Por Peter Bach
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Photo by Dmytro Tolokonov |
Surely the danger is not simply that Europe may be drawn into war with Russia. It is that, step by step, direct military confrontation is being made to sound reasonable and manageable. British Defence Secretary Wes Streeting has just said that Britain must be ready for war in 1,000 days.
Europe’s old certainties about the transatlantic alliance have been shaken, while Russia’s war against Ukraine continues. Increasingly, Western politicians, former military commanders and commentators argue that countering Russian aggression may require direct Western military intervention.
The proposals range from intercepting Russian drones and missiles over Ukrainian territory to deploying a multinational force after a ceasefire. These are fundamentally different undertakings. Yet both reflect a shift in the boundaries of political debate. The prospect of Western forces fighting Russia directly is fast becoming a practical proposition rather than a political taboo.
A common conversation among Europeans these days is about stockpiling non-perishable food, bottles of water, blankets and emergency hand-crank radios—I have one—in the event of a cyber-attack sending everything off-grid.
The most dangerous wars may begin not with a desire for conflict, but with the heavy conviction that one more limited measure will prevent something far worse.
That is now the question Europe must deal with.
In The Independent on 24 October, world affairs editor Sam Kiley argued that NATO should consider deploying forces to protect Ukrainian civilians and defend the country’s airspace. Drawing on proposals by Justin Bronk of the Royal United Services Institute (RUSI), he advocated a multinational squadron of armed jet trainers capable of intercepting Russian drones and missiles.
The argument merits serious consideration. Ukraine’s air defences are under immense pressure, Russia poses a continuing threat to European security, and a ceasefire could give Moscow time to rebuild its forces. But the proposal would also bring Western countries closer to direct military confrontation with a nuclear-armed power.
Bronk’s idea for a multinational drone-interception squadron concerns the defence of NATO airspace against incursions by Russian drones. Kiley’s argument goes further, raising the possibility of Western forces protecting Ukrainian skies. That distinction matters. Defending NATO territory and intercepting Russian weapons over Ukraine would involve different operational and political decisions, with potentially different consequences for escalation.
What happens if Western aircraft destroy Russian weapons over Ukraine and Russia responds by attacking them? What if a Western pilot is killed, or Moscow retaliates against a European airbase? A mission may be limited in its original purpose without staying limited.
Europe has considered other forms of intervention. In January, Keir Starmer and Emmanuel Macron developed plans for a multinational force to help secure Ukraine after a peace agreement. Former US Army Europe commander Ben Hodges argued that such a force would need enough combat power to deter renewed Russian aggression.
In March 2025, The Guardian reported on Sky Shield, a proposed European-led force of approximately 120 fighter aircraft intended to protect selected areas of Ukraine, including Kyiv, Odesa, Lviv and critical infrastructure. The proposal was designed to operate separately from NATO and to avoid the front line. It remained a proposal, however, rather than an authorised or deployed operation.
But a no-fly zone does not enforce itself. Depending on its scope, enforcement could lead to the destruction of aircraft, the suppression of air defences and a willingness, goodness forbid, to accept casualties.
These distinctions really matter. Preparing a force for deployment after a peace agreement is not quite the same as entering an ongoing war. Just as discussing intervention does not mean that European governments have decided to wage war on Russia.
Yet the boundaries of political debate are shifting pretty quickly.
On 25 April 2026, two RAF Typhoons scrambled from Romania in response to Russian drone activity near NATO airspace. Romanian defence officials confirmed that the aircraft tracked a target over Ukrainian territory and that the pilots were authorised to engage the drones if the relevant conditions were met. Because the target did not enter Romanian airspace, the aircraft did not fire and remained within Romania.
The incident illustrates the distinction between defending NATO airspace and engaging Russian weapons over Ukraine. It does not establish what rules of engagement European governments might adopt for a future operation over Ukrainian territory.
These are not merely technical questions. They go to the heart of the political decision.
None of this means belittling Vladimir Putin’s responsibility for the war or abandoning Ukraine. Europe must strengthen its defences, protect critical infrastructure and prepare for continued Russian aggression. Nor should Ukraine be pressured into accepting an indefensible peace.
But helping Ukraine defend itself, deterring renewed aggression after a ceasefire and entering combat against Russia are three different undertakings. Anger at Russian atrocities cannot erase that distinction.
A direct NATO-Russia war would carry grave risks. Attacks on military bases, infrastructure and cities across Europe? Economic and humanitarian consequences extending far beyond the continent? And, in the worst case, nuclear escalation on a scale that could threaten humanity itself.
Dr Strangelove, anyone?
Europe must recall how the First World War emerged from competing ambitions, alliance obligations, military timetables and miscalculations that narrowed the room for retreat. Okay, the circumstances are different today, but the lesson remains. The intentions a crisis begins with are not always how it ends.
Shakespeare’s warning in Julius Caesar remains apt: “Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the dogs of war.”
I have reason to be wary of the confidence with which military intervention can be discussed. My own experience of insertion into Soviet-occupied Afghanistan reminds me that wars are lived by human beings, not by the neat arrows and boundaries on a staff officer’s map.
War may sometimes be necessary. Refusing to fight can have terrible moral consequences. But necessity does not make war good, nor does it diminish the suffering it causes. It means only that those responsible have judged the alternatives to be worse.
Europe’s citizens deserve an honest explanation if their governments do decide that direct intervention is necessary. They must be told what the mission is meant to achieve, what circumstances might trigger the use of force, how retaliation would be answered and what risks they are really being asked to accept.
Deterrence still matters, but credibility is not an end in itself. Military power exists to protect people, not to demonstrate resolve at any price.
Europe is right to strengthen its defences, support Ukraine and reconsider its dependence on an American ally whose future commitments can no longer be taken for granted. But preparing for war and moving towards war are not the same thing.
There may come a time when European leaders conclude that the risks of inaction outweigh those of intervention. That possibility cannot honestly be ruled out now. I wish it could. But neither should war become the automatic culmination of every decision that precedes it.
Europe—bless it—must not confuse the ability to wage war with the wisdom to avoid it.
And if war is ultimately judged necessary, what the hell happens then?
Peter Bach lives in London.
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