The Daily Populous Sunday June 28th, 2026 day edition
Authored by foreignpolicy.com and submitted by Tall_Pressure7042

In relative terms, the attrition losses are even more staggering. By some accounts , Russia is now incurring eight men killed or seriously wounded for every one lost by Ukraine. With average monthly casualties running at more than 30,000 this year, the Russian army is struggling to replace them with fresh recruits. It is offering sign-up bonuses as high as $80,000, and up to $140,000 in debt relief to encourage more men to enlist.

These are tricky times for Russian President Vladimir Putin. The “special military operation” he launched against Ukraine in 2022, intended to last a few days until a puppet regime in Kyiv could be installed, has now gone on longer than both the Soviet fight against Nazi Germany and all of World War I. His forces have long ceased making significant gains on the battlefield; some data even suggest that Russian forces lost territory in April and May. What gains the Russians have made have come at enormous cost: Last month, Anna Keast-Butler, the director of British intelligence agency GCHQ, cited new intelligence indicating that Russian war deaths had likely reached almost half a million; various Western sources put total Russian casualties at significantly more than 1 million.

Those who do have little to look forward to. According to Russian military bloggers, the average life expectancy of a new recruit—from arrival at a training ground to death in a combat zone—lies somewhere between 10 days and three weeks. Once they are sent onto the battlefield, Russian fighters survive an average of 20 to 35 minutes. Much of the reason for this is the extraordinary shift in battlefield technology and tactics—in particular, the ways that drones have become the primary killing machines in this war, with stark implications for the future of combat in other parts of the world.

More ominously for Putin, the mood in Russia is changing. For years, most Russians supported the invasion of Ukraine because of the relentless patriotic news they’ve been subjected to by Kremlin-controlled media and the limited impact that the war had on most Russians’ daily lives. Now, however, Ukraine has brought the war home to Russia. Kyiv’s new, domestically produced long-range drones, such as the FP-1, FP-2 , and Hornet, are proving extremely effective in hurting Russia economically, strategically, and psychologically. Ukraine now regularly strikes targets deep inside Russia, including a massive attack on Moscow in mid-June that has apparently disabled the Russian capital’s largest oil refinery until 2027.

Besides military targets such as airfields and missile launchers, a particular focus of Ukraine’s deep strike campaign has been Russian oil refineries, pipelines, energy export infrastructure, and fuel depots. Reuters estimates that Ukrainian drones have reduced refining capacity by 700,000 barrels per day. Russian bloggers—virtually the last element of somewhat free expression in Russia— are up in arms as they realize that Russia is much more defenseless than the Kremlin had them believe.

There have been other dramatic attacks. On the first morning of the St. Petersburg International Economic Forum in early June, Ukrainian drones attacked an oil terminal in the city. Huge plumes of black smoke were plainly visible to guests arriving at the conference. Three days later—and again on June 20—drones hit the Antipinsky oil refinery in Tyumen, western Siberia, which converts around 160,000 barrels of oil to fuel per day. It is more than 1,000 miles from the front line. Facilities as far away as Vladivostok and Sakhalin have started to invest in anti-drone defense . Nowhere in Russia, it now seems, is safe.

Russians are feeling increasing economic pain. New reports of fuel rationing and other shortages are a regular occurrence. In Russian-occupied Crimea, fuel supplies are so low that the authorities have suspended sales to the public; in Russia itself, more than half of the country’s regions have started rationing fuel. The country’s diesel output fell by a further 10 percent in May , and Moscow has temporarily banned gasoline exports— likely as a result of the Ukrainian refinery strikes, which have hurt Moscow’s ability to benefit from the high oil prices caused by the U.S.-Israeli war on Iran.

Ukraine’s drone attacks have put pressure on an already war-strained economy. Earlier this year, Germany’s Federal Intelligence Service reported that Russian military spending already accounts for half of Russia’s entire state budget, significantly more than the Kremlin has publicly acknowledged. Thomas Nilsson, head of Sweden’s Military Intelligence and Security Service, assessed that the Russian economy “can only enter one of two scenarios: long-term decline or shock.” Either one, he said, leads to “financial disaster.”

A paved waterfront walkway under an overcast sky. In the foreground, a person walks two small dogs on long leashes, while another person nearby stands looking across the water. In the background across the water, an industrial facility emits an enormous, billowing plume of dark black smoke that stretches high into the cloudy sky.

In April, Russian Central Bank Governor Elvira Nabiullina warned of high inflation and “almost permanent” economic “deterioration.” She added that Russia faces a labor shortage for the first time in modern history—not least due to so many men killed, maimed, or fighting in the war. Senior government officials have acknowledged that deep government spending cuts are inevitable.

Other parts of the economy do not look promising, either: Residential real estate construction fell by almost 40 percent in the first three months of this year compared to the same period in 2025. Demand for commercial warehouse space fell by about the same amount. The number of canceled civilian passenger flights has quadrupled since the start of the year. Rising withdrawals from commercial bank accounts are another cause for concern.

Earlier this month, rumors swirled around Moscow that Nabiullina might be replaced because her warnings are unacceptable to Putin. To fill state coffers, oligarchs have made “voluntary contributions” to Russia’s war chest; officials expect this to bring in an estimated $4 billion by the end of 2026. This month, the Kremlin also confiscated the assets of Rusagro founder Vadim Moshkovich, worth over $7 billion. These are warning signals that will go down badly with those close to Putin: Elite shows of solidarity are one thing, but being hit hard in the pocket is another.

A man in a dark suit lays a red flower onto a long stone memorial structure. A row of military personnel in dark blue uniforms and peaked caps stands in formation, facing away from the camera and partially obscuring the view of the man.

Unsurprisingly, discontent over Putin’s management of the war is brewing. “Everyone is furious,” an anonymous senior Russian businessman told the Financial Times last month. All are “in full agreement this is a catastrophe,” he said. The Guardian quoted another anonymous business leader who concurred: “[T]here is a growing realisation that utterly senseless, self-destructive decisions keep being made. People who once defended Putin no longer do. Any sense of a future has disappeared.” The only consolation the Guardian’s source offered was that “[n]o one believes everything will suddenly collapse tomorrow.”

The latter assessment is probably correct, but angry Russian bloggers think otherwise. “We are on the verge of dramatic events,” wrote Maxim Kalashnikov earlier his year, asking, “Are we heading towards something like 1917?”—a reference to the revolutionary year in which the Russian Empire fell, the Russian military collapsed in World War I, and the Soviet Union was ushered in.

The discontent expressed by anonymous businessmen, vociferous bloggers, and ordinary citizens is increasingly widespread. Rather than another revolution, what likely lies ahead is that economic pain—along with disenchantment over the war now that the tide is turning against Russia—convinces factions in Moscow that it is time for a new start. Today’s cracks can become tomorrow’s fissures.

As life gets harder, the reality of war starts to bite. In May, for example, Russian financial institutions were granted paramilitary powers—including the right to operate jamming devices and air defense weapons on their rooftops, as well as for banking staff to carry guns to shoot down drones.

Putin, who often invokes Peter the Great and other Russian tsars, has not shown courage, vision, or direction. Instead, he has been playing the role of Nicholas II during World War I: micromanaging the war, disappearing for long spells, and then making bizarre public appearances. Putin’s fears about his personal security—he spends much of his time out of sight, and subjects visitors to much more stringent checks than usual—have been widely reported in Western media.

When he recently turned up at a Moscow hotel to pick up his old teacher for dinner, it may have been intended to show his caring side (and that he was out and about rather than spending all his time in hiding); instead, it came across as out of touch with reality. So did his decision to talk about sauerkraut recipes when Ukrainian drones had just hit a Lukoil refinery in Perm. Being out of sight is one thing, being out of touch another—as Nicholas found out in 1917.

Three military tanks drive in a line along a dusty dirt road through an open field under a cloudy sky. Each tank flies a white, blue, and red horizontal tricolor flag from an antenna. A line of green trees is visible in the background.

A low-angle shot of three soldiers standing outdoors against a blue sky with scattered clouds. The soldiers wear camouflage uniforms, helmets covered in textured foliage, and protective goggles. Each holds a rifle upright over their shoulder.

It can be tempting to overinterpret Kyiv’s new success and confidence. Although Ukraine is in the ascendancy, its chances of recovering significant territories or delivering a knockout blow seem remote. Nevertheless, as things get worse for Russia on the battlefield, in the economy, and for Putin personally, there is the risk that the flailing Russian leader will succumb to drowning man syndrome—when a swimmer in difficulty pushes others under the water in a desperate attempt to stay afloat.

Whenever he has felt cornered during this war, Putin’s recourse has been to threaten further escalation against Ukraine and the West. And so, Moscow’s warnings have once again become more vocal and urgent. At the end of May, Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov warned U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio that Russia would launch “systematic and sustained strikes on facilities serving the needs of the Armed Forces of Ukraine in Kiev, as well as relevant decision-making centres” and warned that Western countries should evacuate their diplomatic staff. (Because they’re familiar with the Kremlin’s threats, they all stayed put.)

After a Russian drone hit an apartment block in Romania, Dmitry Medvedev, the deputy chair of Russia’s Security Council (a presidential advisory body), warned Europeans that they should get used to such incidents. “[T]he citizens of [European Union] states, as the population of the belligerent countries, will not be able to sleep peacefully,” he warned . This kind of rhetoric is par for Medvedev’s course, too.

Rattling sabers is often a sign of limited leverage. But while few Russia watchers take the Kremlin’s threats of nuclear escalation seriously, the fact that Putin formally revised the country’s official nuclear doctrine at the end of 2024—significantly lowering the threshold for the use of such weapons while also declaring that aggression by a non-nuclear state against Russia could set off nuclear retaliation if that state is supported by a nuclear power—was clearly intended to send a warning. Russia has also long dropped hints that it has stationed nuclear weapons in Belarus, although some commentators have treated these hints with skepticism.

In May, the Russian Ministry of Defense announced that Russian and Belarusian army units had begun joint exercises that included preparations for nuclear weapons use. The purpose of these exercises, the statement said, was to preempt alleged Western aggression in response to “provocative statements and threats made by certain Western officials against the Russian Federation.”

Playing up fears of a NATO plot to attack Russia has been a hallmark of the Kremlin playbook since Putin came to power more than 25 years ago. But it is being articulated ever more forcefully as Russia’s war in Ukraine goes from bad to worse. At the end of May, Russian Foreign Intelligence Service Director Sergei Naryshkin claimed that “hypocritical and treacherous Albion” was behind a plan for NATO to attack Russia—a claim that is out of kilter with the current capabilities of the British armed forces.

Shrill warnings also characterized this year’s St. Petersburg forum, where successive speakers talked in terms of apocalyptic showdowns with the West, of decades of war ahead, and of the assessment that the war in Ukraine “will end either with Russia’s victory or it will never end.”

A close-up shot of a man sitting at a light-colored table, looking toward the camera with a serious expression. He is wearing a dark suit jacket, a white shirt, and a dark red tie. A striped black-and-orange ribbon pin is attached to his lapel, and a thin microphone wire rests near his ear.

Putin no longer has an easy way out. The war is financially, demographically, and politically unaffordable, as reflected by rising domestic discontent. At the same time, the transformation of the economy into one that builds and fuels a war machine also means that cutting defense expenditure, not to mention agreeing to a settlement with Ukraine, would cause its own problem: Since military spending is just about the only thing powering growth, reducing that expenditure would lead to a sharp economic contraction, not to mention hit Putin’s cronies getting rich off state procurement.

Although Putin regularly says he is willing to negotiate, he shows no sign of readiness to compromise. He has repeatedly rejected peace proposals from U.S. President Donald Trump, even though those proposals were more favorable to Russia than Ukraine. Putin’s goal remains to subjugate all of Ukraine in one way or another, denying it the ability to act as a sovereign state.

Putin will do what it takes to stay in power—not least since the consequences of his stepping down or being forced to step down are unforeseeable; they could very well lead to his imprisonment or death. As conditions deteriorate, Putin will push the heads of others under the water until he meets proper resistance. Former British MI6 head Richard Moore recently noted that Putin is “keen to expand the battlefield” by approving sabotage, cyberattacks, and arson in Britain as a response to Russia’s worsening military and economic position.

Finding ways to widen Russia’s confrontation with the West are not without their risks. Over the last four years, Russia’s cyberwarfare activities in Europe, including interference with water systems, energy grids, and healthcare systems, have proliferated. So far, they have been met with limited direct response. Some Russian officials are confident that there is no effective Western defense; Vasily Nebenzya, Russia’s ambassador to the United Nations, warned Latvia that “NATO membership will not protect you.”

This summer looks like it will be painful for Russia as long-range drone attacks hurt the economy, mid-range strikes sever the vital land corridor from southern Russia to Crimea, and Russians become increasingly concerned that the war is not just going badly but was a bad mistake. As that reality bites, Putin will be tempted—and perhaps likely—to increase the threshold and frequency of Russian hybrid attacks and to turn the threats against the West that he is so fond of making into action.

If a quarter of a century has taught one thing about Putin, it is that he is a poor strategist and decision-maker. He is used to having his cake and eating it. He could have chosen different direction on many occasions in the past but remains stuck in a mindset of paranoia, distrust, and suspicion shaped by his formative years in the KGB. This will likely lead to decisions that make little sense for anyone outside the Kremlin.

When Russia’s problems worsen this summer and Putin’s options diminish, his temptation will be to escalate both at home and abroad. We would not be at this point had Putin not decided to invade Ukraine in 2014 and again in 2022. And yet here we are. Beware the drowning man: The coming months will likely be dangerous outside and inside Russia as Putin tries desperately to stay afloat.

ImperiumRome on June 28th, 2026 at 04:07 UTC »

> Those who do have little to look forward to. According to Russian military bloggers, the average life expectancy of a new recruit—from arrival at a training ground to death in a combat zone—lies somewhere between 10 days and three weeks. Once they are sent onto the battlefield, Russian fighters survive an average of 20 to 35 minutes. Much of the reason for this is the extraordinary shift in battlefield technology and tactics—in particular, the ways that drones have become the primary killing machines in this war, with stark implications for the future of combat in other parts of the world.

This is pretty crazy if it's true, reminds me of Battle of Stalingrad, but why couldn't the Russians copy whatever tactics or drone tech from the Ukrainians ? Or is it because that being the attackers, they are more prone to drone strikes than defenders ?

AdorableHabitation on June 28th, 2026 at 00:48 UTC »

Putin's never looked this boxed in, but boxed in is when these guys get really unpredictable.

sirlapse on June 28th, 2026 at 00:18 UTC »

Would be lovely with some more meat on a post.

This is just a link i cant read.