Victory Re-imagined
It has now been 1,200 days since Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine. In the early months, I held onto a vision. I was a volunteer who had fought and worked with several units, and I believed not just in Ukrainian resistance, but in Ukrainian victory. A broken Russian line. A flag raised over Sevastopol. Donetsk, liberated. Crimea, restored. That dream is dead now, or at least in a coma. But that does not mean the war is lost. It means we have to rethink what survival actually looks like.
Ukraine does not need to reclaim every inch of its territory to claim victory. It needs to survive—as a nation, a culture, a language. Whether spoken in formalized, textbook Ukrainian or the hybrid surzhyk of eastern villages, survival is victory. In this, Ukraine’s plight echoes that of Finland during the Winter War of 1939–1940. Then too, a smaller democracy faced down a brutal invasion by a larger imperial force. The Finns lost territory, but retained their sovereignty, and in doing so, earned not just global respect but strategic space to rebuild and endure.
Ukraine today fights a similar war of preservation, not annihilation. Victory, in the near term, lies in avoiding collapse, maintaining national cohesion, and outlasting an enemy whose vision of the future is brittle and propped up by coercion. As in the Finnish example, today’s survival may plant the seeds for tomorrow’s resurgence. But in the present, everything depends on three finite resources: manpower, munitions, and morale. Without them, survival is abstract. With them, it is a statement of defiance—and of future potential.
By mid-2023, Bakhmut had become a byword for slaughter. More than 50,000 casualties in a single city. It was the moment the myth of a short war finally died. The 2023 counteroffensive followed, bolstered by optimism and new Western kit. It failed. Not for lack of bravery, but because the battlefield had shifted. Russia was no longer bumbling into ambushes. They were dug in. Layered defenses, minefields, glide bombs, and a ruthless attritional doctrine.
Disillusioned
When I returned to Ukraine in September 2023 to rejoin Chosen Company, even my own convictions began to erode. The frontline wasn’t just physical—it had seeped into the psyche of the country. In Kyiv, I didn’t see couples carrying flowers; I saw young women wheeling their men through metro stations, amputated and pale, with thousand-yard stares. Hope was there, but thinner, more fragile. No one doubted what they were fighting for, but more and more people were beginning to ask how much longer they could hold out. That question echoed louder with each passing day at the front.
Since then, the war has entered a phase Western analysts hate to admit: static and grinding. By January 2024, I stopped believing in the possibility of a total Ukrainian victory. Crimea? Donbas? Those might be permanent losses for now. In the near term, the idea of reclaiming them by force is implausible. But history isn’t written in 18-month cycles. A future Ukraine, hardened by survival and backed by a reindustrialized West, may yet reclaim what’s been taken—through political leverage, economic realignment, or, eventually, renewed military strength. That time is not now. What matters now is preventing further losses. The Russians are not playing for miles. They are playing for exhaustion: Ukraine’s, the West’s, and their own ability to outlast both.
Trump: Based or Charlatan?
The anticipated inauguration of President Trump in January 2025 was widely believed to signal the collapse of Western military assistance to Ukraine. It didn’t. In a surprise pivot, Trump authorized a massive weapons transfer to the EU, which now acts as a funnel to Ukrainian forces.
The reasons behind this shift remain the subject of speculation. Some suggest Trump grew increasingly frustrated by Putin’s duplicity, particularly the contradictory messages emerging from Moscow’s inner circle. Others argue that the European Union, for the first time, issued a hard diplomatic warning—indicating that American disengagement on Ukraine would compromise future trade and transatlantic security arrangements. Still, there are those close to Trump who claim it was a rare moral recalibration, a moment when the stakes of the war aligned with his desire to be seen as a decisive global leader. Or perhaps it was the deep state reeling him in—a possibility I say only half-joking. The establishment bureaucracy, as I like to call them, has a way of tightening the leash when national interest and legacy hang in the balance. Whatever the calculus, the pivot marked a critical reinforcement of Ukraine’s lifeline and sent a clear message to the Kremlin: American unpredictability would not translate into strategic abandonment.
WW3 Re-imagined
NATO states are now rearming at a pace not seen since the Cold War. Even Australia has joined in, recently transferring 49 M1A1 Abrams tanks. Across allied capitals, the message is unambiguous: this is not just Ukraine’s fight. It is the central front in a broader struggle that may ultimately define the 21st-century global order.
This is a war between systems, not just states. On one side, BRICS-aligned autocracies, with Beijing backing, are betting that the West will grow fatigued, fractured, and self-doubting. On the other side, NATO and its partners are adapting—painfully, slowly—but with resolve. The global order that emerged after World War II is being stress-tested in real time, not only with weapons, but with ideas.
World War I didn’t look like World War II. So why should World War III? This war isn’t just missiles and tanks. It is semiconductor supply chains, drone footage on Telegram, and diplomatic influence from Buenos Aires to Bamako. The terrain is global. The stakes are civilizational. And Ukraine is the flashpoint—the place where narrative and kinetic force converge with devastating clarity. Holding the line here is about far more than a border. It is about whether the 21st century is shaped by coercion or consent.
And that matters, because so is Russia. Moscow hasn’t declared full mobilization, but it hasn’t needed to. Its war economy is ugly, efficient, and designed to survive, but not forever. Western sanctions have cut deep, but not deep enough. Energy revenues are down 16%, yet the Kremlin is still financing the war. It can likely keep going through 2026 but long term speculations are a matter of fierce debate.
That doesn’t mean Russia is winning. It means they’re still in the fight. And they believe Ukraine’s manpower gap will be their opening. Ukraine has exhausted the volunteer phase. Mobilization videos show men dragged into vans, their screams filmed and shared online. What remains is a draft fueled by fear, not patriotism. It’s not sustainable.
The Current State of Affairs
But then again, neither is Russia’s fantasy of a breakthrough. Russia’s summer 2025 push has intensified, and Pokrovsk is now on the verge of falling. Russian forces have advanced to within 2 kilometers of the city center, with sustained pressure from glide bombs, FPV drones, motorcycle dragoon assault squads, and massed artillery. Ukrainian brigades defending the area are overstretched, and while reinforcements have been dispatched, local officials have begun evacuating civilians, signaling a grim acknowledgment of the battlefield reality.
Kostiantynivka remains under threat as well, with Russian units probing its flanks, though the tempo there has slowed due to logistical constraints.
While Russia may be gaining ground in certain sectors, its advances come at staggering cost. Ukraine has adopted what I call an Integrated Drone Attrition strategy—a defense-in-depth model that fuses FPV drones, aerial ISR, fixed-wing surveillance, and electronic warfare into a layered kill zone. Every approach is surveyed. Every armored column is pre-registered. Russian forces are bleeding heavily to claim villages that barely qualify as dots on a map.
Ukraine may not be winning in the traditional sense, but it is making Russia bleed for every wheat field it tries to seize. This is not a war of sweeping breakthroughs. It is a war where Russia, far from being the conqueror of civilizations, is reduced to a razer that stumbles and hemorrhages at the edge of any settlement larger than a few goats and a babushka with a bottle of Kvass. In Kharkiv, the situation remains precarious but more stable; Russia has not made significant territorial gains, but its strikes on infrastructure and persistent feints are forcing Ukraine to divert resources from other fronts.
No Easy Peace, No Final Line
Russia’s near-certain capture of Pokrovsk marks more than a tactical victory. It signals a strategic shift. For the first time since the early months of the invasion, Moscow is poised to take a regionally significant Ukrainian city. This is not merely symbolic—it’s a material blow to Ukraine’s defensive posture in Donetsk oblast and a potential morale shock across the wider front. Far from stalling, Russia’s summer 2025 campaign appears increasingly successful, applying pressure not only on the battlefield but in the global perception of momentum. It reinforces the Kremlin’s message that time and blood are on their side, and it challenges the West to treat this not as a slow war, but as one with real inflection points and consequences.
Meanwhile, the shadow war rages. Ukrainian special operations have struck deep into Russian territory: assassinations, factory fires, rail sabotage. Russia retaliates with sleeper agents, cyberattacks, and attempted destabilization campaigns across the former Soviet bloc. In Georgia, pro-Kremlin factions are on the move. In Africa, French-backed and Russian-backed militias clash in proxy battles. This war doesn’t end with a peace treaty. It metastasizes.
Inside Russia, generals keep dying in mysterious circumstances. Inside Ukraine, every successful assassination is a reminder: the war is global, hybrid, and unending. The shooting may one day stop, but the conflict won’t. What Ukraine needs is a military stalemate and a political, intelligence, and economic advantage.
Let’s also be clear: regime change in Kyiv was Russia’s goal. It failed. That failure has symbolic and strategic value. Ukraine exists. It fights in its own name. It bleeds and rebuilds. That alone is a defeat for Putin.
The Cost of Conviction
The war has changed my understanding of victory over time. There were moments when the human suffering was so stark it eclipsed any sense of purpose. Friends killed. Comrades torn apart by shrapnel—once full of swagger and conviction, now forced to live with a colostomy bag and only two working limbs. I carry a degree of guilt and disillusionment. I’ve asked myself whether it was all worth it. Was I just cheering on death from the sidelines of an unending grind?
But my resolve has sharpened, not in spite of that suffering, but because of the time I spent reflecting on it. After the NYT scandal, I underwent intensive psychiatric rehabilitation, and I still reflect on it daily. That period forced a reckoning—not with my convictions, but with the cost. I emerged with fewer illusions, but more clarity. This war is ugly. But some things still have to be fought for, even if the price is unbearable.
And to be clear: I stand by what I said about Chosen Company. They did, in fact, kill prisoners of war. I denounce those actions unequivocally.
Still, Ukraine will not reclaim all of its territory. Some of it is already lost. And insisting otherwise is fantasy—a fantasy that drains resources and lives. Holding the current line through 2026 is not defeat. It is the foundation for whatever comes next.
A frozen conflict is not capitulation. It is consolidation. It allows for rebuilding, retraining, and rearming. It shifts the war from territory to tempo. Russia wants to force Ukraine into uncomfortable terms. Ukraine wants to avoid collapse. Both are still far from achieving either.
Western pundits who call for the collapse of the Russian Federation should be careful what they wish for. A failed nuclear state is not a victory condition. It is a nightmare: warlords with tactical nukes, generals with nothing to lose, chaos from Poland to the Bering Strait. That is not strategy. That is delusion.
What matters now is clarity. Strategic patience. Political realism. And support that doesn’t hinge on fantasies of regime change or parades in Sevastopol.
No Room for Fantasy—Only Real Aid
This support must be more than rhetorical. Despite the billions in Western aid packages, many frontline units still rely on direct funding for drones, night vision, communications gear, and even basic resupply. These peer-to-peer transactions often blitz past layers of government bureaucracy—because as you can imagine, going from Uncle Sam, a bureaucratic monster in its own right, to a post-Soviet institution still riddled with legacy inefficiencies, things take time. And let’s be real: corruption is still a factor. Direct veteran-led initiatives bypass that gridlock and get critical aid into the hands of soldiers days, not weeks, faster. I don’t weigh endorsements lightly, but I have seen the impact these grassroots veteran-led initiatives can have. I was helped by volunteers who came through when the system didn’t—they delivered drones, spare parts, and the kind of hands-on support that never shows up in a State Department spreadsheet.
One such effort is led by Preston Stewart, a U.S. veteran who has consistently supported Ukrainian units with integrity and clear purpose. His initiative, Preston for Ukraine, delivers verified, targeted support directly to the soldiers who need it most. If you’re looking for a way to help that cuts through bureaucracy and gets gear to the front, I recommend supporting his efforts. Alternatively, feel free to reach out to me on X, and I’ll connect you with a legitimate warfighter.
We need more than slogans. We need sustained material support at the ground level—and the veteran community is uniquely positioned to deliver it.
Ukraine is still here. That’s not nothing. In this war, that’s everything.
What Will Not Be
I do not know where the final lines will be drawn. But I know where they will not be. They will not include a Russian Kharkiv—or ‘Kharkov,’ if you go by the Kremlin’s terms. They will not include Dnipropetrovsk flying a Russian flag. They will not include Russians storming Kyiv.
At some point, NATO will draw a line. Until then, Ukraine is drawing it in blood. This war is ugly. It is tragic. And my friends have paid the price for it. My good friend Joel Stremski paid the ultimate sacrifice, holding a trench line as Russian troops overran it. His death will not be in vain.
War is ugly. The human condition is flawed. Humanity is a word invented by a species ashamed of its history. But we will not be ashamed of our aid to Ukraine. And perhaps, even Donald Trump now understands that.