Europe struggles to punish Russia's escalating hybrid warfare campaign

Every time we do nothing, we invite Putin to continue
An unnamed EU lawmaker describes the strategic dilemma facing European governments as they struggle to deter Russian sabotage.
Mark

So Russia is conducting sabotage across Europe, but governments are struggling to respond. What exactly are we talking about here—how widespread is this?

Mimi

In just the past month, there's been an explosives-laden drone at a major German airport, suspected sabotage in Poland, and fires at defence facilities across Europe that supply Ukraine. The pattern suggests this is accelerating.

Luke

But "suspected" and "unexplained" matter here. Are these definitively Russian, or are we working from attribution that's still being confirmed?

Mimi

Germany moved quickly to publicly blame Moscow for the Leipzig incident, which is faster than they've done before. That suggests confidence. But you're right—the whole point of how Russia organizes these operations is to keep them deniable.

Mark

How are they organizing it, then?

Mimi

They're recruiting people remotely through Telegram, paying them in cryptocurrency, and having them carry out individual tasks. It keeps the Russian intelligence officers directing everything safely at home.

Luke

So the operational security is built into the structure. That's why attribution is hard.

Mimi

Exactly. And that's also why Europe is struggling to respond. You can't retaliate against something you can't definitively prove.

Mark

What have governments actually done so far?

Mimi

Germany closed a Russian cultural centre and a Russian consulate. Moscow closed the Goethe-Institut in response. It's all very measured.

Luke

Which is another way of saying it's not much of a deterrent.

Mimi

Right. Poland's foreign minister basically said Europe has run out of consulates to close. The real problem is that governments don't have many tools between diplomatic punishment and military action.

Mark

So what would a real response look like?

Luke

That's the question nobody can answer yet. Some EU states are trying to expand their intelligence agencies' powers to conduct covert operations, but that's still in the proposal stage.

Mimi

And even then, you're talking about matching Russia's tactics, which carries its own risks.

Mark

Risks of what?

Mimi

Direct military confrontation. That's the line everyone's afraid to cross.

  • An explosives-laden drone at Leipzig airport, suspected sabotage in Poland, and fires at defence facilities supplying Ukraine signal that Russia's shadow campaign is no longer occasional — it is systematic.
  • By recruiting ordinary citizens through Telegram and paying them in cryptocurrency, Moscow has made attribution nearly impossible and kept its own officers untouchable at home.
  • European governments are naming Russia faster than ever — Berlin moved within days this time rather than nine months — but public accusation without consequence risks becoming its own form of impunity.
  • The diplomatic toolkit is nearly spent: Germany closed consulates, Moscow closed the Goethe-Institut, and Polish Foreign Minister Sikorski admitted, with grim humour, that he had simply run out of Russian consulates to shut.
  • Proposals to expand intelligence agency powers and the seizure of Russian shadow-fleet vessels represent Europe's attempt to find new ground, but critics warn these measures fall far short of genuine deterrence.

Across Europe, a quiet war is being waged not with armies but with drones, fires, and recruited strangers paid in cryptocurrency — a campaign of sabotage that bears Moscow's signature yet is carefully designed to remain just ambiguous enough to forestall a conventional reply. Governments are growing faster at naming Russia publicly, yet the distance between naming and punishing remains vast, bounded on one side by diplomatic gestures that have nearly exhausted themselves and on the other by the threshold of open military conflict. The deeper struggle is not tactical but philosophical: how does a society built on rules and restraint deter an adversary that treats those very rules as a weapon?

Across Europe, a shadow campaign of sabotage is accelerating — and governments are discovering how few tools they have to respond without crossing into open conflict. In recent weeks alone, German authorities found an explosives-laden drone beside a Ukrainian cargo plane at Leipzig airport, Poland has weathered a series of suspected sabotage operations, and defence facilities supplying Ukraine have been struck by unexplained fires and explosions. Each incident carries Moscow's fingerprints, yet each is designed to remain just ambiguous enough to avoid triggering a conventional military reply.

The sophistication lies not in the attacks themselves but in how they are organised. Russian intelligence has largely abandoned the model of dispatching professional operatives abroad. Instead, it now recruits saboteurs remotely — often through Telegram — and pays them in cryptocurrency to execute individual tasks. This keeps directing officers safely at home and insulated from attribution. Denmark this week warned that Moscow was actively recruiting Danish citizens to target defence companies with Ukrainian ties, illustrating how decentralised the operation has become.

What has shifted is the speed with which European governments are willing to name Russia publicly. When a parcel caught fire at DHL's Leipzig hub in July 2024, it took nine months to establish a link to the GRU. This time, Berlin moved within days. Yet naming the culprit and punishing it remain two very different things. Germany closed a Russian cultural centre and a consulate; Moscow retaliated by shutting the already-diminished Goethe-Institut. The exchange was calibrated and measured — a reflection of the harder question haunting European capitals: what can they actually do?

The toolkit is thin. Unlike the CIA, most European intelligence services are primarily tasked with gathering information and have limited latitude for covert operations abroad. Several EU states, including the Netherlands, have proposed bills to expand surveillance powers, and Norwegian authorities this week detained a Russian vessel in Svalbard at Ukraine's request — but critics argue such steps remain insufficient as deterrents.

Poland and the Baltic states have pushed hardest for a firmer line. Polish Foreign Minister Radosław Sikorski described hybrid warfare not as a digital nuisance but as assassination squads, arsonists, explosions on moving trains, and drones breaching airspace. 'We need to convince Putin that such actions are not for free,' he said. Yet Sikorski also acknowledged the limits with dark humour: each time Russia committed arson or tried to blow up a train, he closed one Russian consulate — until he ran out of consulates to close. The joke carried a real edge. Europe is approaching the boundary of what it can do without fundamentally changing the nature of its response.

Across Europe, a shadow campaign of sabotage is accelerating—and governments are running out of ways to respond without crossing into open conflict. In the past month alone, German authorities discovered an explosives-laden drone positioned next to a Ukrainian cargo plane at Leipzig airport. Poland has weathered a series of suspected sabotage operations. Defence facilities supplying Ukraine have been struck by a string of unexplained explosions and fires. Each incident carries Moscow's fingerprints, yet each one is designed to remain just ambiguous enough to avoid triggering a conventional military response.

The sophistication lies not in the attacks themselves but in how they are organized. Russian intelligence services have largely abandoned the model of dispatching professional operatives across Europe. Instead, they now recruit saboteurs remotely—often through Telegram channels—and pay them in cryptocurrency to execute individual tasks. This architecture keeps the directing officers safely at home, insulated from direct attribution. Denmark's authorities this week warned that Moscow was actively recruiting Danish citizens to carry out sabotage against defence companies with Ukrainian ties, a pattern that underscores how the operation has scaled and decentralized.

What has changed, noticeably, is the speed with which European governments are willing to name Russia publicly. When a parcel caught fire at DHL's Leipzig hub in July 2024, it took nine months for German investigators to report a concrete link to the GRU, Russia's military intelligence agency. This time, Berlin moved within days. German officials publicly blamed Moscow for the second Leipzig incident—a signal both of growing confidence in identifying Russian operations and of diminishing patience with what they view as an increasingly brazen campaign. Yet naming the culprit and punishing it are two different things.

Germany's response illustrates the constraint. Berlin closed a Russian cultural centre and a Russian consulate. Moscow retaliated by shutting down the already-gutted Goethe-Institut. The exchange was measured, calibrated to keep tensions in check—a reflection of the harder question that haunts European capitals: what can they actually do beyond sanctions and diplomatic expulsions without risking direct military confrontation? The toolkit is thin. Unlike the CIA, many European intelligence services are primarily tasked with collecting information and have far less latitude to conduct covert operations abroad. That leaves governments with a narrow band of options between economic and diplomatic punishment on one end and overt military action on the other. Several EU states, including the Netherlands, have recently proposed bills to expand their intelligence agencies' surveillance powers, an attempt to fill the gap.

One area where Europe has shown more tangible action is its willingness to seize vessels linked to Russia's shadow fleet. On Wednesday, Norwegian authorities detained a Russian vessel in the Arctic archipelago of Svalbard at Ukraine's request. But critics argue such measures remain insufficient as a deterrent. An unnamed EU lawmaker put it plainly: every time Europe does nothing, it invites Putin to continue.

Poland and the Baltic states have been the most vocal in pushing for a harder line. On Thursday, Polish foreign minister Radosław Sikorski described hybrid warfare not as a nuisance confined to the internet but as assassination squads, arsonists, explosions on moving trains, airspace breaches with drones and cruise missiles. "We need to convince Putin that such actions are not for free," he said. Yet Sikorski also acknowledged, with a touch of dark humour, the limits of Europe's existing arsenal. Recalling Poland's responses to previous suspected Russian operations, he noted that each time Russia committed arson or attempted to blow up a train, he closed one Russian consulate—but eventually ran out of consulates to close. The joke carried a real edge: Europe is approaching the boundary of what it can do without fundamentally changing the nature of its response.

Hybrid war is not just a nuisance on the internet. Hybrid war means assassination squads, it means arsonists, it means blowing up moving trains. We need to convince Putin that such actions are not for free.
— Polish foreign minister Radosław Sikorski
Every time Russia committed arson or tried to blow up a moving train, I closed one Russian consulate, but I ran out of consulates to close.
— Polish foreign minister Radosław Sikorski
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