M A Hossain,
History may remember October 21 of the early 2025s not because of another summit or sanction announcement, but because of a long ghost flight covering a space somewhere over the Arctic. According to reports, Russia’s nuclear-powered cruise missile flew for almost twenty-four hours, covering nearly 14,000 kilometers without refueling. With that quiet swing of the globe, Moscow sent its message that the West can no longer be called invulnerable.
President Vladimir Putin, never one to miss a theatrical cue, called it a “unique weapon which nobody else in the world has.” He’s not wrong. The Burevestnik - or as NATO labels it, SSC-X-9 Skyfall - is something out of the Cold War’s fever dreams: a missile that, theoretically, could fly forever. Powered not by digel or liquid fuel, but by a miniature nuclear reactor, it represents both a leap forward in technology and a terrifying step back toward an era when deterrence meant living on the edge of annihilation.
For decades, Washington and its allies operated under a comfortable illusion: oceans, satellites, and missile shields could protect them. The American homeland was secure; the real wars would always happen elsewhere. The Burevestnik rips through that assumption like a low-flying specter skimming radar screens. It’s not just another missile - it’s a reminder that technology can flatten geography and that arrogance is a poor defense policy.
Let’s start with the basics. The Burevestnik’s nuclear propulsion allows it a range so vast that it borders on the absurd - 20,000 kilometers, according to some analyses. It could, in theory, take off from northern Russia, loop around the Pacific, meander over the Atlantic, and still have enough fuel - or fission - to finish the job. What’s worse, it flies low, between 50 and 100 meters above ground level, hugging the terrain, dodging radar, and leaving defenders guessing. It’s slow death on a quiet engine.
This is not just about power projection. It’s about rewriting the rules of deterrence. When the U.S. withdrew from the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty in 2001, Moscow fumed and vowed to respond asymmetrically. Two decades later, the response is airborne. The Burevestnik isn’t just another piece of military hardware - it’s a geopolitical argument rendered in uranium. It tells Washington: you can build all the shields you want, but we’ll always find a way to pierce them.
Now, imagine sitting in the Pentagon with that realization. Every missile-defense model, every cost-benefit projection suddenly looks quaint. Current U.S. detection systems - like the Space-Based Infrared System - are designed to catch ballistic missiles, not low-flying, erratically maneuvering nuclear cruise missiles. Tracking something like the Burevestnik would be like chasing a mosquito across a dark room with a spotlight.
The sheer economics are staggering. To defend a landmass the size of the United States from such a threat, analysts estimate you’d need tens of thousands of interceptors - costing anywhere from a quarter-trillion to several trillion dollars. That’s not defense spending; that’s fiscal self-destruction. And therein lies Russia’s genius. It doesn’t need to outspend the West - just to make the West spend itself into exhaustion.
But the implications go further. The weapon doesn’t just pierce defenses; it pierces confidence. For seventy years, America’s extended deterrence - the promise that it would protect its allies from nuclear attack - rested on the notion that it could do so without endangering itself. If that promise now comes with the real risk of nuclear fire over Seattle or Chicago, how reliable does it look to allies in Warsaw or Tokyo? Strategic credibility, once questioned, is hard to restore.
In a sense, the Burevestnik is both symbol and substance of a broader Russian strategy: asymmetric innovation. Moscow can’t match Washington plane for plane or ship for ship. But it can invest in unconventional, high-impact systems that disrupt the balance. That’s what this missile does - it forces the opponent to think differently, to spend differently, to fear differently.
There’s also a historical irony worth noting. The technology behind this “miracle missile” isn’t entirely new. In the 1950s, the U.S. flirted with a similar idea - Project Pluto, a nuclear-powered ramjet that could fly at supersonic speeds while spewing radioactive exhaust. It was eventually scrapped, partly because it was too dangerous even for the Cold War. Sixty years later, Russia dusted off the concept, fixed the engineering gaps, and turned moral hesitation into military advantage.
Still, one should not romanticize this as genius. It’s desperation mixed with ambition. For Russia, which trails the West in most conventional technologies, the Burevestnik is a shortcut to relevance - a way to declare: “We can still make you afraid.” And fear, as Putin understands better than most, is the cheapest form of power.
For Washington, the challenge now is whether to respond with proportion or panic. Accelerating nuclear modernization—new bombers, submarines, ICBMs - might seem logical, but it risks triggering exactly what Moscow wants: another costly arms race that drains Western economies while galvanizing nationalist resolve in Russia. Some American strategists suggest investing instead in point-defense lasers or directed-energy weapons to neutralize cruise missiles. Perhaps. But those technologies remain largely experimental, and time is not on their side.
What’s needed, ironically, is what the Cold War eventually rediscovered: arms control. The old logic still applies - when you can’t guarantee protection, you negotiate restraint. The Burevestnik’s flight may mark the death of strategic complacency, but it also revives the argument for diplomacy. Deterrence alone cannot sustain peace in a world where a nuclear-powered missile can wander the skies for days.
And then there’s the ripple effect across the Global South. Moscow’s message isn’t only for Washington; it’s for everyone watching. A weapon that breaks the myth of Western safety inspires emulation. North Korea will certainly take notes. So will China, which has the resources to replicate or improve upon the design. A nuclear-powered cruise missile circling the Pacific could one day be Beijing’s ace card if conflict erupts over Taiwan. The chain reaction is easy to imagine: Japan and South Korea rethink their nuclear restraint, regional arms races ignite, and suddenly the fragile balance of the Indo-Pacific looks even more combustible.
In the end, the Burevestnik’s importance isn’t just in what it can destroy, but in what it reveals. It exposes a psychological shift—the end of Western strategic comfort, the return of existential vulnerability. The United States, long accustomed to waging wars “over there,” must now confront the reality that the next one could reach home.
Putin, ever the tactician, knows this. The Storm Petrel, as its name suggests, doesn’t need to strike to be effective. Its flight alone changes the weather - forcing adversaries to recalibrate, rearm, and reconsider. That’s the true weapon: uncertainty.
The question now is whether the West can adapt without losing its composure. To spend smarter, think colder, and - perhaps - talk again. Because if the world has entered a new nuclear century, filled with reactors on wings and invisible lines of deterrence, then reason, not reaction, may be the only defense left worth trusting.
This article published at :
1. The Nation, Pak : 21 Nov, 25
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