The war in Ukraine has been a grim lesson in modern attrition warfare. It is not a matter of old-fashioned lightning offensives but of slow buildups in which the battle is won – or, rather, not lost – in one’s ability to absorb punishment, exchange gear, and stay on the move. To accustomed eyes, the parallels are hard to ignore. From east to west across Ukraine, trenchlines, minefields, and cannons dominate the terrain, with both sides dug in to bloody fights that gain little ground.
The numbers do the talking. As much as the propaganda from Moscow demands it’s got the initiative in hand, Russia’s advances have been agonizingly incremental. Observers have noted that in cities such as Kharkiv, Russian forces cover a mere 50 meters of ground per day—an advance even less rapid than the infamous Somme campaign of 1916. In Donetsk, where their advance has been marginally quicker, the average per day remains around 135 meters. At the start of the war, Russia swept across vast tracts of territory in a matter of weeks, but since January 2024, those wide gains have receded to under 5,000 square kilometers, a quarter of the size of Ukraine’s land mass.
The cost has been horrific. Russia alone lost over a thousand armoured vehicles, thousands of infantry combat vehicles, hundreds of artillery pieces, and nearly two thousand tanks since January 2024. Losses always run two to five times higher in Ukraine’s favour, with Russian losses adding up. Human losses are worse, too. Russian accounts put the nation at almost a million casualties, hundreds of thousands dead, a toll greater than its combined Afghanistan and Chechnya costs.
Why so many casualties? Much of it is due to Russia’s employment of attrition warfare. After the initial 2022 blitz failed, Moscow switched to grinding assaults based on saturation artillery bombardment, massed infantry charges, and sheer-force pounding. Insufficiently trained soldiers are typically committed forward in waves, probing Ukrainian defenses, provoking counterfire, and exposing themselves to artillery or drone attack. While such tactics sometimes yield small gains, they are horribly expensive in manpower and equipment, with minimal scope for maneuver and practically no chance for fundamental breakthroughs.
Ukraine, by contrast, has mastered the technique of layered defense. Bunkered trenches, minefields, tank fences, and carefully sited artillery create a depth of defense that is costly to each Russian advance. Western-equipped systems like HIMARS have helped allow Ukraine to target ammunition dumps, logistics bases, and command posts deep in the rear. The result is a battlefield on which even modest Russian advances are weeks of fighting and a mountain of materiel away.
Amidst the grind, Western aid is the defining force of the direction of the war. The most visible face of that support, perhaps, is the transfer of F-16 fighter planes. More than extremely sophisticated aircraft, the F-16s are a demonstration of Ukraine’s stronger integration into the norms of NATO and a transformation over time in the orientation of resources within its military.
These jets can extend Ukraine’s reach, counter Russian air power, and fight for control of the skies in a way Soviet aircraft can only imagine. To make them a game-changer, though, is more than equipment. It involves training pilots, maintenance personnel backing them up, and changing doctrine to Western jets, all time-and money-intensive. Estimates are that Ukraine will require many more jets—almost 200, compared to 60—to effectively change the balance in the skies.
Air superiority has always been the determinant of contemporary war. Without it, ground attacks grind to a halt under the constant fear of bombing from the air. Ukraine and Russia are currently in some kind of air stand-off, with neither side taking command. The entry into the conflict of F-16s, with modern radars and advanced missiles, could tip that balance by blunting Russia’s excessive reliance on helicopters, glide bombs, and clouds of drones. History has shown that the party that controls the skies—whether in the Middle East or in Desert Storm—is dictating the pace of the land war.
The challenges are real. Being trained to NATO standards cannot be done quickly, and it takes enormous logistics to maintain such advanced fighter jets at a war tempo. Ukraine will have to blend Western doctrine with Ukrainian combat heritage to derive the best from these aircraft. However, transitioning to NATO-standard equipment has already made the Ukrainian military more adaptable and resilient, laying the ground for an army that can endure a long war.
In the coming years, the war will be won less on surprise attacks and more on who can survive the grind. Ukraine’s survival will depend on a steady supply of Western weapons, money, and the ability to rebuild losses on the battlefield. Russia, meanwhile, is wagering that it can demoralize Western political will through exhaustion of Ukraine’s allies. In such a race, production, stamina, and quantity are as vital as valour in the trenches.
The outcome, then, will hinge on more than military strategy. It will be a question of whether Ukraine and its allies have the will to keep waging an attritional war, and whether Russia has the resources to maintain the titanic costs of its current strategy. In a battle where every meter is purchased in steel and blood, it will be the power of endurance—and the determination of allies—that will ultimately decide the future.