// The Invisible Battalion //

Ghosts of Kyiv

Inside the Brotherhood: Young Ukrainian Soldiers Fight With Purpose and Grit

KYIV, Ukraine — Inside a makeshift military compound on the outskirts of the capital, the atmosphere is raw, tense, but unmistakably familiar—for those who’ve known life in uniform. The young Ukrainian soldiers I met were not just fresh-faced recruits. Many were veterans, hardened by years of conflict dating back to 2014. Some had served in elite Special Forces units. And while their faces were youthful, their eyes told a different story—one shaped by war, loss, and unrelenting purpose.

When I arrived, they welcomed me not as a reporter, but as a fellow veteran. That connection mattered. It dissolved barriers, fast. I wasn’t seen as “just another journalist,” but as someone who’d worn the same boots, slept in the same kind of barracks, and understood the invisible weight of camaraderie and combat. The moment I stepped into their barracks—a stripped-down space filled with gear, dust, and adrenaline—I was transported back to my own Army days. It was strangely comforting.

We spoke the same unspoken language. A soldier's language.

What followed was a rare openness. Several pulled out their phones to show me graphic images—dead Russian soldiers they’d encountered in battles near Kyiv and the Donbas. These weren’t shared with callousness, but with intensity and pride. The photos were more than documentation—they were personal trophies, each with a backstory, each a grim validation of survival and success in a war where the line between life and death is thin.

“They show these to people they trust,” one Ukrainian officer told me later. “It’s not about bragging. It’s about proving something—to themselves, maybe.”

Many of the soldiers I met had joined the Ukrainian armed forces in 2014, when Russia first annexed Crimea and backed separatists in the Donbas region. They were just teenagers then, but felt a calling, a duty to defend their country when it seemed the world was moving on.

“Back then, we didn’t even have real gear,” one soldier from Luhansk said. “Now, we’ve learned. We’ve adapted. We’re stronger.”

Most came from rural towns and industrial communities—places like Luhansk, Donetsk, and villages outside Kyiv. Their families were coal miners, truck drivers, or factory workers. Before the war, they lived lives not unlike their peers in the West. They played video games, studied, went on dates. Now they navigate artillery barrages, drone surveillance, and front-line rotations.

Despite billions in international aid, equipment preferences still shape their day-to-day reality. Many expressed a strong preference for the British-made NLAW (Next Generation Light Anti-Tank Weapon), describing it as simpler and quicker to use under pressure. “The Javelin is great,” one soldier said, “but it’s heavy, and takes longer to lock. For close-range fights, the NLAW saves lives.” Still, they acknowledged the Javelin’s superiority for long-distance targets.

What struck me most was their clarity of purpose. These young men weren’t just fighting for territory—they were defending their identity, their right to exist on their own terms. They joked with one another, smoked in silence, tinkered with gear. But under it all was a steel resolve.

In their eyes, this wasn’t just Ukraine’s war—it was personal.

And in that compound, sharing war stories and quiet nods of understanding, I felt it too. That familiar brotherhood. The kind forged not by words, but by fire.