Military stalemate: Why Russia is not winning the war of attrition and what this means for all sides

The power of ‘framing’: how perceptions of the Russia-Ukraine war has changed

Donald Trump’s unexpected outburst, calling Russia a 'paper tiger' and now claiming that Ukraine has a chance of regaining its occupied territories by military means, appears to be a complete reversal of the rhetoric he promoted during the first six months of his presidency. Since February, Trump had been assuring Volodymyr Zelensky that he had 'no cards in his hand', that Russia held a clear advantage and would continue to advance on the battlefield. Therefore, he argued, it was better to appease Putin and make concessions, so as not to waste more Ukrainian territory and lives in vain.

On one hand, this U-turn by the MAGA president builds on his earlier lamentations about Putin failing to meet his expectations. Trump’s springtime hopes for a quick 'deal at Ukraine’s expense' collapsed, and now he is threatening Putin with military defeat almost as fiercely as he threatened Zelensky with it in the spring. Cynics point out that Trump’s outburst came immediately after a meeting with Zelensky, just as his conviction of Ukraine’s inevitable defeat in the spring grew stronger after conversations with Putin.

However, there is another factor explaining the difference between Trump’s two interpretations of the course of the war. In the spring, Putin’s 2025 offensive was still to come. Fears of a collapse of the Ukrainian front due to a manpower shortage peaked by May. At the same time, Ukraine’s European allies were pushing the idea of a ceasefire as a first step towards negotiations, which is a reflection of their doubts about the resilience of Ukraine’s defence.

At present, most of the time allotted for Russia’s 2025 offensive has passed. And although a Russian strike remains possible, and Ukrainian military officials point out that the enemy has amassed significant forces (→ Re:Russia: On The Eve of a ‘Decisive Breakthrough’), there is less and less time to build on any possible success with each passing week.The likelihood that this year’s offensive will fail to achieve its objectives, just as last year’s did, is growing. And this fact is reshaping the broader picture of the conflict.

Since late 2023, Russia’s army has focused on capturing the remaining parts of Donbas. Yet, after nearly two years of fighting, it has seized a mere 6,500 square kilometres – a figure so small that soon even infants will know it by heart. Meanwhile, each year of offensive operations costs Russia roughly 8–10% of its GDP ($160–200 billion) and around 350,000 casualties, killed and wounded. The idea that such an offensive is more of a defeat than a victory has become increasingly popular among analysts in recent months. And now, the world’s most famous blogger has made it 'common knowledge'.

In fact, four years of the Russia-Ukraine war present a fascinating picture of several such shifts in 'common knowledge', which set the framework for understanding the war and its possible outcomes. At the outset, Russia’s military superiority appeared absolute and unquestionable. Putin’s plan to conquer Ukraine was built on this assumption. It was expected that, faced with such overwhelming force, the Ukrainian army would simply refuse to fight — just as the Georgian army had done in 2008, and the Ukrainian forces themselves in 2014. However, by the early summer of 2022, it became clear not only that the army with which Putin invaded Ukraine was unprepared for a real war, but also that he did not have an army capable of fighting such a war at all. The Ukrainian autumn counteroffensive, which confirmed this, fostered the belief that another Ukrainian strike, supported by Western weapons, could decide the conflict in Ukraine’s favour.

But the situation shifted once again in 2023. The failed Ukrainian counteroffensive demonstrated that Putin had succeeded in stabilising the command structure, found a formula for effectively replenishing manpower, and established production of munitions and military equipment. From that point on, the primary framework for understanding the conflict became the notion of a 'war of attrition'. True, Russia’s army did not possess undisputed superiority at the start of the war and, to a large extent, proved to be that 'paper tiger'. However, now that Putin had built a functioning, if imperfect, military machine, the balance of power was expected to tip in his favour. Ukrainian forces, the logic went, would be exhausted sooner, and in the end, Russia would achieve almost what it had failed to achieve with its initial blitzkrieg, albeit in a Ukraine devastated and ravaged by war. This was the logic underpinning the 'war of attrition' concept.

Why Ukraine has not lost the ‘war of attrition’

Trump’s remarks mark the end of a two-year period during which this conceptual framework, and the narratives built around it, dominated. Over those two years, Putin has failed to achieve the expected results. This means that since the beginning of the war, he has been unable to build a military machine powerful enough to establish a sustainable advantage. And the state of the Russian economy suggests that he is unlikely to do so in the foreseeable future.

The assumption that Russia would inevitably win a 'war of attrition' rested on two premises: its advantage in manpower and in economic potential. Yet Putin’s reluctance to conduct large-scale forced mobilisation, coupled with the rise of drone technology, has prevented Russia from fully exploiting either. Russia now loses roughly as many troops killed and wounded each month as it recruits on commercial contracts – while being forced to continually raise the premium for such contracts. The 'drone curtain' has largely neutralised Moscow’s numerical advantage, and those same drone technologies have made warfare significantly cheaper, reducing the importance of Russia’s economic superiority. If the war had remained, as expected, an infantry-and-tank conflict like those of the 20th century, Ukraine would probably have had no chance. But thanks to drones, heavy armour has been largely removed from the balance-of-power equation (just as earlier, Western air-defence systems had helped Ukraine mostly neutralise Russia’s advantage in the skies).

From a purely military point of view, the inevitability of a stalemate was argued as early as November 2023 by the former Commander-in-Chief of the Ukrainian Armed Forces, Valerii Zaluzhnyi, in an article written for The Economist. As in the First World War, Zaluzhnyi claimed, the technological capabilities of both sides had reached a point where a breakthrough offensive was impossible without a new technological leap in the means of warfare. Yet his words were not taken literally, and it took two years for this conclusion to become persuasive to politicians.

However, another key pillar of the 'war of attrition' framework was the question of political will. Specifically, the ability to sustain the necessary level of resource mobilisation. A crucial variable in the equation of victory was continued Western economic and military support for Ukraine. The Kremlin’s calculations assumed that, once Trump refused to provide such aid, Europe would not dare shoulder the entire burden or, if it tried, that doing so would deepen its political crisis and split the European community.

Although the threat of such an outcome has by no means disappeared, the critical year of 2025 has been financed, and this too has become an important factor in derailing the Kremlin’s 'second-wave victory plan'. Moreover, Europe’s forced and legally dubious decision to use frozen Russian assets as a loan to Ukraine, backed by future Russian reparations (a decision likely to be finalised this week), lays the foundations for funding Ukraine’s military effort next year.

If, as Trump insisted this spring, Putin once held strong cards, by autumn it has become clear that they are closer to sevens and eights than queens, kings, or aces.

Military stalemate: consequences and challenges

Thus, a military stalemate is now the new overarching framework for understanding the current phase of the conflict. Russia is losing the war in the sense that it has failed to achieve its objectives, which is an undeniable defeat for a 'great power' that has also sacrificed its positions in global markets and the international division of labour for the sake of those goals. This will undermine many of the arguments advanced by opponents of military aid to Ukraine, strengthen the resolve of Ukrainian society, and serve as an important signal for reinforcing the sanctions coalition, encouraging greater compliance from countries outside it. This is especially true now that the profit margins from sanctions evasion are shrinking as global markets adapt to the reduced share of Russian exports. This process is most visible in two of Russia’s most crucial export sectors: oil and gas, and metallurgy.

This new understanding of the conflict’s framework also radically changes the agenda for any potential peace talks. The demands Russia was making as recently as the spring are now irrelevant, even in a reduced form. The main bargaining chip underpinning them – a promised, devastating summer offensive – is rapidly turning into a pumpkin. The only real basis for possible negotiations, not for peace, but for a freeze in the conflict (since neither side is prepared to accept the current outcome), is mutual recognition that neither can change the front line at present.

To overturn this new perception, Putin would have to commit to yet another year of offensive operations in Donbas and finally demonstrate his military superiority during that campaign. But unlike this year, success in such an endeavour would be considered highly unlikely, a factor that would inevitably affect both the domestic political climate and the international context.

At the same time, Russia’s fiscal situation is deteriorating. Over the past three years, government revenues have averaged 90% of expenditures, and over the last five months, that figure has fallen to 80%. If oil prices and export volumes decline further, revenue could fall to 70–75%, pushing the budget deficit to 5–6 trillion roubles. The problem is not only the size of the deficit, but also the fact that it would mark the fifth consecutive year of structural shortfall. The planned tax increases, in an optimistic scenario, will raise only around 1.2–1.5 trillion roubles, covering just a third to a quarter of the deficit, while exacerbating the economic slowdown caused by falling export revenues (→ Re: Russia: Military Style VAT). And despite occasional claims to the contrary, Russia has little capacity to increase borrowing. It cannot borrow externally, and raising such amounts domestically is highly unrealistic.

Meanwhile, if the war continues, keeping spending at the planned level will be difficult. As a result, total budget expenditure will have risen by around 85% compared with 2021 – about 45% in real terms. In this scenario, we believe Russia’s public finances will fall into deep crisis by the end of next year. And even if the Kremlin achieves its elusive goal of capturing the remainder of Donbas, Putin’s regime will be more vulnerable than it is today.

The newly announced tax hikes by the Russian authorities may not indicate a decision to wage another year of offensive warfare. They can just as easily be interpreted as a decision to embark on a long-term course of militarising the economy and expanding the role of the state amid what is likely to be a prolonged period of declining export revenues.

Should the war enter a trench-warfare phase, where neither side halts hostilities but neither attempts a serious shift in the front line (a transition that, to some extent, may already have occurred), both sides will retain the ability to inflict damage through missile and drone strikes. Although Russia’s resources currently exceed Ukraine’s in this area, Moscow’s threshold for pain and humiliation is far lower than Kyiv’s, and Ukraine’s strike capabilities will expand as European and Ukrainian defence production ramps up.

Putin’s 'mirror response' at this stage is to create a direct military threat to Europe itself. Now that the narrative of Ukraine’s inevitable defeat in a 'war of attrition' no longer holds, the argument that military support for Kyiv is pointless has lost its force. The new argument centres on the threat of direct conflict with Russia, for which Europe currently has no clear answer. However, such escalation and brinkmanship could backfire: if Europe’s fear leads to mobilisation of voters rather than paralysis of will, it will strengthen European politicians’ case for increased defence spending.

The 'war of attrition' has turned out to be a double-edged sword — thanks to Ukraine’s courage, the resilience of the European coalition, and, of course, the drones.