There is a comforting assumption behind much of the debate about Russia: eventually, the country will exhaust itself. Its military will run short of men, its economy will buckle, and the war in Ukraine will end because Moscow can no longer sustain it.
That could happen. But building Europe’s future around that expectation would be a dangerous gamble.
My concern is that Russia has already developed the machinery for a much longer confrontation. Whatever happens in Ukraine, the military system Putin has built could remain a threat for years afterwards. A peace agreement might stop the fighting without dismantling the capacity, or the political appetite, to start again.
We should be precise about mobilisation. Russia is heavily committed to war, but describing it as “fully mobilised” overstates the position. It has relied on contract recruitment, financial incentives and coercion alongside the partial mobilisation announced in 2022. Reporting earlier this year described the Kremlin’s continuing efforts to replenish its army while avoiding an unpopular nationwide call-up. That distinction matters: Russia has already committed enormous resources, but it has not exhausted every means of extracting more. Associated Press
The more useful question is how long the Russian state can keep prioritising military power—and what happens when that power is no longer being consumed at the same rate in Ukraine.
Russia’s public finances show the scale of that commitment. SIPRI estimates that federal funding for the war and other military expenditure reached roughly 16 trillion roubles in 2025, equivalent to 7.5 per cent of GDP. Its analysis of the original 2026 budget identified a lower planned allocation of 14.9 trillion roubles, while warning that amendments were likely. These figures describe a sustained national priority, even as financial pressures force adjustments. SIPRI
A country can pay a terrible price for such priorities and still maintain them. Civilian investment can suffer. Living standards can stagnate. Infrastructure can deteriorate. None of those developments automatically prevents a government from funding weapons and soldiers.
As economist Richard Connolly argues, economic pain does not reliably translate into a decision to end a war. An authoritarian leadership can transfer costs onto the population while protecting the institutions and supporters on which its survival depends. Russia’s inflation, labour shortages and weakening civilian investment are serious problems, but their existence does not establish a date when its military effort must stop. RUSI
This is why predictions of imminent collapse deserve scrutiny. A system can become poorer, less efficient and more coercive while retaining substantial destructive power.
Nor does Russia need a perfectly functioning economy to sustain that power. Connolly’s earlier research describes how domestic financing, state influence over banks and adaptable private businesses have helped it absorb sanctions and redirect resources. Those mechanisms have limits, but they help explain why economic weakness and military endurance can coexist. RUSI
The military picture also demands a longer view. An IISS assessment published in 2025 suggested that, under its assumptions about continued production and refurbishment, Russia could equip its planned expanded ground force between 2030 and 2035. That was a conditional projection, not a guarantee. Equipment numbers also tell us less than we might wish about training, leadership, maintenance and battlefield effectiveness. Nevertheless, it places the potential rebuilding of Russian military power well into the next decade. IISS
For me, the most troubling possibility is what a reduction in fighting could make possible.
During an intense war, new equipment and ammunition are consumed replacing losses and sustaining operations. If those losses fall sharply while production continues, more output can go into reserves, training and rebuilding formations. A ceasefire could therefore become a period of recovery for the Russian armed forces.
That is a risk to plan for, rather than an argument against seeking peace. Ukrainians have every reason to want the killing to end. But a durable settlement needs to account for the forces that could threaten it later.
Different outcomes in Ukraine would create different dangers.
An outcome the Kremlin could present as victory might strengthen the belief that military aggression brings rewards. A frozen conflict could preserve both a grievance and an opportunity to resume fighting. A Russian defeat could weaken the regime and constrain its armed forces, but would not automatically remove the institutions or ambitions behind the invasion.
The outcome matters enormously. It will shape Russia’s resources, confidence and freedom of action. Yet none of these scenarios, by itself, guarantees lasting demilitarisation.
There is also an institutional problem. Once factories, careers, regional employment and political influence become tied to military spending, reducing that spending becomes harder. My concern is that the system develops constituencies with a stake in its continuation. Even without another large invasion, a leadership committed to confrontation could keep defence orders flowing and maintain pressure on its neighbours.
That does not make Russia unstoppable. Recruitment, industrial capacity and public finances all impose constraints. Military losses are real, and replacing equipment does not instantly replace experienced personnel. Political change could alter the direction of the state. A sustained recovery in Russian military strength remains a possibility whose scale and speed depend on decisions made both inside and outside Russia.
Europe has agency here too. Consistent support for Ukraine, credible defence capabilities and the industrial capacity to replenish them can change Moscow’s calculations. The objective should be to make further aggression less likely to succeed, while keeping diplomacy available.
The danger is allowing a future ceasefire to become an excuse for forgetting everything this war has revealed.
Putin’s war machine could survive the end of the fighting in Ukraine. It could also survive Putin himself, if the institutions and incentives sustaining it remain intact.
We should work for peace with that possibility firmly in view. The day the guns fall silent may be the beginning of a safer Europe—but making it so will require commitments that last far beyond that day.
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