When North Korean troops first appeared in Russia’s trenches of war with Ukraine, it caused tremors in the world’s security community. For years, North Korean military exploits outside its borders were confined to a handful of advisers and covert arms exports. Suddenly, battalions of North Korean special forces in uniform—yes, that notorious “Storm Corps”—were shooting and killing in Europe, learning the dirty lessons of contemporary drone warfare and adding to the handbook on coercive cooperation.
This was more than a symbolic act. As Dr. Jake Rinaldi has put it, “The North Korean dispatch of troops to Ukraine is a watershed moment in international security and underscores long-standing assumptions about the nature of the borders of cooperation among authoritarian powers.” The North Korean incursion started with an onslaught of artillery shells, anti-tank guided missiles, and even ballistic missiles—so intense that Pyongyang threatened to exhaust its stocks of war within its borders. But by late 2024, the alliance had grown more serious: North Korean soldiers, including special forces elite brigades, were being sent to Russia, trained, and then sent to the front in Kursk, where Ukrainian forces had made a bold advance. Initially, these North Korean soldiers were easy targets.
Ukrainian officials recounted how the novices advance in tight, orderly ranks—great for a parade, less so when there are enemy drones flying by. In the words of one Ukrainian officer, as quoted by NPR, the North Koreans “went from having World War II style to adapting in combat to drones, and they learned very quickly.”. Early on, they did not object to the notorious “Baba Yaga” bombing drones trundling methodically along open fields, even as artillery and FPV drones leveled them. The cost? Devastating casualty counts—South Korean intelligence estimated hundreds of thousands of North Koreans killed in the first months.
But then came where things got interesting: the North Koreans made adjustments. Notes discovered on the ground confirmed they were conducting reconnaissance for drone identification and taking it down, even going so far as to make plans where a soldier would distract a drone as others attempted to take it down. Ukrainian drone pilots observed that the North Koreans became “very accurate” at shooting down drones and that their combat discipline—to shoot dead comrades in front of them, never to surrender—set them apart from their Russian allies.
Why would Pyongyang do so much? The reason is a mix of ambition, desperation, and cold calculation. North Korea’s government used Ukraine as a test bed—an opportunity to test its latest rocket technology and suicide drones, and provide its elite troops with crash training in 21st-century warfare. Kim Jong Un himself directed test firings of new multiple rocket launchers and drones, and the best missile designers were seen at Russian launchpads, eager to learn how their babies performed in actual combat operations.
But it is not simply about war training. The economic return is enormous. North Korean weapons sales to Russia—mere artillery shells alone might bring over a billion dollars into Pyongyang’s coffers—are a lifeline for an economy reeling under sanctions. Russia, meanwhile, has been rewarding Pyongyang with oil, equipment, and, suspiciously, access to superior military technology. Ukrainian officials cautioned that Moscow even promised North Korea assistance to manufacture long-range Shahed-type drones and enhance ballistic missile precision. South Korean officials said Russia was also supplying the technical know-how for reconnaissance satellites, drones, and even surface-to-air missile systems.
This axis of convenience has tangible implications for the Korean Peninsula. South Korean commentators fear North Korean troops, having been battle-tested in drone warfare and electronic countermeasures, will bring that experience back home—increasing the stakes for any ensuing conflict. The sci-fi nightmare of North Korea unleashing swarms of combat drones, or employing Russian-supplied technology to punch through South Korean lines, is no longer fiction.
But under all the talk of an “Axis” forming of authoritarian states, things are more complex. As the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace observes, “These states continue to be threats more or less independent of each other. They are not a monolithic bloc against which the United States would or could ever be able to form an effective strategy.” Russia and North Korea move together out of necessity, not strong ideological solidarity. China itself continues to be concerned with the instability of North Korea and has an interest in keeping it at bay. But the Ukraine war has demonstrated how quickly authoritarian regimes forget their quarrels when something important is involved.
Until now, North Korea’s gamble in Ukraine has paid off—well, at least for the short term. Its soldiers have come away with invaluable combat experience, its defense sector is working double time, and its diplomatic warehouse has been replenished in Moscow. But danger is always lurking: domestic discontent back home, the potential for overextended military resources, and the constant threat that today’s friends might become tomorrow’s enemies.
Something is sure: the vision of North Korean soldiers mastering war with drones on Ukrainian fields is more than an afterthought in the history of war. It’s a sign that the rules of modern warfare—and the alliances that govern it—are being rewritten live.
