during an attack, give us literally any kind of guidance at all — that would help. But instead it feels like I’m completely on my own with this nightmare.
Arina
Moscow, Maryino
Today I woke up around five in the morning, either from an explosion or from the air defenses firing. I was literally thrown off the bed — that’s how powerful this thing was. After that I couldn’t get back to sleep out of sheer terror: I listened to every burst of air-defense fire, watched the smoke gather over the refinery in Kapotnya. For a while I sat in the bathroom, because I was so afraid for my life.
Of course, it’s impossible not to notice something like this, and afterward it’s impossible to feel anything about the war except “God, please end.” Of course I want it to end in some reasonable way. But as soon as possible. Having experienced just a thousandth of what Ukrainians see, hear, and feel, I can only sympathize with them even more.
Ana
Moscow
This morning, as I was walking to work, I saw a huge black cloud. “How am I going to work today,” I thought, “since I work outside?” But then I saw it wasn’t a cloud at all, but smoke from the fire at the refinery… It knocked me so badly off balance that my hands started shaking and everything inside me clenched. I’ve been afraid of the war since it began, but when it came this close… Shock… And there were no alerts, nothing. I kept believing that, if anything happened, they’d protect us — until today. I don’t believe it anymore. War is terrifying, and I want it to end as soon as possible.
Vasily
Zelenograd
My family and I live in Zelenograd, in the easternmost part, with a view of all of Moscow. Drones passing over the city have already become fairly common, so we’ve gotten used to it and just watch the “show” from our windows (which, of course, isn’t safe).
Today’s attack didn’t hit my city that hard. Looks like they’ve changed tactics a bit — coming in from the south side of Moscow now, since the north is pretty well locked down. What got me was how many jet-powered drones showed up today; they fly way lower than the usual ones, which tells me all those predictions about a “lively” winter are no joke — that’s a real warning. One our government, as usual, doesn’t give a shit about. Not like it’s their [resort] residences at Valdai getting hit.
Am I scared? I’m a father, and of course I’m a little frightened every time there’s a raid, since my kid’s room faces the direction the drones come from, and strikes on homes have already become routine.
What’s changed in how I see things? Our side has never cared about the lives of ordinary people far from the war (on either side), and about a year ago the same thing started on the Ukrainian side. In war, as they say, anything goes. So I guess nothing’s changed — it’s just funny by now to watch how no one can achieve anything at the front, so they try to prove something to themselves by making ordinary people’s lives worse.
Yuri
Ramenskoye
I haven’t slept since four in the morning — drones were flying over Ramenskoye and Zhukovsky, so they were being shot down right over us. I live in a private-house neighborhood some distance from the city, but it was loud.
All in all, the “world’s second-best army” once again showed what it’s made of: they let a strategic site in Moscow get hit. Given that Ukraine will soon start using ballistic and cruise missiles, by winter we’re in deep shit.
There’s a feeling of schadenfreude that the vatniks and the apolitical types are going to get it good and hard, but I’m right there next to them — so I’ll have to get a taste of it too. And most likely they still won’t understand that Putin is to blame for everything, and they’ll keep demanding that Ukraine be wiped off the map. The reasonable people already get what’s going on, and the dumb ones will just get angrier.
Anatoly
Moscow
We live in the north of Moscow, so typically nothing reaches us and probably never will. By and large I’m not all that scared, for myself or for the people I know, because as a rule the targets are military or military-political, and the chance of any given person in a city of 12 million being hurt is very low.
Honestly, I kind of like it — it even makes me happy. These are “solid” hits: they’re going after the regime directly and doing it with little to no casualties (compared to how Russia strikes). They’re exactly what’s finally bringing down Putin’s ratings and creating problems — for the regime above all, not so much by damaging it economically as by disgracing it. Most likely it’ll add to our inflation, but that seems like a perfectly reasonable price for one man’s rule and war ending years sooner, instead of dragging on for another decade or two.
Marina
Moscow, Maryino
My apartment windows look straight out at the Moscow oil refinery. It was scary, of course, but my feelings are mixed. On the one hand, I feel bad for the environment, for jobs, for people, and so on; on the other, there’s a sense that we fully deserved this. I never hated Ukrainians, and I still don’t.
Timur
Moscow, Eastern Administrative District
Today I saw the aftermath from my window — the oily smoke and the sound of explosions (distant but audible). I’m very afraid for my loved ones: on Tuesday my father was 500 meters from the refinery in Kapotnya at the moment of the strike, and it was terrifying. Things are getting tenser and tenser.
My opinion about the war isn’t changing — I still think it’s a horrific, bloody war started by Putin. But my relatives’ opinions are starting to change. Today, when my grandmother saw the news, she said: “Well, there it is, the war has started.” Apparently the older generation is starting to open its eyes too. I think that until Putin agrees to peace, the strikes will continue.
Maria
Moscow, Kapotnya
My opinion hasn’t changed — the war needs to end as soon as possible, and I’ve felt that way since day one. Yes, today those columns of smoke are right next to me. But is it really so strange that if we’re bombing, we get bombed too? That’s only logical.
I’m not afraid for myself or my loved ones because of the strikes; I’m afraid because everything is getting more expensive, because it’s harder for a lot of people to earn a living, because the economy is going to hell, because they’re banning everything and tightening the laws. That’s what’s frightening — not the burning refinery.
Yelena
Moscow region
I can see Kapotnya from the window of the building I live in. Am I scared? Yes! Very! For my loved ones, for my pets, for myself, after all. But the scariest part is that a repeat strike didn’t surprise me (and this isn’t even the second one — there was a hit a couple of years ago already). Because the people running this country plainly never learn a thing and don’t give a moment’s thought to protecting anyone or anything (except themselves). It’s just one more confirmation that those at the top don’t care.
But this repeat strike by Ukraine — on the contrary, I support it, even though, yes, I’ll say it again, it’s scary. Because how else, except by force, are you going to open the eyes of those who blindly believe an old senile man who’s already started talking about a new term, and make that usurper of power in Russia sit down at the negotiating table? A shame it probably won’t help. Alas.
Anya
Moscow
I live not far from the oil refinery in Kapotnya. Very scary. The day before yesterday they were firing at seven in the morning; today it was from around five to seven. The windows and doors shook from the explosions. People I know say they saw drones. I didn’t look — I kept the curtains closed. It’s completely unclear what you’re even supposed to do in a situation like this. This morning, during an exam, I honestly couldn’t think about the test.
Seven hours have passed since the attack, and the thick black smoke is still rising. I hope they suspend work at the refinery. I’m afraid even to think about what could happen if it’s badly damaged or, God forbid, explodes.
I can literally feel how tired everyone is of what’s happening. No matter what opinion anyone holds (and there are people in my circle who used to believe what they saw on TV), everyone just wants some kind of peace already. And honestly, it upsets me that there’s basically nothing I can do in this situation. I’m trying to stay calm and level-headed and to believe things can get better.
Zhenya
Moscow, Orekhovo-Borisovo
You can see the Moscow refinery right from our window, and the fire was the first thing I saw when I woke up. Then I opened the news and watched a bunch of videos filmed near the plant. I’m against the war, and I was against it from the very beginning — that hasn’t changed much. But the sight of the fire and the enormous columns of smoke — and the video of an explosion ripping the roof off a storage tank — stir up a new kind of fear in me.
Weirdly, the thing that scares me most is what this fire is going to do to the environment — probably because of that blaze at the plant in Tuapse. I keep thinking about the birds and animals that live in the forests and parks south of Moscow. I don’t feel hurt or satisfied about this attack: back in 2022, I would’ve been happy about it and had plenty of snarky things to say, but by year four of the war, any real emotion has turned into exhaustion.
Ilya
Moscow
I live near Kapotnya, a couple of bus stops away. At five in the morning my wife and I woke up to explosions, and our building shuddered from the shock wave. We stayed up until eight, when the strikes finally died down. Neither of us was hurt, but it was scary.
My attitude toward the war hasn’t changed — we were against it from the start. Only my anger at those very “two Vladimirs” [Putin and Zelensky] has naturally hardened into rage. The moment any kind of revolt flares up, the moment there’s the tiniest chance to do something, I’ll be there.
I want to express my support for everyone hurt by today’s strike. I’m wishing you strength and patience. The ones who set all this up are already shaking themselves apart and eating themselves alive; our job is just to stick a foot out in their path at the right moment. Peace to all!
Irina
Moscow region
What’s going on in Moscow right now is just awful! We’re not getting any kind of heads-up about drone attacks, and our government can’t protect its own people from them.
I never thought I’d be living through a war and fearing every day that something will hit my home and my loved ones will be hurt. With all my heart, I want this war to end as soon as possible and people to stop dying!
Arina
Moscow
I woke up at six in the morning to the sounds of war. From the window you could see everything happening over Kapotnya. I woke my child up for the national [graduation] exam, we looked out the window together, and I made the standard apocalyptic breakfast. My child went off to take the test, and I looked at the columns of smoke and thought that there was no fear — it had burned out over all these years. Only exhaustion.
I hoped people hadn’t died. I prayed. I texted a friend who lives under constant strikes, and I called my mom in another city. Everything got mixed together — exam scores, the absurdity of this year’s exam questions, drones… And there’s no fear, and no anger either. Just the way things are going. This is what life has become — the life that, back in my long-ago high-school years, I’d imagined completely differently.
Valery
Moscow
It’s scary — a month ago a drone hit the building next to mine. And the worst part is that in Moscow you can hardly feel any of what’s happening — unlike in other cities. No sirens go off, there are no warnings of any kind, just the routine message from Sobyanin in the morning that such-and-such number of drones were flying, they all got shot down, don’t worry. And it’s hard to accept that you might not wake up after news like that.
My attitude toward the war isn’t changing: when we send missiles and drones into Ukraine every day, it’s strange to take offense at the other side’s response.
Alina
Moscow, Kapotnya
After what I saw, I want to blow up every factory in Ukraine.
Sergei
Moscow
The aftermath of today’s attack is, let’s say, impressive. These past few months, I’ve been living with constant fear for myself and my loved ones. It grows and shrinks — the classic seesaw. And that’s exactly what shapes my opinion about the war. There’s nothing left of my former neutrality. I very much want this war to end.
I sincerely don’t understand the people who write that strikes like this awaken some kind of protective instinct, turning a person from neutral into a war hawk. Really? Learn to love yourselves, your families, and the people around you more than you hate Ukrainians — and the war will end right away.
Anna
Moscow, Zhulebino
Early Tuesday morning we woke up to “thunder.” Half-asleep, I thought: what kind of storm is this, with thunder crashing like that outside? But once I got out of bed, we realized it wasn’t thunder but air defenses at work. We walked the kids to daycare to the sound of repeated booms. There was only one thought — what do we do? And it was somehow scary: what if it hits the daycare? But you can’t just skip work, either. There was no panic inside me. Only one thing kept going around in my head: “This is our payback.”
This morning we woke up again — it wasn’t even five yet. The booms were pretty intense. You could hear bursts of automatic gunfire. What finally sobered me up was the windows and doors in the living room shaking. At one point it started getting dark outside. I thought a storm was all we needed right now. And then I realized it was smoke.
I had all kinds of thoughts. No surprise there. This is payback. When will all this end? Kyiv has been living like this since 2022. How do I get to work? And what’s going to happen to gas prices now? There’s no way to leave, and like it or not, we live here and now. And this is our new reality. There was no panic, only a sense of apathy. And the feeling that all of this is becoming the norm.
Marina
Moscow region
There were drones over us in the Bogorodsky district today too — about 30 of them. It started at four in the morning, and they kept flying until 6:30. It was very scary. I’ve always been against this government, but unfortunately a drone doesn’t choose who’s for and who’s against.
Stepan
Moscow
I saw the Moscow strikes on the news today, not with my own eyes. For the first time in four years I felt scared. Scared either because of the war getting closer (how much closer could it get?), or because of the realization that before this attack I hadn’t had strong feelings about it. The war was always just in the background somewhere — something in the news and in those “Important Conversations” classes. But now the war is real.
If Ukraine’s goal was to stir up feelings, I think they succeeded.
Nastya
Moscow, Southeastern Administrative District
Where I live, you can hear the strikes, but not that loudly. They’ve been flying fairly regularly lately — we can already tell, half-asleep, whether it’s the air defenses working or something getting hit.
I’m not surprised by the strikes and I’m not angry at the people carrying them out. I’m angry at the people who are the reason all of this is happening. Because debris doesn’t fall on the playgrounds where their children play; black rain doesn’t pour down on their nice clean cars. And it’s also very strange to have to explain, even prove, to people that what’s stretching across the sky in such a wide band today isn’t just a black cloud.
There are no text alerts, no sirens; all the information is in the local group chats. There’s far more information there than on TV. Outside my window there’s a pitch-black cloud that forces me to sit with the lights on at 10 a.m., plus the smell of fuel oil — while on TV it’s “minor damage.” Just so you understand, I live no closer than 15 kilometers from the refinery. Since early this morning this “gift” has been drifting through Lyubertsy and Nekrasovka toward Zheleznodorozhny and beyond.
It’s also astonishing to read here, and hear all around me, people talking like this: “I even used to feel sorry for them, but now they’re bombing us, we’ve got to finish them off.” Seriously? So our soldiers killed thousands of civilians over there, wrecked cities, and you expected the Ukrainians to just shrug and hand over everything being demanded? If someone harmed your children, burned down your home, and worse, would you really do nothing? War is never one‑sided.
Alexander
Moscow
This morning, instead of “good morning,” my wife greeted me with: “Kapotnya got hit again. Badly.”
I work near Kapotnya, and I saw the huge clouds of smoke from the plant, flames shooting up, the helicopters flying in with water, one after another. I saw a colleague at work crying, someone with shaking hands, someone sitting there crushed all day.
Does this change my attitude toward the war? No, it hasn’t changed since February 24 — it’s a catastrophe for both countries, a crime that’s now in its fifth year.
Are my colleagues’ attitudes changing, when they see something like this not on TV from a neighboring country but with their own eyes, in their own hometown? It seems like yes — I hear the phrase “this needs to end” more often.
What do I personally feel? Depression. Now prices will go up again, and everyone will be even poorer. There’s no hope for improvement. Tomorrow it’ll all repeat — the “Gerans” will be flying at Kyiv again, drones will fly at the refineries, someone will die again, someone’s apartment will get blown apart by a drone again.
There’s no end in sight.
Alvin
Lyubertsy
I want to recall the words of the naval commander Stepan Osipovich Makarov. When he was asked how to go on fighting the Russo-Japanese War back in the 1900s, he answered: “Make peace, you fools.”
Darya
Moscow region
I’m a single mother, and I was against the war from the very beginning. I supported Ukraine. I was very worried. What was I supposed to do? Go to a protest with a baby in my arms?
At the very least, I never supported any of this mess. But now my views have changed diametrically. Since drones started hitting people’s homes, I’ve been scared for my innocent daughter. And like it or not, that’s going to make you hate the people who can put the ones you love in danger.
A digest of Russia’s investigative reports and news analysis. If it matters, we summarize it.
Dementy
Domodedovo
I don’t have an opinion, I have exhaustion.
I found out about the drones over Kapotnya and Mega this morning on Threads. That app has basically turned into this cozy little forum situation — like an old-school LiveJournal — for whatever’s left of Russia’s middle class. I can’t even bring myself to read it, let alone get into arguments. There’s nothing new there anyway — same stuff, rehashed over and over.
One interesting thing: people are accusing others of posting videos of drones, and of drones getting shot down over residential buildings. That’s something new for me — that it’s not the authorities but the people themselves trying to censor their fellow citizens, shaming them for spreading information.
On the one hand, you want to say “wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” but on the other, I understand that among the “sleeping” population these events will only stir up a flood of wild conspiracy theories, so they can explain to themselves everything that’s happening. Anything to avoid naming for themselves the one and only cause of it all.
I don’t feel sorry for ordinary working stiffs or dimwitted grandmothers who got conned and scared — no pity at all. And I’m not gloating either. I just don’t have the moral energy left for either reaction.
Watching black plumes of smoke drift over the city — there’s something grimly satisfying about it, I’ll admit. A kind of sick pleasure, like picking at a scab that won’t heal.
Ilya
Pushkino
I can see the smoke from my workplace [in Vykhino]. I don’t feel any emotions — especially since, if I understood correctly, no one in Kapotnya specifically was hurt. For five years now I’ve been so ashamed that I’ll hardly feel anything even when a drone flies into my window. Except maybe sadness at parting with my granddaughters.
Sergei
Moscow, Presnensky district
For some reason I just couldn’t sleep this morning. So I stepped out onto the balcony and looked out over Moscow. I live on the top floor of a building right in the middle of the city, and after all these years I’ve gotten used to a certain kind of sky over the capital. Before, the only planes flying overhead were part of some celebration. On Victory Day, fighter jets and helicopters would fly pretty close over Moscow. You’d watch them and almost automatically start thinking about how powerful the state is — the kind of strength it likes to show off to its own people.
But today I saw something different. Unhurried, completely calm, a drone flew over the city. Not a jet plane, not a military helicopter, but an ordinary drone, moving steadily toward the center of Moscow. Somewhere over there, very close by, are the White House [Russia’s seat of government], government buildings, the heart of Russian power.
And it wasn’t even the drone itself that struck me. What struck me was the feeling that a backdrop built over many years was vanishing before my eyes. Because it’s one thing to have parades, flyovers, solemn speeches, and TV pictures. And it’s another thing entirely to have a reality that can’t be edited, voiced over in the right tone, or shown from the right angle.
I didn’t manage to take a photo. But that image will stay in my memory. A quiet Moscow morning. The familiar silhouette of the city. And a drone, flying calmly over the capital of a country that for decades told its citizens about its own omnipotence.
That, I guess, is exactly how great illusions end. Not loudly. Not with trumpets blaring. But in the moment when you suddenly see the difference between the backdrop and reality.
