The two drones sped neck and neck through a tunnel, one of the obstacles on their course, and zoomed toward the finish line, near a merry-go-round on a children’s playground. The audience, shrouded in barbecue smoke from food stands, stared tensely at a big screen, which offered a drone’s-eye view of the race.
Suddenly, the screen showed a close-up shot of grass. The drones had crashed to the ground.
“This is insane! This is brutal! They collided!” the announcer shouted. “I wonder what the judges are going to do now?”
Then, to everyone’s surprise, another drone came into view, flying very slowly. The race was still on.
Unnoticed, Sgt. Zakhar Korol, 37, had been carefully piloting his drone through the course, taking 11 minutes to fly what was intended to be a five-minute sprint.
The tortoise would beat the hares.
“Here he is, the champion, Mr. Speed!” the announcer bellowed, and the crowd began to laugh.
The competition, held late last month at a theme park in western Ukraine, brought military drone pilots in directly from the battlefield for a bit of fun, rest and recognition.
Soldiers came with their families and friends, giving the festival-like event a somewhat surreal air, with potentially lethal weapons buzzing around the same grounds where children played on swings and slides.
These races, and others like them, reflect how much drones have come to dominate the battlefield, and have even been absorbed into Ukrainian popular culture.
When Russia began the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, only a few hobbyists pushed the idea of using first-person-view drones, which are piloted through the video they transmit, in combat.
Today, Ukraine produces a huge range of unmanned systems, including interceptor drones, larger bomber drones, water drones and unmanned ground vehicles. The vast majority of Russian casualties are inflicted by Ukrainian aerial drones, and vice versa.
While unmanned systems have proliferated in Ukraine’s military because of urgent battlefield need, civilian marketing techniques, including races and other competitions, have also played a role. Now, dozens of such events are held each year, helping to create a new culture of militarized communities.
In peacetime, some of those attending the races might have found the idea of such a festival threatening, but today it has widespread acceptance in Ukraine.
At the event last month, called Wild Drones, 19 teams from Ukrainian brigades raced in two drone classes: light F.P.V.’s and heavy bombers. They raced for speed but also competed in hitting aerial targets.
As drones flew among the colorful rides and attractions, men in uniform lined up for barbecued steaks and ice cream. Drone makers had set up stands to showcase their products and hand out merch.
When two drone pilots from the 71st Brigade finished their flight, their young wives ran into a tent to hug them. It was not something that happened in soldiers’ bunkers at the front.
“They are the top pilots,” Alina Arsenenko, 24, said proudly of her husband and his comrade.
The women also had fun riding on land drones operated by soldiers. They sat on one that was used to evacuate wounded soldiers, rolling over clumps of grass that lifted and tilted the drone in different directions, like an amusement-park ride.
The competitions, organizers say, are intended to bolster Ukraine’s drone-manufacturing industry. The events allow designers to hear directly from combat drone pilots about the features they would like to see.
Another aim, which soldiers say they value the most, is a bit of much-needed R and R.
“I spent five weeks on positions before we came out and arrived here,” said a 24-year-old sergeant who asked to be identified by his call sign, Zippo, following Ukrainian military protocol.
He is a spotter, serving as an assistant to a drone pilot. “Of course, for me this is first and foremost a break,” he said.
Zippo, a member of the Khartia brigade, which is fighting on the northeastern front near Kharkiv, spent most of the day sleeping in a green wooden sleigh with snowflakes painted on it, part of the theme park’s décor.
He missed Sergeant Korol’s slow-and-steady victory in the drone race and his appearance onstage to receive congratulations.
“My tactics probably seem strange,” Sergeant Korol, a member of the 47th Mechanized Brigade, said, laughing.
His fellow battalion members were elated, because their unit will receive as a prize three Vampire bomber drones and various accessories for them made by Skyfall, the Ukrainian drone company that was the competition’s main sponsor. Vampires can carry about 30 pounds of explosives and are also used for delivering provisions to the front.
Sergeant Korol was clearly having a great time. He got to see his pregnant wife and 10-year-old son for two hours before heading back to the front. He also connected with a manufacturer of drones that, to his surprise, were equipped with Starlink communications technology, which gives them greater range.
The company that makes the drones keeps its name secret and shuns publicity because of fears about Russian strikes on its factories. Andriy, a representative of the company who asked that his last name be withheld for security reasons, said he was proud of its achievements.
“Even other companies come up and ask, ‘Man, how did you fix up this Starlink thing?’” Andriy said.
Starlink did not respond to a request for comment.
As the day wound down, soldiers sitting at tables, drinking glasses of juice, made their last toasts to victory. The land drone operators used their unmanned vehicles to help clear out the barbecue equipment and other items.
Mykola, 26, a private who goes by the call sign Dobry and serves in the 93rd Mechanized Brigade, walked around in a camouflage magician’s hat, as if in a Harry Potter movie about ground warfare.
He was preparing to go back to the front in the morning.
“My comrade and I found a magician’s hat and decided we had to buy it because we are magicians,” he said. “We make Russians disappear.”
