Ukrainians' hopes and fears as a Trump presidency approaches

Anastasia Fedchenko, 36, wails in pain, her agony echoing around the gilded walls of St. Michael's Cathedral in Kiev.

She sits and places her hands on either side of her stomach. She is in her last month pregnant with her first child, a girl. Her husband, Andrei Kusmenko, is just inches away, dressed in military fatigues, in an open casket.

The Marine Corps commander was killed in action in eastern Ukraine on January 4 of this year. He is now and forever 33 years old. While Andrei was fighting in the war, Anastasia wrote about it as a journalist.

His brothers in arms pass by and drop red roses into his coffin. As the funeral prayers end, Anastasia leans forward and gives the “love of her life” one last kiss.

Outside the cathedral she pays tribute to her “most handsome husband” who died for his country.

She told the BBC: “I am sorry that my daughter will never see her father, but she will know that he was a soldier and an officer, and that he did everything in his power for Ukraine to live for her and for other generations.” ”

He added, “This war will continue as long as Russia does. I am truly afraid that our children will inherit it from us and will have to go and fight.”

Not according to Donald Trump, who famously claimed he could end the war in a day, and who will return to the White House next week. He is already pushing for peace talks between Ukraine and Russia.

This would insult the dead, according to Sergeant Dmytro, with the call sign “Smile”, who fought alongside Andrei and came to the cathedral to mourn him.

“Let the people in power decide, but I don’t think the fallen want them (Ukrainian leadership) to sit around the table,” he says.

“After the funeral, we will return to work. We will fight for every fallen Ukrainian.”

Many here – like Anastasia and Dmytro – believe that too many Ukrainians were killed trying to make a deal with Russia. But public opinion is shifting, and others believe there is too much death and destruction to reach an agreement.

As Ukraine fights its third winter war, one word is rarely said here: “Victory.”

In the early days of Russia's large-scale invasion in February 2022, we heard it everywhere. It was the rallying cry of a nation suddenly faced with columns of enemy tanks. But the past is in fact a foreign country – a country with more territory.

Moscow now controls nearly a fifth of its neighbor (including Crimea, which it seized in 2014), and says any peace talks must take this into account.

Ukraine in 2025 is a place of cold, hard truths – cities are empty, cemeteries are filling, and many soldiers are deserting their posts.

A six-hour drive from the capital, in the heart of Ukraine, a young soldier lies in the dock.

Serhiy Hnizdilov, a burly 24-year-old, is locked in a glass chamber in a crowded courtroom in the city of Dnipro. He is being tried for desertion, one of many.

Since 2022, about 100,000 cases have been opened against soldiers who left their units, according to data from the Ukrainian Prosecutor General's Office.

When Hneizdilov was absent without permission, he publicly announced his demand for a clear time frame for termination of military service. He says he is ready to fight, but not without a demobilization plan. He had already served for five years, including two years before the full-scale Russian invasion.

“We have to keep fighting,” he told me during a break in the session. “We have no other choice.”

“But soldiers are not slaves. Everyone who has spent three or more years on the front line deserves the right to rest. The authorities have long promised to set conditions of service, but have not done so.”

He also complained in court about corruption among the leaders and fatal incompetence.

After a short procedural hearing, he was handcuffed during the trip back to prison. If convicted, he faces up to 12 years in prison. “Help Ukraine,” he told us as he was being led away.

Many other Ukrainian soldiers are still straining every nerve on the front lines, trying to at least slow the Russian advance.

Mykhaylo, 42, a chain-smoking drone unit commander, goes into battle every night fueled by the Ukrainian energy drink “Non-Stop”.

He's with the 68th Jaeger Brigade, fighting to hold on to the eastern frontline city of Pokrovsk – a major transportation hub. The Russians are approaching from both sides.

Mykhaylo drives us to a Ukrainian site, a trip we can only risk after dark, and in an armored car. The Russians also have eyes in the sky. Their drones pose a constant threat. He is awake and exhausted.

He tells us: “I went to the recruitment office in the first days, hoping things would go quickly. Honestly, I'm tired. Vacation is rare (in his case a total of 40 days in three years).” The only thing that saves me is that I can video chat with my family.”

We arrive at an abandoned house where Mykhaylo and his men are unloading their equipment and setting up a pop-up drone site. Monitors are carried and cables are connected.

Outside, troops are installing an antenna taller than a two-story building. They work quickly under torch light – using red beams, not white, as they are difficult to detect. They then assemble bombs to arm the “Vampires” – a massive attack drone.

For the next few hours, we have front row seats as Mykhaylo — call sign “Administrator” — pilots the drone, his eyes darting from screen to screen. First, he dropped supplies to Ukrainian forces on the front lines and then dropped an anti-tank mine on Russian forces underground. It is located a little far from its target.

He faces strong winds and Russian interference. All the while he was looking for incoming enemy drones.

Mykhailo spots a Russian warplane in the sky. Minutes later, we heard the impact of three Russian glide bombs. “It's far away,” he tells us. This turned out to be a distance of two to three kilometres.

During the lull, I asked Mykhaylo if he thought a peace agreement was possible. “Maybe not,” he says. “This (Putin) is a completely unstable person, which is very nice.”

He added, “I hope that the enemy will stop at some point because he is tired, or that a person with a sound mind will come to power.”

He will not comment on President Trump.

While Mykhailo is a veteran of this war, one of his men is a rookie. Twenty-four-year-old David joined the band last September when the Russians approached his hometown. He now spends his time dealing with explosives – although he would rather be in college learning languages.

“No one knows how long the war will last, perhaps not even politicians,” he says.

“I would like it to be over soon so that civilians don't suffer, people don't die anymore. But given the situation now on the front line, it won't be soon.”

He believes that if the guns are silenced, there will only be a pause before Moscow comes back for more.

The wind picks up and the vampire drone crashes. It's out of work at the moment. The unit packs up and leaves as quickly as it came. They will return to work at nightfall, resuming duels in the sky.

But on the ground, the Russians continue to advance slowly, and a Trump presidency will mean pushing for a deal. There is another difficult fact here: if that happens it is unlikely to be done on Ukraine's terms.

(Additional reporting by Vitsky Burima, Goktay Kuraltan, Anastasia Levchenko and Volodymyr Lozhko)