Ukrainian Ground Robots Rewrite the Rules of War

In the western Ukrainian region of Ternopil, the company Robotic Complexes is producing a ground robot called Murakha (Ukrainian for 'ant'). Standing over a meter tall, it can traverse rugged terrain, bombed-out streets, mud, and snow at speeds up to 12 km/h thanks to tank-like tracks.

An officer coordinating robot missions, who goes by the call sign Maska, recounted a nighttime incident where a Murakha robot got stuck in a trench in northeastern Ukraine. The control team was hiding in a bunker dozens of kilometers from the front line. Instead of sending a human to rescue it, they dispatched another robot to pull the first one out with a rope.

“It was like a movie—we conquered a planet, everyone was happy and smiling,” Maska told Al Jazeera. “You feel immense joy knowing your work isn't in vain. Our work saves many lives.”

Maska highlighted a major shift in warfare: “2022 was a war of humans; today, humans fight alongside robots.” He narrowly survived as an infantryman during the early phase of Russia's full-scale invasion.

Ground robots have an edge over UAVs: they are harder to detect due to low heat emission from electric motors, have longer battery life, carry heavier payloads, and pack a much bigger punch when laden with explosives.

In April, for the first time in military history, two ground robots seized a Russian position in the Kharkiv region. The first robot detonated the bunker entrance, the second blocked the escape route and forced two Russian soldiers to write a surrender note. President Volodymyr Zelenskyy praised the move: “The future has arrived on the front line, and Ukraine is building it.”

Each Murakha robot is equipped with cameras, infrared lights, GPS, or Starlink. Operators use frequency-hopping algorithms to avoid signal jamming. The robot can carry hundreds of kilograms of ammunition, medical supplies, or food, tow carts, or mount radio antennas to extend UAV range.

With a bulletproof evacuation module—featuring polymer armor, heating, ventilation, and first-aid kits—the robot can bring wounded soldiers back to safety. Ihor Chaikivsky, founder of Robotic Complexes, admitted the module “looks a bit like a coffin, but there's no other way to shape a box.”

Chaikivsky, a former agribusiness owner, started making ground robots with the goal of saving lives, including his own. “The main aim when I started was to shield people from war. I didn't want to go to the front, and I still don't,” he said in a production facility scattered across the Ternopil region to minimize damage from Russian missile strikes.

Chaikivsky noted that a bottom-up culture of innovation has shaken the Soviet-era mindset of Ukraine's military. Many volunteers or conscripts are business owners, software engineers, captains, or filmmakers—people who used drones professionally and decided to experiment on the battlefield. “Only when facing death do we act to gain an edge. We're probably the only army in the world that executes orders very quickly, from the bottom up.”

Meanwhile, according to Chaikivsky, this approach hasn't taken hold in Russia due to culture, psychology, and corruption, despite the country's significant technological potential. “Clearly they won't be able to do it fast and efficiently, but I don't underestimate their tech capabilities.”

Lieutenant General Ihor Romanenko, former deputy chief of Ukraine's general staff, stressed the need to rapidly scale up technological solutions. However, some soldiers criticize robots as vulnerable to UAV attacks. “They're easy targets for drones. Robots are good for supplying food and ammo, but not for evacuating the wounded,” an unnamed member of the Russian Volunteer Corps—a unit of Russians fighting for Ukraine—told Al Jazeera.