The last days of Pokrovsk: Ukrainians dig trenches as Russians close In

On the outskirts, coal miners dig trenches intended to help slow the Russians. At a church nearby, Rev. Vadym Harkavenko welcomes people for confession ahead of their long trips west.

“I tell my parishioners: If you have the chance to leave, leave," said the Orthodox priest, who has seen half his congregation leave. “Then I tell them to go with God."

Pokrovsk, once home to 80,000, is steadily emptying out and shutting down as the Russians close in.

In 2½ years of war, Russia has destroyed dozens of Ukrainian cities, with its army entering the ruins of front-line ghost towns that it pummeled with relentless artillery and aerial barrages. Pokrovsk is next.

Ukraine has pressed its incursion into Russia’s Kursk region with the aim of diverting Moscow’s forces away from eastern Ukraine. But Russia has only doubled down on its push to seize Pokrovsk. After visiting troops there last week, Ukraine’s top military commander, Gen. Oleksandr Syrskiy, said Russia “is throwing anything that’s able to move and advance" into the fight for the strategic city.

Pokrovsk, located on a road and rail line that Ukraine’s military uses to supply other parts of the front line, now awaits the same fate visited on other towns in Russia’s path. It still stands mostly intact, though Russia has intensified its bombardment, dropping a 1,000-pound glide bomb on its industrial zone in recent days.

On Sunday, Russian troops were just 6 miles from Pokrovsk. If they capture the city, it would bring Russia closer to achieving President Vladimir Putin’s goal of taking the entire Donetsk region. Eighteen miles to the west, a statue of the Virgin Mary stands beside a sign marking the entrance to the region, which is draped in Ukrainian flags.

“Bakhmut, Avdiivka, Mariupol, and now Pokrovsk," said Oleh Tkachenko, the baker, referring to Ukrainian towns that have been razed by the Russian forces who now control them. “Who’s going to stop them?" The 55-year-old is one of thousands in the city who have refocused their energies on the defense effort.

A little more than a year ago, Pokrovsk was coming back to life after an exodus in the first months of the war. Thousands of residents were returning to a city that once again felt relatively safe, with the fighting many miles to the east. A gleaming new mall opened, and children filled the parks.

The playgrounds are now empty. The mall is shut down, considered a potential target of Russian shelling. Trucks carrying antitank defenses and armored vehicles travel the road into Pokrovsk; cars loaded with possessions travel out. Retirees line up for food and other handouts in the city center. Officials say 30,000 people remain, and several hundred leave each day.

Authorities are removing equipment from the city’s hospitals and packing up its cultural centers, gyms and schools, which were renovated as part of a citywide modernization program just before the war. They say desks, blackboards and even theater costumes are being transferred for safekeeping at warehouses far from the front lines, so the Russians don’t get their hands on them.

Patients are also being transported to cities farther from the fighting. Last week, paramedics moved 10 prematurely born babies to the city of Dnipro from the city’s maternity clinic, which has now closed. The main hospital in Pokrovsk maintains a skeleton staff and is preparing for an influx of wounded soldiers in coming weeks, according to Deputy Mayor Margarita Idrisova.

“We used to accept thousands of refugees. We had no plans to leave, because we believed in our armed forces," said Idrisova, who is one of the officials tasked with persuading people to evacuate the city before it is too late. “We still believe in our troops, but nothing will save us from artillery."

The city’s coal mine, where workers have toiled through the war to produce the black gold that feeds the country’s armaments industry, is now sending some workers to build fortifications on the city’s eastern outskirts. They are digging four lines of trenches to slow the Russian onslaught.

“You come to work, clock in, and then you receive the call to go dig," said 44-year-old miner Oleksandr Dichko, who hasn’t yet been called to dig trenches but has had several colleagues leave his work unit to do so.

Just over half of the mine’s 8,000 employees remain in Pokrovsk, many receiving special bonuses for working under increased pressure, said mine spokeswoman Evelina Shelest.

Deliveries at Pokrovsk’s one remaining supermarket are down to a trickle. An entire section of the store’s floor space has been cleared of its shelves and fridges, and is now a jumble of cardboard boxes, wooden pallets and rickety carts filled with expired items marked for disposal.

Picking through a box of stale tomatoes on a recent afternoon, Tetiana Romanchenko said there was nowhere else to go but a local open-air market where the produce is often even worse. Surviving on a pension of 3,200 hryvnia a month, or about $78, Romanchenko said she can’t afford to build a life elsewhere.

“Everything is closing," she said. “We’re lucky that at least this shop is open."

Pokrovsk was founded in the 19th century as a major rail hub for the Russian Empire. During World War II, it was liberated by Soviet forces. Russia later renamed the town in honor of the Red Army, before Ukraine changed the name again in 2016. The train station the city is built around has now become the point of departure for those fleeing another military force commanded from Moscow.

Among those on the platform in recent days was Dichko, the miner. After weeks of holding out, he had decided to send his family to a safer place. His wife lost her job after the supermarket where she worked as a cashier closed. She was making a 24-hour train journey with their two children to live with relatives in western Ukraine. With 18 months until retirement, and a job that pays the family’s bills, Dichko will stay behind.

As the final passengers boarded the train, he watched his 8-year-old son, Illia, sobbing in his seat beside his mother. Dichko walked over to the window, raised his hand and drew a large grin in the condensation that had formed on the glass.

“Don’t be sad," he said to Illia through the open window. “This smile will travel with you the whole way."

Write to Matthew Luxmoore at matthew.luxmoore@wsj.com