Russia’s unexpected advance into Kharkiv province on May 10, 2024, was not a routine move—it was a deliberate action intended to stress Ukrainian defenses, compel Kyiv to regroup forces, and create a defensive salient along the border. Kharkiv was a tempting target: close to Russia, strategically significant, and meaningfully symbolic.
After weeks of intense fighting, the offensive began to falter, as both Russia’s enduring weaknesses and Ukraine’s remarkable resilience were brought into view. A rough estimate of 40,000 Russian troops were sent in in hopes of enticing Ukrainian troops and severing a corridor south towards Donetsk.
The goal wasn’t actually to seize Kharkiv city itself, but to drive Ukrainian troops far enough so that the city would be placed within range of artillery fire and serve as a defensive barrier against cross-border raids. Initial momentum appeared to be with Russia. They captured about 100 square kilometers—their greatest gain since late 2022. But by early June, the advancement slowed. Ukrainian strikes at lines of supply, including targets inside the Belgorod area, and well-organized defense measures halted Russian advances, and Kyiv struck back with precision and speed.
Expecting the attack, Ukraine had strengthened the northeast with additional troops and firepower. As Russian forces pushed forward, Ukrainian defenders battled fiercely, block by block, in towns like Vovchansk and Lyptsi. By mid-June, the Russian advance had been checked effectively.
President Volodymyr Zelenskyy went on to highlight the stark disparity in casualties: Russia lost many more soldiers than Ukraine, with the success of Kyiv’s defense strategy being evident. The battle also laid bare Russia’s persisting operational issues.
Almost two and a half years into the incessant combat, Russian forces remain reliant on outdated techniques and vintage Soviet weaponry. Command coordination is still bad, morale uneven, and losses of more advanced armor have forced greater dependence on less capable older vehicles.
Production problems, worsened by sanctions and material shortages, make resupply of losses or support of high-intensity operations difficult. Even fighter-bomber production has slowed, putting additional strain on Russia’s defense industry.
Ukraine itself has acted quickly. Western assistance—predominantly artillery, drones, and long-range missiles—has been crucial, but it’s Ukraine’s ability to deploy those tools in a timely fashion that’s reaped rewards. Decentralized command allows local troops to react faster than the Russians can, and the freedom to experiment keeps Moscow off balance.
Resistance movements in occupied territory are another hurdle for Russian operations, providing intelligence to Kyiv and severing supply lines. But Ukraine has some problems as well: recruitment is difficult, manpower is stretched too thin, and tensions occasionally flare between ambitious young officers and veteran commanders holding on to established orthodoxy. Corruption and greed for material gain also block planning and funding for future campaigns.
Ukraine defeated the attack, but attrition warfare costs more than clever tactics. Sustained defense requires a constant flow of troops and equipment for months. The entire conflict has bogged down. Russia continues pounding at Donetsk and Chasiv Yar, relying on relentless pressure to eventually wear out Ukrainian defenses.
Ukraine maintains its position, taking ground in bits and pieces, but large counterattacks are out of reach without a decisive breakthrough.. Both learn nasty lessons: Russia, the cost of obsolete doctrine and rigid logistics, and Korea, to the extent of its endurance in an endless attrition struggle. Defense is as much the order of the day as offense—the struggle is as much one of endurance as of ground.