‘We’re right at the epicenter’ In Siberian villages, locals react to Ukraine’s ‘Spiderweb’ attack on nearby airfield
On Sunday evening, around 5:00 p.m., what looked like an ordinary cargo truck pulled up near a roadside café in Russia’s Irkutsk region. No one paid it much attention — until drones began lifting off from its roof. They hovered briefly, then took off toward the Belaya military airfield. Minutes later, bluish-gray smoke was seen rising from the base.
The attack was part of “Spiderweb,” a covert Ukrainian Security Service operation that smuggled more than 100 FPV drones into Russia and launched them from deep inside the country — targeting military aircraft stationed far from the front line. It marked the first time in the war that drones had struck Siberia.
The next day, the independent outlet People of Baikal visited several nearby villages to hear firsthand how locals were making sense of the attack. Meduza shares an English-language version of their report.
‘It’s even worse at the front’
Andrey Kharchenko lives on the edge of Novomaltinsk, in a neighborhood the locals call “Shamotka.” There’s just one street here — Matrosova — lined with two-story brick apartment buildings. Beyond Andrey’s home lie garden plots and open fields, along a road that leads to the nearby village of Badai.
Just two kilometers (1.2 miles) across those fields is the airfield, fenced off from the surrounding area. From the window of Andrey’s second-floor apartment, you can see both the Belaya Air Base and the aircraft that were targeted in the attack. Every one of the drones flew over Matrosova Street toward the airfield.
Andrey and his wife, Yekaterina, were at home at the time and watched from their window as the drones passed overhead. They counted 17. Other residents say there were 19. Andrey believes the drones came from two directions — not only from the truck parked on the highway, as confirmed by official reports, but also from the direction of the Belaya River. This second trajectory was also mentioned to People of Baikal on June 2 by a local woman named Olga, who asked that her last name not be used. Another resident, Valentina Yeremina, said the same. According to Andrey, the drones flew in groups of three.
Andrey’s first thought was for his children, ages six and eight, who were at a nearby playground. He ran outside and brought the frightened children home. Yekaterina stayed at the window, recording with her phone. In her video, pale smoke can be seen rising from the field that separates Novomaltinsk from the base. On the base itself, darker, charcoal-colored smoke fills the sky. Off camera, a woman’s voice says, “We’re being bombed by drones.” A child’s voice replies, “It’s even worse at the front.”
Yekaterina says that residents of nearby five-story apartment buildings ran for the bomb shelters — but she herself has no idea where the shelters are located or what condition they’re in. In the end, no one managed to get inside; the shelters were locked.
Andrey told People of Baikal that a group of local men ran out to the fields behind his building with hunting rifles and began shooting at the drones, managing to down several of them. Now, the field behind the building is marked by a large scorched patch, and the air still smells of smoke.
The head of Novomaltinsk, Tatyana Markova, announced a curfew in the local Telegram channel, forbidding residents from going outside after 10:00 p.m.
Immediately after the strike, locals — and then the police — blocked off the road from Novomaltinsk to the neighboring village of Badai. Yekaterina says that “personnel” were working in their area all night — she guesses they were from the FSB.
The next morning, June 2, Markova again wrote that people should stay indoors until 10:00 a.m. Andrey saw bomb disposal teams working in the field during this time. That afternoon, at 2:23 p.m., the village administration posted an update confirming demining efforts were underway. By the next day, June 3, the field was empty again.
Meduza has condemned Russia’s invasion of Ukraine from the very start, and we are committed to reporting objectively on a war we firmly oppose. Join Meduza in its mission to challenge the Kremlin’s censorship with the truth. Donate today.
People in the village say that nine military aircraft were destroyed in the drone strike on the Belaya base — information Andrey says he heard from a neighbor who works there. According to that same neighbor, four of the planes had been fully fueled and loaded with munitions, scheduled to fly to the “special military operation zone” — in other words, to Ukraine — on Monday, June 2.
Since the attack, Andrey says, everyone is on edge, scared it could happen again. “No one knows how many more trucks they bought for this,” he explains. “Maybe they’ll come back.”
‘They’re hitting the airfield’
The village of Badai lies three kilometers (1.8 miles) from Novomaltinsk, on the other side of the field. It’s also just two kilometers from the airfield, as the crow flies.
“We’re right at the epicenter here — just across the fields from the air base. I’m still shaking,” says local resident Lyudmila Zuyeva. She and her 34-year-old son, Alexander, run a small grocery store in Badai.
On Sunday around 5:20 p.m., she was in her yard when her daughter came running and thrust a phone into her hands with the words: “It’s Alexander.” On the line, Lyudmila could hear a loud roar drowning out her son’s voice. He shouted: “Mom, they’re hitting the airfield.” She ran out to the street, where the airfield was visible in the distance. Clouds of black smoke and dust were rising into the air.
“My legs just gave out. It felt like the ground was shaking beneath me,” she recalls. “I thought we were going to be hit next. My first instinct was to run and get my three-year-old twin granddaughters and bring them into my house. Everyone else has wooden houses — mine’s brick, so it’s safer.”
Alexander arrived soon after, pulled his hunting rifle from a safe, and left with other local men for Novomaltinsk to try and shoot down the drones.
Lyudmila says many Badai residents grabbed their documents and jumped in their cars, trying to flee the village. Whether anyone made it out, she doesn’t know — local men, including her son, blocked the road between Badai and Novomaltinsk almost immediately. They stopped and inspected every car. “We did it on our own initiative, as citizens,” Alexander later told a local TV channel. Then the police joined in.
After Russia’s mobilization campaign in September 2022, Alexander Zuyev founded a charity to support Russian soldiers and their families. Lyudmila proudly recalls that her son was one of the first in the region to organize humanitarian aid for newly mobilized troops. He delivered supplies to a military unit in Yurga and sent equipment to the front. Alexander himself didn’t enlist or deploy with the others. “Well, he’s a business owner — he can’t just abandon everything,” Lyudmila explains.
The Zuyevs organized a space for weaving camouflage netting at their store, with soldiers’ mothers gathering there to help. But after peace negotiations began, the women stopped coming.
The store sits at the end of Badai’s main street. Beyond it lies a cemetery, where a Russian flag flutters in the distance above the grave of 48-year-old Alexander Kravchenko, who was killed in the war last winter. On the same road leading to the cemetery stands a wooden water tower, its wall draped with a banner promoting military service. In large letters it reads: “Sign a contract. 3,920,000 rubles [almost $50,000] for the first year of service in the special military operation zone.”
‘What’s there to be scared of?’
Until 2011, the village of Sredny was a closed military town. It’s made up mostly of five-story apartment blocks, built for personnel from the military base and the nearby Belaya airfield. Many of the apartments now stand abandoned, their broken windows gaping open. But people still live in some of the neighboring units.
After the drone strike, officers blocked off the main road leading into the village and inspected every passing vehicle. For a full day, the road was backed up with long-haul trucks. It was officially reopened the following evening. By June 3, there were no visible signs of the attack. Cars could once again enter the village without restriction. Only the people in camouflage roaming the streets hinted that anything had happened.
At a grocery store in Novomaltinsk, the owner, Anton Pylaev, stands behind the counter. He’s also a member of the village council. Locals say he grabbed a hunting rifle and joined the effort to shoot down drones on Sunday evening. Pylaev doesn’t confirm that. He only says he was working at the store and “saw everything.”
He smiles and insists there was nothing frightening about it. People in the village, he says, aren’t scared anymore. They go about their lives, shop for groceries, and don’t even talk about the incident. A single customer stands quietly in the store — a middle-aged man. When he hears Pylaev’s comment, he silently picks up a bottle of milk and declines to discuss the drones.
“I was driving back from the dacha that evening,” says one of the store’s cashiers. “I saw a drone — it hovered over my car for a few seconds, then flew off toward the airfield.” She says she immediately realized it was a combat drone — civilian drones had long been banned in the village due to its proximity to the military base. She tells the story with a laugh: “What’s there to be scared of? It’s fine!”
