June 18, 2025

Fighters from the International Legion on an undisclosed location along the eastern front (Photo: Alex Zakletsky)

Author: Demian Shevko

The International Legion for the Defense of Ukraine is one of the most professional and effective units within Ukraine’s armed forces—despite operating largely under the radar of international media. And that’s no accident. Home to volunteers from over 70 countries with different background, the Legion’s personnel have become a top target for Russian forces.At the outset of Russia’s full-scale invasion in 2022, President Zelenskyy called on foreigners to join Ukraine’s defense. That call sparked the creation of a truly unique military formation—one often compared to the famed French Foreign Legion.

As Russia launched yet another highly publicized offensive in the fourth summer of its war, The New Voice gained rare access to the Legion’s frontline positions in eastern Ukraine. My aim is to meet those who’ve left everything behind to fight for Ukraine’s freedom—and find out why. As we make our way toward the Legion’s base, the heat in the frontline villages seems to hum with wartime tension. The worried faces of locals reveal more about this war than any wire dispatch ever could.

I’m sitting in the shade of a sprawling maple tree, surrounded by a group of foreign fighters. This well-camouflaged rear base lies just a few kilometers from the front line and lives under the constant threat of Russian drones and artillery. Soldiers call it the “minus first line”—close enough to feel the war, but not quite the zero line. It’s where Legion fighters rest, rotate, and gear up for missions in the area. Some sip water from canteens. Others clean weapons or sit quietly, lost in thought. In this brutal rhythm of war—where silence is temporary and death often random—there’s no room for distraction. But there’s still room for stories. And while their uniforms match, their journeys here couldn’t be more different.

U.S. volunteer Jar and his brother-in-arms Ran from Spain prepare for a mission / Photo: Provided by Jar

Among those under the maple is Jar, a 30-year-old American who arrived just a few months ago. Before Ukraine, he was a bartender and ran a small house painting business. “It’s a very sharp change,” he says with a dry smile. He had no military experience before coming—but something pushed him across the ocean. “I just wanted to help,” he says simply. “Join the fight against Russia.”

He had been following the war since the start but waited until the time felt right. “When they first asked for volunteers, I was interested, but I didn’t have any training. Then I reached a point in life where I felt ready.”

At the frontline positions / Photo: Provided by Jar

warfare is insane.”

Jar joined the Legion through an online application, followed by a call from a recruiter. “It took a few months to get my affairs in order,” he says. “Once I arrived, there were a couple weeks of admin and paperwork before they sent me to training.” He’s already completed five combat missions. 

His face tenses slightly. “It’s not always about firepower anymore. It’s about staying hidden. Sometimes, it just comes down to luck.”

Callsign Mando / Photo: Provided by Mando

Another American fighter, Mando, hailing from Alaska and in his twenties, tells me he had been thinking about Ukraine from the moment the full-scale invasion began. “It wasn’t some kind of side quest,” he says. “I had the training, the experience. I felt like I could actually help.” His father was the first to know. “He wasn’t thrilled, but he eventually supported me. We had an agreement—if I came back safe, he’d accept it.” His mother took longer to convince. “She wasn’t happy at all. But she understood that I’d already made my choice.”

Jar’s path couldn’t have been more different. With no prior military experience, he faced a steep learning curve from day one. “I wasn’t prepared at all when I got here,” he admits. “But I’ve met incredible people from all over the world—people I never would’ve crossed paths with otherwise.”

Mando leans back, watching a mosquito trace slow arcs through the summer air. “You can’t come here unless you’ve got the heart for it,” he says. 

Hades nods as Mando speaks. A former sniper from Colombia, he’s a veteran of both the Colombian Army and the French Foreign Legion. He’s fought in Chad, Djibouti, Somalia, the Middle East. But Ukraine, he says, is like nothing else.

Colombian volunteer Hades at the frontline / Photo: Provided by Hades

“This war is different,” he says with the calm of someone who has stared death in the face. “You can be the best-trained soldier in the world. But a drone can kill you in two seconds. You won’t even hear it.”

His face hardens. “I’ve been injured. Near Kupyansk. Twenty-one days in a position under drone and artillery fire. Six of us went in. Five didn’t make it.”

He was hospitalized for months. Then he returned to the front.

“God and my mother—that’s what kept me going.”

For Jar, the danger is just as real, even if his experience is more recent. His family back home is constantly on edge. “They’re waiting for the call that I’m coming home,” he says. “I grew up around military people. My family knows the risks.”

Despite being a newcomer, he’s already gained deep respect for his Ukrainian comrades. “Every Ukrainian I’ve met has been welcoming, solid. The ones I’ve gone on missions with—they’re good. Language can be tough, though. If anyone’s thinking about joining, learn as much Ukrainian as you can. It makes a difference.”

He’s also had brief encounters with the enemy. “I’ve seen them twice,” he says. “They didn’t seem prepared. It looked like they were forced to be there.”

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Colombian volunteer Hades at the frontline

PROVIDED BY HADES

As for how long he’ll stay, Jar shrugs. “Too early to tell. I want to help as long as I can. That’s what I came for.”

A few of the men smoke, check their gear, or sit quietly cleaning weapons. This moment of calm is rare. Many of them are just days or hours from rotating back to the front. Their conversations shift fluidly between war and home, tactics and memories, jokes and silence.

Ran, a 25-year-old from Spain, served five years in the Spanish Army before deciding to volunteer. “I gave up my job. I gave up my life. But it was the right decision,” he says. “I watched the news every day. And at some point, I just knew I couldn’t watch anymore. I had to come.”

He’s now second-in-command of his assault team. His most difficult mission, he tells me, was in Toretsk—43 days on the zero line, under constant fire, with no chance to rotate out. “It changes you. You come back a different person.”

Most of the men here carry invisible scars. And yet, there’s humor. There’s warmth. There’s a strange, unspoken brotherhood among the volunteers—one forged not by nationality, but by shared trauma.

“In the Legion, we’re like a family,” says Hades. “I hang out with Polish guys, Germans, Latinos, Spaniards. We joke. We fight. But when it’s time to move, we move together.”

His eyes soften when he talks about his Ukrainian wife. “She’s from Lviv. She only speaks Ukrainian at home. We try to travel around Ukraine whenever we get the chance. I love this country. My children will grow up here.”

Mando, too, has found something more than combat. “I’ve met someone here,” he says quietly. “And even if the war ends, I’ll stay. This place is beautiful. And it gave me purpose.”

But the war has a way of swallowing peace.

Ask anyone here what makes this conflict unique, and they’ll start with the drones.

“They’re the most dangerous thing out here,” says Tim, the French fighter. “They see you at night, during the day. You can’t outrun them. The battlefield rules have changed.”

French volunteer Tim (second from left) with fellow countrymen from his unit / Photo: Demian Shevko

Tim describes how the unit adapts. “We use trees. Vegetation. We stay motionless. Drones track movement. Sometimes, hiding in the grass is all you’ve got.”

But even these tactics have limits. “We need better gear,” he says. “We carry anti-drone devices, but they’re heavy, and not good enough. We need portable systems that actually work.”

Night vision is another recurring theme. “We do everything at night now,” Mando says. “But we often have to buy our own gear. Night vision, thermal scopes—sometimes it’s the small stuff that makes the biggest difference.”

Weapons are another sore point. Many Legion fighters are issued CZ Bren rifles, a Czech weapon that, while reliable in peacetime, is less than ideal in combat. “The Bren’s too complicated to strip under fire,” Mando explains. “We need M4s. M27s. HKs. Stuff we trained on. Instead, we’re improvising in the middle of war.”

Then there’s the deeper issue—people.

“We’re running out of manpower,” Mando says. “Ukraine is holding the line with volunteers. Russia’s sending Chinese mercenaries, North Koreans, Iranians. They just throw bodies at us.”

He looks straight at me.

“We need troops. Or at least the threat of them. NATO could change the game overnight.”

There’s a shared frustration with Western governments. I ask Mando if he thinks his country is doing enough.

“No,” he says. “Not even close. We have the ammo, the gear, the missiles. But instead, we’re leaving Ukraine to fight alone. My message to the U.S. government is that we need weapons. But I don’t know if the American government will ever listen.”

He continues: “When the war ends, they’ll all rush in—wanting deals, alliances, partnerships. But where are they now?”

Tim is more diplomatic. “Macron says the right things. But we’re not ready. Our army isn’t trained for this kind of war. We’ve spent decades fighting insurgents. This is full-scale. It’s different.”

Still, they’re not bitter. What comes through most is admiration—especially for the Ukrainian troops they fight alongside.

“The Ukrainian army is the best in Europe right now,” says Hades. “They were supposed to collapse in four days. They’ve been standing for over three years. Infantry, artillery, air force—solid.”

Ran agrees. “They’re heroes. Tough, smart, relentless. I’ve learned a lot from them.”

The Legion is, in many ways, a microcosm of what Ukraine has become—diverse, determined, proud to be free.

There are other moments, too. Quiet ones. Strange ones.

Hades tells me about the dogs.

“When people flee, they leave animals behind—dogs, cats. They find us. They come to the trenches. They sit with us. One dog came to our base and gave birth to eight puppies. That love—it keeps you human.”

These moments aren’t rare. They’re reminders of life, of tenderness, of what all this is for.

I ask what they think about the Russians—about the men on the other side of the trench.

“They’re stupid,” says Hades bluntly. “They think throwing bodies at us will win. It won’t. They’re not trained. They’re not ready.” “I’ve killed 40,” he adds. “I don’t say it with pride. But I say it with clarity.”

Mando is more philosophical. “This isn’t just about territory. Russia wants to erase Ukraine. That’s why we fight. That’s why we stay.”

But perhaps the sharpest contrast lies in motivation.
“Ukrainians fight for their land, for their families,” says Ran. “That’s the difference.”

As for their message to the world, Ran puts it simply: “Don’t look away. Don’t forget us. Don’t forget Ukraine.”

“Support us while we’re still here,” Mando adds. “Don’t wait for the victory parade.”

Jar is more reserved but no less clear. “I think everyone has the right to democracy and freedom,” he says. “The U.S. should be doing more. Maybe that’s part of why I came. If my country won’t help, at least I can.”

Still, what stands out most among them is a shared respect—for Ukraine, and for those defending it.

“This is a fair war,” says Hades. “No nation has the right to take another’s freedom.”

When the interviews are done, I sit with them a while longer. The heat fades. The tree above us rustles faintly in the wind.

I ask the last question. What happens when it’s over?

They all go quiet for a moment.
“Ukraine is more than a place,” says Mando. “It’s a cause. I’m staying, war or no war.”

As we leave the base and the sun sets over the treeline, the thrum of distant artillery rolls across the fields. These men, from four corners of the world, have made their choice. They didn’t come to watch history. They came to shape it.

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