Bakhmut: The imminent fall that took eleven months

Bakhmut: The imminent fall that took eleven months

Bakhmut was going to fall any day now. It wasn't a statement, it was a liturgy: for months, each week brought a new announcement that the city was on the verge of surrender, and each week the front remained stuck where it was. The city held out long enough for "it will happen" to become the official response to any forecast. Fine irony for a matter with thousands of deaths behind it.

What began as mockery of the imminent conquest announcements ended up portraying both sides of the narrative. Both surrender dates and impossible casualty figures circulated for eleven months with hardly anyone reconciling them with what the images showed.

From August 2022 to May 2023: the victory that never arrived

The city became a symbol long before it was a target. Since August, some had taken its conquest for granted and others argued it was worthless. Both, as convenient. When the fall was considered a "matter of days," another calculation appeared placing it a month away; when months passed, it was said the city had never mattered.

The real score arrived late. On May 20, 2023, the city—renamed Artemovsk by the Russian side—changed hands, eleven months after the first forecasts. Not days, not weeks.

Why was it said that Russia didn't want to take Bakhmut?

The most repeated thesis had its logic: if the attacker didn't complete the conquest, it was because they weren't interested. Each assault without a definitive capture served to wear down defending units in an urban bottleneck where the attrition fell on the side holding out. The city as a grinder, not a prize.

The argument had an origin problem: it reproduced, almost word for word, what the Wagner leadership itself maintained. And part of the analysis used it for months as an alibi: if it didn't fall, it was because they didn't want it to. The contradiction was summarized with sarcasm by someone: the city was strong and weak at the same time, and the defenders, smart and foolish at the same time.

Ammunition: 2022 casings and empty Belarusian warehouses

The indications cited by a forum user were specific: remnants of ammunition from batches dated 2022 where before there were casings from the 90s; depots prepared in Belarus before the invasion, now with no entry or exit; and a bombing intensity reduced to 25-30% of its peak. Read together, according to that same user, they pointed more to an inventory problem than a tactical decision.

The winter that froze no one

There was a transversal forecast: the cold would decide. It was predicted that the trenches would freeze and Europe would run out of gas, with forecasts of raw hamster included. The reality for those who trinc the matter month by month was more prosaic: "it's April and I'm still not freezing or eating raw hamster." Another prediction that expired without a sound.

Kramatorsk and the dispute over the gateway to Donbas

For some, Bakhmut was the gateway to Donbas: once the city fell, the next strong bastion was Kramatorsk, and with it the region would be considered lost. For others, it was a point of attrition without real significance, and the symbol had been built precisely by those who insisted on its importance. At the close of the period, according to a forum user's calculation, Russia controlled 99% of the city, with the defenders entrenched in the remaining 1% which was more mined and better supplied.

What comes after Bakhmut is speculation. Advancing towards Kramatorsk would require crossing a valley with enemy positions around it and another city of the same size next to it: another nine months, perhaps, plenty of time to train F-16 pilots. If this cycle taught anything, it's that the next "imminent fall" will be announced long before it happens.