Ukrainians’ hopes and worries as Trump’s presidency approaches

Anastasiia Fedchenko, 36, wails in agony – her pain echoes around the gilded walls of St. Michael’s Cathedral in Kiev.

She sits with her hands resting on both sides of her stomach. She is heavily pregnant with her first child, a little girl. Her husband Andriy Kusmenko is mere centimeters away, in uniform – in an open casket.

The naval commander was killed in action in eastern Ukraine on January 4 this year. He is now and forever 33. While Andriy fought in the war, Anastasiia wrote about it as a journalist.

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

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

“I am sad that my daughter will never see her father,” she tells the BBC, “but she will know that he was a soldier, an officer, and that he did everything he could for Ukraine to exist for her and for other generations.”

“This war will last as long as Russia does. I really fear 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 returns to the White House next week. He is already pushing for peace talks between Ukraine and Russia.

It would dishonor the dead, according to Sgt Dmytro, call sign “Smile”, who fought alongside Andriy and came to the cathedral to mourn him.

“Let the people in power decide, but I don’t think those who fell would want them (Ukraine’s leadership) sitting around the table,” he says.

“After the funeral, we are going back to work. We will fight for every Ukrainian who fell.”

Many here believe – like Anastasiia and Dmytro – that far too many Ukrainians have been killed to try to reach an agreement with Russia. But public opinion is changing, and others believe there is too much death and destruction to not make a deal.

As Ukraine struggles through its third winter of war, there is now one word that is not being spoken here – “victory”.

In the early days of Russia’s full-scale invasion in February 2022, we heard it everywhere. It was a rallying cry for a nation suddenly confronted by columns of enemy tanks. But the past is indeed a foreign country – and one with more territory.

Moscow now controls nearly a fifth of its neighbor (including the Crimean peninsula, captured in 2014) and says any peace talks must take that into account.

Ukraine in 2025 is a place of cold, hard realities – where cities are empty, cemeteries are filling up, and masses of soldiers are leaving their posts.

Six hours’ drive from the capital in the heart of Ukraine, a young soldier lies in the dock.

Serhiy Hnezdilov, a burly 24-year-old, is locked in a glass booth in a packed courtroom in the city of Dnipro. He is accused of desertion and is one of many.

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

When Hnezdilov was absent without leave, he went public with demands for a clear time frame for the end of military service. He says he is ready to fight, but not without a plan for demobilization. He has already served for five years, including two before Russia’s full-scale invasion.

“We must continue to fight,” he told me during a break in the hearing, “we have no other choice.”

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

In court he also complained of corruption among commanders and of fatal incompetence.

After the brief hearing, he was handcuffed for the journey back to prison. If convicted, he faces up to 12 years in prison. “Help Ukraine,” he told us as he was led away.

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

Mykhailo, 42, the chain-smoking commander of a drone unit, fights every night fueled by “Non-Stop” – a Ukrainian energy drink.

He is with the 68th “Jaeger” brigade and is fighting to hold on to the eastern front-line town of Pokrovsk – a major transport hub. The Russians are approaching from two sides.

Mykhailo drives us to a Ukrainian position – a journey we can only risk after dark and in an armored car. The Russians also have eyes in the sky. Their drones are a constant threat. He is awake and tired.

“I went to the recruitment office in the first days,” he says, “and I hoped that everything would go quickly. Honestly, I’m tired. Freedom is rare (in his case a total of 40 days in three years). The only , that saves me is that I can video chat with my family.”

We arrive at an abandoned house where Mykhailo and his men unload their equipment and set up a pop-up drone position. Screens are brought in and cables are connected.

Outside, troops erect an antenna taller than a two-story building. They work quickly under torchlight – using red beams, not white, as these are harder to detect. They then collect bombs to arm their “vampire” – a super-sized attack drone.

For the next few hours, we have front row seats as Mykhailo – call sign “Admin” – controls the drone, his eyes darting from screen to screen. First, he drops supplies to frontline Ukrainian troops, then drops an anti-tank mine on Russian forces underground. It falls a little wide of its target.

He is up against strong winds and Russian jamming. All the while he is on the lookout for incoming enemy drones.

Mykhailo spots a Russian warplane in the sky. A few minutes later we hear the distinct bang of three Russian glide bombs. “It’s a long way,” he tells us. It turns out to mean two or three kilometers away.

During a break, I ask Mykhailo if he thinks a peace agreement is possible. “Maybe not,” he says. “This (Putin) is a completely unstable person, and that is being said very carefully.”

“I hope that at some point the enemy will stop because they get tired or someone with a sound mind comes to power.”

He will not comment on President Trump.

While Mykhailo is a veteran of this war, one of his men is a rookie. David, 24, joined last September as the Russians closed in on his hometown. He now spends his time dealing with explosives – although he prefers to be in college learning languages.

“Nobody knows how long the war will last,” he says, “maybe not even the politicians”.

“I want it to end soon so that civilians don’t suffer and people don’t die anymore. But given how things are on the front lines now, it won’t be soon.”

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

The winds get stronger and the vampire drone crashes. It is out of order for now. The unit packs up and leaves, just as quickly as they came. They will be back in action by nightfall and resume the duels in the sky.

But on the ground, the Russians keep moving forward, and Trump’s presidency will mean pressure for a deal. And there is another hard truth here: if it comes, it is unlikely to be on Ukraine’s terms.

Additional reporting by Wietske Burema, Goktay Koraltan, Anastasiia Levchenko and Volodymyr Lozhko.