Unarmed, unprepared and passportless: foreign fighters head to Ukraine’s frontline

A large hotel in Korczowa, a south-east Polish border town near a highway into Ukraine, has become the unofficial meeting place for foreign fighters looking to head into battle. 

A group of mostly solo travellers are meeting for the first time, sleeping in a row on mats above the dining hall. They come from all over the world but are mostly former US soldiers on the day I visit. Most have purchased their own tactical gear — bulletproof vests, heavy boots and helmets — which they show off and compare among one another. 

But they’re all very unprepared for what awaits them. They know they have to cross the border and find a white tent. They’ve heard rumours their passports will be taken from them once they arrive — one man has brought an expired one he hopes to hand in instead. None have any insurance and are hesitant to speak because they’re not sure if their governments allow ex-military to join foreign armies.

Matthew and Ryan — “as in Saving Private Ryan” — agreed to speak to me and have their photos only if their last names aren’t used. Neither are in active duty and are both 25. 

Matthew is a former US marine and counter-terrorism specialist who transferred out of the army when his contract expired. He did private security work in Afghanistan and then went home to start a psychology course. He’s put that on hold to join Ukraine’s fight. 

Ryan is from the Netherlands and also worked in counter-terrorism. He has a wife and two children at home — his youngest is turning one in three weeks — and doesn’t want to hand in his passport so he can make it home for her birthday. He says he’s spent the past month studying Russian tactics and believes he can help Ukrainian forces with logistics. 

“I studied the roads on Google maps — Ukraine has a lot of ditches and I would crawl in those ditches and lay down an ambush on the Russians,” he says. “I think with my experience in the Dutch reconnaissance unit and counter-terrorism unit, I could apply some tactical training to the army.” 

Matthew says he has a lot of advanced medical training from his time in the infantry, as well as close-quarter battle skills. He says if the rumours about having passports confiscated were true, it would be a “massive red flag. Probably at that point, I’d be like: ‘See ya later’.”

He bought a cheap suitcase on a whim — it’s already falling apart — and tarps to sleep under, but admits he’s never slept outdoors anywhere colder than 5 degrees. Temperatures are set to drop to -3 next week in Ukraine’s capital, Kyiv. “It’s character building,” he laughs. 

They both say they’re a little scared, but that fear is a normal response. Why does war draw them? “I can’t explain it,” Ryan says. “If you want to understand, you have to be there for yourself.” His wife isn’t happy he’s left.

“It’s what we’re trained to do,” Matthew says. “If you do it right, you can save someone’s life or make it better.”

Given neither of their governments know they’re joining up, they’re aware they’re on their own. “So don’t let yourself get captured,” Ryan jokes. “We’ll be treated as criminals and not soldiers.” 

The taxi arrives but can’t fit everyone. We’re heading in the same direction so I give Matthew and Ryan a lift.

As we arrive in Medyka, another border crossing just 30km away, Matthew’s suitcase gives way. The zip has broken, the wheel has fallen off and the plastic is breaking. A humanitarian worker finds him a replacement. 

Matthew and Ryan wander up the hill to the border crossing. The Polish migration office stamps their passports with no questions, as does the Ukrainian side. There they go to the Foreign Legion’s tent — a basic structure with a “Legions” scrawled on a sign in red paint. No Foreign Legion members speak English or Polish, and the men can’t ask about contracts or passports. 

A green minivan arrives. The men are shepherded in and driven to a nearby primary school which has been converted into a base.

Red Cross volunteer Grzegorz Styś says about 30 foreign fighters crossed the Medkya border entrance daily during the first weeks of the war, but now it’s about a dozen. Many come back to the border crossing after a couple of weeks saying they weren’t prepared for what they saw. Their passports are returned and their contracts broken.

Ryan calls me the next day. They’ve been given Ukrainian SIM cards. He says air sirens went off and he can see smoke nearby.

“They said we’d have to hand over our passports for security purposes, and that we had to sign a contract committing to stay until the end of martial law,” he says. “I don’t want to do that.”

He initially agreed to stay on base to help train extra volunteers but now is heading back into Poland:. “It’s a huge clusterfuck here.”

Matthew signs the contract but said he kept his passport. “We ultimately went with them,” he texts me. “We’re getting sorted and teamed up now. I can’t go into much detail.”

He’ll undergo a week of training before heading to the front line. It’s unclear how his new suitcase is holding up.