From: Transform Ukraine By Douglas Landro / November 14, 2025
In Zaporizhzhia fog, Russian flags rose over Danylivka. In Kostroma, flames engulfed Russia’s largest thermal plant feeding Moscow. In Brussels, €6 billion flowed to Kyiv. Day 1,359—when weather became a weapon, missiles rewrote winter, and Europe answered Moscow’s maximalism with cash.
The Day’s Reckoning
Fog swallowed the T-0401 highway at 05:14. Russian boots splashed through puddles near Solodke, flags already packed for Danylivka. Nine brigades—tanks, motor-rifles, paratroopers—crouched along a 41-kilometer front, waiting for the clouds to blind Ukrainian drones.
Four hundred kilometers north, a Flamingo cruise missile left its launcher at 03:27. By dawn, Kostroma’s thermal plant burned, Moscow’s lights flickering in the distance. Another struck Oryol’s power station; a third torched Nizhnekamsk refinery. Winter now had a Ukrainian signature.
In Brussels, Ursula von der Leyen signed the €6 billion transfer. In Rome, Lavrov told Corriere della Sera that peace required Kyiv’s neutrality, a new government, and surrender of four regions. Translation: Ukraine must vanish.
Over Kyiv, 138 Shaheds screamed in from five directions. One hundred two died mid-air. Thirty-six hit—Odesa repair shops gutted, Mykolaiv factories smoking, three civilians bleeding in the street.
Pokrovsk dissolved into gray. Ukrainian commandos dropped from Blackhawks onto rooftops. Russian three-man teams crawled through fog with motorcycles. A flag rose on City Hall, then vanished. Supply roads narrowed to drone-escorted threads.
Day 1,359. Russia weaponized weather. Ukraine weaponized distance. Europe weaponized money. Moscow weaponized words. None moved the line that mattered—only the cost of holding it.
Fog Becomes Armor: Russia’s Silent Push to Hulyaipole
In the annals of this grinding war, the autumn of 2025 would be remembered for how commanders turned the seasons against their enemies. Dawn broke—or rather, failed to break—on November 13, shrouded in a fog that clung to the Zaporizhzhia fields like a conspirator’s cloak. At 04:47, a private from the 114th Motorized Rifle Regiment stirred in his foxhole near Tsehelne, the damp air muffling his breath. “Now,” the whisper came over the radio. “While the drones sleep blind.”
Three shadows detached from the mist, rifles slung, boots sucking at the mud of Yehorivka’s overgrown orchards. No engines roared; no columns thundered. This was infiltration as art, honed over three bitter years—small teams ghosting past drone kill zones, claiming abandoned dachas one shattered window at a time. They carried radios for reinforcements, mines for holdouts, and a folded tricolor destined for higher ground.
By 07:22, that flag whipped in the wind above Danylivka’s gutted school, southwest of Velykomykhailivka on the vital T-0401. Geolocated footage spread like wildfire: proof of the 37th Motorized Rifle Brigade’s two-week surge, from the Yanchur River crossing near Uspenivka to the Solodke-Rivnopillya line—seven kilometers of earth Ukraine had defended with blood, now yielded to patience and obscurity.
Historians would note the scale: nine formations arrayed along a 41-kilometer front. The 5th Tank Brigade idled in reserve, engines growling low. The 38th Motors burrowed into Solodke’s cellars. The 127th Division shifted from western lines, bolstered by 98th Airborne remnants and perhaps the 41st Army’s vanguard. Not a desperate lunge, but a calculated vise, months in the forging—FAB glide bombs had already pulverized roads, rails, supply veins.
Voice of Ukraine 