When Support Shifted the War
I remember my first drone operation in Ukraine in 2022. The lines in Kharkiv oblast were mostly static, carved into the ground after months of fighting. Yet that day the front fell quiet in a way I had not seen. A fresh American shipment of HIMARS had struck Russian logistics hubs and ammunition stores, and for a brief stretch the pressure eased. Soldiers who lived under constant threat could breathe; foreign volunteers like me felt something close to optimism. U.S. support had changed the battlefield, and it suggested Ukraine’s defense was not a lonely endeavor.
That feeling is difficult to find now. The HIMARS window revealed what sustained American backing might have achieved if delivered rapidly and without hesitation. Russian units faltered when Ukraine had the tools it needed. But the momentum faded as delays and policy caution set in. Moscow rebuilt its capacity to strike, and the advantage created by early American aid gradually closed.
What has ebbed is not only battlefield initiative but confidence in long-term American commitment. Ukrainian soldiers speak about it openly. Foreign volunteers do as well. The fear is no longer just that Washington may slow support. It may press President Volodymyr Zelensky into accepting terms shaped by Moscow’s interests rather than Ukraine’s own. What began as frustration with slow timelines has grown into anxiety that the next phase may be one of abandonment.
From Hesitation to Pressure
That concern sharpened recently as European leaders gathered in London with Mr. Zelensky to discuss Washington’s latest peace framework. Privately, many worry that the United States is preparing to push Kyiv toward a settlement that would lock in Russian gains and grant the Kremlin what it could not win outright. For those still fighting, this is not a distant diplomatic exercise. It is a direct threat to everything they have already given.
These worries stem from choices made this year. Early in his return to office, President Trump froze security assistance and restricted intelligence sharing, steps that disrupted Ukrainian planning within days. Paired with the freeze in aid and limits on intelligence sharing, the tone of Mr. Trump’s early meetings with Mr. Zelensky this year carried a blunt implication: Ukraine’s sovereignty was no longer a priority, perhaps not even its survival. For those under fire, these were not abstract signals; they shaped daily calculations about whether Washington still saw Ukraine’s fate as tied to its own interests.
Other policy signals reinforced the unease. The new 29-page National Security Strategy reads less like a blueprint for leadership than a controlled preparation for reducing America’s role in Europe. Meanwhile, a 28-point peace proposal circulated by Trump allies called for Ukraine to surrender territory it still controls. Its lead negotiator, Steve Witkoff, a real estate developer turned envoy, was later recorded advising his Russian counterpart on how to frame the plan to appeal to the president. To soldiers in the field, this does not resemble diplomacy; it looks like alignment with an adversary’s goals.
What Ukraine Means for America
There is a deeper contradiction at the heart of these choices. Many in the MAGA movement argue that U.S. strategy must focus on countering China. Yet this war began under the shadow of the Beijing Olympics in 2022, when Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping announced a partnership “without limits.” China has sustained Russia’s war through energy purchases, trade channels, and financial mechanisms that blunt sanctions. A Russian victory, or a settlement imposed under pressure, would not weaken China. It would strengthen it. A fractured European security architecture would give Beijing greater leverage across markets and supply chains. To argue that withdrawing support from Ukraine allows the United States to focus on China misunderstands how closely these challenges are connected.
Ukrainian officers understand this clearly. So do European leaders preparing for what may follow. They know a coerced settlement will not stabilize the continent. It will signal that borders in Europe can be rewritten by force and then ratified by diplomacy if the timing aligns with shifts in Washington.
I have served in three wars. I know what it looks like when a partner stands firm and when one steps back. I watched the latter in Afghanistan. Colleagues I served with in Kabul were left behind during the fall of the city, and many remain there today with no realistic path to resettlement. That experience shadows my time in Ukraine. American credibility lives in supply chains, training missions, intelligence networks, and the quiet assurances that let smaller nations resist larger ones. When that credibility weakens, the consequences surface first where the cost is measured in lives.
The Ukrainians fighting today are not asking the United States to carry their burden. They are asking for clarity. They want to know whether the country that once created a rare quiet in Kharkiv still believes in the alliances that made that possible, or whether it is prepared to accept a world in which authoritarians meet fewer restraints.
What happens to Ukraine will not remain in Ukraine. It will shape the balance of power in Europe and Asia, influence how China and Russia act in the next crisis, and determine what American commitments mean in the years ahead. For those of us who once stood in the mud, watching the sky and believing our country was behind us, the question now is whether that belief still matches reality.
Benjamin Reed
American Veteran
