In a Ukrainian prison, cells are full of young Russian conscripts

washingtonpost.com In a Ukrainian prison, cells are full of young Russian conscripts Siobhán O'Grady, Tetiana Burianova, Mary Ilyushina, Serhiy Morgunov 9–11 minutes

In the basement of a prison in northeastern Ukraine, dozens of Russian soldiers — some wounded, most barely adults — sat huddled on metal bunk beds Friday, dressed in mismatched T-shirts and flip flops. In one tile-floored cell secured with a heavy metal door, Garfield played on a TV in the corner.

The prisoners of war are not seasoned fighters who were caught in battle in Ukraine, but Russian soldiers captured at home after a surprise Ukrainian incursion into Russia last week. Many are among Russia’s youngest men: conscripts fulfilling their year-long mandatory military service who were never supposed to see combat, let alone enter Ukraine.

The capture of so many unprepared young men poses a significant challenge for the Kremlin. It also serves as a test case for Ukraine on how to handle such a large number of Russian POWs who could be seen as especially valuable bargaining chips in future negotiations or exchanges.

Conscription service is a politically explosive subject in Russia, where all men must serve in the military once they turn 18. After Russia invaded Ukraine in 2022, Russian President Vladimir Putin promised concerned mothers that conscripts would not be involved in any fighting. Putin largely stuck to this promise, although some still wound up in Ukraine amid the chaos of the first year of the invasion or were pressured into signing contracts by their officers.

Post reporters visited a facility in northeastern Ukraine on August 16, where officials said they have handled over 300 Russian prisoners of war. (Video: Siobhán O’Grady, Serhiy Morgunov, Jon Gerberg/The Washington Post)

Most, though, have been stationed along Russia’s expansive Western border to patch up personnel shortages and with the expectation they would never face an attack. Inside Ukraine, Russia has relied on a haphazard force made up of convicts, mercenaries, mobilized and contract soldiers to bear the brunt of the war, with the state continuously increasing their salaries.

But when Ukraine launched a surprise incursion into Kursk last week, these young, untrained conscripts from cities, towns and villages across Russia found themselves on the new front line — and unprepared to defend it. The men in the Ukrainian prison came from as far away as the northwestern port city of St. Petersburg and a rural village in Penza, southeast of Moscow.

“We did not want to fight in any way,” said Nikolai, 22, who is from the city of Chelyabinsk, some 1,200 miles east of Moscow. “We were promised that we would not take part in hostilities at all. But something went wrong.”

When asked who promised this, he replied: “President Vladimir Putin.”

Ukraine’s Ministry of Defense granted a small group of journalists, including a team of Washington Post reporters, access to a prison where Russian troops are being held Friday under the condition that its location was kept secret. Ukrainian prison guards were present in the cells during the interviews but did not closely monitor the conversations, interject or review material before publication.

Post reporters identified themselves as journalists, explained that the material would be published and asked each prisoner they interviewed if they were willing to speak or were being forced to do so. Some prisoners declined to participate. Others confirmed they were doing so willingly. The prisoners spoke on the condition that only their first names be used to speak openly about their experiences.

The vast majority of the prisoners were uninjured. Several wounded soldiers interviewed by The Post explained how they suffered injuries in battle before capture, including one who said he injured himself with his own grenade in hopes he would die and not be taken prisoner. Ukrainian soldiers provided him first aid, he said, and then evacuated him to a clinic where he was X-rayed and had surgery to remove shrapnel from his wounds.

The soldiers said they were being well-treated and had been provided medical attention. Their bandages appeared clean and they said they were fed three times per day, including soup, salad and porridge. (One said with a laugh that his mother’s borscht was better than the prison chef’s.) The men said they were allowed showers and had not been mistreated. Post journalists witnessed several joking around with Ukrainian prison guards. Red Cross officials were inside the prison meeting detainees at the same time as journalists.

The head of the prison, who spoke on the condition of anonymity to ensure the prison location would not be revealed, said 320 Russians have passed through the facility in the past 10 days on their way to other prison camps in Ukraine. The vast majority are young conscripts, the official said, with only around 20 percent identifying as contract fighters or otherwise mobilized soldiers. Some of the young men were “very scared” when they first arrived, the official said, but have since adjusted.

Nikolai and fellow prisoner Sergey, 19, said Ukraine attacked their military headquarters on Aug. 6 and their commanders left without giving instructions on what to do next. Fearing they would be killed if they stayed, the young men walked for three days through forests and swamps and “slept on the cold ground,” Nikolai said. While searching for safety, they came across a group of vehicles decorated with triangles — a symbol Ukraine has painted or taped on all its vehicles crossing into Russia in recent days. “I was trying to remember whether the triangle was our identification sign or not,” Nikolai said. Soon they were surrounded.

Ukrainian soldiers grabbed them by the scruff of the neck, he said, checked them for weapons and then gave them food, water and cigarettes. “They came, chatted, told their stories, listened to ours,” he said. Then they tied their hands and covered their eyes and sent them over the border into Ukraine.

Kirill, 20, who was wearing a Star Wars T-shirt, said his radio was switched off when the Ukrainian incursion began and he missed messages calling for troops to evacuate. He hid at his trench position but was soon surrounded by Ukrainian forces.

“At first, I was scared, I was very much surprised. Then they told me, ‘Surrender and you will live,’” he recalled. He surrendered immediately, and they tied his hands and covered his eyes, then put him in an armored vehicle and drove away. When they stopped driving, a Ukrainian soldier offered to let him call his mom, who works at a grocery store in Russia, he said.

The others said they had not been allowed to make calls, but were given paper to send letters to relatives at home.

Two days after the Ukrainian incursion, Nikita, 20, said commanders evacuated him and fellow soldiers away from the border to abandoned Russian positions in a village house. They rested and ate bread there, and then an RPG smashed through the window. The commanders decided to surrender, he said, and he was transferred over the border to Ukraine. He wrote a letter to his parents on Wednesday, he said, telling them: “I’m alive, I’m in prison — don’t worry too much, I will come back.”

Earlier this week, family members of conscripts captured in Kursk launched a petition addressed to Putin, urging him to exchange the soldiers as soon as possible. The petition also accused Chechnya’s Akhmat special forces, who are fighting in Kursk, of abandoning young soldiers, some of whom haven’t finished the mandatory four-months long military training.

Chatrooms sprung up on Telegram and Vkontakte, with relatives trying to identify captured Russian soldiers in photos and videos shared by Ukrainian military bloggers. The Post reviewed dozens of messages posted by family members of soldiers who were stationed at the Kursk border. Most said they lost contact with the conscripts in the first days of the Ukrainian offensive toward Sudzha, between Aug. 5 and Aug. 8.

“We called the defense ministry, but they did not give us any information, just said that he is not listed as killed or captured,” said Aleksandra, a relative of one of the conscripts who went missing on Aug. 6. “But we recognized him in a photo.”

Denis, 20, said the first Ukrainian troops he encountered after the incursion told him he had 2 minutes to run. He fled through a swamp and evaded capture until Aug. 9. He said he feared that he would be tortured in Ukrainian prison. Upon arrival, he said, “I completely changed my mind.”

Pavel, 20, said he was still stunned to be in Ukrainian custody.

“We didn’t think this can happen,” he said. “We are just conscripts.”

In one cell in the prison filled with older soldiers, the mood was more somber. They included border guards and contract soldiers. All the men said the Ukrainian incursion was their first time experiencing combat and that they had not previously deployed to Ukraine, except for one marine — Askerkahn, 33, who remained silent.

With a bandaged arm, he was among several in the room who were wounded. Out of 60 men he fought alongside to try to repel the Ukrainian incursion, only four or five survived. The rest refused to surrender and were killed in fighting with Ukrainian troops, he said. He knew he might stay in prison indefinitely but hoped Russia would find a way to quickly return the young conscripts home.

“They were not ready at all for war or captivity,” he said. “They’re children.”

Ilyushina reported from Berlin.

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