Conflict & Security
From six months to forever: Russia's mobilized troops confront a war without end
Chat logs and interviews reveal soldiers who feel misled by recruiters, trapped by contracts and increasingly estranged from life back home.
![A relative of Russian soldiers, taking part in the so-called "special military operation" in Ukraine, holds a placard reading "Free mobilized soldiers. Bring husbands, fathers, sons back!" as she protests in front of the Russian Ministry of Defense building in Moscow on January 6, 2024. [Olga Maltseva/AFP]](/gc6/images/2026/02/19/54686-afp__20240106__349k2qg__v4__highres__russiaukraineconflict-370_237.webp)
By Ekaterina Janashia |
Nearly three and a half years after President Vladimir Putin ordered Russia's "partial mobilization," hundreds of thousands of reservists drawn from civilian life remain trapped in a war many say they were misled into joining and cannot leave.
In 2026, the Kremlin is still searching for ways to sustain troop levels without another nationwide call-up, and the complaints voiced by mobilized soldiers appear less like isolated grievances than a portrait of a system under strain.
What began in autumn 2022 as what authorities portrayed as a short deployment has, for many, turned into an open-ended assignment marked by attrition, fear and resentment. Reporting by investigative outlet Vyorstka last September, based on access to closed chat groups of mobilized soldiers, shows growing frustration with military authorities and a deepening sense of abandonment -- a reality that, months later, shows little sign of changing.
Broken six-month promise
When summonses arrived in 2022, some Russian men accepted them with little resistance, encouraged by assurances of limited service.
![A man walks past a contract army service mobile recruitment point in Moscow on July 6, 2023. [Natalia Kolesnikova/AFP]](/gc6/images/2026/02/19/54687-afp__20230706__33mx49k__v2__highres__russiaukraineconflict-370_237.webp)
"When the summons came, they told us we'd be guarding warehouses on the border for six months," one mobilized soldier, a former police pensioner, told Vyorstka. "And we, like idiots, believed them. It was a cruel lesson."
As the war dragged on, many soldiers shifted from talk of patriotism to a single goal: staying alive.
"I'm not a patriot anymore," he admitted. "I'm not eager to capture Ukraine. There are few patriots left here. Everyone just wants to go home."
Hopes for discharge dates repeatedly faded.
Soldiers said they counted on milestones such as New Year's 2024, the invasion anniversary and Victory Day on May 9, only to see them pass without orders. When units were instead told in September 2025 to collect winter uniforms, many concluded they would not be leaving soon.
Contracts and survival
Official casualty figures for mobilized troops remain undisclosed. Independent projects, including one by Mediazona and BBC Russian, have verified about 17,000 deaths among mobilized soldiers and more than 177,000 Russian deaths overall. However, soldiers believe the real toll is far higher.
Those still serving describe mounting pressure to sign open-ended contracts with the Defense Ministry. Commanders, they say, offer blunt choices: "Sign the contract, or go to the assault groups."
The practice, often described by troops as a way to replenish combat losses, effectively binds soldiers to indefinite service.
"They do this to keep people in the army," one soldier said in a voice message shared with reporters. He said many soldiers would leave immediately if they could, estimating that as many as 80% would resign. Those without long-term contracts are holding out hope of being released sooner, but he said the pressure is wearing them down. Despite having three children and an elderly mother, and surviving multiple explosions, he said commanders show little concern and do not value his life.
Soldiers also describe worsening battlefield conditions driven by drones and surveillance technology, which they say has made survival increasingly unpredictable.
"This is a new war," said a former electronics repairman. "We are losing drone operators and electronic warfare specialists. Men with severed limbs can't evacuate; they rot from sepsis before help arrives. It's a mess. It was bad before, but never this bad."
Some say this has produced a sense of dehumanization.
"At the top, they don't care," a former Interior Ministry employee told Vyorstka. "We've accepted that we aren't considered human. Meat shouldn't have an opinion."
Alienation and anger
As the conflict stretches into another winter, many mobilized soldiers say they feel cut off from life at home. Leave periods reinforce the gap, they say, between the front and civilian life.
"The country, for the most part, doesn't give a damn," one soldier said. "They are dancing. Unless it touched you personally, you don't even know where the front is. When you go on leave, you see it. No one is interested. Everyone is just drinking."
Even pay -- typically 200,000 to 250,000 RUB ($2,600-$3,200) per month -- no longer feels like compensation for the risks, some said.
"A delivery courier in Moscow makes more now," one man wrote in a chat. "And he gets to sleep at home with his family. Let's ask the courier how much he'd charge to carry an anti-tank mine to a machine-gun nest."
Unable to criticize the state openly, some soldiers turn their anger elsewhere, including toward migrants or conspiracy theories about the war's purpose. Others say they simply feel forgotten.
"I lost everything: business, family, health," said a 42-year-old former businessman who once called himself a committed patriot.
"I realized that in today's reality, patriotism is punishable. Honesty and principles are simply dangerous. I want to go far away from this madness, lies and hypocrisy. My eyes are open. But we are still here."