Biden’s Delay Fuels Putin's Winter Onslaught in Ukraine

Paul Riverbank, 1/28/2026Relentless Russian drone strikes plunge Odesa into fear and darkness, testing Ukraine’s resolve and Western resolve. As lives are lost and diplomacy stalls, the struggle intensifies—in the air, on the ground, and in the hearts of a battered nation seeking security and hope.

Not even the churches were spared this time. Windows blown out, walls fractured; one of Odesa’s old sanctuaries is now just stone and dust, as if to underscore how little is sacred under these drones. Distant once, now Odesa trembles at the snarl of Russian machines overhead—their latest models flying farther, hitting harder, making each night more uncertain than the last.

President Zelenskyy, reaching for resolve amid the noise, reminded anyone listening on Telegram that every strike like this isn't only an act of war against his country—it chips away at whatever delicate diplomacy there is, and underlines the pressure felt by Ukraine's Western supporters. “Each day of waiting...” he said, yet again pushing for faster decisions from Washington, his frustration only a little disguised. The next high-level discussions, set for early February, seem impossibly far for people counting their nights in bomb shelters. Every delay, for them, has a cost: shattered homes, darkened apartments, a life on pause.

As January cold presses down, the Russian side seems determined to grind out advantage by methodical destruction—particularly the power grid. Across Ukraine, over fifty drones, some newly jet-powered, swept into the region around Odesa. Of the estimated 165 launched, twenty-four found their targets; nearly a thousand buildings in Kyiv alone lost heating in the aftermath. It’s become a grim ritual: counting the losses, patching what can be patched, bracing for the next round.

Vladimir Putin, analysts say, has opted for a strategy of attrition. Not just against Ukrainian forces, but against Western endurance—waiting out European and American patience, hoping the world’s attention drifts elsewhere. The Kremlin, desperate for replacements amid high casualties, is dragging in fresh troops by any means necessary—cash incentives, lavish promises for hardened convicts, and, in a detail so brazen it reads like fiction, the recruitment of foreign workers from as far as Bangladesh, many under false pretenses, only to find themselves on the front lines.

Diplomatic talks continue, but they grind against the reality of war. The question that’s hardest to answer, and for now immovable: what becomes of all the Ukrainian territory now held by Russia? That piece remains, stubbornly, at the center of every negotiation.

There’s also hope in the west—Zelenskyy wants Ukraine tied more closely to Europe, maybe irrevocably. Just this week, standing alongside Lithuanian officials, he made the case that Ukraine’s accession to the EU would solidify security not just for his country, but across Europe as a whole. He’s aiming for 2027, but wants that promise etched into any peace deal—both a guarantee, and a symbol that the country’s future won’t be traded away. The dream is simple, and maybe that’s why he presses it so hard.

There's the war on the ground. And then, the quieter wounds: UNESCO recently flagged the risk to Ukraine's world heritage sites—churches and old city centers in Lviv, Odesa, even Kyiv itself. Each blackout now means more than discomfort; it's culture teetering on the edge, the little rituals and rhythms of daily life blinking out.

Militarily, an aerial arms race is underway. Russian forces unleashed their new Geran-5 jet drone in Odesa: a sleek, lethal contraption carrying a 200-pound payload over enormous distances. Ukrainian engineers work without pause, churning out interceptors and new long-range drones of their own. For now, though, the advantage leans one way.

Numbers trickle in each day: new casualties in Donetsk, Zaporizhzhia, Kherson. Pick any city, chances are it’s on the list. The frozen ground offers little relief, only a sense that the minutes matter now more than ever. Meetings, promises, pledges all swirl at the top—meanwhile, in the ruins, the work is unrelenting. A city waits, shivering, wary of what the night will bring, hoping only that the world’s will is not as fleeting as the winter daylight.

Odesa awoke to a kind of silence that's only broken by sirens and the crackle of news bulletins—another Russian drone attack overnight had left parts of the city in ruins. At least two people are gone. Twenty-three others nursed wounds of all kinds—children among them, a pregnant woman too. The numbers, always numbers. Yet it's the image that lingers: rescuers digging for hours in the sharp, wintry air, extracting a 90-year-old and a man little more than half his age from the wreckage of what used to be someone's home.Not even the churches were spared this time. Windows blown out, walls fractured; one of Odesa’s old sanctuaries is now just stone and dust, as if to underscore how little is sacred under these drones. Distant once, now Odesa trembles at the snarl of Russian machines overhead—their latest models flying farther, hitting harder, making each night more uncertain than the last.President Zelenskyy, reaching for resolve amid the noise, reminded anyone listening on Telegram that every strike like this isn't only an act of war against his country—it chips away at whatever delicate diplomacy there is, and underlines the pressure felt by Ukraine's Western supporters. “Each day of waiting...” he said, yet again pushing for faster decisions from Washington, his frustration only a little disguised. The next high-level discussions, set for early February, seem impossibly far for people counting their nights in bomb shelters. Every delay, for them, has a cost: shattered homes, darkened apartments, a life on pause.As January cold presses down, the Russian side seems determined to grind out advantage by methodical destruction—particularly the power grid. Across Ukraine, over fifty drones, some newly jet-powered, swept into the region around Odesa. Of the estimated 165 launched, twenty-four found their targets; nearly a thousand buildings in Kyiv alone lost heating in the aftermath. It’s become a grim ritual: counting the losses, patching what can be patched, bracing for the next round.Vladimir Putin, analysts say, has opted for a strategy of attrition. Not just against Ukrainian forces, but against Western endurance—waiting out European and American patience, hoping the world’s attention drifts elsewhere. The Kremlin, desperate for replacements amid high casualties, is dragging in fresh troops by any means necessary—cash incentives, lavish promises for hardened convicts, and, in a detail so brazen it reads like fiction, the recruitment of foreign workers from as far as Bangladesh, many under false pretenses, only to find themselves on the front lines.Diplomatic talks continue, but they grind against the reality of war. The question that’s hardest to answer, and for now immovable: what becomes of all the Ukrainian territory now held by Russia? That piece remains, stubbornly, at the center of every negotiation.There’s also hope in the west—Zelenskyy wants Ukraine tied more closely to Europe, maybe irrevocably. Just this week, standing alongside Lithuanian officials, he made the case that Ukraine’s accession to the EU would solidify security not just for his country, but across Europe as a whole. He’s aiming for 2027, but wants that promise etched into any peace deal—both a guarantee, and a symbol that the country’s future won’t be traded away. The dream is simple, and maybe that’s why he presses it so hard.There's the war on the ground. And then, the quieter wounds: UNESCO recently flagged the risk to Ukraine's world heritage sites—churches and old city centers in Lviv, Odesa, even Kyiv itself. Each blackout now means more than discomfort; it's culture teetering on the edge, the little rituals and rhythms of daily life blinking out.Militarily, an aerial arms race is underway. Russian forces unleashed their new Geran-5 jet drone in Odesa: a sleek, lethal contraption carrying a 200-pound payload over enormous distances. Ukrainian engineers work without pause, churning out interceptors and new long-range drones of their own. For now, though, the advantage leans one way.Numbers trickle in each day: new casualties in Donetsk, Zaporizhzhia, Kherson. Pick any city, chances are it’s on the list. The frozen ground offers little relief, only a sense that the minutes matter now more than ever. Meetings, promises, pledges all swirl at the top—meanwhile, in the ruins, the work is unrelenting. A city waits, shivering, wary of what the night will bring, hoping only that the world’s will is not as fleeting as the winter daylight.