Since Russia began its invasion of Ukraine, Russian and Ukrainian soldiers alike have been entangled in a conflict marked by profound human tragedy.
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Russian independent news site Vazhnye istorii (Important Stories) interviewed a Russian volunteer who served a year in the war as part of a guards regiment.
He disclosed details about the punishments that senior officers had organized for those who did not obey orders — including being thrown into a large pit — and about the incidents of friendly fires that led to the tragic death of some of his fellow men. He also talked about the long-term repercussions of spending a year in the brutal conflict, and how psychological support was needed to come to terms with life as a civilian.
How I got there
I enlisted in the army as a volunteer in August 2022, initially committing to a short-term four-month contract. I ended up serving for nearly a year, with seven of those months stationed in combat positions, enduring constant shelling and in close proximity to the enemy.
My decision to join the war wasn’t driven by ideological motives; rather, it stemmed from a childhood fascination with military action, when I read thrillers about special forces and warfare. I wanted firsthand experience so that, in conversations where someone boasted about their military exploits, I could say, “I’ve seen it all too.”
Though some might question how my liberal views aligned with participating in conflict, the reality was that 99% of my comrades were also volunteers who harbored disdain for Putin’s actions. Nationalistic sentiments were more prevalent behind the front lines, while those who experienced extended periods at the front wished to leave and never return.
No training
The Ministry of Defense’s rhetoric about the army’s strength contrasted sharply with the reality of their failures.
Despite not having previous military service, I underwent a two-week training regimen before deployment. My preparation involved extensive self-education through literature on mine-explosive technology, shooting techniques, and trench digging. When questioned by a commander about my knowledge of fuses despite no military background, I explained that information could be found in books and online, utilizing resources like the Ukrainian Azov’s YouTube channel, which provided detailed training manuals — an option not available within the Russian YouTube sphere.
A significant portion of our losses stemmed from sheer carelessness and imprudence.
Upon crossing the border on Sept. 2, we entered the Kherson region. I vividly remember the battalion commander’s astonishment when he discovered that we didn’t have any sleeping bags.
“Didn’t you know where you were going?” he asked. I retorted asking “Should I have brought a machine gun as well?”
That first night, five of us huddled together, using the oversized jackets we had been given as makeshift sleeping bags in the cold. Witnessing the inadequate treatment of soldiers left me horrified, I didn’t understand how this could be the army that claimed to be the second strongest in the world.
Death of a friend
The first tragic death I witnessed was that of a close friend, which occurred at the hands of our own unit. In the early morning darkness, my friend rushed towards us across a field, identifying himself with our regiment’s name, “Chebarkul”. But a colleague at the lookout post mistakenly fired at him, killing him.
Another fellow soldier repeatedly inquired about firing a grenade launcher. When he did, though, the recoil messed up causing him to lose his hand and eventually his life.
At the same time, nearby comrades were tossing grenades, leading to fragments hitting our dugout and observation post.
A significant portion of our losses stemmed from sheer carelessness and imprudence.
Punishment pits
After my contract expired in December, I sought information about my dismissal in the Lugansk region. But instead of offering support, the chief of staff pressured me to continue fighting, dismissing my inquiries about leave or dismissal. Shocked by this callous attitude, I retreated into the forest without a sleeping bag, bought supplies like vodka and lard, and spent two days there.
In the rear camp located in Shulginka, a village within the Starobelsky district of the Lugansk region, there was a punishment “pit” where military personnel were confined for various transgressions such as being intoxicated, insubordination, or showing disrespect toward senior officers.
Three of my friends had been thrown into this pit, normally for a day or two.
I came to the realization that this was the wrong war.
Riots occurred at the front lines, too. In one instance, after we were relocated to the Chervona Dibrova area, a considerable number of us resisted fighting. Despite our complaints, our commander dismissed our grievances and, as a punitive measure, sent us directly to the front lines where the enemy was just 150 meters away. A pit located right on the contact line was barely 150 meters behind us, where the sounds of explosions were a constant presence. Those who entirely refused to comply with orders were thrown in there without weapons or means to defend themselves.
Often, dissenting personnel were beaten. One of my friends, who endured such treatment, told me that “It’s better to avoid the army and any association with the state entirely.”
To intimidate and harass those confined to the pit, officers would throw a grenade fuse inside, creating a loud bang akin to a firecracker. For someone already battered and emotionally drained, this only increased the fear and mental distress.
Consequences of a year at war
I made the decision to leave the war with the assistance of “Go Through the Woods,” an organization helping Russians evade participation in the war.
There were various reasons for this. First, the dismissive and bullying attitude of management. Second, after enduring 11 months of continuous shelling, I was exhausted. And third, I came to the realization that this was the wrong war.
I got a hold of a phone belonging to a captured Ukrainian serviceman — his death occurred due to artillery shelling, not because I shot him. When I got home, I reached out to his daughter, informing her about her father’s death.
I empathise with fellow soldiers, Ukrainian and Russian, understanding the how brutal the war is.
The psychological toll of the war has been undeniable. Initially, while walking around the city, I searched for places to take cover if an attack occurred — be it a nearby building or a ditch for refuge. My mind constantly replayed scenarios from the battlefield.
I’ve lost the desire to communicate with friends at the front; news of their deaths is unbearable. Recently, overwhelmed by it all, I resorted to heavy drinking and ended up losing my job.
“Go Through the Woods” provided me with access to a free psychologist, which helped me come to terms with the horror of war. I’ve come to accept my circumstances: I pursued this journey voluntarily, signing the contract myself, knowing the risks. I have great empathy for those who are manipulated or forced to go to the front.
Undoubtedly, I wouldn’t choose to return to war. When I faced difficulties about where to live or work, I dreamed of the simplicity of life in war. I dreamed of being handed a shovel, digging a trench, and finding solace there. But now I’m not so naïve.
