ONE OF UKRAINE’S most consequential operations of 2025, dubbed Operation Spiderweb, stood out not just for the heavy damage it inflicted with cheap drones, or the morale it boosted, but for striking at a core belief of Vladimir Putin’s regime: the invulnerability of Russia’s nuclear forces.
Ukrainian drones reportedly destroyed or disabled a dozen strategic nuclear bombers. Ten days later, at a meeting on Russia’s weapons programme, Mr Putin pointedly stressed the centrality of the “nuclear triad” of land-, sea- and air-launched weapons as a long-term guarantor of sovereignty.
The message was subtle but clear: in the wake of Spiderweb, the Kremlin appeared to shift its emphasis away from exposed bombers and towards submarines. That same month, the Northern Fleet received the Knyaz’ Pozharsky, a new ballistic-missile submarine, further cementing the role of Arctic-based subs as the backbone of Russia’s second-strike capability.
Russia’s Arctic strategy has long been shaped by two deep-seated insecurities. One is the fear of losing military dominance as melting ice erodes the country’s natural defences and NATO’s presence expands—particularly after Finland and Sweden joined the alliance, in 2023 and 2024 respectively. The other is economic: Russia remains eager to access Western technologies to extract hard-to-reach Arctic hydrocarbons, and to re-enter Western markets. Achieving either would require at least a partial easing of sanctions.
Recent research a colleague and I conducted for the European Council on Foreign Relations, including interviews with Russian officials working on Arctic affairs, shows that these insecurities are intensifying. Operations like Spiderweb only reinforce the Kremlin’s view of the Arctic as a strategic priority second only to Ukraine.
Russia is set to deepen its investment in Arctic civilian and dual-use infrastructure—real spending is already up by 80% over the past three years in addition to the unknown amount of military expenditure. Simultaneously, it is viewing almost every remaining aspect of Arctic policy through a national-security lens, turning previously neutral domains such as climate science and indigenous affairs into instruments of state strategy.
This trajectory poses three serious risks for all Arctic countries in the coming decade—but particularly for Europe, which remains reliant on American military support in the region, a commitment that now appears less assured.
First, if a direct military confrontation between Russia and Europe does occur—a scenario increasingly entertained by both Russia and NATO—it is unlikely to begin in Poland or Moldova. The more probable flashpoints are in the Barents or Baltic Seas, putting the Nordic and Baltic states on the front line of any future aggression.
Even before its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the Kremlin began reviving the Soviet-era “Bastion” concept—remilitarising the Arctic coastline to ensure that air, naval and ground forces could shield Russia’s nuclear submarines operating in this region. Since 2022, Russian military drills in the region have shown a marked north-eastward shift, away from the Norwegian Sea to the Barents Sea. These reflect a growing paranoia within the Kremlin about the vulnerability of its Arctic nuclear deterrent.
Should Russia become convinced that war with NATO is inevitable, it is likely to strike first in the Arctic. A “pre-emptive” special military operation would aim to secure strategic assets in the High North. The Kremlin would see securing its Arctic nuclear forces as essential to retaining, as in Ukraine, the upper hand in controlling escalation through the implicit threat of a nuclear strike.
The growing influence over Arctic policy of Nikolai Patrushev, a former chief of the FSB, Russia’s domestic-security service, and long-serving secretary of Russia’s Security Council, is another source of concern. Since taking over the Maritime Board in mid-2024, Mr Patrushev, a hardliner and key architect of the Kremlin’s anti-Western ideology, has pushed for more aggressive hybrid operations. On his watch, these campaigns are likely to intensify across northern Europe, aiming to test NATO’s red lines and to expose perceived vulnerabilities in Western societies.
At the same time, the Kremlin is weaponising issues that are nominally apolitical and deeply valued in Europe. Since 2022 it has tightened its grip on NGOs representing Arctic indigenous communities, deploying them in international forums—such as UN committees—as part of a reputation-laundering campaign. Western governments, wary of deepening rifts within these communities, have often felt compelled to play along. A similar tactic has emerged around climate policy: in what appears to be retaliation for sanctions and diplomatic isolation, Russia has stopped sharing important data on Arctic ice melt, undermining global understanding of climate change. What was once an area of pragmatic co-operation is now treated as a tool of strategic leverage.
The third—and potentially most consequential—risk for Europe lies in the real possibility that Russia succeeds in turning a Republican administration’s Arctic ambitions to its own advantage. Since initial contacts with Washington in February, Russia has promoted the idea of mutually beneficial co-operation in the High North. To support this, the Kremlin set up a new fund to attract foreign investment in Arctic projects, placing it under Kirill Dmitriev, a veteran of back-channel diplomacy. With Arctic LNG-2, a big liquefied-natural-gas project in Russia, still crippled by sanctions, Moscow is eager for at least a temporary reprieve.
To entice the Trump administration, Mr Putin may offer the promise of a “grand bargain” in the region—an informal understanding to divide spheres of influence. Two great powers, each satisfying its own imperial instinct in the Arctic, while sidelining other players and international law. Such a scenario would leave Europe trapped between two assertive poles and unable to mount an effective response.
Even if America eventually gives up hope of a settlement with Russia over Ukraine, this darker prospect may still survive. To keep Donald Trump engaged—and thus constrained in his willingness to put pressure on the Kremlin—Mr Putin will need a new, bold idea capable of capturing his imagination. The Arctic may be the perfect vehicle.
Mikhail Komin is a fellow at the Centre for European Policy Analysis.
