Russia’s withdrawal from Kharkiv — a planned “reconstruction” that some state media have not even dared to mention — is arguably more significant than the earlier collapse of its positions around the Ukrainian capital, Kyiv. These units had been dug in for months, effectively defending their positions — as CNN observed during weeks spent along arterial roads north of Kharkiv — and sometimes literally minutes’ drive from the Russian border . That Moscow could not maintain a force so painfully close to its own territory speaks volumes about the true state of its supply chain and military. It’s almost as if these retreating units ran back into a vacuum, not the nuclear power that in February was expected to overwhelm its neighbor within 72 hours. Second, the Russian units do not appear to have conducted a careful and careful withdrawal. They ran and left behind both armor and valuable remaining supplies of ammunition. The open-source intelligence website Oryx estimated that from Wednesday to Sunday, at least 338 fighter jets or tanks or trucks were left behind. Pockets of Russian troops may remain to harass Ukrainian forces in the coming weeks, but the nature of the front line has changed irrevocably, as has its size. Kyiv is suddenly fighting a much smaller war now, along a much reduced front line, against an enemy that also appears much smaller. Indeed, the Russian military now relies on forced mobilization and POWs for its depleted ranks. Ukraine operated quite a bit, hitting supply routes to cut off already exhausted units, identifying which were the least prepared and manned. It was surprisingly efficient and fast. Whether Ukraine’s counteroffensive becomes decisive depends on how far its forces are now able to push: Would it risk extending territory even further? Or is Ukraine facing an enemy that simply has no more fight? No matter how overhyped Russia’s forces became during the chaotic decades of America’s war on terror, an army that needs North Korean shells and St. Petersburg convicts is at best the minimum force needed to protect itself. of Russia. So what next? Unless we see a remarkable turnaround, Russia’s attempt to capture all of the Donetsk and Luhansk regions is over. Kherson remains the focus of ongoing Ukrainian pressure. And suddenly, returning to the borders Russia stole in 2014 doesn’t seem far-fetched. For months, the wisdom was that Russia would “never let that happen.” But now Crimea looks strangely vulnerable — connected to Russia by the land corridor that runs along the Sea of Azov via the Mariupol coastline and an exposed bridge across the Kerch Strait. What remains of Moscow’s overextended, depleted, undersupplied and equipped forces deeper in Ukraine could face the same deadly encirclement as its supply chain around Kharkiv. However far Kyiv pushes now, we have had a radical change in European security dynamics. Russia is no longer a NATO peer. Last week, Russia was no match for its NATO-armed neighbor — a mostly agricultural and IT power as recently as December — that it has been slowly tormenting for eight years. The UK Ministry of Defense said on Monday that elements of Russia’s First Guards Tank Army — an elite unit meant to defend Moscow against any NATO attack — were part of the chaotic withdrawal from Kharkiv. They ran. NATO member states’ defense budgets have been moving slowly toward the proposed 2% for years. But will those billions really be needed to deal with an army that needed shells from Pyongyang after just six months in Ukraine? It would also be a mistake to misconstrue the silence inside Russia — a few critical analysts, politicians and talk shows aside — as a sign of a brooding, residual power about to be unleashed. This is not a system capable of looking at itself in the mirror. The Kremlin remains quiet on these issues because it cannot face the gulf between its ambitions and rhetoric, and the unruly, hungry mercenaries it appears to have left stranded around Kharkiv. The fact that they don’t talk about their mistakes strengthens them. The Ferris wheel that President Vladimir Putin opened in Moscow over the weekend doesn’t become invisible when it breaks down and can’t turn. The same can be said of the monolithic and uncompromising power that Putin tries to project: when it breaks, it is not private. The most egregious foreign policy mistakes of recent centuries were born of hubris, but Europe faces a series of stark choices now. Do they keep pushing until Russia asks for a peace that leaves its neighbors safe and the energy pipelines open again? Or do they retain the old flawed logic that a humiliated, wounded bear is even more dangerous? Would a potential successor to Putin — not that we know of — seek a rapprochement with Europe and prioritize the Russian economy, or prove his worth in another foolish, hardline act of brutal militarism? This is also a key moment for non-proliferation and nuclear power in the post-Cold War era. What does a nuclear power do when it is vulnerable and lacks convincing conventional power? Russia faces no existential threat now: its borders are intact and its military is hindered only by a wild adventure of choice. But it appears close to the limits of its conventional capabilities. It would be an apocalyptic confirmation of the theory of mutually assured destruction that has always governed the age of nuclear weapons if the weapons that could end the world as we know it remain off the table. I would also add to the possibility, raised anew by the West’s undivided support for Ukraine, that the horrors of Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria and Ukraine have not irreparably damaged the West’s moral and strategic compass, and have not yet naive to hope to see these values in action.
