Traffic is light due to lack of fuel, so many residents ride bicycles. This peaceful facade, however, is deceptive. Explosions regularly resonate over Bahmut: explosions of outgoing and incoming artillery and rockets outside and occasionally inside the city. Our first stop was a municipal building where volunteers were handing out bread. As the cooking gas is no longer available, the bakeries have stopped operating. Every day a truck arrives after a 10 hour journey with 10,000 loaves of bread, distributed free of charge – two loaves per person. Lyilya brought her two grandchildren to get bread. “We support them,” he says, explaining what he does to keep their minds calm. “We tell them that some guys play with tanks. What else can I tell them? How can I harm their mental health? You can not do that. It is impossible.” Just as the last words come out of her mouth, the air is shaken by multiple explosions. She turns to her grandchildren with gentle words of reassurance. On a nearby wooded hill, thin threads of black smoke roll through the sky from where the explosions came from – most likely a Ukrainian rocket launcher. Nobody is afraid. No one is running for coverage. Tetiana voluntarily participates in the distribution of bread. A stocky woman with an easy smile, exchanges pleasant things as she distributes bread. When I ask her if she intends to stay in Bakhmut if Russian forces approach, her behavior changes. She shakes her head. “We love our city. Our graves are here. Our parents lived it. We will not go anywhere,” she insists in her trembling voice. Tears well up in her eyes. “It’s our land. We will not give it to anyone. Even if it is destroyed, we will rebuild it. Everything will be …” and here he gives two thumbs up. Bakhmut is located on the main road leading to the twin cities of Lysychansk and Severodonetsk, which is now the epicenter of fighting in eastern Ukraine. The latter was the scene of intense street-to-street fighting between Ukrainian and Russian forces. For weeks, Russian forces have been bombing the road and Bakhmut in an attempt to cut off the twin cities from the rest of the Ukrainian-controlled territory. Ukrainian officials say most of Sheverodonetsk is now under Russian control. If this city falls and Lysychansk, Bakhmut, they fear, will be next. Unlike some other parts of the country, it makes no sense here in the east that the worst of this war is over. Russian forces have made slow but steady progress there. The head of the Ukrainian intelligence service recently told the Guardian that for every artillery held by the Ukrainian army, the Russians have between 10 and 15. Others, including President Vlodymyr Zelensky, claim that up to 100 Ukrainian soldiers and about 500 are killed every day. injured. In this fierce war of attrition, Russia, much larger and better armed, is pushing for its own advantage. All this is no secret here. In a city-run dormitory, Lyudmila prepares lunch for her two children by frying onions and boiling potatoes. She fled her hometown of Bakhmut in March to escape the bombing. The “house” is now a small, narrow room. Her husband died before the war. He says he has nowhere else to go, and almost no money, and asks with a frown, what is the point? The Russians are coming. “It’s the same everywhere,” he says. “When they [the Russians] they are finished here, they will go further “. She shrugs and walks into the dark hallway. “That’s what I have to say,” she shouts from behind her shoulder. On Thursday morning, Russian planes struck a complex of agricultural warehouses on the outskirts of Bakhmut. It was the band’s third strike in weeks. An open hole in the sidewalk shows where a bomb struck, spraying shrapnel in all directions, tearing holes in a grain depot. Rich pigeons make circles on top, ready to feast on wheat. The weather was good this year. The wheat harvest is just weeks away. However, the war threatens to reduce production by a third. Police Major Bakhmut Pavlo Diachenko spends his days documenting the aftermath of airstrikes and artillery attacks. He knows very well how random they look. Strikes, he tells me with a sigh, can take place “at any time. In the morning, in the evening. We do not [know] never.” A small group of people gathers in the morning in a parking lot next to a municipal building, waiting for a bus of volunteers to take them to the relevant security of the city of Dnipro, a four-hour drive west. Igor, a peacemaker, is surprised by a large explosion as he stands in the shade. He leaves with his cat, Simon Simonyonich, who frowns through the railings of his blue and white suitcase. Simon Simonyonich has been out of action since Bakhmut came under fire, Igor observes. “I left everything here – my bees and my house with all my belongings,” he says, holding Simon’s cage as he prepares to board the bus. Moments later, another explosion shakes the ground. After a while the bus loads, the passengers sit in their seats. “Is anyone here with the army?” the driver asks. The bus is strictly for citizens. A sardonic laughter ripples through the passengers. Most have had a very good military age. The door closes loudly. The bus starts moving. After one last explosion, the bus leaves the parking lot. CNN’s Ghazi Balkiz contributed to this report.
