Russia dropped a record number of guided aerial bombs (KABs) on Ukraine in October according to the Ukrainian Ministry of Defense. Over the month, Russian aircraft released more than 5,328 KABs, the highest monthly total since the beginning of 2025. The Ministry said that in ten months, Russia has already dropped about 40,000 aerial bombs—matching the total number recorded during the entire previous year.

Guided aerial bombs, or KABs, are fitted with aerodynamic surfaces and guidance systems to improve their accuracy against designated targets. Their expanded use, combined with the new UMPK modules, has significantly increased the range and frequency of Russian bomb attacks across Ukraine.

Record month of guided bomb strikes

In October, Russian forces increased the number of guided bomb attacks on Ukrainian territory. According to the Ministry of Defense, over 5,328 KABs were used against Ukrainian troop positions and frontline cities. This figure represents the largest number of guided bombs dropped in a single month since the start of 2025. Officials said the scale of such strikes continues to grow.

Extended-range bombs hit Odesa Oblast earlier for the first time

In late October, Russian forces struck Odesa Oblast with extended-range guided bombs for the first time. Civilian infrastructure was damaged in the attack. Ukrainian media noted that these bombs have greater range and can reach deeper into the region than earlier models, expanding the threat area along the southern front.

Earlier, Militarnyi reported that Russian Su-34 aircraft have received new universal glide and correction modules, or UMPKs, for FAB-500T bombs. These devices convert conventional bombs into guided glide munitions capable of traveling over 100 kilometers. The modification allows Su-34 jets to launch strikes from outside the engagement zones of Ukrainian air defense systems.

My night train from Lviv pulls into Odesa on a Friday morning at half past six. The Pearl of the Black Sea is barely awake.

Waiting for the first cafés to open, I walk the empty streets and ask myself: why is there still business—foreign business—in a city under regular attack? Why do companies from Denmark, Germany, the USA, and Italy operate here now, during a war that could easily have emptied this city on the waterline—a city within range of Russian drones and missiles just sixty kilometers away in Crimea?

Yet, while some left, others came, and some stayed. These people run software firms, logistics centers, timber factories, and engineering bureaus. They sign contracts between air raids, drink wine during blackouts, work from their basements during missile attacks, and call it normal.

I’ve come to understand what makes Odesa endure and attract people who could have an easier life elsewhere.

A safe island in the storm

Viktoriia Klimenko works for Pharmbills, a US remote workforce company that manages American clients from its Odesa office. She remembers February 2022 as a moment of panic and of opportunity.

“When the war started, lots of people lost their jobs,” she says. “Pharmbills was a safe place. We had no salary delays. Stability helps when the world gets crazy.”

Her words already hint at one answer to my question:

While local firms froze hiring and competitors fled to EU countries, Pharmbills doubled its staff. The company installed generators, built an internal bot to check employees’ safety, and paid in dollars.

“Dollar salaries became not just a benefit but a psychological anchor,” Klimenko explains. “People knew they could plan their lives. That’s rare now.”

Firms linked to Western partners suddenly have a recruiting advantage—not necessarily because they pay more, but because they symbolise reliability while those paying solely in hryvnia struggle with inflation and uncertainty.

So one reason they stay: stability itself has become a product to sell.

A Danish lesson in remote endurance

Akkermann Engineering & Software feels like a Danish enclave in Odesa: white walls, ceilings, and cupboards contrast with black height-adjustable tables, plenty of glass, everything adhering to strict Danish norms. The company’s founder, Thomas Sillesen, isn’t shy about his approach.

Sillesen’s engineers design mechanical components for Scandinavian clients. The company headquarters moved to Odesa from Luhansk in 2014, as the war in Donbas against Russian-supported separatists was starting.

Maybe that makes Sillesen, without meaning to, a veteran of endurance.

Reflecting on what the war has taught him, Sillesen reaches further into the past, to COVID times.

“COVID trained everyone to work from home,” he explains. “Clients got used to seeing our engineers on video with fake backgrounds. They just wanted the work done. When the war came, that habit saved us.”

Sillesen’s staff, scattered from Zaporizhzhia to Lviv, now collaborate online.

This is his answer to why he stays: not blind courage but deliberate fearlessness — the cool logic of someone who measures risk and decides it’s worth taking. What Thomas Sillesen misses most is seeing his team together. There hasn’t been a company party in three years.

“I miss that,” Sillesen says. “Just saying hi to fifty guys in the morning—gone. When the war is over, we’ll still work hybrid, but Fridays will be for pizza and beer again.”

He speaks like a man who already imagines that future, which may be the quietest reason of all to remain: staying here means believing there will be an “after.”

A German who came for freedom—and stayed

For Philipp Hasselbach, a German who founded the logistics company STEX GmbH, Odesa first appeared not as a business prospect but as a revelation.

“I saw videos from Arcadia during COVID,” he explains over coffee at a very-Odesan pastry shop with pink walls, neo-rococo-style cups, and cakes that look like art from pre-revolutionary France. “People dancing on the beach while Germany sat in silence. I thought: That’s where I want to live!”

He arrived in 2020 to enjoy life, but soon decided he couldn’t just hang around in the nightclubs of Arcadia—Odesa’s beach and nightlife district—doing nothing meaningful. So he rented a small office, posted job announcements, and waited to see what would happen. What happened: he never left, even after the invasion.

That sentence captures the Wild South spirit: a blend of defiance, irony, and unshakable instinct for survival.

STEX ships urgent parcels across Europe using the same model as Pharmbills or Akkermann: clients abroad, office staffed with young multilingual Ukrainians here. Still, even with the internet and phones, connections to the outside world matter for organizing daily life.

In his case, improvisation has become a business method. The risks that scare off others are what make his company competitive: cheaper staff and offices, less bureaucracy and regulations, and a city that just doesn’t let one go.

The city that works when logic says it shouldn’t

At the harbor, cranes stand mostly idle. Some ships dare to cross the perilous waters from the Dardanelles to Odesa, but not many—the port remains a regular target for Russian attacks. The night before I met with Philipp, there were missile strikes.

I hear nothing. The thick walls of my downtown Airbnb turn the explosion into silence. It’s an unsettling kind of safety—the illusion of distance where none exists. When I step outside the next morning, the city is already humming quietly, as if the night had been erased.

The café Foundation—one of the best, according to many Odessites—opens at eight. As I enter to drink tea in the place everyone else seems to visit for its impressive selection of coffee, I notice a group of fashionable youth gathered here. The up-and-coming youngsters wear sporty clothes, but it looks like they do so not to get sweaty but to look cool. They’re bent over iPhones or tablets, plotting how to take over the world—with IT startups.

I discuss this with my friend Michael Löffler, who runs a small AI software firm. Originally from Bavaria, Germany, he has lived in Odesa since 2005 and fondly calls the city’s lifestyle an “organized disarray.”

“We’re disconnected from the Ukrainian economy a bit,” he confirms Philipp’s assessment, “but we live here and see how things develop. There’s still business—just in a different shape. You fix one problem, another appears, and somehow it balances out.”

Although understanding the plight of many ordinary Ukrainians, Michael isn’t too worried about Odesa’s economic prospects in the grand scheme of things. He’s been following real estate prices for years. “And they haven’t fallen far as much as one might imagine.” Indeed, comparing prices across Ukrainian cities, Odesa holds the middle: a theoretical one-bedroom apartment costs $65,000 in Kyiv, $14,000 in Kherson, and $44,000 in Odesa.

Jörg Maus, another German (yes, there are quite a few of them here!) whose forestry company Biosol continues to export timber products, puts the situation more bluntly: “People realized nobody would save them. You keep working, or you close. Yes, there are days when you think it’s impossible to continue, but then you find a way.”

The employment situation has gotten harder, Jörg admits. Young men are afraid to leave their homes, worried about conscription. “Good workers are very difficult to find,” he says. “Most people try to find jobs where they can work from home. It’s much stronger now than people getting out.”

Despite the difficulties, he’s stayed. Like the others, he’s invested years here, built relationships, and found people he can trust.

Trust. That’s another word that keeps returning in these conversations. Those who stay do so because they have built something personal: companies, friendships, loyalties, or even families that can’t be moved just like that to Warsaw, Copenhagen, or Vienna. The war tests those ties daily, and so far, they hold.

What foreign companies mean to Odessites

Jörg sees the challenge from the employer’s side—finding workers who can and will show up. But from the worker’s perspective, Viktoriia Klimenko at Pharmbills explains what having foreign companies here actually means for young Odessites.

Yes, dollar salaries provide stability—that psychological anchor she mentioned earlier. But the deeper value lies in what the city lacks: Odesa doesn’t have many big corporations or white-collar jobs.

Foreign employers have quietly become a bridge between Odesa and the wider world. They bring not just money but a different rhythm: deadlines, video calls, performance reviews—the small rituals of global normality that remind people what ordinary life used to feel like.

For people at the beginning of their careers who want to understand how the global economy works, foreign companies offer something local firms often can’t. When Viktoriia interviews someone with experience at another foreign company, she knows that person already understands international corporate processes and mentality—a rare commodity in a city where most work is purely local.

Early in the war, hiring was easier—local companies closed and people came to Pharmbills for stability. But the ongoing challenge is different. “Lots of good professionals have moved to other countries,” Viktoriia says.

Pharmbills adapted by opening an academy—free online courses where people learn corporate skills and industry-specific terminology. People can test whether they actually want this kind of work before committing.

The office itself has transformed. During severe blackouts, every chair was occupied—people came because the office had generators. The company provided power banks, rented houses in western Ukraine during the worst periods, and allowed employees to work remotely from safer locations or even from other countries.

As for daily life in Odesa? Viktoriia has adjusted like everyone else. “It’s absolutely normal to have coffee in the morning after a sleepless night during an attack, then get some nice lunch, and after that, get the work done.”

Viktoriia adds that there’s a joke among residents:

What she describes isn’t denial but adaptation. The war has turned survival into a routine. For Odesans working with foreign companies, normality—even if partial or lasting only a few hours between air-raid sirens—is not an illusion; it’s a decision.

“But Ukrainians adjust well to whatever is happening,” Viktoriia concludes. “We’ve learned how to live in these circumstances.”

Beyond resilience

Odesa isn’t simply enduring—it’s improvising its way forward, refining a new logic of motion that is both pragmatic and absurd. In Odesa, disorder isn’t an obstacle; it’s a management style.

A city that should be paralyzed by fear runs on caffeine, improvisation, and the stubborn belief that everyday life must continue. It works not because logic says it should, but because people have decided it must. The Wild South — that’s how I keep thinking of Odesa. A place that shouldn’t work, yet somehow does.

Maybe that’s the answer I was looking for. They stay because Odesa, even under fire, offers something rarer than safety: a sense of meaning. It’s the one place where ordinary acts—running a meeting, delivering a parcel, fixing a power line—feel like defiance itself.

This is Chapter I of a series exploring how Odesa’s business community navigates Europe’s largest war since World War II. Coming up: Odesa’s population just turned over by half. New people, old debates, and the question no one wants to ask: What kind of city emerges from this?

The Russians have begun using guided aviation bombs, also known as KABs, with rocket engines to strike Ukraine, but air defense systems are capable of shooting them down. Such bombs have already been recorded in the skies over Odesa, Mykolaiv, and Poltava oblasts, Suspilne reports. 

Comment from the Air Force and strike confirmation

Yurii Ihnat, head of communications for the Air Force of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, says that the Russians are using the new KAB modifications selectively, primarily to test the effectiveness of Ukraine’s defenses. 

“This is the bomb released from an Su‑34: by flight parameters, it resembles a cruise missile, so it can be intercepted by air defense systems,” Ihnat explains.

He confirmed that Air Command South shot down two such KABs. Another fell in open terrain without consequences. Specialists are already determining the type of munition.

New strikes — impact on cities and infrastructure

On 26 October, Russia launched a guided aerial bomb of a new modification toward Kryvyi Rih in Dnipropetrovsk Oblast.

Its debris damaged an industrial enterprise. Rescuers were deployed to the impact site to extinguish a fire. One person was injured in the city. The day before, the Russians struck Kamianske in Dnipropetrovsk Oblast for the first time with rocket‑powered aerial bombs of the UMPB‑5/Grom‑E type.

Regional risks and expert assessments

Vadym Kushnikov, an analyst for the portal “Militarnyi,” said on air that, given the Kyiv Oblast's proximity to the Russian border, some objects there could fall into the risk zone and be within reach of these new aerial munitions, per 24 Channel.

“As for the city of Kyiv, the distances are a little greater there, and accordingly, the chances of effective and successful use are significantly lower,” he stressed.

NATO and Ukraine test innovations to intercept KABs

On 24 October, Ukraine’s Ministry of Defense reported that the NATO‑Ukraine Joint Analysis, Training and Education Center and NATO Allied Command Transformation conducted the next phase of tests of an innovative solution to counter guided aviation bombs.

During tests at a French range, developer teams evaluated a comprehensive technical solution under adverse weather conditions — radar, AI‑based software, and a drone interceptor.

The statement notes that a radar equipped with an advanced sensor suite detected, tracked, and engaged a simulated “hostile” target. Then, using AI software, the drone interceptor followed a pre‑computed trajectory to engage the target.

“The development has progressed from concept to prototypes of various levels of technological implementation and is intended to protect Ukrainian soldiers and civilians from one of the most destructive threats of modern warfare,” the statement said.

The project to counter Russian guided aviation bombs began in March 2025 with the 15th NATO innovation contest hosted at the NATO center.

Ukrainian specialists are directly participating in the tests and providing expert assessments, allowing the solution to be adapted to the realities of the modern battlefield.

Russia has started launching jet-powered guided bombs with jet engines against Ukrainian cities deeper behind the lines. According to Yurii Ihnat, head of the communications department of Ukraine’s Air Force Command, these weapons have recently appeared over Odesa, Mykolaiv, and Poltava oblasts. Speaking on Suspilne, Ihnat said the bombs are being used in isolated cases as Russia checks how effectively Ukraine’s air defense can react.

Ihnat explained that the jet-powered bombs are launched from Su-34 aircraft and share flight parameters with cruise missiles, allowing Ukrainian air defense to target them. On 24 October, Air Command “South” confirmed the interception of two long-range guided bombs, while a third fell in an open field without causing damage. 

Ihnat urged Ukrainians not to panic, noting that the new bombs do not yet pose a major threat. He said Russia is experimenting with many aerial weapons, but Ukraine, together with international partners, continues improving its own defense technology.

Regional authorities in Odesa described the attack as a serious new challenge. Odesa Oblast head Oleh Kiper said such strikes present significant danger to civilians and infrastructure. Still, Ukraine’s forces report no casualties or major destruction from the latest incidents.

Russia expands range and production of longer range guided bombs

Ukraine’s Defense Intelligence (HUR) earlier said that Russia has started serial production of upgraded guided bombs with unified planning and correction modules, known as the Grom-1 and Grom-2. Their strike range reaches 150–200 km.

On 24 October, Russian forces used jet-powered guided bombs against Odesa Oblast for the first time.

Before the Odesa strike, Russia had already used similar weapons in attacks on Mykolaiv on 16 October and on Lozova in Kharkiv Oblast on 18 October. The latter bomb reportedly traveled about 130 km. Ukrainian officials see these strikes as part of Moscow’s efforts to refine new munitions for long-range precision attacks.