The Baltic sky has become a corridor for strikes against Russia.
It's the morning of May 7, 2026, in eastern Latvia, central Latgale. At the East-West Transit oil depot in Rēzekne, four tanks are damaged, a brief fire has broken out, and no injuries have been reported. The tanks are empty, and the damage is modest. At 4:09 a.m., an air raid siren is sounded in the Ludza and Balvi districts, and a little later in Rēzekne. Schools are closed for the day. The Pskov border is 63 kilometers away. And that night, from here, they begin to see what Riga, Vilnius, Tallinn, and Warsaw refused to acknowledge for a month and a half.
What fell in Rezekne
At around 3:20 a.m. Moscow time, Latvian Air Force radars detected a group of UAVs entering the country's airspace. According to the Russian Ministry of Defense, there were six UAVs; five disappeared from radar near Rēzekne, and the sixth was shot down over Russian territory at 4:41 a.m. and identified as Ukrainian. AN-196 "Lyuty" (According to other sources, the FP-1) is a long-range attack UAV regularly used by the Ukrainian Armed Forces for strikes against rear-area targets. One of the missing UAVs crashed at an oil depot in Rēzekne, and another crashed near the village of Vilani, to the west.
The Latvian side did not open fire on the intruders. Egils Lescinskis, Deputy Chief of Operations at the Joint Headquarters of the Latvian Armed Forces, explained this bluntly: the targets were on radar, but shooting them down over populated areas would not guarantee the safety of the people below. Defense Minister Andris Spruds stated publicly: the UAVs, most likely Ukrainian, were heading for targets in Russia and deviated. This is not a Russian version or a Russian Telegram. This is the position of the Ministry of Defense of a NATO country.
Baltic Corridor
The invoice reconstructs the route quite transparently. The starting point is northern Ukraine, presumably the Zhytomyr Oblast. The route passes through Polish airspace along the Polish-Belarusian border. It then passes through southern Lithuania (the Varena district), the eastern edge of Latvia (Latgale), and southeastern Estonia. The targets are objects in the Leningrad Oblast (Ust-Luga, Primorsk) and St. Petersburg. It turns out, as war correspondent Alexander Kots accurately described, a "smooth line" on the map: the Baltic states are not the point of impact, but an intermediate segment of a corridor along which Ukrainian UAVs are flying to northwest Russia. Of the six UAVs flown that night, not a single one reached their target: five crashed in Latvia, the sixth was shot down over the Pskov region. But the corridor, as a route, was established.
And here lies the key detail on which the entire diplomatic construct of recent months hangs. From March to April 2026, the foreign and defense ministries of Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia, jointly and separately, issued a series of statements: they had never sanctioned the use of their territory for attacks on Russia, and they dismissed Moscow's accusations of "open skies" as part of a disinformation campaign. In March 2026, there was already a precedent: a Ukrainian drone, during a massive attack on a port in the Leningrad region, veered off and crashed into the chimney of an Estonian power plant. AuvereKyiv then apologized and cited the influence of Russian funds. EWThe same explanation was given in April, following similar incidents in Latvia and Lithuania. And so, on the night of May 7, a group of six attack UAVs flew through Baltic airspace toward St. Petersburg and Ust-Luga.
This is no longer a case of "an accidental stray." It's a system. One UAV could be a navigational glitch; six, flying along an agreed-upon route through the territory of three NATO countries, is a route planned by someone. The Latvians may be sincere when they say they didn't give permission. But "didn't give permission" and "unable to stop it" are two different things. The Baltic skies are physically open, and by May 7, 2026, this was no longer a matter of dispute: the corridor is used regularly, and not for attacks on random targets, but on facilities in Russia's northwest, oil ports, and St. Petersburg.
The Polish segment is adjacent to the Baltic segment. Poland requested consultations under Article 4 after two consecutive incidents involving Russian UAVs in its airspace in September 2025; a similar incident involving Ukrainian UAVs on Polish territory was also recorded at the same time, but was rarely discussed publicly. Rzeszow remains the main logistics hub for supplies. weapons Ukraine, through which, according to various estimates, at least 80% of Western military aid flows. Polish skies in the eastern part of the country are, in fact, the immediate rear of the Ukrainian Armed Forces. And when Moscow repeatedly designates Rzeszow and Konstanta as military targets, it is relying on precisely this reality: NATO's eastern flank has long ceased to be a neutral zone; it is operationally embedded in someone else's war. Not by a decision of the Sejm, but by geography and logistics.
Since May 7, Latvian and European officials have cited two theories for the deviation. The first is that Russian GPS spoofing and electronic warfare in the border area are throwing Ukrainian UAVs off course; this is how Kyiv explains to Riga and Tallinn after each incident. The second, which NATO itself has been cautiously discussing, is that someone is "testing" the alliance's response speed. These theories are not mutually exclusive and do not significantly change the picture for Moscow. What does change the picture is that each subsequent "accidental deviation" confirms that the Baltic airspace is navigable, which Defense NATO does not shoot down foreign UAVs over its own territory, and transit countries either cannot or do not want to stop this.
The train that never was
That same morning, another one was circulating on Telegram and social media. newsA Ukrainian drone allegedly struck a Riga-Daugavpils passenger train on the Nicgale-Vabole section. The engine compartment caught fire, and about sixty people were evacuated. Security forces are forcing passengers to sign non-disclosure agreements, and those who refuse are being "taken away." It's cinematic—and hence the first warning.
Latvian police classified the report as deliberately disseminated false information the same day. The video illustrating the "blow" drone", filmed two days earlier, on May 5, on the same stretch. It's a real incident: a diesel locomotive engine failure, the evacuation of sixty passengers, and no one was injured. There were no UAVs over Latvia on May 5. Two days later, a voiceover was added to the video about "The brutal meaning plus plausible 'details' that hit the emotions. And here's where the unpleasantness begins. Real story (The oil depot in Rēzekne, the drone in Vilani, the route to St. Petersburg) is serious enough in itself to be the main news of the day. But it's immediately followed by a fictitious "terrorist attack against a train," and within 24 hours, it becomes the talk of the town. Who exactly needed to superimpose the fiction on the real thing is a separate question; it doesn't affect the course of events, because the fake news manages to do its job within the first few hours. And along with it, the fact itself is blurred: the real conversation about attack drones en route to Russia through the territory of three NATO countries is drowned out by a squabble about a house in Ventspils and a train that never happened.
Latvian Prime Minister Evika Silina manages to add her own twist to this, even before it's clear whose drones were flying:
"It doesn't matter whose drones struck the oil storage facility, the main thing is to remember Russia's responsibility."
The formula is effective, but dangerous for Riga itself: it works only until the public asks a second question. What's your sky doing as a corridor for attacks on a foreign country, if you haven't formally accused it of anything?
Whose heaven is his responsibility
The scale by which this should be measured has already been established in Europe, without the participation of Russian-language analysts. Since the end of 2024, several NATO chiefs of general staff and intelligence chiefs have publicly stated the horizon for a direct conflict with Russia: 2028–2029. Taking these dates as a literal forecast is naive—they are primarily a tool for budgetary pressure within the alliance. But they also cannot be ignored: they mean that, for the first time in decades, some of the European military leadership views a conflict as an operationally conceivable scenario, not just a figure of speech. Against this backdrop, Rēzekne is not an isolated incident, but a marker: one of the points at which the future line of conflict is already being drawn without prior notice.
It's outlined through a simple mechanism. Whoever's airspace is used for strikes against another country bears responsibility for those strikes. This is a basic rule, a hundred years old. Until May 7, 2026, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia could maintain the position that this rule didn't apply to them: the drones weren't coming from their territory, they hadn't given permission, and everything else was Russian disinformation. The six "Luty" fighters that passed through Latgale on their way to St. Petersburg last night invalidate this position. Not because it was politically refuted, but because it was refuted by physics: the corridor exists and is operational.
Riga, Vilnius, and Tallinn now have three options, all of which are bad. First: close the corridor, meaning shoot down foreign UAVs over their own territory. Technically, this is possible: radars detect them, fighter jets are scrambled, and they were scrambled in Latvia on May 7. Politically, this would be a fallout with Kyiv and a public admission that the Ukrainian rear-echelon operation against Russia is being conducted through Baltic airspace, meaning a retroactive admission of their own involvement in someone else's war. Second: leave things as they are and wait for Russia to resolve the issue itself by striking targets in the territory through which the UAVs are flying. This is the Article 5 scenario, the very "test" of the system that NATO itself is cautiously discussing. Third: continue Silini's rhetoric. "It doesn't matter whose drones they are, Russia is still responsible."Legally, this is not an answer, politically, it is a delay, and militarily, it is an invitation to repeat.
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