The Starlink Threat — And How Europe Is Fighting Back.

Autopilot to Mars

Ever heard of issuing a threat and calling it a fact, not a threat?

If I divorce, you will be nothing. I never said I’ll divorce you—I just reminded you how important I am in your life. When you sell a tech that still needs manual supervision as “autopilot,” your dictionary will be unique.

Elon Musk didn’t just try to sabotage Ukraine’s naval drone assault on the Russian Black Sea Fleet by playing with Starlink connectivity—he also called Poland’s foreign minister a “small man,” just to underline how indispensable his satellites have become to the war effort.

It’s an ugly position to be in, but the fact is: Starlink isn’t just helpful to Ukraine—it’s the communications spine of the entire battlefield.

With an estimated +60,000 terminals active, Starlink carries the bulk of Ukraine’s frontline data traffic. Every drone flight, every remote recon op, every encrypted command—surges through those satellites. No Starlink, no coordination. No coordination, no drones. In a war defined by real-time data and autonomous strikes, Musk’s private network is more than a service—it’s a strategic chokepoint.

Today, things have changed. Ukraine is rapidly approaching artillery shell parity with Russia. But six months ago, when Russian forces slammed into the Pokrovsk sector with waves of troops, tanks, glide bombs, and everything else they could throw, it wasn’t artillery that saved Ukraine—it was drones. Ukraine’s drone operations stalled the Russian advance. Without them, Russia would have ground further in. Maybe way further.

Musk knows this. He knows that no one—not the U.S., not Europe, not China—is anywhere close to matching Starlink’s 8,000-satellite low-Earth orbit constellation. And without that kind of scale, no one can touch Starlink’s latency on the battlefield. More satellites mean tighter turnaround, even on high-volume data. That’s what gives Starlink its edge in war: speed, volume, reach.

No substitute.

Not yet.

It’s not just the satellite network. The ground terminals—the hardware that actually connects to those satellites—are just as critical. And only Starlink has the production muscle to push out thousands of them at scale. His competitors aren’t even close. But like most westerners, Elon Musk completely underestimated Europe. Include me in that list.

I wanted Europe to rise. I wanted it badly. But if I’m honest, how much confidence did I have that they actually would? Not much. What’s happening now is on a completely different plane. But back at the start of this year, I wasn’t where I am today. Not even close.

Europe has quietly snapped a neat little lock onto Elon Musk’s ability to toy with Starlink connectivity. It’s not flashy, but it’s effective. France, Germany, and Italy—none of them made grand speeches, but each played a small, deliberate role in cutting off Musk’s oxygen before he could stir up another mess. It’s not foolproof, of course. We’re dealing with a once-in-a-century narcissist—nothing will ever be foolproof. But the intangible containment mechanism they’ve assembled is a hell of a lot better than having nothing at all.

Take Germany. During its latest military aid package announcement for Ukraine at the end of May, Berlin didn’t just say it would support Kyiv with money or equipment. No, it made a point of stating—explicitly—that it would pay directly for Ukraine’s Starlink service. They could’ve just wired the funds and let Ukraine handle the bill. But they didn’t. They made the payment themselves and told the world: we own the Starlink contract for Ukraine now. That wasn’t logistics—it was a message. And let’s not forget: Merz is chancellor, and Germany is where Tesla has one of its flagship manufacturing plants. The symbolism wasn’t accidental.

Italy, meanwhile, has quietly stalled on signing a €1.5 billion Starlink contract. That’s not just a large number—that’s a potential lifeline for a company hemorrhaging trust like butter under a blowtorch. And it’s not about the money alone. If Musk manages to land Italy, it would break the partial chokehold currently throttling Starlink’s entry into the military satellite and government comms markets. Italy would be his wedge back in. But I don’t think Rome’s going to give it to him. Not now. I think they’ll keep talking, sure—keep up appearances—but I also think they’ll keep stalling. And they should.

Keep stalling, Italy. Stall until the Russian war ends.

Then there’s France—perhaps the quietest, but most strategically lethal player in this entire containment architecture. Last week, Paris announced a €717 million injection into Eutelsat, the European satellite operator that’s now shaping up as the continent’s clearest alternative to Starlink. This wasn’t just a symbolic investment. France increased its stake in the company from 13% to 30%, making itself the single most powerful shareholder. At the same time, that capital infusion significantly reduced Eutelsat’s debt burden, freeing it to pour resources into accelerating satellite launches and expanding its low Earth orbit footprint.

But that wasn’t all.

The French government also handed Eutelsat a €1 billion military communications contract—effectively jump-starting its military satellite vertical. With one coordinated push, France gave Eutelsat the financial runway, political backing, and operational relevance to challenge Starlink’s dominance in Europe. This isn’t about matching Starlink’s speed overnight. It’s about building an escape hatch—so that Europe, over time, is no longer at the mercy of a tech CEO who tweets like a troll and treats geopolitical leverage like a game of poker.

Starlink launched its first batch of 60 satellites in May 2019. Since then, it has maintained an aggressive launch cadence. SpaceX’s vertically integrated model—streamlined in-house satellite production paired with regular Falcon 9 launches—allowed it to scale from zero to nearly 8,000 operational satellites in just six years. Eutelsat, by comparison, currently operates around 700.

The gap is real, and it will take years to close.

But now, Eutelsat knows it has Europe’s backing. It knows it will have customers. And it knows exactly how far it still has to go. That clarity changes the game.

Musk no longer has the freedom he had just six months ago—to arbitrarily disrupt Starlink connectivity in Ukraine and tilt the war’s momentum by giving Putin breathing room when the pressure mounts. That window is closing. Europe isn’t just reacting anymore—it’s building structural leverage. A parallel system. A rival constellation. A backup plan with teeth.

And Musk knows it. The days of bluffing the battlefield with satellite signal disruptions and diplomatic tantrums are numbered. The message coming out of Europe is no longer just we won’t be dependent on someone we can’t predict—it’s we’re ready to use our power against anyone who tries to corner us with theirs.

About time.

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