Training in Belarus

I grew up in a policeman’s family. Went to school, then got a degree in design. Then I had to join the army. I chose contract service because of the money. Besides, I got to choose the unit I would serve in.

At the end of 2021, we left Ulan-Ude for a military exercise in Belarus. There were rumours among soldiers and officers that we were going to war. They said that something was brewing on the border, that there could be armed clashes, and that everyone should be ready for that. I was asked whether I would be able to participate in an armed conflict from a moral point of view.

We came to Belarus, but there was no exercise. We set up camp on a Belarusian artillery range and just stayed there for a month. Instead of fulfilling my official duties, I was guarding military equipment.

24 February 2022

On 24 February, at 5 AM, we made the first launch.

Everything turned red. The missile soared up and flew southwards. The man who was to replace me on duty approached me and said that there was a war on.

He had internet access and had been watching the news.

I was slightly in shock for the first few days, because I did not believe war was possible.

All the servicemen received information from official and near-official sources.We were told that we had successfully crossed the border — not broken through or captured anything, but just crossed. And that we were basically waiting for the Kyiv authorities to surrender.

My fellow soldiers, of course, eagerly supported all of this. Nobody discussed the possibility of mistakes or criminal actions at all. They only talked about achievements, saying that we had destroyed all Ukrainian air defence and strategically important military facilities in the first weeks.

As for the footage of destroyed cities — my fellow soldiers said that the Kyiv authorities had done it. When I saw the aftermath of the shelling, I was even more horrified, because I realised that I was literally complicit in these crimes.

Our records officer was doing operator work — my work, in fact. Our unit had about 15 launchers. We fired about 80-90 missiles in total.

Leave and visiting relatives

After six months in Belarus, we were allowed to take leave. I went to Tyumen to see my family. At that moment I realised that there was no way I could go back to Belarus. Moreover, I had to leave the army somehow. In September, the mobilisation had already started, and wartime laws forbid servicemen from leaving the armed forces.

My mother said that I shouldn’t have taken on the contract. My brother had a more articulate position, he was against the war. He and I discussed all this.

I had security clearance. I couldn’t just pack up and go somewhere. And I realised that if I went directly from Tyumen to Kazakhstan, I could be stopped at the border and arrested.

My brother sent me a link to an organisation called “Idite Lesom” [literally translated as “Take the Forest Path”, a project that helps people evade mobilisation]. They told me that I could go freely from Russia to Belarus and then from Belarus to Kazakhstan.

Was I scared? Well, not exactly scared. There was this vague sense of the unknown. After all, running away meant a criminal case would be opened. The thing that worried me the most was not even the thought of parting with my friends and family, but the thought that I, like many others, was helpless — that I could do nothing to bring about the end of the war.

The escape

In Smolensk, I took the Moscow-Minsk train and went to Minsk. When I was boarding my plane, Belarusian customs officers conducted a check, looking for something. Perhaps, they were troubled by the fact that I was registered with a military unit in Ulan-Ude, but, nevertheless, they let me through.

In Astana, I realised that I was free — or, at the very least, that Russian jail was no longer a threat to me. I will not be able to return until Putin’s government falls and a pardon is announced.

I don’t keep in touch with my former fellow servicemen. I don’t know what they say about me, what their reaction is. I know perfectly well that, according to Russian law, I am a traitor. I knew that before I made my move, of course.

What is Russian law anyway? Is it legitimate? Well, that’s a rhetorical question. As far as I know, there’s no criminal case against me yet. I’ve even received the last instalment of my salary.

I am currently working as a graphic designer at a print shop. What’s going to happen to me? Nothing extraordinary. I’ll get by around here. As for my fellow servicemen, if they cannot leave the army, their fate is very uncertain and not to be envied. For years, they’ve been deceived, inculcated with fascist and misanthropic ideas. I wish them to return to a normal human life.

As for Russians in general, I would say this: the only way to bring about our better tomorrow is to unite.