In the second week of February 2026, Ukrainian forces accomplished something that had eluded Kyiv for the better part of two and a half years: a rapid, sustained recapture of territory on the Zaporizhzhia front that reversed months of Russian pressure and shocked analysts and military bloggers on both sides of the conflict.
Between February 11 and February 15 alone, Ukraine’s armed forces recaptured approximately 201 square kilometers — or roughly 78 square miles — of territory in southeastern Ukraine. The area recovered in those five days was described as nearly equivalent to the total territory that Russian forces had seized across the entire month of December 2025.
These gains represent Ukraine’s most rapid territorial advances since the June 2023 counteroffensive in the Donetsk and Zaporizhzhia regions, and they have fundamentally altered the military and diplomatic landscape at a critical juncture, as U.S.-backed peace negotiations in Geneva were stalling without a breakthrough.
To understand why and how this happened, one must examine three interlocking factors: the Starlink communications disruption that degraded Russian battlefield command-and-control; the long-building operational pressure that Ukrainian forces had been carefully sustaining in the southeastern theater; and the broader strategic context of a war increasingly being fought as much through information systems and electronic infrastructure as through artillery and infantry.
Zaporizhzhia Oblast sits at the heart of Russia’s southern territorial ambitions in Ukraine. Stretching from the Dnipro River in the west to the occupied city of Melitopol in the south, it forms a critical part of the “land bridge” connecting mainland Russia to the Crimean Peninsula — an artery of strategic, logistical, and symbolic importance to Moscow.
Since the full-scale invasion began in February 2022, Russian forces have occupied a significant portion of the region, including its administrative capital, while Ukrainian-controlled Zaporizhzhia city — a major industrial hub of over 700,000 pre-war inhabitants — has remained a frontline city under near-constant shelling.
The area roughly 80 kilometers east of Zaporizhzhia city, centered on the Huliaipole sector and the administrative border between Zaporizhzhia and Dnipropetrovsk regions, became the epicenter of the February 2026 Ukrainian advance. This is a zone of open steppe terrain, dotted with small villages and broken by river lines including the Haichur, which makes large armored movements both possible and vulnerable to drone observation.
Since the summer of 2025, Russian forces from the 36th Combined Arms Army and associated units of the Eastern Military District had been pushing steadily in this sector, seizing a string of small settlements and threatening to bring Zaporizhzhia city itself within tube artillery range — a stated operational objective of the Russian Southern Grouping of Forces.
By early February 2026, Russian forces had made incremental gains in villages including Krasnohirske, Novoboikivske, and had conducted infiltrations toward Olenokostyantynivka and Prydorozhnie northwest of Huliaipole. It was the time that Russian forces were advancing and infiltrating in the Huliaipole direction, though it cautioned that flag-raisings captured on geolocated footage represented infiltration missions rather than confirmed control of terrain. Russian commanders, according to Ukrainian intelligence analysis, were positioning their forces to seize the launching grounds necessary for a planned summer 2026 offensive — potentially targeting either the Orikhiv-Zaporizhzhia corridor or the Slovyansk-Kramatorsk agglomeration further north.
That trajectory changed abruptly in the second week of February. The proximate cause of the Russian command-and-control collapse that enabled Ukraine’s rapid advances was the blocking of Starlink satellite internet terminals used by Russian frontline units. The story of how Russian forces came to rely on Elon Musk’s SpaceX satellite internet system — a technology that SpaceX explicitly prohibited from being sold to Russia or its military — is both remarkable and emblematic of modern warfare’s improvisational nature.
Russian forces had been illicitly acquiring and deploying Starlink terminals for use along the front lines, mounting the devices on attack drones to improve their range and accuracy, and using the high-bandwidth connections to relay commands and coordinate offensive operations. Despite repeated public assurances from SpaceX that it does not do business with the Russian government or its military, Ukrainian authorities documented the widespread use of compromised or smuggled terminals and brought the evidence to the company.
On February 2, 2026, Ukraine’s defense ministry, in collaboration with SpaceX, introduced a mandatory terminal verification system — a “whitelist” that required users to authenticate devices through official Ukrainian channels, effectively severing unauthorized connections.
The consequences were immediate and severe. Russian military bloggers, who serve as an unofficial but influential real-time commentary system on the Russian side of the war, began reporting within days that communications were degrading along multiple sections of the front.
Russian forces lost not only their satellite connectivity but also experienced simultaneous disruptions to Telegram, the encrypted messaging application that Russian units had been using as an informal command-and-control tool since early in the war. Access restrictions affecting Telegram, reported beginning February 9, compounded the Starlink blackout, creating a dual communications crisis that degraded Russian forces’ ability to observe, orient, decide, and act — the foundational cycle of military decision-making.
A senior NATO official, speaking to reporters ahead of a NATO defense ministers meeting in Brussels, described the impact bluntly: taking away Russian Starlink access had put the Russian military “in somewhat of a command and control predicament.” The official acknowledged the difficulty of precisely quantifying how much of Ukraine’s subsequent territorial gains were directly attributable to the communications disruption, but the correlation was striking.
Ukrainian counterattacks were likely leveraging the recent block on Russian forces’ access to Starlink, which Russian milbloggers have claimed is causing communications and command and control issues on the battlefield. That reduced connectivity creates short windows during which Ukrainian units can move through contested zones that are normally dominated by drone surveillance and electronic warfare — because the drones themselves depend on reliable data links, and the operators coordinating them depend on communications infrastructure to receive targeting data and relay instructions.
Ukraine’s military leadership was careful, at least initially, to manage expectations and avoid the kind of premature triumphalism that had complicated messaging around the 2023 counteroffensive. In Ukraine, it was officially stated on February 12 that there was no counteroffensive on the Zaporizhzhia direction — a position even as territorial gains accumulated. That activity was characterized as active defense combined with limited localized attacks, distinguishing it from a full-scale offensive operation with declared strategic objectives.
The distinction matters operationally. A counteroffensive in military doctrine implies a coordinated, large-scale operation with explicit territorial or operational goals, committed reserve formations, and a sustained logistical train. What Ukraine conducted in February 2026 was more accurately described as opportunistic counterattacking — seizing the window created by Russian communications degradation to restore Ukrainian control of contested territory, push back Russian infiltration groups, and disrupt the assembly of Russian formations that were preparing starting positions for Russia’s own planned summer offensive.
The fighting centered on the Huliaipole sector and surrounding villages. Ukrainian forces recaptured the village of Kosivtseve, according to claims by Ukraine’s armed forces. Near Verbove — a village that had been the scene of grinding attritional fighting since the 2023 counteroffensive — Ukrainian forces cleared sections of territory that Russian units had been attempting to seize, preventing the deployment of Russian reinforcement groups. Geolocated footage recorded Russian strikes on Ukrainian positions east of the Haichur River, indicating that Ukrainian units had established and were holding forward positions east and south of Dobropillia and north of Varvarivka, northwest of Huliaipole.
Ukrainian units were conducting localized and opportunistic counterattacks near the Dnipropetrovsk-Zaporizhzhia regon administrative border, using the Russian communications disruption to restore contact between separate strongpoints that had become isolated along the front line. This is a tactically sophisticated objective: rather than attempting a dramatic breakthrough, Ukrainian commanders appear to have prioritized re-knitting a coherent defensive line that Russian infiltration tactics had been steadily fraying.
Gains were also recorded on other axes. Ukrainian forces regained control of territory on the Kharkiv, Kostiantynivka, Pokrovsk and Novopavlivka fronts, suggesting a coordinated effort to exploit Russian vulnerabilities across multiple sectors rather than concentrating all effort in Zaporizhzhia.
According to Ukraine’s Commander-in-Chief Oleksandr Syrsky, Ukraine intended to conduct offensive operations alongside its strategic defense, noting that “victory cannot be won through defense alone” and that active Ukrainian operations force Russian forces to commit and redeploy significant personnel, equipment, and ammunition across the theater.
The Russian response to the Ukrainian gains illustrated one of the more peculiar dynamics of this war: the tension between Russian so-called military bloggers’ real-time reporting and the official narratives of the Russian Ministry of Defense. Russian military bloggers — an amateur ecosystem of Telegram channels, operating in an informal space between citizen journalism and official military commentary — initially portrayed Ukrainian actions as a major “counteroffensive,” using dramatic language that amplified the perceived scale of Ukrainian success.
Ukrainian officials were swift to exploit this dynamic, stating that Russian units might be deliberately exaggerating Ukrainian gains to cover for their own false reports to their superiors — a reference to the well-documented Russian military practice of reporting battlefield successes that did not occur, which in turn created a feedback loop where commanders could not accurately assess the true situation. Russian amateur bloggers, who have historically been more candid than official channels, confirmed that the situation on the ground is unclear due to degraded Russian communications on the frontline — an admission that the communications crisis was creating not just tactical problems but epistemological ones, meaning Russian commanders literally could not know what was happening in their own sector.
The broader information environment was further complicated by the cyber operations that accompanied the Starlink disruption. After Russia lost unauthorized access to Starlink terminals, Russian forces began seeking workarounds. Ukrainian cyber forces responded by setting up fake Russian-linked activation services that appeared to offer the restoration of disconnected terminals, in effect running a deception operation that could potentially map Russian units’ locations and intercept communications metadata. Russia’s domestically developed alternative to Starlink — a planned constellation of 300 low-orbit satellites — remained far from operational, with plans to launch the first 16 satellites having been pushed from late 2025 into 2026 after repeated delays.
At the same time Ukrainian counteroffensive was aimed at encircling and then defeating the Russian 36th Army — the formation of the Eastern Military District’s 29th Combined Arms Army that had been the primary Russian force pressing the offensive in the Huliaipole-Zaporizhzhia sector.
The 36th Motorized Rifle Brigade, elements of which have been conducting seizure operations in villages northwest of Huliaipole in early February, is part of a broader Russian force commitment to the southern axis that represents years of accumulated Russian combat power. If Ukrainian forces were able to isolate and erase this formation, or even force its operational withdrawal, the strategic implications would extend well beyond the immediate territorial gains.
Ukraine’s Commander-in-Chief Syrsky stated doctrine of forcing Russian forces to commit reserves across multiple axes, degrading Russian offensive capability ahead of the planned summer 2026 offensive season. If Russian forces are unable to consolidate the starting positions they need for a summer offensive in the Orikhiv-Zaporizhzhia direction — a concern Ukrainian officials explicitly raised — the operational value of the February counterattacks would far exceed their territorial footprint.
Sustained battlefield success strengthens Ukraine’s negotiating leverage, insisting that the United States and Europe should continue providing Kyiv with both defensive and offensive capabilities, including long-range systems capable of striking deep inside Russia. Growing signs that Russia’s supposed invincibility is no longer a safe assumption could create pressure on the Kremlin that diplomatic processes alone had failed to generate.
This dynamic — battlefield pressure as diplomatic leverage — has been a consistent feature of the conflict. Ukraine’s 2022 recapture of Kharkiv Region and the liberation of Kherson in November 2022 each created momentum that affected international support flows and the parameters of potential negotiations. The February 2026 gains arrive at a moment when the Trump administration’s diplomacy has created significant uncertainty about the future of American military support, making every Ukrainian battlefield success doubly significant as a signal of independent capability.
Any analysis of the Zaporizhzhia fighting would be incomplete without examining the primacy of unmanned aerial systems in shaping the battlefield. Both sides have invested heavily in drone capabilities, and the contest between drone operators, electronic warfare systems, and countermeasures increasingly determines tactical outcomes across the front.
In February, Russia expanded using of first-person-view (FPV) drones to weaponize and institutionalize intentional civilian harm as a purposeful tool of war – the tactic was becoming embedded in Russian operational doctrine.
The scale of Russian drone operations against Ukrainian cities and infrastructure had been striking: Ukrainian population centers including Zaporizhzhia, Kharkiv and Odessa had suffered repeated Shahed drone attacks, with Russian forces striking energy infrastructure and port facilities throughout the winter of 2025-2026.
The communications disruption had a direct effect on drone operations. Russian FPV drones and the Shahed attack drones that had been using Starlink for navigation and targeting became less effective as the satellite connection was severed. A reduced connectivity creates precisely the kind of window that Ukrainian ground forces exploited in mid-February — periods when Russian drone coverage of contested terrain degrades, reducing the surveillance that normally makes infantry movement prohibitively costly.
Ukrainian drone capabilities also contributed to the offensive. A Ukrainian drone strike on the Nevinnomyssk Azot chemical plant in Stavropol Region — a facility that produced ingredients for military explosives including TNT and RDX, and had now been struck five times since June 2025 — continued Kyiv’s deep-strike campaign against Russian military-industrial infrastructure. A strike on a Russian ammunition depot using Ukraine’s “Flamingo” missile was also reported in this period. These strikes served both tactical and strategic purposes: reducing Russia’s available munitions while demonstrating the reach of Ukrainian strike capability.
The 201 square kilometers recaptured between February 11 and 15 must be contextualized carefully. Ukraine’s total occupied territory remains enormous — Russia controls approximately 18 percent of Ukraine’s internationally recognized land area, encompassing portions of Luhansk, Donetsk, Zaporizhzhia, Kherson and the entire Crimean Peninsula. A week of rapid gains, however significant, does not reverse the structural disadvantage that Ukraine faces in manpower, artillery shell production, and depth of reserves.
Anyway, this would be mistake to consider the February advances as a decisive turning point. The front remains fluid, and some areas claimed as recaptured are not fully consolidated. Russian forces retain the capacity to reinforce sectors under pressure, to adapt their communications infrastructure, and to resume offensive operations once the Starlink disruption is mitigated. Moscow’s satellite alternative program, while delayed, remains a long-term strategic hedge. And the broader Russian military-industrial complex, despite the sustained pressure of Ukrainian strikes and Western sanctions, continues to produce munitions at wartime rates.
What the February gains do demonstrate is that Ukrainian forces retain the initiative, the tactical innovation, and the command flexibility to exploit Russian vulnerabilities when they arise. The war has settled into a pattern of incremental change — village by village, square kilometer by square kilometer — punctuated by periods of more rapid movement when one side’s capabilities or communications temporarily break down. The February 2026 offensive belongs firmly in the second category: a window of exploitation, rapidly identified and ruthlessly used.
Looking forward, both sides are positioning for what promises to be a consequential summer. Russian military planning, according to Ukrainian intelligence assessments, anticipates a major offensive in the Slovyansk-Kramatorsk direction or the Orikhiv-Zaporizhzhia corridor — or both — as the warmer months permit greater ground mobility and aerial operations. The starting positions that Russian forces were attempting to consolidate in the Huliaipole sector throughout late 2025 and early 2026 were specifically intended to anchor that summer offensive.
Ukraine’s February counterattacks disrupted that consolidation. By recapturing territory that Russian forces had spent weeks seizing and by degrading the Russian force assemblies preparing for offensive operations, Ukrainian commanders have attempted to set the conditions that would complicate Russia’s summer plans. Syrsky’s acknowledgment that Ukraine will conduct offensive operations to maintain operational initiative reflects a doctrinal commitment to not ceding the strategic agenda to Moscow.
The diplomatic track remains uncertain. The Geneva negotiations have produced no durable framework, and the parameters of any eventual settlement remain deeply contested. Russia insists on maximalist territorial demands; Ukraine insists on territorial integrity; Western powers offer security guarantees while debating their scope and credibility. In this environment, battlefield results continue to define what is politically possible.
For the soldiers fighting in the steppe east of Zaporizhzhia city — in the villages around Huliaipole, near the Haichur River, in the gray zones between contested strongpoints — the February 2026 advances represent something more immediate than strategic positioning. They represent a week in which the war moved in Ukraine’s direction at a pace not seen in nearly three years.
Whether that momentum can be sustained, converted into durable defensive gains, and translated into negotiating leverage will depend on factors extending far beyond any single front: the coherence of Western support, the resilience of the Russian military machine, and the capacity of Ukrainian society to sustain a war now entering its fifth year.