German volunteers in the Ukraine war: Why Hanz and Wizard left their old lives behind
Kharkiv/Lviv. As a child, Hanz enjoyed flying toy drones in his Bavarian homeland. Today, the 20-year-old pilots deadly kamikaze drones over eastern Ukraine. The German from near Munich abandoned his sales training to join the Ukrainian armed forces. He has been in the country since December and is now fighting on the front lines in the Kharkiv region. He was trained as a drone pilot with the International Legion, which is open to volunteers from abroad. How does it feel to kill someone? "It's a new feeling," says Hanz. "The Russians are trying to kill me. Apparently, I'm doing a better job."
Hanz only returned from the front the evening before the meeting. Like almost all the Germans in this report, he wants to be referred to by his nom de guerre. The rather slight young man with the fluffy beard carries himself modestly – not like a gambler, not like a cold-blooded fighter. Why did he go to Ukraine? "I saw on the news how civilians are suffering from Russian aggression," he says. "This injustice, the bombing of civilian targets like supermarkets or hospitals."
His parents were worried, Hanz says. "But they said if that's what I wanted, then I should follow my heart." Of course, he's scared on the front lines. "But I think it's for the greater good. Even if you get injured or killed, at least you've made a difference and you haven't died lonely and alone in old age."
Hanz signed a three-year contract with the Ukrainian army, and although not even a third of the time has passed, he's already considering an extension. "If the war isn't over yet, I'll add another three years."
In Ukraine, countless women and children mourn their husbands and fathers killed in the war. To cope with their loss, war widows in eastern Ukraine are organizing discussion groups. Many are rejecting negotiations with Putin. A visit to the front lines.
Hanz finds it hard to imagine returning to his old life in Germany. He's more likely to use the skills he acquired there elsewhere after returning to Ukraine. "I think drones are the future of warfare," says the 20-year-old. "Accordingly, there's probably still work to be done in other parts of the world as well."
His German comrade, nicknamed Wizard, says: "I honestly don't know what I'll do when I get home." The 34-year-old from near Hanover used to work in IT support for Apple. "You don't get anything done and just work on first-world problems," he says, looking back. "Here I'm doing something for the greater good."
Unlike Hanz, Wizard previously served as a temporary soldier in Germany for two years. The Bundeswehr – which will soon be equipped with kamikaze drones for the first time – can learn a lot from the Ukrainians, he says. "Not just in the area of drones, but also in strategy and tactics. The Bundeswehr never had to fight the Russians."
Wizard went to Ukraine shortly after the Russian invasion in February 2022. "I saw on TV how the tanks rolled across the border. It devastated me; I couldn't work or sleep properly anymore." Today, he is deputy commander of a platoon of up to 30 international soldiers.
Max, a German soldier serving in the Ukrainian army.
Source: Andy Spyra
Only "the coolest snippets" of the mission can be seen on social media. "But there's much more to it," says Wizard. "It's much more horror." Hanz says his German friends are also considering going to war in Ukraine. "I won't lie to anyone about what it's like here. But I won't stop anyone from coming here either."
The foreign fighters in Ukraine are not guerrillas or mercenaries, but part of the regular armed forces. The army doesn't disclose their numbers, but it is clear that they come from almost every continent. Their pay is the same as that of Ukrainians and is around €2,500 for those near the front lines—so they're not getting rich by German standards.
Six German fighters were interviewed for this report. None of them has a partner in Germany; for some, the newfound camaraderie acts like a substitute family. Although they previously had no connection to Ukraine, they left everything behind in their old homeland. They quit their jobs and apartments, some sold their cars and houses.
In conversation, it becomes clear to most of them that their lives in Germany were unfulfilling, that they were searching for meaning – and that they found it in Ukraine. There, they also defend freedom and democracy in Europe, according to their shared conviction. None of the men gives the impression that they enjoy killing. "Killing is necessary; you just have to do it," says Wizard. For him, killing isn't a heroic act, but a part of survival. "It's them or us."
The fact that foreign fighters are often viewed with suspicion in their home countries may also be due to Russian propaganda, which, without any evidence, attempts to discredit them all as criminals or terrorists, murderers or neo-Nazis. Wizard says: "I've encountered some idiots, but also a lot of good guys. None of them come back from the front and say, 'Cool, I killed a lot of Russians.' We handle things on a professional level." His platoon tries to "weed out the weirdos right from the start."
The Lower Saxon native says he comes from a state with a strong SPD membership. "I'm really not a Nazi fan." Hanz adds: "There are a few right-wing extremists, not just from Germany. But they leave quickly, or they are forced out."
Siegfried, a German ex-soldier fighting for the Ukrainian army.
Source: Andy Spyra
Siegfried (47) is actually his first name. He was born in Kazakhstan and came to Germany in 1994. The Gelsenkirchen native was a paratrooper and mortarman in the Bundeswehr, and he is a trained bomb disposal expert. From 2015 to the beginning of 2020, he fought as a volunteer in eastern Ukraine against Russian-backed separatists, then returned to Germany. In February 2022, Siegfried was back in Ukraine; the day before his planned departure, the Russians invaded. "Then I stayed," he says.
The meeting with Siegfried takes place in a restaurant in the city of Kharkiv. The tall soldier with the bald head and long gray beard is on leave from the front and is currently on the long overland journey to the faraway Ruhr region. Where does he consider home after all these years in Ukraine? "If you go to the pub in Gelsenkirchen and order a half-liter and a shot, then you know where home is," says the Schalke fan – he explains that he then gets a pilsner and a whiskey. "But Ukraine, apart from the war, is still a beautiful country."
Siegfried trains foreign volunteers and, according to his description, is "essentially the integration officer" for his unit in the Kharkiv region. "If someone doesn't want to disclose their motives and instead tells some twisted stories, that's definitely grounds for disqualification," he explains. "We expect you to tell us what you want to do here. If you tell me I served in the French Foreign Legion for 20 years and you can't prove it, then you're a liar."
The tram brings drinking water because only salt water comes out of the tap: A good three years ago, the Russian occupiers cut off the drinking water supply to the Ukrainian city of Mykolaiv. The consequences are devastating – but receive little attention amid the misery of war. A visit.
The foreign volunteers are an important support for the Ukrainian armed forces, says Siegfried. "Ukraine depends on them to defend itself, and has now reached the point where it doesn't matter what the foreigners' backgrounds are. They can't be criminals or wanted. But if someone wants to fight for Ukraine, the army doesn't care what their political stance was at home. They can be an anarchist, left-wing, right-wing, or completely apolitical. Here, everyone is simply a volunteer."
In the western Ukrainian region of Lviv, the International Legion is training foreigners for frontline service. The route to the training area leads past a cemetery, where the blue and yellow Ukrainian flag flies on each of the many graves of the fallen. The men from Germany and other countries are housed in American army tents.
One of the Germans is from North Rhine-Westphalia and wants to be called Koza; he does not want to reveal his age. Koza was an instructor at a Bundeswehr infantry school before going to Ukraine. "The training here is relatively good," says Koza. "Here, you're trained to participate in a war. In Germany, you're trained to be part of a military reserve. That's a huge difference." His old unit in Germany is "definitely not war-ready."
Koza's comrade, Bobcat, was most recently a road and civil engineer in Lower Saxony. The 28-year-old calls his military training in Lviv "excellent." What did those around him say about him going to Ukraine? "My parents and siblings died in a car accident six years ago," Bobcat replies. Friends at NATO strongly advised him against it – "because the risk of dying is so high. But I'm stubborn. If I set my mind to something, I'll see it through. And now I'm here."
Of course, the danger is always in the back of his mind, says Bobcat. "But I see it this way: You can also lose an arm or a leg on a construction site in Germany." Bobcat is in the same training unit as Rebel. The electrician and mechanic from Hesse didn't actually come to Ukraine to fight—he wanted to help with reconstruction. The 42-year-old lives separately from his wife and has two young children in Germany, whom he rarely sees. Nevertheless, he is convinced he is doing the right thing.
At first, he worked as a German and English teacher, says Rebel. "The people were so good to me, at some point I wanted to stand up for them and fight." The fact that the Russians had been advancing for a long time and Ukraine was on the defensive didn't deter him from his decision – quite the opposite. "You have to side with the weaker," says Rebel, who, like his comrades, arrives for the interview with an assault rifle and a masked face. "It's like being at home on the streets. If you see someone weaker being harassed, you have to help them."
Collaboration: Yurii Shyvala
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