Panorama of Sevastopol’s Defense: The “Impregnable Fortress” in Search of Bomb Shelters

Occupied Ukrainian Peninsula Is Turning into a Russian Island

The latest strike on the former base of Russia’s Black Sea Fleet sparked a full-blown “historic” drama among the occupiers. According to the local occupation governor, Mikhail Razvozhayev, the famous panorama museum Defense of Sevastopol 1854–1855 was virtually destroyed.

“The situation is extremely difficult,” he lamented. “It is already clear that Franz Roubaud’s great masterpiece has been practically destroyed.”

In reality, Roubaud’s original panorama was lost in a fire during World War II, in 1942. The work later presented as the celebrated “masterpiece” was in fact a Soviet reconstruction—a replica created in the 1950s. Yet while Razvozhayev was painting a picture of cultural apocalypse, museum staff themselves stepped forward to reassure the public that not everything had been destroyed. Clearly, communication remains a challenge.

The museum, of course, had no military significance. No one intentionally targeted it. Rather, the occupiers once again appear to have engaged a drone with such enthusiasm that the resulting debris found its way into the Roubaud panorama. Similar episodes of overzealous air-defense activity have already been reported across Russia, from Kaliningrad to Omsk.

Crimea’s Five Years Under “Yellow Alert”

Occupied Sevastopol has arguably been the Crimean city most frequently subjected to attacks since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.

It all began in 2022. On July 31, Sevastopol canceled all celebrations marking Russia’s Navy Day after a drone struck the headquarters of the Black Sea Fleet. Authorities introduced a “yellow” threat level across the city. Crimean collaborator Olha Kovitidi suggested that the attack may have originated from within Sevastopol itself, while her colleague, Senator Sergey Fix, expressed hope that “those whose job it is to deal with such matters would investigate the incident and identify those responsible.”

In reality, the confusion began immediately—not only over who carried out the attack, but even over who was responsible for investigating it. If a “pro-Ukrainian Sevastopol saboteur” had indeed launched the drone, then Russia’s FSB had failed to prevent it. If, on the other hand, the incident was the result of air-defense activity, responsibility would lie with the Russian military.

A single drone thus confronted Russia’s leadership, including Putin himself, with an uncomfortable dilemma. At the time, however, the incident was treated as an isolated episode and quietly swept under the rug.

That proved to be a mistake.

What followed resembled an action series in which every new episode arrived with increasingly dramatic explosions and ever-higher stakes.

2022: A large-scale drone raid targeted Russian warships in Sevastopol Bay. Moscow described it as “the largest attack on the Black Sea Fleet base since the start of the Special Military Operation.”

2023: On March 22, drones struck Sevastopol harbor. On April 24, an attack on the oil depot in Kozacha Bay destroyed significant fuel reserves used by the Black Sea Fleet. On September 13, Storm Shadow missiles hit the Sevastopol Marine Plant, seriously damaging the landing ship Minsk and the submarine Rostov-on-Don. Nine days later, on September 22, another strike targeted the Black Sea Fleet headquarters, leaving its historic building heavily damaged.

March 2024: A series of large-scale missile and drone attacks struck Russian naval assets and military infrastructure across occupied Crimea. Warships, support facilities, and other fleet-related targets came under fire. In May, Ukrainian strikes hit Belbek Air Base, reportedly destroying or damaging aircraft and air-defense systems. Throughout the summer, from June through August, attacks regularly targeted Belbek, Kacha Air Base, fleet anchorage areas, and ammunition depots.

2025–2026: The campaign continued. Explosions repeatedly echoed over Sevastopol as military facilities in the areas of Belbek, Fiolent, Kamyshova Bay, and other locations came under attack. On May 27, the headquarters of the Black Sea Fleet’s Air Force on Gogol Street was reportedly burned out following a strike.

Against this backdrop of persistent attacks, it is worth recalling that Putin has long portrayed Sevastopol as an “impregnable Russian naval fortress.” Yet he has visited the city only once since launching the full-scale invasion—on March 18, 2023. To this day, it remains his first and only trip to occupied Crimea during the war.

Admittedly, Putin did travel to the Kerch Bridge on December 5, 2022, after repairs were completed following the explosion that damaged it. But he went no farther. Russia’s chief champion of the “Crimea is Ours” narrative apparently found it prudent not to venture deeper into the peninsula. Few details better illustrate the reality behind Moscow’s claims of Crimea as a secure rear area and “safe harbor.”

The symbolism becomes even more striking when one considers the fate of the Black Sea Fleet itself. Much of what remains of it has been relocated to Novorossiysk or other ports farther from the front. As for its flagship, the cruiser Moskva, its final destination was farther still—the bottom of the Black Sea.

Russian Crimea: Life Under the Wail of Air-Raid Sirens

What is unfolding in Crimea today is increasingly difficult to ignore. The occupied Ukrainian peninsula is, in effect, becoming a Russian island The routes leading to the peninsula are within range of Ukrainian strikes, disrupting not only the occupiers' military logistics but also the image of stability that the Kremlin has spent years cultivating. The consequences are becoming visible in everyday life: half-empty supermarket shelves, fuel rationing through QR-code vouchers, and the cancellation of overnight trains to the peninsula—the most popular rail services during the holiday season.

For the Kremlin, Crimea is gradually turning into a second Donbas—a proverbial suitcase without a handle: too cumbersome to carry, yet too politically costly to abandon. Commenting on fuel shortages and long queues at gas stations, Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov urged residents “not to give in to emotions,” dismissively comparing the situation to the panic buying that temporarily cleared Moscow stores of buckwheat several years ago.

The reality on the ground, however, sounds rather different.

Local “patriotic writer” Platon Besedin offered a far less reassuring picture of life in Sevastopol:

“The people of Sevastopol do not complain. Then again, nobody really asks them. Moscow television experts, who supposedly know everything, speak on our behalf about Trump, Armenia, Crimea, Belgorod, and Kursk. But we are sick and tired of lies and hypocrisy. We have eyes, ears, arteries. These are our children sleeping in hallways and hiding in shelters. These are our children living under the wail of air-raid sirens. These are the families in our city for whom donations are collected after they lose everything. These are the kilometer-long queues we stand in. These are the drones we flee from as they fly overhead like pigeons...”

For a region that Russian propaganda once portrayed as a tranquil rear area, insulated from the consequences of war, such testimony is telling. The gap between official narratives and lived reality appears to be growing wider with each passing month.

For a territory long portrayed by Russian propaganda as a secure rear area and a showcase of Moscow’s control, such testimony is revealing. The gap between official narratives and everyday reality has become increasingly difficult to conceal.

In one of his subsequent posts, Besedin went even further, posing a blunt question to the authorities:

“What about equipping basements, Sevastopol? What about preparing for war in general? Radical mobilization measures are needed. As soon as possible.”

It is worth remembering that this is the same man who, in 2017, offered a “100-percent guarantee” that Russia would never launch a major war against Ukraine.

This, in many ways, is the real panorama of occupied Crimea and Sevastopol today: a peninsula increasingly preoccupied with its own defense. Moscow continues to dig in under the familiar formula of “there’s no money, no air defenses, no fuel—but carry on,” while the local collaborationist authorities pursue their own version of crisis management, reducing residents to fuel vouchers, QR codes, and emergency restrictions.

Against this backdrop, the lament over the damaged Roubaud panorama seems oddly misplaced. It resembles mourning a lock of hair while the head itself is slowly being cut off.

Max Meltzer