Here she checked herself
in some alarm,
at hearing something
that sounded to her
like the puffing of
a large steam-engine
in the wood near them,
though she feared
it was more likely
to be a wild beast.
‘Are there any lions or tigers
about here?’ she asked timidly.
‘It’s only the Red King
snoring,’ said Tweedledee.
‘Come and look at him!’
the brothers cried,
The rise in drone use.
Has had another.
Terrorising effect.
For combat troops.
– it has extended the danger zone.
Far back from the front line.
Soldiers operating up to.
40km away.
Or pulling back after.
A heavy rotation.
Can no longer.
Let their guard down.
He had a tall
red night-cap on,
with a tassel, and
he was lying crumpled up
into a sort of untidy heap,
and snoring loud
– ‘fit to snore his head off!’
as Tweedledum remarked.
A commander of.
A small drone unit was.
About 5km.
From the contact line.
In a dugout.
One day when.
His unit scored.
A direct hit.
His unit scored.
A direct hit.
On an ‘orcs’ mortar position.
22km away.
Buoyed by the success.
He bounded out.
Of the dugout.
Forgetting the usual protocol.
Forgetting the usual protocol.
Of stopping first.
To listen for.
A telltale buzz.
Metres away.
An ‘orcs’ FPV.
Was loitering.
In the air.
As it sped towards him.
He only had.
Time to raise.
His arms.
When it detonated.
It took both his hands.
And his left eye.
And badly burned his face.
He had a tall
red night-cap on,
with a tassel, and
he was lying crumpled up
into a sort of untidy heap,
and snoring loud
– ‘fit to snore his head off!’
as Tweedledum remarked.
His own PTSD was.
Limited, he said.
Limited, he said.
To an occasional fear.
Response to motorcycles.
And lawnmowers.
Limited, he said.
Limited, he said.
About the effect.
Of the sound, he said.
Because his unit had used it.
To inflict terror on others.
“We were the side.
That caused fear with sound.
Not the side.
That suffered from it.”
He had a tall
red night-cap on,
with a tassel, and
he was lying crumpled up
into a sort of untidy heap,
and snoring loud
– ‘fit to snore his head off!’
as Tweedledum remarked.
They had realized.
At some point that.
The sound could be used.
To force ‘orcs’ soldiers.
Into exposed areas.
“You buzz around them.
And it becomes.
A test of.”
“The enemy’s psychological resilience.
The sound of the drone.
Itself is.
A serious psychological attack.”
He had a tall
red night-cap on,
with a tassel, and
he was lying crumpled up
into a sort of untidy heap,
and snoring loud
– ‘fit to snore his head off!’
as Tweedledum remarked.
According to him.
Buzz above a soldier.
For long enough.
And he will leave.
A strong shelter.
And simply run.
Into open terrain.
“Our psychology works.”
“In such a way that.
We need to do something.
To calm ourselves.
So you hover nearby.”
“And psychologically.
Suppress him…
And he starts running and.
Becomes easier to hit.”
Here she checked herself
in some alarm,
at hearing something
that sounded to her
like the puffing of
a large steam-engine
in the wood near them,
though she feared
it was more likely
to be a wild beast.
‘Are there any lions or tigers
about here?’ she asked timidly.
‘It’s only the Red King
snoring,’ said Tweedledee.
‘Come and look at him!’
the brothers cried,
*Because I read “They escaped Ukraine’s front lines. The sound of drones followed them” by Joel Gunter on 2 Aug 2025, and also “Why are Ukrainians calling Russians ‘orcs’?” by James FitzGerald on 30 Apr 2022, on the BBC news.
So, I wrote this poem, including a story of Bokhii, led by ‘THROUGH the LOOKING-GLASS’ written by Lewis Carroll, you know.
Please read the original story on the BBC news:
They escaped Ukraine’s front lines. The sound of drones followed them
