Not my words....
Pokrovsk front
We’re smashing their attacks on two flanks. Not letting the pigs breathe. They promised to storm the city weeks ago-ended up choking on our steel instead. Now we’re flipping the script-hitting them where they don’t expect, dragging their rotten push into the mud. South and northeast of Pokrovsk, pressure’s building. It still holds. But if the flanks crack, it’ll be hell in the streets.
They come every day like meat on repeat. We burn them. Again and again.
Novopavlivka direction
We moved in near Novoseriivka-our ground now. Orcs tried creeping toward Muravka from the northeast-failed. Slithered into a pocket southeast-small bite, but we’ll crush that too. They cling to green zones, hide in trees like rats, but they die just the same.
West of Orikhove, same circus. They sneak in-our drones smoke them. Dachne’s east side still has movement, they keep throwing in fresh meat, but most don’t make it. The road ends in our crosshairs.
They come to die. And we give them the death they came for.
This isn’t a front-it’s a slaughterhouse.
Slava Ukraini.