On the outskirts of Brussels, a group of hobbyists gathers in secret, but their pastime is anything but ordinary. Instead of crafting model airplanes or painting landscapes, these volunteers spend their weekends assembling 40-inch drones destined for the frontlines of Ukraine’s war. Their story, reported by NPR on December 25, 2025, weaves together threads of personal conviction, community spirit, and a determined response to a distant conflict that feels all too close for many Europeans.
Kotryna Vilnonyte, an interpreter by day, is at the heart of this unusual circle. Surrounded by friends and snacks, she leads the group as they meticulously piece together drone components. "My one colleague – she likes knitting. And I make drones," Vilnonyte told NPR, capturing the blend of normalcy and gravity that defines the group’s work. What started as a handful of friends, heartbroken and frightened by Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, has grown into a nonprofit called Wings for Europe. Their mission: to raise money, build drones, and send them to Ukrainian soldiers who need every advantage they can get.
Vilnonyte and her companions didn’t wait for governments or big organizations to act. Instead, they pooled their own resources, bought parts, and taught themselves how to construct drones from scratch. Each one costs a little over $400 to make—a sum raised through grassroots efforts like squash club fundraisers, where donors get to name the finished drone. One such drone, dubbed "Squasher," stands as a testament to the group’s creative fundraising and the personal touch that runs through every stage of their operation.
The production process is as decentralized as it is heartfelt. Volunteers come from as far as three hours away to participate in what they call "production parties," often held in living rooms or garages. Some take drone parts home, assembling them in the quiet moments of their evenings, sometimes while watching TV. Before any drone is shipped out, it undergoes a rigorous flight test—a final check to ensure it will perform as needed on the battlefield.
For many of the volunteers, the work is deeply personal. Sviatoslav Harasymchuk, a Ukrainian living in Belgium, described his feelings to NPR: "I feel that I am still not doing enough because there are people there that are giving their lives. And I'm just giving, like, one day of the week, and it is nothing. It doesn't matter. So, yeah, I still think that I can do more. And, yeah, I think that other people can also do more." His words echo the sense of urgency and responsibility that motivates the group, even as they acknowledge the limitations of their contributions.
Bart Trakymas, another organizer, worries that too many Europeans see the war as distant or irrelevant. He insists that supporting Ukraine now is not just an act of solidarity but a matter of self-preservation for Europe as a whole. "We need to ensure that Ukrainians have enough tools to defend themselves in Europe, and then we have no other war. Otherwise, we'll have another war deeper in Europe," Trakymas explained. His perspective highlights a broader concern: that the conflict, while geographically contained for now, has the potential to spill over if not addressed decisively.
The impact of Wings for Europe’s efforts is tangible. Videos from Ukrainian soldiers, posted on the group’s social media and fundraising pages, express gratitude for the drones and the lifeline they represent. In one recorded message, a Ukrainian soldier says, "Our gratitude to Wings for Europe for those drones. Really appreciate your help. Merci beaucoup pour les drones." Such acknowledgments fuel the volunteers’ resolve, reminding them that their weekend hobby is saving lives on the other side of the continent.
Delivering the drones is a logistical challenge, but sometimes, help comes from unexpected quarters. Members of the European Parliament have, on occasion, hand-carried the drones to Kyiv during official visits, ensuring they reach their intended recipients swiftly and securely. This direct involvement by European officials underscores the growing recognition of grassroots initiatives like Wings for Europe and their role in supporting Ukraine’s defense efforts.
The group’s work has also fostered a sense of community among Belgians and Ukrainian refugees alike. Donors to the nonprofit receive handmade gifts—origami thank-you notes crafted by Ukrainian refugee children living in Belgium. These small tokens, often shaped as hearts with arms outstretched, serve as poignant reminders of the human connections forged through acts of generosity and solidarity. According to NPR, these gestures have become a cherished part of the group’s outreach, strengthening the bond between those who give and those who receive.
The story of Wings for Europe is, in many ways, a microcosm of a broader movement across Europe, where ordinary citizens are stepping up to fill gaps left by governments and larger organizations. Their efforts may seem modest compared to the scale of the conflict, but for the soldiers who rely on their drones—and for the volunteers who find purpose and camaraderie in their work—every contribution counts.
While the group prefers to keep certain details private, including the nationalities and workplaces of participants, their commitment is anything but secret. They are driven by a belief that individual actions, when multiplied across communities, can have a profound impact—even in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges.
The war in Ukraine has prompted countless acts of solidarity across Europe, but the story of Wings for Europe stands out for its combination of technical ingenuity, grassroots organizing, and heartfelt personal motivation. As the conflict grinds on, the need for such support remains acute. The group’s model—volunteers gathering in homes, building life-saving equipment, and forging connections across borders—offers a powerful example of how ordinary people can make a difference, even from afar.
As the sun sets over Brussels and another production party wraps up, the volunteers of Wings for Europe pack away their tools, knowing that their handiwork will soon be put to the ultimate test. For them, the hobby has become a calling—one that bridges continents, brings communities together, and, in its own quiet way, pushes back against the darkness of war.
