Hopes and concerns of Ukrainians in connection with the approaching presidency of Trump

36-year-old Anastasia Fedchenko is crying in pain – her agony echoes around the gilded walls of St. Michael’s Cathedral in Kyiv.

She sits with her hands on her stomach. She is pregnant with her first child, a girl. A few centimeters away from her is her husband Andrei Kusmenko, in uniform – in an open coffin.

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

His brothers-in-arms pass by, throwing red roses at his coffin. As the funeral prayers come to an end, Anastasia leans forward and kisses the “love of her life” one last time.

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

“I am sorry 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 to make Ukraine exist for her and for other generations. ”

“This war will last as long as Russia. I’m really afraid that our children will inherit it from us and they will have to go to war.”

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 insisting on peace talks between Ukraine and Russia.

Sergeant Dmitriy nicknamed “Smile”, who fought alongside Andrei and came to the cathedral to mourn him, believes that this will bring shame to the fallen.

“Let the people in power decide, but I don’t think that those who fell will want them (Ukraine’s leadership) to sit at the table,” he says.

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

Many here believe – like Anastasia and Dmitry – that too many Ukrainians have been killed to try to make a deal with Russia. But public opinion is changing, and others believe there is too much death and destruction for a deal.

While Ukraine is struggling through the third military winter, one word – “victory” – is rarely spoken here.

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

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

The Ukraine of 2025 is a place of cold, harsh reality – where cities are empty, cemeteries are filling up, and many soldiers are leaving their posts.

A six-hour drive from the capital, in the heart of Ukraine, a young soldier is on trial.

Majny 24-year-old Siarhei Gnyazdilov is locked in a glass booth in a packed courtroom in the city of Dnipro. He is on trial for desertion, and he is one of many.

Since 2022, about 100,000 cases have been opened against military personnel who left their units, according to the information of the Prosecutor General’s Office of Ukraine.

When Gnyazdilov was separated without leave, he publicly demanded an exact date for the end of military service. He says he is ready to fight, but not without a demobilization plan. He had already served five years, including two before the full-scale invasion of Russia.

“We have to keep fighting,” he told me during a break in the meeting, “we have no other way out.”

“But soldiers are not slaves. Anyone who has served three years or more on the front line deserves a holiday. The government promised for a long time to set terms of service, but never did.”

In court, he also complained about corruption among commanders and deadly incompetence.

After a brief procedural hearing, he was handcuffed to return to prison. If found guilty, 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 at the front line, trying to at least slow down the advance of the Russians.

42-year-old Mikhail, the commander of the unit of unmanned aerial vehicles, who smokes, fights every night on “Non-Stop”, a Ukrainian energy drink.

He is part of the 68th Yeger brigade, fighting for the maintenance of the front-line eastern city of Pokrovsk, a key transport hub. The Russians are approaching from two sides.

Mikhail drives us to the Ukrainian positions – we can only venture on the road in the dark and in an armored car. Russians also have eyes to heaven. Their drones are a constant threat. He is alert and tired.

“In the first days, I went to the commissariat,” he says, “and hoped that everything would pass quickly.” To be honest, he is tired, vacations are rare (he has 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 Mikhail and his men are unloading equipment and setting up the position of the pop-up drone. Screens are inserted and cables are connected.

Outside, troops erect an antenna higher than a two-story building. They work quickly by torchlight – using red beams rather than white, as they are harder to detect. They then collect bombs to arm their “vampire” – a super-large attack drone.

For the next few hours, we have a front-row seat, while Mikhail, with the call sign “Administrator” controls the drone, darting his eyes from screen to screen. First, he drops supplies on the front line of Ukrainian troops, and then drops an anti-tank mine on Russian troops underground. It falls a little wider than its target.

It withstands strong winds and Russian jamming. All this time, he watches for incoming enemy drones.

Mikhail discovers a Russian fighter plane in the sky. A few minutes later, we hear the clear thump of three Russian glide bombs. “Far,” he tells us. It turns out that it is two or three kilometers.

During a lull, I ask Mikhail whether he thinks a peace agreement is possible. “Maybe not,” he says. “He (Putin) is an absolutely unstable person, and that’s putting it very mildly.”

“I hope that at some stage the enemy will stop because they are tired, or someone with common sense will come to power.”

He would not comment on President Trump.

If Mikhail is a veteran of this war, one of him is a novice. Twenty-four-year-old David joined the organization last September, when the Russians approached his hometown. Now he spends his time handling explosives – although he would like to go to college and study languages.

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

“I would like it to end sooner, so that civilians do not suffer, so that people do not die anymore. But given the way things are going on the front lines, it won’t be soon.”

He believes that if the guns fall silent, it will only be a pause before Moscow comes back for more.

The wind picks up and the vampire drone crashes. Not working yet. The unit packs up and leaves as quickly as it arrived. They will return to action as night falls, resuming their duels in the sky.

But on the ground, the Russians continue to push forward, and a Trump presidency will mean pressure to reach a deal. And another harsh truth: if it does happen, it is unlikely to be on Ukraine’s terms.

Additional reporting by Vetske Burema, Goktai Karaltan, Anastasia Levchanka and Uladzimir Lozhko.