When John Healey, Britain’s Defence Secretary, stood in Kyiv this week, his words were carefully chosen. Britain and its allies, he declared, stand ready to support Ukraine not just in war but in peace: “We will help make the skies safe, to make the seas safe, and to secure the land.”

In the rubble of Ukraine’s battered cities, it was a striking pledge—that the United Kingdom will be there to guarantee whatever settlement follows the guns.

The timing was no accident. Healey’s remarks came just before a high-level meeting in Paris, as Western capitals grope towards a vision of a post-war settlement. President Putin, fresh from his visit to Beijing, had sent a defiant message insisting Russia’s “special military operation” could continue indefinitely. Yet Healey’s intervention sought to reassure Kyiv that the West, and Britain in particular, would not walk away once the shooting stops.

Britain’s post-war vision

Britain has been among Ukraine’s most steadfast supporters, from supplying anti-tank weapons in the first weeks of the invasion to hosting training for tens of thousands of Ukrainian troops. But Healey’s message went further: it was not about the present war, but the security architecture of the future. “Making the skies safe” hints at enduring Western support through air defence and perhaps even NATO-enforced no-fly zones in a peace settlement. “Making the seas safe” points unmistakably towards the Black Sea—a theatre of conflict as critical as the land battles raging in the Donbas.

Here lies Britain’s distinctive role. The Royal Navy has long seen itself as a guardian of maritime freedom, from the North Atlantic in the Cold War to the Persian Gulf in the 1980s. If NATO is to guarantee Ukraine’s future, the Black Sea will become the frontline. Ensuring grain exports, preventing blockades, and deterring Russian naval harassment are all essential if Ukraine is to rebuild a viable economy after peace.

NATO’s Black Sea dilemma

Russia has used the Black Sea as a chokehold on Kyiv’s survival. It has blockaded ports, bombarded Odesa and Mykolaiv, and repeatedly disrupted grain exports on which much of Africa and the Middle East depend. For Putin, maritime pressure has been as useful as tanks and artillery in bending Ukraine to his will.

Western planners know that any durable peace must involve securing Ukraine’s maritime access. Ideas already circulating include NATO naval patrols, multinational “grain corridors” policed by Western frigates, or a demilitarised zone enforced at sea. Britain would be central to all of them. The Royal Navy’s experience in convoy operations, its anti-submarine warfare capability, and its reputation for professionalism make it a natural leader in such missions.

But the risks are considerable. Russia would almost certainly test NATO’s resolve with harassment, drones, or “little green men” at sea. The West would need to respond with firmness but without escalation—an art Britain practised throughout the Cold War.

Lessons from the Cold War seas

Here history matters. During the Cold War, Britain’s navy was the backbone of NATO’s maritime presence in both the North Atlantic and the Mediterranean. In the North Atlantic, British vessels patrolled the Greenland-Iceland-UK (GIUK) gap, hunting Soviet submarines attempting to break out into the wider ocean. In the Mediterranean, the Royal Navy was a constant presence, reassuring allies like Turkey and Greece, and deterring Soviet naval incursions.

The parallels with today’s Black Sea are striking. Then, as now, the task was to prevent Moscow from using naval power to intimidate Europe’s southern flank. Then, as now, Britain worked with allies to protect trade routes, reassure partners, and deny Russia the ability to isolate vulnerable states.

Indeed, Healey’s words in Kyiv could have been lifted straight from a 1970s NATO briefing: skies, seas, and land, each needing to be secured if Europe is to be free. Britain’s history of naval leadership in NATO makes it uniquely credible in promising to safeguard Ukraine’s maritime future.

Putin’s bluster, Russia’s strain

Putin’s Beijing declaration—that Russia could fight indefinitely—was designed to project strength. But Healey was right to call it bluster. Russia’s economy is strained, its military stretched thin, and its people weary of a war that has delivered few tangible gains. Sanctions have bitten deeper than the Kremlin admits, and Moscow’s reliance on China is becoming increasingly lopsided.

In that sense, Putin’s defiance may mask weakness. Just as Soviet leaders in the late Cold War insisted that time was on their side, today’s Kremlin appears more desperate than confident. Western unity, if maintained, could exploit that fragility.

The Trump factor

Yet the unity question remains unresolved. Donald Trump’s warm reception for Putin in Alaska last month horrified European leaders, but Healey chose his words carefully. He praised Trump for “bringing Putin into talks” and for keeping “all options open.” For Britain, whose strategy relies on American leadership in NATO, this was more than flattery—it was realism.

If peace talks are to happen, Washington’s role will be decisive. Some fear Trump would press Ukraine into an unfavourable deal; others argue he is uniquely placed to drag Putin to the table. Either way, Britain is signalling that it will work with the US, however unconventional the style.

Europe’s divisions

The picture in Europe is more complicated. Emmanuel Macron has hinted at sending European troops into Ukraine post-war, while Germany’s Friedrich Merz speaks instead of financial aid and reconstruction. Ursula von der Leyen, meanwhile, has struggled to project EU leadership beyond platitudes. In this vacuum, Britain is positioning itself as a pragmatic leader: willing to offer security guarantees, naval presence, and political commitment, without tying itself to the EU’s bureaucratic hesitations.

This matters for NATO. The Alliance has always functioned best when Britain and the US drive its military direction, while continental Europe provides scale. In the Black Sea, as in the Cold War Atlantic, London could once again be the operational spearhead.

Beyond the battlefield: economics and reconstruction

Securing peace will not just be about guns and ships. Ukraine’s economic survival depends on stable exports. Grain must flow through the Black Sea without constant interruption; energy imports must reach Ukraine without sabotage; reconstruction aid must not be siphoned off by corruption. Here too, Britain’s experience—from post-war Germany to the Balkans in the 1990s—will be valuable. Security on land, sea, and air is the prerequisite for any meaningful rebuilding effort.

Britain’s test of leadership

Healey’s promise in Kyiv was more than a diplomatic nicety. It was a signal of intent—that Britain will not repeat the mistakes of past conflicts, when Western powers declared victory and walked away. Instead, London is preparing to lead the long, grinding work of making peace durable.

In the Black Sea, Britain may once again find itself playing the role it knew so well during the Cold War: the maritime anchor of NATO, deterring Moscow, reassuring allies, and keeping trade routes open. Then, as now, it will not be easy. The Kremlin will probe, harass, and attempt to divide the West. Yet the history of Britain’s navy suggests it is a task the UK is well suited to undertake.

Peace in Ukraine, when it comes, will not be the end of conflict. It will be the beginning of a new struggle: to turn fragile agreements into lasting security. Britain has chosen to plant its flag firmly on Ukraine’s side, ready to make skies, seas, and land safe once more. The question is whether its allies will follow with equal resolve—or whether the Black Sea, like the North Atlantic before it, will test NATO unity for decades to come.

Main Image: PO(Phot) Ray Jones/MOD, OGL v1.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34695469