A year ago, I argued that the war in Ukraine had reached a strategic stalemate. Today I believe that stalemate is beginning to break—not because either side has achieved a decisive battlefield breakthrough, but because Ukraine is increasingly attacking the political and economic foundations that allow Russia to continue fighting. If this assessment is correct, the decisive battles of the war may ultimately be fought not only on the front lines but also within Russia’s economy and political system.

Russia’s battlefield strategy continues to impose enormous costs while producing only limited military gains. Despite heavy casualties, Russian forces have not fundamentally altered their reliance on mass infantry assaults reminiscent of earlier eras of warfare. Such tactics have become increasingly costly. The battlefield is now under near-continuous surveillance by drones, allowing Ukrainian forces to direct artillery and precision strikes against attacking formations before they can achieve meaningful maneuver. Russia continues to capture small amounts of territory, but only at a disproportionate cost in personnel and equipment.

Estimates of Russian casualties vary, but there is broad agreement that Russia has suffered exceptionally heavy losses in personnel, tanks, armored vehicles, artillery systems, and other military equipment while making only incremental territorial gains. The exact numbers matter less than the overall trend: Russia continues to expend manpower and matériel at a rate that appears difficult to sustain indefinitely.

Ukraine appears to have concluded that battlefield attrition alone is unlikely to end the war. Instead, it has expanded attacks deep inside Russia against oil refineries, fuel storage facilities, transportation networks, and other critical infrastructure. In military theory, these assets form part of a nation’s “center of gravity”—the economic and industrial foundations that enable military operations. Refineries not only supply fuel for military forces but also generate export revenues that finance the Russian state.

These attacks appear to be imposing increasing economic costs. Reports that Russia has imported gasoline refined in India from Russian crude oil illustrate the growing disruption to its domestic refining capacity. The longer refineries, ports, and other critical infrastructure remain damaged, the greater the economic burden of sustaining the war. Rebuilding these facilities requires time, skilled labor, and resources that cannot simultaneously support military operations.

The campaign against Russia’s economic infrastructure is complemented by Ukraine’s effort to isolate Crimea. Ukrainian strikes have increasingly targeted the bridges, ports, airfields, and logistical routes that connect the peninsula to mainland Russia. Even if Crimea is not immediately retaken, making it progressively more difficult to reinforce and supply raises both the military and psychological costs of maintaining Russia’s occupation. Losing Crimea, which Russia has controlled since 2014, would represent a significant symbolic and political setback for the Kremlin.

At the same time, Russia’s wartime economy presents a paradox. Military production has generated employment and stimulated sectors of the economy that had previously struggled. While war has become economically burdensome, ending it could also create severe dislocations as factories, workers, and government finances attempt to transition back to a peacetime economy. For the Russian leadership, managing such a transition could prove almost as difficult as continuing the war itself.

Even if Ukraine succeeds in increasing Russia’s military and economic costs, another question remains: what would persuade the Kremlin to stop fighting? Military losses alone rarely end wars when political leaders believe defeat threatens their own survival. That appears increasingly relevant in Russia. If Vladimir Putin and those around him believe that losing the war could result in imprisonment, exile, or even death, then the normal cost-benefit calculation changes. Preserving the regime becomes more important than preserving military forces.

This suggests that the true center of gravity may extend beyond Russia’s economy to the cohesion of its governing elite. Authoritarian systems often depend upon a relatively small group of trusted political, military, and security leaders. If that leadership becomes increasingly divided, isolated, or unable to replace experienced officials, the government’s capacity to continue the war may weaken even if substantial military forces remain in the field. Political instability, elite defections, or internal power struggles may ultimately prove more decisive than battlefield victories alone.

A similar dynamic may be observed elsewhere. Recent events involving Iran suggest that authoritarian governments can often replace senior leaders quickly unless disruption extends well beyond the highest levels of command. Removing a few senior officials rarely changes policy if an experienced leadership structure remains intact. Lasting political change generally requires weakening the institutions and networks that sustain the regime.

If this analysis is correct, the decisive struggle in Ukraine is no longer simply for villages, trenches, or even territory. It is increasingly a contest over whether Russia’s political leadership can continue to govern, finance the war, and maintain the loyalty of those around it. Military operations remain essential, but they increasingly serve the larger objective of undermining Russia’s capacity to sustain the conflict. Should those political and economic foundations weaken sufficiently, the war may ultimately end not with a dramatic military collapse but with political change in Moscow.