When Russian tanks trundled across Moscow’s Red Square this May, the Kremlin’s theatrics were not confined to cobblestones. In Ukraine, television viewers expecting their usual evening programming instead found themselves watching live footage of the Victory Day parade—beamed not by choice, but by force.

A Kremlin-aligned hacking group had hijacked a satellite carrying Ukrainian broadcasts. Without firing a shot, Moscow managed to showcase its armour, its missiles, and its bombast to those it sought most to intimidate.

This was no mere prank. It was a pointed reminder that in the 21st century, war is not just fought on the battlefield but in cyberspace and increasingly in the silence of orbit. The skies are no longer the exclusive domain of astronauts and astrophysicists. They are now a contested front, vulnerable to sabotage, espionage and even destruction. And the implications could scarcely be more profound.

Satellites: invisible pillars of modern life

Satellites have become the hidden infrastructure underpinning modern civilisation. They guide planes and ships, synchronise financial transactions, warn of incoming missiles, and allow armies to coordinate in real time. There are more than 12,000 orbiting today, with thousands more scheduled for launch over the next decade as governments, tech giants, and venture capitalists race to blanket the Earth with connectivity.

This dependency is precisely what makes them a glaring strategic vulnerability. Hackers rarely need to penetrate the satellites themselves. Instead, they target the soft underbelly: outdated software, neglected modems, or insecure ground stations. When Russian forces rolled into Ukraine in February 2022, the cyber-attack on Viasat—the American firm supplying Kyiv’s military and government—was a textbook case. Tens of thousands of modems were corrupted, wiping out connectivity across Europe. The Kremlin had shown it could blind its adversary before a single artillery shell was fired.

What happened during this year’s parade was subtler, but psychologically potent. It was propaganda delivered via orbital bandwidth. Ukrainians were forced, even briefly, to watch the Kremlin’s martial display. It underlined that their adversary could reach them through every imaginable domain—land, air, cyberspace, and now space itself.

The nuclear spectre above

The most chilling revelation is that Russia may be developing something far more destructive than temporary hacks. According to U.S. officials, Moscow is working on a nuclear space-based weapon capable of annihilating virtually every satellite in low-Earth orbit in one blow. Such a device would combine a physical strike with a nuclear blast that fries electronics, unleashing chaos not just on enemies but on the entire planet’s orbital infrastructure.

Were such a weapon detonated, the fallout would be catastrophic. Western militaries, heavily dependent on satellites for navigation, communication, and intelligence, would be plunged into disarray. Stock markets, reliant on split-second GPS timing, could seize up. Civil aviation would be thrown into confusion. Emergency services would find themselves operating blind.

Rep. Mike Turner, the Republican chairman of the House Intelligence Committee, has compared the prospect to Sputnik, the 1957 Soviet satellite that shocked the world into the space age. This time, however, the consequences would not be a race for exploration but a scramble for survival. A single act could render low-Earth orbit unusable for months, perhaps years. Unlike Sputnik, this would not symbolise technological triumph but technological vandalism.

Strategic balance and mutual vulnerability

Yet the use of such a weapon would be almost suicidal. Russia and China also rely on satellites, albeit less heavily than the West. To detonate a nuclear device in orbit would be to commit an act of mutual destruction. It would also flagrantly breach the 1967 Outer Space Treaty, which forbids weapons of mass destruction in orbit. That Moscow appears willing to research such technology nonetheless tells us something troubling: treaties are only as strong as the political will to uphold them.

The more immediate risk, however, lies not in a doomsday device but in persistent low-level attacks. By infiltrating satellite communications or selectively jamming signals, Russia can cause dislocation, confusion and mistrust without crossing the threshold that would trigger a NATO response. It is the grey-zone strategy of the cyber era: erode your opponent’s confidence, demonstrate reach, but stop just short of a formal act of war.

Europe’s complacency

For Europe, the lesson is stark. The continent is dangerously dependent on American systems—above all GPS—for everything from logistics to national defence. France has developed its own Galileo navigation system, but it remains less robust than its American counterpart. The European Union is fond of speaking about “strategic autonomy”, yet when it comes to the space domain, that aspiration is threadbare.

Indeed, Brussels has been curiously absent from the debate. Ursula von der Leyen and her European Commission talk endlessly about green energy directives and regulatory frameworks, but offer little leadership in preparing Europe for the hard realities of space as a military domain. Strategic foresight is lacking, while member states squabble over budgets and launch contracts. Meanwhile, Moscow and Beijing invest heavily in anti-satellite weaponry.

America’s dilemma

For Washington, the challenge is different but no less daunting. The U.S. remains the world’s pre-eminent space power, but its very dominance makes it the most tempting target. Trump’s recent pledges to guarantee Ukraine’s security will ring hollow if Russian cyber operations can paralyse the satellites that provide those guarantees. Military planners are already debating how far America can and should go in defending commercial satellites, many of which are privately owned by companies such as SpaceX.

The Pentagon has quietly begun working with private firms to harden their networks, but the scale of the problem is immense. Satellites are not easily patched like smartphones. Some are decades old, with vulnerable software that cannot simply be updated from Earth. Securing this constellation is like trying to retrofit armour onto a fleet of ships already at sea.

Psychological warfare from orbit

The Kremlin knows it cannot match NATO tank for tank or plane for plane. But it does not need to. By exploiting vulnerabilities in space, Russia can achieve asymmetrical victories. A hijacked broadcast here, a jammed GPS signal there—each creates uncertainty, erodes trust, and makes populations feel exposed.

The hijacking of Ukraine’s broadcasts during Victory Day was not an isolated stunt. It was theatre with a purpose: to show that Russia’s reach extends into the heavens. For a war-weary Ukraine, already battered on the ground, it was a reminder that Moscow can still intrude into daily life in new and unsettling ways.

A new Cold War frontier

The post-Cold War illusion that space was a peaceful commons is evaporating. Just as the seas became arenas of rivalry in earlier centuries, orbit is now contested terrain. The West must grasp this with urgency. Investment in cyber defence, redundant satellite networks, and resilient civil infrastructure is not optional—it is essential.

The Kremlin’s parade in the skies may have lasted only a short while, but its message endures. Space is no longer the final frontier. It is the newest battlefield, and the West ignores it at its peril.