While negotiations over the war in Ukraine between the US and Russia appear to be back on the table this week, following the leak and subsequent furore over clandestine diplomacy between the two states, the outcome remains uncertain. Whatever emerges from these talks, the war will eventually end either through a comprehensive peace agreement or, more likely, an arrangement that freezes the conflict in place, leaving major political questions unresolved. In both cases, conflict is unlikely to cease entirely but will instead retreat into what Austin Carson in Secret Wars calls the “back stage,” where greyzone activity, information operations and covert action become the primary tools of competition between Russia and the broader West, including Ukraine. However, the war’s effects on Russia’s military may mean it will be less capable of competing in this environment once the conflict ends, and as such it is worth exploring the costs the war has imposed on these tools of statecraft.
The Western defence and security community, like most expert communities, can often fall into fad thinking. Since the annexation of Crimea in 2014, the topic du jour in discussions of Russian activity was so called hybrid operations, with the bogeyman of the “Gerasimov Doctrine” looming in the Western mind despite the fact it did not exist, and the paper it was misinterpreted as coming from, The Value of Science is in the Foresight, written by Valery Gerasimov, was discussing US and NATO interventions after the Arab Spring and how Russia might draw lessons from them. Since the beginning of the war in Ukraine, however, the pendulum has swung again, and many now denounce hybrid operations, doubling down on ideas that conventional conflict is back and that irregular warfare no longer has a place in a world of tank battles and potential naval clashes in the Pacific. Personally, I see much of this discourse as the product of petty academic squabbling, wherein definitions are created and then nit picked, leading to the creation of new terms and the continuation of the same cycle.
Beneath this churn among the chattering classes, a practical reality is unfolding. I have previously noted the danger in the Western pivot towards great power competition: an intense focus on increasing conventional capabilities, both for deterrence and to prepare for potential major power conflict. This is necessary, but it risks sucking the air out of the room when discussing unconventional approaches that are the bread and butter of competition. Russia’s operations in Ukraine present an inverse problem that Western nations should note, the focus on unconventional tools at the expense of conventional ones.
As seen during the Cold War, competitive landscapes often involve larger states engaging in military operations against smaller ones, as in Korea, Vietnam, and Afghanistan. These operations combine conventional forces with the array of options used in proxy competition intelligence, paramilitary forces, and special operations units providing plausible deniability. For example, while conventional forces fought the North Vietnamese Army and conducted counter insurgency operations against the Viet Cong, the CIA and MACV SOG were conducting operations in Laos and Cambodia against communist groups backed by Hanoi and attempting to disrupt the Ho Chi Minh Trail. As Tor Bukkvoll’s book Spetsnaz: A History of Soviet and Russian Special Forces confirms, they were also hunting KGB Spetsnaz units operating in the region, mostly as advisers.
Ukraine is seen in some quarters as the opening gambit of renewed great power competition. Yet although it is the most high profile example, since 2014 there have been numerous cases the annexation of Crimea and the war in the Donbas, Russia’s intervention in Syria, Wagner’s operations in Africa, and joint Iranian Russian support for the Taliban that echo Cold War era competitive behaviour. Ukraine, however, is the first example in this era of a war involving conventional units such as infantry and armour being deployed by a major power against another state. As the Russian hammer continued pounding the Ukrainian nail, cracks emerged, showing that despite its strength, it was also brittle. Early in the war, Russian vehicles drove into ambushes by Ukrainian Javelin teams, and logistics issues exacerbated by corruption, notably units on the northern front selling much of their fuel to Belarusian civilians on the black market under the assumption no invasion would occur became stark. The anticipated two week thunder run to Kyiv soon became what is now approaching a four year slugfest over the Donbas.
Given this, how can the same military that conducted Russia’s successful operations between 2014 and 2022 be the one that struggled so profoundly in Ukraine? The simple answer is that it is not the same military. As I have previously noted, the Westphalian concept of the state often grinds away institutional distinctions between state organs. In Russia’s case, many operations attributed to “the military” before 2022 do not capture the reality. A small cadre within the Russian military has combat experience primarily the Naval Infantry, the VDV, various Spetsnaz units attached to intelligence services and the Ministry of Defence, and the Wagner Group and other, lesser known PMCs.
As it became clear that Russia’s infantry were less capable of performing their intended roles, these elite units began to be pushed into light infantry roles, leading to significant casualties. This pattern has been seen in previous Soviet and Russian wars. As Bukkvoll documents, Russia repeatedly attempts to shift its special operations forces away from acting as light infantry and towards a Western special forces model, only to be dragged back into infantry roles out of necessity as seen in Afghanistan, Chechnya, and now Ukraine. GRU, FSB, and KSSO units have all been pressed into roles such as trench clearing and urban warfare. However, traditional special operations capabilities raids and long range reconnaissance have also been employed, launched from the southern coast or across the northern border with Belarus.
Although we have seen activity often labelled as grey zone or hybrid, this is not strictly correct (and this is where, ironically, I become a stickler for academic language). Both “grey zone” and “hybrid warfare” describe a state of conflict that is neither fully peace nor fully war. However, Frank Hoffman’s original definition of hybrid warfare, developed after observing Iranian activity in Iraq after 2003, emphasised the combination of military and non military means: terrorism, NGO financing, diplomacy, cyber capabilities, intelligence support to paramilitaries and special forces, training of non state groups, and arms supply.
Grey zone activity had its own definition, implying actions that are neither fully overt nor fully covert. Yet often the media and politicians tend to label nearly any irregular activity as grey zone or hybrid, as seen in descriptions of recent drone incidents in Europe. Most of Russia’s current activity outside Ukraine is not grey zone or hybrid but instead resembles traditional covert action sabotage and assassination attempts in Europe, largely run by intelligence services using organised crime or disenfranchised youth to conduct attacks or vandalise strategic assets. Russia has also shared intelligence with the Houthis in Yemen and cooperated with a Chinese OSINT firm with links to Wagner to help identify international shipping.
This may indicate decreased Russian capacity to conduct true grey zone or hybrid campaigns due to its focus on Ukraine. Yet an even larger issue may be the impact of casualties on its special forces capabilities. David Kilcullen in The Dragons and the Snakes: How the Rest Learned to Fight the West makes an interesting observation about organisational effectiveness and combat deaths. Applying Darwinian theory to organisational leadership, he argues that moderate casualties can improve effectiveness by accelerating generational turnover as survivors tend to be more capable. However, beyond a certain point, returns diminish: an organisation cannot replace itself, institutional knowledge is lost, and it must be rebuilt from the ground up.
It is clear that the VDV reached this latter stage early in the war. Although its numbers have since been replenished, replacements have received less training and are often thrown straight into combat, reducing combat effectiveness and undermining the unique skillset of these units. It remains unclear whether some Spetsnaz units may end up in a similar situation. Even if some emerge stronger, the traits selected for may be suboptimal for their post war roles.
Unlike previous conflicts Russia has engaged in, a major new factor is the remnants of the Wagner Group. In the long run, the Prigozhin mutiny may have been a blessing in disguise for Russia, allowing Wagner to be brought more firmly under Ministry of Defence control while retaining the fig leaf of a mercenary organisation, and enabling Russia to pivot away from the attritional grind in Ukraine. The GRU has had links to Wagner and other PMCs since the reforms introduced by Gerasimov and Shoigu in 2009. The GRU and GRU Spetsnaz have been slowly morphing into an intelligence paramilitary force akin to the CIA’s Special Activities Center, Iran’s IRGC Quds Force, or Pakistan’s Directorate S units typically at the forefront of grey zone activity. The Africa Corps is rumoured to be under the direction of GRU Unit 29155, one of Russia’s most notorious irregular warfare units.
The PMC network presents another challenge when assessing GRU Spetsnaz combat power. One known phenomenon within Wagner before the mutiny was “sheep dipping.” The term originated in US special forces circles during the Vietnam War. Sheep are deloused by dipping them in chemical baths; metaphorically, special forces personnel “leave” the military and “join” intelligence agencies known as being “dipped” to gain plausible deniability or legal cover where they come out as “clean”, then return to their units once the operation concludes. One well known example is the killing of Osama bin Laden, where SEAL Team 6 operators were temporarily placed under CIA authority.
In Russia, however, sheep dipping often occurs in the opposite direction: GRU personnel are “dipped” into Wagner, allowing them to operate under Wagner’s banner and then return to their original units. Another challenge in assessing Russian special forces activity is the “Tiger Effect.” The German Tiger tank, one of the most feared weapons of the Second World War, became so mythologised that post war analysis showed the Allies claimed to have destroyed far more Tigers than were ever built. Any German tank engaged in combat was often assumed to be a Tiger.
Similarly, the prestige surrounding Wagner cultivated by the group itself and amplified by Western media can inflate assumptions about its presence. Any Slavic looking men in modern military kit in Africa or the Middle East are frequently assumed to be Wagner. While this is often a reasonable assumption, they could equally be GRU personnel or other Russian special forces. Even patches are not reliable indicators, as the commodification and near celebrity status of Wagner have created a large base of supporters who purchase Wagner merchandise.
Given all these factors, it is extremely difficult to assess how active the GRU is with its own personnel in Africa and the Middle East versus how much autonomy it gives it’s surrogates. It is safe to assume that more strategic operations have a greater GRU footprint so reports of Wagner activity in Houthi controlled Yemen likely indicate a heavier concentration of Russian state involvement than activities in places like Madagascar. Depending on how Russia allocates forces between Ukraine and more peripheral regions, casualty patterns in Ukraine may offer clues about the long term impact on these units.
In conclusion, while there is a potential for Russia’s combat power to be increased after the war, historical examples such as the experience of the VDV suggest that this outcome is far from guaranteed. High casualties, rushed training, and the repurposing of elite units into conventional roles may leave lasting gaps in operational effectiveness and specialised skillsets. Nonetheless, Russia retains significant irregular capabilities, particularly through the Wagner Group and its enduring links with the GRU. These forces, operating with both plausible deniability and flexibility, represent a strategic asset that could be strengthened further in the post-war period. As such, planning and preparation for Russia’s irregular capabilities will be essential, as they may emerge from the conflict more potent and resilient, with the capacity to shape future competitive environments in ways that conventional assessments of military strength might underestimate.