The prospect of a ceasefire brings little optimism to eastern Ukraine, as many see no future ahead

Could a ceasefire agreement ultimately prove to be a hidden catastrophe for Ukraine?

This pressing concern resonates within Ukrainian frontline bunkers and the devastated remnants of besieged cities, where pervasive fatigue yearns for peace, yet a hard-earned skepticism towards Russia prevails.

The sources of anxiety are numerous. Is there any guarantee that a ceasefire would be maintained? Would Russia merely exploit it to regroup and launch another offensive? Is Moscow even interested in a ceasefire, considering its current territorial gains? Would Ukraine’s allies continue to provide military support if they perceived that diplomacy had silenced the weapons?

The displays in front of Volodymyr Sablyn, a battalion commander in the 66th mechanized brigade, reveal a harrowing narrative of Ukraine’s contemporary yet brutally archaic battlefield. Small, inexpensive drones hover over the scarred and battered trenches surrounding Lyman—a chaotic blend of frozen mud, debris, bunkers, and the grim term “beetroot” used to describe human remains that cannot be recovered.

“If a ceasefire is established now, it will only worsen our situation,” Sablyn remarked to CNN this week. “The enemy will take the opportunity to recover, reorganize their forces, and strike again.”

Sablyn enlisted in February 2015, during the time when Russian separatists seized the Donetsk town of Debaltseve despite a supposed truce. Now, along the eastern front, ceasefires from a decade ago that offered little more than a facade for further Russian military progress serve as stark reminders of the critical need for vigilance in negotiations.

The situation under Sablyn’s command reveals a critical vulnerability in Kyiv’s defense: the ongoing Russian offensives and the acceptance of casualties have taken advantage of the city’s insufficient infantry presence. As Sablyn’s troops launch mortars at the frontlines in Lyman, Russian forces are making significant progress toward the strategic military center of Pokrovsk to the south. The speed at which they are encircling this area is alarming, and once it is captured, there will be few significant urban centers left between Russian troops and the major cities of Dnipro and Zaporizhzhia.

In this context, hope plays a crucial role, particularly the notion frequently articulated by Ukrainian officials that European or NATO forces could offer security assurances to Kyiv by being deployed in frontline regions, effectively acting as peacekeepers.

A European defense official recently informed CNN that there are “active discussions” regarding such support. A ceasefire, followed by the deployment of European NATO members to oversee a demilitarized zone, is a central element of a peace proposal put forward by Gen. Keith Kellogg, the new U.S. envoy to Ukraine, in a policy document from April.

Sablyn remarked, “If NATO were to send troops to Ukraine, it would ensure security for the nation. Despite their claims of invulnerability, Russia is indeed wary of America and NATO as a collective force.”

As dusk approaches the forward artillery units of the 66th, the prospect appears fraught with overwhelming danger. The risk posed by Russian drones is particularly severe, as these units can be targeted when the sun dips below the horizon and visibility diminishes.

A unit commander accompanying us checks his handheld device to confirm the departure of Russian surveillance drones. We wait for 10 minutes until the signal indicates it is safe, then swiftly move across the rocky terrain toward a tree line where aging artillery pieces provide consistent “suppressing fire” against Russian positions.

In this environment, the notion of peace is taken with utmost seriousness, yet those who dwell underground remain doubtful.

“There is only a 30% chance of a ceasefire,” remarked one soldier, Viktor. “The current situation on the front does not suggest that a truce is forthcoming. It’s quite challenging.”

Another soldier, Andriy, added, “I estimate it’s 40%. The opposing side is gaining ground and seizing territory. We, for the most part, have little leverage.”

The increasing openness of the troops, who months prior would have only expressed rehearsed optimism about victory, mirrors the sentiments of weary civilians from frontline areas.

Larysa, 72, slowly makes her way through the devastated streets of Lyman, her gold teeth glinting against the backdrop of shell-damaged concrete.

She expressed, “We’ve experienced 19 attacks today… 19 since this morning. My husband is keeping track, while I rely on sleeping pills. Then he wakes me up to ask, ‘Did you keep count?’”

Tears filled her eyes when questioned about her decision to remain in a town that was first invaded by Russia in 2022, later liberated by Ukrainian forces, and now facing renewed pressure from Russian troops just 10 kilometers (6.2 miles) away.

“Here, I fled barefoot; over there, I swam in the river,” she said, pointing towards the outskirts of the town. “I’m 72 years old, and I don’t want to leave. All my three brothers are buried here, along with my aunts, uncles, father, and mother. I can’t abandon this place.”

She expressed little sympathy for Kyiv, describing the Ukrainian soldiers she encounters in local stores as disheveled. She recounted how a friend’s family of seven had to leave Lyman two weeks ago and ended up living in a stable in nearby Poltava. “A stable! But it was clean, and there was some hay.”

Larysa remarked that Trump would not differ from Biden, whom she claimed to have heard on television attempting to purchase parts of eastern Ukraine for his son, likely reflecting misleading Russian narratives. She places her hopes on the Kremlin as the ultimate decision-maker.

“Nobody is going to resolve this. Only Putin can, if he decides, ‘That’s enough; I’ve already caused so much death.’” She nodded in agreement when asked if peace through Putin is the only viable option moving forward.

A bus waits behind her, gathering locals who continue to move in and out of the abandoned town for shopping. The only one who speaks is the driver, Dima, who shares that he went to Russia when the invasion began to stay with relatives and has only recently returned. He expresses his familiarity with destruction and his hope for peace, stating, “It’s all politics. Nothing depends on us. As it is decided, so it will be.”

For many, the past decade has been marked by upheaval and grief.

Inesa, 60, sits by herself in the central square of Slovyansk, a place where, ten years ago, Russian-backed separatists took control of the local administration building and clashed with the Ukrainian military amid ongoing ceasefires, negotiations, and Russian offensives.

Reflecting on the past, she recalls that despite the turmoil of separatism, there was still employment and a sense of hope. Now, she and her mother are the only ones left in Slovyansk, a significant target for Russia in Donetsk, while the rest of her family has been dispersed around the globe due to the war.

“Now there is no future,” she laments. “We don’t see it. Who does? I just want it to end. End the bombing.”